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Thomas More - Dialogue of Comfort Against Tribulation

T >> Thomas More >> Dialogue of Comfort Against Tribulation




VINCENT: Our Lord, uncle, for his mighty mercy, keep those
wretches hence! For, by my troth, if they hap to come hither,
methinketh I see many more tokens than one that we shall have some
of our own folk here ready to fall in with them.

For as before a great storm the sea beginneth sometimes to work and
roar in itself, ere ever the winds wax boisterous, so methinketh I
hear at mine ear some of our own here among us, who within these
few years could no more have borne the name of Turk than the name
of devil, begin now to find little fault in them--yea, and some to
praise them little by little, as they can, more glad to find faults
at every state of Christendom: priests, princes, rites, ceremonies,
sacraments, laws, and customs spiritual, temporal, and all.

ANTHONY: In good faith, cousin, so begin we to fare here indeed,
and that but even now of late. For since the title of the crown
hath come in question, the good rule of this realm hath very sore
decayed, as little a while as it is. And undoubtedly Hungary shall
never do well as long as men's minds hearken after novelty and have
their hearts hanging upon a change. And much the worse I like it,
when their words walk so large toward the favour of the Turk's
sect, which they were ever wont to have in so great abomination, as
every true-minded Christian man--and Christian woman, too--must
have.

I am of such age as you see, and verily from as far as I can
remember, it hath been marked and often proved true, that when
children in Buda have fallen in a fancy by themselves to draw
together and in their playing make as it were corpses carried to
church, and sing after their childish fashion the tune of the
dirge, great death hath followed shortly thereafter. And twice or
thrice I can remember in my day when children in divers parts of
this realm have gathered themselves in sundry companies and made as
it were troops and battles. And after their battles in sport, in
which some children have yet taken great hurt, there hath fallen
true battle and deadly war indeed. These tokens were somewhat like
your example of the sea, since they are tokens going before, of
things that afterward follow, through some secret motion or
instinct of which the cause is unknown.

But, by St. Mary, cousin, these tokens like I much worse--these
tokens, I say, not of children's play nor of children's songs, but
old knaves' large open words, so boldly spoken in the favour of
Mahomet's sect in this realm of Hungary, which hath been ever
hitherto a very sure key of Christendom. And without doubt if
Hungary be lost and the Turk have it once fast in his possession,
he shall, ere it be long afterward, have an open ready way into
almost all the rest of Christendom. Though he win it not all in a
week, the great part will be won, I fear me, within very few years
after.

VINCENT: But yet evermore I trust in Christ, good uncle, that he
shall not suffer that abominable sect of his mortal enemies in such
wise to prevail against his Christian countries.

ANTHONY: That is very well said, cousin. Let us have our sure hope
in him, and then shall we be very sure that we shall not be
deceived. For we shall have either the thing that we hope for, or a
better thing in its stead. For, as for the thing itself that we
pray for and hope to have, God will not always send it to us. And
therefore, as I said in our first communication, in all things save
only for heaven, our prayer and our hope may never be too precise,
although the thing may be lawful to ask.

Verily, if we people of the Christian nations were such as would
God we were, I would little fear all the preparations that the
great Turk could make. No, nor yet, being as bad as we are, I doubt
not at all but that in conclusion, however base Christendom be
brought, it shall spring up again, till the time be come very near
to the day of judgment, some tokens of which methinketh are not
come yet. But somewhat before that time shall Christendom be
straitened sore, and brought into so narrow a compass that,
according to Christ's words, "When the Son of Man shall come
again"--that is, to the day of general judgment--"thinkest thou
that he shall find faith in the earth?" as who should say, "but a
little." For, as appeareth in the Apocalypse and other places of
scripture, the faith shall be at that time so far faded that he
shall, for the love of his elect, lest they should fall and perish
too, abridge those days and accelerate his coming. But, as I say,
methinketh I miss yet in my mind some of those tokens that shall,
by the scripture, come a good while before that. And among others,
the coming in of the Jews and the dilating of Christendom again
before the world come to that strait. So I say that for mine own
mind I have little doubt that this ungracious sect of Mahomet shall
have a foul fall, and Christendom spring and spread, flower and
increase again. Howbeit, the pleasure and comfort shall they see
who shall be born after we are buried, I fear me, both twain. For
God giveth us great likelihood that for our sinful wretched living
he goeth about to make these infidels, who are his open professed
enemies, the sorrowful scourge of correction over evil Christian
people who should be faithful and who are of truth his falsely
professing friends.

And surely, cousin, albeit that methinketh I see divers evil tokens
of this misery coming to us, yet can there not, to my mind, be a
worse prognostication of it than this ungracious token that you
note here yourself. For undoubtedly, cousin, this new manner of
men's favourable fashion in their language toward these ungracious
Turks declareth plainly not only that their minds give them that
hither shall he come, but also that they can be content both to
live under him and, beside that, to fall from the true faith of
Christ into Mahomet's false abominable sect.

VINCENT: Verily, mine uncle, as I go about more than you, so must
I needs hear more (which is a heavy hearing in mine ear) the manner
of men in this matter, which increaseth about us here--I trust that
in other places of this realm, by God's grace, it is otherwise. But
in this quarter here about us, many of these fellows who are fit
for the war were wont at first, as it were in sport, to talk as
though they looked for a day when, with a turn to the Turk's faith,
they should be made masters here of true Christian men's bodies and
owners of all their goods. And, in a while after that, they began
to talk so half between game and earnest--and now, by our Lady, not
far from fair flat earnest indeed.

ANTHONY: Though I go out but little, cousin, yet hear I
sometimes--when I say little!--almost as much as that. But since
there is no man to whom we can complain for redress, what remedy is
there but patience, and to sit still and hold our peace? For of
these two who strive which of them both shall reign over us--and
each of them calleth himself king, and both twain put the people to
pain--one is, as you know well, too far from our quarter here to
help us in this behalf. And the other, since he looketh for the
Turk's aid, either will not, or (I suppose) dare not find any fault
with them that favour the Turk and his sect. For of natural Turks
this country lacketh none now; they are living here under divers
pretexts, and of everything they advertise the great Turk full
surely. And therefore, cousin, albeit that I would advise every man
to pray still and call unto God to hold his gracious hand over us
and keep away this wretchedness if his pleasure be, yet would I
further advise every good Christian body to remember and consider
that it is very likely to come. And therefore I would advise him to
make his reckoning and count his pennyworths before, and I would
advise every man (and every woman, too) to appoint with God's help
in their own mind beforehand what they intend to do if the very
worst should befall.


I

VINCENT: Well fare your heart, good uncle, for this good counsel
of yours! For surely methinketh that this is marvellous good.

But yet heard I once a right learned and very good man say that it
would be great folly, and very perilous too, if a man should think
upon any such thing or imagine any such question in his mind, for
fear of double peril that may follow thereupon. For he shall be
likely to answer himself that he will rather suffer any painful
death than forsake his faith, and by that bold appointment should
he fall into the fault of St. Peter, who of oversight made a proud
promise and soon had a foul fall. Or else would he be likely to
think that rather than abide the pain he would forsake God indeed,
and by that mind should he sin deadly through his own folly,
whereas he needeth not do so, since he shall peradventure never
come in the peril to be put thereto. And therefore it would be most
wisdom never to think upon any such manner of question.

ANTHONY: I believe well, cousin, that you have heard some men who
would so say. For I can show almost as much as that left in writing
by a very good man and a great solemn doctor. But yet, cousin,
although I should happen to find one or two more, as good men and
as well learned too, who would both twain say and write the same,
yet would I not fear for my part to counsel my friend to the
contrary.

For, cousin, if his mind answer him as St. Peter answered Christ,
that he will rather die than forsake him, though he say therein
more unto himself than he should be peradventure able to make good
if it came to the point, yet I perceive not that he doth in that
thought any deadly displeasure unto God. For St. Peter, though he
said more than he could perform, yet in his so saying offended not
God greatly neither. But his offence was when he did not afterward
so well as he said before. But now may this man be likely never to
fall in the peril of breaking that appointment, since of some ten
thousand that shall so examine themselves, never one shall fall in
the peril. And yet for them to have that good purpose all their
life seemeth me no more harm in the meanwhile than for a poor
beggar who hath never a penny to think that, if he had great
substance, he would give great alms for God's sake.

But now is all the peril if the man answer himself that he would in
such case rather forsake the faith of Christ with his mouth and
keep it still in his heart than for the confessing of it to endure
a painful death. For by this mind he falleth in deadly sin, which
he never would have fallen in if he had never put himself the
question. But in good faith methinketh that he who, upon that
question put unto himself by himself, will make himself that
answer, hath the habit of faith so faint and so cold that, for the
better knowledge of himself and of his necessity to pray for more
strength of grace, he had need to have the question put to him
either by himself or by some other man.

Besides this, to counsel a man never to think on that question is,
to my mind, as reasonable as the medicine that I have heard taught
someone for the toothache: to go thrice about a churchyard, and
never think on a fox-tail! For if the counsel be not given them, it
cannot serve them. And if it be given them, it must put the point
of the matter in their mind. And forthwith to reject it, and think
therein neither one thing nor the other, is a thing that may be
sooner bidden than obeyed.

I think also that very few men can escape it. For though they would
never think on it by themselves, yet in one place or another where
they shall happen to come in company, they shall have the question
by adventure so proposed and put forth that--like as, while a man
heareth someone talking to him, he can close his eyes if he will,
but he cannot make himself sleep--so shall they, whether they will
or not, think one thing or the other therein.

Finally, when Christ spoke so often and so plain of the matter,
that every man should, upon pain of damnation, openly confess his
faith if men took him and by dread of death would drive him to the
contrary, it seemeth me (in a manner) implied that we are bound
conditionally to have evermore that mind--actually sometimes, and
evermore habitually--that if the case should so befall, then with
God's help so we would do. And thus much methinketh necessary, for
every man and woman to be always of this mind and often to think
thereon. And where they find, in the thinking thereon, that their
hearts shudder and shrink in the remembrance of the pain that their
imagination representeth to the mind, then must they call to mind
and remember the great pain and torment that Christ suffered for
them, and heartily pray for grace that, if the case should so
befall, God should give them strength to stand. And thus, with
exercise of such meditation, through men should never stand full
out of fear of falling, yet must they persevere in good hope and in
full purpose of standing.

And this seemeth to me, cousin, so far forth the mind that every
Christian man and woman must needs have, that methinketh every
curate should often counsel all his parishioners, beginning in
their tender youth, to know this point and think on it, and little
by little from their very childhood accustom them sweetly and
pleasantly in the meditation thereof. Thereby the goodness of God
shall not fail so to inspire the grace of his Holy Spirit into
their hearts, in reward of that virtuous diligence, that through
such actual meditation he shall confirm them in such a sure habit
of spiritual faithful strength, that all the devils in hell, with
all the wrestling that they can make, shall never be able to wrest
it out of their heart.

VINCENT: By my troth, uncle, methinketh that you say very well.

ANTHONY: I say surely, cousin, as I think. And yet all this have I
said concerning them that dwell in such places that they are never
like in their lives to come in the danger to be put to the proof.
Howbeit, many a man may think himself far from it, who yet may
fortune to come to it by some chance or other, either for the truth
of faith or for the truth of justice, which go almost all alike.

But now you and I, cousin, and all our friends here, are far in
another point. For we are so likely to fall in the experience of it
soon, that it would have been more timely for us, all other things
set aside, to have devised upon this matter, and firmly to have
settled ourselves upon a false point long ago, than to begin to
commune and counsel upon it now.

VINCENT: In good faith, uncle, you say therein very truth, and
would God it had come sooner in my mind. But yet is it better late
than never. And I trust God shall yet give us respite and time. And
that we lose no part thereof, uncle, I pray you proceed now with
your good counsel therein.

ANTHONY: Very gladly, cousin, shall I now go forth in the fourth
temptation, which alone remaineth to be treated of, and properly
pertaineth wholly unto this present purpose.


II

The fourth temptation, cousin, that the prophet speaketh of in the
fore-remembered psalm is plain open persecution. And it is touched
in these words: _"Ab incursu et demonio meridiano."_

And of all his temptations, this is the most perilous, the most
bitter, the most sharp, and the most rigorous. For in other
temptations he useth either pleasant allectives unto sin, or other
secret sleights and snares; and cometh in the night and stealeth on
in the dark unaware; or in some other part of the day flieth and
passeth by like an arrow; so shaping himself sometimes in one
fashion, sometimes in another, and dissimulating himself and his
high mortal malice, that a man is thereby so blinded and beguiled
that he cannot sometimes perceive well what he is. But in this
temptation, this plain open persecution for the faith, he cometh
even in the very midday--that is, even upon those who have a high
light of faith shining in their hearts--and he openly suffereth
himself to be perceived so plainly, by his fierce malicious
persecution against the faithful Christians, for hatred of Christ's
true Catholic faith, that no man having faith can doubt what he is.
For in this temptation he showeth himself such as the prophet
nameth him, "the midday devil," so lightsomely can he be seen with
the eye of the faithful soul, by his fierce furious assault and
incursion. For therefore saith the prophet that the truth of God
shall compass that man round about who dwelleth in the faithful
hope of his help with a shield "from the incursion and the devil of
the midday," because this kind of persecution is not a wily
temptation but a furious force and a terrible incursion. In other
of his temptations, he stealeth on like a fox, but in this Turk's
persecution for the faith, he runneth on roaring with assault like
a ramping lion.

This temptation is, of all temptations, also the most perilous. For
in temptations of prosperity he useth only delectable allectives to
move a man to sin; and in other kinds of tribulation and adversity
he useth only grief and pain to pull a man into murmuring,
impatience, and blasphemy. But in this kind of persecution for the
faith of Christ he useth both twain--that is, both his allectives
of quiet and rest by deliverance from death and pain, with other
pleasures also of this present life, and besides that the terror
and infliction of intolerable pain and torment.

In other tribulation--as loss, or sickness, or death of our
friends---though the pain be peradventure as great and sometimes
greater too, yet is not the peril nowhere nigh half so much. For in
other tribulations, as I said before, that necessity that the man
must perforce abide and endure the pain, wax he never so wroth and
impatient with it, is a great reason to move him to keep his
patience in it and be content with it and thank God for it and of
necessity make a virtue, that he may be rewarded for it. But in
this temptation, this persecution for the faith--I mean not by
fight in the field, by which the faithful man standeth at his
defence and putteth the faithless in half the fear and half the
harm too; but I mean where he is taken and held, and may for the
forswearing or denying of his faith be delivered and suffered to
live in rest and some in great worldly wealth also. In this case, I
say, since he needeth not to suffer this trouble and pain unless he
will, there is a marvellous great occasion for him to fall into the
sin that the devil would drive him to--that is, the forsaking of
the faith.

And therefore, I say, of all the devil's temptations, this
temptation, this persecution for the faith, is the most perilous.

VINCENT: The more perilous, uncle, this temptation is--as indeed,
of all the temptations, the most perilous it is--the more need have
those who stand in peril of it to be well armed against it
beforehand, with substantial advice and good counsel. For so may we
the better bear that tribulation when it cometh, with the comfort
and consolation thereof, and the better withstand the temptation.

ANTHONY: You say, Cousin Vincent, therein very truth. And I am
content therefore to fall in hand with it.

But forasmuch, cousin, as methinketh that of this tribulation you
are somewhat more afraid than I--and of truth somewhat more
excusable it is in you than it would be in me, mine age considered
and the sorrow that I have suffered already, with some other
considerations upon my part besides--rehearse you therefore the
griefs and pains that you think in this tribulation possible to
fall unto you. And I shall against each of them give you counsel
and rehearse you such occasion of comfort and consolation as my
poor wit and learning can call unto my mind.

VINCENT: In good faith, uncle, I am not wholly afraid in this case
only for myself, but well you know I have cause to care also for
many others, and that folk of sundry sorts, men and women both, and
that not all of one age.

ANTHONY: All that you have cause to fear for, cousin, for all of
them, have I cause to fear with you, too, since almost all your
kinsfolk are likewise kin to me. Howbeit, to say the truth, every
man hath cause in this case to fear both for himself and for every
other. For since, as the scripture saith, "God hath given every man
care and charge of his neighbour," there is no man who hath any
spark of Christian love and charity in his breast but what, in a
matter of such peril as this is, in which the soul of man standeth
in so great danger to be lost, he must needs care and take thought
not only for his friends but also for his very foes. We shall
therefore, cousin, not rehearse your harms or mine that may befall
in this persecution, but all the great harms in general, as near as
we can call to mind, that may happen unto any man.


III

Since a man is made of the body and the soul, all the harm that any
man can take, it must needs be in one of these two, either
immediately or by the means of some such thing as serveth for the
pleasure, welfare, or commodity of one of these two.

As for the soul first, we shall need no rehearsal of any harm that
may attain to it by this kind of tribulation, unless by some
inordinate love and affection that the soul bear to the body, she
consent to slide from the faith and thereby do herself harm. Now
there remains the body, and these outward things of fortune which
serve for the maintenance of the body and minister matter of
pleasure to the soul also, through the delight that she hath in the
body for the while that she is matched with it.

Consider first the loss of those outward things, as being somewhat
less in weight than the body itself. What may a man lose in them,
and thereby what pain may he suffer?

VINCENT: He may lose, uncle, money, plate, and other movable
substance (of which I should somewhat lose myself); then, offices
and authority; and finally all the lands of his inheritance for
ever that he himself and his heirs perpetually might otherwise
enjoy. And of all these things, uncle, you know well that I myself
have some--little, in respect of that which some others have here,
but yet somewhat more than he who hath most here would be well
content to lose.

Upon the loss of these things follow neediness and poverty; the
pain of lacking, the shame of begging (of which twain I know not
which is the most wretched necessity); besides, the grief and
heaviness of heart, in beholding good men and faithful and his dear
friends bewrapped in like misery, and ungracious wretches and
infidels and his mortal enemies enjoying the commodities that he
himself and his friends have lost.

Now, for the body very few words should serve us. For therein I see
none other harm but loss of liberty, labour, imprisonment, and
painful and shameful death.

ANTHONY: There needeth not much more, cousin, as the world is now.
For I fear me that less than a fourth part of this will make many a
man sore stagger in his faith, and some fall quite from it, who yet
at this day, before he come to the proof, thinketh himself that he
would stand very fast. And I beseech our Lord that all those who so
think, and who would yet when they were brought to the point fall
from the faith for fear or pain, may get of God the grace to think
still as they do and not to be brought to the essay, where pain or
fear would show them, as it showed St. Peter, how far they are
deceived now.

But now, cousin, against these terrible things, what way shall we
take in giving men counsel of comfort? If the faith were in our
days as fervent as it hath been ere this in times past, little
counsel and little comfort would suffice. We should not much need
with words and reasoning to extenuate and diminish the vigour and
asperity of the pains. For of old times, the greater and the more
bitter the pain were, the more ready was the fervour of faith to
suffer it. And surely, cousin, I doubt little in my mind but what,
if a man had in his heart so deep a desire and love--longing to be
with God in heaven, to have the fruition of his glorious face--as
had those holy men who are martyrs in old time, he would no more
now stick at the pain that he must pass between than those old holy
martyrs did at that time. But alas, our faint and feeble faith,
with our love to God less than lukewarm because of the fiery
affection that we bear to our own filthy flesh, maketh us so dull
in the desire of heaven that the sudden dread of every bodily pain
woundeth us to the heart and striketh our devotion dead. And
therefore hath every man, cousin, as I said before, much the more
need to think upon this thing many a time and oft aforehand, ere
any such peril befall, by much devising upon it before they see
cause to fear it. Since the thing shall not appear so terrible unto
them, reason shall better enter, and through grace working with
their diligence, engender and set sure, not a sudden slight
affection of suffering for God's sake, but, by a long continuance,
a strong deep-rooted habit--not like a reed ready to wave with
every wind, nor like a rootless tree scantly set up on end in a
loose heap of light sand, that will with a blast or two be blown
down.

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