The Parable of the Pilgrim, Parable · Chapter 30
CAP. XXX.
How the Pilgrim grew very dull and lazy. By what means he was quickned to greater diligence. How the Guide awakened ſome ſluggiſh Pilgrims which they met withall: moving them to a great care of their Souls; and to prove their Sincerity in Religion, by their being zealous of good works.
BUt as I may not be permitted to relate all the delightful diſcourſe of this nature which paſſed between them in their travels; ſo you muſt not think that our Pilgrim had now leſt all trouble behind him, never to overtake him more. For having thus ſpent his time for ſome weeks, he felt himſelf exceeding dull; and through ſome indiſpoſition (the cauſe of which he could not diſcover) he began to be ſo lazy & liſtleſs to any good action, which had formerly been his delight; that it indangered to overwhelm him in a new affliction of mind. But yet it pleaſed God ſo to order it, that this cloud was caſt about him without any ſhowre; and he cured himſelf of this reſtiffneſs of ſpirit by ſome common obſervations which he made as he went along. For they had not travelled far, before they found a great number of men digging in a Mine, who were all bath'd in their own Sweat; and in ſtead of the freſh air to cool them, were in perpetual danger of Suffocation by infernal vapours. And being aſkt, For what they took ſuch exceſſive pains, they gave them to underſtand that the beſt of their wages was very ſmall, and that ſome were ſuch ſlaves as laboured meerly for coarſe food; not ſo much as a grain of all the Silver Oar which they raked out of the earths bowels coming into their poſſeſſion. At the ſight of which he was ſtrangely awakned, and falling into a mighty paſſion began to reproach himſelf, to accuſe his great folly, and to condemn his ſloth; who was leſs concerned for a Soul, then theſe men for a belly-full of meat, or a few ſingle-pennies. What do we, O my Soul? (ſaid the good Pilgrim), Why do we ly ſtill, and ſuffer our ſelves to periſh? Are there any pains like thoſe to which theſe wretches are condemn'd? Or are there any treaſures that can equal thoſe which we are ſeeking after? O how diſproportionable are their labours unto their gains! And how much will our gains exceed the greateſt of our pains! Bluſh, O my Soul, at thy own neglects: and be aſtoniſhed either at their diligence, or thy own ſloth. Or rather, let the ſtrageneſs of the one, make thee marvel at the other. And for very ſhame, let it rouze thee to do that for thy ſelf which they do for their bodies; or to be but at half the labour to attain eternal Treaſures, which they take, not for periſhing Riches, but for a morſel of meat which only prepares them to renew their labours. In ſuch Meditations as theſe, he ſpent ſome time to the no ſmall quickening of his Soul in well doing. Which were alſo happily revived the next day by the fight of ſome ſhips, which from a mountain that they paſſed over, he eſpied riding on the Sea: whoſe waves did then ſo work and boil that the face of it was all yeſty, and it foam'd with rage at the winds which ſpent their fury upon it. From hence he took occaſion to conſider the hazzard which they run, who truſted themſelves to that treacherous Element: how they were carryed ſometimes to unſeen regions, of which they had no knowledge but by the uncertain reports of others. How uncertain their Returns were: and how the poor Marriners had no intereſt at all in the goods which they ventured their lives to bring home to other Owners. This inſpired his Soul and ſwell'd it with new reſolutions, more then a ſtrong gale of wind doth the ſails of a ſhip when ſhe runs before it. He deſpiſed all dangers. He defied the lazy diſpoſition wherein he lately found himſelf. He applauded the reaſonableneſs of Chriſtian Piety which was carried by Faith to unknown Countries. And he vowed never to quit the deſign wherein he was embarqued; Eſpecially ſince he had ſo good aſſurance at laſt to come to an happy Port. From whence he alſo knew that he ſhould never loſe any more, to be thus toſſed in doubts and fears; to be expoſed to the ſtorms of an angry World, and (which was moſt troubleſome) to conflict with the great uncertainties of his own temper, whereby he was ſometimes lifted up as high as Heaven, and then again depreſſed as low as Hell.
And truly after this I heard that he continued very fervent in Spirit, ſerving the Lord. In ſo much that meeting a good while after with ſome Pilgrims who were remiſs and negligent, a great zeal was kindled in him and he called upon his Guide very earneſtly to uſe his ſpurs and prick them up to a greater diligence. Which motion you will eaſily think the Good Father was not backward to embrace; but drawing a little nearer to them and well obſerving their careleſs poſtures, he aſkt them what the reaſon might be of that lazy and wretchleſs life which men of their profeſſion lead. Are you not convinced, ſaid he, of the truth of that Religion which is taught by Chriſt? Do you take Jeſus for an impoſtor, and think that he lyes in his grave and never ſhall come to Judge the World by his Laws? Or do you think that he hath commanded impoſſible things, and made a Law which cannot be put in uſe and practice? How then ſhall he Judge the World in Righteouſneſs? Or how came it to paſs that you undertook his ſervice if you thought that none can come in his wayes to the happineſs of Jeruſalem? For my part I can ſee nothing that ſhould make it ſeem impoſſible to be ſo good as Chriſt hath required, but only the lives of a number of ſuch wretches as your ſelves. And leſt I ſhould ſeem to reproach you, or my words ſhould not meet with due regard from you; hearken I beſeech you to the language of one, who indeed commands your attention, if it be but for the reverence which you bear to his years, and the place which he held in the Church of God. It is the famous Patriarch of Conſtantinople which I mean, who thus awakens ſome ſuch drowſie ſouls as yours. Suppoſe a Gentile, ſaith he, ſhould come to thee and ſay, If thou lookeſt for a Kingdom in Heaven, why doſt thou mind this World ſo much? Sure thou doſt but talk; they are but words which thou telleſt to us. If thou expectest the dreadful tribunal of Christ hereafter, why dost thou not deſpiſe the most terrible things that threaten thee in this life? If thou expecteſt immortality, why do we not ſee thee laugh at death? What anſwer now wilt thou return to this Objector? What wilt thou ſay for thy ſelf who trembleſt at the loſs of a little Riches for the Kingdom of Heavens ſake, and rejoyceſt at the gain of a farthing as if it were a great prize? This is that which ſcandalizes the Gentiles, and makes them mock both at thee and thy Religion too. Do not therefore ſtudy ſo much to apologize for it by thy Words, as by thy Deeds. Let him ſee ſuch a one as Chriſt deſcribes, not only in thy Books but in thy Self. Make it manifest to him that there is ſuch a Religion in being, alive in the World; and that it lyes not dead in Parchments. Suffer it not to be the work of the Scribe, or (as we now ſpeak) of the Printer only, but let him read it in thy life. Make him confeſs that the Goſpel commands things that may be done, and doth not draw a Platonical Common-wealth, or deſcribe (as we ſay in theſe dayes) an Eutopian Polity. Suppoſe again, that a Gentile ſhould ſay to thee, Good Sir, how ſhall I know that your God requires poſſible things? They look like things which cannot be done; and I never ſaw any Christian ſuch a man. Behold, thou waſt brought up in thy Religion from thy childhood and yet doſt no ſuch things; with what face then doſt thou require them of me who have been long accuſtomed otherwayes? What wilt thou now reply in the behalf of Chriſtianity? Perhaps thou wilt point him to others and deſire him not to look on thy ſelf. Thou wilt bid him caſt his eyes upon the Monks and thoſe who live in Wilderneſſes, where he may behold what holy lives they lead. O moſt ſhameful Apology! For he will ſay; what then, muſt I turn a Monk? muſt I live in Mountains and dwell in the Deſarts? Muſt I forſake all company but only that of the Beaſts? This is a ſtrange Religion of which a man cannot be, unleſs he leave the Society of men. A Religion that cannot dwell in Towns and Cities. A Religion that flyes the light, and ſeeks for Dens and Caves of the Earth. That is an enemy to the best of pleaſures; that baniſhes good neighbourhood, and renders a man an hater of the rest of Mankind. I will none of this Religion: keep it to your ſelf and do not invite me to your melancholy Piety.
This truly is a very great diſgrace to the Christian profeſſion, to make as though it could not inhabit any place and be perform'd by any men. There is no excuſe to be made for it: If it cannot ſtay with us in Towns and keep us company in buſineſs, and be the employment of common men; away with it; it is not for our turn; let it be baniſhed the World. Show to me a man that hath a wife and children and ſervants and yet is a Christian. Let me ſee a man that keeps his ſhop and buys and ſells, and yet lives well and keeps the Laws of Christ. Doth not our Saviour ſay, Let your light ſhine before men? but where do we read that it is to illuſtrate Deſarts, and make the Mountains glorious? Which is not ſpoken (ſaith he) to reproach thoſe perſons who chuſe to dwell in ſuch places; but only to bemoan our Cities that have driven Vertue from among them, and thrust it out of their gates into the Wilderneſs. Let us indeavour I beſeech you to call it back again. Let us bring it to dwell within the Walls of Cities as well as thoſe of Monaſteries. Let us reduce it into our Families, and our ſhops and our Markets, nay into our Taverns and Victualling-houſes. Let us render it Sociable and fit for Converſation that all men may be the better for it. Suffer no place to be void of Religion; but make it extend it ſelf like the Divine Preſence, which is ready to aſſiſt men every where. Do not ſay any longer that you cannot be good. He never took the buſineſs ſeriouſly into his thoughts; he never gave all diligence, who ſpeaks that wicked word. And do not ſay to me neither that you cannot underſtand the Religion of Christ, and know not what to do. For ſee how skilfull the moſt ſimple people are in their worldly affairs; ſee what exactneſs they uſe; how accurate and circumſpect they are wont to be in ſome of their outward concerns. Let them imploy the ſame in ſpiritual things and Ile warrant they ſhall not be overlookt by the Divine grace, nor miſs of being wiſe to Salvation. The Sun ſhines not ſo clear as the Truth of God. Where men have a mind they may eaſily come to the knowledge of him. If they would but attend and not make a By-work of it, they would neither be ſo ignorant, nor ſo impotent as they are. For the Goſpel was not ſhut up in Palaeſtine, nor confined to ſome corner of the World, but all ſhall know me (ſaith the Lord) from the greateſt to the leaſt; and every place may become an Holy-Land. But will you extend this thing: may ſome ſay: to the Barbarous Nations, and the ruſtick underſtandings? Yes that I will; and if there can be any still more Barbarous than thoſe that we yet know, I affirm that they may have the benefit of it. For tell me I pray you, ſince one of thoſe men can in things belonging to this preſent life argue for himſelf if he be wrong'd, reſiſt when he ſuffers violence, and do all things not to be endamaged in the leaſt; why may he not uſe the ſame underſtanding in better matters? When he is to worſhip a ſtone, to obſerve the numerous ceremonies of a fooliſh Feaſt; to do reverence to a falſe God, he can ſhow wit enough; and therefore why do you tell me that he is ſimple and ſilly and capable of Nothing when I would have him ſeek after the Will of the true God? Fie upon you! I wonder you have the face to ſpeak theſe things. There is no ſuch matter: It cannot be as you ſay. Let me never hear you talk thus vainly any more, nor excuſe your ſelves and others in this faſhion. Their ſimpleneſs is not in fault, but their Idleneſs and ſloth ought to bear the blame. For I pray you once more conſider, who were more Ruſtick, plain and ſimple? thoſe that lived in Abrahams time, or the men of our dayes? It is plain that they. And when was it eaſier to be godly; then, or now? It is manifeſt that now. For now God is more clearly revealed; now the Goſpel is preached; now we are taught by the Son of God himſelf; but then men learnt as one may ſay without any teacher. There was an univerſal corruption; no Law give, no Prophets ſent, no Miracles wrought: but they ſaw as it were in a profound darkneſs; in a Winter Moonleſs night. Well then, why ſhouldſt not thou be Religious as well or rather more, then Abraham? He was of that Noble and generous Spirit which is recorded in the Holy Books, when he had not ſo much as that which we call the Wiſdom of them without, and there were no Philoſophers in the world. Then I ſay he knew God, he wrought righteouſneſs, he exerciſed Vertue, he drew on others to be godly. Nay, his Father was an Idolater, his Friends and kindred were immers'd in the evil cuſtoms of the World, and yet all this could not hinder him from becoming good, and obeying the call of God. It cannot then be impoſſible for us who live in the clear day light, both to know, and do his will: But it is impoſſible, utterly impoſſible that he ſhould leave them without his Almighty grace, who are vigilant and watchful to attend to the illuminations which he beſtows upon them. Never think hereafter to make Apologies for your ſelves before God, ſeeing you are not able to anſwer for your ſluggiſhneſs before men. They condemn you, and he will never acquit you. It is viſible you may be better, and therefore he will admit of no excuſe for your continuing bad.
This is the effect of the Sermon which that Excellent man made to Drones and Sluggards: and let me again beſeech you to lay his words to heart. Do not content your ſelves with wiſhes and deſires, no nor with ardent prayers that you may be amended; but apply your ſelves to the work, ſtir up the Grace that is in you, and do what your hands find to do with all your might. They are the Souls whoſe Prayers God hears, who employ their hands as ſoon as they have unbent their knees. The diligent and the ſtirring men are thoſe whom he comes to aſſiſt. A man may work wonders, but not if he lye in a Bed. Heaven will pour down abundance of Grace, but not if we gape for it at home, and will not go out of doors to receive it. You have heard its like of the Thundring Legion for whom God fought, but yet they did not obtain the Victory with their arms a croſs: they were fain to give blows, as well as believe, and to ſecond their Prayers with their Swords. We may praiſe the fertile ſoyl, and pray for ſeaſonable ſhowers; but let me tell you, no rain fructifies more then the dew of Sweat. Though the Ship waits for a favourable gale, and cannot ſtir without it; yet it is ſtill becalm'd without that breath wherewith they hoiſe the ſails, and ſpread them to receive it.
It would be too long to tell you what commotions the poor men felt in their breaſts all the time that he was ſpeaking: but thus much you may know that they began to be ſo awakned, and ſeemed ſo much aſhamed; that he thought it beſt to ſtrike again while the Iron was hot, and his words had ſuch fair hopes to make a deeper impreſſion. To this diſcourſe therefore he added another, which he conceived might give a greater force unto it, and was of this import. But leſt, ſaid he, you ſhould imagine this Eminent perſon whoſe ſenſe of things I have conveighed to you to have meaſured the ſtrength of other men by his own great abilities; I will read a lecture out of a a Philoſopher to you, who is able to ſay enough to make you ſhake off your ſloth, and cannot be ſuſpected of more knowledge, then may be the portion of Chriſts diſciples. And I perſwade my ſelf that you cannot for ſhame deſpiſe his words, leſt he having nobler thoughts then your ſelves ſhould ſerve to condemn you of the groſſeſt ſtupidity.
You have all I am ſure a very ſtrong deſire of ſomething that is good, and not contented with any inferior degree; you all long for that which is Supream, and hath nothing above it. Now God, ſaith he, and Goodneſs are ſo near of kin that they are convertible, and you cannot find the one, but you muſt have the other alſo. Whereſoever you can meet with the Eſſence of God (he means a participation of him) there is the eſſence of Good. What then is the Eſſence of God, where ſhall we find his Nature? Is this Fleſh the thing we enquire after? Far be ſuch a thought from us. Is that field, or thoſe mannors? away with ſuch an abſurd conceit. Is fame, is glory? No ſuch matter. What then? Is mind and underſtanding, knowledge and wiſdom, right reaſon and ſound apprehenſions? Yes, this is the thing we look for: here we find God, and therefore here let us ſeek for the Nature of Good. He is no where elſe to be met withall, and therefore let us go no farther to be happy. For elſe why doſt not thou ſeek for this Good in a plant? why doſt thou not expect to find it in a Brute? Theſe and all other creatures are indeed the Works of God, but they are not the Principal and chief; they are not a part of him; they are not the things wherein he hath engraven himſelf, and wrought his own Image. It is thou that art the prime of his creatures; that art his Maſter-piece: nay thou art (as I may ſay) a piece of God; thou haſt in thy ſelf a portion of Divinity. Why then art thou ſo Ignorant of thy Nobility? why doſt thou forget ſo ſhamefully from whence thou art derived? Is it fit for thee to ſeek thy happineſs in meat and drink, in money and lands, in honour and applauſe? Why doſt thou diſparage thy ſoul ſo much as to go for thy Good any farther then thy ſelf? There is God, and there thou muſt enjoy thy Good: It is not any thing in the World thou art to mind, ſo much as thy ſoul; for in that is to be found the ſatisfaction of thy deſires. Why doſt thou not remember then, when thou cateſt, who thou art that cateſt, and whom thou feedeſt? When thou uſeſt any thing in the World who thou art that uſeſt it? And when thou doſt any thing, who it is that doth it? Art thou altogether inſenſible of the excellence of the perſon whom thou feedeſt, and who is here ſent into the world to be trained up by thee? O wretch that thou art, how comes it about that thou art ſo ignorant of this, that thou carryeſt God about with thee? Or doſt thou think that I ſpeak of a God without thee? A god of Gold or Silver to be born on thy ſhoulders? Thou carryeſt him in thy ſelf, man; and yet regardeſt not, though thou doſt pollute him with filthy thoughts, and beſmear him with ſordid and naſty actions. If there be a Statue, a liveleſs Image of God before thine eyes, a picture of him in ſtone, thou dareſt not to do any undecent thing before it. But God himſelf being preſent within, ſeeing all things, and hearing all things, thou bluſheſt not, O thou hated of God, to think and do moſt unworthily, being altogether inſenſible of thy own Nature. If one could ſuppoſe thee to be a Statue made by Phidias (Minerva for inſtance, or Jupiter) wouldſt thou not, if we could alſo ſuppoſe thee to have any ſenſe, be very mindful of thy ſelf, and of the workman, and do nothing either unbecoming his Art, or thy own Excellence? And now that thou art made even by Heaven it ſelf, now that thou art the Workmanſhip of God, what is the reaſon that thou careſt not after what manner thou behaveſt thy ſelf? Is not that Image which is made by man, of Stone or Braſs, or of Gold and Ivory at the beſt? And where it is ſet up firſt, there it ſtands for ever, without ſtirring one foot of it ſelf from the place. But who can tell me of what that Image of God is made which he faſhioned with his own hands? What the price of it is, it ſelf cannot underſtand. And yet it ſtirs and moves; it hath a ſpirit, and can go whither it will; it ranges about the world, and cannot be limitted by all that it ſees; it hath a knowledge of good and evil, a reaſon and judgment whereby to eſtimate things. And therefore ſince thou art the Fabrick of ſuch an Artiſt, ſince thou art ſuch an excellent piece; why doſt thou diſgrace, why doſt chou undervalue thy ſelf? Why I ſay? Seeing thou art not only formed by him, but he hath given thee credit above all other creatures; he hath depoſited many rare gifts in thy hands, and intruſted thee alone with a great deal of his wealth? Wilt thou not be mindful of this neither, but betray thy truſt, and abuſe and embezzle his goods which he hath committed to thy charge? If one ſhould commit an Orphan a poor Fatherleſs and Motherleſs child to thy care, — wouldſt thou be ſo negligent of him? Bethink thy ſelf then; He hath committed to thee thy ſelf; He hath judged none ſo faithful none ſo fit to be truſted as thee. Keep me this, ſaith he, juſt as it is. See that this be preſerved in ſafety and delivered back again unto me, modeſt and baſhful, honeſt and juſt, ſober and temperate, heavenly and ſublime, strong and couragious, peaceful and undiſturbed, contented and well pleaſed; in one word, ſuch as I made it. What a piece of infidelity then, what diſhoneſty and falſeneſs is it, that thou wilt not at all guard and ſecure it? What will he ſay unto thee when he ſees it ſo horribly abuſed as we now behold the ſouls of men? What canſt thou expect to be the reward of ſuch treachery, which of all other is the greateſt?
But I ſhould tire you I doubt if I ſhould proceed to the end of this mans Lecture; and I have repeated enough of it to make all your ſouls bluſh at that groſs and ſupine negligence, which makes them obnoxious to the laſh of Heathens. And if you would deal freely and clearly, can you ſay that you never heard your Souls complain that they are thus ſlighted? Did they never quarrel with you for your forgetfulneſs and contempt of them? Are they not apt to murmur and repine that they can receive no higher ſatisfaction than the Brutes enjoy? And do they not remember you that they are of an heavenly deſcent, of the kindred of Angels, made after the likeneſs of God himſelf? O that you would but liſten to them; They will fill your ears I am ſure with ſuch ſad lamentations, as will make them tingle. They will tell you it is unſufferable that they ſhould be thus neglected and diſregarded. They will chide you for beſtowing the care that is due to them upon other inconſiderable things. They will reproach to you moſt bitterly this ſleepineſs and carnal ſecurity wherein I find you. And can you be ſo cruel to them as after ſo many complaints to let them have no redreſs? muſt they ſtill ſuffer theſe wrongs and abuſes which have been long offer'd to them? Will you harden your hearts againſt the cryes and clamours of your own Souls? If there be any ſpark of good nature remaining in them, they are mollified to the piteous whinings and the mournful accents of a poor Dog, that is accidentally ſhut up and almoſt ſtarv'd in a loneſome place, and begs for a releaſe. How can they refuſe then to relent at their own doleful cryes and miſerable complaints? How can they hear without ſome tenderneſs their own ſad ſighs and deep groans after a better good then this World affords? Will you not ſuffer them to be ſet at liberty after ſo long reſtraint? Will you not permit them to go to their own kindred, to return to their native Country when they are ſo deſirous of it? Will you deny them the freedom to think continually of their own proper happineſs, and contrive a ſure way wherein to attain it? Be not ſo unnatural; do not ſo forget your ſelves; but let your Souls have free leave to purſue their deſires. Yea give them opportunity every day to look abroad beyond the Body and this preſent World. Or rather invite them to take the freedom to go to God as oft as they pleaſe. And when you find them ſo unmindful of themſelves as now they ſeemed to be; when they are ſo heavy that they begin to fall aſleep; awake them and ſtir them up again: rouze them from their ſlumber and bid them remember their Dignity and take great heed that they be not gulled with the flatteries and enchantments of the World and of the Fleſh.
And truly there is very great need of this watchfulneſs; for the Fleſh will be ſolliciting your attendance, and deſire you to make proviſion for it. It will complain of your neglects too; and be angry that it is not more kindly uſed. It will grudge at all the time and care that is beſtowed on your Soul, and ſay it is too much. You muſt expect that it will murmur at the commands of Chriſt, and think it ſelf very much in jured by them. But as you muſt not regard theſe complaints, ſo I will tell you a way whereby you ſhall ceaſe them, and make it better ſatisfied. Let it know that if it will not be content with what you do, it ſhall have worſe uſage then hitherto. Tell it that you will not have ſo much kindneſs for it, unleſs it will be quiet. Perſwade it that it is better to conſent to obedience ſooner, for elſe it ſhall fare more hardly, and you will take a ſeverer courſe to bring it under. For ſo I have read that Hilarion an ancient Pilgrim, was wont to do. When he found his fleſh to be much diſpleaſed that it was denyed any thing; He inſulted over it on this faſhion. Thou Aſs! canſt thou not tell when thou art well and haſt but a light burden upon thy back? I will make thee that thou ſhalt not kick again in haſt. I will lay ſuch loads upon thee that thou ſhalt ſtand quietly and have no power to Wince. And I will not feed thee with Corn, but with ſtraw. I will puniſh thee with hunger and thirſt. I will afflict thee with faſting and bring thee low with harder labours. I will make thee think more of thy meat then of gluttony and riot. Thou ſhalt be glad of a drop of drink, and reſt well content without compotations and exceſs of Wine. Thou hadſt better have been more moderate in thy deſires, for I will teach thee to be well pleaſed with a ſparer diet. It had been more for thine eaſe if thou hadſt been more diligent; for I will cure thee of thy Sloth, by exacting of thee more grievous taſks.
In this manner he quieted and ſtill'd all its grumblings, and affrighted away its reluctance and idle diſpoſition. And in the ſame way may you bring it to ſome reaſon, and make it capable of good advice; leſt by craving too much it have the leſs; and by incroaching upon the better part, it loſe the freedom that it doth enjoy. Terrifie your ſelves with the thoughts of ſeverer Diſcipline, which you muſt be forced to uſe: and repreſent to your ſelves effectually, that if there be no other way, this ſluggiſh temper muſt be baniſhed by a rigorous and ſharp pennance, which you can leſs endure than this eaſie ſervice of our Lord. By this means ſure you will procure liberty for your ſouls to follow their nobler propenſions, and to provide for their return to their own Country, and their Fathers Houſe. Which if you mean to effect, then you muſt take more time, whatſoever the Fleſh or the World ſhall object, to conſider more ſeriouſly the worth and price of your Souls, than which I know not what can be more powerful to drive away your ſleep, and to make you attend with all earneſtneſs to the ſecuring of their happineſs. Remember I again beſeech you, that it is too long that you have remained in ignorance of your ſelves. That it is high time now to look about you, leſt your Souls quite forget themſelves, and never recover the memory of what and whence they are. Let my counſel therefore be acceptable to you, and revolve very often in your mind the words of that Heathen whom I have brought hither to make you aſhamed. Retire much into your ſelves, and there demand of your Souls, that they declare their quality and condition to you. They are able to make you an anſwer, and therefore bid them tell you what is their parentage and kindred, of what houſe they are deſcended, what is their nature, their portion, their inheritance, and do not ceaſe till you have received ſatisfaction. Aſk them if they are not the Daughters of God, Siſters to Angels, Images of Divinity. Hearken if they will not tell you that they are ſpirits of a vaſt underſtanding, purer than the Light, ſwifter than the Lightning; whoſe portion and dowry is immortality, whoſe place is the Univerſe, whoſe capacity is a picture of Infinity, and who are born to be heirs of the other world, to have the honour of being Kings, and to raign with God for ever. And when your ſouls have dealt faithfully with you, and let you know ſuch things as theſe, you muſt be as faithful and juſt to them, and aſſure them that you will have a great care of them, and attend upon them according to their birth and quality. Think what a madneſs it is to throw away this nobler Moity of man, for that which no diſcreet perſon would purchaſe with the loſs of his health, or the price of the pains of the far inferiour part. Let every one of you ſay within himſelf, O my Soul, I will never be perſwaded to loſe thee; nothing ſhall tempt me to be falſe unto thee. This Body ſhall be hungry and ſtarv'd, nay and dye too if it were poſſible a thouſand deaths, rather than I will famiſh thee, and ſuffer thee to periſh. I have reſolved thou ſhalt have thy true liberty, & purſue thy true end for which thou waſt made. Look about thee, and ſee what thou wouldſt have, and by the Grace of God it ſhall not be denyed to thy deſires. And what is, I beſeech you, O you Sons of men, or rather, you Sons of God, you children of the Moſt High; what is it that you are moſt deſirous to enjoy? Is it not the Knowledge of God, to be acquainted with your Father, to recover his Image, to be impreſſed with his Likeneſs, to live in his Love, to have the Light of his Countenance, to be full of good hopes of receiving his Bleſſing, and to be reſtored at laſt to his preſence after this long baniſhment from him? O gratifie your ſouls then ſo far, as to give all diligence to fulfil theſe reaſonable longings. Be not ſparing of your pains in ſo great a buſineſs. Let them not be put off with frivolous excuſes, that you are not at leiſure, that you have other things to mind for the convenience of your Bodies, or any the like pretences; but inſtantly apply your ſelves more vigorouſly than ever to ſee that they have right done them, and that they receive their true and full ſatisfaction. Do not think it is ſuch a ſmall matter that will content them as the whole World. Nay, do not imagine that it will ſuffice them to talk of the other World; to ſend ſome meſſages to it, and receive ſome from it. It is not enough that they ſpeak now and then with the Father of their Being, and that they have his Word, and hear him ſpeaking to them. But they muſt have a greater communication with them both, than this amounts unto. They muſt ſet their affections on things above: they muſt have their converſation in Heaven: they muſt be like to God, and made partakers of a Divine Nature. They muſt be renewed after the Image of him that created them, in Wiſdom, in Righteouſneſs, in Purity, in Charity and Love; ſo that God may dwell in them and they in him. No leſs Good than this muſt you deſign for your Souls. You do not act like reaſonable Beings, till you ſeek by all means this conformity with your Original from whence you ſpring. Do you doubt at all of what I ſay? Let me ſend you then to that Philoſopher again, that you may bluſh once more to ſee your ſelves in greater Ignorance than thoſe whom you reproach with the name of Infidels.
Diogenes, ſaith he, hearing a Sophiſter once making a vain-glorious declamation, L. 3. c. 2.put forth his middle finger, and pointed at him ſaying; See, there is the man: behold him, for that is He: now you may look upon him, and know him if you will. At which words there being a great ſtir and tumult excited, he proceeded thus in his ſpeech unto them. Do you think that I ſhew you a man as we do a ſtone or a log, only with the indicatian of my finger? No, I have no ſuch meaning: it is a folly to think of diſtinguiſhing a man from his neighbour by ſuch an Inſtrument. But when one hath ſhown you his opinions that he hath of things, when he hath demonſtrated to you what are his great concerns; then he hath ſhown him to you as he is a man. And from thence now you may take this mans Character whom you have heard ſpeaking to you. He hath told you what he thinks, and what he moſt deſires: I only bid you to mark and obſerve him. Let us ſee thy opinions and notions alſo (ſaith the Philoſopher who makes application of this ſtory) Let us behold thy ſentiments that we may be acquainted with thee. Diſcover to us what thou loveſt and chuſeſt above all other things. Doſt thou place thy happineſs without thy ſelf? Doſt thou value all things more than thy ſelf? Thou readeſt the beſt Philoſophers, thou ſtudieſt Chryſippus, and ſuch good Authors; and this is all. Why, then we ſee very well who thou art. Haſt thou not diſcovered to us in what eſteem we are to hold thee? A poor-ſpirited Creature, angry and furious, fearful and diſtruſtful, querulous and complaining of every thing, proud and conceited of thy ſelf, covetous and voluptuous, deſirous of glory and popular applauſe, accuſing all things, and never quiet nor at reſt. Theſe things thou ſheweſt us; and by theſe we are to eſteem thee. It is not thy Books, nor thy Maſters and Tutors, nor any thing elſe, but ſuch as theſe that ſhew the man.
And what I beſeech you can be more proper to be ſpoken in the ears of moſt Chriſtian Auditories? You read the Bible; you have the Books of Chriſtian Learning in your hands. Do theſe denominate you Chriſtian men and women? Muſt we call you the Diſciples of our Saviour, becauſe you ſit before us, and hear our Sermons. No ſuch matter: Shew us, O man, thy thoughts, ſhew us thy decrees and opinions of things. Let us ſee thy underſtanding, thy will, thy choice, thy affections; that we may know whether thou art a Chriſtian or no. And where ſhall we ſee theſe but in the actions of thy life? Covetouſneſs & love of pleaſure tell us plainly what thou art. Pride and ſtudy to be admired in the World proclaim thee to us more than all that we ſee beſide. If thou wilt give a proof thy Humanity and of thy Chriſtianity too; if thou wilt have us believe that thou art not yet turned an unreaſonable creature; live according to thy reaſon; practiſe thy Religion; preferr thy Soul before thy Body, the concernments of an immortal Being before the trivial injoyments of a few moments. Do not tell us of thy profeſſions, nor of thy belief, when we ſee with our eyes that which better declares thee to us. Let thy Soul recover its command again; let it be reſtored to its Empire and Dominion; let it rule all the paſſions and affections of the lower part, that we may know thou art a Man, and not degenerated into a Beaſt.
And now by this time you may well think theſe Pilgrims were awakened, unleſs they meant to ſnort eternally. And indeed the poor men were ſo warm'd, or rather inflamed with this diſcourſe, that they could refrain themſelves no longer, but burſt forth into a paſſionate weeping; firſt for their fault, and then for joy, that God had ſent them ſo faithful a Monitor. They gave him moſt hearty thanks for his excellent Sermon (as they could not chuſe but call it) and promiſed moſt ſolemnly to think more of the value of their Souls, and thereby excite themſelves to uſe their beſt diligence to ſave them. We will go, ſaid they, to the Father of our Spirits: we will make it our conſtant endeavour to reconcile our ſelves to him. We will ſay, Father, we have ſinned againſt Heaven and againſt thee; we have ſinned againſt our ſelves. We have wronged our own Souls; we are no more worthy to be called thy Sons: no not worthy of ſo much as to be called the Sons of men. We have lived like Brutes; we have ſpoiled thy Workmanſhip; and miſerably effaced and mangled thine Image. But we repent, and remember from whence we are faln. We are deſirous now of nothing ſo much, as to be conformed to thy ſelf. O let us be thy ſervants, if we are not worthy to be called thy children. Admit us but into the loweſt place in thy family, to the meaneſt degree of thy Love. And if that be too good a name for us, to be ſtiled thy ſervants; we are willing to be thy Vaſſals, thy Bondſmen, any thing that thou wilt have us. For we are the Captives of thy Mighty and All-conquering Love, and we ſhall think our ſelves happy, if we may ſit in the moſt inferiour rank of thoſe, that ſhall eternally ſing thy Praiſes.