Section 3 Member 1. Subsection 1 A digression on consolation, containing remedies for every kind of discontent

In the preceding section I mentioned good advice, consoling words, and persuasion: how necessary they are in treating a discontented or troubled mind, how promptly they bring relief, and how often they provide a sufficient cure by themselves. I have therefore thought it fitting to digress a little in this next section—if this can be called a digression from my subject—and gather a few remedies and consoling words from our best orators, philosophers, theologians, and Fathers of the Church for this purpose.

I admit that many have written extensively on this subject: Plato, Seneca, Plutarch, Xenophon, Epictetus, Theophrastus, Xenocrates, Crantor, Lucian, Boethius; and, more recently, Sadoleto, Cardano, Budé, Stella, Petrarch, and Erasmus, besides Augustine, Cyprian, Bernard, and others. They have written so well that, as Jerome said in a similar case, “if our intelligence ran dry, it could be watered from their springs”: if our barren minds dried up, those wells could irrigate them abundantly.

I shall merely “do what has already been done.” Yet because these works are not readily available or widely known, I shall summarize them and briefly include some of their excellent teachings, reducing their vast, many-volume treatises to my small scale. Otherwise it would be impossible to bring such large ships into so small a creek.

And although, as Cardano said of his book On Consolation, I know beforehand that many will despise and reject this work of mine—the fortunate, happy, and prosperous have no need of such consoling words, while the miserable and unhappy think them insufficient to ease their troubled minds or relieve their misery—I shall still go on.

It must surely do some good to the happy, bringing them to moderation and making them reflect and understand themselves by seeing how unstable human happiness is, and how others suffer. To the distressed, if they will only attend to and consider it, it cannot fail to bring some contentment and comfort.

It is true that no medicine can cure every disease, and some disorders of the mind are altogether incurable; yet these aids of skill, medicine, and philosophy should not be despised. Arrian and Plotinus firmly hold the opposite view, that such precepts can do little good. In some cases even Boethius cannot console: people will reject such words as bread made of stones. “These are the senseless consolations of a foolish mind.”

As Catiline once told his soldiers, “Words add no courage; a captain’s speech does not turn a coward into a brave man.” And as Job said so feelingly to his friends, “You are all miserable comforters.” It is useless to offer a string of worn-out maxims and familiar sayings in commonplace language.

Thus Pliny the Younger, grieving and heavy-hearted at the death of his dear friend Cornelius Rufus, a Roman senator, wrote to his friend Tiro in a similar case: “Bring me consolation, but something new and strong, something I have never heard or read before; for everything I have heard and read is overwhelmed by such grief.” Either say something I have never read or heard before, or hold your tongue.

Most people will object here that trivial consolations, ordinary speeches, and familiar arguments can have little effect in such a case. What can anyone say that has not already been said? What use are such exhortations? You might as easily move Mount Caucasus as change some people’s feelings. Yet I am sure they must do some good, and bring a little comfort and relief. Even if it is the same thing again, I shall say it, and venture on in that hope.

“This is not my own speech”: these words are not mine, but Seneca’s, Plutarch’s, Epictetus’s, Augustine’s, Bernard’s, Christ’s, and his Apostles’. If I make nothing, as Montaigne said in a similar case, I shall spoil nothing. This teaching is mine only through study. I hope I wrong no one by saying what I think, and deserve no blame for sharing my thoughts. If it does not ease your mind, it may ease my own. Cicero, Cardano, and Boethius likewise wrote on consolation to help themselves as well as others. Be that as it may, I shall make the attempt.

Discontents and grievances are either general or particular. General ones include wars, plagues, shortages, famine, fires, floods, unseasonable weather, and epidemic diseases that afflict whole kingdoms, territories, and cities. Others belong to individuals: cares, setbacks, losses, the death of friends, poverty, want, sickness, bereavements, injuries, abuses, and so on. Everyone, in general, is discontented: “We human beings are tossed on Fortune’s sea.” No condition is exempt: “Each of us suffers his own torments.”

Even amid our merriment and good cheer there is some murmuring, some complaint. As he says, our whole life is a “sweet-bitter” experience, honey and gall mixed together. We are all miserable and discontented: who can deny it? If everyone suffers, if this is a common calamity and an unavoidable necessity, then, as Cardano concludes, “Who are you to hope to escape? Why not grieve that you are mortal and not the ruler of the world?”

“Let no one refuse to bear the lot that everyone suffers.” If it is common to all, why should one person be more troubled than another? If you alone were distressed, it would indeed be more burdensome and harder to endure. But when the calamity is shared, take comfort in this: you have companions. “It comforts the miserable to have companions in their sorrow.” Yours is not the only case; why, then, should you be so impatient?

Yes, but alas, we are more miserable than others: what shall we do? Besides our private miseries, we live in constant fear and danger from our common enemies. Instead of wedding songs we have Bellona’s whips and pitiful cries; instead of pleasant music, the terrible noise of cannon, drums, and military trumpets sounding continually in our ears. Instead of wedding torches we have towns and cities on fire; instead of triumphs, lamentations; instead of joy, tears.