1

NIGHT THE SIXTH.

THE

INFIDEL RECLAIMED.

IN TWO PARTS.

CONTAINING

THE NATURE, PROOF, AND IMPORTANCE OF IMMORTALITY.

Part the First.

Where, among other Things,

GLORY AND RICHES ARE PARTICULARLY CONSIDERED.

To the Right Honourable

HENRY PELHAM,

FIRST LORD COMMISSIONER OF THE TREASURY, AND CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER,

PREFACE.

FEW ages have been deeper in dispute about religion than

this. The dispute about religion, and the practice of it, seldom go together. The shorter, therefore, the dispute, the better. I think it may be reduc'd to this single question. Is man immortal, or is he not? If he is not, all our disputes are mere amusements, or trials of skill. In this case, truth, reason, religion, which give our discourses such pomp and solemnity, are (as will be shewn) mere empty sound, without any meaning in them. But if man is immortal, it will behove him to be very serious about eternal consequences; or, in other words, to be truly religious. And this great fundamental truth, unestablished, or unawaken'd in the minds of men, is, I conceive, the real source and support of all our infidelity; how remote soever the particular objections advanced may seem to be from it. Sensible appearances affect most men much more than abstract reasonings; and we daily see bodies drop around us, but the soul is invisible. The power which inclination has over the judgment, is greater than can be well conceived by those that have not had an experience of it; and of what numbers is it the sad interest that souls should not survive! The heathen world confessed, that they rather hoped, than firmly believed immortality! And how many heathens have we still amongst us! The sacred page assures us, that life and immortality is brought to light by the Gospel: but by how many is the Gospel rejected, or overlooked! From these considerations, and

form my being, accidentally, privy to the sentiments of some particular persons, I have been long persuaded that most, if not all, our Infidels (whatever name they take, and whatever scheme, for argument's sake, and to keep themselves in countenance, they patronize) are supported in their deplorable error, by some doubt of their immortality at the bottom. And I am satisfied, that men once thoroughly convinced of their immortality, are not far from being Christians. For it is hard to conceive, that a man fully conscious eternal pain or happiness will certainly be his lot, should not earnestly and impartially inquire after the surest means of escaping one, and securing the other. And of such an earnest and impartial inquiry, I well know the consequence.

Here, therefore, in proof of this most fundamental truth, some plain arguments are offered; arguments derived from principles which Infidels admit in common with Believers; arguments, which appear to me altogether irresistible; and such as, I am satisfied, will have great weight with all, who give themselves the small trouble of looking seriously into their own bosoms, and of observing, with any tolerable degree of attention, what daily passes round about them in the world. If some arguments shall, here, occur, which others have declined, they are submitted, with all deference, to better judgments in this, of all points the most important. For, as to the Being of a God, that is no longer disputed; but it is undisputed for this reason only; viz. because, where the least pretence to reason is admitted, it must for ever be indisputable. And of consequence no man can be betrayed into a dispute of that nature by vanity; which has a principal share in animating our modern combatants against other articles of our Belief.

SHE* (for I know not yet her name in heaven)
Not early, like NARCISSA, left the scene;
Nor sudden, like PHILANDER. What avail?
This seeming mitigation but inflames;

This fancy'd med'cine heightens the disease.
The longer known, the closer still she grew;
And gradual parting is a gradual death.

'Tis the grim tyrant's engine, which extorts,
By tardy pressure's still-increasing weight,
From hardest hearts, confession of distress.

O the long, dark approach through years of pain, Death's gall'ry! (might I dare to call it so) With dismal doubt, and sable terror hung; Sick hope's pale lamp its only glimm'ring ray: There, fate my melancholy walk ordain'd, Forbid self-love itself to flatter, there, How oft I gaz'd, prophetically sad! How oft I saw her dead, while yet in smiles! In smiles she sunk her grief to lessen mine. She spoke me comfort, and increas'd my pain.

* Referring to Night the Fifth.