VII. O men, of all the most unhappy! This obdurateness of the breast, is a schirrous of the soul, for which, by appealing to miracles only, you can hope relief. Such people are apt to amuse themselves with the hope, that during this mortal life at least, they shall pass on with mirth and enjoyment; but how much are they deceived, who feed themselves with such hopes, for these are the people who experience the most toil. This will appear by a survey of the three vices, within whose boundaries, almost every evil lays distributed, to wit, ambition, avarice, and luxury.
VIII. The ambitious man is the slave of all the world. Of the Prince, that he may bestow a place on him; of his client, because he solicits him; and of other men, for fear they should put obstacles in his way. His soul and body are in continual agitation, from an apprehension of the consequences, with which the loss of an instant of time may be attended, and he dreads all mankind, lest some one by an accusation, may occasion all his solicitude to vanish in smoke. How forced are his looks! for he smiles on those, to whom he bears a mortal enmity. What labour does it cost him, to suppress those vicious inclinations, that might throw obstructions in the way of his manœuvres! All the other passions, are the victims of the ruling one, and the vice of ambition, like a tyrant master, adds to the torment that itself inflicts, by the prohibition of all those pleasures which the inclination prompts to. He sees one go to a comedy, another amuse himself with innocent recreation, another go to a feast, and another to a ball; he sees them all, and envies them all; for his passions, though furious, may be compared to the winds, which are confined and shut up in the prisons of Æolus;
Illi indignantes magno cum murmure montis
Circum claustra fremunt.
IX. When he has obtained a place, his cares do not lessen, the object only of his anxiety being changed, and his attention is but translated from the means of procuring his rise, to the study of how he shall keep possession of what he has acquired. He finds himself placed on a ladder, which he cannot ascend without much fatigue, nor remain where he is situated without uneasiness, and where the dread of falling headlong terrifies him from descending. He finds the necessity of holding a tight rein on his depraved appetites increased, and is obliged to ride his vicious inclinations with a stronger curb. He is solicited by avarice, instigated by gluttony, and burns with incontinence; but still obeys, although it is with reluctance, that passion which has the despotic rule of him. He would wish to crush by an unjust sentence, the man who has offended him; but fears lest the injured person should appeal to the king, or a superior tribunal. He loves indolence; but if he relaxes in his application, all is lost. He trembles at the thought of a change of administration, as the idea fills him with an apprehension of being left deserted in the street; and never reads a news-paper, without being terrified at seeing an account of the death of his patron. Can a man lead a more miserable life?
X. It is a known thing, that the covetous man is one of the devil’s martyrs; or he may be compared to an Anchorite, who, by his abstinence and retirement, acquires merits, which may intitle him to a place in hell. His heart, divided between the desires of keeping and acquiring, experiences a continual fever, mixed with a mortal cold, as he burns for other people’s property, and trembles with the apprehension of losing his own. He is hungry, but does not eat; he is thirsty, and does not drink; he is always needy, and his mind knows no repose. He is never free from alarms. A rat does not move in the silence of the night, without the noise filling him with apprehensions, that a thief is breaking into his house. No strong wind can blow, that in his imagination, does not threaten the wreck of one of his trading ships. He is continually meditating new hiding-places for his treasure, which he frequently visits, doubtful of finding the money in the hiding-place, but always sure of finding his heart in the money. He views it with anxious concern, and sometimes will not venture to touch it, lest it should crumble to ashes between his fingers. Thus, fat in possessions, and a martyr to fears, his days pass away, till, as it happened in the case of king Agag, the fatal hour of punishment arrives (pinguissimus et tremens). Can a man’s life be more unhappy?
XI. If he seeks relief from lasciviousness, he will find, that no vice loads a man with so much uneasiness; and provided the meanness of his disposition, or the depravity of his appetite, determine him to pursue criminal pleasures, in the instant are set before his eyes the injuries it will be productive of, to the three articles, that are esteemed the most valuable in this life, honour, wealth, and property. He goes from pitcher to pitcher, to satisfy his thirst, till meeting with some infectious water, he poisons his whole mass of blood, by which means, his life is either endangered, or he is obliged to purchase the preservation of it at a dear rate, and although he recovers his health, he will suffer in his reputation through life.
XII. If, from the ampleness of his fortune, or the merit of his person, his pursuits are directed to objects in a higher sphere, he will avoid part of the inconveniences before enumerated, to incur greater, which is shunning Scylla, and running upon Charybdis. Adventures of this kind, are full of alarms, inquietudes, and dangers. What anxieties await him pending the love-suit! His eyes seek sleep, but find it not; for Jacob, who was an honourable lover, experienced, and declared, that it was become a fugitive from his eyes. His heart longs for repose, but does not obtain it. In this manner he goes on, conceiving unhappiness, that he may bring forth misfortune. He is constantly wavering in his determination, about what means he shall employ to accomplish his end; he approves all that occur to him, and he rejects them all: incertæ tanta est discordia mentis. He trembles to think of the possibility of a repulse. Love drags him forward, fear detains him. He finds the whole road of his courtship strewed with perils, which upon his arrival at the summit of his wishes, will be multiplied, the hazardous instances in such cases, being many; but it seldom happens, that the injury is confined to a single person, and it is next to a moral impossibility, that a man should take so many steps without making a little noise, by which means, suspicion will be awakened, and watching in the end, be rewarded with the discovery of truth; and although the purpose is accomplished, a man who commits insults, and does injuries, is never free from alarms. What real pleasure is a man capable of feeling, who cannot separate the gratification of his lewd desires, from the hazard that attends them? He cannot move a step in prosecution of the crime, but the injured person, presents himself to his imagination, with a dagger, or a pistol in his hand; and this danger is constantly pursuing him, whichever way he turns himself; so that he is precisely in the case of that man, who is in continual dread of losing his life, and always sees it hang suspended by a single thread before his eyes, which is a state, that God represents to his people as a terrible curse: Et erit vita tua quasi pendens ante te. Timebis nocte, & die, & non credes vitæ tuæ.
XIII. But admitting there are circumstances where these apprehensions do not exist, still it does not follow, that they are not attended with very serious inquietudes. Suppose that after enjoyment, a loathing should ensue, which happens very frequently, and which actually did happen to Amnon with Thamar. You see in this case, for the sake of a delicious moment, a disagreeable obligation intailed upon a man for life. If he resolves to break the noose, he exposes himself to the rage of an abandoned woman, who finding herself neglected, runs mad, either through love or hatred, which are both equally dangerous. If his criminal affection continues, the impatience of not enjoying his beloved object with freedom, over-balances the satisfaction, which is afforded by a delight that he usurps by stealth. In such a situation, his bowels being gnawed by a furious envy is unavoidable. But what if jealousies should steal in? Those who have experienced the rigour of these furies well know, how much they exceed the most exquisite criminal enjoyments, and that whole years of that false glory are not equal to one day only of this hell. Reflect on what has been said, and then tell me, whether you can figure to yourself a state more unhappy. St. Austin, who found himself so long entangled in the labyrinth of the three before-mentioned vices, is a good witness, that the dish which they present to the appetite, is filled with putrefaction. Hear his words, when he addresses himself to God in the sixth Book of his Confessions: Inhiabam honoribus, lucris, conjugio, & tu irridebas, patiebar in iis cupiditatibus amarissimas difficultates.