Works of Joseph Hall, Section 11 – Section 16
SECT. XI.
The firſt remedy of croſſes before they come.THe ſame medicines cannot helpe all diſeaſes of the body, of the ſoule they may. Wee ſee Fencers giuegive their ſchollers the ſame common rules of poſition, of warding and weilding their weapon for offence, for defence, againſt all commers: ſuch vniuerſall precepts there are for croſſes. In the firſt whereof, I would preſcribe Expectation, that either killeth or abateth euills. For Croſſes, after the nature of the Cockatrice, die, it they be foreſeene; whether this prouidence makes vsus more ſtrong to reſiſt, or by ſome ſecret power makes them more vnable to aſſault vsus. It is not credible what a fore-reſolued minde can doe, can ſuffer. Could our Engliſh Milo, of whom Spaine yet ſpeaketh ſince their laſt peace, hauehave ouerthrowne that furious Beaſt, made now more violent through the rage of his baiting, if he had not ſetled himſelfe in his ſtation, and expected? The frighted multitude ran away from that ouer-earneſt ſport, which begun in pleaſure, ended in terrour. If he had turned his backe with the reſt, where had beene his ſafety, where his glory, and reward? Now he ſtood ſtill, expected, ouercame, by one fact he at once preſerued, honoured, enriched himſelfe. Euills will come neuer the ſooner for that thou lookeſt for them, they will come the eaſier: it is a labour well loſt, if they come not; and well beſtowed, if they doe come. We are ſure the worſt may come, why ſhould wee bee ſecure that it will not? Suddenneſſe findes weake mindes ſecure, makes them miſerable, leaues them deſperate. The beſt way therefore is, to make things preſent, in conceit before they come, that they may be halfe paſt in their violence when they doe come: euen as with woodden waſters we learne to play at the ſharp. As therefore good Souldiers exerciſe themſelues long at the pale, and there vſe thoſe actiuities, which afterwards they ſhall practiſe vponupon a true aduerſarie: ſo muſt we preſent to our ſelues imaginary croſſes, and manage them in our minde, before God ſends them in euent. Now I eat, ſleepe, digeſt, all ſoundly, without complaint: what if a languiſhing diſeaſe ſhould bereaue me of my appetite and reſt? that I ſhould ſee dainties and loath them, ſurfetting of the very ſmell, of the thought of the beſt diſhes? that I ſhould count the lingring houres, and thinke Ezechias long day returned, wearying my ſelfe with changing ſides, and wiſhing any thing but what I am? How could I take this diſtemper? Now I hauehave (if not what I would, yet) what I need; as not abounding with idle ſuperfluities, ſo not ſtraitned with penurie of neceſſary things. What if pouerty ſhould ruſh vponupon me as an armed man, ſpoiling mee of all my little that I had, and ſend me to the fountaine for my beſt cellar? to the ground for my bed? for my bread to anothers cupbord? for my clothes to the Brokers ſhop, or my friends wardrobe? How could I brooke this want? I am now at home, walking in my owne grounds, looking on my young plants the hope of poſterity, conſidering the nature, aduantages or feares of my ſoile, enioying the patrimony of my Fathers. What if for my Religion, or the malicious ſentence of ſome great one, I ſhould be exiled from my Countrey, wandering amongſt thoſe, whoſe habit, language, faſhion, my ignorance ſhall make me wonder at; where the ſolitude of places, and ſtrangeneſſe of perſons, ſhall make my life vncomfortable? How could I abide the ſmell of forraine ſmoke? how ſhould I take the contempt and hard vſage that waits vponupon ſtrangers? Thy proſperity is idle, and ill ſpent, if it be not medled with ſuch fore-caſting, and wiſely ſuſpicious thoughts, if it be wholly beſtowed in enioying, no whit in preuenting. Like vntounto a fooliſh Citie, which notwithſtanding a dangerous ſituation, ſpends all her wealth in rich furnitures of chambers, and ſtate-houſes; while they beſtow not one ſhouell-full of earth on outward Bulwarks to their defence: this is but to make our enemies the happier, and our ſelues the more readily miſerable. If thou wilt not therefore be oppreſſed with euils, Expect and Exerciſe; Exerciſe thy ſelfe with conceit of euils: Expect the euils themſelues; yea exerciſe thy ſelfe in expectation: ſo while the minde pleaſeth it ſelfe in thinking, Yet I am not thus, it prepareth it ſelfe againſt it may be ſo. And if ſome that hauehave beene good at the Foyles, hauehave proued cowardly at the ſharp, yet on the contrary, who euer durſt point a ſingle combat in the field, that hath not beene ſomewhat trained in the Fence-ſchoole?
SECT. XII.
NEither doth it a little blunt the edge of euils,The next remedy of croſſes when they are come. From their Author. to conſider that they come from a diuine hand, whoſe almighty power is guided by a moſt wiſe prouidence, and tempered with a Fatherly louelove. Euen the ſauage creatures will be ſmitten of their keeper, and repine not; if of a ſtranger, they teare him in peeces. He ſtrikes me that made me, that moderates the world; why ſtruggle I with him, why with my ſelfe? Am I a foole, or a Rebell? A foole, if I be ignorant whence my croſſes come: a Rebell, if I know it, and be impatient. My ſufferings are from a God, from my God; he hath deſtin'd me eueryevery dramme of ſorrow that I feele: thus much thou ſhalt abide, and here ſhall thy miſeries be ſtinted. All worldly helps cannot abate them, all powers of hell cannot adde one ſcruple to their weight, that he hath allotted me: I muſt therefore either blaſpheme God in my heart, detracting from his infinite iuſtice, wiſdome, power, mercy, which all ſhall ſtand inuiolable, when millions of ſuch wormes as I am, are gone to duſt; or elſe confeſſe that I ought to be patient. And if I profeſſe I ſhould be that I will not, I befoole my ſelfe, and bewray miſerable impotencie. But (as impatience is full of excuſe) it was thine owne raſh improuidence, or the ſpight of thine enemie that impoueriſht, that defamed thee: it was the malignitie of ſome vnwholeſome diſh, or ſome groſſe corrupted aire, that hath diſtempered thee. Ah fooliſh curre, why doeſt thou bite at the ſtone, which could neuer hauehave hurt thee, but from the hand that threw it? If I wound thee, what matters it whether with mine owne ſword, or thine, or anothers? God ſtrikes ſome immediatly from heauen with his owne arme, or with the arme of Angels: others hee buffets with their owne hands, ſome by the reuenging ſword of an enemie, others with the fiſt of his dumbe creatures: God ſtrikes in all; his hand moues theirs. If thou ſee it not, blame thy carnall eies. Why doſt thou fault the inſtrument, while thou knoweſt the agent? Euen the dying theefe pardons the executioner, exclaimes on his vniuſt Iudge, or his malicious accuſers. Either then blame the firſt mouer, or diſcharge the meanes: which as they could not hauehave touched thee, but as from him; ſo from him they hauehave afflicted thee iuſtly, wrongfully perhaps as in themſelues.
SECT. XIII.
BVt neither ſeemeth it enough to be patient in croſſes,The third antidote of croſſes. if wee bee not thankfull alſo. Good things challenge more than bare contentment. Croſſes (vniuſtly termed euils) as they are ſent of him that is all gooneſſe, ſo they are ſent for good, and his end cannot bee fruſtrate. What greater good can be to the diſeaſed man, than fit and proper Phyſicke to recure him? Croſſes are the only medicines of ſicke mindes. Thy ſound body carries within it a ſicke ſoule; thou feeleſt it not perhaps: ſo much more art thou ſicke, and ſo much more dangerouſly. Perhaps thou laboureſt of ſome plethorie of pride, or of ſome dropſie of couetouſneſſe, or the ſtaggers of inconſtancy, or ſome feauer of luxurie, or conſumption of enuie, or perhaps of the lethargie of idleneſſe, or of the phrenſie of anger: It is a rare ſoule that hath not ſome notable diſeaſe: onelyonly croſſes are thy remedies. What if they be vnpleaſant? They are phyſicke: it is enough if they be wholeſome. Not pleaſant taſte, but the ſecret vertue commends medicines. If they cure thee, they ſhall pleaſe thee, euen in diſpleaſing; or elſe thou loueſt thy palate aboue thy ſoule. What madneſſe is this? When thou complaineſt of a bodily diſeaſe, thou ſendeſt to the Phyſician, that he may ſend thee not ſauourie, but wholeſome potions: thou receiueſt them in ſpight of thine abhorring ſtomach, and withall both thankeſt and rewardeſt the Phyſician. Thy ſoule is ſicke: thy heauenly Phyſician ſees it, and pitties thee ere thou thy ſelfe; and vnſent to, ſends thee not a plauſible, but a ſoueraigne remedie: thou loatheſt the ſauour, and rather wilt hazard thy life, than offend thy palate; and in ſtead of thankes, repineſt at, reuileſt the Phyſician. How comes it that we louelove our ſelues ſo little (if at leaſt we count our ſoules the beſt or any part) as that we had rather vndergoe death than paine, chuſing rather wilfull ſickneſſe, than an harſh remedie? Surely we men are meere fooles in the eſtimation of our owne good: like children, our choice is lead altogether by ſhew, no whit by ſubſtance. Wee cry after eueryevery well-ſeeming toy, and put from vsus ſolid proffers of good things. The wiſe Arbitrator of all things ſees our folly, and corrects it, with-holding our idle deſires, and forcing vponupon vsus the ſound good we refuſe. It is ſecond folly in vsus, if we thanke him not. The fooliſh babe cries for his fathers bright knife, or gilded pilles. The wiſer father knowes that they can but hurt him; and therefore with-holds them after all his teares. The childe thinkes he is vſed but vnkindly. EueryEvery wiſe man, and himſelfe at more yeeres, can ſay, it was vſed but childiſh folly, in deſiring it, in complaining that he miſſed it. The loſſe of wealth, friends, health, is ſometimes gaine to vsus. Thy body, thy eſtate, is worſe; thy ſoule is better, why complaineſt thou?
SECT. XIV.
The 4. and laſt part, from their iſſue.NAy, it ſhall not be enough (mee thinkes) if onelyonly wee be but contented and thankfull, if not alſo chearefull in afflictions; if that, as we feele their paine, ſo wee looke to their end; although indeed this is not more requiſite, than rarely found, as being proper onelyonly to the good heart. EueryEvery bird can ſing in a cleare heauen, in a temperate ſpring; that one, as moſt familiar, ſo is moſt commended, that ſings merrie notes in the middeſt of a ſhowre, or the dead of Winter. EueryEvery Epicure can enlarge his heart to mirth in the middeſt of his cups and dalliance; onelyonly the three children can ſing in the furnace, Paul and Silas in the ſtockes. Martyrs at the ſtake. It is from heauen that this ioy comes, ſo contrary to all earthly occaſions, bred in the faithfull heart, through a ſerious and feeling reſpect to the iſſue of what he feeles, the quiet and vntroubled fruit of his righteouſneſſe; glorie, the crowne after his fight; after his minute of paine, eternity of ioy. He neuer lookt ouer the threſhold of heauen, that cannot more reioyce that he ſhall be glorious, than mourne in preſent that he is miſerable.
SECT. XV.
Of the importunitie and terror of Death.YEa, this conſideration is ſo powerfull, that it alone is able to make a part againſt the feare or ſenſe of the laſt and greateſt of all terribles, Death it ſelfe: which in the conſcience of his owne dreadfulneſſe, iuſtly laughs at all the vaine humane precepts of Tranquillitie, appalling the moſt reſolute, and vexing the moſt cheerefull mindes. Neither prophane Lucretius, with all his Epicurean rules of confidence, nor drunken Anacreon, with all his wanton Odes, can ſhift off the importunate and violent horrour of this Aduerſarie. Seeſt thou the Chaldean Tyrant beſet with the ſacred bowles of Ieruſalem, the late ſpoiles of Gods Temple; and (in contempt of their owner) carowſing healths to his Queenes, Concubines, Peeres, ſinging amids his cups, triumphant carols of praiſe to his molten and carued gods? Wouldeſt thou euer ſuſpect that this high courage could be abated? or that this ſumptuous and preſumptuous banquet (after ſo royall and iocond continuance) ſhould hauehave any other concluſion, but pleaſure? Stay but one houre longer, and thou ſhalt ſee that face, that now ſhines with a ruddie gloſſe (according to the colour of his liquor) looke pale and gaſtly, ſtained with the colours of feare and death; and that proud hand, which now lifts vp her maſſie Goblets in defiance of God, tremble like a leafe in a ſtorme; and thoſe ſtrong knees, which neuer ſtooped to the burden of their laden body, now not able to beare vp themſelues, but looſened with a ſudden palſie of feare, one knocking againſt the other: and all this, for that Death writes him a letter of ſummons to appeare that night before him; and accordingly ere the next Sunne, ſent two Eunuches for his honorable conueiance into another world. Where now are thoſe delicate morſels, thoſe deep draughts, thoſe merry ditties, wherewith the palate and eare ſo pleaſed themſelues? What is now become of all thoſe cheerefull looks, looſe laughters, ſtately port, reuels, triumphs of the feaſting Court? Why doth none of his gallant Nobles reuiue the fainted courage of their Lord with a new cup? or with ſome ſtirring ieſt ſhake him out of this vnſeaſonable melancholy? O death, how imperious art thou to carnall mindes? aggrauating their miſerie not onelyonly by expectation of future paine, but by the remembrance of the wonted cauſes of their ioy; and not ſuffering them to ſee ought but what may torment them? Euen that monſter of Ceſars, that had beene ſo well acquainted with bloud, and neuer had ſound better ſport than in cutting of throats; when now it came to his owne turne, how effeminate, how deſperately cowardous did he ſhew himſelfe! to the wonder of all Readers, that he which was euer ſo valiant in killing, ſhould be ſo womaniſhly heartleſſe in dying.
SECT. XVI.
THere are that feare not ſo much to be dead, as to die;The grounds of the feare of death. the very act of diſſolution frighting them with a tormenting expectation of a ſhort, but intolerable painfulneſſe. Which let if the wiſdome of God had not interpoſed to timorous nature, there would hauehave beene many more Lucreces, Cleopatraes, Achitophels; and good lawes ſhould hauehave found little opportunitie of execution, through the wilfull funerals of malefactors. For the ſoule that comes into the body without any (at leaſt ſenſible) pleaſure, departs not from it without an extremitie of paine; which varying according to the manner and meanes of ſeparation, yet in all violent deaths eſpecially retaineth a violence not to be auoided, hard to be endured. And if diſeaſes, which are deſtin'd towards death as their end, bee ſo painfull, what muſt the end and perfection of diſeaſes be? Since as diſeaſes are the maladies of the body, ſo death is the malady of diſeaſes. There are that feare not ſo much to die, as to be dead. If the pang be bitter, yet it is but ſhort: the comfortleſſe ſtate of the dead ſtrikes ſome that could well reſolue for the act of their paſſage. Not the worſt of the Heathen Emperours, made that moanfull dittie on his death-bed, wherein he bewraieth (to all memory) much feeling pittie of his ſoule, for her doubtfull and impotent condition after her parture. How doth Platoes worldling bewaile the miſery of the graue, beſides all reſpect of paine! Woe is mee, that I ſhall lie alone rotting in the ſilent earth, amongst the crawling Wormes, foreign, &c.not ſeeing ought aboue, not ſeene. Very not-being is ſufficiently abhorred of nature, if death had no more to make it fearefull. But thoſe that hauehave liued vnderunder light enough, to ſhew them the gates of hell, after th…ir paſſage thorow the gates of death, (and hauehave learned, that death is not onelyonly horrible for our not-being here, but for being infinitly, eternally miſerable in a future world, nor ſo much for the diſſolution of life, as the beginning of torment) thoſe cannot, without the certaine hope of their immunitie, but carnally feare to die, and helliſhly feare to be dead. For if it be ſuch paine to die, what is it to be euer dying? And if the ſtraining or luxation of one ioynt can ſo afflict vsus, what ſhall the racking of the whole body, and the torturing of the ſoule, whoſe animation alone makes the body to feele and complaine of ſmart? And if men hauehave deuiſed ſuch exquiſite torments, what can ſpirits, more ſubtile, more malicious? And if our momentanie ſufferings ſeeme long, how long ſhall that be that is eternall? And if the ſorrowes indifferently incident to Gods deare ones vponupon earth, be ſo extreme, as ſometimes to driue them within ſight of deſpairing, what ſhall thoſe be that are reſerued onelyonly for thoſe that hate him, and that he hateth? None but thoſe who hauehave heard the deſperate complaints of ſome guiltie Spyra, of whoſe ſoules hauehave beene a little ſcorched with theſe flames, can enough conceiue of the horror of this eſtate; it being the policy of our common enemy to conceale it ſo long, that we may ſee and feele it at once, leſt we ſhould feare it, before it be too late to be auoided.