reason, such as we should very fairly assign now: public reasons,
and those, such as God grant no living man may see, caused wise men
to thank God that they were not burdened with wife and child.
Remember the years in which Salvian lived--from 416 perhaps to 490.
It was a day of the Lord such as Joel saw; 'a day of clouds and of
thick darkness, as the morning spread upon the mountains; a great
people and strong; there had not been ever the like, neither should
be any more after it: the land was a garden of Eden before them, and
behind them a desolate wilderness: Yea, and nothing should escape
them.' All things were going to wrack; the country was overrun by
foreign invaders; bankruptcy, devastation, massacre, and captivity
were for perhaps 100 years the normal state of Gaul, and of most
other countries besides. I have little doubt that Salvian was a
prudent man, when he thought fit to bring no more human beings into
the world. That is an ugly thought--I trust that you feel how ugly,
unnatural, desperate a thought it is. If you do not, think over it
till you do, till it frightens you. You will gain a great step
thereby in human sympathy, and therefore in the understanding of
history. For many times, and in many places, men have said, rightly
or wrongly, 'It is better to leave none behind me like myself. The
miseries of life (and of what comes after this life) are greater than
its joys. I commit an act of cruelty by bringing a fresh human being
into the world.' I wish you to look at that thought steadily, and
apply it for yourselves. It has many applications: and has
therefore been a very common one.

But put to yourselves--it is too painful for me to put to you--the
case of a married gentleman who sees his country gradually devastated
and brought to utter ruin by foreign invaders; and who feels--as poor
Salvian felt, that there is no hope or escape; that the misery is