The Parable of the Pilgrim, Parable · Chapter 24
CAP. XXIV.
Ʋpon the Pilgrim's requeſt, the Guide enters into a further deſcription of the Pleaſures of the Way to Jeruſalem; and anſwers ſome ſcruples of his about it. The difficulty of the beginning of his journey. Of taking up the Croſs that might lye in his way; and ſuch like things.
I Will not undertake to expreſs to you the ſilent admiration wherewith the Pilgrim entertained this diſcourſe. He lookt upon him with no leſs wonder then if he had thought him an Envoyé from Heaven, and taken him to be diſpatched with a meſſage immediately from God to tranſport him thither. He was almoſt loſt in a new paſſion; and if it had not been for fear that the good man would here make an end if he did not intreat him to continue his diſcourſe, he had abandoned himſelf to thoſe pleaſant imaginations which the telling of that ſtory had raiſed in his mind. But recovering himſelf from their inticements, he got leave of them to ſpeak to his Guide to this effect. Ah Sir, what a favour have you done me? Into what a delightful train of thoughts have you lead me? It is impoſſible to relate the pleaſure you have now given me. I do not think that your ſelf can beſtow the like upon me by any other means, but only by making this Story a little longer. You do it a great deal of wrong I aſſure you, in calling it tedious; for if it were lawful to gratifie my ſelf in the way that I fancy moſt, I ſhould wiſh that it might laſt to the end of my life. You are a true Mercury indeed, the Orator of the Great King, the interpreter of God. You are ſent to do me a double kindneſs; firſt to be my Guide, and then to raviſh me into the way you ſhow me, by your eloquence. May not the caeleſtial natures be preſumed to have ſome Patience, as well as ſo much Charity? Shall I offend you if I deſire a more particular deſcription of the eaſe and pleaſure which you promiſe me in my way? Or cannot you ſtay ſo long as to pull a little ſcruple out of my mind, and tell me how this way can be ſo broad as your Story ſaith, ſince I have learnt of one more Sacred that it is ſtrait and narrow? I know I am indebted to you but too much for the favours you have already done me; And except it be in my hearty wiſhes I can never be ſo bountiful as you have been. But yet give me leave to ſay that this exceſſive freeneſs, is a temptation to run further into your debt. If you had been more reſerved at the firſt, you had made me more modeſt; but now that you have been ſo prodigal of your counſel, pardon me if I think that I have nothing elſe to accuſe of my confidence. If you would not have had me become ſuch a Beggar, you ſhould not have been ſo generous: you ſhould either have withheld your hand ſooner, or not be offended that I implore a freſh taſt of your liberality. Go on good Sir to add to my obligations: for though they are ſo great already that you force me to be ungrateful by leaving me no power, not ſo much as that of words, to thank you; yet let me ſee you take ſuch a pleaſure in doing of good that you think your ſelf ſufficiently paid for what you have done, by gaining mens will to a hearty deſire of receiving more.
I am no Maſter of eloquence, ſaid the Guide, but you are beholden as I told you to a Stranger for that pleaſant deſcription. It is enough for me if I can point at the way to Heaven, and give you ſome plain and familiar directions how to find it. But you muſt perſwade your ſelf to learn and follow thoſe inſtructions, and not expect the aſſiſtance of any Rhetorick of mine to woo your heart to intertain them. And truly if I may judge by what you juſt now ſaid, you have power enough in your own hands to charm your affections, and inſinuate what I teach you into their favour. You may be indebted to your ſelf more then to me; and owe your happineſs rather to your own perſwaſion, then any Oratory that I can imploy. But yet if you can be content with ſuch dry narrations as I am able to make, you cannot demand any thing with more eaſe, then I ſhall yield to the ſatisfaction of your deſires. It will be no trouble to me I aſſure you to prolong my diſcourſe on this delightful theme, and I ſhall more gratifie my ſelf thereby then oblige you; though I muſt needs ſay that I think there is not ſo much need of it as you may imagine. You may take this upon my credit, that you will better experiment the pleaſure of your way as you go along, then it is poſſible to perceive it by the moſt accurate deſcription which can be made of it by the pen or tongue of man. You have often no doubt taſted the ſweetneſs of honey: but ſuppoſe you had only ſeen the golden colour of it with your eyes, or only heard a graceful ſpeaker make an Oration in its praiſe; would either of theſe have made you acquainted with it, ſo well as one little lick with your tongue is able to do? The caſe is not at all different here, and therefore begin to proſecute your reſolution preſently of travelling to Jeruſalem; go to the wayes themſelves to learn their pleaſantneſs; for they will teach you more in an inſtant, then I can do by many of my long diſcourſes. But yet that you may not imagine I put you off, and refer you thither only to ſpare my pains, I ſhall at leaſt give you ſome ſatisfaction in the truth of what I ſay and convince your reaſon that you muſt needs find the wayes you are to paſs very delightful notwithſtanding all thoſe difficulties which you may meet withall.
All the actions of nature you will grant to be very pleaſant, for they flow from us with eaſe and facility; and they alſo tickle us as they paſs along becauſe they run ſmoothly and do not grate upon us. Now there is nothing plainer then that the wayes of Temperance, Charity, Truſt in God and ſuch like wherein you are to walk are moſt conformable to the right frame and conſtitution of your ſoul. You will move conſonantly to your own principles which God hath naturally indued you withall: you will but follow the inclination of rational nature and that in its higheſt improvement, which muſt needs yield you the higheſt delight and ſatisfaction. Will you but be pleaſed for the proof of this to aſk your ſoul a few Queſtions? I am confident if it go about to reſolve them, it will give it ſelf a ſenſe of the goodneſs of the paths of Piety; and without any other evidence then they carry in themſelves, it will pronounce that they are far eaſier and ſo infinitely more ſweet then any that oppoſe them. I appeal to you and to all the world whether it be not a buſineſs of quicker diſpatch to forgive an injury, then to take revenge for it? whether he doth not more ſeek his own eaſe and repoſe who ſtudyes to forget the malice of men towards him; then he that ſuffers the remembrance of it to ferment and boil perpetually in his mind? Is it not a buſineſs of leſs difficulty to be peaceable and quiet, then to be ever contending, quarrelling and falling out with our neighbours? And what toil is there in ſitting ſtill and not ſo much as lifting up our hands? and on the other ſide, what labour in fighting, and beating, and wounding one another? Is it not far more eaſie to hold ones peace, then to rail and revile as much as we pleaſe? Which puts us to more pains to ſay nothing but well of others, or to be alwayes finding fault, and ſtill ſpeaking evil of them? Meekneſs ſeems to me to be far leſs troubleſome then anger and rage. Charity is more eaſie and delightſome, then covetouſneſs and ſcraping up of wealth. To drink little is ſooner and eaſier done, then to drink and ſwill as if we were in a perpetual Feaver. And I cannot ſee what ſhould hinder you from confeſſing inſtantly that it is a thing of far more eaſe and facility to live by Faith in God, to depend on his providence in honeſt wayes, and to caſt our burden upon him; than to be alwayes careful and ſollicitous, to be ever vexing our ſelves with worldly thoughts, and to be deviſing ſhifts and naughty Arts how to get more than we need. Is it any burden to praiſe God for the bleſſings he ſends us? Or, Is it not more natural than to praiſe and commend our ſelves to which all men ſeem ſo forward? And how can it be ſo toilſome to pray to him for what we want, as it is to ſpend our time in a laborious diligence, without a ſerious and hearty acknowledgement of him? To be humble and modeſt is far more agreeable than to bear it high, and lift up our ſelves above others. It is nothing ſo hard to obey Governours, as to be turbulent, and fall into rebellion againſt them. Yea to ſuffer wrongs breeds us leſs moleſtation than to do them. To be patient creates us not half ſo much trouble, as it doth to vex, and fret, and ſume within our ſelves. To rejoyce in God is a thing that more gratifies, than all the pleaſures of ſenſe. And even to mourn for our ſins doth give us more ſatisfaction, than to mourn and grieve for worldly loſſes.
It would be a very eaſie matter, I beleeve you diſcern to make a long diſcourſe on this argment: as alſo to ſhew that beſides the eaſe and the pleaſure that there is in doing theſe things, they leave alſo a certain joy and contentment when they are done. They that hold the courſe into which you are entring, do feel that every ſtep they take leaves a certain print behind it, which it is an infinite delight to reflect upon. They enjoy a repoſe and ſecurity in their conſciences, which is not to be uttered: and remain in great tranquillity. all their lives. There is no body that can rob them of their pleaſures; neither can any man intercept them, and hinder them from coming into their ſouls: nor will they themſelves be ever weary of them, or deſire to make an exchange of them for ſome other contentment. There is no diſguſt in thoſe holy delights. They breed no diſlike by their frequent enjoyment. They depend not as others do on infinite circumſtances, whereof the want of any one makes them either odious or unprofitable: but they have a conſtant cauſe, and depend but upon one thing, which is alwayes preſent, and inſeparable from all good ſouls. They live without fear in their poſſeſſions; and without diſtruſt in their wants. They do not bluſh in the company of others; nor do they tremble when they are alone. They are not bitten with remorſe, nor covered with ſhame for what is paſt; and their preſent condition is not troubled with any diſquiet; and they have nothing but fair and goodly hopes for the time to come. In fine, they are the portion of God in the world, they are his treaſure; they are his delight and his joy: and whenſoever he makes them know ſo much, there is not an higher pleaſure that the heart of man is capable to poſſeſs. To make joy in Heaven, to give delight to the King of the world, O what a raviſhment is it? What glorious hopes doth the thought of it inſpire us withall? It would make any man cry out, I will be good; I vow that I will be good, though the whole world ſhould oppoſe me in it. Your very fleſh will conſent to be one of the ſubjects of Jeſus, if you do but let it know the happineſs that he will bring unto it. It will become a Votary to him, when you underſtand how much the better it ſhall fare for that repoſe of your mind, and the conſtant pleaſure of a regular life. Your very ſtomach cannot but commend his meaſures, and ſubmit it ſelf to his Laws, who layes no burden upon it, but rather eaſes it of all its loads. It will complain of your unkindneſs if you deny it the favour of being abſolutely governed by his will. There is never a drop of blood in your body, but had rather be ſpilt in his ſervice, than that you ſhould refuſe his bleſſed life, which leads to ſuch endleſs felicity to the whole man. Conſult every thing about you: Take advice of every thing that belongs to you: and it will confeſs that there is no ſuch Maſter of pleaſure in the whole world as the Holy Jeſus; that it is the greateſt Epicuriſm to be one of his followers; and that if a man ſhould ſtudy till the worlds end, he would never caſt himſelf into ſuch an extaſie of joy, as the knowledge and belief of what he hath promiſed, and an heart full of love to him proportionable to that belief, will put him into. And therefore it is a wonder that the Voluptuaries of the world go to any other School than his, to learn the Art of making much of themſelves. Here is true pleaſure; here is the very ſpring of all contentment. It is the very inſcription upon the door or entrance of Chriſts School, that Bleſſed are the poor in ſpirit, bleſſed are the pure in heart, bleſſed are the meek, bleſſed are the peaceable, bleſſed are the merciful, yea bleſſed are they that mourn, and that ſuffer for righteouſneſs ſake. Nor are theſe vain braggs, and empty boaſts; like the Papers which Empericks ſet upon poſts pretending to the cure of all diſeaſes. But if any man will try, he ſhall find all this to be the very truth; he ſhall preach this doctrine himſelf to the world; he ſhall avow it confidently to all that he meets, that Jeſus only brings true reſt to their ſouls and bodies. Nor is the tryal of ſuch difficulty that you or my man elſe ſhould refuſe it. When you have left my company, and are retired to your ſelf, do but fix your mind, as long as you are wont to do on leſſer buſineſſes, upon theſe truths; that Jeſus is exalted at the right hand of God, that he hath received a Kingdom and Glory from the Father, that he hath power to raiſe up you to ſit with him in his Throne, that he will infallibly take you up to himſelf, that you may be there where he is, and behold the Glory which God hath given him; and then tell me if ever you felt any thing touch your heart with ſuch a pleaſure as the bare contemplation of thoſe divine enjoyments. The very fancy of them is delightful. Such a dream, if a man was in it, he would not loſe for all that he ſees here. He would be troubled to be awaked, and ſhut his eyes again, wiſhing that it may know no end. And therefore the aſſurance of theſe things to be a certain truth which the Holy Ghoſt coming down from Jeſus hath given to us, muſt needs give us a far greater ſatisfaction. A ſatisfaction as much beyond that of fancy; as a ſenſible enjoyment is beyond a dream. And what the contentment will be if we ſuffer theſe truths to go down to our hearts, to raviſh our wills, to breathe into us the Love of Jeſus, and to bring all thoſe Bleſſed Vertues into our eſteem and affection, I have not power enough to expreſs. But as you love your ſoul, do not deny it your beſt endeavour, that before this day be at an end, you may have a real feeling of it.
And now it may be fit for your fuller conviction in this particular, to bid you turn your eyes to the condition of other men who are ingaged in a quite contrary courſe: and you will ſoon ſee that to be a pleaſant path wherein I conduct you, by the miſery and confuſion which you will diſcern in their lives. It will not be long before you be ſatisfied, that they are not in a ſtate of Nature. They will preſently diſcover to you, that they are not as they ſhould be: Nay, that they would be ſomething elſe, than what they are, and that long uſe and cuſtom hath rendred contradictions familiar to them. There is not one of them but he loves that which he hates, and purſues that which he flyes, and praiſes that which he cannot but alſo diſcommend. There are ſtrange ſeditions and claſhings in their deſires, and they are toſſed about with I know not how many contrary winds. They all deſire to be rich, and yet this very deſire will not let them be ſo. They fear nothing more than need, and yet they are ever in great want, and cannot be filled. For they alwayes think that which they have to be leſs than that which they have not; and they take that which is preſent to be ſo little, that it is not worth their notice in compare of what they expect in time to come. And is there is any greater conſiſtency in their deſires of pleaſure? Alas! they purſue mirth, but they ever pull upon their heads a great deal of ſorrow. They would have nothing at all but ſweetneſs; and the more greedy they are of it, the greater is their bitterneſs. When they think to heighten their delights; they quite deſtroy them, and take them away. When they would leave no place empty, they are ſo full that they cannot feel them. Do you not ſee all this verified in drunken fools? Where is their pleaſure after their Underſtanding is once blaſted with the fumes of Wine? A Spunge is as good a Judge as they of pleaſures, which, without any difference, ſucks in the beſt and the worſt of liquors. And as for Death, Which of them is there that doth not fear it, and yet they take no care at all to live? They dread diſeaſes, and yet they will not abſtain from noxious and unwholeſome things. When any trouble falls upon them, then they wiſh they were out of the world, and bleſs thoſe that are dead; and yet when death comes, though they are never ſo ill, they wiſh it would ſtay a little longer. They hate many times to live, and yet they are afraid to dye. They think them happy who are in the other world, but yet they are loath to come among them. They cry out of the evils which they ſuffer, and yet they would fain ſpin out the moſt miſerable life to the greateſt length. But there is another thing that is ſtranger than this. For you have often heard them complain (I believe) of the great ſcarcity of time, and yet which of them is there that is not ſo prodigal of it, as if he had half a Age to ſpare? They ſay that it runs away very ſwiftly from us, and yet they ſpur on their hours, and would have them flye away faſter than they do, as if they had too many of them. There are but a few ſeaſons, they ſay, in time, and yet they let thoſe opportunities grow old in their hands, and ſuffer them to be bald before they mind to apprehend them. And did you ever mark how they deal one with another? Each man ſuſpects his fellow, becauſe he deſerves to be ſuſpected himſelf. Every one is afraid to be deceived, and labours all he can to deceive. He hath a great mind to be revenged, and yet he would not have Juſtice it ſelf take any vengeance of him. He hates Tyranny, and yet he would fain be the Tyrant. He would have all men ſubject to thoſe Laws, which he hath no mind to obſerve. He accuſes many things as baſe, but will not ſtick to do them. And on the contrary, he holds good fortune in great eſtimation, but cares not a ruſh for vertue, which yet he acknowledges deſerves only to be fortunate.Max. Tyr. diſſert. 20. Philoſophers themſelves have been aſhamed to ſee how they all behave themſelves in every condition like unconſtant fools. They abhor War, but cannot tell how to live in Peace. They are miſerably dejected if they be made ſlaves, but are ſo inſolent in liberty, that they draw ſervitude upon them. They deſire children, and when they have them take no care about them. They would leave them eſtates, but no vertue to uſe them well, and to preſerve them. They deſire to have their family alway flouriſh; but breed them ſo, as if they meant it ſhould dye with the next Generation. Nay, God himſelf is not better uſed by them. For they pray to him, as if he was able to do them good, and yet they affront him, as if it was not in his power to do them hurt. At other times they fear him, as if he could ſeverely puniſh, and yet forſwear themſelves, as if he had no Being but only when they pleaſed. But that I may not run into infinite particulars, let us once for all take a view of thoſe who would attain to great honours, and ſee by what low, mean and ſervile practices they labour to aſcend unto them. There is nothing which their heart abhors more than ſubjection to others, and yet they are forced to the baſeſt proſtrations. They ſtoop to the very feet of thoſe, upon whoſe heads they would tread. They kiſs thoſe hands, which they wiſh a thouſand times were cut off, if they oppoſe their deſigns. Their very idleneſs is in action day and night. The complements and ceremonies they beſtow upon others, are a buſineſs of greater trouble, than the ruling of Provinces, and diſpoſing of Kingdoms. It may ſeem ſtrange, but there is nothing truer, That if a man would climb to the higheſt place in the world, it is neceſſary he ſhould become lame, and breath ſhort, and take ſuch little ſteps, as if a long Ague had but juſt left him to the uſe of his leggs; and in one word, ſeem altogether unfit for the buſineſs he deſigns. You know what a glory it is to be the ſuppoſed Head of all Chriſtendome. And yet they that are well acquainted with the wayes to that office, tell us in plain terms, that he muſt keep his Bed, and uſe all the Arts which Phyſick can aſſiſt him withall, not to be well, but to be ill; who hopes to attain that dignity. He muſt put himſelf into a feavouriſh heat; he muſt beg the help of defluxions and catarrhs; he muſt procure a pale look, and a meagre aſpect; he muſt cough as if he was calling for his grave; or elſe he muſt loſe that place which will not come at eaſier rates. And now what think you? Are not theſe fine wayes to Glory? Have not they a great mind to trouble themſelves, that purchaſe trouble at ſo great a price? For the riſing to high places (as a wiſe man of our own obſerves) is very laborious, and by pains men come to greater pains: Nay, it is ſometimes very baſe, and by indignities men come to dignities. Perhaps this ambitious fool doth flatter continually thoſe whom he hates: He applauds and praiſes thoſe whom he deſpiſes: He admires all that is ill done: He approves of all that a wicked and debauched appetite deſires: He ſpeaks againſt his conſcience; and ſmiles on him whom he could bite and faſten his teeth upon with all his heart. He diſſembles all his reſentments; and though he love revenge as well as his life, yet he is put to the pains of ſtifling all thoſe paſſions which are its ſervants. There is a fire in his bones, and he dare not give it the leaſt vent, that others may feel it as well as himſelf. He ſwallows all the affronts which a Porter gives him at a Great mans Gate; and he bribes thoſe with gifts whom he wiſhes dead, that he might enjoy their places. And when he is mounted to the top of his deſires, I beſeech you, on what Pinnacles doth he tread? Which are ſo ſmall, that there is but a little between him and the danger of a fall; and withall ſo ſharp, that they wound the feet which tread upon them. And did you never perceive the delight that ſome men take in laughing at the meanneſs of the extraction of this Meteor? The greateſt honours are not able to cleanſe the blemiſhes of his family. And when he hath done all that he can, bold ſpirits will throw in his face the dirt from whence he is ſprung; and wound him with a remembrance that he is but a New Man.
But then if one of theſe perſons chance to drop down to the place where he was before, and become the object of ſcorn, in what a ſad condition is he? When the Play is ended, and the high-heel'd Buskins are pull'd off which raiſed him above others, and the gaudy cloths are torn from his back, and he returns to his firſt form; he becomes a deſpicable creature even to himſelf. So mad a thing it is to judge of a man by the height of honour, to which he is advanced, for it is as if you would take the meaſure of a ſtatue by the pedeſtal on which it ſtands. But beſides all this, the conſcience he hath of his crimes will render him ſtill more miſerable, becauſe it will ever put him in mind that he deſerves his miſery. And as for others, it will likewiſe be a dangerous thing for any man to undertake the protection or comfort of ſuch a perſon, who is known to have merited his misfortune. Nay more than this we have heard of ſuch fools, that before they had loſt all their imaginary happineſs, have deprived themſelves of the remainder, out of vexation that it did not continue as great as before. So that great glutton Apitius having waſted the beſt part of his eſtate, and finding but two hundred thouſand Crowns remaining; imagined himſelf a Peggar, and drunk a draught of poiſon, becauſe he thought he had not ſufficient to maintain his ancient riot. For which he was ſoundly jeered by one of the Sages of thoſe dayes, who ſaid this was the moſt wholeſome draught that ever he made, which put an end to ſuch a diſſolute life.
Thus, you ſee, theſe vitious men are ſo hated while they are alive, and their memory is ſo perſecuted when they are dead, that I believe you would not ſtand in one of their places. And the more injuries they have done to others, to raiſe themſelves; the more odious they grow, and the more curſes follow them to their graves. So toilſome it is to follow thoſe courſes, that men will not ſuffer them to reſt in peace even in the Sanctuary and common refuge of all the miſerable. They that did not know how to be revenged on their perſons while they were here; are wont to fall upon the Phantaſm which they have left of themſelves in their imagination; and to wreak their ſpleen upon their memory, and ſtab their reputation. They pleaſe themſelves in their greatneſs for a while, and then they pay very dearly for it. Nay, the time of their pleaſure is ſo ſmall, that they come to it by a far longer time of pains; and when they enjoy it, we ſcarce know how to diſtinguiſh the moments of the one from thoſe of the other; for pains are either mingled with their pleaſures, or preſently tread upon the heels of them.
All which, when I conſider, it calls to my mind the Story of the Fool, who paſſing thorow the Forreſt of Ravenna as he came from Rome, filled a whole Wallet and a Pillow-bear top full of Flyes, Gnats and Hornets, of which that place affords good ſtore, and of no ſmall bigneſs, to bring them home with him. Whither when he was arrived, he ſent to his friends and kinsfolks round about, deſiring to ſee them, that he might preſent them with ſome rarities and curious things which he had brought from Rome. Though they knew him to be a Ninny, yet they could not imagine him to be ſuch a Sot as afterward they found him; but fancied that he might have light upon ſomething in his Journey, which might be worth one of theirs to go and ſee it. But when they were met together, and were come into his Chamber, after many complements and great expectations; he had nothing to entertain them withall, but a huge number of thoſe troubleſome creatures which he poured out of his baggs upon them; thinking becauſe of their various colours, that they were precious things, and would yield a fine ſight unto his friends. They laught a little at the jeſt at firſt, but they ſoon felt there was no cauſe, when rhey found them about their ears, and flying in their faces, and their eyes in ſuch a manner, that it was no ſmall affliction and pain unto them. Juſt ſuch, me-thinks, is the condition of thoſe who live in ſin. They are promiſed fine things, and ſecret delights by the temptations which ſend to them, and invite them into their ſociety. Great hopes are given them of new pleaſures, and ſuch rare ſatisfactions as hitherto they have not met withall. And they are ſuch fools as to believe their imagination, or an idle companion who intices them by fair ſpeeches, though they know very well how often they and others have been deluded by ſuch flatteries. The ſin indeed ſeems pretty at the firſt; it makes them ſome ſport for a while, and you think that they are much pleaſed. But alas! they come a great way for that ſhort mirth, and it is ſo trivial, that it is not worth a flye; and at laſt they are ſtung worſe than by a whole neſt of angry Waſps. Their conſcience is alwayes buzzing ſome evil in their ears; they are perſecuted by it continually, and it follows them with its ſecret murmures; they are tormented as with a ſwarm of Hornets, which will never ceaſe to trouble them as long as they ſtay there, and will not open the door and run away from their ſins.
And truly by this time it is like you will wonder that they ſhould be content to ſtay in their company. You may very well aſk, what do theſe men mean thus to trouble themſelves, when there is ſuch a viſible way to their peace and quiet? Why do not they break looſe from their ſins, and ſeek their ſatisfaction in ſome other courſe? Had they not better become good, than be at ſo much pains to make themſelves miſerably bad? They cannot but diſcern ſure, that happineſs lyes not in their Rode; and that to enjoy repoſe, they muſt become the followers of Vertue. And to tell you my mind plainly, I verily think there is a number of them would gladly be her ſervants, if to be made ſo might be wholly the Act of another, and not at all their own. They would think it a bleſſed change to do well, as naturally as they do ill; if this New Nature would but come into them of it ſelf, and not require their pains to quit the Old. They commend the wayes of Vertue, and think them happy who live temperately and chaſtly; but how to get into them, there is the difficulty. They would gladly find themſelves there the very next moment, but to travel thither is a buſineſs of too much labour. Their own life is a very great trouble to them, but there is ſome trouble alſo in the beginning of a new. Though the way that I ſhew you be ſo pleaſant, that they who are not in it cannot but have a mind to be tranſlated thither; yet the entrance of it is not without ſome difficulties. The ſtings which I told you are in their conſcience, cannot be pulled out without more pain than they are willing to endure. It is a buſineſs of much anguiſh to have the wounds which are made in their natures ſearched and dreſſed, and ſuch applications made, as will draw out all the corruption and filth. They had rather palliate their ſores, than have them raked into, in order to their being healed. It is a new thing to which we would ingage them, and they apprehend it ſo laborious alſo, that they think it better to continue as they are, than with a great deal of pains to take upon them another burden. They that are free from their prepoſſeſſions, find excellent things to be very irkſome when they firſt begin to ſet about them. With what unwillingneſs do children learn their firſt letters, though afterward it prove delightful to be able to read? And how hard do moſt men find the firſt ſtep to any Science, which when they are a little Maſters of, is infinitely pleaſant? And therefore every one muſt expect to find the gate to be ſtrait which opens to that way wherein you are to travel. There all their old cuſtoms are to be put off. There I know not how many deſires of the fleſh are to be denyed and left behind. There a man muſt be ſtript ſtark naked: He muſt become like a little child, and reduced juſt to nothing in his own eyes, that ſo he may be able to enter. And then alſo there are many ſtrange paths preſent themſelves with which he hath had no acquaintance; which is the cauſe that many are affrighted and ſtart back again, rather than they will undergo the troule of preſſing in at ſo ſtrait a paſſage. Though, if it be well conſidered, this is juſt ſuch a folly as if a man in a long Journey perceiving himſelf out of his way, ſhould chuſe ſtill to go on in his errour, rather than go back again, becauſe of the many weariſome ſteps which he muſt be forced to take before he recover the right Rode. The further he goes on, the further is he out of his way; and conſequently muſt never come to his Journeys end, unleſs it be with greater pains hereafter, than thoſe which he now avoids.
But not to deceive you, (nor forget a ſhort Anſwer to your other doubt) I muſt alſo let you know, that the way it ſelf, for a few of the firſt miles, is very narrow as well as the gate; though afterwards it be as wide and broad as heart can wiſh. That which a man hath put off in reſolution at his entrance into the way, he may find ſtill to hang upon him when he comes to move, and very loath to be quite ſhaken off. His deſires which he had contracted, may begin to ſtir and to inlarge themſelves, and complain that they are confined too much, and reduced into too narrow a room. And ſo it will ſtill ſeem, till by often denyals they grow content, and make room for nobler deſires to ſpring up in him. Then will he think himſelf preſſed and ſtraitned no more, when he finds his ſoul inlarged another way, and his appetites carried unſatiably toward diviner objects. Then he will not ſay he is pent up, when he feel, that the retrenching of his worldly deſires hath ſet his heart at liberty to go whither it naturally would, without any reſtraints upon it. He will find that he is at eaſe by being ſtraitned; that he hath got his freedom by being bound up; and that he enjoyes as much as he deſires, by denying and pareing of his deſires. It may ſeem indeed a ſtrange way of enlarging our ſouls, by bringing their deſires into a narrow compaſs: but if you conſider it, there is nothing truer, than that it is much better, and more to our content, not to deſire ſome things at all; than to deſire them, and withall to have them as much as we deſire. As for example; we ſee men mad to have their fill of bodily pleaſure. But how doth it fare with them at that ſeaſon? Have not theſe deſires brought a torment to them? No doubt they have much more pleaſure than in abſtaining from that of which they were ſo greedy, than in continuing to enjoy it. Why ſhould it not be thought better than to do that out of vertue which diſordered fulneſs forces them to? Is it not much more eligible to abſtain out of choice, than not to forbear till we are conſtrained? Yes verily; and men would receive a greater ſatisfaction in ſubduing ſuch mad deſires; than it is poſſible to do in the fulfilling of them. It is with theſe carnal people, ſaith one of the old Directors in the way to Jeruſalem, as if a man ſhould be ſo dry, that he calls for one cup after another, and though he drink never ſo much, yet cannot quench his thirſt. Certainly ſuch a man cannot be eſteemed happy, becauſe he never wants liquor, but hath ſtill at hand as much as he deſires. No, he is the happy man, who feeling no thirſt is free from this neceſſity of drinking ſo much, and is no way urged to deſire it. For the firſt is like a man in a burning feavour, and the other like one that injoyes a perfect health. And there is another of them alſo who verifies this in his own example. For he confeſſes that walking one day with ſome friends through the City of Milan, having his head full of an Oration he was to make in the Emperours praiſe, and his heart thirſting after Glory and preferment, which he thought it would procure him; and therewith very much contentment: He chanced to caſt his eye upon a Begger who having newly received an Alms, was very blithe and of a pleaſant countenance. At which ſpectacle, he fetcht a deep ſigh and ſaid to his company, What a miſchief is this that I ſhould thus drag my own infelicity after me by the fury of my deſires, and with ſo much trouble ſeek in vain for that ſatisfaction, which this poor fellow is already arrived at, without ſo much ado? It is better by far to have none of theſe longings, then to take ſuch pains, and perhaps without any fruit, to give them contentment. If we ſhould have all that our deſires crave, yet it is a ſhorter way to make us happy, To be without them. For why do we deſire thoſe pleaſures or honours ſo inordinately? Is it not for the ſatisfaction and joy which we expect to meet with in them? But that we may have ſooner if we can be rid of thoſe deſires. Eſpecially ſince by wanting them, the ſoul hath leave to fill it ſelf with better pleaſures. Such pleaſures as we cannot deſire, but we ſhall have them: and which we cannot have, but we ſhall be filled: and which by filling of us do only more enlarge our ſouls that we may receive a greater fulneſs.
But there is ſomething ſtill more conſiderable in thoſe words of Jeſus which have occaſioned this diſcourſe, courſe, for if the propriety of that word be examined whereby he expreſſes the condition of the Way, it doth not ſeem to ſignifie ſo much the narrowneſs of it, as the roughneſs, ſtonineſs and external difficulties wherewith it is incumbred. There are many afflictions and croſſes which may lye in this way; and they deterr ſo much the more delicate ſort, that they ſeem to be the greateſt rub they meet withall, and the ſtrongeſt objection which they make againſt what I have ſaid of the pleaſure of theſe paths. But let me tell you, that if you imagine it to be far more pleaſant to live after the fleſh, then to take up your Croſs and follow Chriſt in his ſufferings; there is not a groſſer error that can poſſeſs your mind. For he was made perfect through ſufferings: And there was a joy ſet before him which made him dure the Croſs: 1 Pet. 4.13, 14.And his followers bid us alſo rejoyce in as much as we are partakers of the ſufferings of Chriſt, that when his Glory ſhall be revealed, we may be glad alſo with exceeding joy. Nay for the preſent they ſay we ſhall feel our ſelves happy if we be reproached for the name of Chriſt; for the Spirit of Glory and of God reſteth upon us. It is a moſt Heroick and Divine temper of mind which expreſſes it ſelf in meek and chearful ſuffering. Then we have opportunity to uſe the moſt glorious vertues. Then thoſe Graces of God ſhine moſt illuſtriouſly which elſe would be obſcured. And cherefore one of theſe great ſouls cryes out and ſayes, Behold, Jam. 5.11.we count them happy which endure. The braveſt men that ever the world bred, were of the mind that there was no joys comparable to thoſe, which are proper to couragious and patient Vertue. It was impoſſible to gratifie them more; you could not lay an higher obligation upon them; then if you preſented them with an occaſion to ſhow their Conſtancy, their Faith and their Valour. You know who he was that refuſed to be called the ſon of a Kings daughter; chooſing rather to ſuffer affliction with the people of God, then to enjoy the pleaſures of ſin for a ſeaſon; Heb. 12.25, 26.eſteeming the reproach of Chriſt greater riches then the treaſures of Egypt: for he had reſpect to the recompence of reward. Nay I have learnt thus much from Heathens themſelves (for I do not think them unfit for my converſe) that it is neceſſary for good men to enter into agonies and conflicts. They are in need of ſome thing or other to combate withall: and therefore afflictions and troubles are the Antagoniſts of Vertuous ſouls, without whom they could not be lawfully crowned. The Generoſity then of Chriſtian Religion I am ſure is ſuch that it will make you welcome Croſſes and ſtretch out your arms to receive them with more reſolution and chearfulneſs then ever Pagans did. You have been a School-boy it is like in your time, and then you could not but hear as well as I the ſtory of Ʋlyſſes. How he was perſecuted at home and abroad; how he encountred Gyants, barbarous and inhoſpitable people; how he was in danger of Witchcraft and inchantments; underwent cold Winters, Shipwracks, and Beggary, being forced to wander about in rags: And I can receive no other account of all this from the Wiſe men of thoſe dayes, but that, he being a good man,Max. Tyr. diſſ. 22. God was pleaſed in meer love and friendſhip to him thus to exerciſe and try his Vertue; propoſing him as an example of the contentment which both God himſelf and vertuous ſouls do take in their induring the hardſhips which heaven layes upon them. And what do they ſay think you of that great man Hercules the beginning of whoſe ſtory you heard before? They tell us that he was beloved of God, and had the higheſt place in his favour; nay they call him his ſon, and ſay that God committed to him the Government of the World. And yet he was alwayes aſſaulted with ſome Monſter or other, and God would not ſuffer his own child (as one of them ſpeaks) to be nurſed up in idleneſs and the delicacies of life. No, he fought with Lyons, and Boars, and Serpents, and Tyrants, and Theeves; and he was appointed to travel into ſtrange lands, to croſs dangerous ſeas, and to go through terrible wilderneſſes and deſerts; And all to teſtifie the favour of Heaven to him that would thus imploy him. No doubt his Father could have freed him from ſuch conflicts, but he would not; becauſe (as they render the reaſon) it is not lawful for him to will any thing but that which is best and moſt excellent. Or he might have freed himſelf and perhaps ſome men would have adviſed him to flee theſe dangers, and rather to quit his place then expoſe his life to ſo many hazzards. But they knew not the pleaſure which he found in his heart, when he remembred that he was thought worthy by God to be ſingled out to be his Champion; and that Heaven had not an ill opinion of him, nor judged him a weak and effeminate perſon. It was a ſtrange contentment alſo to imagine that all theſe dangers preſented themſelves only that he might overcome them; and he felt that there was not half ſo much pains in fighting, as there was pleaſure in the very hopes of having the Victory. Nay if he had periſhed in the encounter, ſo he had carried Victory out of the World with him, he would have thought himſelf crowned with an high ſatisfaction. He would have thought that he dyed more happily then Cowards live; and that it was more glorious thus to end his dayes, then to ſpin them out baſely to the longeſt Age. Beſides, herein there being ſo conſiderable a proof of the ſincerity and fidelity of ſuch perſons unto God, it cannot but pleaſe them very much to reflect upon it. It yields them a great joy to remember that they have his approbation, and that after many fiery tryals, he finds that they are not indued with a counterfeit Vertue. Nay, it is ſome joy to think that their enemies judge them ſo conſiderable, as to raiſe ſuch mighty forces againſt them, and fight ſo many battels with them. They aſſure them hereby, that they are more in their account, than they could wiſh. And that power which gave them a ſhock, but could not ſhake them, doth demonſtrate the ſolidity of their ſouls, and the great ſtrength they have to reſiſt ſuch forcible impreſſions.
I do not know whether it be a tale or no, but I have been told that among other wayes, the Queen of Sheba tryed the wiſdom of Solomon, by offering certain Boys and Girles to be diſtinguiſht one from the other by him, when they were put into the very ſame garb and had been taught the ſame geſtures and carriage of their bodies: And that he calling for ſome cold water, commanded them all to waſh themſelves. Into which the youths plunging their hands boldly, and then rubbing their faces very hard; and the others tenderly dipping their fingers, and only ſleaking their faces over with it; he ſoon diſcerned the difference, and ſeparated them according to their ſexes. Hardſhips will make a true proof of the ſtrength and maſculine force of our ſpirits. Proſperity (as a wiſe man of later times obſerves) doth beſt diſcover Vice, and Adverſity makes the beſt diſcovery of Vertue. And as the one is not without many fears and diſtaſts; ſo the other is not without its hopes and comforts: of which this is not the leaſt, that God thinks us worthy to be the men, in whom he would make an Experiment, what Chriſtian ſouls are able to ſuffer. The Vertue of Proſperity is Temperance, and the Vertue of Adverſity is Fortitude; which in the account of all the world is the more Heroical of the two, and yields the greateſt Triumphs. Nay, He fears not to ſay, that Proſperity is the bleſſing of the Old Teſtament, and Adverſity is the bleſſing of the New, which carries the greater benediction, and the clearer revelation of Gods favour. And therefore do not take that ill, which to ſuch a man as you is a mark of the Divine Love. Be not unwilling that God ſhould do you an honour, and beſtow upon you a bleſſing. Let him have the pleaſure of ſeeing you behave your ſelf gallantly. Deny him not that ſpectacle which is not to be had in Heaven, and for which he manifeſted himſelf in fleſh. Let it not repent him of his choice, if he pick out you for ſome notable Combate. The General appoints the ſtouteſt men for the hardeſt ſervices. And they do not ſay. He bears an ill will to us, and owes us a ſpite; but he hath an high opinion of us, and intends to do us credit. Do you now iſſue forth with an heart full of the ſame thoughts, and take my word you ſhall never want the nobleſt pleaſures. You will thank God for placing you in the foremoſt rank of Chriſtian Souldiers. You will praiſe him for eſteeming a poor Pilgrim capable of ſuch atchievements. You will rejoyce to ſee your ſelf herein preferred before the Angels: For if they can do more than you, yet you can ſuffer more than they. Nay, you will find your ſelf in the fellowſhip of the Son of God, who was never ſo glorious as when he hung upon the Croſs; never triumphed ſo much as when he ſeemed to be trampled under feet; and then ſpoiled principalities and powers, when he was robb'd of all, and loſt even life it ſelf.