CONSOLATION AGAINST BANISHMENT AND BODILY PAIN.
It is a masterpiece to draw good out of evil; and, by the help of
virtue, to improve misfortunes into blessings. “It is a sad condition,”
you will say, “for a man to be barred the freedom of his own country.”
And is not this the case of thousands that we meet every day in the
streets? Some for ambition; others, to negotiate, or for curiosity,
delight, friendship, study, experience, luxury, vanity, discontent:
some to exercise their virtues, others their vices; and not a few to
prostitute either their bodies or their eloquence? To pass now from
pleasant countries into the worst of islands; let them be never so
barren or rocky, the people never so barbarous, or the clime never so
intemperate, he that is banished thither shall find many strangers to
live there for their pleasure. The mind of man is naturally curious
and restless; which is no wonder, considering their divine original;
for heavenly things are always in motion: witness the stars, and the
orbs, which are perpetually moving, rolling, and changing of place and
according to the law and appointment of Nature. But here are no woods,
you will say, no rivers, no gold nor pearl, no commodity for traffic
or commerce; nay, hardly provision enough to keep the inhabitants
from starving. It is very right; here are no palaces, no artificial
grottoes, or materials for luxury and excess; but we lie under the
protection of Heaven; and a poor cottage for a retreat is more worth
than the most magnificent temple, when that cottage is consecrated
by an honest man under the guard of his virtue. Shall any man think
banishment grievous, when he may take such company along with him!
Nor is there any banishment but yields enough for our necessities,
and no kingdom is sufficient for superfluities. It is the mind that
makes us rich in a desert; and if the body be but kept alive, the
soul enjoys all spiritual felicities in abundance. What signifies the
being banished from one spot of ground to another, to a man that has
his thoughts above, and can look forward and backward, and wherever
he pleases; and that, wherever he is, has the same matter to work
upon? The body is but the prison or the clog of the mind, subjected to
punishments, robberies, diseases; but the mind is sacred and spiritual,
and liable to no violence. Is it that, a man shall want garments or
covering in banishment? The body is as easily clothed as fed; and
Nature has made nothing hard that is necessary. But if nothing will
serve us but rich embroideries and scarlet, it is none of Fortune’s
fault that we are poor, but our own. Nay, suppose a man should have
all restored him back again that he has lost, it will come to nothing,
for he will want more after that to satisfy his desires than he did
before to supply his necessities. Insatiable appetites are not so much
a thirst as a disease.
To come lower now; where is the people or nation that have not changed
their place of abode? Some by the fate of war; others have been cast
by tempests, shipwrecks, or want of provisions, upon unknown coasts.
Some have been forced abroad by pestilence, sedition, earthquakes,
surcharge of people at home. Some travel to see the world, others
for commerce; but, in fine, it is clear, that, upon some reason or
other, the whole race of mankind have shifted their quarters; changed
their very names as well as their habitations; insomuch that we have
lost the very memorials of what they were. All these transportations
of people, what are they but public banishments? The very _founder_
of the _Roman empire_ was an _exile_: briefly, the whole world has
been transplanted, and one mutation treads upon the heel of another.
That which one man desires, turns another man’s stomach; and he that
proscribes me to-day, shall himself be cast out to-morrow. We have,
however, this comfort in our misfortune; we have the same nature, the
same Providence, and we carry our virtues along with us. And this
blessing we owe to that almighty Power, call it what you will; either
a _God_, or an _Incorporeal Reason_, a _Divine Spirit_, or _Fate_, and
the _unchangeable Course_ of _causes_ and _effects_: it is, however,
so ordered, that nothing can be taken from us but what we can well
spare: and that which is most magnificent and valuable continues with
us. Wherever we go, we have the heavens over our heads, and no farther
from us than they were before; and so long as we can entertain our eyes
and thoughts with those glories, what matter is it what ground we tread
upon?
In the case of pain or sickness, it is only the body that is affected;
it may take off the speed of a footman, or bind the hands of a cobbler,
but the mind is still at liberty to hear, learn, teach, advise, and to
do other good offices. It is an example of public benefit, a man that
is in pain and patient. Virtue may show itself as well in the bed as
in the field; and he that cheerfully encounters the terrors of death
and corporal anguish, is as great a man as he that most generously
hazards himself in a battle. A disease, it is true, bars us of some
pleasures, but procures us others. Drink is never so grateful to us as
in a burning fever; nor meat, as when we have fasted ourselves sharp
and hungry. The patient may be forbidden some sensual satisfaction,
but no physician will forbid us the delight of the mind. Shall we call
any sick man miserable, because he must give over his intemperance
of wine and gluttony, and betake himself to a diet of more sobriety,
and less expense; and abandon his luxury, which is the distemper of
the mind as well as of the body? It is troublesome, I know, at first,
to abstain from the pleasures we have been used to, and to endure
hunger and thirst; but in a little time we lose the very appetite,
and it is no trouble then to be without that which we do not desire.
In diseases there are great pains; but if they be long they remit,
and give us some intervals of ease; if short and violent, either they
dispatch _us_, or consume _themselves_; so that either their respites
make them tolerable, or the extremity makes them short. So merciful
is Almighty God to us, that our torments cannot be very sharp and
lasting. The acutest pains are those that affect the nerves, but there
is this comfort in them too, that they will quickly make us stupid and
insensible. In cases of extremity, let us call to mind the most eminent
instances of patience and courage, and turn our thoughts from our
afflictions to the contemplation of virtue. Suppose it be the stone,
the gout, nay, the rack itself; how many have endured it without so
much as a groan or word speaking; without so much as asking for relief,
or giving an answer to a question! Nay, they have laughed at the
tormentors upon the very torture, and provoked them to new experiments
of their cruelty, which they have had still in derision. The _asthma_ I
look upon as of all diseases the most importunate; the physicians call
it the _meditation of death_, as being rather an agony than a sickness;
the fit holds one not above an hour, as nobody is long in expiring. Are
there not three things grievous in sickness, the fear of death, bodily
pain, and the intermission of our pleasures? the first is to be imputed
to nature, not to the disease; for we do not die because we are sick,
but because we live. Nay, sickness itself has preserved many a man from
dying.