# The History of the Adventures of Joseph Andrews and his Friend, Mr. Abraham Abrams/Book III, Chapter XI

CHAPTER XI.
_Containing the exhortations of parson Adams to his friend in
affliction; calculated for the instruction and improvement of the
reader._
Joseph no sooner came perfectly to himself than, perceiving his mistress
gone, he bewailed her loss with groans which would have pierced any
heart but those which are possessed by some people, and are made of a
certain composition not unlike flint in its hardness and other
properties; for you may strike fire from them, which will dart through
the eyes, but they can never distil one drop of water the same way. His
own, poor youth! was of a softer composition; and at those words, "O my
dear Fanny! O my love! shall I never, never see thee more?" his eyes
overflowed with tears, which would have become any but a hero. In a
word, his despair was more easy to be conceived than related.
Mr Adams, after many groans, sitting with his back to Joseph, began thus
in a sorrowful tone: "You cannot imagine, my good child, that I entirely
blame these first agonies of your grief; for, when misfortunes attack us
by surprize, it must require infinitely more learning than you are
master of to resist them; but it is the business of a man and a
Christian to summon Reason as quickly as he can to his aid; and she will
presently teach him patience and submission. Be comforted, therefore,
child; I say be comforted. It is true, you have lost the prettiest,
kindest, loveliest, sweetest young woman, one with whom you might have
expected to have lived in happiness, virtue, and innocence; by whom you
might have promised yourself many little darlings, who would have been
the delight of your youth and the comfort of your age. You have not only
lost her, but have reason to fear the utmost violence which lust and
power can inflict upon her. Now, indeed, you may easily raise ideas of
horror, which might drive you to despair."--"O I shall run mad!" cries
Joseph. "O that I could but command my hands to tear my eyes out and my
flesh off!"--"If you would use them to such purposes, I am glad you
can't," answered Adams. "I have stated your misfortune as strong as I
possibly can; but, on the other side, you are to consider you are a
Christian, that no accident happens to us without the Divine permission,
and that it is the duty of a man, and a Christian, to submit. We did not
make ourselves; but the same power which made us rules over us, and we
are absolutely at his disposal; he may do with us what he pleases, nor
have we any right to complain. A second reason against our complaint is
our ignorance; for, as we know not future events, so neither can we tell
to what purpose any accident tends; and that which at first threatens us
with evil may in the end produce our good. I should indeed have said our
ignorance is twofold (but I have not at present time to divide
properly), for, as we know not to what purpose any event is ultimately
directed, so neither can we affirm from what cause it originally sprung.
You are a man, and consequently a sinner; and this may be a punishment
to you for your sins: indeed in this sense it may be esteemed as a good,
yea, as the greatest good, which satisfies the anger of Heaven, and
averts that wrath which cannot continue without our destruction.
Thirdly, our impotency of relieving ourselves demonstrates the folly and
absurdity of our complaints: for whom do we resist, or against whom do
we complain, but a power from whose shafts no armour can guard us, no
speed can fly?--a power which leaves us no hope but in submission." "O
sir!" cried Joseph, "all this is very true, and very fine, and I could
hear you all day if I was not so grieved at heart as now I am."--"Would
you take physic," says Adams, "when you are well, and refuse it when you
are sick? Is not comfort to be administered to the afflicted, and not to
those who rejoice or those who are at ease?" "O! you have not spoken one
word of comfort to me yet!" returned Joseph. "No!" cries Adams; "what am
I then doing? what can I say to comfort you?" "O tell me," cries Joseph,
"that Fanny will escape back to my arms, that they shall again enclose
that lovely creature, with all her sweetness, all her untainted
innocence about her!" "Why, perhaps you may," cries Adams, "but I can't
promise you what's to come. You must, with perfect resignation, wait the
event: if she be restored to you again, it is your duty to be thankful,
and so it is if she be not. Joseph, if you are wise and truly know your
own interest, you will peaceably and quietly submit to all the
dispensations of Providence, being thoroughly assured that all the
misfortunes, how great soever, which happen to the righteous, happen to
them for their own good. Nay, it is not your interest only, but your
duty, to abstain from immoderate grief; which if you indulge, you are
not worthy the name of a Christian." He spoke these last words with an
accent a little severer than usual; upon which Joseph begged him not to
be angry, saying, he mistook him if he thought he denied it was his
duty, for he had known that long ago. "What signifies knowing your duty,
if you do not perform it?" answered Adams. "Your knowledge increases
your guilt. O Joseph! I never thought you had this stubbornness in your
mind." Joseph replied, "He fancied he misunderstood him; which I assure
you," says he, "you do, if you imagine I endeavour to grieve; upon my
soul I don't." Adams rebuked him for swearing, and then proceeded to
enlarge on the folly of grief, telling him, all the wise men and
philosophers, even among the heathens, had written against it, quoting
several passages from Seneca, and the Consolation, which, though it was
not Cicero's, was, he said, as good almost as any of his works; and
concluded all by hinting that immoderate grief in this case might
incense that power which alone could restore him his Fanny. This reason,
or indeed rather the idea which it raised of the restoration of his
mistress, had more effect than all which the parson had said before, and
for a moment abated his agonies; but, when his fears sufficiently set
before his eyes the danger that poor creature was in, his grief returned
again with repeated violence, nor could Adams in the least asswage it;
though it may be doubted in his behalf whether Socrates himself could
have prevailed any better.
They remained some time in silence, and groans and sighs issued from
them both; at length Joseph burst out into the following soliloquy:--
Adams asked him what stuff that was he repeated? To which he answered,
they were some lines he had gotten by heart out of a play. "Ay, there is
nothing but heathenism to be learned from plays," replied he. "I never
heard of any plays fit for a Christian to read, but Cato and the
Conscious Lovers; and, I must own, in the latter there are some things
almost solemn enough for a sermon." But we shall now leave them a
little, and enquire after the subject of their conversation.