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.
It's a masterpiece to draw good out of evil. With the help of virtue, we can turn misfortunes into blessings. "It's a sad condition," you might say, "for a man to be barred from the freedom of his own country." But isn't this the case for thousands of people we meet every day in the streets? Some leave for ambition, others to do business, or for curiosity, pleasure, friendship, study, experience, luxury, vanity, or discontent. Some go to exercise their virtues, others their vices. Not a few leave to sell either their bodies or their eloquence. Now let's move from pleasant countries to the worst of islands. No matter how barren or rocky they are, no matter how barbarous the people or harsh the climate, anyone banished there will find many strangers living there by choice. The human mind is naturally curious and restless. This is no wonder, considering our divine origin. Heavenly things are always in motion. Look at the stars and planets, which are perpetually moving, rolling, and changing place according to nature's law and design. "But there are no woods," you might say, "no rivers, no gold or pearls, no goods for trade or commerce. There's hardly enough food to keep the inhabitants from starving." That's very true. There are no palaces, no artificial caves, no materials for luxury and excess. But we live under heaven's protection. A poor cottage for shelter is worth more than the most magnificent temple when that cottage is blessed by an honest man protected by his virtue. Should anyone think banishment terrible when he can take such company with him? No place of exile fails to provide enough for our needs, and no kingdom has enough to satisfy our wants. The mind makes us rich even in a desert. If the body stays alive, the soul enjoys all spiritual happiness in abundance. What does it matter to be banished from one piece of ground to another for someone whose thoughts reach above? He can look forward and backward and wherever he pleases. Wherever he is, he has the same material to work with. The body is just the prison or burden of the mind, subject to punishments, robberies, and diseases. But the mind is sacred and spiritual, beyond any violence. "Will a man lack clothes or shelter in banishment?" The body is as easily clothed as fed. Nature has made nothing difficult that is necessary. But if nothing will satisfy us except rich embroidery and scarlet cloth, it's not Fortune's fault that we're poor, but our own. Even suppose a man had everything restored that he lost. It would come to nothing, because he would want more afterward to satisfy his desires than he needed before to meet his basic needs. Insatiable appetites are not so much thirst as 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?
Let's look at this more practically. Where is the people or nation that hasn't changed where they live? Some moved because of war. Others were thrown onto unknown shores by storms, shipwrecks, or lack of food. Some were forced to leave by disease, rebellion, earthquakes, or overcrowding at home. Some travel to see the world, others for business. But clearly, for one reason or another, the entire human race has moved around. They've changed their very names as well as their homes. We've lost all memory of what they once were. All these movements of people — what are they but mass exiles? The very founder of the Roman empire was an exile. In short, the whole world has been transplanted, and one change follows right after another. What one person wants makes another person sick. The person who banishes me today will himself be cast out tomorrow. We do have this comfort in our misfortune. We have the same nature, the same Providence, and we carry our virtues with us. We owe this blessing to that almighty Power, whatever you want to call it. Whether it's God, or some Incorporeal Reason, a Divine Spirit, or Fate, and the unchangeable course of causes and effects. It's arranged so that nothing can be taken from us except what we can easily spare. What is most magnificent and valuable stays with us. Wherever we go, we have the heavens over our heads, no farther from us than they were before. As long as we can fill our eyes and thoughts with those glories, what does it matter what ground we walk on?
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.
When we experience pain or sickness, only the body suffers. It might slow down a runner or tie up a shoemaker's hands, but the mind remains free to listen, learn, teach, give advice, and perform other good works. A person who suffers pain patiently sets a valuable example for everyone. Virtue can shine just as brightly from a sickbed as on a battlefield. Someone who faces death and physical agony with courage is just as great as the most heroic soldier in battle. Disease may take away some pleasures, but it brings us others. Water never tastes better than when we're burning with fever. Food never seems more delicious than when we're sharp with hunger from fasting. A patient might be denied some physical pleasures, but no doctor will forbid the joys of the mind. Should we call any sick person miserable just because they must give up excessive drinking and overeating? Should we pity them for adopting a more moderate diet that costs less and abandoning luxury, which corrupts both mind and body? I know it's difficult at first to give up familiar pleasures and endure hunger and thirst. But soon we lose the very desire for these things, and it becomes easy to live without what we no longer want. Diseases bring great pain, but if they last long, they ease up and give us breaks. If they're short and violent, they either kill us quickly or burn themselves out. Either their pauses make them bearable, or their intensity makes them brief. Almighty God is so merciful that our torments cannot be both severe and lasting. The sharpest pains affect the nerves, but even these offer comfort because they quickly make us numb and unfeeling. In extreme cases, let's remember the greatest examples of patience and courage. Let's turn our thoughts from our suffering to contemplate virtue. Whether it's kidney stones, gout, or even torture itself, many people have endured these without a groan or word. They haven't asked for relief or even answered questions. Some have actually laughed at their tormentors during torture and challenged them to try new cruelties, which they continued to mock. I consider asthma the most demanding of all diseases. Doctors call it "the meditation of death" because it's more like dying than being sick. The attack lasts only about an hour, since no one takes long to die. Aren't there three terrible things about sickness: fear of death, physical pain, and losing our pleasures? The first comes from our nature, not from disease. We don't die because we're sick, but because we're alive. In fact, sickness has actually saved many people from death.