SECT. IV.
XIX. So certain and so general is the sentence, which wisdom puts in the mouths of all wicked men, when they arrive at the region where the delusion ceases: Lassati sumus in via iniquitatis & perditionis, & ambulavimus vias difficiles. Oh! how have we fatigued ourselves in the way of perdition! our relaxation was weariness, our pleasures anguish; unhappy we, who have run the course of life, not through delicious gardens, or pleasant forests, but through thorns and briars, and intricate paths! This is the language of all the damned: Talia dixerunt in inferno hi, qui peccaverunt. Of all? yes, they all say so, and they speak the truth. All sinners have their little hell in this world. They all travel through asperities, to arrive at the precipice. They all drink the dregs of that cup, which according to David’s description our Lord holds in his hand: Calix in manu domini vini meri plenus mixto: & inclinavit ex hoc in hoc, verumtamen fæx ejus non est exinanita, bibent omnes peccatores terræ. And it must be so, for according to the sense and meaning of the text, the pure wine is for the saints of the land, where the enjoyment is pure: the mixed, is for the just of that country, where tribulation is mixed with happiness, so that even in this life, there remains for sinners, only the bitter and gross dregs; and these they all drink. All, yes all, without excepting even those, on whom the good things of this world seem to be heaped up.
XX. For the more clear understanding this matter, and to enforce the argument we are using, it will be necessary to premise, that in this life, there is a heavy and mortal affliction, which is common to all men; but with respect to sinners, it is peculiarly and most severely felt by those who seem the most happy. This affliction, consists in the reflection, that we must one day die. There is no doubt, but every living creature feels horror, upon arriving at that fatal pass, and is naturally sad, whenever it occurs to him, that he must unavoidably go through it; but he will be more affected beyond comparison, who after having culled all the regales of fortune, has placed his whole happiness in the enjoyment of them. Let us contemplate a man, rich, powerful, respected, and obeyed, and to whom nothing is wanting, either for convenience or pleasure, and to whom, let his appetites be ever so vague, fortune has denied nothing that may enable him to gratify them. Such a man, whenever he thinks that he must die, which is a thought that will sometimes occur to him, without his being able to prevent it, cannot fail to be exceedingly afflicted. The thought of death, to whoever does not employ it for the amendment of his life, becomes a torturer. Let us admit, that he is a determined Atheist, so blinded, as not to entertain the least idea of the immortality of the soul, and consequently, has not the least apprehension of what will befall him in the world to come; yet he will at least consider death, as a merciless, and a savage tyrant, who will despoil him of all that is most dear to him; of the property which he possesses, of the banquet he regales himself at, of the chace which diverts him, of the music which delights him, and of the concubine whom he adores; all which will be lost at a stroke, never to be recovered any more. The greater the pleasures are which he enjoys, the more miserable this consideration will make him. The unhappy man, who is the outcast of fortune, and even he who is placed in a middle station of life, feels the light consolation, that death will relieve him from many vexations; but what comfort can he receive, whom it will only rob of enjoyments? Death strikes terror into all men, but to such a one, it is terrible in extreme. Every man is intensely fond of his own particular happiness, and in proportion to the ardour with which he loves it, will be his grief at losing it. Such a man, when he thinks himself arrived at the summit of felicity, and knows no other than that which he possesses, with what anguish must he reflect, that the whole, without the least reserve, will be one day lost!
XXI. This inevitable melancholy, as they advance in years, is much augmented in all the favourites of fortune. Life, after a man is arrived at his prime, may be from thenceforward, truly and properly, compared to a chronic disease, which proceeds leading a man to death by slow paces; or to speak more properly, it is death implanted in our nature. Upon arriving at the period we have just mentioned, that is, the prime of life, the powerful man, from thenceforward, in the strength which he continues to lose, and in the diseases he proceeds to gain, finds constant information, that by little and little, the cottage of life goes on crushing and crumbling to nothing, by the weight of the temple of fortune. At this stage, he revolves in his mind, one by one, all the pleasures he enjoys, and all the objects of his love, and each thought tears from his heart a sigh, especially when he reflects, that the time approaches, when he must bid them all a melancholy farewell. He proceeds to cast another glance at death, and almost in the words of the unhappy King David oppressed with grief, exclaims against her in a sentimental complaint, not so much for having cut the thread of his life, as for having separated him by an eternal absence from all he esteemed and adored. Siccine separat amara mors. O sinners! whom the world call happy, is this living? But let the world be undeceived; for ye are the people, who burden yourselves with whatever is most heavy, and hard to be borne, that is contained in the stores of mortality; all your relaxation is fatigue, all your pleasure is anxiety, all your nectar is poison.
XXII. For your comfort and advantage, although you cannot be a stranger to it, listen at present, to that sweet and sonorous voice, which, by the divine organ, was conveyed and dispersed over the whole face of the earth. Attend, for to you it is addressed; hear and profit by it: Venite ad me omnes, qui laboratis, & onerati estis, & ego reficiam vos. Come unto me, all ye who labour, and are heavy laden with cares, for I will lighten your burdens, and give you relaxation and ease. These words, it is certain, are designed to reclaim sinners, and are addressed as a call to those who are distant from Christ. These then are they, who lead a wearisome life. Christ invites them to come nearer him, that is, to embrace virtue; the virtuous then are those, who enjoy relaxation and ease. Thus, you see, both the points I am attempting to prove are supported by evangelical authority.