It is strictly true, that man’s salvation dependeth upon himself; and it is as strictly true, that _all the work_ of his salvation, is _solely_ the work of God in his soul. All his salvation dependeth upon himself, because his _will_ has its power of motion in itself. As a will, it can only receive that which it willeth; every thing else is absolutely shut out of it. For it is the unalterable nature of the will, that it cannot possibly receive any thing into it, but that which it _willeth_; its willing is its only power of receiving; and therefore there can be no possible entrance for God or heaven into the soul, till the _will_ of the soul desireth it; and thus all man’s salvation dependeth upon himself. On the other hand, nothing can create, effect, the divine life in the soul, but that _Spirit_ of God, which brings forth the divine life in heaven. And thus the _work_ of our salvation is wholly and solely the work of God, dwelling and operating in us. Thus, you see that God is all; that nothing but _his life_ and _working-power_ in us, can be our salvation; and yet that nothing but the _spirit of prayer_ can make it _possible_ for us to have it. And therefore neither you, nor any other human soul, can be _without_ the operation of the Spirit of God in it, but because its _will_ or its spirit of _prayer_ is turned towards something else; for we are always in union with _that_, with which our will is united. Again: Look at the light and air of this world, you see with what a freedom of communication they _overflow_ and _enliven_ every thing; they enter every where, if not hindered by _something_ that withstands their entrance. This may represent to you the _ever-overflowing_, free communication of the light and Spirit of God, to every human soul. They are every where; we are encompassed with them; our souls are as near to them, as our bodies are to the light and air of this world; nothing shuts them out of us, but the will and desire of our souls turned from them, and _praying_ for something else. I say, _praying_ for something else; for you are to notice this as a certain truth, that every man’s life is a _continual state_ of prayer; he is no moment free from it, nor can possibly be so. For all our natural tempers, be they what they will, ambition, covetousness, selfishness, worldly-mindedness, pride, envy, hatred, malice, or any other lust whatever, are all of them in reality only so many different _forms_ of a _spirit of prayer_, which is as inseparable from the heart, as weight is from the body. For every natural temper is a manifestation of the desire and prayer of the heart, and shews us, how it works and wills. And as the heart worketh, and willeth, _such_, and no other, is its prayer. All else is only _form_ and _fiction_, and empty beating of the air. If therefore the desire of the heart is not habitually turned towards God, we are necessarily in a state of prayer towards something else, that carries us from God. For this is the necessity of our nature; pray we must, as sure as we are alive; and therefore when the state of our heart is not a spirit of prayer to God, we pray _without ceasing_ to some or other part of the creation. The man whose heart habitually tends towards the riches, honours, powers, or pleasures of this life, is in a _continual_ state of prayer towards all these things. His spirit stands always _bent_ towards them; they have his hope, his love, his faith, and are the many gods that he worships: And tho’ when he is upon his knees, and uses forms of prayer, he directs them to the God of heaven; yet these are in reality the gods of his heart, and in a sad sense of the words, he really worships them in spirit and in truth. Hence you may see how it comes to pass, that there is so much praying, and yet so little true piety amongst us. The _bells_ are daily calling us to church, our _closets_ abound with _manuals_ of devotion, yet how little fruit! It is all for this reason, because our prayers are not _our own_; they are not the abundance of _our own_ heart; are not _found_ and _felt_ within us, as we feel our own hunger and thirst; but are only so many _borrowed forms_ of speech, which we use at certain times, and occasions. And therefore it is no wonder that little good comes of it. What benefit could it have been to the _Pharisee_, if, with an heart inwardly full of its own pride and self-exaltation, he had outwardly hung down his head, smote upon his breast, and borrowed the _Publican_’s words, _God be merciful to me a sinner_? What greater good can be expected from our saying the words of _David_, or singing his psalms seven times a day, if our heart hath no more of the spirit of _David_ in it, than the heart of the _Pharisee_ had, of the spirit of the humble _Publican_?
_Academicus._ O _Theophilus_, I consent to what you say; and yet I am afraid of following you: for you seem to condemn forms of prayer in public, and _manuals_ of devotion in private.