Essays, or discourses, vol. 1 (of 4)

by Benito Jerónimo Feijoo

SECT. V.

But having demonstrated the first point by natural reason and experience, I will proceed to do the same by the second. And first of all, I ought to acknowledge, that the beginnings of a virtuous life, are toilsome: Ardua prima via est; and more especially to those who have been a long time under the dominion of their passions. Vicious habits, are enemies, which in their first attacks, wage cruel war, but their force declines daily, and sometimes, by a miracle of grace, they are laid prostrate at the first onset. The flight of a vicious man from sin, is in all respects, like the escape of the Hebrews from the land of Egypt. How dejected were they, when, with the Red Sea in their front, they saw the Egyptian army at their backs! How haughty were the Egyptians! how desponding were the Hebrews! They are just on the point of treating to surrender, when Moses, exalting his voice, said to the people, “Now, Israel, advance boldly into the gulph, for the Lord hath undertaken to defend you.” They obey, and upon setting their feet in the water, the Sea divided. The troops of Pharaoh pursue them in crouds. What pride possessed the Egyptians! what fear the Hebrews! However, the last proceed with trembling pace, till they reach the opposite shore; upon arriving there, they turn round, and look at whence they came from, and they then perceive Pharaoh and all his host are buried in the Red Sea. Their grief is converted to happiness, and their groans to songs of joy.

XXIV. Exactly like this, is the flight of a sinner from vice. Egypt is the criminal station. The enemies who pursue the fugitive sinner are his vicious inclinations, of which, he was a long time the slave: these are strong, he is feeble. The first assault is furious. Moses is the virtue which animates him. The sinner at last, breaks through a sea of difficulties, and although it requires more perseverance in some to compleat the good work, than in others, he ultimately obtains the satisfaction, of seeing all his passions drowned. He gains footing on the opposite shore: and what follows? the same that happened to the Hebrews, he bursts forth in songs of joy. Afterwards, in pursuing his road to the Land of Promise, he is now and then upon the way, assaulted by enemies, that is, by some temptations; but they are overcome, as Moses overcame the Amalekites, by lifting the hands to Heaven, under which figure is implied the force and efficacy of prayer. Sometimes he also meets with bitter waters, that is to say tribulations, but a miraculous wood sweetens them; for the cross, or passion of our Saviour, makes them palatable. From Mara or Marath, a place whose name is used to express bitterness, on account of its nauseous waters, he makes the transition to Elim, a situation, which is both pleasant and delightsome.

XXV. Thus it succeeds with the sinner, who, fugitive from vice, puts himself under the divine protection, which never fails those who solicit it; but to be uniform to what I proposed, it will now be necessary, to consider virtue in its natural state, and abstracted from the extraordinary aids, with which it is assisted by grace.

SECT. VI.

XXVI. The superlative Mount of Virtue is formed the reverse of all other mountains. In the material mountains, the skirts are pleasant, and the tops all asperity; therefore, in ascending them, the pleasant part diminishes, and the dreary part augments. On the contrary, the skirts of the Mount of Virtue are disgusting, and the eminence grateful. He who would arrive at it, must expect at first setting out, to meet with nothing but rocks, thorns, and thickets, but as he advances in his course, the asperity diminishes, and he begins to discover the pleasant part; and at length, on arriving at the top, he sees nothing but beautiful flowers, regaling plants, and crystal fountains.

XXVII. The first passages, are excessively laborious and slippery: per insidias iter est, formasque ferarum; he is courted by the songs of the syrens, from the sea of the world; he is terrified in some parts of the mountain, by the roaring of lions. He casts a wishful look on the smooth surface of the valley, and he contemplates with dread the top of the mountain, to which he aspires. Freed from the prison of sin, still, in his passions he wears his fetters, the weight of which, together with the difficulty of the road, render his progress slow and toilsome. He hears just behind him, the soft murmurs of his criminal pleasures, which accost him as they did St. Austin, and say, is it possible that you can abandon us? Dimittis de nos: is it possible you can take your leave and absent yourself from us for ever? Et a momento isto non erimus tecum ultra in æternum. He however proceeds on, though a little dejected, and now and then meets a rub in the way, which causes him to stumble; but now he begins to find the path less difficult, and the clamours of earthly delights make less impression on him, because he hears them at a greater distance. Just so St. Austin experienced it: Et audiebam eas jam longè minus quam dimidias, veluti a dorso musitantes. Having gone a little further, he begins to discover the road plain and smooth, and although now and then the force of his antient habits causes him to think of the pleasures he has enjoyed, and the difficulty of forsaking them, the stroke is so feeble, that it makes no impression: Cum diceret mihi consuetudo violenta, putasne sine istis poteris? sed jam tepidissimè hoc dicebat.

XXVIII. He arrives at last, at the superior part of the mountain, where he beholds a beautiful, and an agreeable plain. The sweat and tears with which he watered the skirts, he finds have fertilized the summit; for here he obtains an abundant harvest, far exceeding what is produced from cultivation and prolix labour. This is hid from the eyes of the world, who, instead of considering him as enjoying a happy retirement at the top of the mountain, conclude, he is placed in an almost inaccessible and arduous station. They think he cannot enjoy an instant of repose, imagining the situation he inhabits, to be a field, where the elements engage with the utmost fury, and where the tempests rage with the greatest force and rigour. But it fares with him, as with one who scales the height of Olympus, who afterwards enjoys a climate of uninterrupted serenity, where the air is not disturbed with the most slight agitation, and where the tranquillity is so transcendent, that characters written in ashes exposed to the open air will continue legible for years together. There you always look down upon the clouds, and the fulminations burst on the skirts, without ever incommoding the eminence. At the same time, those who dwell in the neighbouring vales, conclude, if information or experience has not undeceived them, that it is ever obscured by gatherings, and continually scorched by the rays of lightning.

XXIX. Just so the difficulties of life, and the storms of fortune, fall on those who inhabit the humble vallies of the world, but not upon him who has ascended the Mount of God; the fat mountain, as David calls it. But with all this, sickness, grief, loss of goods, persecution, ignominy, and other calamities, are they not common to the just, and to the unjust? and are they not in some degree acquired by the first, by silence, retirement, watching, prayer, discipline, fasting, and other penalties? It is all true, but these are clouds that are seen at a distance, and only appear on the sides of Olympus, but never rise to the top; that is, they never attain the power of inquieting the sublime part of the soul.

XXX. I do not mean to insinuate, that just men are insensible, for this would savour of the extravagance of the Stoics, who pretend, that in the workshops of virtue you may transform men to marble. The virtuous have their sufferings, but they don’t sit so heavy on them, as they do on the delinquents, and the inquietudes which they both experience are felt by the delinquents in their full vigour; by the virtuous only partially. You may distinguish the spirit of the just man and the sinner, as you would the elements of air and earth. The earth in all its regions, is exposed to the injuries of the other elements. The inferior portion of the air only is so exposed; which is the theatre of vapours and exhalations; but the sensible alterations, do not reach what is called the superior region of the air. There the temperature is observed to be always equal, there the Heavens are displayed in a constant serenity, and there is always enjoyed an atmosphere, crystalline and pure.