For all melancholy, as all
passion, belongs to the exterior life. Whilst a man is not grounded
in the divine life by his proper roots, he clings by some tendrils of
affection to society, -- mayhap to what is best and greatest in it,
and in calm times it will not appear that he is adrift and not
moored; but let any shock take place in society, any revolution of
custom, of law, of opinion, and at once his type of permanence is
shaken. The disorder of his neighbors appears to him universal
disorder; chaos is come again. But in truth he was already a driving
wreck, before the wind arose which only revealed to him his vagabond
state. If a man is centred, men and events appear to him a fair
image or reflection of that which he knoweth beforehand in himself.
If any perversity or profligacy break out in society, he will join
with others to avert the mischief, but it will not arouse resentment
or fear, because he discerns its impassable limits. He sees already
in the ebullition of sin, the simultaneous redress.
Particular reliefs, also, fit themselves to human calamities,
for the world will be in equilibrium, and hates all manner of
exaggeration.
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