The Anatomy of Melancholy

As for the stature and imposing appearance that some admire so much, it is true, to say the best of them, that large men are handsome and tall, I grant it: “they hide their heads among the clouds.” But “pretty are the little”: little men are pretty.

But if a man is pretty, Cotta, he is a little man.

Sickness and disease trouble many people, but without cause: perhaps they are for the good of their souls. “It was part of fate.” The flesh rebels against the spirit; what hurts one must help the other. Sickness is the mother of humility: it reminds us of our mortality, and when we are racing headlong through worldly pomp and merriment, it pulls us by the ear and makes us know ourselves.

Pliny calls it the sum of philosophy, if only we could do when healthy what we promise when sick. “When we are ill, we are at our best.” For what sick man, as Secundus asks Rufus, was ever lustful, greedy, or ambitious? He envies no one, admires no one, flatters no one, despises no one, and does not listen for lies and gossip, and so on.

Without such gentle reminders, people would exercise no restraint: they would be worse than tigers, wolves, and lions. Who could keep them in check? Princes, masters, parents, magistrates, judges, friends, enemies, fair means or foul cannot restrain us; but a little sickness, as Chrysostom observes, will correct and reform us. With good judgment, therefore, Giovanni Pontano had this short sentence engraved on his tomb in Naples: labour, sorrow, grief, sickness, want and woe; serving proud masters, bearing that yoke of superstition, and burying your dearest friends, and so on, are the seasonings of our life.

If your disease is prolonged and painful, it surely will not last forever. “A light affliction, which lasts only a moment, brings us a far more excellent and eternal weight of glory” (2 Corinthians 4:17). Bear it patiently. Women endure great pain in childbirth, yet will not abstain; and those unable to bear children wish for that pain. Be courageous: as much valour can be shown in your bed as in an army or a sea battle. “It will either be conquered or conquer”: you will be free of it at last.

Meanwhile, let it take its course: your mind is in no way disabled. Willibald Pirckheimer, councillor to Charles V, governed all Germany while spending most of his days in bed with gout. The more violent your torment, the shorter it will last; and though it is severe and terrible for the moment, comfort yourself as martyrs do, with honour and immortality.

The famous philosopher Epicurus, suffering as wretched a pain from stones and colic as a man could endure, comforted himself with a thought of immortality: his soul’s joy in his remarkable discoveries drove back the pain of his bodily torments.