But here again he
is at fault. Peace comes not to him thus, though all the apparatus
seems at hand to produce it. Still he may be outshone by a
neighbour; or high estate may draw down upon him envy and ill-will;
or his senses themselves may refuse the proffered bliss, and ache
with disease. Peace is not in outward comforts, which the
constitution sharply limits; which pass with time, or pall upon the
taste. The human mind is too great a thing to be pleased with mere
blandishments.
Man has a soul of vast desires; and the solemn truth will come home
irresistibly at times, even to the easy epicure. Something is
wanting still. There is more of pain than peace in the remnants of
feasting and the exhausted rounds of pleasure.
Man has sometimes sought peace in yet another way. Abjuring all
sensual delights, he has gone into the desert to scourge the body,
to live on roots and water, and be absorbed in pious raptures; and
often has he thus succeeded, better than do the vulgar hunters of
pleasure. But unrest mingles even with the tranquillity thus
obtained. His innocent, active powers resist this crucifixion. The
distant world rolls to his ear the voices of suffering fellow-men;
and even his devotions, all lonely, become selfish and unsatisfying.
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