Of the advantages of Thinking.

MAN being the only Creature here be­low design'd for a sociable life, has two facultys to distinguish him from other Créatures, Thinking and Speaking. The one, to fit him for the society of others; and the other, to qualify him also for his own. As to the latter of these Facultys, there's no fear of its gathering rust for want of use. We are rather apt to speak too much; and the most Reserv'd have reason to pray with the Psalmist, Set a watch O Lord before my mouth, and keep the door of my lips.

But the former, is that which generally lies fallow and neglected; as may be guess'd from the intemperate use of the other. There are few indeed, that are capable of thinking to any great purpose: but among those that are, there are fewer that employ this excellent Ta­lent. And for ought I know, however strange it may seem, among the Ingenious and well educated there are as few Thinkers as among the Herd of the vulgar and illiterate. For ei­ther they live a Popular life; and then what for business, pleasures, Company, visits, with a world of other impertinencys, there's scarce [Page 146] room for so much as a Morning reflexion. Or else, they live retir'd, and then either they doze away their time in drowsiness and brown stu­dys; or, if brisk and active, they lay them­selves out wholely upon devouring books and making Common places, and scarce entertain their Solitude with a Meditation once in a Moon.

But 'tis merely for want of Thinking that they can allow themselves in doing so. For by a little of this, they would soon discover that of all the Methods of improvement that can be used, there is none so advantagious as Thinking; either for our Intellectuals or our Morals; to make us wiser, or to make us better. And first, for our Intellectuals. 'Tis the per­fection of our Rational part to know; that is, to be able to frame clear and distinct conce­ptions, to form right Judgments, and to draw true consequences from one thing to another. Now besides that the Powers of the mind are made more bright, vigorous, and active by use, as all other facultys are; there is this further advantage, that by habitual thinking the ob­ject is made more familiar to the understand­ing, the Habitudes and relations of Ideas one towards another, by frequent comparing, be­come more visible and apparent; and conse­quently, 'tis more easy to divide what ought to be divided, and to compound what ought to be compounded; wherein consists the [Page 147] sum of all Truth and Science.

Reading is indeed very excellent and useful to this purpose; but Thinking is necessary. This may do without the other, as appears in the first Inventors of Arts and Sciences; who were fain to think out their way to the Recesses of Truth; but the other can never do, without this. Reading without thinking, may indeed make a rich Common place, but twill never make a rich head; it may, indeed, bring in a great store of Hyle, but 'tis yet without form and void, till Thinking, like the Seminal spirit, agitates the dead shapeless lump, and works it up into figure and symmetry.

But of what advantage Thinking is to the advancement of Knowledge, will further ap­pear by considering some of the chief impedi­ments of it; and how they are removed by Thinking. And the first that I shall mention, is the Prejudice of Infancy. We form infinite rash judgments of things, before we duly un­derstand any thing; and these grow up with us, take root, spread and multiply; till, after long use and custom, we mistake them for com­mon notions and dictates of nature; and then we think it a crime to go about to unlearn or eradicate them. And as long as we stand thus affected, we are condemn'd to errours and per­petual wandrings. So great reason had the excellent Des-Cartes to lay the foundation of his Philosophy in an Equipoise of mind; and [Page 148] to make the removal of these Prejudices the very entrance and beginning of wisdom.

But now when a man sets upon a course of Thinking, nothing will be so obvious as to consider, that since we come so late to the per­fect use of our reason; among those many judg­ments we have made, 'tis very likely the major part are false and erroneous. And this is a fair step to the shaking off those infant-Prejudices; at least he will be thereby induc'd not to be­lieve any thing the rather, because he had given it such early entertainment. From this gene­ral reflexion he proceeds to examin the things themselves. And now he is a capable Judge, can hear both sides with an indifferent ear, is determin'd only by the moments of truth▪ and so retracts his past errours, and has the best Mo­ral security against any for the future.

Another great hindrance to knowledg is the wrong perception of things. When the simple Ideas of our minds are confus'd, our Judg­ments can never proceed without errour. 'Tis like a fault in the first concoction, which is ne­ver corrected in either of the other. For how can I judge whether the Attribute agree to the subject, it my notion of both be confus'd and obscure? But now, the only cause of the con­fusedness of our notions, next to the natural inability of our faculties, is want of Attention and close application of mind. We don't dwell enough upon the object; but speculate it tran­siently [Page 149] and in hast; and then, no wonder that we conceive it by halves. Thinking therefore is a proper Remedy for this defect also.

Another great hindrance to knowledg is am­biguity of Terms and Phrases. This has bred a world of confusion and misunderstanding, e­specially in controversys of Religion; a great many of which, if thoroughly sifted and well compared, will be found to be mere verbal con­tentions. As may appear from what the ex­cellent Monsieur Le Blanc has perform'd in this kind. But now, this is owing merely to want of thinking. There is a latitude in the Phrase; and one writer not sufficiently attending to that determinate sense of it which his Adver­sary intends, very hastily and furiously denys what the other does not affirm; and he again as furiously affirms what this does not deny. So that they are really agreed all along, and yet fight on like Fools in the dark. And there is no hopes they will ever be reconciled, till ei­ther they will take the pains to think them­selves, or some body else will be so kind, as to think for 'em.

Another great hindrance to knowledg is an over-fond and superstitious deference to Authori­ty, especially that of Antiquity. There is no­thing that cramps the Parts, and fetters the understandings of men like this strait-lac'd hu­mour. Men are resolv'd never to outshoot their forefathers mark; but write one after another, [Page 150] and so the dance goes round in a circle; and the world is never the wiser for being older. Take an instance of this in the School-men, and in the best of them, Aquinas. 'Tis pleasant to see how that great Wit is oftentimes put to't to maintain some unlucky Authorities, for the salving of which he is forced to such shifts and expedients which he must needs (should he dare to think freely) see through and discern to be false; and yet such a slave was he, that he would rather lose truth, than go out of the Road to find it. This also makes men, other­wise senseful and Ingenious, quote such things many times out of an old dull Author, and with a peculiar emphasis of commendation too, as would never pass even in ordinary con­versation; and which they themselves would never have took notice of, had not such an Au­thor said it. But now, no sooner does a man give himself leave to think, but he perceives how abusurd and unreasonable 'tis, that one man should prescribe to all Posterity: that men, like beasts, should follow the foremost of the Herd; and that venerable non-sense should be prefer'd before new-sense: He considers, that that which we call Antiquity, is properly the nonage of the world; that the sagest of his Authoritys were once new; and that there is no other difference between an antient Author and himself, but only that of time; which, if of any advantage, 'tis rather on his side, as living in a more re­fined [Page 151] and mature age of the world. And thus having cast off this Intellectual slavery, like one of the brave [...] mention'd by Laertius, he addicts himself to no Author, Sect or Party▪ but freely picks up Truth where-ever he can find it; puts to Sea upon his own bottom; holds the Stern himself; and now, if ever, we may expect new discoverys.

There are other notable impediments to the improvement of knowledg, such as Passion, In­terest, fear of being tax'd with inconstancy, scorn of being inform'd by another, Envy, the humour of Contradiction, and sometimes Flat­tery in applauding every thing we hear, and the like. Now as to the manner how all these are remov'd by thinking, it may suffice to sav in general, that they are all obviously absurd and ridiculous; and however unthinking men may be abused by them, yet a free and close Thinker must needs quickly perceive that they are so: and there is no better Moral way that I know of to be quit of ill habits, than the be­ing convinc'd of their Folly and Mischief.

But the greatest advantage of thinking is yet behind, that it improves our Morals as well as our Intellectuals; and serves to make us Bet­ter, as well as Wiser. This is in a great mea­sure included in the other. All therefore that I shall further remark concerning it is this, that considering the great influence the under­standing has upon the will, there are but two [Page 152] things necessary to preserve us in our duty. First an habitual Theory of what we ought and ought not to do; and of all the motives and engagements to the one and to the other. Se­condly an actual and clear presence of all this to the mind, in every Instant of action. And this is for the most part the thinking man's con­dition. He does not only Habitually know, but actually attends both to his Duty, and to all the engagements for its performance. He has those Considerations almost always present with him which to others are the Principles of Repentance; and this keeps him in his Duty, which brings others to it; and makes him live like those Righteous persons of whom our Sa­viour says, that they need no Repentance.

Of the Care and Improvement of Time.

TO be careful how we manage and em­ploy our Time, is one of the first Precepts that is taught in the School of Wisdom, and one of the last that is learn'd. The first and leading dictate of Prudence is, That a Man pro­pose to himself his true and best interest for his End; and the next is, That he make use of all those means and opportunities whereby that end is to be attain'd. And betwixt these two there is such a close connexion, that he who does not do the latter, cannot be supposed to intend the former. He that is not careful of his actions, shall never perswade me that he se­riously proposes to himself his best interest, as his end, for if he did, he would as seriously ap­ply himself to the regulation of the other as the means. And so he that is not careful of his Time, cannot in reason be supposed to be care­ful of his Actions; for if he were, he would certainly have a special regard to the opportu­nity of their performance.

But, as I observ'd in the beginning, though this Precept be one of the Elementary dictates of Prudence, and stands written in the first page [Page 154] of the Book of Wisdom; yet such is the sottish­ness and stupidity of the World, that there is none that is more slowly learn'd. And 'tis a pro­digious thing to consider, that, although a­mong all the Talents which are committed to our Stewardship, Time upon several accounts is the most precious, yet there is not any one of which the generality of men are more pro­fuse and regardless. Tho it be a thing of that inestimable value, that 'tis not distributed to us intirely, and at once, like other Blessings, but is dealt out in minutes and little parcels, as if man were not fit to be trusted with the intire possession of such a choice Treasure, yet there are very many that think themselves so overstock'd with it, that instead of husbanding it to advantage, the main business of their thoughts is how to rid their hands of it, and accordingly they catch at every shadow and opportunity of relief; strike in at a venture with the next Companion, and so the dead Com­modity be taken off, care not who be the Chap­man. Nay, 'tis obvious to observe, that even those persons who are frugal and thrifty in eve­ry thing else, are yet extremely prodigal of their best Revenue, Time; Of which alone (as Seneca neatly observes) 'tis a Vertue to be Co­vetous.

Neither may this Censure be fastned only upon the unthinking multitude, the Sphere of whose Consideration is supposed to be very nar­row, [Page 155] and their Apprehension short-sighted; but I observe that many of those who set up for Wits, and pretend to a more than ordinary sagacity, and delicacy of Sense, do notwith­standing spend their Time very unaccountably, and live away whole days, weeks, and some­times months together, to as little purpose (tho it may be not so innocently) as if they had been asleep all the while. And this they are so far from being ashamed to own, that they freely boast of it, and pride themselves in it, thinking that it tends to their Reputation, and commends the greatness of their Parts, that they can support themselves upon the Natural stock, without being beholden to the Interest that is brought in by Study and Industry.

But if their Parts be so good as they would have others believe, sure they are worth im­proving; if not, they have the more need of it. And tho it be an Argument of a rich mind, to be able to maintain it self without labour, and subsist without the advantages of Study, yet there is no man that has such a portion of Sense, but will understand the use of his Time better than to put it to the trial. Greatness of Parts is so far from being a discharge from Industry, that I find Men of the most exquisite Sense in all Ages were always most curious of their Time: Nay, the most Intelligent of all Created Beings (who may be allow'd to pass a truer estimate upon things than the finest [Page 156] Mortal Wit) value Time at a high rate. Let me go (says the Angel to the importunate Pa­triarch) for the day breaketh. And therefore I very much suspect the excellency of those mens Parts, who are dissolute and careless mis-spend­ers of their Time: For if they were men of any thoughts, how is it possible but these should be some in the number? (viz.) ‘That this Life is wholly in order to another, and that Time is that sole opportunity that God has given us for transacting the great business of Eternity: That our work is great, and our day of work­ing short, much of which also is lost and ren­der'd useless, through the cloudiness and dark­ness of the Morning, and the thick vapours and unwholesome foggs of the Evening; the ignorance and inadvertency of Youth, and the Diseases and Infirmities of Old Age: That our portion of Time is not only short, as to its du­ration, but also uncertain in the possession: That the loss of it is irreparable to the loser, and profitable to no body else: That it shall be severely accounted for at the great Judg­ment, and lamented in a sad Eternity.’

He that considers these things (and sure he must needs be a very unthinking man that does not) will certainly be choice of his Time, and look upon it no longer as a bare state of dura­tion, but as an Opportunity; and consequently will let no part of it (no considerable part at least) slip away either unobserv'd or unimprov'd. This [Page 157] is the most effectual way that I know of to se­cure to ones self the Character of a Wise-man here, and the reward of one hereafter. Where­as the vain Enthusiastic Pretenders to the Gift of Wit, that trifle away their Time, betray the shallowness and poverty of their Sense to the dis­cerning few; or whatever they may pass for here among their fellow Mortals, do most in­fallibly make themselves cheap in the sight of Angels.

Of Solitude.

IT has been urg'd as an Objection, by some Atheistical Persons, against the existence of a God, that if there had been such a perfect Being, who was compleatly happy in the enjoy­ment of himself, he would never have gone a­bout to make a World. Now, tho this Obje­ction contributes nothing to the support of A­theism (the design of God in Creating the World being not to increase his happiness, but to Communicate it) yet it proceeds upon this true supposition, That Society is a Blessing. It is so, and that not only respectively, and in re­ference to the present circumstances of the World, and the Necessities of this Life, but al­so simply, and in its own Nature; since it shall be an Accessory to our bliss in Heaven, and add many moments to the weight of Glory. Neither will the truth of this assertion be at all weaken'd by alledging that no benefit or advantage ac­crues to God by it, for that it becomes unbene­ficial to him (tho a Blessing in its own nature) is purely by accident, because God eminently containing in himself all possible good, is un­capable of any New Accession.

And as Society is in its own nature an instru­ment of Happiness, so is it made much more so [Page 159] by the indigencies and infirmities of Men. Man, of all Creatures in the World, is least qualify'd to live alone, because there is no Creature that has so many necessities to be reliev'd. And this I take to be one of the great Arts of Pro­vidence, to secure mutual amity and the reci­procation of good turns in the World, it being the Nature of Indigency, like common dan­ger, to indear men to one another, and make them herd together, like Fellow-Sailors in a Storm. And this indeed is the true case of Mankind, we all Sail in one bottom, and in a rough Sea, and stand in need of one anothers help at every turn, both for the Necessities and Refreshments of Life. And therefore I am ve­ry far from commending the undertaking of those Ascetics, that our of a pretence of keep­ing themselves unspotted from the World, take up their quarters in Desarts, and utterly aban­don all Human Society. This is in short (to say no more of it) to put themselves into an incapacity either of doing any good to the World, or of receiving any from it: and cer­tainly that can be no desirable state. No, this Eremetical way of Living is utterly incon­sistent with the Circumstances and Inclinations of Human Nature; he must be a God, Self­sufficient and Independent that is fit for this state of absolute and perfect Solitude, and in this rigorous sense, It is not good for man (tho in Pa­radice it self) to be alone.

[Page 160]But tho Society, as 'tis opposed to a state of perfect and perpetual Solitude, be a Blessing, yet considering how little of it there is in the World that is good, I think it advisable for eve­ry man that has sense and thoughts enough, to be his own Companion, (for certainly there is more required to qualifie a man for his own company than for other men's) to be as fre­quent in his Retirements as he can, and to communicate as little with the World as is con­sistent with the duty of doing good, and the discharge of the common offices of Humanity. 'Tis true indeed (as Seneca says) Miscendae & al­ternandae sunt Solitudo & frequentia: Solitude and Company are to have their turns, and to be interplaced. But Wise-men use to dedicate the largest share of their Lives to the former, and let the best and most of their Time go to make up the Canonical Hours of Study, Meditation and Devotion. And for this, besides the pra­ctice of Wise-men, we have the Authentic exam­ple of our B. Lord himself, Who, as 'tis rea­sonably supposed (for he had pass'd the thirtieth year of his Life before he enter'd upon the stage of Action, and then also sought all opportuni­ties to be alone, and oftentimes purchas'd Re­tirement at the expence of Night-watches) al­lotted the greatest part of his little Time here on Earth to Privacy and Retirement; and 'tis highly probable, would have liv'd much more reservedly, had not the peculiar business of his [Page 161] function made it necessary for him to be con­versant in the World. The inclination of our Lord lay more toward the Contemplative way of Life, tho the interest of Mankind engaged him oftentimes upon the Active. And 'tis ve­ry observable, that there is scarce any one thing which he vouchsafed to grace with so many marks and instances of favour and respect as he did Solitude. Which are thus summ'd up by the excellent Pen of a very great Ma­sterThe Great Exem­plar. of Learning and Language; It was Solitude and Retirement in which Jesus kept his Vigils; the desart places heard him pray, in a privacy he was born, in the Wilderness he fed his thousands, upon a Mountain apart he was transfigured, upon a Mountain he died, and from a Mountain he ascended to his Father. In which Retirements his Devotion certainly did receive the advantage of convenient circumstances, and himself in such dispositions twice had the opportu­nities of Glory.

Indeed, the Satisfactions and Advantages of Solitude (to a person that knows how to im­prove it) are very great, and far transcending those of a Secular and Popular Life. First, as to Pleasure and Satisfaction, whosoever consi­ders the great variety of mens humours, the peevishness of some, the pride and conceited­ness of others, and the impertinence of most; he that considers what unreasonable terms of Communion some persons impose upon those [Page 162] that partake of their Society; how rare 'tis for a man to light upon a Company, where, as his first Salutation, he shall not presently have a Bottle thrust to his Nose; he, I say, that considers these and a thousand more grievances, wherewith the folly and ill nature of men have conspired to burthen Society, will find, take one time with another, Company is an occa­sion of almost as much displeasure as pleasure. Whereas in the mean time the Solitary and Contemplative man sits as safe in his Retire­ment as one of Homer's Heroes in a Cloud, and has this only trouble from the follies and ex­travagancies of men, that he pitties them. He does not, it may be, laugh so loud, but he is better pleas'd: He is not perhaps so often merry, but neither is he so often disgusted; he lives to himself and God, full of Serenity and Con­tent.

And as the Pleasures and Satisfactions of So­litude exceed those of a Popular Life, so also do the Advantages. Of these there are two sorts, Moral and Intellectual; to both which So­litude is a particular friend. As to the first, it is plain that Solitude is the proper opportunity of Contemplation, which is both the Founda­tion and the Perfection of a Religious Life. It is (as the same excellent Person forecited says elsewhere of a single Life) the huge advantage of Religion, the great opportunity for the Retire­ments of Devotion, which being empty of Cares is [Page 163] full of Prayers, being unmingled with the World is apt to converse with God, and by not feeling the warmth of a too forward and indulgent Nature, flames▪ out with holy Fires, till it be burning like the Cherubim and the most extasy'd Order of holy and unpolluted Spirits. And for this reason 'twas that the Anciente chose to build their Al­tars and Temples in Groves and Solitary▪ Re­cesses, thereby intimating▪ that Solitude was the best opportunity of Religion.

Neither are our intellectual advantages less indebted to Solitude. And here, tho I have in a great measure anticipated this consideration (there being nothing necessarily required to compleat the Character of a Wise-man, besides the knowledg of God and himself) yet I shall not confine my self to this instance, but deduce the matter further, and venture to affirm that all kinds of Speculative knowledg as well as practical, are best improved by Solitude. In­deed there is much talk about the great bene­fit of keeping Great men company, and there­upon 'tis usually reckon'd among the disadvan­tages of a Country life, that those of that con­dition want the opportunities of a Learned Con­versation. But to confess the truth, I think there is not so much in it as people generally imagine. Indeed, were the Souls of men lodg'd in transparent cases, that we might read their thoughts; would they communicate what they know, were it the fashion to discourse learned­ly, [Page 164] 'twere worth while to frequent the Cabals of Great men: But when it shall be counted a piece of errant Pedantry, and defect of good breeding to start any Question of Learning in Company; when every man is as shy of his Notions as of a Fairy-treasure; and makes his Head not a Repository or Exchequer of Know­ledg, but a Grave to bury it in: A man may be a constant attendant at the Conclaves of Learned men all his life long, and yet be no more the wiser for't than a Book-worm is for dwelling in Libraries. And therefore, to speak ingeniously, I don't see for my part wherein the great advantage of great Conversation lies, as the humours of men are pleas'd to order it. Were I to inform my self in business, and the management of affairs, I would sooner talk with a plain illiterate Farmer or Trades-man than the greatest Vertuoso of The Society; and as for Learning (which is the only thing they are supposed able to discourse well of) that in point of Civility they decline: So that I find I must take refuge at my Study at last, and there redeem the Time that I have lost among the Learned.

Of Courage.

A Ristotle in his Morals begins the Doctrine of Vertues with Courage; which has found work for his Interpreters to assign the reason of his method. But, methinks, there is no great need they should either study or differ much about it. For certainly, among all the Ver­tues this will justly challenge the Precedency, and is the most Cardinal and fundamental part of Morality. This Vertue is pre-required to the susception of all the rest. For the very en­trance into the School of wisdom and a ver­tuous course is a state of Discipline, Difficulty and Hardship. And therefore 'tis sapere aude, a great piece of daring and boldness to set up for a good man: especially, if to the proper difficulties and Agonies of a Vertuous engage­ment, we add those calamities and straits it oftentimes exposes us to, through the malice and folly of the world. So that as Plato writ upon his School [...] Let none enter here that understands not Mathematics, it may be set as a Motto upon the School of Ver­tue, Let none enter here that wants Courage.

And as 'tis necessarily requisite to the susce­ption of all other vertues, so is it their main support, guardian and establishment. Without [Page 166] this, every other Vertue is precarious, and lies at the mercy of every cross accident. Without this, let but a Pistol be held to the breast, and the severest Chastity will be frighted into com­pliance, the most Heroic Friendship into trea­chery, and the most ardent Piety into renun­ciation of God and Religion. There is nothing among all the frailnesses and uncertaintys of this sublunary world so tottering and unstable, as the vertue of a Coward. He has that within him that upon occasion will infallibly betray every vertue he has; and to secure him from sin, you must keep him from Temptation. This was the Principle the Devil went upon in his en­counter with Job, Do but put forth thy hand, (says he to God) and touch all that he hath, and he will curse thee to thy face. He was right e­nough in the Proposition, tho mistaken in the application.

Having now seen the usefulness of this great Vertue, 'twill be worth while to enquire a lit­tle into its Nature. And that the rather, be­cause 'tis not only variously and falsly appre­hended by the many, but too confusedly and darkly deliver'd even by Moralists themselves.

That which with the Vulgar passes for Cou­rage, is certainly nothing else but stupidity, desperateness or fool-hardiness; a brutish sort of Knight-errantry in seeking out needless en­counters, and running into dangers without fear or wit; which is so far from having the [Page 167] fore-mention'd property of Courage, of being a guardian, and security of our Vertues, that 'tis in it self a sin.

But are we like to have a better account of it from the Moralists? why they tell you that it is a Mediocrity between Fear and Boldness; So Aristotle in his Ethics. But then as for de­fining what this Mediocrity is (wherein the ve­ry point of the business lies) you are as much to seek as ever.

Others will tell you that 'tis a firmness of mind in sustaining evils, and undertaking dangers. Accordingly they assign two parts of Courage Sustinere & Aggredi. Thus Epictetus and the School of the Stoics. But what it is thus firm­ly to sustain or undertake an evil, and what evils are to be thus sustain'd or undertaken, they either could not, or have not thought fit to ac­quaint us.

In order therefore to the settling the Point in hand, I consider 1st in general, that Cou­rage has evil of Pain for its object, which in some circumstances is to be chosen or submit­ted to. Whence I form this general Idea of Courage that 'tis a firm and peremptory reso­lution of Mind to chuse evil of Pain in right circumstances, or when 'tis truly eligible. This Definition I confess runs in general Terms, much like one of Aristotles, but I intended it for no other. Only it has this advantage above his, that it lays a Foundation for one that is more particular.

[Page 168]For 'tis but here to subjoin when an evil is truly eligible, and the Idea of Courage will be sufficiently determinate and express. Now to make a thing eligible 'tis necessary that some way or other it appear good; evil being no way eligible under its own formality. And to make an evil put on the nature and appearance of good, two things are necessary. 1st that it be a lesser evil than some other, and 2ly that the chusing of it be a necessary Medium for the preventing of that other. Then, and in no o­ther case, is evil truly eligible: and consequent­ly, we shall not be mistaken in the Idea of Cou­rage, if we define it to be such a firm and con­stant [...] or disposition of mind, whereby a man is fix'd and determin'd never to dread any evil, so far as to decline it when the chusing it is the only remedy against a greater. And this is most eminently signalized in the case of Mar­tyrdom, when a man submits to the greatest evils of Pain to avoid that much greater one of Sin. This is the very summity and perfection of Courage, that which an Hannibal or a Sci­pio could never equal in all their gallantry and feats of war: and I dare venture to pronounce, that he who would rather dye or part with any worldly interest than commit a sin, can never be a Coward.

And here I cannot but take notice of a false notion of Honour and Courage whereby the world has been generally abused; especially [Page 169] those men that make the highest pretensions to both. According to these mens Measures of things, 'tis sufficient reason to post a man up for a Coward if he refuse a Duell; And to merit a badge of Honour from the Herald's Office if he accept it. These men would be ready to laugh at me, I know, as a lover of Paradoxes, should I tell them that their characters must be quite transposed to make them true. And yet I can­not help it, so it falls out that he who declines the Duell is indeed the man of Honour and Courage, and he who accepts it is the Coward. For he who declines it, despises the obloquy and scorn of the world that he may approve himself to God and his own Conscience, would rather be pointed and hiss'd at, than be damn'd; and so chuses a lesser evil to avoid a greater. But he that accepts the Duel, so dreads the loss of his credit among those whose good opinion is of no value, that to avoid it he chuses to incur sin and damnation; and so chuses a greater evil to avoid a less. And if this be Courage, we must strike it out of the Catalogue of the Vertues, for nothing is so, that is not under the direction of Prudence; much less what is down-right Folly and the very exaltation of Madness.

Of Seriousness.

SInce I began to consider so far as to make Reflections upon my self, the most early and prevailing▪ disposition which I observ'd was an Inclination to Seriousness, and since I con­sider'd the nature of things and the circum­stances of Human life, I found I had reason to thank the kind influence of my birth for mak­ing that my Temper, which otherwise I must have been at more cost to acquire.

For tho it be generally reckon'd only as a Semi-vertue, and by some as no vertue at all, yet certainly nothing is of greater advantage both as to Intellectual and Moral attainments than to be of a serious, composed and recollect­ed spirit. If it be not it self a vertue, 'tis at least the Soil wherein it naturally grows, and the most visible mark whereby to know those that have it. This is that whereby a Man is chiefly distinguish'd from a Child, and a Wise man from a Fool. For (as the Son of Si­rac observes) a man may be known by his Eccles. 19. look, and one that has understanding by his countenance when thou meet'st him. And again speaking of levity and dissoluteness of behavi­our, A man's attire, excess of laughter and gaiety shew what he is, that is, it shews he is none of [Page 171] the wisest. And that this was his true meaning we may be assured from another Character of his, where he expresly makes the signs of wis­dom and folly to consist in these two propertys, (viz.) that a Fool lifts up his voice with Ecclus. 21. laughter, but a Wise man does scarce smile a little.

There is indeed a near Relation between Se­riousness and Wisdom, and one is a most excel­lent Friend to the other. A man of a serious sedate and considerate temper as he is always in a ready disposition for Meditation (the best improvement both of knowledg and manners) so he thinks without disturbance, enters not upon another Notion till he is master of the first, and so makes clean work with it. Where­as a man of a loose, volatile and shatter'd hu­mour thinks only by fits, and starts now and then in a Morning interval, when the serious mood comes upon him, and even then too let but the least trifle cross his way, and his desul­torious fancy presently takes the Scent, leaves the unfinish'd and half-mangled notion, and skips away in pursuit of the new game. So that altho he conceives often, yet by some chance or other he always miscarrys, and the issue proves Abortive.

Indeed nothing excellent can be done with­out Seriousness, and he that courts wisdom must be in earnest. S^t James assures us that 'tiscap. 1. v. 7. to no purpose for a wavering and unstable man [Page 172] to pray, because he shall be sure not to speed. And as 'tis in vain for such a one to Pray, so is it in vain for him to study. For a man to pre­tend to work out a neat scheme of thoughts with a magotty unsettled head, is as ridiculous and non-sensical as to think to write streight in a jumbling Coach, or to draw an exact Picture with a Palsy hand. No, he that will hit what he aims at must have a steddy hand as well as a quick eye, and he that will think to any pur­pose, must have fix'dness and composedness of humour, as well as smartness of parts.

And accordingly we find that those among the Philosophic Sects that profess'd more than ordinary eminency in wisdom or vertue, as­sumed also a peculiar gravity of Habit, and solemnity of Behaviour, and the most sacred and mysterious rites of Religion were usually perform'd with silence; and that not only for decency, but for advantage. Thus the Italians who are the gravest are also the most ingenious people under heaven, and 'tis a known obser­vation of Aristotle's concerning melancholy, that it furthers Contemplation and makes great Wits. Thus again the Discipline of Silence was a considerable part of the Pythagoric institu­tion, and we have it storied of our B. Lord him­self who was the wisdom of his father, that he never laugh'd.

But because a solemn deportment may som­times disguise an unthinking mind, and grave [Page 173] in some men's Dictionarys signifies the same as Dull, I shall put the Character a little more home, and define more closely wherein the true Idea of Seriousness consists, or what it is to be in good earnest a serious man.

And 1st I shall remove it from the neighbor­hood of those things which by their symboli­zing with it in outward appearance prove often­times the occasion of mistake and confusion. It does not therefore consist in the morosity of a Cynic, nor in the severity of an Ascetic, nor in the demureness of a Precisian, nor in the deadness and sullenness of a Quaker, nor in the solemn meen of an Italian, nor in the slow pace of a Spaniard; 'Tis neither in a drooping head, nor a mortify'd face, nor a Primitive Beard.

'Tis somthing very different and much more excellent than all this that must make up a serious man. And I believe I shall not misre­present him if I say he is one that duly and im­partially weighs the moments of things so as neither to value Trifles, nor despise things re­ally excellent. That dwells much at home and studys to know himself as well as Books or men; ‘that considers why he came into the world, how great his business and how short his stay in it, how uncertain 'tis when he shall leave it, and whither a sinner shall then betake him­self when both Heaven and Earth shallRev. 20. fly from the presence of the Judg. That con­siders God as always present, and the Folly [Page 174] of doing what must be repented of, and of go­ing to Hell when a man may go to Heaven. In one word, that knows how to distinguish be­tween a moment and eternity.’

This is to be truly serious, and however the Pretenders to gaiety and lightsomness of Hu­mour may miscall and ridicule it by the names of Melancholy, dullness and stupidity &c. He that is thus affected cannot miss of being wise and good here, and happy hereafter. And then 'twill be his turn to laugh, when the others shall mourn and weep.

Of the slightness of all Secular, and the importance of minding our Eternal, Interest.

IDleness and Impertinence, a doing of no­thing or of nothing to the purpose, are always signs of a vain, loose, and inconsiderate spirit, but they are never more so, than when there is some very momentous and weighty business to be done. The man that sleeps away his happy Retirements, or with the Roman Emperor spends them in killing flies, betrays a great deal of weakness and incogitancy, but should he do the same at the Bar, when he's to plead for his life, he would certainly be thought a mere change­ling or mad-man.

And yet this I fear will prove the case of the most of those who stile themselves Rational. For besides that the generality of men live at random, without any aim or design at all, and those that propose some ends seldom take up with any that are important and material, or if they do, they seldom proportion their care to the weight of things, but are serious in trifles, and trifling in things serious, I say besides all this, there is nothing relating purely to this [Page 176] world that can deserve the name of Business, or be worth the serious thoughts of him who has an immortal Soul, and a Salvation to work out with fear and trembling. The greatest secu­lar affairs and interests are but Specious Trifles, and all our designs and emploiments about em Excentrical Motions, and solemn impertinen­cies.

And yet this is made the Center of all our stu­dys and endeavours, the great Bent of the world points this way, hence are taken the measures of Wisdom and Prudence, and Religion it self is forced to truckle to worldly Policy. Whereas in the mean time there is an Affair of grand importance, and wherein all mankind are deeply concern'd, and such as really deserves all that care and solicitude, which we lavish a­way upon other things, and infinitely more (tho perhaps it might be secured with less) and yet this is the thing which by many is utterly neg­lected, by the most is least cared for, and by none sufficiently regarded. So that considering the general practice of the world, I think there are very few in it to whom that will not be a very proper and seasonable admonition, which our B. Lord gave to his sollicitous and overbusy Disciple, Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things, but one thing is needful.

To cure therefore (if possible) this great fol­ly, I have two Propositions to offer; 1st that no [Page 177] interest relating purely to this present world is of any great moment or concern to man, 2ly that to be very careful of our final interest, and to make sure to our selves a happy eternity is indeed a thing of vast moment and impor­tance.

The first of these I know will seem very strange and paradoxical to one that takes a prospect of mankind, and contemplates the great stirr and hurry of the world, the Plottings of Statesmen, the Emulations of Courtiers, and the Ambition of Princes, how busy men are in their several concerns, what variety of designs are on foot, with what trembling eagerness they are prosecuted, and what grief attends our dis­appointments. Sure after such a Scene as this one would be tempted to think, that there must be somthing very considerable in Human life, and that men had notable interests here at stake, it being a reproach to human nature that the world should so generally combine to make such ado about nothing.

But yet that this is their folly, not to insist upon ‘that universal vanity which the wise and great Trier of the world has charged upon it, that Hope defer'd makes the heart sick, Prov. 13. and yet Fruition does not cure it, that we are disappointed in our enjoyments as well as in our losses, and yet that 'tis our hard fate to weep at the Funeral of our departed Pleasures, tho we were little the happier for them when [Page 178] we had them; that our greatest pleasures are most transient, and great mirth always ends in heaviness and demission of spirit, that the more we love or enjoy the more we venture, and put our selves further within the reach of Fortune; that the greatest men are not always the most contented, and that they who are most envy'd by others think themselves more fit for their Pity;’ not to insist I say on these or the like considerations, I shall fix only upon one, whereby I think twill plainly appear that there can be no interest relating purely to this world, that is of any great moment or concern to man. And that is the shortness and uncer­tainty of our abode here.

The life of man in the Book of Wisdom is com­pared to a shadow. Now besides that the re­semblance holds in many considerable respects, as in that it is partly Life and partly Death, as the other is partly Light and partly Dark­ness, in that like a shadow whereever it passes it leaves no track behind it, in that it seems to be somthing when indeed it is nothing, in that 'tis always altering and ends on a suddain, and when at its full height and prime is often near­est to Declension, as a shadow is to disappear when at full length, there is yet another in­stance of resemblance, which has a more parti­cular aptness to our present purpose. The sha­dow can continue no longer at the utmost than the light of the Sun keeps its residence above [Page 179] the Horizontal line, which is but a little portion of time, but it may fall much short of that pe­riod by the interposition of a cloud, and when that may be is as uncertain as the weather, and depends upon a thousand accidents.

And thus 'tis with our lives. No man can lengthen out his days beyond that natural Term which is set him by the temperament of the first Qualitys, which yet are of such jarring and unsociable natures that they can't dwell long together in a vital amity. But then how far, and how many ways, he may fall short of that compass, depends upon so many hidden causes, and so many little accidents that it may be rec­kon'd among the greatest of uncertaintys. So that there is nothing in all human life so frail and uncertain as life it self.

A consideration sufficient to depretiate and vilify all the entertainments and interests of the Animal life, and to call off our care from the objects of secular Happiness tho there were no other vanity in them. For were they never so good and solid in themselves, yet the Foun­dation on which they stand is so weak and rot­ten, that 'tis dangerous leaning hard upon them. They would be even upon this supposi­tion like Nebuchadnezzar's statue, made up in­deed of rich metal, but founded upon feet of clay. And upon this account they are to be e­steem'd as vile and contemptible as they are ruinous.

[Page 180]This is a consideration indeed that has but little effect in the world, and the reason is be­cause few give any serious heed and attention to it. They know it indeed habitually, and must confess it if put to the question, but it lies Dor­mant in 'em, and they seldom actually attend to it. And therefore 'tis that the voice bids the Prophet Isaiah, Cry and proclaim it aloud that all flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof as the flower of the field. He is bid to cry aloud, thereby intimating both the importance of the thing, and the general stupidity of men in not considering it.

But if men would but often and seriously me­ditate upon the shortness and uncertainty of life, I perswade my self they would not set their hearts much upon any thing in it, but would look upon all its Pleasures, Honours and Profits with the same indifferency that the hasty Tra­veller does upon the specious fields and mea­dows which he passes by. For to what purpose I pray, should man who holds his Tenement here by such a short and unstable Tenure, that can't live long and may dye presently, be so busy and thoughtful about worldly concerns? The ancient Patriarchs, tho their span was so very much longer than ours, thought it hardly worth while to build houses, but contented themselves to grow gray in Tents; and what do we mean who in comparison to them are but [...] (as Pindar calls us) people for a day, by plunging [Page 181] our selves so deeply into care and trouble? Is there any thing among the actions of either Brutes or Mad-men so silly and irrational as this?

But to be a little particular, to what purpose should man who walketh in a vain shadow, dif­quiet himself also thus in vain, and be so gree­dy in heaping up riches when he can't tell who shall gather them? To what purpose should a man trouble both the world's and his own rest to make himself great? For besides the empti­ness of the thing, the Play will quickly be done, and the Actors must all retire into a state of e­quality, and then it matters not who personat­ed the Emperor, or who the Slave. To what purpose should a man be very earnest in the per­suit of Fame? He must shortly dye, and so must those too who admire him. Nay I could al­most say, to what purpose should a man lay himself out upon study, and drudge so labo­riously in the Mines of Learning? He's no sooner a little wiser than his Brethren, but Death thinks him ripe for his sickle, and for ought we know after all his pains and industry, in the next world an Ideot or a Mechanic will be as forward as he. To what purpose lastly does a Tyrant oppress his people, transgress those bounds which wise Nature has set him, invade his neighbor's Countrys, deprive the innocent and peaceable of their Liberty, sack Cities, plunder Provinces, depopulate Kingdoms and [Page 182] almost put the foundations of the Earth out of course, to what purpose is all this? Thou Fool, says our B. Saviour, this night thy Soul shall be re­quired of thee, and then whose shall those things be which thou hast provided?

There is certainly nothing in all Nature so strange and unaccountable as the actions of some men. They see, as the Psalmist speaks, that wise men also dye and perish together as well as the ignorant and foolish, and leave their riches for others, and yet they think (at least act as if they did) that their houses shall continue for ever, and that their dwelling places shall endure from one generation to another, and call their lands after their own names.

This they think is their wisdom, but the Psal­mist assures them 'tis their foolishness, and such a foolishness too as makes them comparable to the Beasts that perish, however their Posterity may praise their saying. And certainly the Learned Apostle was of the same mind, when from this Principle, The time is short, he dedu­ces the very same conclusion we have hitherto pleaded for, that we should be very indifferent and unconcern'd about any worldly good or e­vil, that they that have wives should be as tho they had none, and they that weep as the they wept not, they that rejoice as tho they rejoiced not, they that buy as tho they possest not, and they that use this world as not abusing it, for the fashion of this world passes away. It does so, and for that reason [Page 183] there is nothing in this life to be very much lov'd, or very much fear'd, especially if we con­sider what a grand interest we have all of us at stake in the other world. For as 'tis▪ with the suf­ferings so is it with the enjoyments of this pre­sent time, they are neither of them worthy to be compared with the glory that shall be revealed.

We have seen how frivolous and unconcern­ing the greatest affairs of this world are, how unworthy to be made the objects of our solici­tude, much more to be the Business of our lives, we have weigh'd them in the Ballance, and they are found wanting. But man is a Creature of brisk and active facultys, and is there no em­ployment for him? yes, as God has furnish'd him with Powers, so also has he assign'd him a work, and such a one too as is to be perform'd with Fear and Trembling. There is a good fight to be fought, there is a whole Body of sin to be destroy'd, there are Passions to be mortify'd, Habits to be unlearnt, Affections to be purify'd, Vertuous and holy dispositions to be acquired, Acts of vertue to be opposed against Acts of sin, and Habits against Habits, in a word there is a Heaven to be obtain'd, and a Hell to be avoid­ed. This indeed is a great work, and of great concernment to be done, and such as calls for our principal, (I could almost say our whole) care and diligence. The great necessity of which for more distinctness sake, I shall represent in a few Considerations.