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13. The slothful man saith, There is a lion in the way; a lion is in the streets. (Chapter 22:13.)
14. As the door turneth upon his hinges, so doth the slothful upon his bed
15. The slothful hideth his hand in his bosom; it grieveth him to bring it again to his mouth. (Chapter 19:24.) {it grieveth...: or, he is weary}
16. The sluggard is wiser in his own conceit than seven men that can render a reason.†
The counterpart to these illustrations may be seen in the man dozing away his life in guilty idleness; without an object, and therefore without a spring for exertion. But let us look at the pictures as they meet our eye in the Church. The gradation shews the almost incredible increase of the evil — unresisted.
The slothful man is utterly reluctant to his work. When therefore his indolence is disturbed, he is ingenious in inventing excuses, and fancying dangers which have no real existence. For ‘he, who has no mind to labor, never wants pretenses for idleness.’† His insincerity lulls his conscience to sleep in his false excuses. Were it as easy to be spiritual as to wish to be so, who would not be a Christian? If it were only one great effort soon to be accomplished, it would be worth the struggle. But to see no end of the toil, duty upon duty, trouble following trouble, no breathing-time of rest — is an appalling hindrance. And therefore a fierce lion in the way† — a lion in the streets (‘bugbear rather than a lion’†) excuses him from a decided profession.
We wonder not that he shrinks from his work. He loves his bed of ease. Here he turneth himself, as the door upon his hinges, moving indeed, but making no progress. He works from one excuse to another, but never removes from his place. Difficulties hinder him from going forward. Conscience keeps him from going backward. And therefore, as the door upon his hinges, where he was one day, one year, there he is found the next. He moves within a scanty round of duties, always beginning, never finishing, his work; determining nothing; not quite at ease; yet with no heart for exertion. Stretched upon his bed of sloth, he cries — ‘O that this were working! O that I could raise my heart to heaven!’ But is heaven to be gained by complaining and wishing?
Nay — even the most needful exertion is grievous to him. Suppose him to have arisen from his bed, his case is not improved. Ease is still his cry. How to preserve it, his only care. He hides his hand in his bosom for the cold; and never makes an effort to bring it to his mouth for his necessary food. (Ecclesiastes 4:5.) Thus for want of the most trifling exercise he starves his soul, though the bread of life is put before him. No marvel if his life, instead of “a continual feast,” is a constant vexation.
Yet — such is the strange union of self-complacency with folly — this worthless being — a mere “cumberer of the ground” — pronounces himself a genius, prides himself upon his sagacity, and looks down with contempt upon his more industrious companions — generally superior in attainment. This foolish dream of his own shrewdness fixes his standard. He has found the road to learning without any inconvenient exertion. Giving himself no trouble to think, he sees none of the difficulties obvious to a considerate mind, and speedily arrives at most unreasonable conclusions. He will not be beaten out of his sloth. Any wise man could render a reason for his conviction. But he is wiser in his own conceit than them all.†
In how many striking lights is sloth presented in this book? Do I not think too slightly of it? Let me look closely — in what respect am I influenced by it — bodily, mentally, or spiritually? Does it never follow me throughout my work, to my knees, to my Bible-reading? Do I not excuse myself from work of painful effort? Or when conscience forces me to it, how is it done? May God enable me to resist this paralysis in every shape! If just about to resolve, let me propose my work to myself, as to be done with full purpose of heart; not opposing difficulties to necessity; not allowing heartless despondency. What if, after all, my faith be a fancy, my hope a delusion? Self-suspicion is the first awakening of the soul — “Search me, O my God.” (Psalm 139:23.)
Well is it if the slumber be only a little disturbed; far better if the eyes are fully opened. Active, simple faith carries us onward, in the face of the lions in the way, seeming to stand open-mouthed to devour us. It is a special mercy to realize the holy violence of the conflict. Bunyan put his pilgrims under the conduct of Great-heart for their encouragement. Heaven never will be won by folded arms. “The violent take it by force.” (Matthew 11:12.)
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