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2dly. It seems a little unequal and preposterous in these persons, to lay so great a stress on their fears in one respect, when they distrust them so much in another. For the state of their case is plainly this, that by a dread of divine vengeance they were at first scared from the practice of vice, and led into the paths of virtue : and it is the same religious dread that now inclines them to suspect, and condemn themselves, on that very account. They fear they have not repented in that manner they ought to have done, because their repentance was at first the effect of their fear; that is, they allow the suggestions of this passion to have a great deal of weight in the latter case, but none at all in the former. Which is at one and the same time, to pay too much and too little regard to it, and to condemn ourselves (as St. Paul elsewhere speaks) in that thing we allow, Rom. xiv. 22. And the judgments men pass on their own condition, from such inconsistent and confused views as these, must needs be very uncertain, and unfit to be relied on. Nay,

3dly. It is no slight token of a man's being really and sincerely good, and upon such principles and grounds as are well pleasing to God, in that he suspects himself not to be so since we rarely find any but the best and most religious minds, entertaining such little doubts, and encouraging such nice scruples as these. The bold presumptuous sinner goes on hardy in his way; careless and fearless; without looking backward to the point from whence he set out, or forward to the end of his journey. He repenteth not of his wickedness, (according to the description given of him by the prophet Jeremy), saying, what have I done? but turneth again to his course, as the horse rusheth into the battle, Jer. xviii. 6. The hypocrite, on the other side, is as secure and well satisfied in his way, having acted his part so long, as to come at last to think it real, and to deceive even his own heart, as well as the eyes and observations of others and contenting himself with a demure shew and face of religion, without any troublesome doubts or misgivings.

But it is the good and conscientious man chiefly, that is uneasy and dissatisfied with himself; always ready to condemn his own imperfections, and to suspect his own sincerity, upon the slightest occasions. He desires so much and earnestly to please God, that he can never think he pleases him as much as he ought to do. Every wry step by which he imagines himself to have declined from the path of duty, affrights him when he reflects on it; every the least obliquity in thought, word, and deed, seems considerable to him. So that these suspicions and godly jealousies do, I say, usually abound most there, where there is least need of them; and it is, generally speaking, a very good sign of a man's loving God heartily and in good earnest, when he begins to doubt, whether he loves him or no; and suspects even the best fruits of holiness, which shine in his life and practice, because he cannot look back with satisfaction on the principle of fear, from whence they flowed. And therefore these very scruples and jealousies, which he thus cherishes, concerning the goodness of his state, would really afford matter of sound comfort to him, if he had but skill and courage enough to make a right use of them.

II. In order to convince him of which truth, after premising these general reflections, I proceed now, as I proposed, more particularly and directly to prove,

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That a fear of God's wrath, and of eternal punishment, is a proper and sufficient motive to lead men to holiness." This will appear, if we consider,

1. The passion itself, its rise, nature and use.

2. The natural apprehensions we have of God, as a lawgiver, judge, and avenger.

3. The depth of sin, into which some men are plunged; and out of which, nothing but motives of terror and astonishment can possibly raise them.

1. The passion of fear is natural to us, and was given us by God for our safety and convenience; to warn us of impending dangers, and to put us upon finding out

proper ways for avoiding them. When therefore this passion imprints on our minds a lively sense of the punishment due to sin, of the displeasure of God, of the mighty and insupportable torments of hell: and doth from hence excite and quicken us into the practice of virtue; when it doth this, I say, it doth its duty, and serves the very end for which it was implanted in our nature. Every thing, that God made, is good; that is, there is some good use or other, to which it may be put. And certainly our fears must then be of the greatest use to us, when they are turned upon their most proper and important object, everlasting burnings. Do we think, they were designed to admonish us only of some slighter harms, which may reach our bodies, or our fortunes? to keep us awake and alarmed in relation to the evils of this life alone, without extending to those of another, as certain as these, and far greater than these in degree and duration? We may as well imagine, that reason was given us, merely as an help towards managing the little affairs of this present world to our advantage, without any regard to what is future; to make us wise and prudent in our short and momentary designs upon happiness, without assisting us in the discovery and pursuit of eternal felicity. Certainly, as man is a creature framed for religion, so every one of his faculties and affections was originally ordained to the same end that he himself was; and may therefore to that purpose be usefully, and is always most fitly employed. His fears therefore, and his hopes, and all the other passions that belong to the reasonable nature, were given him, as much for religious uses, as his very soul and his being were. So that when the terrors of the Lord persuade men, a natural end is served by a natural passion; and upon these terms, we may be sure, the author of our nature will not refuse our obedience.

2. This will further appear, in the next place, from the natural apprehensions we have of God, when we consider him as the object of our duty and service: it is plain, that we do then represent him to ourselves, as a lawgiver; that is, as one who prescribes a rule to our

actions, and will punish the breach of it. We cannot conceive him as giving a law without a sanction, that is, without representing him at the same time to ourselves, as enforcing that law with a threat, and securing the observance of it by some penalty annexed. This is the method of all inferior legislators, and is from thence easily and naturally transferred by us to the supreme. So that our first and most immediate conceptions of God, by which we are excited to our duty, involve in them this very motive we are so apt to suspect; and we cannot propose to ourselves the one, without feeling in some measure the powers and force of the other.

To observe God's laws under a prospect of reward, is what many of those, who reject a principle of dread, will not deny to be a reasonable and sufficient inducement to virtue. Now how our desiring a good should make what we do on that account acceptable in the eye of God, and yet that very thing be unacceptable, when done to avoid an evil; how the hope of reward should be a good motive, and yet the fear of losing that reward be an ill one, is hard to determine. It is on each side, the selfishness of the principle, and the mixture of our own interest with it, that seems to lessen its worth. And I cannot see, how our interest is less concerned in pursuing pleasure, than in flying pain.

Indeed, the noblest and most commendable reason of our serving God is, our love of him. God is love, and he chiefly delights in those disinterested duties which spring from that principle. However, he hath been pleased to condescend to the weakness, nay to the baseness, of our natures, and to accept our bounden duty and service, upon much lower terms. He hath thought fit to allure and to frighten us into obedience; and him that comes even this way to him, he will in no wise cast out.

3. To strengthen this proof yet further, let us, in the third place, take a view of the state and condition of profligate sinners. We shall find it to be such, that no

thing but terror can any ways lay hold of them. Is it possible for a man that is sunk into all manner of vice and impurity, to be struck on a sudden with the beauty of virtue and goodness, with the love of God, and of his infinite perfections? Can he (do we think) recover himself, by reflecting on the deformity and turpitude of sin, on the dignity of his nature, and of that divine character and resemblance, which he bears? Alas! let virtue be never so lovely, goodness never so desirable; yet he hath no eyes to see it, no heart to desire it. He hath lost the taste of every thing, but those very delights, in which he indulges himself; and reason is no longer reason to him, than it pleads for his enjoyments. Now what, I say, can possibly rouse such a creature as this, so lost to all ingenuous motives, but the sense of divine vengeance, and the dread of eternal punishments? The terrors of hell may still, perhaps, persuade him to consider (for fear will find an entrance where no other passion can), but to all arguments besides he is perfectly impenetrable.

Indeed, after that the wrath of God hath terrified him into reflections on his wretched state, and into resolutions of quitting it, there is room for other motives to come in, and finish the work thus begun; to improve his contrition, and raise his resentments, and build him up in the practice of all manner of holiness. But still the leading step towards repentance must, I say, proceed from his fear; which, therefore is a sure foundation for all penitents to build on, unless we can suppose that God ever leaves men in sin, without affording them any one proper motive to stir them up to virtue; an opinion not easily to be entertained of infinite goodness.

Why then should the pious Christian harbour any doubts of this kind in his breast? Oh, why should his soul be cast down, and his spirit disquieted within him? Psal. xlii. 9. There is no room for despondency of mind in such a state as his; no reason why that dread of divine wrath, which frightened him at first into the ways of virtue,

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