Plutarch's Moralia (Holland)/Essay 1
OF MORAL VIRTUE
THE SUMMARY
[Before he entereth into the discourse of virtues and vices, he treateth of moral virtue in general: propounding in the first place the diversity of opinions of philosophers as touching this point: the which he discusseth and examineth: Wherein after that he had begun to dispute concerning the composition of the soul, he adjoineth his own opinion touching that property which moral virtue hath particularly by itself, as also wherein it differeth from contemplative philosophy. Then having defined the mediocrity of this virtue, and declared the difference between continence and temperance, he speaketh of the impression of reason in the soul. And by this means addresseth himself against the Stoics, and disputeth concerning the affections of the soul: proving the inequality therein, with such a refutation of the contrary objections, that after he had taught how the reasonless part of the soul ought to be managed, he discovereth by divers similitudes and reasons, the absurdities of the said Stoic philosophers, who, instead of well governing and ruling the soul of man, have as much as lieth in them, extinguished and abolished the same.]
My purpose is to treat of that virtue which is both called and also reputed moral, and namely wherein it differeth especially from virtue contemplative: as having for the subject matter thereof the passions of the mind, and for the form, reason: Likewise of what nature and substance it is; as also, how it doth subsist and hath the being: to wit, whether that part of the soul which is capable of the said virtue be endued and adorned with reason as appropriate and peculiar unto it; or, whether it borrow it from other parts, and so receiving it, be like unto things mingled, and adhering to the better: or rather, for that being under the government and rule of another, it be said to participate the power and puissance of that which commendeth it? For, that virtue also may subsist and have an essential being, without any subject matter and mixture at all, I suppose it is very evident and apparent. But first and foremost, I hold it very expedient briefly to run through the opinions of other philosophers, not so much by way of an historical narration and so an end, as that when they be once shewed and laid abroad, our opinion may both appear more plainly, and also be held more surely.
Menedemus, then, who was born in the city Eretria, abolished all plurality and difference of virtues, supposing that there was but one only virtue, and the same known by sundry names: For he said, that it was but one and the same thing which men called temperance, fortitude, and justice: like as if one should say, A reasonable creature and a man, he meaneth the selfsame thing. As for Ariston, the Chian, he was of opinion likewise, that in substance there was no more but one virtue, the which he termed by the name of health: marry, in some divers respects, there were many virtues, and those different one from another: as namely, for example, if a man should call our eyesight, when it beholdeth white things, leucothea: when it seeth black, melanthie: and so likewise in other matters. For virtue (quoth he), which concerneth and considereth what we ought either to do or not to do, beareth the name of prudence: when it ruleth and ordereth our lust or concupiscence, limiting out a certain measure and lawful proportion of time unto pleasures, it is called temperance: if it intermeddle with the commerce, contracts, and negotiation between man and man, then it is named justice: like as (to make it more plain) a knife is the same still, although it cut, now one thing and then another: and the fire, notwithstanding it worketh upon sundry matters, yet it remaineth always of one and the same nature. It seemeth also, that Zeno, the Citean, inclined in some sort to this opinion, who in defining prudence, saith, that when it doth distribute to every man his ovm, it ought to be called justice; when it is occupied in objects either to be chosen or avoided, then it is temperance; and in bearing or suffering, it should be named fortitude.
Now, they that defend and maintain this opinion of Zeno, affirm that by prudence he understandeth science or knowledge. But Chrysippus, who was of this mind, that each virtue had a peculiar quality, and according to it, ought to be defined and set down, wist not how (ere he was aware) he brought into philosophy, and as Plato saith, raised a swarm of virtues never known before, and wherewith the schools had not been acquainted. For like as of valiant he derived valour, of just, justice, of clement, clemency: so also of gracious he comes in with gratiosity, of good, goodness, of great, greatness, of honest, honesty, and all other such-like dexterities, affabilities, and courtesies, he termed by the name of virtues, and so pestered philosophy with new, strange, and absurd words, more iwis than was needful.
Now these philosophers agree jointly all in this, that they set down virtue to be a certain disposition and power of the principal part of the soul, acquired by reason: or rather, that it is reason itself: and this they suppose as a truth confessed, certain, firm, and irrefragable. They hold also that the part of the soul subject to passions, sensual, brutish, and unreasonable, differeth not from reason by any essential difference, or by nature: but they imagine that the very part and substance of the soul which they call understanding, reason, and the principal part, being wholly turned and changed, as well in sudden passions, as alterations by habitude and disposition, becometh either vice or virtue, and in itself hath no brutishness at all: but is named only unreasonable, according as the motion of the appetite and lust is so powerful that it becometh mistress, and by that means she is driven and carried forcibly to some dishonest and absurd course, contrary to the judgment of reason: For they would have that very motion or passion itself to be reason, howbeit depraved and naught, as taking her force and strength from false and perverse judgment.
Howbeit, all these (as it may seem) were ignorant of this one point; namely, that each one of us (to speak truly) is double and compound: And as for one of these duplicities, they never thoroughly saw; that only which is of the twain more evident, to wit, the mixture or composition of the soul and body they acknowledge. And yet, that there is besides a certain duplicity in the soul itself, which consisteth of two divers and different natures: and namely, that the brutish and reasonless part, in manner of another body, is combined and knit into reason by a certain natural link of necessity: It seemeth that Pythagoras himself was not ignorant: And this we may undoubtedly gather and conjecture by his great diligence which he employed in that music and harmony which he inferred for the dulcing, taming, and appeasing of the soul: as knowing full well that all the parts thereof were not obedient and subject to instruction, learning, and discipline, nor yet such as might by reason be altered and trained from vice to virtue: but required some other kind of persuasive power co-operative with it, for to frame the same and make it gentle and tractable: for otherwise it would be hardly or never conquered by philosophy, and brought within the compass of obedience; so obstinate and rebellious it is.
And Plato verily was of this opinion (which he professed openly, and held as a firm and undoubted truth), that the soul of this universal world is not simple, uniform, and uncompounded, but mixed (as it were) of a certain power of identity[1] and of diversity. For after one sort it is governed and turned about continually in an uniform manner by means of one and the same order, which is powerful and predominant over all: and after another sort again, it is divided into circles, spheres, and motions, wandering and contrary in manner to the other: whereupon dependeth the beginning of diversity in generation of all things in the earth. Semblably (quoth he) the soul of man, being a part and portion of that universal soul of the world, composed likewise of proportions and numbers answerable to the other, is not simple and of one nature or affection, but one part thereof is more spiritual, intelligible, and reasonable, which ought of right and according to nature have the sovereignty and command in man: the other is brutish, sensual, erroneous, and disorderly of itself, requiring the direction and guidance of another. Now, this is subdivided again into other two parts; whereof the one is always called corporal or vegetative; the other thymocides, as one would say, irascible and concupiscible; which one while doth adhere and stick close to the foresaid gross and corporal portion: and otherwhiles to the more pure and spiritual part, which is the discourse of reason; unto which, according as it doth frame and apply itself, it giveth strength and vigour thereto. Now the difference between the one and the other may be known principally by the fight and resistance that oftentimes is between understanding and reason on the one side, and the concupiscence and wrathful part on the other; which sheweth that these other faculties are often disobedient and repugnant to the best part.
And verily, Aristotle used these principles and grounds especially above all others at the first, as appeareth by his writings: but afterwards, he attributed the irascible part unto the concupiscible, confounding them both together in one, as if ire were a concupiscence or desire of revenge. Howbeit, this he always held to the very end, that the brutish and sensual part, which is subject unto passions, was wholly and ever distinct from the intellectual part, which is the same that reason: not that it is fully deprived of reason, as is that corporal and gross part of the soul, to wit, whereby we have sense only common with beasts, and whereby we are nourished as plants. But whereas, this being surd and deaf, and altogether incapable of reason, doth after a sort proceed and spring from the flesh, and always cleave unto the body: the other sensual part which is so subject unto passions, although it be in itself destitute of reason, as a thing proper unto it: yet nevertheless apt and fit it is to hear and obey the understanding and discoursing part of the mind; insomuch as it will turn unto it, suffer itself to be ranged and ordered according to the rules and precepts thereof; unless it be utterly spoiled and corrupted, either by blind and foolish pleasure, or else by a loose and intemperate course of life. As for them that make a wonder at this, and do not conceive how that part being in some sort brutish and unreasonable, may yet be obedient unto reason, they seem unto me as if they did not well comprehend the might and power of reason: namely, how great it is, and forcible, or how far forth it may pierce and pass in command, guidance, and direction; not by way of rough, churlish, violent, and irregular courses, but by fair and formal means, which are able to do more by gentle inducements and persuasions than all the necessary constraints and enforcements in the world. That this is so, it appeareth by the breath, spirits, sinews, bones, and other parts of the body, which be altogether void of reason: howbeit, so soon as there ariseth any motion of the will, which shaketh (as it were) the reins of reason never so little, all of them keep their order, they agree together, and yield obedience. As for example, if the mind and will be disposed to run, the feet are quickly stretched out and ready for a course; the hands likewise settle to their business, if there be a motion of the mind either to throw, or take hold of anything. And verily, the poet Homer most excellently expresseth the sympathy and conformity of this brutish part of the soul unto reason in these verses:
Thus wept the chaste Penelope,
And drench'd her lovely face
With dreary tears, which from her eyes
Ran trickling down apace
For tender heart, bewailing sore
The loss of husband dear,
Ulysses hight, who was in place
Set by her side full near.
And he himself in soul, no less,
Did pity for to see
His best beloved thus to weep;
But wise and crafty he
Kept in his tears: for why
His eyes within the lids were set
As stiff as iron and sturdy horn,
One drop would they not shed.
In such obedience to the judgment of reason he had his breath, spirits, his blood and his tears. An evident proof hereof is to be seen in those whose flesh doth rise upon the first sight of fair and beautiful persons: for no sooner doth reason or law forbid to come near and touch them, but presently the same falleth, lieth down, and is quiet again without any stirring or panting at all. A thing very ordinary and most commonly perceived in those who be enamoured upon fair women, not knowing at first who they were: For so soon as they perceive afterwards that they be their own sisters or daughters, their lust presently cooleth, by means of reason that toucheth it and interposeth itself between: so that the body keepeth all the members thereof decently in order, and obedient to the judgment of the said reason. Moreover, it falleth out oftentimes that we eat with a good stomach and great pleasure certain meats and viands before we know what they are; but after we understand and perceive once that we have taken either that which was unclean or unlawful and forbidden: not only in our judgment and understanding we find trouble and offence thereby; but also our bodily faculties agreeing to our opinion are dismayed thereat: so that anon there ensue vomits, sick qualms, and overturnings of the stomach, which disquiet all the whole frame.
And were it not that I greatly feared to be thought of purpose to gather and insert in my discourse such pleasant and youthful inducements, I could infer in this place psalteries, lutes, harps, pipes, flutes, and other like musical instruments, how they are devised by Art for to accord and frame with human passions: for notwithstanding they be altogether without life, yet they cease not to apply themselves unto us, and the judgment of our minds, lamenting, singing, and wantonly disporting together with us, resembling both the turbulent passions, and also the mild affections and dispositions of those that play upon them. And yet verily it is reported also of Zeno himself, that he went one day to the theatre for to hear the musician Amæbeus, who sung unto the harp: saying unto his scholars, Let us go, sirs, and learn what harmony and music the entrails of beasts, their sinews and bones: Let us see (I say) what resonance and melody bare wood may yield, being disposed by numbers, proportions, and order.
But leaving these examples, I would gladly demand and ask of them if when they see dogs, horses, and birds, which we nourish and keep in our houses, brought to that pass by use, feeding, and teaching, that they learn to render sensible words, to perform certain motions, gestures, and divers feats, both pleasant and profitable unto us; and likewise, when they read in Homer how Achilles encouraged to battle both horse and man; they do marvel still and make doubt, whether that part and faculty in us, whereby we are angry, do lust, joy, or grieve, be of that nature that it can well obey reason, and be so affected and disposed thereby that it may give assent thereto: considering especially that it is not seated or lodged without, nor separated from us, nor yet framed by anything which is not in us: no, nor shapen by forcible means and constraint, to wit, by mould, stroke of hammer, or any such thing; but as it is fitted and forged by nature, so it keepeth to her, is conversant with her, and finally perfected and accomplished by custom and continuance. Which is the reason that very properly manners be called in Greek by the name ἦθος, to give us to understand that they are nothing else (to speak plainly and after a gross manner) but a certain quality imprinted by long continuance of time in that part of the soul which of itself is unreasonable: and is named ἦθος, for that the said reasonless part framed by reason taketh this quality or difference (call it whether you will) by the means of long time and custom, which they term ἦθος. For reason is not willing to root out quite all passions (which were neither possible nor expedient), but only it doth limit them within certain bounds, and setteth down a kind of order: and thus after a sort causeth moral virtues not to be impassibilities, but rather mediocrities and regularities, or moderations of our affections: and this it doth by the means of prudence and wisdom, which reduceth the power of this sensual and pathetical part unto a civil and honest habitude. For these three things (they say) are in the soul of man, to wit, a natural puissance or faculty, a passion or motion, and also an habitude. Now the said faculty or power is the very beginning, and (as a man would say) the matter of passions, to wit, the power or aptness to be angry, to be ashamed, or to be confident and bold. The passion is the actual moving of the said power: namely, anger itself, shame, confidence or boldness. The habitude is a settled and confirmed strength established in the sensual or unreasonable part by continual use and custom: which if the passions be ill governed by reason, becometh to be a vice; and contrariwise, a virtue; in case the same be well ordered and directed thereby. Moreover, forasmuch as philosophers do not hold and affirm, that every virtue is a mediocrity nor call it moral: to the end, therefore, that we may the better declare and shew the difference, we had need to fetch the beginning of this discourse farther off.
Of all things then that be in the world, some have their essence and being of themselves absolutely and simply; others respectively and in relation to us. Absolutely have their being the earth, the heaven, the stars, and the sea; respectively and in regard of us, good, evil, profitable, hurtful, pleasant, and displeasant. Now, it being so, that reason doth contemplate and behold the one sort as well as the other: the former rank of those things which are simply and absolutely so, pertain unto science and speculation, as their proper objects; the second kind of those things which are understood by reference and regard unto us, pertain properly unto consultation and action. And as the virtue of, the former sort is called sapience: so the virtue of the other is named prudence. For a difference there is between prudence and sapience: in this, that prudence consisteth in a certain relation and application of the contemplative faculty of the soul unto action, and unto the regiment of the sensual part according to reason: by which occasion prudence had need of the assistance of fortune: whereas sapience hath nothing to do with it, no more than it hath need of consultation, for to attain and reach unto the end it aimeth at. For that indeed it concerneth such things as be ever one and always of the same sort.
And like as the geometrician never consulteth as touching a triangle, to wit, whether it hath three angles equal to twain that be right or no? because he knoweth assuredly that it hath (for all consultations are concerning things that vary and alter sometime after one sort, and otherwhiles after another, and never meddleth with those that be firm, stable, and immutable), even so, the understanding and contemplative faculty of the mind, exercising her functions in those first and principal things which be permanent, and have evermore the same nature, not capable of change or mutation, is sequestered and exempt altogether from consultation. But prudence, which descendeth to things full of variety, error, trouble, and confusion, must of necessity eftsoons intermeddle with casualties, and use deliberation in things more doubtful and uncertain: yea, and after it hath consulted to proceed unto action, calling and drawing unto it the reasonless part also to be assistant and present, as drawn into the judgment of things to be executed. For need those actions have of a certain instinct and motion to set them forward, which this moral habitude doth make in each passion, and the same instinct requireth likewise the assistance of reason to limit it that it may be moderate, to the end that it neither exceed the mean, nor come short and be defective: for that it cannot be chosen but this brutish and passible part hath motions in it; some over-vehement, quick and sudden, others as slow again, and more slack than is meet. Which is the reason that our actions cannot be good but after one manner: whereas, they may be evil after divers sorts: like as a man cannot hit the mark but one way: marry, he may miss sundry ways, either by overshooting or coming short.
The part and duty, then, of that active faculty of reason according to nature, is to cut off and take away all those excessive or defective passions, and to reduce them unto a mediocrity. For whereas the said instinct or motion, either by infirmity, effeminate delicacy, fear, or slothfulness, doth fail and come short of duty and the end required, there active reason is present, ready to rouse, excite, and stir up the same. Again, on the other side, when it runneth on end beyond all measure, after a dissolute and disorderly manner, there reason is pressed to abridge that which is too much, and to repress and stay the same: thus ruling and restraining these pathetical motions, it breedeth in man these moral virtues whereof we speak, imprinting them in that reasonless part of the mind: and no other they are than a mean between excess and defect.
Neither must we think that all virtues do consist in a mediocrity: for sapience or wisdom, which stand in no need at all of the brutish and unreasonable part, and consist only in the pure and sincere intelligence and discourse of understanding, and not subject to all passions, is the very height and excellency of reason, perfect and absolute of itself: a full and accomplished power (I say) wherein is engendered that most divine, heavenly, and happy knowledge. But moral virtue, which savoureth somewhat of the earth, by reason of the necessities of our body, and in which regard it standeth in need of the instrumental ministry of the pathetical part, for to work and perform her operations, being in no wise the corruption or abolition of the sensual and unreasonable part of the soul, but rather the order, moderation and embellishment thereof, is the extremity and height of excellence, in respect of the faculty and quality: but considering the quantity is rather a mediocrity, taking away the excess on the one side and the defect on the other.
But now, forasmuch as this term of mean or mediocrity may be understood diverse ways, we are to set down what kind of mean this moral virtue is. First and foremost, therefore, whereas there is one mean compounded of two simple extremes, as a russet or brown colour between white and black: also that which containeth and is contained must needs be the middest between the thing that doth contain and is contained, as for example, the number of 8 is just between 12 and 4, like as that which taketh no part at all of either extreme, as namely, those things which we call adiaphora, indifferent, and do partake neither good nor ill: In none of these significations or senses can this virtue be called a mean or mediocrity. For surely it may not be in any wise a composition or mixture of two vices which be both worse: neither doth it comprehend the less and defective: or is comprehended of that which is overmuch above decency and excessive, nor yet is it altogether void of passions and perturbations, subject to excess and defect, to more and less than is meet. But this moral virtue of ours, as it is indeed, so also it is called a mean, especially in respect of that mediocrity which is observed in the harmony and accord of sounds. For like as in music there is a note or sound called the mean, for that it is the middes between the base and treble, which in Greek be called hypate and nete, and lieth just betwixt the height and loudness of the one and the lowness or baseness of the other: Even so, moral virtue being a motion and faculty about the unreasonable part of the soul, tempereth the remission and intention, and in one word, taketh away the excess and defect of the passions, reducing each of them to a certain mediocrity and moderation that falleth not on any side.
Now, to begin with fortitude, they say it is the mean between cowardice and rash audacity, of which twain the one is a defect, the other an excess of the ireful passion. Liberality, between niggardise and prodigality; clemency and mildness, between senseless indolence and cruelty; justice, the mean of giving more or less than due, in contracts and affairs between men: like as temperance, a mediocrity between the blockish stupidity of the mind moved with no touch of pleasure, and an unbridled looseness whereby it is abandoned to all sensuality.
Wherein especially and most clearly is given us to understand and see the difference between the brutish and the reasonable part of the soul: and thereby evident it is that wandering passions be one thing and reason another: for otherwise we should not discern continency from temperance, nor incontinency from intemperance, in pleasure and lusts, if that faculty of the mind whereby we judge, and that whereby we covet and desire were all one and the same; but now, temperance is, when reason is able to manage, handle and govern the sensual and passionate part (as if it were a beast brought up by hand and made tame and gentle, so as it will be ready to obey it in all desires and lusts, yea, and willing to receive the bit), whereas continency is when reason doth rule and command concupiscence as being the stronger, and leadeth it, but not without some pains and trouble thereof, for that it is not willing to shew obedience, but striveth, flingeth out sidelong, and goeth crossed, insomuch as it hath enough to do for to master it with stripes of the cudgel, and with hard bits of the bridle to hold it in and restrain it, whiles it resisteth all that ever it may, and putteth reason to much agony, trouble and travail: which Plato doth lively represent unto us by a proper similitude, saying that there be two draught beasts which draw the chariot of our souls, whereof the worst doth both wince and strive against the other fellow in the same yoke, and also troubleth the coachman or charioteer, who hath the conduct of them; putting him to his shifts that he is fain always to pull in and hold his head hard, otherwhiles glad to let him slack and give him the head for fear, as Simonides saith:
Lest that his purple reins full soon
Out of his hands should slip anon.
Thus you see what the reason is, why they do not vouchsafe continency the name of a perfect virtue in itself, but think it to be less than virtue. For there is not in it a certain mediocrity arising from the symphony and accord of the worse with the better: neither is the excess of passion cut away, nor yet doth the appetite yield itself obedient and agreeable to reason: but doth trouble and vex, and is troubled and vexed reciprocally, being kept down perforce and by constraint; like as in a seditious state, both parties at discord, intending mischief and war one against another, dwell together within the precinct of one wall: insomuch as the soul of a continent person for the fight and variance between reason and appetite, may aptly be compared, as Sophocles saith, unto a city.
Which at one time is full of incense sweet,
Resounding mirth with loud triumphant song.
And yet the same doth yield in every street
All signs of grief, with plaints and groans among.
And hereupon it is also that they hold incontinency to be less than vice: marry, intemperance they will have to be a full and complete vice indeed: For that in it as the affection is ill, so the reason also is corrupt and depraved: and as by the one it is incited and led to the appetite of filthiness and dishonesty, so by the other through perverse judgment it is induced to give consent unto dishonest lusts, and withal groweth to be senseless and hath no feeling at all of sins and faults which it committeth: whereas incontinency retaineth still a right and sound judgment by means of reason: Howbeit, through the vehement and violent passion which is stronger than reason, it is carried away against the own judgment. Moreover, in these respects, it differeth from intemperance: For that the reason of the incontinent person is overmatched with passion; but of the other, it doth not so much as enter combat therewith. He, albeit he contradict, gainsay, and strive a while, yet in the end yieldeth unto lusts and followeth them; but the intemperate man is led thereby, and at the first giveth consent and approveth thereof.
Again, the intemperate person is well content, and taketh joy in having sinned: whereas the other is presently grieved thereat. Again, he runneth willingly and of his own accord to commit sin and villainy; but the incontinent man, maugre and full against his mind, doth abandon honesty. And as there is this distinct difference plainly seen in their deeds and actions, so there is no less to be observed in their words and speeches. For the sayings ordinarily of the intemperate person be these and such-like:
What mirth in life, what pleasure, what delight,
Without content in sports of Venus bright?
Were those joys past, and I for them unmeet,
Ring out my knell, bring forth my winding sheet.
Another saith:
To eat, to drink, to wench, are principal.
All pleasures else, I accessories call.
As if with all his heart and soul he were wholly given to a voluptuous life, yea, and overwhelmed therewith. And no less than those, he also who hath these words in his mouth:
Now suffer me to perish by and by.
It pleaseth, nay, it booteth me to die,
speaketh as one whose appetite and judgment both were out of order and diseased. But the speeches of incontinent persons be in another key and far different: for one saith:
My mind is good and thither doth sway.
My nature bad, and puts it away.
Alas, alas, to see how gods above
Have sent to men on earth this misery.
To know their good, and that which they should love.
Yet wanting grace, to do the contrary!
And a third:
Now plucks, now hales, of deadly ire a fire:
But surely, hold my reason can no more:
Than anchor flouke stay ship from being split,
When grounded 'tis on sands near to the shore.
He nameth not unproperly and without good grace the fluke of an anchor resting lightly upon the loose sand, to signify the feeble hold that reason hath which is not resolute and firmly seated, but through the weakness and delicacy of the soul, rejecteth and forsaketh judgment: And not much unlike hereunto is this comparison also that another maketh in a contrary sense:
Much like a ship which fastened is to land
With cordage strong, whereof we may be bold.
The winds do blow, and yet she doth withstand
And check them all, her cables take such hold.
He termeth the judgment of reason, when it resisteth a dishonest act, by the name of cable and cordage; which notwithstanding afterwards may be broken by the violence of some passion (as it were) with the continual gales of a blustering wind. For to say a very truth, the intemperate person is by his lusts and desires carried with full sail to his pleasures; he giveth himself thereto, and thither directeth his whole course: but the incontinent person tendeth thither also: howbeit (as a man would say) crookedly and not directly, as one desirous and endeavouring to withdraw himself, and to repel the passion that draweth and moveth him to it, yet in the end he also slideth and falleth into some foul and dishonest act: Like as Timon, by way of biting scoff, traduced and reproved Anaxarchus in this wise:
Here shews itself the dogged force of Anaxarchus fell.
So stubborn and so permanent, when once he took a pitch:
And yet as wise as he would seem, a wretch (I heard folk tell)
He judged was: for that to vice and pleasures overmich
By nature prone he was: a thing that sages most do shun,
Which brought him back out of the way, and made him dote anon.
For neither is a wise sage properly called continent, but temperate; nor a fool incontinent, but intemperate: because the one taketh pleasure and delight in good and honest things; and the other is not offended nor displeased with foul and dishonest actions. And therefore incontinency resembleth properly a mind (as I may so say) sophistical, which hath some use of reason, but the same so weak that it is not able to persevere and continue firm in that which it hath once known and judged to be right.
Thus you may see the differences between intemperance and incontinency: As for continency and temperance, they differ also in certain respects correspondent in some proportion unto those on the contrary side. For remorse, sorrow, displeasure, and indignation do not as yet abandon and quit continence: whereas in the mind of a temperate person all lieth plain and even on every side; nothing there but quietness and integrity; in such sort, as whosoever seeth the great obeisance and the marvellous tranquillity whereby the reasonless part is united and incorporate together with the reasonable, might well say:
And then anon the winds were down,
A calm ensued straightway:
No waves were seen, some power divine
The sea asleep did lay;
namely, when reason had once extinguished the excessive, furious, and raging motions of the lusts and desires. And yet these affections and passions which of necessity nature hath need of, the same hath reason made so agreeable, so obeisant, so friendly and co-operative, yea, and ready to second all good intentions and purposes ready to be executed, that they neither run before it nor come dragging behind; nor yet behave themselves disorderly, no, nor shew the least disobedience: so as each appetite is ruled by reason, and willingly accompanieth it,
Like as the sucking foal doth go
And run with dam, both to and fro.
The which confirmeth the saying of Xenocrates, touching those who earnestly study philosophy, and practise it: For they only (quoth he) do that willingly which others do perforce and for dread of the law, who forbear indeed to satisfy their pleasures, and turn back, as if they were scared from them for fear of being bitten of some curst mastiff or shrewd cat, regarding nothing else but danger that may ensue thereupon.
Now, that there is in the soul a sense and perceivance of that strength, firmity, and resolution to encounter sinful lusts and desires, as if it had a power to strive and make head again, it is very plain and evident: howbeit, some there be who hold and maintain that passion is nothing different from reason: neither (by their saying) is there in the mind a dissension or sedition (as it were) of two divers faculties; but all the trouble that we feel is no more but an alteration or change of one and the self-same thing, to wit, reason both ways, which we ourselves are not able to perceive, for that forsooth it changeth suddenly and with such celerity: never considering all the while that the same faculty of the mind is framed by nature to concupiscence and repentance both: to be angry and to fear: inclined to commit some foul and dishonest fact, by the allurement of pleasure, and contrariwise restrained from the same for fear of pain. As for lust, fear, and all such-like passions, they are no other (say they) but perverse opinions and corrupt judgments not arising and engendered in any one part of the soul by itself, but spread over that which is the chief and principal, to wit, reason and understanding: whereof they be the inclinations, assensions, motions, and in one word, certain operations which in the turning of a hand be apt to change and pass from one to another: much like unto the sudden braids, starts and runnings to and fro of little children, which how violent soever they be and vehement, yet by reason of their weakness are but slippery, unsteadfast and unconstant.
But these assertions and oppositions of theirs are checked and refuted by apparent evidence and common sense: For what man is he that ever felt in himself a change of his lust and concupiscence into judgment: and contrariwise an alteration of his judgment into lust: neither doth the wanton lover cease to love when he doth reason with himself and conclude that such love is to be repressed, and that he ought to strive and fight against it: neither doth he then give over reasoning and judging, when being overcome through weakness, he yieldeth himself prisoner and thrall to lust: but like as when by advertisement of reason he doth resist in some sort a passion arising, yet the same doth still tempt him: so likewise, when he is conquered and overcome therewith, by the light of the same reason at that very instant, he seeth and knoweth that he sinneth and doth amiss: so that neither by those perturbations is reason lost and abolished; nor yet by reason is he freed and delivered from them; but whiles he is tossed thus to and fro he remaineth a neuter in the midst, or rather participating in common of them both.
As for those who are of opinion that one while the principal part of our soul is lust and concupiscence: and then anon that it doth resist and stand against the same: are much like unto them who imagine and say that the hunter and the wild beast be not twain, but one body, changing itself, one while into the form of a hunter, and another time taking the shape of a savage beast: For both they in a manifest and apparent matter should seem to be blind and see nothing: and also these bear witness and depose against their own sense, considering that they find and feel in themselves really not a mutation or change of one only thing, but a sensible strife and fight of two things together with them.
But here they come upon us again and object in this wise. How cometh it to pass then (say they) that the power and faculty in man which doth deliberate and consult is not likewise double (being oftentimes distracted, carried, and drawn to contrary opinions, as it is, namely, touching that which is profitable and expedient), but is one still and the same? True, we must confess, that divided it seemeth to be: But this comparison doth not hold, neither is the event and effect alike: for that part of our soul wherein prudence and reason is seated fighteth not with itself, but using the help of one and the same faculty, it handleth divers arguments, or rather, being but one power of discoursing, it is employed in sundry subjects and matters different: which is the reason that there is no dolour and grief at one end of those reasonings and discourses which are without passion; neither are they that consult forced (as it were) to hold one of those contrary parts against their mind and judgment; unless peradventure it so fall out that some affection lie close to one part or other, as if a man should secretly and underhand lay somewhat besides in one of the balances or scales against reason for to weigh it down. A thing (I assure you) that many times falleth out: and then it is not reason that is poised against reason; but either ambition, emulation, favour, jealousy, fear, or some secret passion, making semblance as if in shew of speeches, two reasons were at variance and differed one from another. As may appear by these verses in Homer:
They thought it shame the combat to reject,
And yet for fear they durst not it accept.
Likewise in another poet:
To suffer death is dolorous,
Though with renown it meet:
Death to avoid is cowardice:
But yet our life is sweet.
And verily in determining of controversies between man and man in their contracts and suits of law, these passions coming between are they that make the longest delays, and be the greatest enemies of expedition and despatch: like as in the counsels of kings and princes, they that speak in favour of one party and for to win grace, do not upon any reason of two sentences incline to the one, but they accommodate themselves to their affection, even against the regard of utility and profit.
And this is the cause that in those states which be called aristocraties, that is to say, governed by a senate or counsel of the greatest men, the magistrates who sit in judgment will not suffer orators and advocates at the Bar to move affections in all their pleas: for in truth, let not the discourse of reason be impeached and hindered by some passion, it will of itself tend directly to that which is good and just. But in case there do arise a passion between, to cross the same, then you shall see pleasure and displeasure to raise a combat and dissension, to encounter that which by consultation would have been judged and determined. For otherwise, how cometh it to pass that in philosophical discourses and disputations a man shall never see it otherwise, but that without any dolour and grief, some are turned and drawn oftentimes by others into their opinions, and subscribe thereto willingly? Nay, even Aristotle himself, Democritus also and Chrysippus, have been known to retract and recant some points which beforetime they held, and that without any trouble of mind, without grief and remorse, but rather with pleasure and contentment of heart: because in that speculative or contemplative part of the soul, which is given to knowledge and learning only, there reign no passions to make resistance, insomuch as the brutish part being quiet and at repose, loveth not curiously to intermeddle in these and suchlike matters: By which means it happeneth that the reason hath no sooner a sight of truth but willingly it inclineth thereto, and doth reject untruth and falsity: for that there lieth in it and in no other part else, that power and faculty to believe and give assent one way, as also to be persuaded for to alter opinion and go another way. Whereas, contrariwise, the counsels and deliberations of worldly affairs, judgments also, and arbitraments, being for the most part full of passions, make the way somewhat difficult for reason to pass, and put her to much trouble. For in these cases the sensual and unreasonable part of the soul is ready to stay and stop her course; yea, and to fright her from going forward, meeting her either with the object of pleasure, or else casting in her way stumbling-blocks of fear, of pain, of lusts and desires.
And verily the deciding and judgment of this disputation lieth in the sense, which feeleth as well the one as the other, and is touched with them both: For say that the one doth surmount and hath the victory, it doth not therefore defeat utterly and destroy the other; but drawn it is thereto perforce, and making resistance the while. As for example, the wanton and amorous person, when he checketh and reproveth himself therefore, useth the discourse of reason against the said passion of his; yet so as having them both actually subsisting together in the soul: much like as if with his hand he repressed and kept down the one part, inflamed with a hot fit of passion, and yet feeling within himself both parts, and those actually in combat one against the other. Contrariwise, in those consultations, disputes, and inquisitions which are not passionate, and wherein these motions of the brutish part have nothing to do, such I mean as those be especially of the contemplative part of the soul: if they be equal and so continue, there ensueth no determinate judgment and resolution: but a doubt remaineth, as if it were a certain pause or stay of the understanding, not able to proceed farther, but abiding in suspense between two contrary opinions. Now if it chance to incline unto one of them, it is because the mightier hath overweighed the other and annulled it yet so as it is not displeased or discontent, no, nor contesteth obstinately afterwards against the received opinion. To be short, and to conclude all in one general word; where it seemeth that one discourse and reason is contrary unto another; it argueth not by and by a conceit of two divers subjects, but one alone in sundry apprehensions and imaginations.
Howbeit, whensoever the brutish and sensual part is in a conflict with reason, and the same such that it can neither vanquish nor be vanquished without some sense of grievance; then incontinently this battle divideth the soul in twain, so as the war is evident and sensible. And not only by this fight a man may know how the source and beginning of these passions differeth from that fountain of reason: but no less also by the consequence that followeth thereupon. For seeing that possible it is for a man to love one child that is ingenuous and towardly disposed to virtue: as also affect another as well, who is ill given and dissolute: considering also that one may use anger unjustly against his own children or parents: and another contrariwise justly in the defence of children or parents against enemies and tyrants. Like as in the one there is perceived a manifest combat and resistance of passion against reason; so in the other there may be seen as evident a yielding and obeisance thereof, suffering itself to be directed thereby, yea, and willingly running and offering her assistance and helping hand.
To illustrate this by a familiar example, it happeneth otherwhiles that an honest man espouseth a wife according to the laws, with this intention only, to cherish and keep her tenderly, yea, and to company with her duly, and according to the laws of chastity and honesty: howbeit afterwards in tract of time, and by long continuance and conversing together, which hath bred in his heart the affection of love, he perceiveth by discourse of reason, and findeth in himself that he loveth her more dearly and entirely than he purposed at the first. Semblably, young scholars, having met with gentle and kind masters at the beginning, follow and affect them in a kind of zeal, for the benefit only that they reap by them. Howbeit afterwards in process of time they fall to love them; and so instead of familiar and daily disciples, they become their lovers, and are so called. The same is usually to be seen in the behaviour and carriage of men toward good magistrates in cities, neighbours also, kinsfolk and allies: For they begin acquaintance one with another, after a civil sort only, by way of duty or necessity and use: but afterwards, by little and little ere they be aware, they grow into an affectionate love of them, namely, when reason doth concur, persuading and drawing unto it that part of the mind which is the seat of passions and affections. As for that poet, whosoever he was, that first wrote this sentence:
Two sorts there be of bashfulness,
The one we cannot blame,
The other troubleth many a house,
And doth decay the same:
doth he not plainly shew that he hath found in himself, by experience oftentimes, that even this affection, by means of lingering delay, and putting off from time to time, hath put him by the benefit of good opportunities, and hindered the execution of many brave affairs?
Unto these proofs and allegations precedent the Stoics being forced to yield, in regard they be so clear and evident: yet for to make some way of evasion and escape, they call shame, bashfulness; pleasure, joy; and fear, wariness or circumspection. And I assure you, no man could justly find fault with these disguisements of odious things with honest terms: if so be they would attribute unto these passions the said names when they be ranged under the rule of reason, and give them their own hateful terms indeed, when they strive with reason and violently make resistance. But when convinced by the tears which they shed, by trembling and quaking of their joints, yea, by change of colour going and coming; instead of naming dolour and fear directly, come in with (I wot not what) pretty devised terms of morsures, contractions or conturbations: also when they would cloak and extenuate the imperfection of other passions, by calling lust a promptitude or forwardness to a thing: it seemeth that by a flourish of fine words they devise shifts, evasions, and justifications, not philosophical but sophistical.
And yet verily they themselves again do term those joys, those promptitudes of the will, and wary circumspections by the name of eupathies, i.e. good affections, and not of apathies, that is to say, impassibilities: wherein they use the words aright and as they ought. For then is it truly called eupathy, i.e., a good affection, when reason doth not utterly abolish the passion, but guideth and ordereth the same well in such as be discreet and temperate. But what befalleth unto vicious and dissolute persons? Surely, when they have set down in their judgment and resolution, to love father and mother as tenderly as one lover may another, yet they are not able to perform so much. Marry, say that they determine to affect a courtesan or a flatterer, presently they can find in their hearts to love such most dearly. Moreover, if it were so, that passion and judgment were both one, it could not otherwise be, so soon as one had determined that he ought to love or hate, but that presently love or hate would follow thereupon.
But now it falleth out clean contrary; for that the passion as it accordeth well with some judgments and obeyeth, so it repugneth with others, and is obstinate and disobedient: whereupon it is, that themselves enforced thereto by the truth of the thing, do affirm and pronounce that every judgment is not a passion, but that only which stirreth up and moveth a strong and vehement appetite to a thing: confessing thereby, no doubt, that one thing it is in us which judgeth, and another thing that suffereth, that is to say, which receiveth passions: like as that which moveth, and that which is moved be divers. Certes, even Chrysippus himself, defining in many places what is patience and what is continency, doth avouch that they be habitudes, apt and fit to obey and follow the choice of reason: whereby he sheweth evidently that by the force of truth, he was driven to confess and avow that there is one thing in us which doth obey and yield, and another which being obeyed, is yielded unto, and not obeyed, is resisted.
Furthermore, as touching the Stoics, who hold that all sins and faults be equal, neither will this place nor the time now serve to argue against them, whether in other points they swerve from the truth: howbeit, thus much by the way I dare be bold to say, that in most things they will be found to repugn reason, even against apparent and manifest evidence. For according to their opinion, every passion or perturbation is a fault, and whosoever grieve, fear or lust, do sin: but in those passions great difference there is seen, according to more or less: for who would ever be so gross as to say that Dolon's fear was equal to the fear of Ajax? who, as Homer writeth:
As he went out of field did turn
And look behind full oft:
With knee before knee decently,
And so retired soft;
or compare the sorrow of King Alexander, who would needs have killed himself for the death of Clytus, to that of Plato for the death of Socrates? For dolours and griefs encrease exceedingly when they grow upon occasion of that which happeneth besides all reason; like as any accident, which falleth out beyond our expectation, is more grievous, and breedeth greater anguish than that whereof a reason may be rendered, and which a man might suspect to follow. As, for example, if he who ever expected to see his son advanced to honour and living in great reputation among men, should hear say that he were in prison, and put to all manner of torture, as Parmeno was advertised of his son Philotas. And who will ever say that the anger of Nicocreon against Anaxarchus was to be compared with that of Magas against Philemon, which arose upon the same occasion, for that they both were spitefully reviled by them in reproachful terms, for Nicocreon caused Anaxarchus to be braid in a mortar with iron pestles: whereas Magas commanded the executioner to lay a sharp naked sword upon the neck of Philemon, and so to let him go without doing him any more harm.
And therefore it is that Plato named anger the sinews of the soul, giving us thereby to understand that they might be stretched by bitterness, and let slack by mildness. But the Stoics, for to avoid and put back these objections and such-like, deny that these stretchings and vehement fits of passions be according to judgment, for that it may fail and err many ways: saying, they be certain pricks or stings, contractions, diffusions or dilatations, which in proportion and according to reason, may be greater or less. Certes, what variety there is in judgment it is plain and evident. For some there be that deem poverty not to be ill: others hold that it is very ill: and there are, again, who account it the worst thing in the world; insomuch as to avoid it they could be content to throw themselves headlong from high rocks into the sea. Also you shall have those who reckon death to be evil, in that only it depriveth us of the fruition of many good things; others there be who think and say as much, but it is in regard of the eternal torments and horrible punishments that be under the ground in hell. As for bodily health, some love it no otherwise than a thing agreeable to nature and profitable withal; others take it to be the sovereign good in the world, as without which they make no reckoning of riches, of children,
Nor yet of crown and regal dignity,
Which men do match even with divinity.
Nay, they let not in the end to think and say, that virtue itself serveth in no stead, and availeth nought, unless it be accompanied with good health: whereby it appeareth, that as touching judgment some err more, some less.
But my meaning is not now to dispute against this evasion of theirs. Thus much only I purpose to take for mine advantage out of their own confession, in that themselves do grant, that the brutish and sensual part, according to which they say that passions be greater and more violent, is different from judgment: and howsoever they may seem to contest and cavil about words and names, they grant the substance and the thing itself in question, joining with those who maintain that the reasonless part of the soul which entertaineth passions is altogether different from that which is able to discourse, reason, and judge. And verily Chrysippus, in those books which he entituled Of Anomology, after he had written and taught that anger is blind, and many times will not permit a man to see those things which be plain and apparent, and as often casteth a dark mist over that which he hath already perfectly learned and known; proceedeth forward a little further: For (quoth he) the passions which arise drive out and chase forth all discourse of reason, and such things as were judged and determined otherwise against them, urging it still by force unto contrary actions. Then he useth the testimony of Menander the poet, who in one place writeth thus, by way of exclamation:
Woe worth the time, wretch that I am,
How was my mind distraught
In body mine? where were my wits?
Some folly (sure) me caught,
What time I fell to this. For why?
Thereof I made no choice.
Far better things they were, iwis
Which had my former voice.
The same Chrysippus also going on still: It being so (quoth he) that a reasonable creature is by nature born and given to use reason in all things, and to be governed thereby: yet notwithstanding we reject and cast it behind us, being overruled by another more violent motion that carrieth us away. In which words, what doth he else but confess even that which happeneth upon the dissension between affection and reason?
For it were a mere ridiculous mockery indeed, as Plato saith, to affirm that a man were better and worse than himself: or that he were able now to master himself, and anon ready to be mastered by himself, and how were it possible that the same man should be better and worse than himself, and at once both master and servant, unless every one were naturally in some sort double, and had in him somewhat better and somewhat worse?
And verily by that means, he that hath the worse part obedient to the better, hath power over himself, yea, and is better than himself: whereas he that suffereth the brutish and unreasonable part of his soul to command and go before, so as the better and more noble part doth follow, and is serviceable unto it, he no doubt is worse than himself: he is (I say) incontinent or rather impotent, and hath no power over himself, but disposed contrary to nature. For according to the course and ordinance of nature, meet and fit it is that reason, being divine and heavenly, should command and rule that which is sensual and void of reason: which as it doth arise and spring out of the very body, so it resembleth it, as participating the properties and passions thereof, yea, and naturally is full of them, as being deeply concorporate and throughly mixed therewith: As it may appear by all the motions which it hath, tending to no other things but those that be material and corporal, as receiving their augmentations and diminutions from thence (or to say more properly), being stretched out and let slack more or less, according to the mutations of the body. Which is the cause that young persons are quick, prompt, and audacious; rash also, for that they be full of blood, and the same hot, their lusts and appetites are likewise fiery, violent and furious: whereas contrariwise in old folk because the source of concupiscence seated about the liver is after a sort quenched, yea, and become weak and feeble: reason is more vigorous and predominant in them: as much as the sensual and passionate part doth languish and decay together with the body.
And verily this is that which doth frame and dispose the nature of wild beasts to divers passions: For it is not long of any opinions good or bad which arise in them, that some of them are strong, venturous and fearless, yea, and ready to withstand any perils presented before them; others again be so surprised with fear and fright that they dare not stir or do anything: but the force and power which lieth in the blood, in the spirits and in the whole body, is that which causeth this diversity of passions, by reason that the passible part, growing out of the flesh as from a root, doth bud forth and bring with it a quality and proneness semblable. But in man that there is a sympathy and fellow moving of the body, together with the motions of the passions, may be proved by the pale colour, the red flushing of the face, the trembling of the joints, and panting and leaping of the heart in fear and anger: And again on the contrary side by the dilatations of the arteries, heart and colour, in hope and expectation of some pleasures.
But when as the divine spirit and understanding of man doth move of itself alone without any passion, then the body is at repose and remaineth quiet, not communicating nor participating any whit with the operation of the mind and intendment, no more than it being disposed to study upon any mathematical proposition or other science speculative, it calleth for the help and assistance of the unreasonable part: By which it is manifest, that there be two distinct parts in us, different in faculty and power one from another. In sum, Go through the universal world, all things (as they themselves affirm, and evident experience doth convince) are governed and ordered, some by a certain habitude; others by nature: some by a sensual and unreasonable soul; others by that which hath reason and understanding. Of all which man hath his part at once, yea, and was born naturally with these differences above said. For, contained he is by an habitude: nourished by nature: reason and understanding he useth: he hath his portion likewise of that which is unreasonable and inbred, there is together with him the source and primitive cause of passions, as a thing necessary for him, neither doth it enter into him from without: in which regard it ought not to be extirped utterly, but hath need only of ordering and government: whereupon reason dealeth not after the Thracian manner, nor like King Lycurgus, who commanded all vines without exception to be cut down, because wine caused drunkenness: it rooteth not out (I say) all affections indifferently one with another, the profitable as well as the hurtful: but (like unto the good gods Phytalmius and Homerides, who teach us to order plants that they may fructify, and to make them gentle which were savage) to cut away that which groweth wild and rank, to save all the rest and so to order and manage the same that it may serve for good use. For neither do they shed and spill their wine upon the floor who are afraid to be drunk, but delay the same with water: nor those who fear the violence of a passion do take it quite away, but rather temper and qualify the same: like as folk use to break horses and oxen from their flinging out with their heels, their stiffness and curstness of the head and stubbornness in receiving the bridle or the yoke, but do not restrain them of other motions in going about their work and doing their deed. And even so verily, reason maketh good use of these passions, when they be well tamed and brought (as it were) to hand: without over weakening or rooting out clean that part of the soul which is made for to second reason, and do it good service: For as Pindarus saith:
The horse doth serve in chariot at the thill,
The ox at plough doth labour hard in field,
Who list in chase the wild boar for to kill,
The hardy hound he must provide with skill.
And I assure you, the entertainment of these passions and their breed serve in far better stead when they do assist reason and give an edge (as it were) and vigour unto virtues, than the beasts above named in their kind. Thus moderate ire doth second valour and fortitude: hatred of wicked persons helpeth the execution of justice: and indignation is just and due unto those who without any merit or desert enjoy the felicity of this life: who also for that their heart is puffed up with foolish arrogancy, and enflamed with disdainful pride and insolence in regard of their prosperity, have need to be taken down and cooled. Neither is a man able by any means (would he never so fain) to separate from true friendship, natural indulgence, and kind affection: nor from humanity, commiseration and pity; nor yet from perfect benevolence and goodwill, the fellowship in joy and sorrow.
Now if it be true (as it is indeed) that they do grossly err who would abolish all love, because of foolish and wanton love: surely they do amiss who, for covetousness sake and greediness of money, do blame and condemn quite all other appetites and desires. They do (I say) as much as those who would forbid running altogether, because a man may stumble and catch a fall as he runneth: or debar shooting for that we may overshoot and miss the mark: or to condemn hearing of music, because a discord or jar is offensive to the ear. For like as in sounds, music maketh an accord and harmony, not by taking away the loud and base notes: And in our bodies physic procureth health, not by destroying heat and cold, but by a certain temperature and mixture of them both in good proportion: Even so it fareth in the soul of man, wherein reason hath the predominance and victory: namely, when by the power thereof, the passions, perturbations and motions are reduced into a kind of moderation and mediocrity. For no doubt excessive sorrow and heaviness, immeasurable joy and gladness in the soul may be aptly compared to a swelling and inflammation in the body, but neither joy nor sorrow simply in itself. And therefore Homer in this wise sentence of his:
A man of worth doth never colour change.
Excessive fear in him is very strange,
doth not abolish fear altogether, but the extremity thereof; to the end that a man should not think that either valour is desperate folly, or confidence audacious temerity. And therefore in pleasures and delights, we ought likewise to cut off immoderate lust: as also in taking punishment, extreme hatred of malefactors. He that can do so shall be reputed in the one not indolent, but temperate, and in the other not bitter and cruel, but just and righteous.
Whereas let passions be rid clean away (if that were possible to be done), our reason will be found in many things more dull and idle: like as the pilot and master of a ship hath little to do if the wind be laid and no gale at all stirring. And verily (as it should seem) wise law-makers, seeing this well enough, have with great policy given occasion in cities and commonwealths of ambition and emulation among citizens one with another: and in the field against enemies devised to excite the courage of soldiers, and to whet their ire and manhood by sound of trumpets, fifes, drums, and other instruments. For not only in poetry (as Plato saith very well) he that is inspired and (as it were) ravished with the divine instinct of the Muses, will make a ridiculous fool of him who otherwise is an excellent poet, and his craftsmaster as having learned the exquisite knowledge of the art; but also in battles, the heat of courage set on fire with a certain divine inspiration is invincible and cannot be withstood. This is that martial fury which (as Homer saith) the gods do infuse or inspire rather into warlike men: And again:
Thus having said he did inspire
The prince's heart with might and ire.
And again:
One god or other surely doth him assist,
Else faring thus, he never could persist.
As if to the discourse of reason they had adjoined passion as a prick to incite, and a chariot to set it forward. Certes, even these very Stoics with whom now we argue, and who seem to reject all passions, we may see oftentimes how they stir up young men with praises, and as often rebuke them with sharp admonitions and severe reprehensions. Whereof there must needs ensue of the one part pleasure, and of the other part displeasure. For surely checks and fault-findings strike a certain repentance and shame: of which two, the former is comprised under sorrow, and the latter under fear: and these be the means that they use principally to chastise and correct withal. Which was the reason that Diogenes upon a time, when he heard Plato so highly praised and extolled: And what great and worthy matter (quoth he) find you in that man, who having been a philosopher so long and taught the precepts thereof, hath not in all this time grieved and wounded the heart of any one person? For surely the mathematical sciences a man cannot so properly call the ears or handles of philosophy (to use the words of Xenocrates) as he may affirm that these affections of young men, to wit, bashfulness, desire, repentance, pleasure and pain, are their handles, whereof reason and law together taking hold by a discreet, apt and wholesome touch, bring a young man speedily and effectually into the right way. And therefore the Lacedæmonian schoolmaster and governor of children said very well, when he professed that he would bring to pass that the child whom he took into his tuition should joy in honest things, and grieve in those that were foul and dishonest. Than which there cannot possibly be named a more worthy or commendable end of the liberal education and bringing up of a young youth well descended.
- ↑ i.e. the same.