_The first Dialogue between |Academicus|, |Rusticus| and |Theophilus|. At which |Humanus| was present._
_Theophilus._ ACADEMICUS, your education has so accustomed you to the pleasure of reading variety of books, that you hardly propose any other end in reading, than the entertainment of your mind: thus the spirit of prayer has only awakened in you a desire to see another part upon the same subject. This fault is very common to others, as well as scholars, and even to those who delight in reading good books.
_Philo_ for these twenty years has been collecting and reading all the spiritual books he can hear of. He reads them, as the _critics_ read commentators and lexicons; to be nice and exact in telling you the _stile_, _spirit_, and _intent_ of this or that spiritual writer; how one is more accurate in this, and the other in that. _Philo_ will ride you forty miles in winter to have a conversation about spiritual books, or to see a collection larger than his own. _Philo_ is amazed at the deadness and insensibility of the Christian world, that they are such strangers to the spiritual nature of the Christian salvation; he wonders how they can be so zealous for the outward letter and form of ordinances, and so averse to that spiritual life, that they all point at, as the one thing needful. But _Philo_ never thinks how wonderful it is, that a man who knows regeneration to be the whole, should yet content himself with the love of books upon the new birth, instead of being born again himself. For all that is changed in _Philo_, is his taste for books. He is no more dead to the world, no more delivered from himself, is as fearful of adversity, as fond of prosperity, as easily provoked and pleased with trifles, as much governed by his _own_ will, tempers and passions, as unwilling to deny his appetites, or enter into war with himself, as he was twenty years ago. Yet all is well with _Philo_; he has no suspicion of himself; he dates the newness of his life from the time that he discovered the pearl of eternity in spiritual authors.
All this, _Academicus_, is said on your account, that you may not lose the benefit of this spark of the divine life that is kindled in your soul.
It demands at present an eagerness of another kind, than that of much reading, even upon the most spiritual matters.
_Academicus._ I thank you, _Theophilus_; but did not imagine my eagerness after such books to be so dangerous a mistake.
_Theophilus._ I have said nothing, my friend, with a design of hindering your acquaintance with all the truly spiritual writers. I would rather in a right way help you to a true intimacy with them: for he that converses rightly with them has an happiness, that can hardly be overvalued.
My intention is only to abate, for a time, a spirit of eagerness after much reading, which in your state rather gratifies curiosity, than reforms the heart.
Suppose you had seen an angel from heaven, who had discovered to you a glimpse of that glorious union in which it lived with God. Suppose it had told you that your own soul was capable of all this, but that your flesh and blood would not suffer it to be imparted to you. Suppose it had told you, that all your life had been spent in helping this flesh and blood to more and more power over you, to hinder you from knowing and feeling the divine life within you. Suppose it had told you, that to this day, you had lived in the grossest self-idolatry, loving, serving, honouring, and adoring yourself instead of loving, serving, and adoring God: that all your intentions, projects, cares, pleasures, and indulgences, had been only so much labour to bring you to the grave in a total ignorance of that great work, for which alone you was born into the world.
Suppose it had told you, that all this insensibility of your state, was wilfully brought upon yourself, because you had boldly resisted all the inward and outward calls of God, all the teachings, doings, and sufferings of the Son of God. *Suppose it left you with this farewell, O man, awake; thy work is great, thy time is short, I am thy last trumpet; the grave calls for thy flesh and blood, thy soul must enter into a new lodging. To be born again, is to be an angel: not to be born again, is to become a devil.