The Sacred Diary, Section 35
SECT. XXXV. A Meditation on the Miſeries of this Life.
IT is good for a Chriſtian every Day, to Meditate ſeriouſly on the Miſeries of this Life. And here,
1. Conſider of the ſhortneſs of it. Job ſaith, Man's days are determined, the number of his Months are with God, and that he hath appointed his Bounds that he cannot paſs, Job 14.5. The days of our Years are threeſcore and ten: And if by reaſon of Strength they be fourſcore Years, yet is their ſtrength Labour and Sorrow, for it is ſoon cut off, and we flie away. And hereof you cannot well reckon the time of your Infancy for any part of your Life, for in that Age there is nothing either learnt or done, that may well beſeem the Dignity of a Man.
And as touching the time that is ſpent in Sleep, I ſee not how that can well be called the time of Life; ſeeing the principal part of our Life, is to have the uſe of our Senſes and Reaſon, which then are (as it were) ſuſpended in us, and dead. Therefore a Philoſopher ſaid, that in the half of Man's Life, there is no difference between the happy Man and unhappy, for as much as during the time of Sleep, all Men are equal, becauſe they then be as if they were dead.
For this cauſe a certain Poet termeth Sleep the Couſin-germane of Death. And another called it the Brother of Death, yea, Death's Elder Brother: For there is a near reſemblance between the one and the other. Multitudes of People do ſleep the third part of the Day and Night, which is eight whole Hours (and ſome more) whence it followeth, that a third part of our Lives is conſumed in ſleep, and ſo conſequently that during that time we do not live.
That Philoſopher had good reaſon to do as he did, who being demanded what he thought of the Life of Man, turn'd himſelf about before them that made the Demand, and ſuddenly departed out of their ſight; giving them thereby to underſtand, that our Life is very ſhort, and but as it were a turnabout. And in a very ſhort time after a Man's Death, the very remembrance of him periſheth. Some of the Ancients call Man's Life a Dream; yea, the dream of a Shadow.
But compare this ſmall remnant of Life we live here, with the Life to come, and how little will it appear? What is this Momentany Life, compared with Life Everlaſting, but as it were a drop of Water compared with the whole Ocean? If a thouſand Years in the ſight of God, be no more but as it were Yeſterday, which is now paſt and gone, what ſhall the Life of ſeventy or eighty Years ſeem to be, but only a very nothing, compared to Eternity?
Chriſtian Reader, Think then with thy ſelf every Day, what greater Folly and Madneſs can be imagined, than that Men and Women for the enjoying of this ſhort dream of ſuch vain Delights and Pleaſures, ſhould plunge themſelves into everlaſting Torments? and what ſottiſhneſs hath poſſeſſed Men, that they ſhould take ſo much Labour and Pains to provide ſo many things for ſo ſhort a Life, and not to make any proviſion at all for their Souls, which ſhall live for ever?
II. Meditate alſo of the uncertainty of your Life. As our Life is very ſhort, ſo it is alſo uncertain. Eccleſ. 9.12. Man knoweth not his time: As the Fiſhes that are taken in an evil Net; and as the Birds that are caught in the Snare, ſo are the Sons of Men ſnared in an evil time, when it falleth ſuddenly upon them. How often are Men ſurprized with ſudden Changes, as Birds in a Snare, and Fiſhes in a Net?
Watch ye therefore, and be always in readineſs, becauſe ye know not the Hour when the Son of Man cometh; becauſe ye know not the Year, be therefore always in readineſs every Year: And becauſe ye know not the Month, watch every Month; and becauſe ye know not the Hour, watch every Hour. I will give you a Compariſon brought to my Hand by a Devout Man. Suppoſe there were ſet before thee upon a Table, thirty or 40 ſeveral Diſhes of Meat, and thou wert told by a ſpecial Friend, that there was Poyſon in one of them, thou wouldeſt ſcarce adventure to eat of any one of them, although thou wert much an hungred, for fear peradventure leſt thou ſhouldſt light upon the Diſh that was Poyſoned. Now perhaps thou mayſt think, that thou ſhalt live thirty or forty Years. Well then! If it be certain that in one of theſe Years thou ſhalt die, and thou knoweſt not in which of them, why art thou not then afraid in every one of them; and doſt not every Year, yea, every Day make preparation for Death?
Why do Souldiers keep a continual Watch in the Caſtle that ſtandeth in the Frontiers, upon an Enemies Country? Is it for any other cauſe, but only for that they know not when the Enemies will come to Aſſault it? Surely for none other. Oh then, ſeeing you know not at what hour Death will aſſault you, you had always need to be Watchful; thy Soul is of greater value than all the Caſtles and Kingdoms of the World, and thou haſt greater Enemies that do endeavour Day and Night continually to aſſault it, and thou art altogether ignorant of the Day and Hour of thine Aſſault, and the whole matter of the Salvation or Damnation of thy Soul, conſiſteth in this Point, whether thou be taken provided or unprovided in that dreadful Hour.
III. Conſider the frailty and brittleneſs of Man's Life, no Glaſs is ſo ſubject to knocks and breaking as the Life of Man. Some loſe their Life by the vehement heat of the Sun; the Eyes of ſome are able to bereave others of their Life. Some die by drinking a draught of cold Drink in a Sweat, or by Surfeiting at a Supper. Some die of exceſſive Pleaſure or Grief. Some ſeem to go well to Bed, and there are found dead in the Morning. We may not wonder how ſoon Men end their Lives, as how they endure ſo long, the Workmanſhip of their Bodies being ſo tender, and the Matter and Stuff whereof they be compounded, ſo frail and weak. God bids the Prophet cry, All fleſh is Graſs, and all the glory thereof like the Flower of the Field: The Graſs withereth, the Flower fadeth, &c. What is the Graſs, but the Earth's Summer Garment, which is put off before Winter cometh?
To Day thou mayſt ſee a young Gallant in the flower of his Age, ſtrong and lively, jetting up and down in rich Attire, and with a lofty Countenance; and to Morrow a violent Diſeaſe ſurprizing, may ſtrangely disfigure and alter him. Some are ſore broken with Adverſities, others are pinched with Penury and Poverty. Some are diſtempered with delicate Meats, and ſweet Wines; others are debilitated with Age. Some mar their Complexions with Artificial Paintings, and Riotous Behaviour, ſo that their Fleſh withereth like Graſs, and the Flower thereof fadeth away.
May ye not to Day ſee ſome deſcended of Noble Parentage, of a very Ancient Houſe and Family, well Friended, and keeping a great Houſe, attended with a great Train of Tenants and Servants, and Commanding the whole Country where they live; and within a few Days after ye may ſee the ſame Men forſaken of all their Friends, deſpiſed by their Equals, and little reguarded of all the World; utterly diſgraced, and thruſt into that Priſon, where perhaps they not long before had Impriſoned others, and there to end their wretched and miſerable Life? O ſinful Man, thou that drinkeſt down Iniquity like Water, that walloweſt daily in ſinful Delights and Pleaſures, doſt thou not plainly ſee, that whenſoever the Thred of this frail and ſhort Life of thine breaketh in ſunder, that if thou continueſt ſtill in this thy wicked Courſe, thou ſhalt fall into the bottomleſs Pit of Deſtruction? How then canſt thou Sing, Laugh, Play, or Sleep, and take any Reſt? How is it that thou art ſo ſenſeleſs of thy Peril and Danger, who art ready every moment to drop into the Pit of Hell?
IV. Meditate on the variableneſs of this Life. The Camelion changeth himſelf often into divers colours, and the Moon into divers ſhapes: But who is able to reckon up the alterations that are in Man? Now he ſmiles, anon he frowns; now he is pleaſed, but by and by diſpleaſed; now he is merry, anon he is ſad and penſive; now he is well, by and by he is ſick: ſometimes contented, ſometimes diſcontented; ſometimes full of Hope, ſometimes in Diſpair; ſometimes pleaſed, ſometimes angry. That which is paſt is irkſome to him; that which is preſent is troubleſome; and that which is to come diſquiets him. He is careful in getting Goods, fearful of loſing, and ſorrowful in parting with them. And how doth Man's Life continually move and waſte away; for every minute he is going a ſtep further towards his Death?
Job ſaith, that his Days were ſwifter than a Poſt. Job 9.25.He that rides Poſt, though his Meſſage require never ſo much haſte, yet ſometimes neceſſity cauſeth him to ſtay; but our Life never ſtayeth one moment. St. Hierom ſaith, Whatſoever I take in Hand, whatſoever I write, whatſoever I reade over again, and correct, each thing takes from me ſome part of my Life. And look how many points and minims the Notary writeth, ſo many are the loſſes and decreaſings of my Life: Inſomuch, that like as they that ſail in a Ship, whether they ſtand or ſit, are always going and ſailing, and do ever approach nearer to the end of their Navigation: Even ſo all the time that we live here, we walk and paſs on forward ſtill, approaching nearer and nearer to Death, the common Haven at which we muſt all Arrive.
V. Meditate on the Treacherouſneſs of this Life; it is full of Deceit and Guile. O Man, doſt thou perceive (ſaith the forementioned Father) when thou waſt made an Infant? Canſt thou tell when thou waſt made a Stripling? Or when thou cameſt to Man's Eſtate? Or when thou didſt begin to be Old? We Die every day, we are in Deaths often, and yet vain Man would perſwade himſelf he ſhall Live for ever.
This made the Megarenſes raiſe ſuch ſtately and ſumptuous Buildings, of whom a certain Philoſopher ſaith, That they builded as though they ſhould live for ever, and they lived as though they ſhould die the next day. Wherefore do Men labour ſo much in gathering Riches, and in purchaſing of Lands, and make ſo little preparation for Death, is it not becauſe that they do perſwade themſelves, that their Life ſhall long endure? This falſe Conceit makes them believe, that they ſhall have time enough for all things: That they ſhall have time for their Pleaſures, Luſts, Vanities, and Worldly Buſineſſes; and that after all this, they ſhall have time enough alſo before they Die, to make their Account ready, and to make their Atonement with God.
This vain perſwaſion is not grounded upon any Reaſon, or true Foundation, but only upon Self-love, which as it naturally hateth the thoughts of Death, ſo will it not believe, that it will come ſoon to his Houſe as to another Man's; moſt Men are loth to believe a thing, that may be an occaſion of ſo great Pain and Grief unto them as the ſame would be.
VI. Meditate on the manifold Miſeries of this Life: So many are the Calamities and Miſeries of Man's Body and Mind, as that it deſerves rather the name of Death than Life. Were your Eyes opened to ſee your own caſe, you would always lament and bewail your Eſtate, as Men condemned by God Almighty, to endure ſuch Miſeries. Conſider firſt the External Miſeries of the Body; Who is able to count them? What pains and toil do Men take to get Food, whereby to ſuſtain their Lives, either by the ſweat of their Brows, or the ſweat of their Brains? The Beaſts of the Earth, and Birds of the Air, are fed without any Labour or Pain: But Man is conſtrained to labour Day and Night, and to turmoil by Sea and Land, to get his Living. And as the Spider laboureth Day and Night in ſpinning her Web, waſting even her own Bowels, and conſuming her ſelf to bring it to an end, which ſerves only for a Net to catch Flies in; even ſo all Man's Travel ſerves to no other end, but only to catch Flies, to procure Trifles, and things of little Value.
Who is able to reckon up the infinite diverſities of Diſeaſes, to which the Body of Man is ſubject? Phyſicians in their Books write of abundance of Diſeaſes, and Remedies for the ſame; and yet their Science is enlarged every Day by the eruption of new and ſtrange Diſeaſes, which the Phyſicians of old were altogether ignorant of.
And even thoſe Complexions that have been free from theſe Miſeries, yet are they not exempt from other Calamities, and Miſchances. How many thouſand Men hath the Sea ſwallowed up? How many hath the Sword devoured? How many hath the Fire conſumed? How many have been killed by the falling down of Houſes, Walls, Towers? How many with the ſtrokes and ſtings of Venemous Beaſts? How many Women die in Travel of their Children, and dearly purchaſe their Childrens Lives with their own painful Deaths? The very brute Beaſts that were made to ſerve us, do rebel againſt us: And among all other Creatures, Man is moſt cruelly bent againſt Man.
What abundance of Engines, Artillery, Weapons, and Munition have Men deviſed for their own defence, and to offend others? In ſo much as when we are not moleſted with the Air, nor the Elements, Men become Wolves and Devils to one another. Tully ſpeaks of a notable Philoſopher, who wrote a Book concerning the Deaths of Men, wherein he reciteth the occaſions of Mens Deaths that have hapned in the World, as by Inundations, Sword, Famine, Peſtilence, diverſities of Diſeaſes, deſtructions of Cities, concourſe of Wild-Beaſts, which ruſhing in ſuddenly upon ſome Nations, have utterly devoured them: And yet in the cloſe of all, he concludeth, That a far greater number of Men have been deſtroyed by Men, than by all the other kind of Calamities, though they were all joyned together. But if in this Diſcourſe I ſhould run through all the Miſeries and Calamities that are incident to all the Ages and Conditions of this Life, Men might yet find themſelves in a far worſe caſe: And here we ſhould never make an end, if we ſhould ſet forth the little ſatisfaction that is to be found in each of theſe, and that eager deſire that every one hath to change his Condition with the State of others. The conſideration whereof made St. Bernard ſay, That he thought this Life little better than the life of Hell it ſelf; were it not for the hope that here we may have to attain to the Kingdom of Heaven.
VII. Laſtly, Meditate on Death it ſelf, which ſucceedeth after other Miſeries. Who is able to declare the manifold Miſeries that are included in this Miſery alone? At preſent conſider what an holy Father ſaith, by way of Exclamation againſt Death; O Death, how bitter is the remembrance of thee? How ſuddenly doſt thou ſteal upon us? How ſecret are thy Paths and Ways? How doubtful is thy Hour? How univerſal is thy Dominion? The Mighty cannot eſcape thy Hands; the Wiſe cannot hide themſelves from thee, and in thy preſence the Strong loſe their ſtrength. Thou accounteſt no Man Rich, for no Man can ranſome his Life of thee for Money; Thou goeſt every where, Thou ſearcheſt every where, there is no place where thou art not. Thou withereſt the Herbs, thou drinkeſt up the Winds, thou corrupteſt the Air, thou changeſt the Ages, thou altereſt the World, thou ſtickeſt not to ſup up the Sea. All things do increaſe and diminiſh, but thou continueſt always at one ſtay. Thou art the Hammer that always ſtrikeſt; thou art the Sword that never blunteth; thou art the Snare whereinto every one falleth; thou art the Priſon whereinto every one entreth; thou art the Sea wherein all do periſh. Thou art the Pain that every one ſuffereth, and the Tribute that every one payeth.
O cruel Death, why haſt thou no pity of us, but ſtealeſt ſuddenly upon us, to ſnatch us away in our beſt Times, and interrupt us in our beſt Affairs? Thou robbeſt as much from us in one Hour, as we have gained in many Years. Thou cutteſt off the ſucceſſion of Kindreds and Families; thou leaveſt Princes and Kingdoms without any Heirs; thou filleſt the World with Widows and Orphans; thou breakeſt off the ſtudies of great Clerks; thou overthroweſt good Wits in their ripeſt Age; thou joyneſt the End with the Beginning, without giving place to the Middle. Thus He. How ſhould the conſideration of theſe things make us willing to part hence, when Death ſhall ſound the Retreat? Chryſoſtom ſaith elegantly, Chryſ. Hom. 2. in Epiſt. Pau…i ad Col.This Life is a Neſt framed of Straw and Morter; we are the little Birds, ſhall we putrifie in the ſtench of this filthy Neſt? If Devotion hath made us Wings, why are we ſlothful? Let us ſoar aloft, and take that flight which our Eagle tracked out to us in the Day of his Aſcenſion. Remember that the quinteſcence of all Wiſdom is the Meditation of Death. It is a buſineſs we ſhould learn all our Life-time, to exerciſe it once: The faults therein committed are irreparable, and the loſs without recovery.