The Love of God

Jonathan Mayhew

That which renders it a matter of the highest importance to examine with freedom into moral and religious subjects, is not so much the advantage simply of knowing what is true and right, as the necessity of this in order to true and right action. It is scarce of any importance to us to gain a speculative knowledge of true religion, but as this has a relation to practice and may teach us what temper of mind towards our Creator and one another we ought to cultivate, and what an external conduct we ought to adorn our lives with in order to answer the end of our being, in order to our filling up our place in the creation and acting our part well in the great drama of the world. This is the view which ought to accompany all our inquiries into religious subjects. If we are solicitous only about knowing what is true and right, and terminate our desires in such knowledge, we pursue as an end what ought to be looked upon only a means to somewhat farther and beyond, viz., such a conduct as may render us acceptable to our Creator, and lay the foundation for rational happiness here and hereafter. Knowledge can hardly be said to be valuable for its own sake, but only as it may be improved to good and excellent purposes. Nor is it eventually advantageous to us any farther than we conform ourselves to truth and right in our behaviour.

For what end does the mariner study the art of navigation? Not, surely, for this only or chiefly that he may please and amuse himself with the theory of it, but rather that he may be able to steer his course aright through the ocean and arrive safe at length at the port for which he is bound. Without applying his knowledge in this way, all the advantage it will be to him is that of being shipwrecked with his eyes open, while others run upon ruin blindfold, and purely through ignorance. —We also are mariners, bound to another country, to another world. We sail at present upon a boisterous stormy ocean, in which we are in danger of suffering shipwreck. For the moral world, as well as the natural, has its rocks and whirlpools, its Scylla and Charybdis, and a thousand enchanting Sirens. To know the middle and safe way will not secure us, unless we keep in it and avoid the danger on either hand. And to be castaways through our own negligence, while we know the course we should steer, instead of diminishing, will augment our sorrow. Religious knowledge, applied to its true ends and purposes, is the only knowledge that can be finally profitable and gainful, for, to use the words of St. James with a little variation, “as the body without the spirit is dead, so knowledge without practice, is dead also” [James 2:26]. And it is the voice of reason as well as revelation that “the servant that knows his Lord's will, and doth it not, shall be beaten with many stripes” [Luke 12:47]. What, then, has our Lord declared to us to be his will? And what does he require of us? One of the most comprehensive accounts of our duty towards our Maker, and each other, is contained in the words which I have chosen for the subject of the present discourse. They are the words of our Lord Jesus Christ to a person whom the historian styles “a lawyer,” in answer to an important question, but proposed by him, perhaps, with no very good intention. The question to be resolved was this: “Which is the great commandment in the law?” And our Lord determines it in this manner: “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it: Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thy self. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.” In discoursing upon these words I shall inquire

I. Into the nature and obligation of the two duties here mentioned—the love of God, and of our neighbour.

II. In what sense, and upon what account it is said, that to love God, is the first and great commandment.

III. What our Lord intends by the assertion that “on these two commandments,” viz., the love of God and of our neighbour, “hang all the law and the prophets.”

IV. And lastly, I shall endeavour to show that these two commandments have the same place and preeminence under the gospel dispensation, which they had under the legal; or, that all the Gospel of Jesus Christ hangs on these two commandments, in the same sense in which all the law and the prophets did.

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I. Then, let us inquire distinctly into the nature and obligation of the two duties here mentioned, the first of which is expressed thus: “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.”

We know that in scripture language, and indeed in common discourse, it is usual for one duty or virtue to stand for all the rest. A righteous, a godly, a merciful, a just, or an upright man often signifies a good man in general. And so, when we are commanded to love or fear God, or to work righteousness, the meaning is not that we should practice only the particular duty mentioned, as distinguished from others, but often, at least, that we should become good men in general, and walk in all the commandments and ordinances of the Lord blameless. And this is the sense which is sometimes put upon the precept now under consideration. However it seems plain that this cannot be the true intention of it, for were it to be understood in this latitude, as enjoining obedience to the commandments in general, it would include in it the love of our neighbour, which is expressly distinguished, in this place, from the love of God. Here is plainly a comparison made between two commandments, one of which is said to be the first and great commandment, and the other to be like unto it. This, therefore, which is styled the first, must be altogether distinct from that with which it is compared. Love is, indeed, the duty enjoined in both, but the object of the first is our Creator only, of the latter only our fellow-creatures. This precept, therefore, does not include any of the duties of the second table of the moral law, as they are commonly called. The most it enjoins is all the duties of the first table, as distinguished from those of the second. But, if I mistake not, this command still admits and requires a farther limitation. It enjoins certain dispositions and affections of the heart towards God, as distinguished from all external acts of devotion and religion, such as praying, offering sacrifices, fasting, observing sabbaths and ordinances, etc. The manner in which the precept is expressed seems to mew that the duty it enjoins is wholly internal—“thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart,” i.e., sincerely and unfeignedly—“and with all thy soul”—in the exercise of thy understanding and rational faculties—“and with all thy mind”—freely, voluntarily, without reluctance or constraint. These expressions seem to relate wholly to the mind. And that which determines this to be the true intention of the command is what we find in the parallel place in another Evangelist. St. Mark relates the story of a person's coming to our Saviour with the same question which is here answered, and the answer to it is in effect the same. Upon which the Scribe (as he is called in St. Mark) replied thus: “Master, thou hast said the truth; for there is one God, and to love him with all the heart—is more than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices.”—From this reply of the Scribe, it appears that, in proposing his question just before, he had a particular eye to the external services required under the Law, compared with an inward regard to God and sincere benevolence to mankind, and that he accordingly understood our Lord, in his answer, as making a distinction and comparison, not only between the duties of the first and second table, but also between the several duties of the first table, and preferring the internal love and reverence of God to all burnt offerings and sacrifices, and consequently to all external acts of piety and devotion, as enjoined in the ceremonial law. This is plainly the sense of the Scribe; and it is equally evident that our Lord approved his sense, for it follows immediately in the next verse: “And when Jesus saw that he answered discretely, he said unto him, ‘Thou art not far from the kingdom of God.’” I shall, therefore, take it for granted, or rather proved, that the precept, which our Lord calls the first and great commandment, is distinguished not only from all the duties of the second table, but likewise from many of the first, particularly from all external acts of devotion, from all rites and ceremonies and legal institutions, and in short from all duties whatever, besides those internal ones of the heart and affections, and of which God is the only and the immediate object. The duty here required is wholly a spiritual sacrifice, and the heart is the only altar upon which it is to be offered. Accordingly, in the following discourse, we shall have no concern with anything besides the inward sentiments of the heart, the dispositions and sallies of the soul towards its Creator, the Father of spirits. But let none think I am going to inculcate enthusiasm, because I speak of the religion and devotion of the heart.  I propose to speak of nothing but what has its foundation in scripture and the nature of things. Nor will any enthusiasm be encouraged, besides that which sober reason requires.

What then is it to love the Lord our God, in the sense of the text? Or wherein does this duty consist? I answer in general that it consists in exercising those internal regards towards our Maker, which the perfections of his nature, and our relation to him, require. And here I shall not spend time to prove, but take it for granted, that God is infinite in power, knowledge and goodness, that he is able to perform whatever he pleases, that he knows universally what is wisest and best, and that the moral rectitude of his nature is such that his will and actions are always conformable to truth and right, that as he created all things, so he constantly upholds them and governs them with perfect wisdom and equity, accommodating and tempering his laws to the common good of his creatures, that as he is the father of all, so his government is paternal, free from all unnecessary rigor, uniform and steady, in opposition to all capriciousness and arbitrary proceedings, and finally, in the words of the Psalmist, that he “is good to all, and his tender mercies, over all his works” [Ps. 145:9].

It is sufficient to our present purpose just to have hinted in this general way at the character and perfections of God, for it being supposed that he is really such a Being, it will not, perhaps, be very difficult to point out the principal of those movements of mind and internal regards which are due to him, and so to ascertain the nature of the duty under consideration. And I think the various things included in this important and comprehensive duty of loving God may not unfitly be reduced to the following heads: Love, in a strict restrained sense— Gratitude —-Desire of the divine approbation, and delight in the consciousness of it —Trust in, and dependence upon, God—Absolute resignation of heart to his will —and lastly, Joy in the consideration of our filial relation to him.

What I mentioned first, was the love of God in the strict restrained sense of the word. By this I do not intend those flashy and rapturous sallies of the heart towards God, which may proceed only from a fond conceit that we are singled out to be the peculiar favourites of heaven. We may easily fall into an ecstasy and run mad in religious contemplation, without having anything of that divine love which is due to the perfections of our Creator. The love of God is a steady, sober, calm and rational thing, the result of thought and consideration—It is indeed a passion, but a passion excited by reason presenting the proper object of it to the mind. Nor ought we to be so solicitous about avoiding one extreme, as to fall into the contrary. We ought not to run so far from enthusiasm, as to lose sight of real devotion; we ought not to be so fond of a rational religion, as to suppose that religion consist wholly in cold dry speculation, without having any concern with the affections. Real piety necessarily supposes that the heart is touched, affected, warmed, inflamed, and not barely that we have right speculative notions concerning God. A religion consisting in nothing but a knowledge of God's attributes, and an external conduct agreeable to his laws, would be a lifeless insipid thing. It would be neither a source of happiness to ourselves, nor recommend us to the approbation of him who requires us to give him our heart.

Indeed St. John says that “this is the love of God, that we keep his Commandments” [1 John 5:3]. But it is plain, both from the nature of the thing itself, and from the design of the apostle in this place, that his meaning is no more than this: that the natural effect or consequence of love to God is obedience to his commandments, and not, strictly speaking, that keeping the commandments is a proper definition of the love of God. These are evidently two distinct things, as distinct as love and obedience to any other being or person, or as any two things whatever. And how close a connection soever there may be between them, they ought not to be confounded. It is evident, at first view, that this command, “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind,” carries in it something altogether different from an injunction of external obedience. The precept relates to the heart and affections, as distinguished even from the understanding, whereby we discern and contemplate the divine perfections—and much more distinct from all external actions of what kind soever. Let anyone see whether the following passages in the writings of the royal poet and prophet do not carry in them the warmest expressions of inward esteem, approbation and love: “Whom have I in heaven but thee? And there is nothing upon earth that I desire besides thee; My flesh and my heart faileth me; but God is the strength of my heart, and my portion for ever”[Ps. 73:25-26]. “Like as the hart panteth after the water-brooks, so longeth my soul after thee, O God. My soul is athirst for God; yea even for the living God. When shall I come and appear before him!” [Ps. 42:1-2]—It is plain that this is the language not barely of reason, but of passion and fervour and emotion of spirit. Nor can any tolerable account be given of these, and such like expressions in the devotional parts of scripture, without supposing that the affections of those who uttered them were raised to a great degree of warmth, and that they terminated in God himself, as their proper and ultimate object, without regard to any farther or future advantage: they terminated in him as their end, in much the same manner that our animal affections and appetites center in their respective objects. Nor is there anything that is absurd or romantic in this supposition, anything that will not approve itself to our understandings upon the closest examination.

There is a natural distinction between actions and characters, some being in themselves morally good, and others evil. Mankind have faculties for discerning these moral differences; and what is in itself right and good, is also in itself amiable in the eye of every rational being: it is in itself right to approve and love what is right, and wrong to approve and love what is wrong. Our Creator, besides endowing us with reason to distinguish between moral good and evil, has moreover given us another faculty, which is sometimes called a moral sense—and which St. Paul speaks of under the titles of “the law written in the heart” and “the law of the mind.” By virtue of this faculty, moral good and evil, when they are objects to our minds, affect us in a very different manner, the first affording us pleasure, the other pain and uneasiness—and this, as unavoidably as the eye is differently affected with regular and irregular figures in body, or the ear with the most grateful harmony and the most harsh and grating discord. I say “as unavoidably,” but neither of them is absolutely unavoidable. There are some who have no ear for music, and others who have no eye for architecture, painting or statuary. And so there are some, perhaps, who have little or no taste in morals. However, as to the latter, this is not the natural state of their minds, but proceeds from their abusing and perverting nature. (And all our animal senses may be viciated also.) But take a man who has not violated frequently the natural law of his mind, and he can no more approve of what is commonly called malevolence, cruelty and injustice, than skillful architect can approve of the most irregular and awkward pile of building. And on the other hand, he can no more hate and nauseate what appears to be honest, generous and benevolent, than the other can be displeased at the sight of an edifice, all the parts of which are adjusted by the exactest rules of proportion, and the whole brought to the greatest perfection of art. What man, for example, who is not become depraved to a great degree in his own moral character, can read the contrary characters of Cataline and Socrates with the same complacency? Can he that has any remains of virtue help being fired with indignation at the baseness and perfidy of the former, and with love at the virtue and integrity of the latter? Does a man that lives by plunder, that swells his stores by rapine, and fattens on the blood of the innocent, appear as amiable as one that, as Job elegantly expresses it, is “eyes to the blind, and feet to the lame” [Job 29:15]? One whose benevolence is diffused to all about him? None can avoid looking upon the former as the proper object of displeasure, and upon the latter as the proper object of love and complacency, although his own interest is no ways affected by the conduct of either.

But what relation, it may be asked, has all this discourse to the love of God? I answer, a very near relation: for God, according to the supposition mentioned above, is perfect in all those moral qualities and excellencies which we esteem amiable in mankind, and which if any man does not esteem and admire and love, he is looked upon as a monster, debased below humanity, and unworthy to be reckoned among rational creatures. Now if it be reasonable to esteem and love our fellowmen in proportion to their justice, integrity and benevolence, must not he who is perfect in all moral excellence be in proportion the proper object of those same affections? The goodness of God so far transcends that of the best of his creatures, that our blessed Saviour has told us, “There is none good but one, that is God [Mark 10:18]. The most that any can pretend to, without arrogating too much to themselves, is a faint resemblance of the divine perfections. And can it be reasonable to love and admire the mere portrait of moral excellence, and to let the substance, the source and standard of it, remain unregarded? If goodness in a limited degree be worthy the esteem of all rational beings, shall not that goodness that is without bounds, and absolutely perfect, be thought worthy to excite in all a real inward esteem also? An hearty and sincere complacency? An ardent inextinguishable love? A love “strong as death”? A love which “many waters cannot quench,” nor “the floods drown”? [Cant. 8:6, 7]. In this there is no enthusiasm; in this there is nothing unreasonable and fanciful, for undoubtedly those qualities, which being found in a limited degree are really amiable, do not cease to be so when they become infinite, but instead of this, become infinitely amiable.

Were it possible for us to contemplate the divine perfections without considering our own relation to God, our own dependence upon him, and his providential care of us—could we consider him only as exercising his moral perfections towards other beings with whom we have no concern—still it would be rational to love and esteem him, for these perfections are in themselves amiable, and consequently they are so to all beings who are capable of discerning them. And we find ourselves in a manner necessitated to love those virtuous characters which we meet with in history—characters of men who lived in remote ages and distant parts of the globe, although our own interest neither has, nor can be, any ways affected by their virtue. And thus also the moral perfections of God demand our love, separate from the consideration of our own particular relation to him. But when we consider him under the notion of being our Creator, our moral Governor, our Father, our Friend, our Patron, this brings the matter home to ourselves, and tends still farther to endear him to us.

And this naturally brings us to another of those religious regards which we owe immediately to God: I mean gratitude. This is nearly allied to the former, but entirely distinct from it. The love of God, in the most proper sense of it, is an inward esteem and delightful admiration of the divine perfections, without the consideration of any good we have either received or expect from them. But gratitude has respect to something past; 'tis a thankful sense and recognition of certain benefits which we have actually received. And it is plain that if the moral attributes of God are in themselves a proper object of love, their being exerted in positive acts of goodness and beneficence to us, calls for the returns of gratitude. Ingratitude is always looked upon as an indication of a base, sordid and degenerate mind. It is what we cannot avoid condemning in those to whom we have shown favour in any instance; we expect, at least, that they should retain in their minds a sense of our munificence. All the world are agreed that this is what every man owes to his neighbour who has proved a benefactor to him. Why then mould not the same temper of mind take place in us with relation to God? If we think ourselves obliged to thank our fellowmen for those inconsiderable favours, which they are scarce more than the instruments of conveying to us, what degree of gratitude can be sufficient for us to exercise towards our constant and infinite Benefactor? Towards that Being to whom we are indebted for our existence, for all the faculties of our minds and bodies? That Being who is the original, voluntary bestower of all that is valuable and dear to us? That Being from whom descends “every good and every perfect gift” [James 1:17]? And as we are Christians, I may add, that Being who “so loved the world as to give his only begotten son that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life?” [John 3:16]—“What shall I render to the Lord for all his benefits?” [Ps. 116:12]. “Bless the Lord, O my soul; and all that is within me praise his holy name. Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits. He hath redeemed thy life from destruction: he hath crowned thee with loving kindness and tender mercies” [Ps. 103:1-4].

But to proceed—Another branch of that religious temper of mind which is implied in the love of God, is a desire of his approbation and delight in the consciousness or the prospect of it. We desire to be thought favourably of by mankind; and to be thought so by the wise and good yields no small satisfaction to ingenuous and virtuous minds. But as God is the only perfect judge of real merit, to gain his approbation ought to be the highest ambition of every reasonable creature. We are apt to lay traps and snares to catch the fluttering applauses of the multitude, and delight to be hosanna’d by them. But are they the supreme judges of what is really worthy of applause? Is it reasonable to be solicitous about the sentiments of the world concerning us, and to take no thought about the approbation of the great Inspector and Censor of that world whose esteem we court? No man that has any just conceptions of God's perfections can be regardless with what eye he views his conduct upon that stage where his place of action is assigned him. God himself is a spectator in this great theatre of the universe. A desire of his applause, therefore, and of the honour that comes from him, should in a manner exclude all lower ambition from our breasts. And the prospect of it must afford the highest satisfaction to every virtuous man, without the consideration of any reward consequent thereupon. The approbation of a perfect judge is itself a reward. Nor is there really any pious regard to the sentence that God passes upon our behaviour, any farther than our hope and delight terminates in that sentence itself. This is divine ambition. But to look forward to some consequent advantage beside and beyond this is religious selfishness. However, even this is not to be condemned, although it does not strictly fall under the notion of piety. Piety respects God himself, and him alone.

To proceed—Trust in God and dependence upon him, as our portion and happiness, is a duty which his perfections, and our own weakness, requires we should live in the constant exercise of. None of us need to be informed of the internal want and poverty of our nature; we all feel it in a greater or less degree. It is the sense of this inefficiency at home that makes us rove abroad after some foreign support.[1] We have commonly recourse to diversions and amusements, to the company and conversation of our Friends, to mammon, and animal pleasures. Upon things of this nature we lean for support; upon these we depend for that sedate happiness and satisfaction, which our penurious nature craves. But they are found to be absolutely insufficient to answer this purpose. Our inborn third of happiness is not to be allayed with such shallow draughts as these. “Vanity of vanities,” said Solomon, “all is vanity and vexation of spirit” [Eccl. 1:2, 14], after he had searched a long time for substantial happiness in worldly possessions and enjoyments. The most that these things have it in their power to do, is to intoxicate us for a little while, and so to make us think ourselves great and happy. But as soon as we grow sober, and come to ourselves again, the fool's paradise, and the airy castles disappear: we find our wants remaining and soliciting for something else. The constant language of our hearts is: “Who will show us any good?”[Ps. 4:6]—Who will do the friendly office to point us to our happiness? Now whither shall we go to find something that may fill our minds, and afford us a sincere, constant and uniform satisfaction? Is there no object that is adequate to our wants and capacities? None that may be firmly relied and depended on, as a certain source of quiet and happiness? Doubtless there is; and indeed that Object “is not far from every one of us: for in God we live and move and have our being” [Acts 17:27-28]. His power, wisdom and goodness may be a prop to our tottering and desponding spirits; and if we please we may enjoy present happiness in relying upon the care of his providence. We may thus get rid of all our wants at once: of all our anxiety and solicitude about “what may be on the morrow” [James 4:14]. He, without whom “a sparrow cannot fall to the ground” [Matt. 10:29], He that “opens his hand, and satisfieth the desire of every living thing” [Ps. 145:16], He that even “heareth the young ravens when they cry,” cannot fail to provide suitably for “us who are his offspring” [Acts 17:28]; “the very hairs of our head are all numbered by him” [Matt. 10:30], and we may “cast all our cares upon him,” as the apostle expresses it; “for he careth for us” [1 Pet. 5:7] —“Behold the fowls of the air,” says our blessed Saviour, “for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?… Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow, they toil not, neither do they spin: And yet I say unto you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these….Therefore take no thought for the morrow; for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself; sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof” [Matt. 6:26, 28-29, 34]. Obedience to this command, understood with such limitations as common sense suggests, would disburden us of a thousand fruitless cares and be a source of constant serenity to our minds in this various scene, this inconstant ocean we are passing through. The consideration of an universal kind providence presiding over the world is, to them that will give themselves time to attend to it, a ground of continual peace and composure of soul. All we need concern ourselves about is to do our own duty; the rest belongs to God, and he will doubtless do his part well. And they that “put their trust” in him will have no cause to “be ashamed” [Ps. 25:3], but find their expectations answered to the full. He that is conscious of the integrity of his own heart, may have confidence towards God and exult in the language of David, in hope of happiness both here and hereafter — “God is my refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not I fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains thereof be carried, into the midst of the sea, though the waters thereof roar and be troubled; though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God [Ps. 46:1-4]. “Because he is at my right hand, I shall not be moved. Therefore my heart is glad, and my glory rejoiceth; myself also shall rest in hope” [Ps. 16:8-9].

Near akin to that trust and confidence in God now mentioned is absolute resignation to his will in all cases and circumstances. There are indeed some things which, in one sense, will unavoidably give us uneasiness, such as sickness, the loss of our deceased Friends, and ill usage from our surviving ones, and the like. It is in vain to attempt to throw off human nature so far as not to be in any measure moved with things of this kind. But it is our indispensable duty to discharge our minds of all murmurings at providence, and to acquiesce patiently in the lot assigned us. Things could not, upon the whole, have been better ordered than they are, if the world be really under the government of a perfect Being. When we consider that “known unto God are all his works from the beginning” [Acts 15:18], his whole scheme and plan of government, and that by the goodness of His nature, he is disposed to order every event through the boundless universe, and through all periods of time, so that all shall finally concur, to promote the common happiness of his creatures, what reason have we to be submissive in all circumstances and to say with our blessed Saviour, “Not my will, but thine, be done!” [Luke 22:42].

Upon this subject of resignation to the will of God, I shall beg leave to use the words of an admirable writer: “The consideration,” says he, “that the course of things is unalterable, hath a tendency to quiet the mind under it, to beget a submission of temper to it. But when we can add that this unalterable course is appointed and continued by infinite wisdom and goodness, how absolute should be our submission, how entire our trust and dependence?

“This would reconcile us to our condition, prevent all the supernumerary troubles arising from imagination—distant fears, impatience, all uneasiness besides that which necessarily arises from the calamities themselves we may be under. How many of our cares should we by this means be disburdened of—cares not properly our own, how apt soever they may be to intrude upon us, and we to admit them, the anxieties of expectation, solicitude about success and disappointment, which in truth are none of our concern? How open to every gratification would the mind be, which was clear of these encumbrances? Our resignation to the will of God may be said to be perfect when our will is lost and resolved up into his, when we rest in his will as our end, as being in itself most just and right and good. And where is the impossibility of such an affection to what is just and right and good, such a loyalty of a heart to the governor of the universe, as shall prevail over all sinister indirect desires of our own? Neither is this at bottom anything more than faith and honesty and fairness of mind, in a more enlarged sense indeed than those words are commonly used. And as in common cases, fear and hope and other passions are raised in us by their respective objects, so this submission of heart and soul and mind, this religious resignation, would be as naturally produced by our having just conceptions of almighty God and a real sense of his presence with us. In how low a degree soever this temper usually prevails amongst men, yet it is a temper right in itself. It is what we Owe to our Creator. It is particularly suitable to our mortal condition and what we should endeavour after for our own sakes in our passage through such a world as this, where is nothing upon which we can rest or depend, nothing but what we are liable to be deceived or disappointed in. Thus we might “acquaint ourselves with God, and be at peace” [Job 22:21]. This is piety and religion in the strictest sense, considered as an habit in the mind, an habitual sense of God's presence with us, being affected towards him as present, in the manner his superior nature requires from such a creature as man. This is to ‘walk with God.’” Thus the Bishop of Bristol.

But to submission to the divine will, we may fitly add even joy and triumph of heart in the consideration of our relation to God. The superintendency of divine providence, if conceived of in a right manner, is one of the most pleasurable and delightful considerations that can enter into the mind of a reasonable creature, sensible of his own weakness and various imperfections. Indeed, if instead of a wise and infinitely gracious Being, one whose kind regards are extended to all his intellectual creatures, and one who governs the world with a view at promoting the moral rectitude, and so of advancing the happiness of his creatures and offspring—I say, if instead of such a Being as this, we, in our imaginations, place at the head of the universe a capricious, humoursome and tyrannical Being, one who loves and hates at random and has no uniform, consistent, and benevolent design, we form a scheme of principles more destructive of rational happiness than that of Atheism itself. For any man had rather be left to the mercy of atoms, and fate, and chance, or any other chimerical Deity, than be subjected to the pleasure of such a monster, as an all-knowing, infinitely powerful Being, destitute of a steady, uniform principle of justice and goodness, delighting himself in the exercise of a wanton, licentious omnipotence—But whatever schemes of religion have been propagated, in which the supreme ruler of the universe is represented in such a gloomy and formidable dress as this, they are equally inconsistent with the religion of nature, and the religion of Jesus Christ. These teach us to look upon God as transcending all his creatures in mercy and goodness, no less than in power and greatness. Nor shall we behave ourselves as becomes our relation to him, unless we always think of him with inward joy and pleasure. What can be more unreasonable than for those who in God have a Father and Friend and Patron, one who is tenderly concerned for their welfare and does what he can confidently with the rules of wisdom to promote their best interests; what is more unreasonable than for such to entertain gloomy and melancholy thoughts and indulge superstitious fears and groundless suspicions? Were God a malevolent Being, were he an unreasonable Tyrant, were he an hard Master, were he an implacable and revengeful Being, instead of a merciful and faithful Creator, a compassionate Parent, a gentle Master, a righteous Judge—we might well think of him with horror and dread and even wish a period put to his existence. For whilst such a Being sways the scepter of the universe, no one can be secure a moment, but had better, were it possible, vanish into nothing, than have his future welfare depend upon the precarious pleasure of such a Sovereign. Such a Being were unworthy of any love, trust, confidence or reverence and would be the proper object of dread and horror and hatred to every rational creature. But God forbid that we should conceive of him in this manner. While God is our Father, while we are the objects of his love and care, while he looks on all our involuntary failings with an eye of pity, “remembering we are dust” [Ps. 103:14], and even passes by our willful sins upon our showing the tokens of contrition, while his liberal hand supplies our wants in this world, and while he offers us eternal happiness hereafter, upon the gracious terms of the gospel—what is there in this idea of God to make us fearful and uneasy? Does the idea of a Father carry any terror in it? Do we dread the thoughts of our gracious benefactor? Do we look upon our Father as our executioner, as Isaac looked upon Abraham? Do we tremble at being in his presence, imagining that he inspects our conduct with the sagacious malice of an Inquisitor, instead of the bowels of a parent? While the “fool says in his heart, there is no God” [Ps. 14:1], do we wish there was none? If so we are fools also. The doctrine of God's Being and providence is the most delightful and elevated subject of contemplation that can enter into the mind of man.[2] Upon the truth or falsehood of these great principles of natural and revealed religion depends the just idea of the universe and of our own situation, business, end, and expectations in it. And the whole system of nature immediately puts on a quite different face, if the notion of an overruling benevolent mind be excluded. The world, in that case, appears like a forlorn desolate wilderness, nor can we have any security or safe dependence upon anything. We know not to what infinite disorders and irregularities the whole world may run the next moment, and how soon all rational beings may be involved in ruin and misery—thoughts that excite the most terrible apprehensions in the mind of every considerate man. Such is the world without a providence—an helpless Orphan deprived of its vital animating principle, the support of the virtuous, the hope of the distressed, and a restraint upon unbridled lust and violence. But once establish the doctrine of a superintending providence, and Creation revives; it puts on its former cheerful countenance. If the world be under the government of a perfect Being, from this consideration naturally springs peace, tranquility, joy and satisfaction to every considerate man: “The Lord reigneth, let the earth rejoice. Let the multitudes of the isles be glad thereof. Righteousness and judgment are the habitation of his throne”[Ps. 97:1-2]—This is a consideration, which, instead of dejecting our minds and filling us with gloomy fears, ought to put us upon anticipating that triumphant song of the blessed: “And I heard a great voice of much people in heaven, saying Alleluia. Salvation and glory, and honour and power be unto the Lord our God, for true and righteous are his judgments…. Alleluia, for the Lord God omnipotent reigneth. Let us be glad and rejoice and give honour to him” (Rev. 19[:1-2, 6-7]).

Thus I have endeavoured to give some account of that religious temper of mind which I take to be enjoined in that precept which our Lord calls “the first and great commandment.” The next thing to be considered is the nature and obligation of the duty commonly called “the love of our neighbour.” But this must be left to another opportunity.

If it be possible that anyone should doubt of our obligation to love God in the sense above explained, let us reverse the scene and try whether we can approve a temper of mind contrary to this. Let us suppose the divine attributes and conduct to be the same with respect to mankind, as we have hitherto supposed them, and made the ground of our obligation to the duty we have been discoursing upon. But let us suppose that a people in some remote part of the globe, instead of making those returns of love, gratitude, etc. to God, thought it their duty to hate his infinite perfections, to blaspheme their Creator for his goodness to them, to dread his approbation, to court his displeasure, to be continually suspicious of him, to be discontented at the methods of his providence, and to mourn when they considered their filial relation to him and his paternal government over them—could we approve of such a scheme as this? Could we think that those who embraced it were in their right minds? Or should we think that they were not barely destitute of what is called reason and common sense, but had some active principle directly contrary to it—a sort of anti-rational faculty? —Well then, there is no medium between these two, unless we suppose that God is not to be regarded by us in any manner at all—than which, nothing can be more absurd. If he be the object of any affections in the human constitution, it must either be of those of love, esteem, honour, reverence, or the contrary ones of hatred, resentment, anger, contempt, and the like. But we at first sight see the mocking absurdity of the latter supposition; the former therefore must be true. —Wherefore to conclude, let us consider of the relation which God stands in to us and of our obligations to him, and give him the glory that is due unto his name—“Great and marvellous are thy works, Lord God Almighty! Just and true are all thy ways, O thou King of nations! Who shall not fear thee, and glorify thy name!” [Rev. 15:3-4]. Who shall not admire thee, thou eternal, inexhaustible fountain of all good! Who shall not love thee, thou sovereign beauty! Thou great original of all perfection! “Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving, and honour and power and might, be unto our God for ever and ever” [Rev. 7:12], through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.