The Parable of the Pilgrim, Parable · Chapter 10
CAP. X.
Of leaving the world; and how thereby we recover our freedom.
AND now having reduced things to this ſtate, you may eſteem your ſelf deſerving the name of a Pilgrim, who forſakes his houſe, his wife, his children, and all he hath: making himſelf poor and naked, that he may travel in his journy more lightly and merrily when there is nothing left that may prove an impediment unto him. It may ſeem perhaps a very beggerly condition, but let me tell you this before I go any further, that if you can thus ſincerely part with all the world in heart and reſolution; you have got poſſeſſion of a thing which was never yours before, and is the greateſt riches upon earth, I mean your ſelf. We tell men that it is their duty to take their hearts wholly out of the hands of the world, to let nothing claim ſuch an intereſt in their affections, that it ſhould ſay I am yours and you are mine: And this ſtartles and affrights them; they think we are going to rifle their poſſeſſions and rob them of all their goods. But if they did ſee things in a true light and were not hoodwinkt with their paſſion, they would thank us for our advice, & think that we came to reſtore them a treaſure which they had loſt, and indeed till now had never injoyed.
You ſhall not take my word long for what I ſay; but you ſhall find before you have travelled very far, that you was never happy till you was looſed from thoſe bonds whereby your heart was tyed to worldly things; that you was never Maſter of any thing till you was ſtript ſtark naked of all your earthly affections. Now you will be your own man. Now you will be able to do as you will your ſelf, and to live according to your pleaſure. You will now have the power to diſpoſe of your time and your thoughts, and all things elſe belonging to you, as you ſhall think good. You will have the liberty to keep your ſelf company; to entertain your Saviour when he comes to viſit you; to enjoy God in quiet without any thing to diſturb you; to converſe with the other world as freely as you do with this. Whereas while your heart was chained to any of theſe things which I wiſh you to renounce, I appeal to you, whether you was not more theirs, then your own. Was you not forced to go whither they would have you? Did they not draw you from your ſelf at their pleaſure? Was you not bound to keep them company; to imploy your time in their ſervice and attendance? Did they not perpetually ingroſs your thoughts, and ſollicite your deſires, and exclude all things elſe beſide themſelves from having any place in your heart? In ſhort, was you not ever from home, and did you not alwayes live out of your ſelf? Let not your poverty then run in your mind though it ſhould be never ſo often objected to you, for you was never poſſeſſor of any thing till now: never rich till you became a Pilgrim: never Maſter of any thing till you was owner of your ſelf. Now you have recovered your freedom and your eaſe both together. Now you may do what you will, and you ſhall not ſuffer as you was wont. You can remember the torment I believe which you indured when any of thoſe things were either loſt or diminiſhed, to which you had ingaged your affections. You felt that if we love and cleave to any thing, we muſt be carried along with it. With all its changes (which in this uncertain world are not a few) we muſt ſuffer a change too. When it is in danger, we ſhake and tremble for fear. When it is impaired, we are wounded and cut at the heart for grief. When it is loſt, we ſcarce know where we are and cannot find ourſelves. And, in one word, we muſt follow the fortune of theſe worldly things if we be wedded to them; inſomuch, that there is no remedy but to ſue out a divorce preſently, becauſe it is an unlawful marriage. See then what an happineſs falls to your portion when this is once effected and your intereſts come to be ſeparated by parting you aſunder. Now you will not be concerned in any of the mutations of the world. Now any thing in it may depart, and not be followed with your lamentations. And, to ſpeak compendiouſly, there is nothing can go away from you, which ſhall carry you away too, but it will ſtill leave you your ſelf behind.
Let me incourage you therefore to take the name and weeds of a Pilgrim upon you, as your honour; and to wear them as a glorious mark of your freedom. Though you have given your heart heretofore to the world, yet let it know that you do not intend to leave it in her hands: but preſently call it back again that you may beſtow it upon a better Maſter. Do not we ſay that every Chriſtian muſt give himſelf to God, and is it not that which I have now perſwaded you to reſolve? But how ſhall a man give that which he hath not? And he hath not himſelf as I have proved, that hath let out his heart to the world. It is neceſſary then that you take it home again in order to your being his. You muſt be your own, that ſo you may give your ſelf to him. You muſt be reſtored into your own hand, that ſo you may have ſomething to offer up to his uſes. And did you never think in any ſickneſs that you was near to the gates of Death? I beſeech you tell me whether it was not a great trouble to you to find your ſelf ſo much in the power of other things that you could not reſign your ſelf to God? What miſery is there like to this to be ſo out of our own hands while we live; that we cannot yield our ſelves to our Maker when he would have us dye? To be tyed ſo faſt to other things, that we cannot go to him when he calls us? To feel that this thing holds us, and that pulls us, and the other even claſps about us, and ſayes, You muſt not leave us? If there were nothing elſe to thruſt you forward in your deſign, the thoughts of this miſery would be a ſufficient ſpur to you to quicken the execution of it. Reſtore your ſelf preſently to liberty again, and be a ſervant of the world no longer; if it be but for this reaſon only, that you may be free to dye. Leave the world as you found it: And ſeeing you muſt go naked as you came, do not ſtay for Death to pluck off your clothes, but ſtrip your ſelf, and owe your liberty to your own hands. It will not be long you are well aſſured ere that debt to nature muſt be paid; and then there cannot be a greater contentment, than to feel that you are your own at that hour: That you can diſpoſe of your ſelf to God without any lett or hindrance; and that you can dye in the freedom wherein you were born. If you ſtand ingaged to the world; it will be ſure to put in its claim and challenge an intereſt in you at that time. It will let you know that it is your Miſtris, and ſtill requires your ſervice. And therefore follow your reſolution and forſake it betime; that ſo it may not give you any trouble then, but ſuffer you to go out of it, as quietly and with as little care, as you came into it.
He ſpake theſe words with a great deal of heat, and with a tone expreſſing ſo much vehemency, that he could not have been more earneſt if he had been diſputing the liberty of his Country with thoſe, who intended to betray it. But on a ſudden repreſſing himſelf and letting his voyce fall a little, he told him that he would ſpare the reſt of his diſcourſe on this argument for ſome body that ſtood in greater need of it. For I perceive (ſaid he) that I have now to deal with an heart that hath already began its own deliverance, and whoſe wearineſs of the Worlds ſervice hath brought it hither to find out a better Maſter. Beſides (added he) it will not be prudent I think to burden you with many things at once: and we are admoniſhed alſo by the darkneſs which comes upon us, that it is time to take a ſhort repaſt and ſo commit our ſelves to reſt. I have an empty Bed which will be glad to receive a Pilgrim, or any one that hath ſet his face toward Jeruſalem, being dedicated long ago to Charity. And therefore if you intend to be ruled by me in all things, let me lay my injunctions upon you not to ſtir a foot to ſeek a lodging in any other place but in my houſe. It was a thing of no difficulty, you may eaſily think to perſwade a man to accept of that, which he much deſired, and had already prepared himſelf to beg. And therefore having made him his hearty acknowledgments for that offer and for all the good counſels he had beſtowed upon him, together with a promiſe to be obſequious to them; they ſate down to a frugal ſupper, and a while after commending themſelves to God they parted and went to Bed. I ſay to Bed; for they did not both betake themſelves to Reſt: The poor ſtranger's mind being toſſed with a thouſand thoughts, and travelling all night very hard to Jeruſalem. He had no ſooner put off his clothes, but he thought that this was a lively embleme of the condition to which he was to be reduced; and it put him in mind how he ought to ſtrip himſelf of all affections to the world. He took there a ſolemn leave of it, and bad it eternally farewell. And think not, ſaid he, to meet me again in the morning, and that I will put on my love to you as I do my garments; No, I vow that I would go ſtark naked if the one could not be reſumed without the other. Then he revolved in his mind all that he had heard of the way to Jeruſalem, together with the difficulties therein: which in the ſilent darkneſs of the night he muſed upon more deeply then perhaps he would have done at another time: There being a reſemblance he thought between the darkneſs and the afflictions he was to indure; and between the ſilence, and the patience he was to uſe. Theſe and ſuch like reflections ſucceeded ſo faſt one upon another, that they would not ſuffer him to cloſe his eyes till towards the morning light: When a weak ſlumber laying all his ſenſes aſleep and chaining up his reaſon, left only his imagination at liberty to rove about. And it had not preſſed many of the footſteps of things which his memory was imprinted withall, before the image of an ancient pious friend of his, dead long ago, and who had often perſwaded him to quit the world, preſented it ſelf before him. He was clothed in white rayment, and his countenance was very bright, but he approached him with the very ſame ſmiles in his face wherewith he uſed heretofore to run into his imbraces. This perſon he fancied he was going to meet as ſoon as he ſaw him come in at the door; but before he could ſtir, he thought he found him at his bed-ſide praying him not to ariſe. For (ſaid he) I muſt ſoon leave you, and am come only to expreſs to you the joy I have to find you in this Good mans houſe. Happy is he that hath met with a faithful Guide; but far happier is he who follows his Advice. Make not too much haſte to be gone; ſtir not from hence till you be diſmiſſed. And then I hope we may one day meet, never to part again: But now I cannot be permitted to make a long ſtay with you. This ſight, but eſpecially his ſpeech, gave him ſuch a ſentiment of joy, that he hath often ſince profeſſed he never felt the like, nor had any power to deſcribe it. Yet he wiſhed afterward that it had been leſs; for it brought him out of his ſlumber; and opening his eyes, chaſed away that fair Idaea, whoſe company he would fain have enjoyed a little longer. So agreeable was that object to him, and ſo delectable did it render that moment or two wherein it appeared, that his ſpirits were as much refreſhed thereby, as if they had been ſteeped all the night in the dews of ſleep. Not hoping therefore, nor wiſhing to have his eyes ſhut again (unleſſe it were to behold that friend) he left his Bed, and prepared himſelf to welcome his Hoſt whom he heard already ſtirring and calling up his ſervants. He comforted himſelf alſo with this pleaſant thought, that he was awaked to ſee a friend, whoſe company he ſhould not to loſe ſo ſoon, and in whoſe ſociety he might rejoyce without fearing to make him vaniſh out of his ſight.