The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe (1808). Defoe Daniel

of things; I looked now upon the world as a thing remote; which I had nothing to do with, no expectation from, and indeed no desires about: in a word, I had nothing indeed to do with it, nor was ever like to have; so I thought it looked as we may perhaps look upon it hereafter; viz. as a place I had lived in, but was come out of it; and well I might say, as father Abraham to Dives, "Between me and thee there is a great gulf fixed."

      In the first place, I was removed from all the wickedness of the world here: I had neither the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, or the pride of life: I had nothing to covet, for I had all I was now capable of enjoying; I was lord of the whole manor, or, if I pleased, I might call myself king or emperor over the whole country which I had possession of: there were no rivals: I had no competitor, none to dispute sovereignty or command with me; I might have raised ship-loadings of corn, but I had no use for it; so I let as little grow as I thought enough for my occasion: I had tortoises or turtles enough; but now and then one was as much as I could put to any use: I had timber enough to have built a fleet of ships; I had grapes enough to have made wine, or to have cured into raisins, to have loaded that fleet when they had been built.

      But all I could make use of, was all that was valuable: I had enough to eat, and to supply my wants, and what was all the rest to me? If I killed more flesh than I could eat, the dog must eat it, or the vermin; if I sowed more corn than I could eat, it must be spoiled. The trees that I cut down were lying to rot on the ground, I could make no more use of them, than for fuel; and that I had no occasion for, but to dress my food.

      In a word, the nature and experience of things dictated to me upon just reflection, that all the good things of this world are no farther good to us, than as they are for our use: and that whatever we may heap up indeed to give to others, we enjoy as much as we can use, and no more. The most covetous griping miser in the world would have been cured of the vice of covetousness, if he had been in my case; for I possessed infinitely more than I knew what to do with. I had no room for desire, except it was of things which I had not, and they were but trifles, though indeed of great use to me. I had, as I hinted before, a parcel of money, as well gold as silver, about thirty-six pounds sterling; alas! there the nasty, sorry, useless stuff lay; I had no manner of business for it; and I often thought with myself, that I would have given an handful of it for a gross of tobacco-pipes, or for an hand-mill to grind my corn; nay, I would have given it all for six-penny-worth of turnip and carrot seed out of England, or for an handful of peas and beans, and a bottle of ink: as it was, I had not the least advantage by it, or benefit from it; but there it lay in a drawer, and grew mouldy with the damp of the cave, in the wet season; and if I had had the drawer full of diamonds, it had been the same case; and they had been of no manner of value to me, because of no use.

      I had now brought my state of life to be much easier in itself than it was at first, and much easier to my mind, as well as to my body. I frequently sat down to my meat with thankfulness, and admired the hand of God's providence, which had thus spread my table in the wilderness: I learnt to look more upon the bright side of my condition, and less upon the dark side; and to consider what I enjoyed, rather than what I wanted; and this gave me sometimes such secret comforts, that I cannot express them; and which I take notice of here, to put those discontented people in mind of it, who cannot enjoy comfortably what God hath given them, because they see and covet something that he has not given them: all our discontents about what we want, appeared to me to spring from the want of thankfulness for what we have.

      Another reflection was of great use to me, and doubtless would be so to any one that should fall into such distress as mine was; and this was, to compare my present condition with what I at first expected it should be; nay, with what it would certainly have been, if the good providence of God had not wonderfully ordered the ship to be cast up near to the shore, where I not only could come at her, but could bring what I got out of her to the shore for my relief and comfort; without which I had wanted tools to work, weapons for defence, or gunpowder and shot for getting my food.

      I spent whole hours, I may say whole days, in representing to myself in the most lively colours, how I must have acted, if I had got nothing out of the ship; how I could not have so much as got any food, except fish and turtles; and that, as it was long before I found any of them, I must have perished first: that I should have lived, if I had not perished, like a mere savage: that if I had killed a goat or a fowl by any contrivance, I had no way to flay or open them, or part the flesh from the skin and the bowels, or to cut it up; but must gnaw it with my teeth, and pull it with my claws, like a beast.

      These reflections made me very sensible of the goodness of Providence to me, and very thankful for my present condition, with all its hardships and misfortunes: and this part also I cannot but recommend to the reflection of those who are apt in their misery to say, Is any affliction like mine? Let them consider, how much worse the cases of some people are, and what their case might have been, if Providence had thought fit.

      I had another reflection which assisted me also to comfort my mind with hopes; and this was, comparing my present condition with what I had deserved, and had therefore reason to expect from the hand of Providence. I had lived a dreadful life, perfectly destitute of the knowledge and fear of God: I had been well instructed by father and mother; neither had they been wanting to me in their early endeavours to infuse a religious awe of God into my mind, a sense of my duty, and of what the nature and end of my being required of me. But, alas! falling early into the seafaring life, which of all the lives is the most destitute of the fear of God, though his terrors are always before them; I say, falling early into the seafaring life, and into seafaring company, all that little sense of religion which I had entertained, was laughed out of me by my messmates; by an hardened despising of dangers, and the views of death, which grew habitual to me; by my long absence from all manner of opportunities to converse with any thing but what was like myself, or to hear any thing of what was good, or tended towards it.

      So void was I of every thing that was good, or of the least sense of what I was, or was to be, that in the greatest deliverance I enjoyed, such as my escape from Sallee, my being taken up by the Portuguese master of the ship, my being planted so well in Brasil, my receiving the cargo from England, and the like, I never once had the words, Thank God, so much as on my mind, or in my mouth; nor in the greatest distress had I so much thought as to pray to him; nor so much as to say, Lord, have mercy upon me! no, not to mention the name of God, unless it was to swear by, and blaspheme it.

      I had terrible reflections upon my mind for many months, as I have already observed, on the account of my wicked and hardened life past; and when I looked about me, and considered what particular providences had attended me, since my coming into this place, and how God had dealt bountifully with me; had not only punished me less than my iniquity deserved, but had so plentifully provided for me; this gave me great hopes that my repentance was accepted, and that God had yet mercies in store for me.

      With these reflections I worked my mind up, not only to resignation to the will of God in the present disposition of my circumstances, but even to a sincere thankfulness of my condition; and that I, who was yet a living man, ought not to complain, seeing I had not the due punishment of my sins; that I enjoyed so many mercies, which I had no reason to have expected in that place, that I ought never more to repine at my condition, but to rejoice, and to give daily thanks, for that daily bread, which nothing but a cloud of wonders could have brought: that I ought to consider I had been fed even by a miracle, even as great as that of feeding Elijah by ravens; nay, by a long series of miracles; and that I could hardly have named a place in the uninhabited part of the world, where I could have been cast more to my advantage: a place, where as I had no society, which was my affliction on one hand, so I found no ravenous beasts, no furious wolves or tigers, to threaten my life; no venomous creatures, or poisonous, which I might have fed on to my hurt; no savages to murder and devour me.

      In a word, as my life was a life of sorrow one way, so it was a life of mercy another; and I wanted nothing to make it a life of comfort, but to be able to make my sense of God's goodness to me, and care over me in this condition, be my daily consolation; and after I made a just improvement of these things, I went away, and was no more sad.

      I had now been here so long, that many things which I brought on shore for my help, were either quite gone, or very much wasted, and near spent.

      My ink, as I observed, had been gone for some time, all but a very