John Newton's Letters
Enjoyment of the pleasures of the present life
True religion is necessary, in order to the best
enjoyment of the pleasures of the present life.
Dear Sir,
Though I truly love you, and have no reason to doubt of the reality of your
friendship to me; yet I cannot but apprehend, that notwithstanding our
mutual regard, and my frequent attempts to be witty (if I could) for your
diversion, there is a something in most of my letters (which I cannot, dare
not wholly suppress) that disgusts and wearies you, and makes you less
inclined to keep up a frequent fellowship than you would otherwise be.
Rather than lose you, I will spare you as much as I can; but at present you
must bear with me, and allow me full scope. You have given me a challenge,
which I know not how to pass over; permit me for this time to preach again,
and to take some passages in your letter for my text.
In the present debate I will accept your compliment, and
suppose myself to be, as you say, a man of sense. You allow, then, that all
the sense is not on your side. This, indeed, you cannot deny; for whatever
becomes of me, it is needless to tell you, that Hale, Boyle, and other great
names I could mention, were men of as great penetration and judgment, had as
good opportunities and took as much pains to be informed of the truth, as
any of the advocates for infidelity can pretend to. And you cannot, with any
modesty or consistence, absolutely determine that they had not as good
grounds for thinking themselves right, as you can have for concluding they
were wrong.
But, declining the advantage of human authority, I am
content the point should rest between you and me. And here I beg you to
observe, that I have one evident advantage over you in judging, namely, that
I have experienced the good and evil on both sides, and you only on one
side. If you were to send me an inventory of your pleasures; how charmingly
your time runs on, and how dexterously it is divided between the
coffee-house, play-house, the card-table, and tavern, with intervals of
balls, concerts, etc.; I would answer, that most of these I have tried over
and over, and know the utmost they can yield, and have seen enough of the
rest, most heartily to despise them all. I profess I had rather be a worm
crawling on the ground, than to bear the name of 'man' upon the poor terms
of whiling away my life in an insipid round of such insignificant and
unmanly trifles!
I will return your own expression—I believe you to be a
person of sense; but, alas! how do you prostitute your talents and capacity,
how far do you act below yourself, if you know no higher purpose of life
than these childish dissipations, together with the more serious business of
rising early and sitting up late to amass money, that you may be able to
enlarge your expenses! I am sure, while I lived in these things I found them
unsatisfying and empty to the last degree; and the only advantage they
afforded (miserable are those who are forced to deem it an advantage) was,
that they often relieved me from the trouble and burden of thinking. If you
have any other pleasures than these, they are such as must be evil and
inconvenient even upon your own plan; and therefore my friendship will not
allow me to bring them into the account. I am willing to hope you do not
stoop still lower in pursuit of satisfaction. Thus far we stand upon even
ground. You know all that a life of pleasure can give, and I know it
likewise.
On the other hand, if I should attempt to explain to you
the source and streams of my best pleasures—such as a comfortable assurance
of the pardon of my sins, a habitual communion with the God who made heaven
and earth, a calm reliance on the Divine Providence, the cheering prospect
of a better life in a better world, with the pleasing foretastes of heaven
in my own soul; should I, or could I, tell you the pleasure I often find in
reading the Scripture, in the exercise of prayer, and in that sort of
preaching and conversation which you despise;—I doubt not but you would
think as poorly of my happiness as I do of yours. But here lies the
difference, my dear friend; you condemn that which you have never tried. You
know no more of these things than a blind man does of colors; and,
notwithstanding all your flourishes, I defy you to be at all times able to
satisfy yourself that things may not possibly be as I have represented them.
Besides, what do I lose upon my plan, that should make me
so worthy of your pity? Have you a quicker relish in the prudent use of
temporal comforts? Do you think I do not eat my food with as much pleasure
as you can do, though perhaps with less cost and variety? Is your sleep
sounder than mine? Have not I as much satisfaction in social life? It is
true, to join much with the mirthful, fluttering tribe, who spend their days
in laugh and sing-song, is equally contrary to my duty and inclination. But
I have friends and acquaintance as well as you. Among the many who favor me
with their esteem and friendship, there are some who are people of sense,
learning, wit, and (what perhaps may weigh as much with you) of fortune and
distinction. And if you should say, "Yes, but they are all enthusiasts like
yourself," you would say nothing to the purpose; since, upon your maxim,
that "happiness is according to opinion," it cannot be an objection, but the
contrary, to have my acquaintance to my own taste. Thus much for the
brighter side of your situation.
Let me add one thing more: I know you have thoughts of
marriage: do you think, if you should enter into this relation, your
principles are calculated to make you more happy in it than I am? You are
well acquainted with our family life. Do you propose to know more of the
peace and heart-felt joy of domestic union than I have known, and continue
to know to this hour? l wish you may equal us; and if you do, we shall still
be as before, but upon even ground, I need not turn Deist, to enjoy the best
and the most that this life can afford.
But I need not tell you, that the present life is not
made up of pleasurable incidents only. Pain, sickness, losses,
disappointments, injuries, and affronts with men; will, more or less, at one
time or other, be our lot. And can you bear these trials better than I? You
will not pretend to it. Let me appeal to yourself: How often do you toss and
disquiet yourself, like a wild bull in a net, when things cross your
expectations? As your thoughts are more engrossed by what you see, you must
be more keenly sensible of what you feel. You cannot view these trials as
appointed by a wise and heavenly Father in subservience to your good; you
cannot taste the sweetness of his promises, nor feel the secret supports of
his strength in an hour of affliction; you cannot so cast your burden and
care upon him, as to find a sensible relief to your spirit thereby; nor can
you see his hand engaged and employed in effecting your deliverance. Of
these things you know no more than of the art of flying; but I seriously
assure you, and I believe my testimony will go farther with you than my
judgment, that they are realities, and that I have found them to be so. When
my worldly concerns have been most thorny and discouraging, I have once and
again felt the most of that peace which the world can neither give nor take
away.
However, I may state the case still lower. You do pretty
well among your friends; but how do you like being alone? Would you not give
something for that happy secret, which could enable you to pass a rainy day
pleasantly, without the assistance of business, company, or amusement? Would
it not mortify you greatly to travel for a week in an unfrequented road,
where you should meet with no lively incidents to recruit and raise your
spirits? Alas! what a poor scheme of pleasure is yours, that will not
support an interval of reflection!
What you have heard is true; I have a few friends who
meet at my house once a week, and we spend an hour or two in worshiping the
God who made us. And can this move your indignation, or your compassion?
Does it show a much nobler spirit, a more refined way of thinking, to live
altogether without God in the world? If I kept a card-party at those times,
it would not displease you. How can you, as a person of sense, avoid being
shocked at your own unhappy prejudice? But I remember how it was once with
myself, and forbear to wonder. May He who has opened my eyes, open yours! He
only can do it. I do not expect to convince you by anything I can say as of
myself; but if God is pleased to make use of me as his instrument, then you
will be convinced. How would I then rejoice! I would rejoice to be useful to
anyone, but especially daily to you, whom I dearly love. May God show you
your true self, and your true taste; then you will attentively listen to
what you disdain to hear of—his goodness in providing redemption and pardon
for the chief of sinners, through him who died upon the cross for sins not
his own. Keep this letter by you at my request; and when you write, tell me
that you receive it in good part.