GREAT

TREASURY OF
WESTERN
THOUGHT I.
"

A Compendium of
Important Statements on Man and
His Institutions by the
Great Thinkers in Western History

EDITED BY
Mortimer J. Adler ^ Charles Van Doren

R.R. Bowker Company

NEW YORK & LONDON, 197 7
Published by R. R. Bowker Company
1180 Avenue of the Americas, New York, N.Y. 10036
Copyright © 1977 by Mortimer J. Adler and Charles Van Doren
All rights reserved.
Printed and bound in the United States of America.

First Printing, July 1977

Second Printing, September 1977

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

Main entry under title:

Great treasuiy of Western thought.

Includes indexes.
1. Quotations, English. I. Adler, Mortimer
Jerome, 1902- II. Van Doren, Charles Lincoln,
1926-
PN6331.G675 080 77-154
ISBN 0-8352-0833-8

Copyright notices from publishers granting

permission to reprint material are listed in
the Acknowledgments section of this volume.
 For
Elizabeth, John,
Douglas, and Philip
 Contents

Preface xiii

Acknowledgments xvii

Chapter i |
MAN 1

1.1 Man in the Universe : The Grandeur and Misery of Man 2

1.2 The Human Condition 22
1.3 The Ages of Man Young and Old : 35
1.4 Self-Knowledge and Self-Love 55
1.5 Honor, Reputation, and Fame or Glory 63
1.6 Human Greatness : The Hero 79
1.7 Woman and Man 90
1.8 Life and Death : The Fear of Death 1 14
1.9 Suicide 132

Chapter 2 |
F AM ILY 142
2.1 The Institution of the Family 143
2.2 Parents and Children 152
2.3 Marriage 172

Chapters 1
LOVE
192
3.1 The Nature, Kinds, and Power of Love 193
3.2 Hate^,.- 212
3.3 Sexual Love 220

vii
 viii CoJitents
I

3.4 Friendship 236

3.5 Charity and Mercy 245
3.6 Love of Country : Patriotism 252

Chaptei‘ ^[EMOTION 256

4.1 The Passions : The Range of the Emotions 258
4.2 Fear 264
4.3 Anger 268
4.4 Desire 271
4.5 Hope and Despair 276
4.6 Joy and Sorrow 280
4.7 Pleasure and Pain 287
4.8 Pity and Envy 294
4.9 Greed and Avarice 298
4.10 Jealousy 301
4.11 Pride and Humility 303

Chaptei- 5 I
M ND I 308
5.1 Intelligence and Understanding 309
5.2 The Senses and Sense Perception 322
5.3 Memory 333
5.4 Imagination 341
5.5 Dreams 351
5.6 Madness 358
5.7 Will \Free Choice 371

Chapter 6\ KNOWLEDGE 384

6.1 The Characteristics and Conditions of Human Knowledge 385
6.2 Experience 404
6.3 Truth 416
6.4 Error, Ignorance, and the Limits of Human Knowledge 434
6.5 Opinion, Belief, and Faith 443
6.6 Doubt and Skepticism 457
6.7 Reasoning, Demonstration, and Disputation 469

Chapter 7|LANGUAGE 479

7.1 The Nature of Language 480
7.2 The Arts of Language 495
 1

Contents ix
|

Chapter 8\ EDUCATION 512

8.1 The Ends and Means of Education 513
8.2 Habit 530
8.3 The Arts of Teaching and Learning 535

Chapter 9 |
E TH CS I 552
9.1 Moral Philosophy and Morality 553
9.2 Custom 560
9.3 Moral Law 566
9.4 Moral Freedom 572
9.5 Conscience 579
9.6 Good and Evil 583
9.7 Right and Wrong 599
9.8 Happiness 607
9.9 'Duly \ Moral Obligation 624 ^
9.10 Virtue and Vice 630
9.11 Courage and Cowardice 645
9.12 Temperance and Intemperance 654
9.13 Prudence 662
9.14 Honesty 668
9.15 Wisdom and Folly 674

Chapter 70 P |
L O I TICS 684
10.1 Society and the State 685
10.2 The Realm of Politics 695
10.3 Government : Its and Forms 71
NatnrCy Necessity,
10.4 Government of and by the People Republic and Democracy : 722
10.5 Citizenship 736
10.6 Despotism and Tyranny 742
10.7 Slavery 753
10.8 Classes and Class Conflict 761
10.9 Revolution 769

Chapter 77 |
EC ONOM CS I 777
11.1 Property 778
11.2 Wealth and Poverty 791
11.3 Labor 812
11.4 Money 824
11.5 Trade, Commerce, and Industry 829
11.6 Taxation 837
 X I
Contents

Chapter 12 \
LAW AND JUSTICE 847
12.1 Law and Lawyers 848
12.2 Justice and Injustice 859
12.3 Rights —Natural and Civil 868
12.4 Crime and Punishment 875

Chapter i 5 |
LIBERTY AND EQUALITY 890
13.1 Freedom in Society 891
13.2 Freedom of Thought and Expression : Censorship 899
13.3 Equality 908

Chapter 14 \
WAR AND PEACE 921
14.1 Warfare and the State ofWar 922
14.2 The Instrumentalities of War : The Military 936
14.3 The Conditions of Peace 948

Chapter 15 [
H I S T O RY 956
15-1 History: The Record of Events 957
15.2 Progress, Regress, and Cycles in History 969
15.3 Fate, Fortune, and Destiny 987

Chapter 16 \
ART AND AESTHETICS 1003
16.1 The Realm of Art 1004
16.2 Books and Reading 1015
16.3 Poetry and Poets 1022
16.4 Tragedy and Comedy 1039
16.5 Music 1053
16.6 Beauty and the Beautiful 1059
16.7 Criticism and the Standards of Taste 1075

Chapter 17 PHILOSOPHY, SCIENCE,

AND MATHEMATICS
\

1085
17.1 Philosophy and Philosophers 1086
17.2 Science and Scientific Method 1106
1 7.3 The Discipline of Mathematics 1130

I
MED I C I NE AND HEALTH II4
18.1 The Art and Science of Medicine 1145
1 8.2 The Practice of Medicine Physicians and Patients
: 1152
18.3 Health and Disease 1 159
 Contents xi
|

Chapter 19 NATURE AND

THE COSMOS 1169
19.1 Nature and the Natural 1170
19.2 The Nature of Life 1189
19.3 Cause 1203
19.4 Chance 1210
19.5 Motion and Change 1218
19.6 Space 1230
19.7 Time 1240
19.8 The Universe or Cosmos 1252

Chapter 20 \
RELIGION 1268
20.1 The Distinguishing Features of Religion 1 269
20.2 Judaism 1279
20.3 Christianity 1290
20.4 Church 1301
20.5 God 1310
20.6 Gods and Goddesses 1329
20.7 Angels and Devils 1 336
20.8 Worship and Service 1348
20.9 Heresy and Unbelief 1361
20.10 Prophecy 1370
20.11 Miracles 1376
20.12 Superstition 1383
20.13 Sin and Temptation 1390
20.14 Redemption and Salvation 1402
20.15 Heaven and Hell 1410

Author hidex 1431

Subject and Proper Name Index 1451
 Vreface
In the field of standard reference materi-
—
als dictionaries, encyclopedias, books of
quotations, and the like — a mark of rare
distinction belongs to those that not only
perform their reference function effi-
ciently but also serve another important
purpose as well. By this criterion the
great Oxford English Dictionary and the
new Fifteenth Edition of Encyclopaedia
Britannica stand out among all other
works in the categories to which they be-
long. Because it is constructed on histori-
cal principles, the Oxford English Diction-
ary not only enables its user to look up the
meaning, spelling, ctymolog)*, or pro-
nunciation of a word, but also to descry
the history of the word, amply docu-
mented by statements and examples that
exhibit the growth and alteration of its
significance. Because it is accompanied by
a systematic outline of human knowledge
that serves as a topical guide to its con-
tents,the new Encyclopaedia Britannica — tory text,
—
“Britannica 3“ not only enables its user
to look up single items of information or
obtain knowledge about a single subject,
but also to pursue in a systematic fashion
the sustained study of almost any field of
subject matter.
The editors believe that Great Treasxny
of Western Thought will be recognized, in
the category of books of quotations, as
possessing themark of rare distinction
that makes the Oxford English Dictionary
stand out among dictionaries and the
new^ Encyclopaedia Britannica among ency-
clopedias. Its alphabetical Subject and
Proper Name Index, containing upwards
of 50,000 entries, enables it to serve as an
efficient reference book, in which partic-
ular passages on particular subjects can
be looked up. In addition, its carefully
constructed Author Index allows the
reader to discover whetlicr favorite
works or parts of works by particular au-
thors have been mined for quotation, and
where such quotations appear. At the
same time, its organization, which con-
sists of twenty chapters, each concerned
with a set of related great ideas, totaling
127 sections, each prefaced by explana-
makes Great Treasury of Western
Thought a book to be read for enjoyment
and instruction as well as a reference
book.
Great Treasury of Western Thought can be
read with both enjoyment and profit pri-
marily for two reasons. One has to do
 —
xiv
I
its intellectual progenitor, as it were.
with
The other has to do with the criteria em-
ployed by the editors in their choice of
passages to be quoted.
When, just a quarter of a century ago,
Great Books of the Western World was pub-
lished, that collection of the most worth-
while books to be read both for pleasure
and enlightenment was accompanied by
an innovation that enabled the set to be
used also as a reference work. The Syn-
topicon, or topical guide to passages in
the great books wherein are discussed the
fundamental ideas in the tradition of
Western thought, allowed the user to
look up the whole discussion of an idea or
of one or more topics under it, as well as
to be entertained or instructed by read-
ing the great works contained in the set.
The Syntopicon was hailed as a reference
book in the sphere of ideas comparable to
a dictionary in the sphere of words and
an encyclopedia in the sphere of facts.
The publication of Great Treasury of
Western Thought is a fitting and proper
celebration of the twenty-fifth anniver-
sary of the publication in 1952 of Great
Books of the Western World and of its Syn-
topicon. Without the years of intellectual
labor and the 400,000 man-hours of
reading that produced the Syntopicon,
the present work would probably not
have been possible. In fact, without the
Syntopicon in existence, both as a com-
prehensive chart of the great ideas in
Western thought and as a systematic
guide to their discussion in the great
books, the present work might never
have been conceived; and, even if it had
been conceived, it could not have been
produced with the thoroughness that the
conception deserves.
This leads us to the second reason for
thisbook’s special character. Other books
—
of quotations among them are some no-
table works of recognized excellence
Preface
consist mainly of short passages, often no
more than a or two. These passages
line
are often well-known or familiar; they
have been quoted again and again; they
are memorable and should be remem-
who fails to
bered, but the individual re-
member them must have recourse to
such books of quotations in order to rec-
ollect and quote them. The purpose be-
hind the desire accurately to recall such
memorable quotations is usually to enliv-
en the style of a speech to be delivered or
an essay to be written.
However, it is a striking and notable
fact about Great Treasury of Western
Thought that many if not most of the pas-
sages quoted in it are not either generally
familiar or readily memorable. For one
thing, the quoted passages are typically
longer than those that appear in other
books of quotations, running to more
than 100 words on the average. For an-
other thing, as many as three-quarters of
the passages selected for quotation do not
appear in other current books of quota-
tions and may indeed never have ap-
peared in such books, because the prin-
ciple of selection that guided the editors
was that each passage quoted should be a
seminal statement about one of the great
ideas in the tradition of Western thought.
If the passage was either memorable or
familiar, so much the better; the editors
insisted thateach passage had to be inter-
esting and important in its own right; but
they also demanded that it should be sig-
nificant in relation to other passages on
the same subject.
In a sense, then, the passages here as-
sembled and quoted from the great
books are precisely those to which refer-
ence is made in the Syntopicon; and Great
Treasury of Western Thought
is therefore a
concrete realization of the Syntopicon
and may satisfy those readers not a —
—
few who have regretted that the Syn-
 Preface
topicon was “only*’ an index and did not
contain within its pages the passages to
which it referred. In another sense the
passages from the great books that are
gathered here are the very heart and soul
of the Western tradition, that small part
of it that will almost certainly survive any
disaster, any holocaust, that can be imag-
ined in the future. All of the great books,
in their entirety, may not survive; many
great works have already been lost in the
vicissitudes of human history; but the es-
sential things that the great books say, the
irrecoverable insights that they offer us,
are more likely toendure because they
are collected here, “that he who runs may
read.”
Of course, not of the passages re-
all
ferred to by the Syntopicon are quoted
here; many such passages are in-
appropriate for a general audience (for
example, technical discourses in science
or philosophy), and others are too long.
Nor, indeed, are the writers from whose
works quotations were selected limited to
those appearing in Great Books of the West-
ern World, Almost twice as many other
writers are included, and they are drawn
not only from the literature of classical
antiquity and the Middle Ages, but also
from the literature of modern times.
Consulting the Author Index (pp. 1431-
1449) and examining the Contents on pp.
vii-xi should enable anyone quickly to
appraise the scope and the characteristics
of the present work, which will distinguish
it among all other books of quotations.
The possessor of Great Treasury of West-
ern Thought may still wish to resort to
those other books of quotations for the
special purposes they serve —
as aids to
the memory or as stylistic aids. It is not
the memory of the user that this work
seeks to stimulate, but rather the user’s
intellect and imagination —the user’s un-
|
xv
derstanding and intuition of the greatest
thought on the most important subjects.
It is not the reader’s style, either in
speech or writing, but his mind, that
Great Treasury of Western Thought aims to
enliven, and enlighten as well in the pro-
cess.
The editors of Great Treasury of Western
Thought have been reading and teaching
the great books, and other works quoted
in this anthology, for many years one of —
them for more than fifty years, the other
for more than thirty. Nevertheless, they
confess their own delight and fascination
at —
being able for the first time to read —
in appropriate sequence (for the most
part chronological) the passages that are
here collected under each of the 127 sub-
ject headings that constitute the divisions
of this book. They have found such read-
ing to be both highly instructive and im-
mensely enjoyable. They can think of
nothing simpler and more truthful to say
by way of recommending this book to
those for whom they made it as a work —
to read with pleasure, to dwell on, to
learn from, as well as to refer to when
that need arises. The more time that is
spent with it, the more valuable it will be-
come, for it is, literally, a compact trea-
sury of the best thinking and deepest wis-
dom of the West. It reflects and epitomiz-
es the intellectual tradition on which
every cultivated person must build.
The editors wish to express their in-
debtedness to the many persons who
worked on this book over a period of al-
most a quarter of a century. They espe-
cially wish to thank three friends without
whose help the book could not have come
to be: Marlys Allen, George Ducas, and
Wayne Moquin.
Mortimer J. Adler
Charles Van Doren
 Acknowledgments

The editors and publisher gratefully ac- in this volume. The copyright notices
knowledge the permissions granted by are listed below, arranged alphabetically
publishers to reprint copyrighted material by authors’ names.

Aeschylus Aquinas, St. Thomas

“Agamemnon*’ and “Eumenides” (tr. by Richmond On tr. by Gerald B. Phelan. Copyright ©
Kingship,
Latiimore) in Orestia, copyright © 1953 by Universi- 1949 by Mediaeval Studies of Toronto, Inc. Re-
ty of Chicago; “Libation Bearers” (tr. by Richmond printed by permission of the Pontifical Institute of
Lattimore), copyright © 1953 by University of Chi- Mediaeval Studies.
cago; “Prometheus Bound” (tr. by David Grene),
Summa Contra Gentiles, Book 4, tr. by Charles J.
copyright © 1942 by University of Chicago; “Seven
O’Neil. Copyright 1957 by Doubleday &
© Compa-
Against Thebes” (tr. by David Grene), copyright ©
ny. Reprinted by permission of Doubleday &: Com-
1956 by University of Chicago; "Suppliant Maid-
pany, Inc.
ens” (tr. by Seth G. Benardett), copyright © 1956 by
University of Chicago, all in The Complete Greek Trag- “Summa Theologica,” in Basic Writings of St. Thomas
edies, Vol. 1, David Grene and Richmond Lattimore, Aquinas, Voi.1, ed. by Anton C. Pegis. Copyright ©

eds. Copyright © 1959 by University of Chicago.
Reprinted by permission of David Grene, Rich-
mond Lattimore, and the University of Chicago
Press.
Ambrose, St.
Letter to Simpiicianus,” in Fathers of the Church,
by Sister Mary Melchoir Beyenda. Copyright
1954 by The Fathers of the Church. Reprinted by
permission of The Catholic University of America.
Anselm,
St.
Banc Writings, tr. by S. N. Deane. Copyright ©1903,
1962 by Open Court Publishing Co. Reprinted by
permission of Open Court Publishing Co.
1945 by Random House, Inc. Reprinted by per-
mission of Benziger, Bruce and Glencoe, Inc.
Truth, Vol. 1, tr. by Robert W. Mulligan, Vol. 2, tr.
by James V. McGlynn, Vol. 3, tr. by Robert W.
Schmidt. Copyright © by Henry Regnery Co., pub-
lished in 1952, 1953, 1954. Reprinted by permission
tr.
of Henry Regnery Co.
©
Aristotle
“Categories," “Ethics,” “Generation of Animals,”
“History of Animals,” “Memory and Reminiscence,”
“Metaphysics,” “On Generation and Corruption,”
“On Interpretation,” “On the Gait of Animals,” “On
the Heavens,” “On the Motion of Animals,” “On the
Sophistical Refutations,” “On the Soul,” “On Youth

xvn
 ,
xviii I Acknowledgments
and Old Age,” “On Life and Death,” “On Breath-
ing,” “Parts of Animals,” “Physics,” “Poetics,” “Poli-
tics,” “Posterior Analytics,” “Prophesying by
Dreams,” “Rhetoric,” “Topics,” all in The Oxford
Translation of Aristotle^ tr. and ed. by W. D. Ross.
First Edition 1928. Reprinted by permission of the
Oxford University Press, England.
Augustine, St.
tr. by Francis J. Sheed. Copyright ©
Confessions,
1943 by Sheed and Ward, Inc., New York. Reprint-
ed by permission of Sheed and Ward, Inc.
Beauvoir, Simone de
The Second Sex, tr, and ed. by H, M. ParshJey. Copy-
right © 1952 by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Reprinted by
permission of Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., and Jonathan
Cape Ltd.
Benedict, Ruth
© 1934 by Ruth Bene-
Patterns of Culture. Copyright
dict.Copyright © renewed 1962 by Ruth Valentine.
Reprinted by permission of the publisher Hough-
ton Mifflin Company and Routledge 8c Kegan Paul
Ltd.
Bergson, Henri
tr. by Arthur Mitchell. Copyright
Creative Evolution,
© 1911 by Henry Holt and Company. Copyright ©
1944 by Random House (Modern Library edition).
Reprinted by permission of Holt, Rinehart and
Winston, Inc., and Macmillan London and Basing-
stoke.
CreativeMind, tr. by Mabelle L. Anderson. Copy-
right © 1946 by the Philosophical Library. Reprint-
ed by permission of the Philosophical Library, Inc.
Laughter, tr. by Cloudesley Brereton and Fred Roth-
well.Copyright © by Macmillan and Co. Ltd., pub-
lished in 1911. Reprinted by permission of Double-
day & Company, Inc.
Time and Free Will, tr. by F. L. Pogson. Published by
George Allen 8c Unwin, London; the Macmillan
Company, New York. Copyright © 1910. Reprinted
by permission of Humanities Press, Inc., and
George Allen & Unwin Ltd.
Two Sources of Morality and Religion tr. by R. Ashley
Audra and Cloudesley Brereton with the assistance
of W. Horsfall Carter. Copyright © 1935 by Henry
Holt and Company. Reprinted by permission of
Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc,, and Macmillan
London and Basingstoke.
Bernard, Claude
An Introduction to the Study of Experimental Medicine,
tr.by Henry C. Greene. Copyright © 1927 by Mac-
millan Co. Reprinted by permission of Thomas Y.
Crowell Co., Inc.
Boethius, Anicius Manlius Severinus
The Consolation of Philosophy, tr. by W. V. Cooper.
Published by Modern Library, New York. Copyright
© 1943 by Random House, Inc. Reprinted by per-
mission of Random House, Inc.
Boswell, James
London Journal. Copyright © 1950 by Yale Universi-
ty. Reprinted by permission of McGraw-Hill Book
Company.
Chaucer, Geoffrey
Canterbury Tales,tr. by J. U. Nicolson. Copyright ©
1934 by Covici, Friede, Inc. Copyright © renewed
1962 by Crown Publishers, Inc. Reprinted by per-
mission of Crown Publishers, Inc.
Troilusand Cressida, English anew by George Philip
Krapp. Copyright © 1932 and renewed 1960 by
Elizabeth Knapp. Reprinted by permission of Ran-
dom House, Inc.
Colette, Sidonie Gabrielle
The Break of Day, tr. by Enid McLeod. Copyright ©
1961 by Martin Seeker & Warburg, Ltd. Reprinted
by permission of Farrar, Straus & Giroux, Inc.
Croce, Benedetto
History as the Story of Liberty, tr. by Sylvia Sprigge.
Published in 1941 by W. W. Norton 8c Co. Reprint-
ed by permission of W. W, Norton & Co., Inc., and
George Allen & Unwin Ltd.
Descartes, Rene
The Philosophical Works of Descartes, tr. by Elizabeth S.
Haldane and G. R. T. Ross. First Edition 1911, re-
printed with corrections 1931. Reprinted by per-
mission of the Cambridge University Press.
Dewey, John
Democracy and Education. Copyright © 1916 by Mac-
millan Company, renewed 1944 by John Dewey.
Reprinted by permission of Macmillan Publishing
Co., Inc.
Copyright © 1953 by
Essays in Experimental Logic.
Dover Publications. Reprinted by permission of Do-
ver Publications.
Experience and Education. Copyright ©
1938 by Kap-
pa Delta Pi. Published by Macmillan Publishing Co.,
Inc., 1938, 1959. Reprinted by permission of Kappa
Delta Pi. An Honor Society in Education.
and Nature. Copyright © 1925 by Open
Experience
Court Publishing Co. Reprinted by permission of
the publisher.
Freedom and Culture. Copyright © 1939 by John
Dewey. Reprinted by permission of G. P. Putnam’s
Sons.
 Acknowledgments
How We Think. Copyright © 1910 by D. C. Heath
and Company. Reprinted by permission of The
Center for Dewey Studies.
Human Nature and Conduct. Copyright © 1922 by
Hern*)' Holt and Company. Reprinted by per-
mission of Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc.
“AffectiveThought,” “Development of American
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Copyright © 1931 by John Dewey; renewed. Re-
printed by permission of G. P. Putnam's Sons.
Copyright © 1920 by
Reconstruction in Philosophy.
Henry Holt and Company. Enlarged edition copy-
right © 1948 by Beacon Press. Reprinted by per-
mission of Beacon Press.
Dewey, John, and Tufts, James H.
Ethics.Copyright © 1908, 1932 by Henry Holt and
Company, Inc. Copyright © 1936 by John Dewey
and James H. Tufts. Reprinted by permission of
Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc.
Dinesen, Isak [Karen Christence Dinesen, Baron-
ess Blixen-Finecke]
“The Roads Around Pisa,” in Seven Gothic Tales.
Copyright © 1934 and renewed 1962 by Isak
Dinesen. Published by Putnam and Co. Ltd. Re-
printed by permission of Random House, Inc.,
and The Bodley Head.
Dostoevsky, Fyodor
The Brothers KaramozoVy tr. by Constance Garnett.
Published in the United States by Macmillan Pub-
lishing Co., Inc. Reprinted by permission of Mac-
millan Publishing Co., Inc., and William Heinemann
Ltd.
Eckermann, Johann
Conversations with Goethe. An Everyman’s Library
Edition. Published in the United States by E. P. Dut-
ton & Co., Inc. All rights reserved. Reprinted by
permission of E. P. Dutton and
8c Co., Inc.,
Dent 8c Sons, Ltd.
Einstein, Albert
“Autobiographical Notes” and “Relativity,” in Albert
Einstein: P hilosopher-S dentist Paul A. Schilpp, ed.,
Library of Living Philosophers Vol. 7. Copyright ©
1949 by the Library of Living Philosophers, Inc. Re-
printed by permission of Open Court Publishing
Co.
Relativity tr. by Robert W. Lawson. Copyright
1931 by Peter Smith. Reprinted by permission of
Peter Smith.
Eliot, Thomas Steams
“Hippopotamus,” in Collected Poems 1909-1962.
Copyright © 1936 by Harcourt Brace Jovanovich,
|
xix
Inc., copyright © 1963, 1964 by T. S. Eliot. Reprint-
ed by permission of Harcourt Brace Jovanovich,
Inc., and Faber 8c Faber Ltd.
“Dante,” “The Metaphysical Poets,” “Tradition and
the Individual Talent,” in Selected Essays 191 7-1932.
Copyright © 1932 by Harcourt Brace Jovanovich,
Inc. Reprinted by permission of Harcourt Brace
Jovanovich, Inc., and Faber & Faber Ltd.
Euripides
by Rex Warner, copyright
“Alcestis,” tr. 1955 by©
University of Chicago; “Andromache,” tr. by John
Frederick Nims, copyright © 1956 by University of
Chicago; "Bacchae,” tr. by William A)TOWsmith,
copyright © 1958 by University of Chicago; “Cy-
clops,” tr. by William Arrowsmith, co]>yright ©
1956 by University of Chicago; “Elect! a,” tr. by
Emily Townsend Vermeule, copyright 1956 by
University of Chicago; “Hecuba,” tr. by William
Arrowsmith, copyright © 1956 by University of
Chicago; “Helen,” tr. by Richmond Lattimore,
copyright © 1956 by University of Chicago; “Hera-
cleidae,” tr. by Ralph Gladstone, copyright © 1956
by University of Chicago; “Heracles,” tr. by Ralph
Gladstone, copyright © 1956 by University of Chi-
cago; “Hippolytus,” tr. by David Grene, copyright ©
1942 by University of Chicago; “Iphigenia in Aulis,”
tr. by Charles R. Walker, copyright © 1958 by Uni-
versity of Chicago; “Ion,” tr. by Ronald F. Willets,
copyright © 1958 by University of Chicago;
“Orestes,” tr. by William Arrowsmith, copyright ©
1958 by University of Chicago; “Phoenician Wom-
en,” tr, by Elizabeth Wyckoff, copyright © 1958 by
University of Chicago; “Rhesus,” tr. by Richmond
Lattimore, copyright © 1958 by University of
Chicago; “Suppliant Women,” tr. by Frank Jones,
copyright © 1958 by University of Chicago; “Trojan
Women,” tr. by Richmond Lattimore, copyright ©
1956 by University of Chicago, all in The Complete
Greek Tragedies Vols. 1-5, David Grene and Rich-
mond Lattimore, eds. Copyright © 1959 by Univer-
sity of Chicago, Reprinted by permission of David
Grene, Richmond Lattimore, and the University of
J. M.
Chicago Press.
Freud, Sigmund
“Wit and Its Relation to the Unconscious,” in The
Basic Writings of Sigmund Freud, tr. and ed. by A. A.
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copyright ©
renewed 1965 by Gioia B. Bemheim
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Freedom in the Modem

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1937 by Sheed and Ward, Inc., New York. Reprint- Nietzsche, Friedrich
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Emile, An Everyman’s Library Edition. Published versity Press. Reprinted by permission of Oxford
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Evelyn Whitehead. Reprinted by permission of and Basingstoke; and A. P. Watt 8c Son Ltd.
 Chapter 1

MAN

Chapter 1 is divided into nine sections: 1.1 pects of man’s concern with honor and repu-
Man in The Grandeur and Mis-
the Universe: tation as well as fame and shame will also be
ERY OF Man; 1.2 The Human Condition; 1.3 found in Chapter 4 on Emotion, especially
The Ages of Man; Young and Old; 1.4 Self- the sections dealing with desire, ambition,
Knowxedge AND Self-Love; 1.5 Honor, Repu- pride and humility, as well as in sections of
tation, and Fame or Glory; 1 .6 Human Great- Chapter 9 on Ethics dealing with virtue and
ness: The Hero; 1.7 Woman AND Man; 1.8 Life vice; the consideration of great men and the
and Death: The Fear of Death; and 1.9 Sui- heroic recurs in the section of Chapter 9
cide. that treats courage and cowardice; and the
The consideration of man of human na- — discussion of the fear of death and of suicide
ture,human life, and the human condi- recurs in other contexts in certain sections of
tion —begins in this opening chapter but it Chapter 20 on Religion.
does not end here. It is ine.\tricably connect- Of all the subjects to which chapters of
ed with almost all of the subjects treated in this book are devoted, the subject of this
the chapters that follow,where passages can —
opening chapter the human species is —
be found that throw light on the nature, least in need of prefatory elucidation. In
powers, and propensities of man. The con- spite of all the different and often conflicting
sideration of man’s place in the universe re- views of human nature, of man’s relation to
curs in Chapter 20 on Religion and in the rest of the universe, and of man’s
Chapter 19 on Nature and the Cosmos; the strengths and weaknesses, everyone has the
discussion of the human condition recurs in same object in mind when using the word
Chapter 9 on Ethics, Chapter 10 on Politics, “man” in this general sense, and there is al-
Chapter 11 on Economics, and Chapter 15 most universal agreement about the range
on History; the treatment ofyoung and old and significance of the questions that can be
and of women also be
in relation to men will asked about it. In these respects, man comes
found in Chapter 2 on Family and in several near to being an ideal subject of controver-
sections of Chapter 3 on Lovt; certain as- sy, for the differences of opinion can almost
 2 I
Chapter I, Man

always be brought into sharp focus. The age-old and continuing controversy about
passages assembled in this chapter indicate man. The issues in that controversy arc as
and often epitomize the main lines in the multifarious as the sections of this chapter.

1.1 I
Man in the Universe

THE GRANDEUR AND MISERY OF MAN

What man is and how he differs from ev- Dominating the consideration of man’s
erything else in the universe arc questions place in the universe, from antiquity on, is

that call for definitions and comparisons. the view that man is apex of creation
at the

Many of the texts presented in this section or at the center of the cosmos and that ev-
formulate definitions of man or state the re- erything else is ordered to his good, subser-
spects in which man has certain unique vient to his needs, and subject to his domin-
properties or attributes that differentiate ion. That view becomes less prevalent in
him from everything else. The latter are, of modern times, and the reader will find a
course, balanced by statements to the oppo- number of quotations in which it is rejected
site effect —statements that point out the re- as an illusory conceit on man’s part.
spects in which ntan is indistinguishable There arc other quotations that tend to
from other things except, perhaps, in the de- support the latter view by their emphasis on
gree to which he possesses properties that the weakness or puniness of man — how he is

arecommonly shared by all. shadow on

a plaything of the gods, a flitting
However man is defined, and in whatever the surface of the cosmos, a thing of the mo-
manner he is said to differ from or resemble ment, here today and gone tomorrow. Some
other things, questions arise concerning his writers express cynical delight in depicting
relation to them — especially his relation to man as the most miserable of creatures, and
other animals, to God or the gods, and to enjoy deflating his ego by satirical barbs
nature as a whole. The passages providing that puncture his self-esteem. These are, in
diverse and conflicting answers to such ques- turn, balanced by many quotations in the
tions are plentiful. Because the relation of opposite vein — passages that put man on a
man to other animals, as well as the contrast pedestal, see him as having a tincture of the
between men and other animals, is of such divine, or conceive his special grandeur in
central interest, quotations may not always terms of the place he occupies in the cosmic
mention animals in relation to men, or men scale, halfway between the beasts and the
in relation to animals, but they are almost angels or on the borderline between the ma-
always taken from contexts in which that is terial and the spiritual worlds. Man is a
the subject of discussion. connecting link between them.
 /./. Man in the Universe
|
3

1 And God said, l^t m

make man in our image, Knowest thou it, because thou wast then born?
after our likeness; and let them liavc dominion or l>ccausc the number of thy days is great?
over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the Hast thou entered into the treasures of the
air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, snow? or hast thou seen the treasures of the hail,
and over cverj' creeping thing that creepeth upon WTiich 1 have rcscr\'cd against the time of trou-
the earth. ble, against the day of battle and war?
So God created man in his own image, in the By what way is the light parted, which scattcr-
image of God created he him; male and female cth the cast wind upon the earth?
created he them. Wlio hath divided a watercourse for the over-
And God llicm, and God said unto
blessed fimving of waters, or a way for the lightning of
them, Be and multiply, and replenish the
fruitful, thunder;
earth, and subdue it: and have dominion over the cau.se it to r,aln on the earth, where no man
To
fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and is;on the \Wldcrncss, wherein there is no man;
os'cr every lis’ing thing that rnoveth upon the 7o satisfy the desolate and waste ground; and
earth. to cause the bud of the tender herb to spring

Crrtfus 1:26-28 forth?

Hath the rain a father? or who hath begotten
2 Then (he Lord answered Job out of the whirl- the drops of dew?
wind, and said. Out of whose womb came the ice? and the
Who is this that darkeneth counsel by words hoary' frost of heaven, who
hath gendered it?
without knowledge? 'Hie waters arc hid as w'ith a stone, and the face
Gird up now thy loins like a man; for I will of the deep is frozen.
demand of thee, and annscr thou me. Canst thou bind the sweet influences of PIci-a-
Where wasi thou when 1 laid the foundations of dcs, or loose the bands of O-ri-on?
the earth? declare, if thou hast undcntnnding. Canst thou bring forth Mar.z-a-roth in liis sea-
Who hath laid the measures thereof, if thou son? or caast thou guide Arc-tu-rCis with his sons?
knowest? or who hath stretched the line upon it? Knowest thou the ordinances of heaven? canst
Whereupon arc the foundations thereof fas- thou set the dominion thereof in the earth?
tened? or who laid the corner stone thereof; Canst thou lift up thy voice to the clouds, that
W’hcn the morning stars sang together, and all abundance of waters may cover thee?
the sons of God shouted for joy? Canst lliou send lightnings, th.il they may go,
Or who shut up the sea with doors, when it arid say unto thee, Here we arc?
brake forth, as if it had issued out of the womb? Who hath put wiwiom in the Inward parts? or
W‘hen 1 made the cloud the garment thereof, who hath given understanding to the heart?
and thick darkness a s^vaddItngband for it. N\7to can numlxrr the clouds in wiwlorn? or who
And brake up for it my decreed place, and set can stay the Ixittics of heaven,
ban and doors, UTicn the dust groweth into hardness, and the
And said, Hitherto no fur-
shall thou come, but clods cleave fast together?
ther: and here proud waves be stayed?
shall thy Wilt thou hunt the prey for the lion? or fill (he
Hast thou commanded the morning since thy ap|>eiiic of the young lions,
daj-s; and caused the da^-spring to know his place; ^STicn they couch in their dens, and abide in
That it might take hold of the ends of the earth, the covert to lie in wait?
that the wicked might be shaken out of it? Wlio provideth for the raven his food? when his
It is turned as clay to the seal; and they stand young ones cry unto God, they wander for lack of
as a garment. meat.
And from the wicked their light is withlioldcn, Knowest thou the time when the wild goats of
and the high arm shall be broken. the rock bring forili? or c:inst thou mark when die
Hast thou entered into the springs of the sea? or hinds do calve?
hast thouwalked in the search of the depth? Canst thou number the months that they fulfil?
Have the gates of death been opened unto thee? or knowest thou the time when they bring forth?
or hast thou seen the doors of the shadow of Tlicy bow ihciTLSclvcs, they bring forth their
death? young ones, they cast out (heir sorrows.
Hast thou perceived the breadth of the earth? Their young ones arc in good liking, they grow
declare If thou knowest it all. up with corn; they go forth, and return not unto
Where is the way where light dwcllcth? and as them.
for darkness, where is the place thereof, Who hath sent out the wild ass free? or who
That thou shouldcst lake it to the bound there- hath loosed the bands of the wild ass?
of, and that thou shouIdc.st know the paths to the Whose house I have made the wilderness, and
house thereof? the barren land his dwellings.
 4 Chapter 1. Man

He scorneth the multitude of the city, neither the earth! who hast set thy glory above the heav-
regardeth he the crying of the driver. ens.
The range of the mountains is his pasture, and Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings hast
he searcheth after every green thing. thou ordained strength because of thine ene-
Will the unicorn be willing to serve thee, or mies, that thou mightest still the enemy and the
abide by thy crib? avenger.
Canst thou bind the unicorn with his band in When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy
the furrow? or will he harrow the valleys after fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast
thee? ordained;
Wilt thou trust him, because his strength is What man, that thou art mindful of him?
is

great? or wilt thou leave thy labour to him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?

Wilt thou believe him, that he will bring home For thou hast made him a little lower than the
thy seed, and gather it into thy barn? angels, and hast crowned him with glory and hon-
Gavest thou the goodly wings unto the pea- our.
cocks? or wings and feathers unto the ostrich? Thou madest him to have dominion over the
Which leaveth her eggs in the earth, and war- works of thy hands; thou hast put all things under
meth them in dust, his feet:
And forgetteth that the foot may crush them, or All sheep and oxen, yea, and the beasts of the
that the wild beast may
break them. field;

She is hardened against her young ones, as The fowl of the air, and the fish of the sea, and
though they were not her’s: her labour is in vain whatsoever passeth through the paths of the seas.
without fear; O Lord our Lord, how excellent is thy name in
Because God hath deprived her of wisdom, nei- all the earth!
ther hath he imparted to her understanding. Psalm 8:1-9
What time she lifteth up herself on high, she
scorneth the horse and his rider. 4 As he [Zeus] watched the mourning horses the son
Hast thou given the horse strength? hast thou of Kronos pitied them,
clothed his neck with thunder? and stirred his head and spoke to his own spirit:
3
Canst thou make him afraid as a grasshopper? ‘Poor wretches,
the glory of his nostrils is terrible. why then did we ever give you to the lord Pelcus,
He
paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his a mortal man, and you yourselves are immortal
strength: he goeth on to meet the armed men. and ageless?
He mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted; nei- Only so that among unhappy men you also might
ther turneth he back from the sword. be grieved?
The quiver rattleth against him, the glittering Since among all creatures that breathe on earth
spear and the shield. and crawl on it
He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and there is not anywhere a thing more dismal than
rage: neither believeth he that it is the sound of man is.’

the trumpet. Homer, Iliad, XVII, 441

He saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha; and he
smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the 5 Odysseus. Of mortal creatures, all that breathe and
captains, and the shouting. move,
Doth the hawk fly by thy wisdom, and stretch earth bears none frailer than mankind. What
her wings toward the south? man
Doth the eagle mount up at thy command, and woe to come, so long as valor
believes in
make her nest on high? and tough knees are supplied him by the gods?
She dwelleth and abideth on the rock, upon the But when the gods in bliss bring miseries on,
crag of the rock, and the strong place.
then willy-nilly, blindly, he endures.
From thence she seeketh the prey, and her eyes Our minds are as the days arc, dark or bright,
behold afar off.
blown over by the father of gods and men.
Her young ones also suck up blood: and where Homer, Odyss^, XVIII, 131
the slain are, there is she.
Moreover the Lord answered Job, and said,
6 Prometheus. Hear what troubles there were among
Shall he that contendeth with the Almighty in-
men, how I and gave them the
found them witless
struct him? he that reproveth God, let him answer
use of their wits and made them masters of their
it.
minds. I will tell you this, not because I would
Then Job answered the Lord, and said.
blame men, but to explain the goodwill of my gift.
Behold, I am vile.
For men at first had eyes but saw to no purpose;
Job 38-40:4 they had ears but did not hear. Like the shapes of
dreams they dragged through their long lives and
O Lord our Lord, how excellent is thy name in all handled all things in bewilderment and confusion.
 — —
A

/./. Man in the Universe 5

They did not know of building houses with bricks Come listen with care to the Birds of the air,
to face the sun; they did not know how to work in 9 the ageless, the deathless, who flying
wood. They lived like swarming ants in holes in In the joy and the freshness of Ether, are wont
the ground, in the sunless caves of the earth. For to muse upon wisdom undying.
them there was no secure token by which to tell Aristophanes, Birds, 685
winter nor the flowering spring nor the summer
>\nth its crops; all their doings were indeed with- Timams. Now, when all of them, both those who
out intelligent calculation until showed them the I
visiblyappear in their revolutions as well as those
rising of the stars, and the settings, hard to ob- other gods who are of a more retiring nature, had
scr\’c. And further I discovered to them number- come into being, the creator of the universe ad-
ing, pre-eminent among subtle devices, and the dressed them in these ^v*ords: “Gods, children of
combining of letters as a means of remembering gods, who arc my works, and of whom I am the
all things, the Muses’ mother, skilled in craft. It artificer and father, my creations are indissoluble,
was I who first yoked beasts for them in the yokes if so I is bound may be undone, but
will. All that
and made of those beasts the slaves of trace chain only an being would wish to undo that which
evil
and pack saddle that they might be man’s substi- is harmonious and happy. Wherefore, since ye are
tute in the hardest tasks; and 1 harnessed to the but creatures, ye are not altogether immortal and
carriage, so that they loved the rein, horses, the indissoluble, but ye shall certainly not be dis-
crowning pride of the rich man's Iuxur>'. It was I solved, nor be liable to the fate of death, having in
and none other who discovered ships, the sail- my will a greater and mightier bond than those
driven w^agons that the sea buffets. Such were the with ^vhich ye were bound at the time of your
contrivances that I discovered for men. birth. And now listen to my instructions: —Three
Aeschylus, Promethms Bound, 441 tribes of mortal beings remain to be created
without them the universe will be incomplete, for
7 Chorus, Many the wonders but nothing walks
it will not contain every’ kind of animal which it
stranger than man.
ought to contain, if it is to be perfect. On the other
This thing crosses the sea in the winter’s storm,
hand, if they were created by me and received life
making his path through the roaring waves.
at my hands, they would be on an equality with
And she, (he greatest of gods, the earth
the gods. In order then that they may be mortal,
ageless she is, —
and unwearied he wears her away
and that this universe may be truly universal, do
as the ploughs go up and down from year to year
yc, according to your natures, betake yourselves to
and his mules turn up the soil.
the formation of animals, imitating the power
Gay he snares and leads,
nations of birds which was shown by me in creating you. The part
wild beast tribesand the salty brood of the sea, of them worthy of the name immortal, which is
with the twisted mesh of his nets, this clever man. called divine and is the guiding principle of those
He controls with craft the beasts of the open air, who arc willing to follow justice —
and you of that
\vaJkcrson hills. The horse with his shagg)' mane divine part I will myself sow the seed, and having
he holds and harnesses, yoked about the neck, made a beginning, I will hand the work over to
and the strong bull of the mountain. you. And do
yc then intcr^veavc the mortal with
the immortal, and make and beget living crea-
Language, and thought like the \vind
tures, and give them food, and make them to
and the feelings that make the town, grow, and receive them again in death.’’
he has taught himself, and shelter against the
Thus he spake, and once more into the cup in
cold,
which he had previously mingled the soul of the
refuge from rain. He can always help himself. universe he poured the remains of the elements,
He faces no future helpless. There’s only death and mingled them in much the same manner;
that he cannot find an escape from. He has con- they were not, however, pure as before, but dilut-
trived
ed to the second and third degree. And having
refuge from illnesses once beyond all cure.
made it he divided the whole mixture into souls
Clever beyond all dreams equal in number to the stars, and assigned each
the inventive craft that he has soul to a star; and having there placed them as in
which may drive him one time or another to well a chariot, he showed them the nature of the uni-
or ill.
verse, and declared to them the laws of destiny,
according to which their first birth would be one
Sophocles, Ar2 ti]gonf, 332
—
and the same for all, no one should suffer a dis-
8 Chorus, Ye men who are dimly existing below, advantage at his hands; they were to be sown in
who perish and fade as the leaf, the instruments of time severally adapted to them,
Pale, woebegone, shadowlike, spiritless folk, and to come forth the most religious of animals;

life feeble and wingless and brief, and as human nature was of two kinds, the superi-
Frail castings in clay, who arc gone in a day, or race would hereafter be called man.
like a dream full of sorrow and sighing. Plato, Timaeus, 41
 —
6 I
Chapter I. Man

10 Man, he [Protagoras] says, »s the measure of all though psychologically a child hardly differs for

things, of the existence of things that are, and of the time being from an animal; so that one is
the non-existence of things that are not. quite justified in saying that, as regards man and
Plato, Theaetetus, I52A animals, certain psychical qualities are identical
with one another, whilst others resemble, and
others are analogous to, each other.
1 1 Athenian Stranger, Man ...
a tame or civilized is Aristotle, History of Animals, 588“ 1?
animal; ncvertlieless, he requires proper instruc-
tion and a fortunate nature, and then of all ani-
mals he becomes the most divine and most civi- 15 Of beings with which we are acquainted
all living

lized; but if he be insufficiently or ill-educated he man alone partakes of the divine, or at any rate
is the most savage of earthly creatures.
partakes of it in a fuller measure than the rest.
Plato, Laws, VI, 766A Aristotle, Parts of Animals, 656*8

some kinds of living 16 That man alone is affected by tickling is due first-
12 Of the ps^xhic powers . . .

ly to the delicacy of his skin, and secondly to his

things . .
.
possess some less than all, others
all,
being the only animal that laughs.
one only. Those we have mentioned are the nutri-
Aristotle, Parts of Animals, 673*7
tive, the appetitive, the sensory, the locomotive,
and the power of thinking. Plants have none but
the first, the nutritive, while another order of liv-
animals man alone stands erect, in accor-
17 Of all
ing things has this plus the sensory. any order of If
dance with his god-like nature and essence. For it
living things has the sensor>% it must also have the
is the function of the god-like to think and to be
appetitive; for appetite is the genus of which de-
wise; and no easy task were this under the burden
sire, passion, and wish arc the species; now all
of a heavy body, pressing down from above and
animals have one sense at least, viz. touch. . . .
obstructing by its weight the motions of the intel-
Certain kinds of animals possess in addition the
lect and of the general sense.
power of locomotion, and still another order of Aristotle, Parts of Animals, 686*27
animate beings, that is, man and possibly another
order like man or superior to him, the power of
thinking, that is, mind. 18 It is the opinion of Anaxagoras that the possession
Aristotle, On the Soul, 414^28 of . . . hands is the cause of man being of all

animals the most intelligent. But it is more ratio-

13 Taking the size of his body into account, man nal to suppose that his cndo\Mncnt with hands is

emits more sperm than any other animal. the consequence rather than the cause of his sup>e-
rior intelligence. For the hands are instruments or
Aristotle, History of Animals, 523*15
organs, and the invariable plan of nature in dis-
tributing the organs is to give each to such animal
14 In the great majority of animals there arc traces as can make use of it; nature acting in this matter
ol ps>xhical qualities or attitudes, which qualities as any prudent man would do. For it is a better
are more markedly differentiated in the case of plan to take a person who is already a flute-player
human beings. For just as we pointed out resem- and give him a flute, than to take one who pos-
blances in the physical organs, so in a number of sesses a flute and teach him the art of flute-play-
animals we observe gentleness or fierceness, mild- ing. For nature adds that which is less to that
ness or cross temper, courage, or timidity, fear or which is greater and more important, and not
confidence, high spirit or low cunning, and, with thatwhich is more valuable and greater to that
regard to intelligence, something equivalent to sa- which is less. Seeing then that such is the better
gacity. Some of these qualities in man, as com- course, and seeing also that of what is possible
pared with the corresponding qualities in animals, nature invariably brings about the best, we must
differ only quantitatively; that is to say, a man conclude that man does not owe his superior intel-
has more or less of this quality, and an animal has ligence to his hands, but his hands to his superior
more or less of some other; other qualities in man intelligence. For the most intelligent of animals is
are represented by analogous and not identical the one w’ho would put the most organs to use;
qualities; for instance, just as in man we find and the hand is not to be looked on as one organ
knowledge, wisdom, and sagacity, so in certain but as many; for it is, as it were, an instrument for
animals there exists some other natural piotentiali- further instruments. This instrument, therefore,
ty akin to these. The truth of this statement will the hand — of allinstruments the most variously
be the more clearly apprehended if we have re- serviceable, has been given by nature to man, the
gard to the phenomena of childhood: for in chil- animal of all animals the most capable of acquir-
dren may be observed the traces and seeds of what ing the most varied handicrafts.
will one day be settled psychological habits, Aristotle, Parts of Animals, 687*8
 —
I A. Man in the Universe 1

19 No one would choose the whole world on condi- contemplation. He is always investigating or
man is a political crea-
tion of being alone, since doing something. He is captivated by the plea-
ture and one whose nature is to live with others. sures of seeing and hearing.
Aristotle, 1169^18 Cicero, Dt Officiis, I, 30

20 That which is proper to each thing is by nature 27 Suppose he [a man] has a beautiful home and a
best and most pleasant for each thing; for man, handsome collection of servants, a lot of land un-
therefore, the life according to reason is best and der cultivation and a lot of money out at interest;
pleasantest, since reason more than anything else not one of these things can be said to be in him
is man. they are just things around him. Praise in him
Aristotle, 1178^5 what can neither be given nor snatched away,
what is peculiarly a man’s. You ask what that is?
It is his spirit, and the perfection of his reason in
21 While the whole life of is blessed, and
the gods
men
that spirit. For man is a rational animal. Man’s
that of some likeness of such
too in so far as
ideal state is realized when he has fulfilled the
activity belongs to them, none of the other ani-
purpose for which he was born.
mals is happy, since they in no way share in con-
templation. Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 41

Aristotle, Ethics, 1 1 78^25

28 And so it is written, The first man Adam was
made a living soul; the last Adam was made a
22 Man, when perfected, is the best of animals, but,
quickening spirit.
when separated from law and justice, he is the
Howbcii that was not first which is spiritual,
worst of all; since armed injustice is the more dan-
but that which is natural; and afterward that
gerous, and he is equipped at birth with arms,
which is spiritual.
meant be used by intelligence and virtue,
to
The first man is of the earth, earthy: the second
which he may use for the worst ends. Wherefore,
man is the Lord from heaven.
if he have not virtue, he is the most unholy and
As is the earthy, such are they also that are
the most savage of animals, and the most full of
earthy: and as is the heavenly, such are they also
lust and gluttony.
that are heavenly.
Aristotle, Politics, 1253*31 And as we have borne the image of the earthy,
we shall also bear the image of the heavenly.
23 If nature makes nothing incomplete, and nothing / Corinthians, 15:45-49
in vain, the inference must be that she has made
all animals for the sake of man.
29 Man is the only animal that knows nothing, and
Aristotle, Politics, 1236^20 can learn nothing without being taught. He can
neither speak nor walk nor eat, nor do anything
24 Imitation is natural to man from childhood, one at the prompting of nature, but only weep.
of his advantages over the lower animals being Pliny the Elder, Natural History, VII, 77
this, that he is the most imitative creature in the
world, and learns at first by imitation.
30 No beast is more savage than man when possessed

Aristotle, Potties, 1448*^6 with power answerable to his rage.

Plutarch, Cicero
25 The most evident difference between man and an-
imal is this: the beast, in as much as it largely
31 God had need of irrational animals to make use of
motivated by the senses and with little perception
appearances, but of us to understand the use of
of the past or future, lives only for the present. But
appearances. It is therefore enough for them to
man, because he is endowed with reason by which
eat and to drink, and to sleep and to copulate,
he is able to perceive relationships, sees the causes
of things,
and to do all the other things which they severally
understands the reciprocal nature of
do. But for us, to whom He has given also the
cause and effect, makes analogies, easily surveys
intellectual faculty, these things are not sufficient;
the whole course of his life, and makes the neces-
for unless we act in a proper and orderly manner,
sary preparations for its conduct.
and conformably to the nature and constitution of
Cicero, De Officiis, I, 4 each thing, we shall never attain our true end. For
where the constitutions of living beings are differ-
26 In every inquiry about duty we must keep in and the ends are different.
ent, there also the acts
niind the natural superiority of men over cattle In those animals, then, whose constitution is
and other animals. Animals deal only in sensual adapted only to use, use alone is enough: but in
pleasure and are by instinct impelled to seek it. an animal which has also the power of under-
But the mind of man is nurtured by study and standing the use, unless there be the due exercise
 8 I
Chapter 1. Man

of the understanding, he will never attain his tween gods and beasts, and inclines now to the
proper end. Well then God constitutes cvcr>' ani- one order, now to the other; some men grow like
mal, one to be eaten, another to serve for agricul- to the divine, others to the brute, the greater num-
ture, another to supply cheese, and another for ber stand neutral.
some like use; for which purposes what need is Plotinus, Third Ennead, 11, 8
there to understand appearances and to be able to
distinguish them? But God has introduced man to 35 Man has come into existence, a living being but
be a spectator of God and of His works; and not not a member of the noblest order; he occupies by
only a spectator of them, but an interpreter. For choice an intermediate rank; still, in that place in
this reason it is shameful for man to begin and to which he exists. Providence does not allow him to
end where irrational animals do, but rather he be reduced to nothing; on the contrary he is ever
ought to begin where they begin, and to end being led upwards by all those varied devices
where nature ends in us; and nature ends in con- W'hich the Divine employs in its labour to increase
templation and understanding. the dominance of moral value. The human race,
Epictetus, Discourses, I, 6 therefore, is not deprived by Providence of its ra-
tional being; it retains its share, though necessari-
32 If a thing is be accomplished by thy-
difficult to ly limited, in wisdom, intelligence, executive pow'-
self, do not think that impossible for man: but
it is er and right doing, the right doing, at least, of
if anything is possible for man and conformable to individuals to each other — and even in ^vTonging
his nature, think that this can be attained by thy- others people think they arc doing right and only
self too. paying what is due.
Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, VI, 19 Man is, therefore, a noble creation, as perfect as
the scheme allow's; a part, no doubt, in the fabric

33 If the gods have determined about about me and of the All, he yet holds a lot higher than that of all
the things which must happen to me, they have the other living things of earth,
determined well, for it is not easy even to imagine Plotinus, Third Ennead, II, 9
a deity without forethought; and as to doing me
harm, ^vhy should they hav'c any desire towards 36 How much human nature loves the knowledge of
that? For what advantage would result to them its existence, and how’ it shrinks from being de-

from this or to the w’holc, w'hich is the special ceived, will be sufficiently understood from this
olyect of their providence? But if they have not fact, that every man prefers to grieve in a sane

determined about me individually, they have cer- mind, rather than to be glad in madness. And this
tainly determined about the whole at least, and grand and wonderful instinct belongs to men
the things which happen by w'ay of sequence in alone of all animals; for, though some of them
this general arrangement I ought to accept with have keener eyesight than ourselves for this
pleasure and to be content with them. But if they w’orld’s light, they cannot attain to that spiritual
—
determine about nothing ^which it is wicked to light w'ith which our mind is somehow irradiated,
believe, or if w'c do believe it, let us neither sacri- so that we can form right judgments of all things.
fice nor pray nor sw*car by them nor do anything Augustine, City of God, XI, 27
else which we do as if the gods were present and
lived with us —
but if however the gods determine 37 God created only one single man, not, certainly,
about none of the things which concern us, I am that he might be a solitar>’, bereft of all society,
able to determine about m^'self, and I can inquire but that by this means the unity of society and the
about that w'hich is useful; and that is useful to bond of concord might be more effectually com-
every man which is conformable to his owm consti- mended to him, men being bound together not
tution and nature. only by similarity of nature, but by family affec-
Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, VI, 44 tion. And indeed He did not even create the W’om-
an that was to be given him as his wife, as he
34 Now in every living being the upper parts—head, created the man, but created her out of the man,
face —
are the most beautiful, the mid and lower that the whole human race might derive from one
members inferior. In the Universe the middle and man.
lower members are human beings; above them, Augustine, OVy of God, XII, 21
the Heavens and the Gods that dw’cll there; these
Gods with the entire circling expanse of the heav- 38 Even in the body, though it dies like that of the
ens constitute the greater part of the Kosmos: the beasts, and is in many w'caker than theirs,
w’a^’s
earth is but a central point, and may be consid- what goodness of God, what providence of the
ered as simply one among the stars. Yet human great Creator, is apparent! The organs of sense
wrong-doing is made a matter of wonder; w'e are and the rest members, arc not they so
of the
evidently asked to take humanity as the choice placed, the appearance, and form, and stature of
member of the Universe, nothing wiser existent! the body as a w'hole, is it not so fashioned as to
But humanity, in reality, is poised midway be- indicate that was made for the service of
it a rea-
 /./. Man in the Umtrrsr j
9

sonablc soul? Man

has nol l>ccn crcaicd stooping *14 An upright stature was becoming to man for four
towards the the irrational animals; but
cartli, like reasons. First, bccau.se the .senses arc given to
his bodily fomt, erect and looking heavenwards* man, not only purpose of procuring the
for the
admonishes him to mind ilic things that arc necessaries of life for which they arc bestowed on
abos'C. other animah, but also for the purpose of know'I-
Augustine* City of G<y<{, XX 11. 21 edge. Hence, wlicrcas the other animals take de-
light in the objects of the senses only as ordered to
39 Tlic saying that man and animals have a like Ik* food and sex, man alone takes pleasure in the
ginning in generation is true of the lyxly. for all !>eauiy of sensible objects for its own sake. There-
animals alike are made of earth. Hut it is not true fore, as the senses arc si mated cfticfly in the face,
ofthe soul. Tor the souls of brutes arc produced by other animals have the face turned to the ground,
some power of the hotly* whereas the human soul as it wxrc for the purpose of seeking food and pro-
is produced by God. curing a livelihood; but man has his face erect, in
Aquinas, Suntnn Throhpen, 1* 75, G order that by the senses, and chiefly by sight,
which is more .subtle and penetrates further into
10 The modes of living arc distinguished according the differences of things, he may freely survey the
to the degrees of living things, 'rhere arc .<ornc sensible objcci.s around him, l>oih heavenly and
living things in which there c.sists only vegetative earthly, so as to gather intelligible tnith from all
power, as the plants. There arc others in which things. Secondly, for the greater freedom of the
with the vegetative there exists also the sensitive* acts of the interior pfjwcrs; (he brain, wherein
but nol the power of local movement; such are these actions are, in a way, performed, not being
immovable animals, as shellfish. *rhcrc arc others low down, but lifted up above other parts of the
which besides this hasr powers of local movement, b<xly. 'Hiirdly, iKcausc if mans stature were
as perfect animals, which require many things for prone to the ground he would need to use his
their life, and consequently movement to seek liands as fare-feet,and thus their utility for other
necessaries of life from a distance. And there arc purposes would cease. Fourthly, because if man^s
some living things which with these have intellec- stature were prone to the ground and he used his
tual power — namely, men. hands as fore-feet, he would be obliged to take
Aquinas. Summj Thr^Jopca, I, 78, 1
liold of his food with his mouth. 'Huis he would
have a protruding mouth, with thick and hard
11 The human intellect . . .is the lowest in the order lips,and also a hard tongue, so as to keep it from
of intellects and the mo^t removed from the per- being hurt by exterior things, as we see in other
fection of the Divine inicUcct, animals. Moreover, such an attitude would quite
Aquinas, Sumnti ^^\folopca, I, 79, 2 hinder speech, svhich is reason's proper operation.
Nevertheless, though of erect nature, man is far
42 Other animals arc so much lower than man that above plants. For man’s superior part, his head, is
they cannot attain to the knowledge of truth, turned tosvartfs the sujycrmr part of the world, and
his inferior part is turned towards the inferior
which reason seeks. lUit man attains, although im-
perfectly, to the knowledge of intelligible truth,
W’orld; and therefore he is perfectly disposed as to

which angels know. Tlicrcfore in the angels the the general situation of his Itody. Plants have the
power of knowledge is nol of a different genus superior part turned tow'ards the lower world,
from that which is in llic Iiuman reason, but is since their roots correspond to the mouth, and
compared to it as the perfect to the imperfect, their inferior parts towards the upper world. But
Aquinas, Summn brute animals have a middle disposition, for the
'rhroloy[tca., I* 79, 8
superior part of the animal is that by which it

43 Horns and claws* which arc the weapons of some takes food, and the inferior pan (hat by svhich it

animals, and toughness of hide and quantity of rids itself of the surplus.

hair or feathers, which arc the clothing of ani- Aquinas, Summa Ihroh^ca, 1, 91, 3
mals, arc signs of an abundance of the earthly
element, which docs not agree with the equability 45 Man is as itsvcrc the horizon and boundar)* line
and softness of the human temperament. There- of spiritual and corporeal nature, and intermedi-
fore such things do not suit the nature of man. ate, so to speak, between the tw'o, sharing in both
Instead of these, he has reason and hands whereby corporeal and spiritual perfections.
he can make himself arms and clothes, and other Aquinas, Commmlaiy on l/ir Sentmers of
necessaries of life, of infinite variety. And .so the Peter Lombard, 111, Prologue
hand js called by Aristotle “the organ of organs.”
Moreover this was more becoming to the rational 4G Man’s basic capacity to have a potentiality or
i.s

nature, w-hich is capable of conceiving an infinite power for being intellectual. And since this power
number of tiling so as to make for itself an infi- can not be completely actualized in a single man
nite number of instruments,
or in any of the particular communities of men
Aquinas, Summa TTirofogiVa, I, 91, 3 above mentioned, there must be a multitude in
 10 Chapter 1. Man

mankind through whomwhole power can be

this arms; and that in the estate of innocence, in the
actualized; just as theremust be a multitude of firstage of all, which was the golden season; not
created beings to manifest adequately the whole as a plant, but living creature, born for peace, not
power of prime matter, otherwise there would war, and brought forth into the world with an
have to be a power distinct from prime matter, unquestionable right and title to the plenary frui-

which is impossible. tion and enjoyment of all fruits and vegetables, as

Dante, De Monorchia,
47 Because in the intellectual order of the universe
the ascent and descent is by almost continuous
steps, from the lowest form to the highest and
I, 3 also to a certain calm and gentle rule and domin-
ion over all kinds of beasts, fowls, fishes, reptiles,
and insects. Yet afterwards it happening in the
time of the iron age, under the reign of Jupiter,
when, to the multiplication of mischievous ac-

from the highest to the lowest (as we see is the case tions, wickedness and malice began to take root

in the sensible order), and between the angelic and footing within the then perverted hearts of
nature, which is an intellectual thing, and the hu- men, that the earth began to bring forth nettles,
man soul there is no intermediate step, but the thistles, thorns, briars, and such other stubborn

one is, as it were, continuous with the other in the and rebellious vegetables to the nature of man.
order of steps; and betw’cen the human soul and Nor scarce was there any animal, which by a fatal
the most perfect soul of the brute animals there is disposition did not then revolt from him, and tac-
also no intermediary, and we see many men so itly conspire, and covenant with one another, to

vile and of such base condition as scarce to seem serve him no longer, nor, in case of their ability to
other than beasts; in like manner we are to lay it resist, to do him any manner of obedience, but
down, and firmly be some so
to believe, that there annoy
rather, to the uttermost of their power, to
noble and of so lofty condition as to be scarce him with all the hurt and harm they could. The
other than angels; otherwise the human species man, then, that he might maintain his primitive
would not be continued in either direction, which right and prerogative, and continue his sway and
may not be. dominion over all, both vegetable and sensitive
Dante, Convivio, III, 7 creatures; and knowing of a truth, that he could
not be well accommodated, as he ought, without
48 We have altogether a confounded, corrupt, and 50 the servitude and subjection of several animals,
poisoned nature, both in body and soul; through- bethought himself, that of necessity he must needs
out the whole of man is nothing that is good. put on arms, and make provision of harness
Luther, Table Talk, H262 against wars and violence. By the holy Saint Ba-
bingoose, cried out Pantagniel, you are become,

—
49 Panurge. Behold how nature, having a fervent since the last rain, a great lifrelofre, —
philosopher,
I should say. Take notice, Sir, quoth Panurge,
desire after its production of plants, trees, shrubs,
herbs, sponges, and plant-animals, to eternize, when Dame Nature had prompted him to his own
and continue them unto all succession of ages in — arming, what part of the body it was, where, by
her inspiration, he clapped on the first harness. It
their several kinds or sorts, at least, although the
individuals perish —unruinable, and inan ever- was forsooth by the double pluck of my little dog
lasting being, —hath most curiously armed and the ballock, and good Sehor Don Priapos Stabos-
—
tando, which done, he was content, and sought
fenced their buds, sprouts, shoots, and seeds,
wherein the above-mentioned perpetuity consis- no more.
teth, by strengthening, covering, guarding, and Rabelais, Gargantua and Pantagruel, III, 8
fortifying them with an admirable industry, with
husks, cases, scarfs and swads, hulls, cods, stones, Let us then consider for the moment man alone,
films, cartels, shells, ears, rinds, barks, skins, without outside cissistance, armed solely with his
ridges, and which serve them instead of
prickles, own weapons, and deprived of divine grace and
strong, fair, and natural codpieces. As is manifest- knowledge, which is his whole honor, his strength,
ly apparent in pease, beans, fasels, pomegranates, and the foundation of his being. Let us see how
peaches, cottons, gourds, pumpions, melons, corn, much presence he has in this fine array. Let him
lemons, almonds, walnuts, filberts, and chestnuts; help me to understand, by the force of his reason,
as likc^vise in all plants, slips or sets whatsoever, on what foundations he has built these great ad-
wherein it is plainly and evidently seen that the vantages that he thinks he has over other crea-
sperm and semence is more closely veiled, over- tures. Who has persuaded him that that admir-
shadowed, corroborated, and thoroughly har- able motion of the celestial vault, the eternal light
nessed, than any other part, portion, or parcel of of those torches rolling so proudly above his head,
the whole. the fearful movements of that infinite sea, were
Nature, nevertheless, did not after that manner established and have lasted so many centuries for
provide for the sempiternizing of the human race: his convenience and his service? Is it possible to
but, on the contrary, created man naked, tender, imagine anything so ridiculous as that this misera-
and frail, without cither offensive or defensive ble and puny creature, who is not even master of
 1

/./, Man in the Universe |

1

htmscU, exposed to the attacks of all things,
should call himself master and emperor of the
universe, the least part of which it is not in his
po^^’e^ to know, much lc«t to command? And this
privilege that he attributes to himself of being the
only one in this great edifice who has the capacity
to recognize its beaut>' and its parts, the only one
who can give thanks for it to the architect and
keep an account of the receipts and expenses of
the world: who has sealed him this privilege? I^ct
him show us his letters patent for this great and
splendid charge.
Montaigne, Euajfi, 11, 12,
Apolog)’ for Raymond Sebond
source of the ills that oppress him; sin, disease,
irresolution, confusion, despair.
Montaigne, Essays, II, 12,
Apology for Raymond Sebond
54 Movement belongs to the Earth as the home of
the spcculaiis’c creature. For it was not fitting that
man, who was going to l>c the dweller in this
world and its conicmplaior, should reside in one
place of it as in a closed cubicle: in that way he
would never have arrived at the measurement
and contemplation of the so distant stars, unless
he had Ixren furnished \rith more than human
gifts; or rather since he was furnished with the

eyes which he now has and with the faculties of

51 Presumption is our natural and original malady. his mind, it was his office to move around in this
The most and frail of all creatures is
\*ulncrablc very spacious edifice by means of the transporta-
man, and at the same time the most arrogant. He tion of the Earth his home and to get to know the
feels and sees himself lodged here, amid the mire different stations, according as they arc measur-
and dung of the world, nailed and riveted to the ers — that is, to take a promenade —
so that he
\s*orst, the deadest, and the most stagnant p.art of could ail ilic more correctly v’icw and measure the
the unisTTsc, on the lowest story of the house and single parts of his house.
the farthest from the vault of heaven, with the Kepler, Epitome of Copemtean
animals of the wont
condition of the three; and in Astronomy, Bk. IV, II, 5
his imagination he goes planting himself atxivc
the circle of the moon, and bringing the sky do\^n 55 ifamlel What a piece of work is a man! how noble
beneath his feet, ft is by the vanity of this same in reason!how infinite in faculty! in form and
imagination that he equals himself to God, attrib- moving how express and admirable! in action
utes to himself diWnc characteristics, picl^s himself how like an angel! in .apprehension how like a
out and separates himself from the horde of other god! the beauty of the world! the p.iragon of ani-
creatures, airvcs out their shares to his fdlovss and mals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of
companions the animals, and distributes among dust?
them such portions of faculties and powers as he Shakespeare, Hamtel, II, ii, 315
sees fit. How docs he know, by the force of his
intelligence, the secret inicmal stirrings of ani- 50 habfth. Merciful Heaven,
mals? By what comp.arison between them and us T*Jiou rather with thy .sharp and sulphurous bolt
docs he infer the stupidity that he attributes to .Splitkt the unwcdgc.ablr and gnsirlcd oak
them? Ilian the soft myrtle; but man, proud man.
Montaigne. Ivswvr, II, 12, Drest in a little brief authority,
Apolog)' for Raymond Scl>ond Most ignorant of what hc> most .assured.
His glassy essence, like an angry ape,
52 When 1 play with my cat, who knosN-s if 1 am not Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven
a pastime to her more than she is to me? As make the angels weep.
Montaigne, Essays^ If, 12, Shakespeare, Measure for Measure, II, ii, 114
Apolog)* (or Raymond Sebond
57 l^ar. Why, thou wert better in ihy grave than to
53 Man must be constrained and forced into line in- answer with thy uncovered body iliis extremity of
side the barriers of this order. The poor wretch is the skies. Is man no more than this? Consider him
in no position really to step outside them; he is well. Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no
fettered and bound, he is subjected to the same hide, the sheep no wool, the cal no perfume. Ha!
obligation as the other creatures of his class, and here's three on 's arc sophisticated! lliou art the
in a ver)' ordinar>' condition, without any real and thing itself. Unaccommodated man is no more
essentia! prerogative or preeminence. That which but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art.

he accords himself in his mind and in his fancy Off, off, you lendings! come, unbutton here. [Tear-
has neither body nor taste. And if it is true that he mg off his elolhes,]
alone of all the animals has this freedom of imagi- Foot. Prithee, nunclc, be contented; *lis a
nation and this unrulincss in thought that repre- naughty night to swim in.

sents tohim what is, what is not, what he wants, Shakespeare, HI, iv, 105
the fake and the true, it is an advantage that is
sold him very dear, and in which he has little 58 Gloucester, As flics to wanton boys, arc we to the
cause to glory’, for from it springs the principal gods,
 12 I
Chapter 1 . Man

They kill us for their sport. laws and in peace; as if she had desired that he
Shakespeare, Lear, IV, i, 38 should be guided by reason rather than be driven
by force; therefore did she endow him with under-
standing, and furnish him with hands, that he
59 Trinculo. What have wehere? a man or a fish?
might himself contrive what was necessary to his
Dead or alive? A
he smells like a fish; a very
fish;
clothing and protection.
ancient and fish-likc smell; a kind of not-of-the
newest Poor-John. A strange fish! Were I in Eng- William Harvey, Animal Generation, 56
land now, as once I was, and had but this fish
painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a 65 Man is but a great mischievous baboon.
piece of silver. There would this monster make a William Harvey, qu. by Aubrey, Brief Lives
man; any strange beast there makes a man; when
they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, 66 As understanding or thought attributed by
for the
they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legged Montaigne and others to brutes, I cannot hold
like a man! and his fins like arms! Warm o* my their opinion; not, however, because I am doubt-
troth! I do now let loose my opinion; hold it no ful of the truth of what is commonly said, that
longer. This is no fish, but an islander, that hath men have absolute dominion over the other
all
lately suffered by a thunderbolt. animals; for while I allow that there are some
Shakespeare, Tempest^ II, ii, 25 which are stronger than we are, and I believe
there may be some, also, which have natural cun-
60 Miranda. O, wonder! ning capable of deceiving the most sagacious
How many goodly creatures are there here! men; yet I consider that they imitate or surpass us

How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, only in those of our actions which are not directed
That has such people in ’t! by thought.
Prospero. Tis new to thee. Descartes, Letter to the Marquis of Newcastle
Shakespeare, Tempest, V, i, 182
67 I know, indeed, that brutes do many things better
61 I am a little world made cunningly than we do, but I am not surprised at it; for that,
Of Elements, and an Angelike spright. also, goes to prove that they act by force of nature
Donne, Holy Sonnet V and by springs, like a clock, which tells better
what the hour is than our judgment can inform
62 They that deny a God destroy man’s nobility; for us.

certainly man is of kin to the beasts by his body; Descartes, Letter to the Marquis of Newcastle
and if he be not of kin to God by his spirit, he is a
base and ignoble creature. 68 The principal argument, to my mind, which may
Bacon, Of Atheism convince us that the brutes are devoid of reason, is
that, although among those of the same species,
63 Man, if we look to final causes, may be regarded some are more perfect than others, as among men,
as the centre of the world; insomuch that if man which is and
particularly noticeable in horses
were taken away from the world, the rest would dogs, some which have more capacity than
of
seem to be all astray, without aim or purpose, to others to retain what is taught them, and al-
be like a besom without a binding, as the saying though all of them make us clearly understand
is, and to be leading to nothing. For the whole their natural movements of anger, of fear, of hun-
world works together in the service of man; and ger, and others of like kind, either by the voice or
there is nothing from which he does not derive use by other bodily motions, it has never yet been ob-
and fruit. The revolutions and courses of the stars served that any animal has arrived at such a de-
serve him both for distinction of the seasons and gree of perfection as to make use of a true lan-
distribution of the quarters of the world. The ap- guage; that is to say, as to be able to indicate to us
pearances of the middle sky afford him prognosti- by the voice, or by other signs, anything which
cations of weather. The winds sail his ships and could be referred to thought alone, rather than to
work his mills and engines. Plants and animals of a movement of mere nature; for the word is the
all kinds are made to furnish him either with sole sign and the only certain mark of the pres-
dwelling and shelter or clothing or food or medi- ence of thought hidden and wrapped up in the
cine, or to lighten his labour, or to give him plea- body; now all men, the most stupid and the most
sure and comfort; insomuch that all things seem foolish, those even who are deprived of the organs
to be going about man’s business and not their of speech, make use of signs, whereas the brutes
own. never do anything of the kind; which may be tak-
Bacon, Wisdom of the Ancients: Prometheus en for the true distinction between man and
brute.
64 Man comes into the world naked and unarmed, Descartes, Letter to Henry More (1649)
as if Nature had destined him for a social crea-
ture, and ordained him to live under equitable 69 It is yet not at all probable that all things have

/./.
been created for us in such a manner that God has
had no other end in creating them. . Such a
supposition would be certainly ridiculous and
ept in reference to questions of Physics, for we
cannot doubt that an infinitude of things exist, or
did exist, though now
they have ceased to exist,
which have never been beheld or comprehended
by man and which have never been of any use to
him.
Descartes, Principles of Philosophy III, 3
70 Nature tells me I am the Image of God, as well as
Scripture: he that understands not thus much,
hath not his introduction or first lesson,
to begin the Alphabet of man.
Sir Thomas Browne,
Religio Medici^ II,
71 For, in fact, what is man in nature? A Nothing in
comparison with the Infinite, an All in compari-
son with the Nothing, a mean between nothing
and everything. Since he is infinitely removed
from comprehending the extremes, the end of
things and their beginning are hopelessly hidden
from him in an impenetrable secret; he is equally
incapable of seeing the Nothing from which he
was made, and the Infinite in which he is swal-
lowed up.
What will he do then, but perceive the appear-
ance of the middle of things, in an eternal despair
of knowing either their beginning or their end. All
things proceed from the Nothing, and are borne
towards the Infinite. Who will follow these mar-
vellous processes? The Author of these wonders
understands them. None other can do so.
Pascal, Palsies, II, 72
72 Man is but a reed, the most feeble thing in na-
ture; but he is a thinking reed. The entire uni-
verse need not arm itself to crush him. vapour,
a drop of water suffices to kill him. But, if the
universe were to crush him, man would still be
more noble than that which killed him, because
he knows that he dies and the advantage which
the universe has over him; the universe knows
nothing of this.
Pascal, Pensies, VI, 347
73 The brutes do not admire each other. horse
docs not admire his companion. Not that there is
no rivalry between them in a race, but that is of
no consequence; for, when in the stable, the heav-
iest and most ill-formed does not give up his oats
to another, as men would have others do to them.
Their virtue is satisfied with itself.
Pascal, Pensees, VI, 401
74 WTiat a chimera, then, is man! What a
^yhat a monster, what a chaos, what a contradic-
tion, what a prodigy! Judge of all things, imbecile
worm of the earth; depositary of truth, a sink of
j 1
Man in the Universe 13
uncertainty and error; the pride and refuse of the
. . universe!
in- Pascal, Pensees, VII, 434
75 Let us make now Man in our image, Man
In our similitude, and let them rule
Over the Fish and Fowle of Sea and Aire,
Beast of the Field, and over all the Earth,
And every creeping thing that creeps the ground.
This said, he formd thee, Adam, thee Man O
Dust of the ground, and in thy nostrils breath’d
The breath of Life; in his own Image hee
Created thee, in the Image of God
and is yet Express, and thou becam’st a living Soul.
Male he created thee, but thy consort
Femal for Race; then bless’d Mankinde, and said,
1
Be fruitful, multiplie, and fill the Earth,
Subdue it, and throughout Dominion hold
Over Fish of the Sea, and Fowle of the Aire,
And every living thing that moves on the Earth.
Milton, Paradise Lost, VII, 519
76 The essence of man consists of certain modifica-
tions of the attributes ofGod; for the Being of
substance does not pertain to the essence of man.
It is therefore something which is in God, and
which without God can neither be nor be con-
ceived, or an affection or mode which expresses
the nature of God in a certain and indeterminate
manner.
Spinoza, Ethics, II, Prop. 10, Corol.
77 A proper regard, indeed, to one’s own profit
teaches us to unite in friendship with men, and
not with brutes, nor with things whose nature is
different from human nature. It teaches us, too,
that the same which they have over us we
right
have over them. Indeed, since the right of any
person is limited by his virtue or power, men pos-
sess a far greater right over brutes than brutes pos-
A sess over men. I by no means deny that brutes feel,
but I do deny that on this account it is unlawful
for us to consult our o%vn profit by using them for
our own pleasure and treating them as is most
convenient for us, inasmuch as they do not agree
in nature with us, and their affects are different
from our own.
Spinoza, Ethics, IV, Prop. 37, Schol. 1
A 78 All the different classes of beings whose union
form the universe exist in the ideas of God only as
so many ordinates of the same curve, the union of
which does not allow the placing of others be-
nveen them, because that would indicate disorder
and imperfection. Men are connected with the
animals, these with the plants, and these again
with the fossils, which will be united in their turn
with bodies which the senses and the imagination
novelty! represent to us as perfectly dead and shapeless.
Now since the law of continuity demands that
when the essential determinations of a being ap-
proach those of another so that likewise accord-
 14 Chapter /. Man

ingly all the properties of the first must gradually are the proper ingredients for qualifying a legisla-
approach those of the necessary that all
last, it is tor. That laws arc best explained, interpreted, and

the orders of natural beings form only one chain, applied by those whose interest and abilities lie in

in which the different classes, like so many links, perverting, confounding, and eluding them. I ob-
connect so closely the one to the other, that it is serve among you some lines of an institution,
impossible for the senses and the imagination to which in its orginal might have been tolerable;
fix the precise point where any one begins or ends. but these half erased, and the rest wholly blurred
Leibniz, LetUr to an Unknown Person and blotted by corruptions. It doth not appear,
(Oct. 16, 1707) from all you have said, how any one perfection is
required towards the procurement of any one sta-
in the world that have shapes tion among you; much less that men are ennobled
79 There arc creatures
like ours, but are hairy, and want language and on account of their virtue, that priests arc ad-

reason. There arc naturals amongst us that have vanced for their piety or learning, soldiers for
perfectly our shape, but want reason, and some of their conduct or valour, judges for their integrity,

them language too. There are creatures, as it is senators for the love of their country, or counsel-

said . that, with language and reason and a

. .
lors for their wisdom. As for yourself (continued
shape in other things agreeing with ours, have the king) who have spent the greatest part of your
hairy tails; others where the males have no life in travelling, I am well disposed to hope you
beards, and others where the females have. If it be may have escaped many vices of your
hitherto
asked whether these be all men or no, all of human country. But, by what I have gathered from your
species? it is plain, the question refers only to the own relation, and the answers I have with much
nominal essence: for those of them to whom the pains wringed and extorted from you, I cannot
definition of the word man, or the complex idea but conclude the bulk of your natives, to be the
signified by the name, agrees, are men, and the most pernicious race of little odious vermin that
other not. But if the inquiry be made concerning nature ever suffered to crawl upon the surface of
the supposed real essence; and whether the inter- the carth.“
nal constitution and frame of these several crea- Swift, Gutliver^s Travels, II, 6
tures be specifically different, it is wholly impossi-
ble for us to answer, no part of that going into our 81 Know then thyself, presume not God to scan;
specific idea: only we have reason to think, that The proper study of Mankind is Man.
where the faculties or outward frame so much dif- Plac’d on this isthmus of a middle state,
fers, the internal constitution is not exactly the A being darkly wise, and rudely great:
same. But what difference in the real internal With too much knowledge for the Sceptic side,
constitution makes a specific difference it is in With too much weakness for the Stoic’s pride,
vain to inquire; whilst our measures of species be, He hangs between; in doubt to act, or rest,
as they arc, only our abstract ideas, which W'c In doubt to deem himself a God, or Beast;
know; and not that internal constitution, which In doubt his Mind or Body to prefer.
makes no part of them. Shall the difference of hair Born but to die, and reasoning but to err;
only on the skin be a mark of a different internal Alike in ignorance, his reason such.
specific constitution between a changeling and a Whether he thinks too little, or too much;
drill, when they agree in shape, and want of rea- Chaos of Thought and Passion, all confus’d;
son and speech? And shall not the want of reason Still by himself abus’d, or disabus’d;
and speech be a sign to us of different real consti- Created half to rise, and half to fall;
tutions and species between a changeling and a Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all;
reasonable man? And so of the rest, if we pretend Sole judge of Truth, in endless Error hurl’d;
that distinction of species or sorts is fixedly estab- The glory, jest, and riddle of the world!
lished by the real frame and secret constitutions of Pope, Essay on Man, Epistle II, I

things.
Locke, Concerning Human 82 Brutes arc deprived of the high advantages which
UndersUxndingy Bk. Ill, VI, 22 we have; but they have some which we have not.
They have not our hopes, but they arc without
80 His Majesty [the King of Brobdignag] in another our fears; they are subject like us to death, but
audience, was at the pains to recapitulate the sum without knowing it; even most of them are more
of all I had spoken; compared the questions he we to self-preservation, and do not
attentive than
made, with the answers I had given; then taking make so bad a use of their passions.
me into his hands, and streaking me gently, deliv- Man, as a physical being, is like other bodies
ered himself in these words, which I shall never governed by invariable laws. As an intelligent
forget, nor the manner he spoke them in. “My being, he incessantly transgresses the laws estab-
little you have made a most ad-
friend Grildrig; lished by God, and changes those of his own insti-
mirable panegyrick upon your country. You have tuting. He to his private direction,
is left though a
clearly proved that ignorance, idleness, and vice, limited being, and subject, like all finite intelli-
 LL Man in the Universe 15

gcnccs, to ignorance and error: even his imperfect at the same lime knows himself at liberty to ac-
knowledge he loses; and as a sensible creature, he quiesce or resist: and it is particularly in his con-
is away by a thousand impetuous pas*
hurried sciousness of this liberty that the spirituality of his
sions.Such a being might every instant forget his soul is displayed. For physics may explain, in
Creator; God has therefore reminded him of his some measure, the mechanism of the senses and
duty by the law^s of religion. Such a being is liable the formation of ideas; but in the power of willing
every moment to forget himself; philosophy has or rather of choosing, and in the feeling of this
provided against this by the laws of morality. power, nothing is to be found but acts which arc
Formed to live in society, he might forget his fel- purely spiritual and wholly inexplicable by the
low-creatures; legislators have therefore by politi- law's of mechanism.
cal and civil law^ confined him to his duty. Rousseau, Origin of Inequality, I

Montesquieu, Spirit of Lait% I, 1

85 Oh, man! live your own life and you will no lon-
83 What a pitiful, what a sorr>’ thing to have said ger be wretched. Keep to your appointed place in
animals machines the order of nature and nothing can tear you from
that arc bereft of under-
it. Do not kick against the stern law of necessity.
standing and feeling, which perform their opera-
tions alwa)'s in the same way, which learn noth-
. .Your freedom and your power extend as far
.

ing, perfect nothing, etc.!

and no further than your natural strength; any-
which makes thing more is but slavery, deceit, and trickery.
What! that bird its ncsi in a semi-
circle when it is attaching it to a wall, which Rousseau, Emile, II

builds it in a quarter circle when it is in an angle,

and upon a tree; that bird acts always
in a circle 86 Boswell. "He [Harris] says plain things in a formal
in the same way? That hunting-dog which you and abstract way, to be sure: but his method is
have disciplined for three months, docs it not good: for to have clear notions upon any subject,
know more at the end of this time than it knew w'c must have recourse to analytick arrangement.”
before your lessons? Docs the canary' to which you Johnson. "Sir, it is what everybody docs, whether
teach a tunc repeat it at once? do you not spend a they will or no. But sometimes things may be
considerable time in teaching it? have you not made darker by definition. I sec a coiv, I define
seen that it has made a mistake and that it cor- her, Animal quadrvpes ruminans comulum. But a goat
rects itself? ruminates, and a cow' may have no horns. Cow is
Is it because I speak to you, that you judge that plainer.” Boswell. "I think Dr. Franklin’s defini-
I have feeling, mcmor)', ideas? Well, I do not tion of Man a good one —
tool-making ani-
speak to you; you sec me going home looking dis- mal.’ ” Johnson. "But many a man never made a
consolate, seeking a paper anxiously, opening the tool; and suppose a man witliout arms, he could
desk where I remember having shut it, finding it, not make a tool.”
reading it joyfully. Vou judge that I have experi- Boswell, Life of Johnson (Apr. 7, 1778)
enced the feeling of distress and that of pleasure,
that I have memory and understanding.
87 Nobody ever saw a dog make a fair and deliberate
Bring the same judgment to bear on this dog exchange of one bone for another \Wth another
which has lost its master, which has sought him on dog. Nobody ever saw one animal by its gestures
every road with sorrowful cries, which enters the and natural cries signify to another, this is mine,
house agitated, uneasy, which goes down the that yours; I am willing to give this for that.
stairs, up the stairs, from room to room, which at
When an animal wants to obtain something cither
last fini in his study the master it loves, and
of a man or of another animal, it has no other
which shows him its joy by its cries of delight, by means of persuasion but to gain the favour of
its leaps, by its caresses.
those whose service it requires. A puppy fawns
Voltaire, Philosophical Dictionary: Animals upon its dam, and a spaniel endeavours by a
thousand attractions to engage the attention of its
84 Every animal has ideas, since master who is at dinner, when it wants to be fed
it has senses; it even

combines those ideas in a certain degree; and it is

by him. Man sometimes uses the same arts with
his brethren, and when he has no other means of
only in degree that man differs, in this respect,
from the brute. Some philosophers have even engaging them to act according to his inclina-
tions, endeavours by every serv’ilc and fawning at-
maintained that there is a greater difference be-
tention to obtain their good svill.
tween one man and another than between some
men and some beasts. It is not, therefore, so much
Adam Smith, Wealth of Motions, I, 2
the understanding that constitutes the specific dif-
ference bctw'ccn the man and the brute, as the 88 Man and generally any rational being exists as an
human quality of frcc-agcncy. Nature lays her end in himself, not merely as a means to be arbitrari-
commands on every animal, and the brute obeys lyused by this or that will, but in all his actions,
her voice, Man receives the same impulsion, but whether they concern himself or other rational
 —
16 Chapter 1. Man

beings, must be always regarded at the same time tem of ends.

as an end. Kant, Critique of Teleological Judgement, 82
Kant, Fundamental Principles of the
Metaphysic of Morals, II 91 There is a judgement which even the commonest

understanding finds irresistible when it reflects

89 Man is a being who, as belonging to the
sense, has wants, and so far his reason has
fice which it cannot refuse, namely,
the interest of his sensible nature,
practical maxims, even with a view
ness of this life, and if possible even to that of
future. But he is not so completely an animal as to
be indifferent to what reason says on its own ac-
count, and to use it merely as an instrument for
the satisfaction of his wants as a sensible being.
For the possession of reason would not raise his
worth above that of the brutes, if it is to serve him
only for the same purpose that instinct serves in
them; it would in that case be only a particular
method which nature had employed to equip man
for the same ends for which it has qualified brutes,
without qualifying him for any higher purpose.
Kant, Critique of Practical Reason,
90 If we go through the whole of nature, we do not
find in it, as nature, any being capable of laying
claim to the distinction of being the final end of
creation. In fact it may
even be proved a priori
that what might do perhaps as an ultimate end for
nature, endowing it with any conceivable qual-
ities or properties we choose, could nevertheless in
its character of a natural thing never be a final
end.
Looking to the vegetable kingdom, we might at
first be induced by the boundless fertility with
which it spreads itself abroad upon almost every
soil to think that it should be regarded as a mere
product of the mechanism which nature displays
in its formations in the mineral kingdom. But a
more intimate knowledge of its indescribably wise
upon the existence of the things in the world and
world of the real existence of the world itself. It is the ver-
an of- dict that all the manifold forms of life, co-ordinat-
to attend to ed though they may be with the greatest art and
and to form concatenated with the utmost variety of final ad-
to the happi- aptations, and even the entire complex that em-
a braces their numerous systems, incorrectly called
worlds, would all exist for nothing, if man, or ra-
tional beings ofsome sort, were not to be found in
their midst. Without man, in other words, the
whole of creation would be a mere wilderness, a
thing in vain, and have no final end.
Kant, Critique of Teleological Judgement, 86
92 If there is to be a final end at all, which reason
must assign a priori, then it can only be m&n or —
any rational being in the world subject to moral
laws. For —
and this is the verdict of everyone— if
the world only consisted of lifeless beings, or even
Ft. I, I, 2 consisted partly of living, but yet irrational beings,
the existence of such a world would have no worth
whatever, because there would exist in it no being
with the least conception of what worth is.
Kant, Critique of Teleological Judgement, 87
93 Mephistopheles, Since you, O
Lord, once more draw
near
And ask how all is getting on, and you
Were ever well content to see me here,
You see me also midst your retinue.
Forgive, fine speeches I can never make.
Though all the circle look on me with scorn;
Pathos from me would make your sides with
laughter shake.
Had you not laughter long ago forsworn.
Of suns and worlds I’ve naught to say worth men-
tion.

organization precludes us from entertaining this How men torment them claims my whole atten-
view, and drives us to ask; For what purpose do tion.

these forms of life exist? Suppose we reply: For the Earth’s little god retains his same old stamp and
animal kingdom, which is thus provided with the ways
means of sustenance, so that it has been enabled And is on the first of days.
as singular as
to spread over the face of the earth in such a ma- A littlewould he live, poor wight.
better
nifold variety of genera. The question again aris- Had you not given him that gleam of heavenly
es: For what purpose then do these herbivora ex- light.

ist? The answer would be something like this: For He calls it Reason, only to pollute

the carnivora, which are only able to live on what Its use by being brutaler than any brute.
itself has animal life. At last we get down to the It seems to me, if you’ll allow, Your Grace,

question: What is the end and purpose of these He’s like a grasshopper, that long-legged race
and all the preceding natural kingdoms? For That’s made to fly and flying spring
man, we say, and the multifarious uses to which And in the grass to sing the same old thing.
his intelligence teaches him to put all these forms If in the grass he always were reposing!

of life. He the ultimate end of creation here

is But in each filthy heap he keeps on nosing.
upon earth, because he is the one and only being Goethe, Faust, Prologue in Heaven, 271
upon it able to form a conception of ends
that is

and, from an aggregate of things purposively fash- 94 Ifa man is not rising upwards to be an angel,
ioned, to construct by the aid of his reason a sys- depend upon it, he is sinking downwards to be a
 /./, Man in the Universe
j
17

devil. He cannot stop at the beast. The most sav- feasting, for conversation, and for love.
age of men arc not beasts; they are worse, a great Emerson, The Conservative
deal worse.
Coleridge, TabU Talk (Aug. 30, IS33) 103 Men may seem detestable compa-as joint-stock
nies and and murderers
nations; knaves, fools,
95 Oh, man! thou feeble tenant of an hour. there may be; men may have mean and meagre
Debased by slaver)', or corrupt by power, faces; but man, in the ideal, is so noble and so
Who knot’s thee well must quit thee with disgust. sparkling, such a grand and glowing creature,
Degraded mass of animated dust! that over any ignominious blemish in him all his
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, fellow’s should run to throw their costliest robes.
Thy smiles hypocris)*, thy words deceit! That immaculate manliness wc feel within our-
By nature vile, ennobled but by name, selves — so far within us, that it remains intact
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for though all tlic outer character seem gone bleeds —
shame, with keenest anguish at the undraped spectacle of
Byron, Inscription on the a valour-ruined man. Nor can piety itself, at such
Afonument of a Newfoundland Dog a shameful sight, completely stifle her upbraidings
against the permitting stars. But this august digni-
96 The lower animals arc the truly incomprehensi- ty I treat of, is not the dignity of kings and robes,

ble, A man cannot by imagination or conception but that abounding dignity which has no robed
enter into the nature of a dog, whatever resem- investiture. Thou shall sec it shining in the arm
blance he himself might have to it; it remains that wields a pick or drives a spike; that demo-
something altogether alien to him. cratic dignity which, on all hands, radiates with-
Hegel, Philosophy of IlisloTy, Pt. I, III, 3 out end from God Himself! The great God abso-
lute! The centre and circumference of all

97 Man, when regarded for himself, is yet at the

finite democracy! His omnipresence, our divine equali-
same time the image of God and a fountain of ty!

infinity m himself. He is the object of his own exis- Melville, Moby Dick, XXVI
tence — ^has in himself an infinite value, an eternal
destiny. 104 Tlicrc is no folly of the beasts of the earth which is

Hegel, Philosophy of Histoiy, Pt. Ill, III, 2 not infinitely outdone by the madness of men.
Melville, Moby Dick, LXXXVII
98 One might say with truth, Mankind arc the devils
of the cartli, and the animals the souls they tor- 105 Man’s capacities have never been measured; nor
ment. arc wc to judge of what he can do by any prece-
Schopenhauer, Chnslian System dents, so has been tried.
little

TTiorcau, Walden: Economy

99 Man is at bottom a wild and terrible animal. We
know him only as what wc call civilization has 106 Wc arc conscious of an animal in us, which aw’ak-
tamed and trained him; hence wc arc alarmed by ens in proportion as our higher nature slumbers.
the occasional breaking out of his true nature. But It is reptile and sensual, and perhaps cannot be
whenever the locks and chains of law and order w’holly expelled; like the worms which, even in
arc cast off, and anarchy comes in, he shouts him- life and occupy our bodies. Possibly w'c
health,
self for what he really is.
may withdraw from it, but never change its na-
Schopenhauer, Parerga und Paralipomena, II ture. I fear that it may enjoy a certain health of its

own; that wc may be well, yet not pure. The other

100 A man is a god in ruin. day I picked up the low'cr jaw of a hog, with white
Emerson, Nature, VIII and sound teeth and tusks, which suggested that
there was an animal health and vigor distinct
101 Not in nature but in man is all the beauty and from the spiritual. Tliis creature succeeded by
worth he secs. The world is very empty, and is other means than temperance and purity. ‘That
indebted to this gilding, exalting soul for all its in which men differ from brute beasts,’ says Men-
‘is a thing ver)' inconsiderable; the common
pride. cius,
Emerson, Spiritual Laws herd lose it very soon; superior men preserve it
carefully.’ Who know’s what sort of life would re-
102 Man is the end of nature; nothing so easily orga- sult if wc had attained to purity? If I knew so wise
nizes itself in every part of the universe as he; no a man as could teach me purity I would go to seek
moss, no lichen is so easily born; and he takes him forthwith. ‘A command over our passions,
along with him and puts out from himself the and over the external senses of the body, and good
whole apparatus of society and condition extern^ acts, arcdeclared by the Ved to be indispensable
pore, as an army encamps in a desert, and where in themind’s approximation to God.* Yet the spir-
all was just now blowing sand, creates a white city it can for the time perv'ade and control every
m an hour, a government, a market, a place for member and function of the body, and transmute
 18 Chapter L Man

what in form is the grossest sensuality into purity dawn of history. These several inventions, by
and devotion. The generative energy, which, which man in the rudest state has become so pre-
when wc are loose, dissipates and makes us un- eminent, are the direct results of the development
clean, when we are continent invigorates and in- of his powers of observation, memory, curiosity,
spires us. Chastity is the flowering of man; and imagination, and reason.
what are called Genius, Heroism, Holiness, and Darwin, Descent of Man, I, 2
the like, are but various fruits which succeed it.
Man flows at once to God when the channel of 109 Most of the more complex emotions are common
purity is open. By turns our purity inspires and to the higher animals and ourselves. Every one
our impurity casts us down. He is blessed who is has seen how jealous a dog is of his master’s affec-
assured that the animal is dying out in him day by tion, if lavished on any other creature; and I have
day, and the divine being established. Perhaps observed the same fact with monkeys. This shews
there is none but has cause for shame on account that animals not only love, but have desire to be
of the inferior and brutish nature to which he is loved. Animals manifestly feel emulation. They
allied. I fear that we are such gods or demigods love approbation or praise; and a dog carrying a
only as fauns and satyrs, the divine allied to basket for his master exhibits in a high degree
beasts, the creatures of appetite, and that, to some self-complacency or pride. There can, I think, be
extent, our very life is our disgrace. no doubt that a dog feels shame, as distinct from
Thoreau, Walden: Higher La'ws fear, and something very like modesty when beg-
ging too often for food. A great dog scorns the
107 I think I could turn and live with animals, they’re snarling of a little dog, and this may be called
so placid and self-contain’d, magnanimity. Several observers have stated that
I stand and look at them long and long. monkeys certainly dislike being laughed at; and
they sometimes invent imaginary offences. . . .

They do not sweat and whine about their condi- Dogs shew what may be fairly called a sense of
tion. humour, as distinct from mere play; if a bit of
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for stick or other such object be thrown to one, he will
their sins. often carry it away for a short distance; and then

They do not make me sick discussing their duty to squatting down with it on the ground close before
God, him, will wait until his master comes quite close to
Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with take it away. The dog will then seize it and rush
the mania of owning things, away in triumph, repeating the same manoeuvre,
Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that and evidently enjoying the practical joke.
lived thousands of years ago, Darwin, Descent of Man, I, 3
Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole
earth.
110 There can be no doubt that the difference be-
Whitman, Song of Myself XXXII tween the mind of the lowest man and that of the
highest animal is immense. An anthropomorp-

108 Man which he now exists is

in the rudest state in hous ape, he could take a dispassionate view of
if

the most dominant animal that has ever appeared
on this earth. He has spread more widely than
any other highly organised form: and all others
have yielded before him. He manifestly owes this
immense superiority to his intellectual faculties, to
his social habits, which lead him to aid and de-
fend his fellows, and to his corporeal structure.
The supreme importance of these characters has
been proved by the final arbitrament of the battle
for life. Through his powers of intellect, articulate
language has been evolved; and on this his won-
derful advancement has mainly depended. . .
He has invented and is able to use various weap-
ons, tools, traps, etc., with which he defends him-
self, kills or catches prey, and otherwise obtains
food. He has made rafts or canoes for fishing or
crossing over to neighbouring fertile islands. He
has discovered the art of making fire, by which
hard and stringy roots can be rendered digestible,
and poisonous roots or herbs innocuous. This dis-
covery of fire, probably the greatest ever made by
man, excepting language, dates from before the
his own case, would admit that though he could
form an artful plan to plunder a garden though —
he could use stones for fighting or for breaking
open nuts, yet that the thought of fashioning a
stone into a tool was quite beyond his scope. Still
less, as he would admit, could he follow out a
train of metaphysical reasoning, or solve a mathe-
matical problem, or reflect on God, or admire a
grand natural scene. Some aj>es, however, would
probably declare that they could and did admire
the beauty of the coloured skin and fur of their
. partners in marriage. They would admit, that
though they could make other apes understand by
cries some of their perceptions and simpler wants,
the notion of expressing definite ideas by definite
sounds had never crossed their minds. They might
insist that they were ready to aid their fellow-apes
of the same troop in many ways, to risk their lives
for them, and to take charge of their orphans; but
they would be forced to acknowledge that disin-
terested love for all living creatures, the most no-
ble attribute of man, was quite beyond their com-
 1,1, Man in the Universe 19

prehension. Nevertheless the difference in mind his relations to the universe of things. Whence our
between man and the higher animals, great as it race has come; what are the limits of our power
is, certainly is one of degree and not of kind. over nature, and of nature’s power over us; to
Darwin, Descent of Man, I, 4 what goal we are tending; are the problems which
present themselves anew and with undiminished
111 The great break in the organic chain between interest to every man born into the world.
man and his nearest allies, which cannot be T. H. Huxley, Relations of
bridged over by any extinct or living species, has Man to the Lower Animals
often been advanced as a grave objection to the
belief that man is descended from some lower 114 Our reverence for the nobility of manhood will
form; but this objection will not appear of much not be lessened by the knowledge that man is, in
weight to those who, from general reasons, believe substance and in structure, one with the brutes;
in the general principle of evolution. Breaks often for, he alone possesses the marvellous endowment

occur in all parts of the series, some being wide, of intelligible and rational speech, whereby, in the
sharp and defined, others less so in various de- secular period of his existence, he has slowly accu-
grees; as between the orang and its nearest mulated and organized the experience which is

allies —between the Tarsius and the other Lemu- almost wholly lost with the cessation of every indi-
rida: —between the elephant, and
in a more strik- vidual life in other animals; so that, now, he
ing manner between the Ornithorhynchus or stands raised upon it as on a mountain top, far
Echidna, and all other mammals. But these above the level of his humble fellows, and trans-
breaks depend merely on the number of related figured from his grosser nature by reflecting, here
forms which have become extinct. At some future and there, a ray from the infinite source of truth.
period, not very distant as measured by centuries, T. H. Huxley, Relations of
the civilised races of man vyrill almost certainly ex- Man to the Lower Animals
terminate, and replace, the savage races through-
out the world. At the same time the anthropo- 1 15 Man is in the most literal sense of the word a zoon
morphous apes, as Professor Schaaffhausen has politikon, not only a social animal, but an animal
remarked, will no doubt be exterminated. The which can develop into an individual only in soci-
break between man and his nearest allies will ety.
then be wider, for it will intervene between man Marx, Contribution to the Criticism of
in a more civilised state, as we may hope, even Political Economy, Appendix, 1

than the Caucasian, and some ape as low as a

baboon, instead of as now between the negro or 1 16 Human nature is not a machine to be built after a
Australian and the gorilla. model, and set to do exactly the work prescribed
Darwin, Descent of Man, I, 6 for it, but a tree, which requires to grow and de-
velop itself on all sides, according to the tendency
112 Man may be excused for feeling some pride at of the inward forces which make it a living thing.
having risen, though not through his own exer- Mill, On Liberty, III

tions, to the very summit of the organic scale; and

the fact of his having thus risen, instead of having 117 O man, strange composite of Heaven and earth!
been aboriginally placed there, may give him Majesty dwarf’d to baseness! fragrant flower
hope for a still higher destiny in the distant future. Running to poisonous seed! and seeming worth
But we are not here concerned with hopes or Cloaking corruption! weakness mastering
fears, only with the truth as far as our reason per- power!
mits us to discover it; and I have given the evi- Newman, TTie Dream of Gerontius
dence to the best of my ability. We must, however,
acknowledge, as it seems to me, that man with all 118 A bee settling on a flower has stung a child. And
hisnoble qualities, with sympathy which feels for the child is afraid of beesand declares that bees
the most debased, with benevolence which ex- exist to sting people. A poet admires the bee suck-
tends not only to other men but to the humblest ing from the chalice of a flower and says it exists
living creature, with his god-like intellect which to suck the fragrance of flowers. beekeeper, A
has penetrated into the movements and constitu- seeing the bee collect pollen from flowers and car-
tion of the solar system —
^with all these exalted ry it to the hive, says that it exists to gather honey.
—
powers Man still bears in his bodily frame the Another beekeeper who has studied the life of the
indelible stamp of his lowly origin. hive more closely says that the bee gathers pollen
Darwin, Descent of Man, III, 21 dust to feed the young bees and rear a queen, and
that it perpetuate its race.
exists to botanist no- A
113 The question of questions for —
mankind the prob- tices that the bee flying with the pollen of a male
lem which underlies all others, and is more deeply flower to a pistil fertilizes the latter, and sees in
interesting —
than any other is the ascertainment this thepurpose of the bee’s existence. Another,
of the place which man occupies in nature and of observing the migration of plants, notices that the
 20 I
Chapter 1. Man

bee helps in this work, and may say that in this
liesthe purpose of the bee. But the ultimate pur-
pose of the bee is not exhausted by the first, the
second, or any of the processes the
can discern. The higher the human
in the discovery of these purposes, the
vious becomes that the ultimate purpose
it
yond our comprehension.
them. Nature, in them, has left matters in this
rough way, and made them act always in the man-
ner >vhich >vould be oftenest right. There are more
human mind worms unattached to hooks than impaled upon
intellect rises them; therefore, on the whole, says Nature to her
more ob- fishy children, bite at every worm and take your
is be- chances. But as her children get higher, and their
lives more precious, she reduces the risks. Since

All that is accessible to man is the relation of what seems to be the same object may be now a
the life of the bee to other manifestations of life. genuine food and now a bait; since in gregarious
And so it is with the purpose of historic characters species each individual may prove to be either the
and nations. friend or the rival, according to the circumstances,
Tolstoy, War and Peace, I Epilogue, IV of another; since any entirely unknown object
may be fraught with weal or woe, Nature implants
119 To imagine a man perfectly free and not subject contrary impulses to act on many classes of things, and
to the law of inevitability, we must imagine him leaves it to slight alterations in the conditions of
all alone, b^'ond space, beyond time, and free from de- the individual case to decide which impulse shall
pendence on cause. carry the day. Thus, greediness and suspicion, cu-
Tolstoy, War and Peace, II Epilogue, X riosity and timidity, coyness and desire, bashful-
ncss and vanity, sociability and pugnacity, seem
120 Man is the only animal that blushes. Or needs to. to shoot over into each other as quickly, and to

Mark Twain, Pudd^nhead Wibon*s remain in as unstable equilibrium, in the higher

New Calendar, XXVII birds and mammals as in man. They are all im-
pulses, congenital, blind at first, and productive of
121 Tm quite sure that ... I have no race prejudices, motor reactions of a rigorously determinate sort.

and I have no color prejudices nor creed

think I Each one of them, then, is an instinct, as instincts are
prejudices. Indeed, I know it. I can stand any so- 127
commonly defined. But th^ contradict each other —
ciety. All I care to know is that a man is a human “experience” in each particular opportunity of
—
being that is enough for me; he can’t be any application usually deciding the issue. The animal
worse. that exhibits them loses the ^'instinctive^* demeanor and
Mark Twain, Concerning the Jews appears to lead a life of hesitation and choice, an
intellectual life; not, however, because he has no in-

122 Man is absolutely not the crown of creation: every stincts — rather because he has so many that th^ block each

creature stands beside him at the same stage of other*s path.

perfection. William James, P^chology, XXIV

Nietzsche, Antichrist, XIV
In many respects man is the most ruthlessly fero-
123 Man a rope stretched between the animal and
is cious of beasts. As with
all gregarious animals,
—
the Superman a rope over an abyss. “two souls,” Faust says, “dwell within his
as
Nietzsche, Thus Spake Zarathustra, Prologue, 4 breast,” the one of sociability and helpfulness, the
other of jealousy and antagonism to his mates.
124 The earth, said he, hath a skin; and this skin hath Though in a general way he cannot live without
diseases. One of these diseases, for example, is them, yet, as regards certain individuals, it often
called “man.” falls out that he cannot live with them either.
Nietzsche, Thus Spake Zarathustra, II, 40 Constrained to be a member of a tribe, he still has
a right to decide, as far as in him lies, of which
125 Man is born with a tendency to do more things other members the tribe shall consist. Killing off a
than he has ready-made arrangements for in his few obnoxious ones may often better the chances
nerve-centres. Most of the performances of other of those that remain. And killing off a neighbor-
animals are automatic. But in him the number of ing tribe from whom no good thing comes, but
them is so enormous, that most of them must be only competition, may materially better the lot of
the fruit of painful study. If practice did not make the whole tribe. Hence the gory cradle, the bellum
perfect, nor habit economize the expense of ner- omnium contra omnes, in which our race was reared;
vous and muscular energy, he would therefore be hence the fickleness of human ties, the ease with
in a sorry plight. which the foe of yesterday becomes the ally of to-
William James, P^chology, IV day, the friend of to-day the enemy of to-morrow;
hence the fact that we, the lineal representatives
126 The whole story of our dealings with the lower one scene of slaughter
of the successful enactors of
wild animals is the history of our taking advan- whatever more pacific virtues
after another, must,
tage of the way in which they judge of everything we may also possess, still carry about with us,
by its mere lali^l, as it were, so as to ensnare or kill ready at any moment to burst into flame, the
 LL Man in the Universe 21

smouldering and sinister traits of character by the household, of the abiding source of cheer,
means of which they lived through so many mas- nourishment and shelter to which man returns
sacres, harming others, but themselves unharmed. from his casual wanderings. Instead of being a
William James, P^’chology, XXIV quick fork of fire which may sting and hurt, it is
the hearth at which one worships and for which
128 Man is simply the most formidable of all the one fights. And all this which marks the difference
beasts of prey, and, indeed, the only one that between bestiality and humanity, between culture
preys systematically on its own species, and merely physical nature, is because man re-
William James, Remarks at the members, preserving and recording his experi-
Peace Banquet (Oct. 7, 1904) ences.
Dewey, Reconstruction in Philosophy, I

129 The rich are instinctively crying “Let us eat and

drink; for tomorrow we die,” and the poor, “How
131 When a philosopher explains to us that it is rea-
long, O Lord,how long?” But the pitiless reply
son, present in each of us, which constitutes the
still is that God helps those who help themselves.
dignity of man ... we must take care to know
This docs not mean that if Man cannot find the
what we mean. That reason is the distinguishing
remedy no remedy will be found. The power that
mark of man no one will deny. That it is a thing
produced Man when the monkey was not up to
of superior value, in the sense in which a fine
the mark, can produce a higher creature than
work of art is indeed valuable, will also be grant-
Man if Man does not come up to the mark. What
ed. But we must explain how it is that its orders
it means is that if Man is to be saved, Man must
are absolute and why they are obeyed. Reason
save himself. There seems no compelling reason
can only put forward reasons, which we are ap-
why he should be saved. He is by no means an
parently always at liberty to counter with other
ideal creature. At his present best many of his
reasons. Let us not then merely assert that reason,
ways are so unpleasant that they are unmentiona-
present in each of us, compels our respect and
ble in polite society, and com-
so painful that he is
commands our obedience by virtue of its para-
pelled to pretend that pain is often a good. Nature
mount value. We must add that there are, behind
holds no brief for the human experiment: it must
reason, the men who have made mankind divine,
stand or fall by its results. If Man will not serve,
and who have thus stamped a divine character on
Nature will try another experiment.
reason, which is the essential attribute of man. It
Shaw, Back to Methuselah^ Pref.
is thesemen who draw us towards an ideal society,
while we yield to the pressure of the real one.
130 Man differs from the lower animals because he
Bergson, Two Sources of Morality
preserves his past experiences. What happened in
and Religion, I
the past is lived again in memory. About what
goes on today hangs a cloud of thoughts concern-
ing similar things undergone in bygone days. 132 What meant here by saying that existence pre-
is

With the animals, an experience perishes as it cedes essence? It means that, first of all, man ex-
happens, and each new doing or suffering stands ists, turns up, appears on the scene, and, only af-

alone. But man lives in a world where each occur- terwards, defines himself. If man, as the
rence is charged with echoes and reminiscences of existentialist conceives him, is indefinable, it is be-
what has gone before, where each event is a re- cause at first he is nothing. Only afterward will he
minder of other things. Hence he lives not, like be something, and he himself will have made
the beasts of the field, in a world of merely physi- what he will be. Thus, there is no human nature,
cal things but in a world of signs and symbols. A since there is no God it. Not only is
to conceive
stone is not merely hard, a thing into which one man what he conceives himself to be, but he is
bumps; but it is a monument of a deceased ances- also only what he wills himself to be after this
tor. A flame is not merely something which warms thrust toward existence.
or bums, but is a symbol of the enduring life of Sartre, Existentialism
 1

1.2 The Human Condition

This section contains many quotations that Some evaluate it, varying from self-pity at
express general views of human life. The op- one extreme to self-satisfaction at the other.
erative word here is “general.” We have Still another line of passages raises general
tried to exclude anything that does not com- questions about the difficulties of living like
ment on the state of man in general terms, a human being; these are accompanied by
that does not offer general recommendations quotations that offer counsel or guidance for
or prescriptions for the conduct of life, or facing up to the trials and tribulations of
that does not deal whatgenerally with human life.
might be called “the phenomenon of man.” Some of the statements collected here
The general descriptions of that phenom- might have been placed in the preceding
enon include portrayals of human nature in section, dealing with the grandeur and mis-
terms of its distinctive traits, discussions of ery of man, and some in Section 1 .8 on Life
the range of human abilities or capacities, AND Death: The Fear of Death. They are here
comments on man’s propensities and pro- because the terms in which they are stated
clivities, and enumerations of human traits. are identical with terms that are central to
The quotations assembled here are not quotations that belong here and nowhere
exciuriveJy des’criprive o/ man^s condition. else.

1 Man that is born of a woman is of few days, and 4 Odysseus. The cruel belly, can you hide
its ache?

full of trouble. How many days it brings! Long ships

bitter
He cometh forth like a flower,and is cut down: —
with good stout planks athwart would fighters
he flecth also as a shadow, and continueth not. rig them
Job 14:1-2 to ride the barren sea, except for hunger?
Homer, Odyssgf, XVII, 287
2 Lord, make me to know mine end, and the mea-
sure of my days, what it is; that I may know how 5 Oh! would that Nature had denied me birth
Midst age of earth;
this fifth race, this iron
frail I am.
That long before within the grave I lay.
Behold, thou hast made my days as an hand-
breadth; and mine age is as nothing before thee:
Or long hereafter could behold the day!
Corrupt the race, with toils and griefs oppress’d.
verily every man at his best state is altogether
vanity. Selah.
Nor day nor night can yield a pause of rest:
Still do the gods a weight of care bestow.
Surely every man
walketh in a vain shew: sure-
he heapeth up rich-
ly they are disquieted in vain:
Though still some good is mingled with the woe.
es, and knoweth not who shall gather them. . . .
Jove 00 this race of many-languaged man
Speeds the swift ruin, which but slow began;
When thou with rebukes dost correct man for
For scarcely spring they to the light of day,
iniquity, thou makest his beauty to consume away
E’er age untimely strews their temples gray.
like a moth: surely every man is vanity.

Psalm 39:4-1
No fathers in the sons their features trace;
The sons reflect no more the father’s face:
The most with kindness greets his guest no more;
3 Apollo. Insignificant And friends and brethren love not as of yore.
mortals, who are as leaves are, and now flourish Reckless of Heaven’s revenge, the sons behold
and grow warm The hcjary parents wax too s\viftly old.
with life, and feed on what the ground gives, but And impious point the keen dishonouring tongue,
then again With hard reproofs, and bitter mockeries hung;
fade away and are dead. Nor grateful in declining age repay
Homer, Iliad, XXI, 463 The nurturing fondness of their better day.

22
 — —
12. The Human Condition 23

Now man’s right hand is law; for spoil they wait, Then thou didst congratulate thyself; and now,
And mutual cities desolate.
lay their behold! thou weepest.”
Unhonour’d he, by whom his oath is fear’d, “There came upon me,” replied he, “a sudden
Nor are the good beloved, the just revered. pity, when I thought of the shortness of man’s life,
With favour graced, the evil doer stands. and considered that of all this host, so numerous
Nor curbs with shame nor equity his hands; as it is, not one will be alive when a hundred years
With crooked slanders wounds the virtuous man. are gone by.”
And stamps with perjury what hate began. Herodotus, History, VII, 45-46
Lo! ill-rejoicing Envy, wing’d with lies,

Scattering calumnious rumours as she flies, 10 Choms. Not to be born surpasses thought and
The steps of miserable men pursue. speech.
With haggard aspect, blasting to the view: The second best is to have seen the light
snowy raiment bright,
Till those fair forms, in And then to go back quickly whence we came.
Quit the broad earth, and heavenward soar from The feathery follies of his youth once over.
sight: What trouble is beyond the range of man?
Justice and Modesty, from mortals driven, What heavy burden will he not endure?
Rise to th’ immortal family of heaven: Jealousy, faction, quarreling, and battle
Dread sorrow's to forsaken man remain; The bloodiness of war, the grief of war.
No cure of ills; no remedy of pain. And in the end he comes to strengthless age,
Hesiod, Works and Days Abhorred by all men, without company.
Unfriended in that uttermost twilight
6 Cassandra. Alas, poor men, their destiny. When all Where he must live with every bitter thing.
goes w'ell Sophocles, Oedipus at Colonus, 1 224
a shadow w'ill overthrow it. If it be unkind
one stroke of a wet sponge wipes all the picture 1 1 Orestes. Alas,
out; we look for good on earth and cannot recognize it
and that is far the most unhappy thing of all. when met, since all our human heritage runs
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, 1327 mongrel.
At times I have seen descendants of the noblest
7 Amasis. My wish for myself and for those whom I family
love is to be now and now' to meet with
successful, grow worthless though the cowards had coura-
a check; thus passing through life amid alternate geous sons;
good and ill, rather than with perpetual good for- inside the souls of wealthy men bleak famine lives
tune. For never yet did I hear tell of anyone suc- while minds of stature struggle trapped in starving
ceeding in all his undertakings, who did not meet bodies.
with calamity at last, and come to utter ruin. How then can man distinguish man, what test
Herodotus, History, HI, 40 can he use?
the test of wealth? that measure means poverty of
8 When a child is born [to the Trausi] all its kindred mind;
sit round about it in a circle and weep for the of poverty? the pauper owns one thing, the sick-
woes it will have to undergo now that it is come ness
into the world, making mention of every ill that of his condition, a compelling teacher of evil;
falls to the lot of humankind; when, on the other by nerve in war? yet who, when a spear is cast
hand, a man has died, they bury him with laugh- across
ter and rejoicings, and say that now he is free his face, uill stand to witness his companion’s
from a host of sufferings, and enjoys the comple- courage?
test happiness. We can only toss our judgments random on the
Herodotus, History, V, 4 wind.
Euripides, Electra, 367
9 And now, as he looked and saw the whole Helles-
pont covered with the vessels of his fleet, and all 12 Someone will say: Yes, Socrates, but cannot you
the shore and every plain about Abydos as full as hold your tongue, and then you may go into a
possible of men, Xerxes congratulated himself on foreign city, and no one will interfere with you?
his good fortune; but after a little while he wept. Now I have great making you [men of
difficulty in
Then Artabanus, the king’s uncle (the same Athens] understand my
answer to this. For if I tell
w'ho at the first so freely spake his mind to the you that to do as you say would be a disobedience
king, and advised him not to lead his army to the God, and therefore that I cannot hold my
against Greece), when he heard that Xerxes was tongue, you will not believe that I am serious; and
in tears, went to him, and said: if I say again that daily to discourse about virtue,
“How different, sire, is what thou art now and of those other things about which you hear
doing, from what thou didst a little while ago! me examining myself and others, is the greatest
 24 Chapter 1. Man

good of man, and that the unexamined life is not
worth living, you are still less likely to believe me.
Yet I say what is true, although a thing of which
it is hard for me to persuade you.
Plato, Apology,
him, that what he saw before was an illusion, but
that now, when he is approaching nearer to being
and his eye is turned towards more real existence,
—
he has a clearer vision what will be his reply?
37B And you may further imagine that his instructor
is pointing to the objects as they pass and requir-

—
ing him to name them will he not be perplexed?
13 Socrates. And now, I said, let me show in a figure Will he not fancy that the shadows which he for-
how far our nature is enlightened or unenlight- merly saw are truer than the objects which are
ened: —Behold! human beings living in an under- now shown to him?
ground den, which has a mouth open towards the Far truer.

light and reaching all along the den; here they And if he is compelled to look straight at the
have been from their childhood, and have their light, will he not have a pain in his eyes which
legs and necks chained so that they cannot move, will make him turn away to take refuge in the

and can only see before them, being prevented by objects of vision which he can see, and which he
the chains from turning round their heads. Above will conceive to be in reality clearer than the
and behind them a fire is blazing at a distance, things which are now being shown to him?
and bet\veen the fire and the prisoners there is a True, he said.
raised way; and you [Glaucon] will see, if you And suppose once more, that he is reluctantly
look, a low wall built along the way, like the dragged up a steep and rugged ascent, and held
screen which marionette players have in front of fast until he is forced into the presence of the sun
them, over which they show the puppets. himself, is he not likely to be pained and irritated?
I see. When he approaches the light his eyes will be
And do you see, I said, men passing along the dazzled, and he will not be able to see anything at
wall carrying all sorts of vessels, and statues and what are now called realities.
all of

figures of animals made of wood and stone and Not all in a moment, he said.
various materials, which appear over the wall? He will require to grow accustomed to the sight
Some of them are talking, others silent. of the upper world. And first he will see the shad-
You have shown me a strange image, and they ows men and other
best, next the reflections of
are strange prisoners. objects in the water, and then the objects them-
Like ourselves, I replied; and they see only their selves; then he will gaze upon the light of the
own shadows, the shadows of one another, moon and the stars and the spangled heaven; and
which the fire throws on the opposite wall of the he will see the sky and the stars by night better
cave? than the sun or the light of the sun by day?
True, he said; how could they see anything but Certainly.
the shadows if they were never allowed to move Last of all he will be able to see the sun, and not
their heads? mere reflections of him in the water, but he will
And of the objects which are being carried in see him in his own proper place, and not in anoth-
like manner they would only see the shadows? er; and he will contemplate him as he is.
Yes, he said. Certainly.
And if they were able to converse with one an- He will then proceed to argue that this is he
other, would they not suppose that they were who gives the season and the years, and is the
naming what was actually before them? guardian of all that is in the visible world, and in
Very true. a certain way the cause of all things which he and
And suppose further that the prison had an his fellows have been accustomed to behold?
echo which came from the other side, would they Clearly, he said, he would first see the sun and
not be sure to fancy when one of the passers-by then reason about him.
spoke that the voice which they heard came from And when he remembered his old habitation,
the passing shadow? and the wisdom of the den and his fellow-pris-
No question, he replied. oners, do you not suppose that he would felicitate
To them, I said, the truth would be literally himself on the change, and pity them?
nothing but the shadows of the images. Certainly, he would.
That is certain. And if they were in the habit of conferring hon-
And now look again, and see what will natu- ours among themselves on those who were quick-
rally follow ifthe prisoners are released and disa- est to observe the passing shadows and to remark
bused of their error. At first, when any of them is which of them went before, and which followed
liberated and compelled suddenly to stand up and after, and which were together; and who were
turn his neck round and walk and look towards draw conclusions as to the
therefore best able to
the light, he will suffer sharp pains; the glare will future,do you think that he would care for such
distress him, and he will be unable to see the reali- honours and glories, or envy the possessors of
ties of which in his former state he had seen the them? Would he not say with Homer,
shadows; and then conceis^e some one saying to Better to be the poor servant of a poor master.
 12, The Human Condition 25

and to endure anything, rather than think as they by the learning of the wise, from
well fortified

do and live after their manner? which you may look down upon others and see
Yes, he said, I think that he would rather suffer them wandering all abroad and going astray in
anything than entertain these false notions and their search for the path of life, see the contest

live in thismiserable manner. among them of intellect, the rivalry of birth, the

Imagine once more, I said, such an one coming striving night and day with surpassing effort to
suddenly out of the sun to be replaced in his old struggle up summit of power and be masters
to the

situation; would he not be certain to have his eyes of the world.

full of darkness? O miserable minds of menl O blinded breasts!

To be sure, he said. in what darkness of life and in how great dangers
And if there were a contest, and he had to com- is passed this term of life whatever its duration!

pete in measuring the shadow's with the prisoners Lucretius, Nature of Things^ II
who had never moved out of the den, while his
sight was still weak, and before his eyes had be- 15 The man who is sick of home often issues forth
come steady (and the time which would be need- from his large mansion, and as suddenly comes
ed to acquire this new habit of sight might be very back to it, finding as he does that he is no better
considerable), would he not be ridiculous? Men off abroad. He races to his country-house, driving
would say of up he went and down he
him that
his Jennets in headlong haste, as if hurrying to
came and that it was better not
w'ithout his eyes;
bring help to a house on fire: he yawns the mo-
even to think of ascending; and if anyone tried to ment he has reached the door of his house, or
loose another and lead him up to the light, let
sinks heavily into sleep and seeks forgetfulness, or
them only catch the offender, and they would put even in haste goes back again to town. In this way
him to Death. each man flies from himself (but self from whom,
No question, he said.
as you may be sure is commonly the case, he can-
This entire allegory, I said, you may now ap-
not escape, clings to him in his own despite).
pend, dear Glaucon, to the previous argument;
Lucretius, Nature of Things, III
the prison-house is the world of sight, the light of
the fire is the sun, and you will not misapprehend
me you interpret the journey upwards to be the
if 16 O mortals, blind in fate, who never know

ascent of the soul into the intellectual world ac- To bear high fortune, or endure the low!
cording to my poor belief, which, at your desire, I Virgil, Aeneid, X
—
have expressed ^whether rightly or wrongly God
knows. But, whether true or false, my opinion is 17 He [Aemilius Paulus] began to discourse of for-
14 that in the world of knowledge the idea of good tune and human affairs. “Is it meet,” said he, “for
appears last of all, and is seen only with an effort; him that knows he but man, in his greatest pros-
is
and, when seen, is also inferred to be the universal perity to pride himself, and be exalted at the con-
author of all things beautiful and right, parent of
quest of a city, nation, or kingdom, and not, rath-
light and of the lord of light in this visible world, er, well to weigh this change of fortune, in which
and the immediate source of reason and truth in common
all warriors may see an example of their
the intellectual; and that this is the power upon
frailty, and learn a lesson that there is nothing
which he who would act rationally either in pub-
durable or constant? For what time can men se-
lic or private life must have his eye fixed.
lect to think themselves secure, when that of victo-
I agree, he said, as far as I am able to under-
ry itself forces us more than any to dread our own
stand you.
fortune? And a very little consideration on the
Moreover, I said, you must not wonder that law of things, and how all are hurried round, and
those who attain to this beatific vision are unwill-
each man’s station changed, will introduce sad-
ing to descend to human affairs; for their souls are
ness in the midst of the greatest joy.”
ever hastening into the upper world where they
Plutarch, Aemitius Paulus
desire to dwell; which desire of theirs is very natu-
ral, if our allegory may be trusted.
18 Nothing is more intractable than man when in
Plato, Rtpublic, VII, 514A
nor anything more docile, when he has
felicity,
been reduced and humbled by fortune.
It is sweet, when on the great sea the winds trou- Plutarch, Lucullus
ble its waters, to behold from land another’s deep
distress; not that it is a pleasure and delight that 19 Good fortune will elevate even petty minds, and
any should be afflicted, but because sweet to
it is givethem the appearance of a certain greatness
see from what evils you are yourself exempt. It is and stateliness, as from their high place they look
sweet also to look upon the mighty struggles of down upon the world; but the truly noble and
war arrayed along the plains without sharing resolved spirit raises and becomes more con-
itself,
yourself in the danger. But nothing is more wel- spicuous in times of disaster and ill fortune.
come that to hold the lofty and serene positions Plutarch, Eumenes
 ^
figs' (S\ \
Chapter I. Man
|
*-) O6 ^
20 Know you not that in the course of a long time prevail abroad; the sparrow, I say, flying in at one
many and various kinds of things must happen; door, and immediately out at another, whilst he is
that a fever shall overpower one, a robber anoth- within, is safe from the wintry storm; but after a
er, and a third a tyrant? Such is the condition of short space of fair weather, he immediately van-
things around us, such are those who live with us ishes out of your sight, into the dark winter from
in the world: cold and heat, and unsuitable ways which he had emerged. So this life of man appears
of living,and journeys by land, and voyages by for a short space, but of what went before, or what
sea, and winds, and various circumstances which is to follow, we are utterly ignorant.”
surround us, destroy one man, and banish anoth- Bede, Ecclesiastical History, II, 13
er, and throw one upon an embassy and another
into an army. Sit down, then, in a flutter at all
these things, lamenting, unhappy, unfortunate,
26 O wretched lot of man, when he hath lost that for
which he was made! O hard and terrible fate!
dependent on another, and dependent not on one
Alas, lost, and what has he found?
what has he
or two, but on ten thousands upon ten thousands.
What has departed, and what remains? He has
Epictetus, Discourses, III, 24
lost the blessedness for which he was made, and

has found the misery for which he was not made.

21 Of human life the time is a point, and the sub-
That has departed without which nothing is hap-
-«ance is in a flux, and the perception dull, and
py, and that remains which, in itself, is only mis-
the composition of the whole body subject to pu-
erable. Man once did eat the bread of angels, for
trefaction, and the soul a whirl, and fortune hard
which he hungers now; he eateth now the bread
to divine, and fame a thing devoid of Judgement.
of sorrows, of which he knew not then. Alas! for
And, to say all in a word, everything which be-
the mourning of all mankind, for the universal
longs to the body is a stream, and what belongs to
lamentation of the sons of Hades! He choked with
the soul is a dream and vapour, and life is a war-
satiety, we sigh with hunger. He abounded, we
fare and a stranger’s sojourn, and after-fame is
beg. He possessed in happiness, and miserably for-
oblivion.
sook his possession; we suffer want in unhappiness
Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, II, 17 and feel a miserable longing, and alas! we remain
empty.
22 To have contemplated human life for forty years Whydid he not keep for us, when he could so
is the same as to have contemplated it for ten easily, thatwhose lack we should feel so heavily?
thousand years. For what more wilt thou see? Why did he shut us away from the light, and cov-
Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, VII, 49 er us over with darkness? With what purpose did
he rob us of life, and inflict death upon us?
23 The art of life is more like the wrestler’s art than Wretches that we are, whence have we been driv-
the dancer’s, in respect of should stand
this, that it en out; whither are we driven on? Whence
ready and firm to meet onsets which are sudden hurled? Whither consigned to ruin? From a native
and unexpected. country into exile, from the vision of God into our
Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, VII, 61 present blindness, from the joy of immortality into
the bitterness and horror of death. Miserable ex-
24 Murders, death in change of how great a good, for how great an evil!
all its guises, the reduction and
sacking of cities, all must be to us just such a spec-
Heavy loss, heavy grief heavy all our fate!
tacle as the changing scenes of a play; all is but Anselm of Canterbury, Proslogium, I

the varied incident of a plot, costume on and off,

acted grief and lament. For on earth, in all the 27 Man’s nature may be looked at in two ways: first,
succession of life, it is not the Soul within but the
in its integrity, as it was in our first parent before
Shadow outside of the authentic man, that grieves sin; secondly, as it is corrupted in us after the sin
and complains and acts out the plot on this world of our first parent. Now in both states human na-
stage which men have
dotted with stages of their ture needs the help of God as First Mover to do or
own constructing. All this is the doing of man will any good whatsoever. . . . But in the state of
knowing no more than to live the lower and outer integrity of nature, as regards the sufficiency of
life.
the operative power, man by his natural endow-
Plotinus, Third Ennead, II, 15 ments could will and do the good proportionate to
his nature, such as the good of acquired virtue,
25 Another of the king’s chief men . presently .
. but not surpassing good, as the good of infused
added; “The present life of man, king, seems to O virtue. But in the state of corrupt nature, man
me, in comparison of that time which is unknown falls short even of what he could do by his nature,
to us, like to the swift flight of a sparrow through so that he is unable to fulfil it by his own natural
the room wherein you sit at supper in winter, with powers. Yet because human nature is not alto-
your commanders and ministers, and a good fire gether corrupted by sin, so as to be shorn of every
in the midst, whilst the storms of rain and snow natural good, even in the state of corrupted na-
 } 2. The Human Condition 27

ture it can, by virtue of its

natural endowments, 32 It is pleasanter to laugh than to weep, . . . be-

work some particular good, as to build dwellings, cause it is more disdainful, and condemns us more
plant vineyards, and the like; yet it cannot do all than the other; and it seems to me that wc can
the good natural to it, so as to fall short in noth- never be despised as much as we deserve. Pity and
ing, just as a sick man can of himself make some commiseration are mingled with some esteem for
movements, yet he cannot be perfectly moved the thing we pity; the things we laugh at we con-
with the movements of one in health, unless by sider worthless. I do not think there is as much
the help of medicine he be cured. unhappiness in us as vanity, nor as much malice
Aquinas, Summa Thrologica, I—11, 109, 2 as stupidity. We arc not so full of evil as of inani-
ty; we are not as wretched as we are worthless.
Montaigne, Essays, I, 50, Of Democritus
28 Caedaguida. Thou shalt abandon everything be-
and Heraclitus
loved most dearly; this is the arrow which the
bow of exile shall first shoot.
Thou shalt make trial of how salt doth taste 33 We have as our share inconstancy, irresolution,
uncertainty, grief, superstition, worry over things
another's bread, and how hard the path to de-
to come, even after our life, ambition, avarice,
scend and mount upon another’s stair.
jealousy, envy, unruly, frantic, and untamable ap-
Dante, Paradiso, XVII, 55
petites, war, falsehood, disloyalty, detraction, and
curiosity. Indeed we have strangely overpaid for
29 He will be successful who directs his actions ac-
this fine reason that we glory in, and this capacity
cording to the spirit of the times, and ... he
to judge and know, if we have bought it at the
whose actions do not accord with the times will
price of this infinite number of passions to which
not be successful. Because men are seen, in affairs
we are incessantly a prey.
that lead to the end which every man has before
Montaigne, Essays, II, 12, Apology for
him, namely, glory and riches, to get there by var-
Raymond Sebond
ious methods; one with caution, another with
haste; one by force, another by skill; one by pa-
34 Alas, poor man! You have enough necessary ills
tience, another by its opposite; and each one suc-
without increasing them by your invention, and
ceeds in reaching the goal by a different method.
you are miserable enough by nature without
One can also see of two cautious men the one
being so by art. You have real and essential de-
attain his end, the other fail; and similarly, two
formities enough without forging imaginary ones.
men by different observances arc equally success-
ful, the one being cautious, the other impetuous;
Montaigne, Essays, III, 5, On Some Verses
of Virgil
all this arises from nothing else than whether or

not they conform in their methods to the spirit of

the times. 35 We are great fools. “He has spent his life in idle-
ness,” we say; “I have done nothing today.”
Machiavelli, Prince^ XXV What, have you not lived? That is not only the
fundamental but the most illustrious of your occu-
30 The world is like a drunken peasant. If you lift
pations. “If I had been placed in a position to
him into the saddle on one side, he will fall off on
manage great affairs, I would have shown what I
the other side. One can’t help him, no matter how
could do.” Have you been able to think out and
one tries. He wants to be the devil’s.
manage your own life? You have done the great-
Luther, Table Talk, 630 est task of all. To show and exploit her resources
Nature has no need of fortune; she shows herself
31 Those who accuse men of always gaping after fu- equally on all levels and behind a curtain as well
ture things, and teach us to lay hold of present as without one. To compose our character is our
goods and settle ourselves in them, since we have duty, not tocompose books, and to win, not bat-
no grip on what is to come (indeed a good deal tles and and tranquility in
provinces, but order
less than we have on what is past), put their finger
our conduct. Our great and glorious masterpiece
on the commonest of human errors if they dare — is to live appropriately. All other things, ruling,
to call an error something to which Nature herself
hoarding, building, are only little appendages and
leads us in serving the continuation of her work,
props, at most.
and which, more zealous for our action than for Montaigne, Essays, III, 13, Of Experience
our knowledge, she imprints in us like many other
false notions. We are never at home, we are al-
36 What man that sees the ever-whirling wheele
ways beyond. Fear, desire, hope, project us toward
Of Change, the which all mortall things doth
the future and steal from us the feeling and con- sway.
sideration of what is, to busy us with what will be,
But that therby doth find, and plainly feele,
even when we shall no longer be.
How Mutability in them doth play
Montaigne, Essays, I, 3, Our Her cruell sports, to many mens decay?
Feelings Reach Out Spenser, Faerie Queene, Bk. VII, VI, 1
 28 I
Chapter L Man

37 Full little knowest thou that hast not tride, Omitted, all the voyage of their life

What hell it is, in suing long to bide: Is bound in shallows and in miseries.

To loose good dayes, that might be better spent; On such a full sea are we now afloat;

To wast long nights in pensive discontent; And we must take the current when it serves

To speed to day, to be put back to morrow; Or lose our ventures.

To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow; Shakespeare, yw/jw Caesar, IV, iii, 218
To have thy Princes grace, yet want her Peeres;
To have thy asking, yet waite manie yeeres; 43 Duke. Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy:
To fret thy soule with crosses and with cares; This wide and universal theatre
To eate thy heart through comfortlesse dispaires; Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
To fawne, to crowche, to waite, to ride, to ronne, Wherein we play in.
To spend, to give, to want, to be undonne. Jaques. All the world’s a stage,
Unhappie wight, borne to desastrous end, And all the men and women merely players:
That doth his life in so long tendance spend I
They have their exits and their entrances;
Spenser, Complaints: Motlier And one man in his time plays many parts.
Hubberds Tale, 895 Shakespeare, As You Like It, II, vii, 136

38 King Henry. O God! methinks it were a happy life,

44 Macbeth. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-mor-
To be no better than a homely swain;
row,
To sit upon a hill, as I do now,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To carve out dials quaintly, point by point.
To the last syllable of recorded time.
Thereby to see the minutes how they run.
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
How many make the hour full complete;
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
How many hours bring about the day;
but a walking shadow, a poor player
Life’s
How many days will finish up the year;
That and frets his hour upon the stage
struts
How many years a mortal man may live.
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
When this is known, then to divide the times:
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury.
So many hours must I tend my flock;
Signifying nothing.
So many hours must I take my rest;
Shakespeare, Macbeth, V, v, 19
So many hours must I contemplate;
So many hours must I sport myself;
So many days my ewes have been with young; 45 3rd Fisherman. Master, I marvel how the fishes live

So many weeks ere the poor fools will can; in the sea.

So many years ere I shall shear the fleece: 1st Fisherman. Why, as men do a-land; the great
So minutes, hours, days, months, and years, ones eat up the little ones. I can compare our rich
Pass’d over to the end they were created, misers to nothing so fitly as to a whale; a* plays
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. and tumbles, driving the poor fry before him, and
Shakespeare, III Henry P/, II, v, 21 at last devours them all at a mouthful. Such
whales have I heard on o’ the land, who never
39 'Fuch. Lord, what fools these mortals bel leave gaping till they’ve swallowed the whole par-
ish, church, steeple, bells, and all.
Shakespeare, Midsummer-NighCs . . .

Dream, III, ii, 1 15 Pericles. [A5ide\ How from the finny subject of
the sea
Lewis. There’s nothing in this world can make me These fishers tell the infirmities of men;
joy: And from their watery empire recollect
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale All that may men approve or men detect!

Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man. Shakespeare, Pericles, II, i, 30

Shakespeare, King John, III, iv, 107
46 Prospero. Our revels now are ended. These our
41 Gratiano. You
look not well, Signior Antonio; actors,
You have too much respect upon the world: As I foretold you, were all spirits and
They lose it thatwith much care:
do buy it Are melted into air, into thin air.
Believe me, you arc marvellously changed. And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
Antonio. I hold the world but as the world, Gra- The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,
tiano; The solemn temples, that great globe itself,

A stage where every man must play a part, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And mine a sad one. And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, I, i, 73 Leave not a rack behind. We arc such stuff
As dreams arc made on, and our little life
42 Brutus. There is a tide in the affairs of men Is rounded with a sleep.
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Shakespeare, Tempest, IV, i, 148
 1

L2. The Human Condition 29

47 Like as the waves make towards the pebbled and some carry their young, and some go empty,
shore, and all to and fro a little heap of dust.
So do our minutes hasten to their end; Bacon, Advancement of Learning, Bk. I, VIII, 1

Each changing place with that which goes before,

In sequent toil all forwards do contend. 50 Whatsoever therefore is consequent to a time of
Nativity, once in the main of light, war, where every man is enemy to every man, the
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown’d, same is consequent to the time wherein men live
Crooked eclipses ’gainst his glory fight, without other security than what their own
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. strength and their own invention shall furnish
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth them withal. In such condition there is no place
And delves the parallels in beauty’s brow, for industry,because the fruit thereof is uncertain:
Feeds on the rarities of nature’s truth. and consequently no culture of the earth; no navi-
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow. gation, nor use of the commodities that may be
Shakespeare, Sonnd LX imported by sea; no commodious building; no in-
struments of moving and removing such things as
48 Ah, but says Sancho, your strolling Emperor’s require much force; no knowledge of the face of

Crowns and Sceptres are not of pure Gold, but the earth; no account of time; no arts; no letters;
Tinsel and Copper. I grant it, said Don Quixote; no society; and which is worst of all, continual
nor is it fit the Decorations of the Stage should be fear, and danger of violent death; and the life of

real,but rather Imitations, and the Resemblance man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.
of Realities, as the Plays themselves must be; Hobbes, Leviathan, I, 13
which, by the way, I wou’d have you love and
esteem, Sancho, and consequently those that write, 51 For the laws of nature, ns justice, equity, modesty, mer-
and also those that act ’em; for they arc all instru- cy,and, in sum, doing to others as we would be done to,
mental to the Good of the Commonwealth, and of themselves, without the terror of some power to
set before our Eyes those Looking-glasses that re- cause them to be observed, arc contrary to our
flect a lively Representation of human Life; noth- natural passions, that carry us to partiality, pride,
ing being able to give us a more just Idea of Na- revenge, and the like. And covenants, without the
ture, and what we are or ought to be, than sword, arc but words and of no strength to secure
Comedians and Comedies. Prithee tell me, Hast a man at all. Therefore, notwithstanding the Ia%vs
thou never seen a Play acted, where Kings, Em- of nature (which every one hath then kept, when
perors, Prelates, Knights, Ladies, and other Char- he has the keep them, when he can do it
will to
acters, arc introduced on the Stage? One acts a safely), if there be no power erected, or not great
Ruffian, another a Soldier; this Man a Cheat, enough for our security, every man will and may
and that a Merchant; one plays a designing Fool, lawfully rely on his owm strength and art for cau-
and another a foolish Lover: But the Play done, tion against all other men. And in all places,
and the Actors undress’d, they arc all equal, and where men have lived by small families, to rob
as they were before. All this I have seen, quoth and spoil one another has been a trade, and so far
Sancho. Just such a Comedy, said Don Quixote^ is from being reputed against the law of nature that
acted on the great Stage of the World, where some the greater spoils they gained, the greater was
play the Emperors, others the Prelates, and, in their honour; and men observed no other laws
short, all the Parts thatcan be brought into a therein but the laws of honour; that is, to abstain
Dramatick Piece; till Death, which is the Catas- from cruelty, leaving to men their lives and instru-
trophe and End of the Action, strips the Actors of ments of husbandry. And as small families did
all their Marks of Distinction, and levels their then; so now do cities and kingdoms, which arc
Quality in the Grave. A rare Comparison, quoth but greater families (for their own security), en-
Sancho, though not so new, but that I have heard it large their dominions upon all pretences of dan-
over and over. Just such another is that of a Game ger, and fear of invasion, or assistance that may be
at Chess, where while the Play lasts, every Piece given to invaders; endeavour as much as they can
has its particular Office; but when the Game’s to subdue or weaken their neighbours by open
over, they are all mingl’d and huddled together, force, and secret arts, for want of other caution,
and clapp’d into a Bag, just as when Life’s ended justly; and are remembered for it in after ages
we are laid up in the Grave. Truly, Sancho, said with honour.
Don thy Simplicity lessens, and thy Sense Hobbes, Leviathan, II, 17
improves every Day.
Cervantes, Don Quixote, II, 12 52 For the World, I count it not an Inn, but an Hos-
pital; and a place not to live, but to die in.
49 If a man meditate much upon the universal frame Sir Thomas Browne, Religio Medici, II, 1
of nature, the earth with men upon it (the divine-
ness of souls except) will not seem much
other 53 When I have occasionally set myself to consider
than an anthill, whereas some ants carry corn,
the different distractions of men, the pains and
 30 I
Chapter L Man

which they expose themselves at court or

perils to Pleas’d with this bauble still, as that before;

in war,whence arise so many quarrels, passions, Till tir’d he "sleeps, and poor play is o’er!
Life’s

bold and often bad ventures, etc., I have discov- Pope, Essay on Man, Epistle II, 275
ered that all men arises from
the unhappiness of
one cannot stay quietly in
single fact, that they 58 It is universally acknowledged that there is a great
their own chamber. A man who has enough to uniformity among the actions of men, in all na-
live on, if he knew how to stay with pleasure at tions and ages, and that human nature remains
home, would not leave it to go to sea or to besiege still the same, in its principles and operations. The
a town. A commission in the army would not be same motives always produce the same actions:
bought so dearly, but that it is found insufferable The same events follow from the same causes.
not to budge from the town; and men only seek Ambition, avarice, self-love, vanity, friendship,
conversation and entering games, because they generosity, public spirit: these passions, mixed in
cannot remain with pleasure at home. various degrees, and distributed through society,
But, on further consideration, when, after find- have been, from the beginning of the world, and
ing the cause of all our ills, 1 have sought to dis- still are, the source of all the actions and enter-
cover the reason of it, I have found that there is which have ever been obsen'ed among
prises,
one very real reason, namely, the natural poverty mankind.
of our feeble and mortal condition, so miserable Hume, Concerning Human
that nothing can comfort us when we think of it Understanding, VIII, 65
closely.
Pascal, PoKstes, II, 139 59 We arc placed in this world, as in a great theatre,
where the true springs and causes of every event
54^et
>4^et us imagine a number of men in chains and all are entirely concealed from us; nor have we either
condenvned to death, where some are killed each sufficient wdsdom to foresee, or power to prevent,
day in the sight of the others, and those who re- those ills with which we are continually threat-
main see their own fate in that of their {eUo^vs and ened. We hang in perpetual suspense between life
wait their turn, looking at each other sorrowfully and death, health and sickness, plenty and want,
and without hope. It is an image of the condition w'hich nre distributed amongst the human species
of men. by secret and unknown causes, whose operation is
Pascal, Pensees, III, 199 oft unexpected, and always unaccountable.
Hume, Natural History of Religion, III
55 The last act is tragic, however happy all the rest
of the play is; at the last a little earth is thrown 60 1 live ina constant endeavour to fence against the
upon our head, and that is the end forever. infirmities ofill health, and other evils of life, by

Pascal, Pmsees, III, 210 mirth; being firmly persuaded that ever>' time a
—
man smiles, but much more so, when he laughs,
56 As I walked through the wilderness of this world, it adds something to this Fragment of Life.

I lighted on a certain place where was a Den, and Sterne, Tristram Shandy, Dedication
I laid me down in that place to sleep; and, as I
slept, I dreamed a dream. dreamed, and behold
I 61 Wlult is the life of man! Is it not to shift from side
I saw a man clothed with rags, standing in a cer- — from sorrow sorrow?—to button up
reside? to
tain place, with his face from his o^vn house, a one cause vexation — and unbutton another?
of
book in his hand, and a great burden upon his Sterne, Tristram Shandy, IV, 31
back. ... I looked and saw him open the book
and read therein; and, as he read, he wept, and 62 “Do you believe,” said Candide, “that mankind
trembled; and not being able longer to contain, have always been cutting one another’s throats;
he brake out with a lamentable cry, saying, that they were always liars, knaves, treacherous
“What shall I do?“ . . . and ungrateful; always thieves, sharpers, high-
Now I saw, upon a time, when he was walking waymen, lazy, envious and gluttons; always drun-
in the fields, that he was (as he was wont) reading kards, misers, ambitious and blood-thirsty; alw^ays
in this book, and greatly distressed in his mind; backbiters, debauchees, fanatics, hypocrites and
and as he read, he burst out, as he had done be- fools?” “Do you
not believe,” said Martin, “that
fore, crying, “What shall I do to be saved?” hawks have always preyed upon pigeons, when
Bunyan, Pilgrim^s Progress, I they could light upon them?”
Voltaire, Candide, XXI
57 Behold the child, by Nature’s kindly law,
Pleas’d with a with a straw:
rattle, tickled 63 “X [The Old Woman] w'ant to know which is the
Some livelier play-thing gives his youth delight, worst; —
^to be ravished an hundred times by negro

A little louder, but as empty quite: pirates, to run the gauntlet among the Bulgarians,
Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage; to be w’hipped and hanged, to be dissected, to row
And beads and pray’r-books are the toys of age: in the galleys; in a word, to have suffered all the
 1 2. The Human Cojidition 31

miseries we have undergone, or to stay here, with- 67 Johnson. We would all be idle if we could.

out doing anything?” “That is a great question,” Boswell, Life of Johnson (Apr. 3, 1776)
said Candidc.
Voltaire, Candide, XXX 68 For though management and persuasion are al-
ways the easiestand the safest instruments of gov-
64 “Let us work,” said Martin, “without disputing; it ernments, as force and violence are the worst and
is the only way to render life
supportable.” the most dangerous, yet such, it seems, is the natu-
All their little society entered into this laudable ral insolence of man that he almost always dis-
design, according to their different abilities. Their dains to use the good instrument, except when he
Utile piece of ground produced a plentiful crop. cannot or dare not use the bad one.
Cunegonde was indeed very homely, but she be- Adam Smith, Wealth of Nations, V, 1

came an excellent pastry cook. Paquetta worked

at embroiderj^ and the old woman took care of
69 There arc two very natural propensities which we
the linen. There was no idle person in the compa-
may distinguish in the most virtuous and liberal
ny, not excepting even Girofflce; he made a very
dispositions, the love of pleasure and the love of
good carpenter, and became a \cvf honest man.
action. If the former is refined by art and learn-
As to Pangloss, he evidently had a lurking con- improved by the charms of social intercourse,
ing,
sciousness that his theor)' required unceasing exer-
and corrected by a just regard to economy, to
tions, and all his ingenuity, to" sustain it. Yet he
health, and to reputation, it is productive of the
stuck to it to the last; his thinking and talking
greatest part of the happiness of private life. The
faculties could hardly be diverted from it for a
love of action a principle of a much stronger
is
moment. He seized every occasion to say to Can-
and move doubtful nature. It often leads to anger,
dide, “All the events in this best of possible worlds
to ambition, and to revenge; but when it is guided
are admirably connected. H
a single link in the
by the sense of propriety and benevolence, it be-
great chain were omitted, the harmony of the en-
comes the parent of every' virtue, and, if those vir-
tire universe would be destroyed. If you had not
tues are accompanied with equal abilities, a fam-
been expelled from that beautiful castle, with
ily, a state, or an empire may be indebted for their
those cruel kicks, for your love to Miss Cune-
safety and prosperity to the undaunted courage of
gonde; if you had not been imprisoned by the in-
a single man. To the love of pleasure we may
quisition; if you had not travelled over a great
therefore ascribe most of the agreeable, to the love
portion of America on foot; if you had not
of action we may attribute most of the useful and
plunged your sword through the baron; if you had
not lost all the sheep you brought from that fine
respectable, qualifications. The character in
which both the one and the other should be unit-
country', Eldorado, together with the riches with
ed and harmonised would seem to constitute the
w'hich they were laden, you would not be here
to-day, eating preserved citrons,
most perfect idea of human nature.
and pistachio
nuts.”
Gibbon, Decline and Fall of the
“That’s very' well said, and may all be true,”
Roman Empire, XV
said Candide; “but let’s cultivate our garden.”
Voltaire, Candide, XXX 70 In the fall and the sack of great cities an historian

is condemned to repeat the talc of uniform calam-

65 It needs twenty years to lead man from the plant ity: the same effects must be produced by the

state in which he is within his mother’s womb, same passions; and when those passions may be
and the pure animal state which is the lot of his indulged without control, small, alas! is the differ-
early childhood, to the state when the maturity of ence between civilised and savage man.
the reason begins to appear. It has needed thirty Gibbon, Decline and Fall of the
centuries to learn a little about his structure. It Roman Empire^ LXVIII
would need eternity to leam something about his
soul. It takes an instant to kill him.
71 I think I may fairly make two postulata.
Voltaire, Philosophical DicUorxaTy:General First, that food is necessary to the existence of
Reflection on Man man.
Secondly, that the passion between the sexes is
66 “They are surely happy,” said the prince, “who necessary and will remain nearly in its present
have all these convenicncies, of which I envy none state.
so much as
the facility with which separated These two laws, ever since we have had any
friends interchange their thoughts,” knowledge of mankind, appear to have been fixed
**Thc Europeans,” answered Imlac, “are less laws of our nature, and, as we have not hitherto
unhappy than we, but they are not happy. Hu- seen any alteration in them, we have no right to
man life is every^vhere a state in which much is to conclude that they will ever cease to be what they
be endured, and little to be enjoyed.” now are without an immediate act of power in
Johnson, Rasselas, XI that Being who first arranged the system of the
 12, The Human
79 In the hour of death the only adequate consola-
tion is that one has not evaded life, but has en-
dured it. What a man shall accomplish or not ac-
complish, does not lie in his power to decide;
not the One who will guide the world; he has only
to obey. Everyone has, therefore, first and fore-
most (instead of asking which place is most com-
fortable for him, which connection is the most ad-
vantageous to him), to assure himself on the
question of where Providence can use him, if it so
pleases Providence. The point consists precisely in
loving his neighbor, or, what is essentially the
same thing, in living equally for every man. Every
other point of view is a contentious one, however
advantageous and comfortable and apparently
significant this position may be. Providence can-
not use one who has placed himself there, for he
plainly in rebellion against Providence. But he
who duly took that overlooked, that despised and
disdained place, without insisting on his earthly
rights, without attaching himself to just one single
man, essentially existing equally for all men, he
will,even though he apparently achieves nothing,
even if he becomes exposed to the derision of the
poor, or to the ridicule of his superiors, or to both
insult and hour of death, he
ridicule, yet in the
will confidentlydare say to his soul: “I have done
my best; whether I have accomplished anything, I
do not know; whether I have helped anyone, I do
81 not know; but that I have lived for them, that I do
know, I know it from the fact that they insulted
me. And this is my consolation, that I shall not
have to take the secret with me to the grave, that
I, in order to have good and undisturbed and
comfortable days in life, have denied my kinship
to other men, kinship with the poor, in order to
live in aristocratic seclusion, or with the distin-
guished, in order to live in secret obscurity,”
Kierkegaard, Works of Love,
a festival only to the wise. Seen from the
nook and chimney-side of prudence, it wears a
ragged and dangerous front.
Emerson, Heroism
Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life.
With sweeter manners, purer
laws.
Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes.
But ring the fuller minstrel in.
Ring out falsepride in place and blood.
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.
Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Condition 33
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.
Ring in the valiant man and free,
he is
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.
Tennyson, In Memoriartij CVI
82 There are certain queer times and occasions in
this strange mixed affair we call life when a man
takes this whole universe for a vast practical joke,
though the wit thereof he but dimly discerns, and
more than suspects that the joke is at nobody’s
expense but his own. However, nothing dispirits,
and nothing seems worth while disputing. He
is
bolts down all events, all creeds, and beliefs, and
persuasions, all hard things visible and invisible,
never mind how knobby; as an ostrich of potent
digestion gobbles down bullets and gun flints. And
as for small difficulties and worryings, prospects of
sudden disaster, peril of life and limb; all these,
and death itself, seem to him only sly, good-na-
tured hits, and jolly punches in the side bestowed
by the unseen and unaccountable old joker. That
odd sort of wayward mood I am speaking of,
comes over a man only in some time of extreme
tribulation; it comes in the very midst of his ear-
nestness, so that what just before might have
seemed to him a thing most momentous, now
seems but a part of the general joke.
Melville, Moby Dick, XLIX
83 Consider the subtleness of the sea; how its most
dreaded creatures glide under water, unapparent
for the most part, and treacherously hidden be-
neath the loveliest tints of azure. Consider also the
devilish brilliance and beauty of many of its most
I, 2C remorseless tribes, as the dainty embellished shape
of many species of sharks. Consider, once more,
the universal cannibalism of the sea; all whose
creatures prey upon each other, carrying on eter-
nal war since the world began.
Consider all this; and then turn to this green,
gentle, and most docile earth; consider them both,
the sea and the land; and do you not find a
strange analogy to something in yourself? For as
this appalling ocean surrounds the verdant land,
man there lies one insular Tahiti,
so in the soul of
full of peace and joy, but encompassed by all the
horrors of the half-known life. God keep thee!
Push not off from that isle, thou canst never re-
turn!
Melville, Moby Dick, LVIII
84^11 men live enveloped in whale-lines. All are
born with halters round their necks; but it is only
when caught in the swift, sudden turn of death,
that mortals realise the silent, subtle, everpres-
ent perils of life.
Melville, Moby Dick, LX
 34 Chapter L Man

85 Still wc live meanly, like ants; though the fable pieces are the phenomena of the universe, the
telb us that we were long ago changed into men; rules of the game arc what we call the laws of
like pygmies we fight with cranes; it is error upon Nature. Tlie player on the other side is hidden
error, and clout upon and our best \irtuc
clout, from us. Wc know that his play is alwap fair, just
has for its occasion a superfluous and evitable and patient. But also wc know, to our cost, that he
'wretchedness. Our life is frittered away by detail. never overlooks a mistake, or makes the smallest
An honest man has hardly need to count more allowance for ignorance. To the man who plays
than his ten fingers, or in extreme cases he may well, the highest stakes are paid, w’ith that sort of
add his ten toes, and lump the rest. Simplicity, overflow’ing generosity' with which the strong
simplicity, simplicity! I say, let your affairs be as shoe’s delight in strength. And one who plap ill is

tw'o or three, and not a hundred or a thousand; checkmated —without haste, but %viihout remorse.
instead of a million count half a dozen, and keep T. H. Huxley, A Liberal Education
your accounts on your thumb-nail. In the midst of
this chopping sea of civilized life, such arc the 90 There are three material things, not only useful,
clouds and storms and quicksands and thousand- but essential to life. No one “knous how to live”
and-onc items to be allowed for, that a man has to till he has got them.

he would not founder and go to the bottom

live, if These arc pure air, water, and earth.
and not make his port at all, by dead reckoning, There are three immaterial things, not only
and he must be a great calculator indeed who useful, but essential to life. No one knows how to
succeeds. Simplify, simplify. live till he has got them also.
Thoreau, Waldcrv Where I Lived, and Wliat These arc admiration, hope, and love.
I Lived For —
Admiration the power of discerning and tak-
ing delight in what is beautiful in visible form and
86 Why the woods? I do not think that I can
I left lovely in human character; and, necessarily, striv-
tell. . Perhaps it is none of my business, even if
. . ing to produce what is beautiful in form and to

it is yours. There was a little stagnation, it

. . . become what is lovely in character.
may be. About nvo o’clock in the afternoon the Hope —the recognition, by true foresight, of
world’s axle creaked as if it needed greasing. . . .
better things to be reached hereafter, whether by
Perhaps if I lived there much longer, I might live ourselves or others; necessarily issuing in the
there forever. One would think tvWce before he straightforward and undisappointable effort to
accepted heaven on such terms. A ticket to Heav- advance, aixording to our proper power, the gain-
en must include tickets to Limbo, Purgatory, and ing of them.
Hell. —
Love both of family and neighbour, faithful
Thoreau, ycuma/ {IBSl) and satisfied.
Ruskin, An Idcalist^s Arraignment of the Age
87 Wc are no other than a moving row
Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go 91 Ah, love, let us be true
Round with the Sun-illuminated Lantern held To one another! for the world, which seems
In Midnight by the Master of the Show; To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light.
Upon this Checkerboard
of Nights and Da'^’s; Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
Hither and thither moves, and checks, and And we arc here as on a darkling plain
slap. Swept w’ith confused alarms of struggle and flight,
And one by one back in the Closet lap. \\Ticrc ignorant armies clash by night.
FitzGerald, Rubaiyat, LXVIII-LXIX Arnold, Dover Beach

88 Ah, Love! could you and I %vith Him conspire 92 As a general rule, people, e^’en the u’icked, are
To grasp this sorry’ Scheme of Things entire, much more naive and simple-hearted than we
Would not we shatter it to bits —
and tl^en suppose. And we ourselves are, too,
Remold it nearer to the Heart’s Desire! Dostoe\'sk>’, Brothers Karamazov, Pt. I, I, 1
FitzGerald, Rubaiyat, XCIX
93 Tom Sauyer. There’s plenty' of bop that Arill come
89 It is a very plain and elementary' truth, that the hankering and gruwelling around when you’ve
life, the fortune, and the happiness of every one of got an apple, and beg the core off you; but when
us, and, more or less, of those who are connected th^'ve got one, and you beg for the core and re-
with us, do depend upon our knowing something mind them how you give them a core one time,
of the rules of a game. It is a game which has
. . . they make a mouth at you and say thank y’ou
been played for untold ages, every’ man and wom- ’most to death, but there ain’t-a-going to be no
an of us being one of the ttvo players in a game of core.
his or her ovs’n. The chess-board is the world, the Mark Tw’ain, Tom Sawyer Abroad, I
 —
13. The Ages of Man 35

94 Do not will anything beyond your power: there is humiliate him, to cause him pain, to tor-
sions, to
kill him. Homo homini lupus; who has the
and
a bad falseness in those who will beyond their ture

power. courage to dispute it in the face of all the evidence

Especially when they will great things! For they in his own life and in history?

awaken distrust in great things, these subtle false- Freud, Civilization and Its Discontents, V
coiners and stageplayers;
—Until at last they are false to\vards them- 98 Mankind likes to think in terms of extreme oppo-
whited cankers, glossed over
selves, squint-eyed, sites. It is given to formulating its beliefs in terms
with strong words, parade virtues and brilliant of Either-Ors, between which it recognizes no inter-
false deeds, mediate possibilities. When forced to recognize
Nietzsche, Thus Spake Zarathustra^ IV, 73 that the extremes cannot be acted upon, it is still

inclined to hold that they are all right in theory

95 Ifmy reader can succeed in abstracting from all but that when it comes to practical matters cir-
conceptual interpretation and lapse back into his cumstances compel us to compromise.
immediate sensible life at this very moment, he Dewey, Experience and Education, I
will find it what someone has called a big
to be
blooming buzzing confusion, as free from contra- 99 Happiness is the only sanction of life; where hap-
diction in its ‘much-at-onccness' as it is all alive
piness fails, existence remains a mad and lament-
and evidently there.
able experiment.
William James, Some Problems Santayana, Life of Reason, I, 10
of Philosophy^ IV
100 That life is worth living is the most necessary of
96 Who can decide offhand which is absolutely bet-
assumptions and, were it not assumed, the most
ter, to live or to understand life? We must do both impossible of conclusions.
alternately, and a man can no more limit himself
Santayana, Life of Reason, I, 10
to either than a pair of scissors can cut with a
single one of its blades.
William James, Some Problems 101 Between the laughing and the weeping philoso-
IV pher there is no opposition: the same facts that
of Philosophy^
make one laugh make one weep. No whole-heart-
97 Men are not gentle, friendly creatures wishing for ed man, no sane art, can be limited to either
love,who simply defend themselves if they are at-
mood.
tacked, but ... a powerful measure of desire for
Santayana, Persons and Places, X
aggression has to be reckoned as part of their in-
stinctual endowment. The result is that their 102 Nothing can be meaner than the anxiety to live
neighbour is to them not only a possible helper or on, to live on anyhow and in any shape; a spirit
sexual object, but also a temptation to them to with any honour is not willing to live except in its
gratify their aggressiveness on him, to exploit his own way, and a spirit with any wisdom is not
capacity for Nvork without recompense, to use him over-eager to live at all,
sexually without his consent, to seize his posses- Santayana, Winds of Doctrine, I

1.3 The Ages of Man

YOUNG AND OLD

The quotations assembled here fall into two to death — its various stages or periods and
groups; on the one hand, statements about developmental pattern;
its on the other
the general course of human life from
birth hand, considerations of the differences be-
 —
36 I
Chapter 1. Man

tween youth and age —the advantages and those who admire the full-bloom of human
disadvantages of each, as well as the con- maturity, the calm of old age, the wisdom
trasts and conflicts between them. gained with years; and those who paint the
Different writers enumerate and charac- opposite picture of crotchety and crabbed
terize the stages of human life differently, inflexibility in the aged, verging on the frail-
but they all appear to agree about the gen- ties and ineptitudes of the senile. A few quo-
eral pattern of human development — its cy- tations express the view that the best of hu-

cle of growth and decline. Each of the main man life lies in the middle years between
periods of human life has its defenders and youth and age.
its detractors — those who praise the inno- Quotations on other aspects of the vary-
cence, exuberance, and joy of infancy and ing relationships between the young and the
childhood and those who condemn the sav- old will be found in Section 2.2 on Parents
agery and self-indulgence of the young; AND Children.

1 For all our days are passed away in thy wrath: we
spend our years as a tale that is told.
The days of our years are three-score years and
ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore
years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow; for
bowl be broken, or the pitcher be broken at the
fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern.
Then shall the dust return to the earth as it
was: and the spirit shall return unto God who
gave it.

it is soon cut off, and we fly away. Ecclesiastes 12:1—7

Psalm 90:9-10
4 Priam. For a young man all is decorous
2 Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth; and let thy when he is cut down in battle and torn with the
heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and sharp bronze, and lies there
walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of dead, and though dead still all that shows about
thine eyes: but know thou, that for all these things him is beautiful;
God bring thee into judgment.
will but when an old man is dead and down, and the
Therefore remove sorrow from thy heart, and dogs mutilate
put away evil from thy flesh: for childhood and the grey head and the grey beard and the parts
youth are vanity. that are secret,
Ecclesiastes 11:9-10 this, for all sad mortality, is the sight most pitiful.
Homer, Iliad, XXII, 71
3 Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy
youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years 5 Penelope. Men grow old soon in hardship.
draw nigh, when thou shall say, I have no plea- Homer, Odyss^, XIX, 361
sure in them;
While the sun, or the light, or the moon, or the 6 Odysseus. “My strange one,
stars, be not darkened, nor the clouds return after must you again, and even now,
the rain: urge me to talk? Here is a plodding tale;
In the day when the keepers of the house shall no charm in it, no relish in the telling.
tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves, Teiresias told me I must take an oar
and the grinders cease because they are few, and and trudge the mainland, going from town to
those that look out of the windows be darkened. town,
And the doors shall be shut in ,the streets, when until I discover men who have never known
the sound of the grinding is low, and he shall rise the salt blue sea, nor flavor of salt meat
up and all the daughters
at the voice of the bird, strangers to painted prows, to watercraft
of musick be brought low;
shall and oars like wings, dipping across the water.
Also when they shall be afraid of that which is The moment of revelation he foretold
high, and fears shall be in the way, and the al- was this, for you may share the prophecy:
mond tree shall flourish, and the grasshopper some traveller falling in with me will say:
shallbe a burden, and desire shall fail: because ‘A winnowing fan, that on your shoulder, sir?’
man goeth to his long home, and the mourners go There I must plant my oar, on the very spot,
about the streets: with burnt offerings to Poseidon of the Waters:
Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden a ram, a bull, a great buck boar. Thereafter
 —
13, The Ages of Man 37

when I come home again, I am to slay were, to the flame, for it would be extinguished by
full hekatombs to the gods who own broad much. On
account, also, fevers in old persons
this

heaven, are not equally acute, because their bodies are

one by one. cold.
Then death will drift upon me Hippocrates, Aphorisms, I, 14
from seaward, mild as air, mild as your hand,
in my well-tended weariness of age, 12 Old people, on the whole, have fewer complaints
contented folk around me on our island. than young; but those chronic diseases which do
He said all this must come.” befall them generally never leave them.

Penelope said: Hippocrates, Aphorisms, 11, 39

“Ifby the gods' grace age at least is kind,
wc have that promise trials — will end in peace.”
13 I [Socrates] replied: There
is nothing which for
Homer, Odyssty^ XXIII, 264 my part Gephalus, than conversing
I like better,

with aged men; for I regard them as travellers

7 Chorus. Since the young vigor that urges who have gone a journey which I too may have to
inward to the heart go, and of whom I ought to enquire, whether the
is frail as age, no warcraft yet perfect, way smooth and easy, or rugged and difficult.
is

while beyond age, leaf And this is a question which I should like to ask of
withered, man goes three footed you who have arrived at that time which the poets
no stronger than a child is, call the “threshold of old age” —
Is life harder to-
a dream that falters in daylight. wards the end, or what report do you give of it?
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, 76 I will tell you, Socrates, he said, what my own

feeling is. Men of my age flock together; we are

8 Chorus. Though he has watched a decent age pass birds of a feather, as the old proverb says; and at
by. our meetings the tale of my acquaintance com-
A man will sometimes still desire the world. —
monly is I cannot eat, I cannot drink; the plea-
no wisdom in that man.
1 su’car I see sures of youth and love are fled away: there was a
The endless hours pile up a drift of pain good time once, but now that is gone, and life is
More unrelieved each day; and as for pleasure, no longer life. Some complain of the slights which
When he is sunken in excessive age, are put upon them by relations, and they will tell
You will not see his pleasure anywhere. you sadly of how many evils their old age is the
The last attendant is the same for all, c^use. But to me, Socrat«, these complainers
Old men and young alike, as in its season seem to blame that which is not really in fault.
Man's heritage of underworld appears: For if old age were the cause, I too being old, and
There being then no epithalamion. every other old man, would have felt as they do.
No music and no dance. Death is the finish. But this is not my own experience, nor that of
Sophocles, Oedipus at Colonus, 1211 others whom I have known. How well I remember
the aged poet Sophocles, when in ans^ver to the
9 Chorus. The feathery follies of his youth once over, question. How does love suit with age, Sopho-
What trouble is beyond the range of man? cles —are you still the man you were? Peace, he
What heavy burden will he not endure? replied; most gladly have I escaped the thing of
Jealousy, faction, quarreling, and battle which you speak; I feel as if I had escaped from a
The bloodiness of war, the grief of war. mad and furious master. His words have often oc-
And in the end he comes to strengthless age, curred to my mind since, and they seem as good
Abhorred by all men, without company, to me now as at the time when he uttered them.
Unfriended in that uttermost twilight For certainly old age has a great sense of calm
Where he must live with every bitter thing. and freedom; when the passions relax their hold,
Sophocles, Oedipus at Colonus, 1 230 then, as Sophocles says, we are freed from the
grasp not of one mad master only, but of many.
10 Deianira. I see her youth is coming to full bloom The truth is, Socrates, that these regrets, and also
while mine is fading. The eyes of men love to the complaints about relations, are to be attribut-
pluck ed to the same cause, which is not old age, but
the blossoms; from the faded flowers they turn men's characters and tempers; for he who is of a
away. calm and happy nature will hardly feel the pres-
Sophocles, Women of Trachis, 547 sure of age, but to him who is of an opposite dispo-
sition youth and age are equally a burden.
11 Growing bodies have the most innate heat; they Plato, Republic, I, 328B
therefore require the most food, for otherwise their
bodies are wasted. In old persons the heat is fee- 14 Socrates. In youth good men often appear to be
ble, and therefore they require little fuel, as it simple, and are easily practised upon by the dis-
 j A
38 I
Chapter L Man

honesty because they have no examples of what others, and victory is one form of this. They love

evil is in their own souls. both more than they love money, which indeed
Plato, Republic III, 409 they love very little, not having yet learnt what it
means to be without it. They look at the good
. . .

side rather than the bad, not having yet witnessed

15 Athenian Stranger. Where old men have no shame,
many instances of wickedness. They trust others
there young men will most certainly be devoid of
readily, because they have not yet often been
reverence. The best way of training young is
the
cheated. They are sanguine; nature warms their
to train yourself at the same time; not to admon-
blood as though with e.xcess of wine; and besides
ishthem, but to be always carrying out your own
that, they have as yet met with few disappoint-
admonitions in practice.
ments. Their lives are mainly spent not in memo-
Plato, LawSt V, 7 29
ry but in expectation; for expectation refers to the
future, memory to the past, and youth has a long
16 A young man is not a proper hearer of lectures on future before it and a short past behind it: on the

political science; for he is inexperienced in the ac- firstday of one’s life one has nothing at all to
tions that occur in life, but its discussions start remember, and can only look forward. They are
from these and are about these; and further, since easily cheated, owing to the sanguine disposition
he tends to follow his passions, his study will be just mentioned. Their hot tempers and hopeful
vain and unprofitable, because the end aimed at dispositions make them more courageous than
is not knowledge but action. And it makes no dif- older men are; the hot temper prevents fear, and
ference whether he is young in years or youthful the hopeful disposition creates confidence; we
in character; tlie defect does not depend on time, cannot feel fear so long as we are feeling angry,
but on his living, and pursuing each successive and any expectation of good makes us confident.
For to such persons, as
object, as passion directs. They are shy, accepting the rules of society in
to the incontinent, knowledge brings no profit; which they have been trained, and not yet believ-
but to those who desire and act in accordance ing in any other standard of honour. They have
with a rational principle knowledge about such exalted notions, because they have not yet been
matters will be of great benefit. humbled by life or learnt its necessary limitations;
Aristotle, Ethics, 1095®2 moreover, their hopeful disposition makes them
think themselves equal to great things and that —
17 The young people seems to aim at
friendship of
means having exalted notions. They w'ould always
pleasure; for they live under the guidance of emo-
rather do noble deeds than useful ones; their lives

tion, and pursue above all what is pleasant to

are regulated more by moral feeling than by rea-
soning; and whereas reasoning leads us to choose
themselves and what is immediately before them.
. .This is why they quickly become friends and
.
what is useful, moral goodness leads us to choose
quickly cease to be so; their friendship changes what is noble. They are fonder of their friends,
intimates, and companions than older men are,
with the object that is found pleasant, and such
pleasure alters quickly. Young people are amo- because they like spending their days in the com-
rous too; for the greater part of the friendship of pany of others, and have not yet come to value
19
either their friends or anything else by their use-
love depends on emotion and aims at pleasure;
fulness to themselves. All their mistakes are in the
this is why they fall in love and quickly fall out of
love,changing often within a single day. But these direction of doing things excessively and vehe-

people do wish to spend their days and lives to-
gether; for it is thus that they attain the purpose
of their friendship.
Aristotle, Ethics,
18 Young men have strong passions, and tend to gra-
tify them indiscriminately. Of the bodily desires,
it is the sexual by which they are most swayed and
in which they show absence of self-control. They
are changeable and fickle in their desires, which
are violent while they last, but quickly over: their
impulses are keen but not deep-rooted, and are
like sick people’s attacks of hunger and thirst.
They and quick-tempered, and
are hot-tempered,
apt to give way to their anger; bad temper often
gets the better of them, for owing to their love of
honour they cannot bear being slighted, and are
indignant if they imagine themselves unfairly
mently. They disobey Chilon’s precept by overdo-
ing everything; they love too much and hate too
much, and the same thing with everything else.
1I56®32
They think they know everything, and are always
quite sure about it; this, in fact, is why they over-
do everything. If they do wrong to others, it is
because they mean to insult them, not to do them
actual harm. They are ready to pity others, be-
cause they think every one an honest man, or any-
how better than he is: they judge their neighbour
by their own harmless natures, and so cannot
think he deserves to be treated in that way. They
are fond of fun and therefore witty, wit being
well-bred insolence.
Aristotle, Rhetoric, 1 389^3
Elderly Men . have lived many years; they
. .

treated. While they love honour, they love victory have often been taken in, and often made mis-
still more; for youth is eager for superiority over takes; and life on the whole is a bad business. The
 13. The Ages of Man j
39

result is that they arc sure about nothing and txn- 20 As for Men in their Prime, clearly we shall find

cvcr>'thing. They *think\ but they never that they have a character between that of the

‘know’; and because of their hesitation they al- young and that o! the old, free from the extremes

ways add a ‘possibly’ or a ‘perhaps’, putting cv- of either. They have neither that c.xccss of confi-
cry'thing this way and nothing positively. They dence which amounts to rashness, nor too much
arc c>*nical; that they tend to put the worse
is, timidity, but the right amount of each. They nei-

const ruaion on cvcr>'lhing. Further, their experi- ther trust everybody nor distrust cvcr)'body, but
ence makes them distrustful and therefore suspi- judge people correctly. Their lives will be guided
cious of c\'il. Consequently they neither love not by the sole consideration either of what is no-
warmly nor hate bitterly, but . love as though . . ble or of what is useful, but by both; neither by
they w'ill some day hate and hate as though they parsimony nor by prodigality, but by what is fit
will some day love. They arc small-minded, be- and proper. So, too, in regard to anger and desire;
cause they have been humbled by life: their de- they w*!!! be brave as well as temperate, and tem-
sires arc set upon nothing more c.xalted or unusual perate as well as brave; these virtues arc divided
than what will help them to keep alive. They arc bctsvccn the young and the old; the young arc
not generous, because money is one of the things brave but intemperate, the old temperate but
the)' must have, and at the same lime their experi- cow’ardly. To put it generally, all the valuable
ence has tauglit them how hard it is to get and qualities that youth and age divide bct'vccn them
hmv cas)' to lose. They arc cowardly, and arc al- arc united in the prime of life, w’hiic all their c.x-
waj's anticipating danger; unlike that of the ccsscs or defects arc replaced by moderation and
young, who arc warm-blooded, their tempera- fitness. The body is in its prime from thirty to
ment is chilly; old age has paved the way for cow- fivc-and-thirty; the mind about forty-nine.
ardice; fear is, in fact, a form of chill. They love Aristotle, Rhetoric^ 1390^28
life; and all the more when their last day has
come. . They arc too fond of themselves; this is
. .
21 Cato. The great affairs of life are not performed by
one form that small-mindedness takes. Because of
physical strength, or activity, or nimblcncss of
this, ihc)' guide their lives too much by consider-
body, but by deliberation, character, c.xpression of
ations of what is useful and too little by what is
opinion. Of these old age is not only not deprived,
—
noble for the useful is what is good for oneself,
but, as a rule, has them in a greater degree.
and the noble what is good absolutely. They are
Cicero, Old Age, VI
not shy, but shameless ratlicr; caring less for what
is noble than for what is useful, they feel contempt
for what people may think of them. They lack 22 Cato. The
course of life is fixed, and nature admits
confidence in the future; partly through experi- of being run but in one w'ay, and only once;
its

—
ence for most things go UTong, or anyhow turn and to each part of our life there is something
out worse than one expects; and partly because of specially seasonable; so that the feebleness of chil-
their cowardice. They
by memor)’ rather than
live dren, as well as the high spirit of youth, the sober-
by hope; for what is left to them of life is but little ness of maturcr years, and the ripe w'isdom of old
as compared with the long past; and hope is of the age — have a certain natural advantage which
all
future, memor)* of the past. This, again, is the should be secured in its proper season.
cause of their loquacity; the)* arc continually talk- Cicero, Old Age, X
ing of the past, because they enjoy remembering
it. Their fits of anger arc sudden but
Their feeble.
23 Cafo. The age is respectable just as
fact is that old
sensual passions have either altogether gone or long as it maintains its proper rights,
asserts itself,
have lost their vigour: consequently they do not
and is not enslaved to any one. For as I admire a
feel their p.issions much, and their actions arc in-
young man who has something of the old man in
spired less by vvhat the)* do feel than by the love of
him, so do I an old one who has something of a
gain. Hence men at this time of life arc often sup-
young man. The man who aims at this may possi-
pCKcd to have a self-controlled character; the fact
is that their p.issions have slackened, and they arc
bly become old in body —
in mind he never will.

Cicero, Old Age, XI

slaves to the love of gain. They guide their lives by
reasoning more than by moral feeling; reasoning
being directed to utility and moral feeling to mor- 24 “Perhaps you may of Priam’s fate enquire.
al goodness. If the)* w*rong others, they mean to He, when he saw* his regal towm on fire.
injure them, not to insult tlicm. Old men may feel His ruin’d palace, and his cnt’ring foes,
pity, a.s well as young men, but not for the same On trv’ry side inevitable woes.
reason. \ oimg men feel it out of kindness; old In arms, disus’d, invests his limbs, decay’d.
men out of weakness, imagining that anything Like them, with age; a late and useless aid.
that befalls any one else might easily happen to His feeble shoulders scarce the weight sustain;
them. . . , Hence the)* arc querulous, and not dis- Loaded, not arm’d, he creeps along with pain.
po^ to jesling —
or laughter the love of laughter Despairing of success, ambitious to be slain!
bcins; the >-er)* opparitc of qucrulousncss. Uncover’d but by hcav’n, there stcx)d in view*
.•\ristoile, Rhf!criCf 1389^13 An altar; near the hearth a laurel grew.
 40 Chapter I . Man

Dodder’d with age, whose boughs encompass gird thee, and carry thee whither thou wouldest
round not.

The household gods, and shade the holy ground. John 21:18
Here Hecuba, with all her helpless train
Of dames, for shelter sought, but sought in vain. 28 How are you desirous at the same time to live to
Driv’n like a flock of doves along the sky, old age, and at the same time not to see the death
Their images they hug, and to their altars fly. of any person whom you love?
The Queen, when she beheld her trembling lord, Epictetus, Discourses, III, 24
And hanging by his side a heavy sword,
‘What rage,’ she cried, ‘has seiz’d my husband’s 29 The innocence of children is in the helplessness of
mind? their bodies rather than any quality in their
What arms are these, and to what use design’d? minds. I have myself seen a small baby jealous; it
These times want other aids! Were Hector here, was too young to speak, but it was livid ^vith anger
Ev’n Hector now in vain, like Priam, would ap- as it watched another infant at the breast.
pear. There is nothing unusual in this. Mothers and
With one common shelter thou shalt find.
us,
nurses will tell you that they have their own way
Or one common fate with us be join’d.*
in
of curing these fits of jealousy. But at any rate it is
She said, and with a last salute embrac’d an odd kind of innocence when a baby cannot
The poor old man, and by the laurel plac’d. —
bear that another in great need, since upon that
Virgil, Ameidj II —
one food his very life depends should share the
milk that flows in such abundance. These childish
25 We should cherish old age and enjoy it. It is full of tempers are borne w'ith lightly, not because they
pleasure if you know how to use it. Fruit tastes are not faults, or only small faults; but because
most delicious just when its season is ending. The they will pass with the years. This is clearly so: for
charms of youth are at their greatest at the time of though w'c bear with them now, the same things
its passing. It is the final glass which pleases the would not be tolerated in an older person.
inveterate drinker, the one that sets the crowning Augustine, Confessions, I, 7
touch on his intoxication and sends him off into
oblivion. Every pleasure defers till its leist its great- do not remember living this age of my
30 Lord, I
est delights. 'Fhe time of life which offers the
infancy; I must take the word of others about it
greatest delight is the age that sees the downward
—not and can only conjecture how I spent it even if —
movement —
the steep decline already be- —
with a fair amount of certainty from watching
gun; and in my opinion even the age that stands
others now in the same stage. I am loth, indeed, to
on the brink has pleasures of its own —or else the
count it as part of the life I live in this w'orld. For
very fact of not experiencing the want of any plea-
it is buried in the darkness of the forgotten as
sures takes their place. How nice it is to have out- completely as the period earlier still that I spent
worn one’s desires and left them behind! in my mother’s womb.
Seneca, Leiters to LneiHuSj 12 Augustine, Confessions, I, 7

26 At the same time came the disciples unto Jesus, 31 Such is God’s mercy towards the vessels of mercy'
saying. Who is the greatest in the kingdom of which He has prepared for glory that even the
Heaven? first age of man, that is, infancy, which submits
And Jesus called a little child unto him, and set without any resistance to the flesh, and which has
him in the midst of
them, not yet understanding enough to undertake this
And said, Verily I say unto you. Except ye be warfare, and therefore yields to almost every' vi-
converted, and become as little children, ye shall
cious pleasure (because though this age has the
not enter into the kingdom of heaven. and may seem have
pow’er of speech, therefore to
Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as passed infancy, the mind is still too weak to com-
this little child, the same is greatest in the king- prehend the commandment), yet if either of these
dom of heaven. ages has received the sacraments of the Mediator,
And whoso shall receive one such little child in then, although the present life be immediately
my name receiveth me.
brought to an end, the child having been translat-
But whoso shall offend one of these little ones ed from the power of darkness to the kingdom of
which believe in me, it were better fi5r him that a
Christ, shall not only be saved from eternal pun-
millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he
ishments, but shall not even suffer purgatorial tor-
were drowned in the depth of the sea.
ments after death. For spiritual regeneration of
Matthew 18; 1-6 itself suffices to prevent any evil consequences re-

sulting after death from the connection with

27 Verily, verily, I say unto thee, When thou ts’ast death which carnal generation forms. But when
young, thou girdest thyself, and walkedst whither w'e reach that age which can now comprehend the
thou wouldest: but when thou shalt be old, thou commandment, and submit to the dominion of
shalt stretch forth thy hands, and another shall law, we must declare war upon vices and wage
 13, The Ages of Man 41

in damnable
ihU war keenly. lest we be landed
arch is at thirty-five, the age under discussion
And if Wees have not gathered strength, by
sins.
should have as long a period of descent as it has of
habitual victor^' they are more
easily overcome ascent; and this rising and descending may be lik-

and subdued; but if they have been used to con- ened arch wherein
to the sustained height of the

quer and rule, if is only with difficulty and labour but slight bending be discerned. We have it,
is to

arc mastered. then, that the prime of life is completed at the

the)’
Augustine, of God, XXI, 16 forty-fifth year.
And as adolescence lasts nvcnty-fivc years,

who arc so happy as to have

mounting up to the prime of life, so the descent,
32 Few indeed arc they
tommaung any dam- that is, age, is a like period, succeeding to the
passed \beW
by dissolute or violent conduct, prime of life; and so age ends at the seventieth
nable sins, either
year.
or by following some godless and unlawful opin-
But inasmuch as adolescence (taking it as we
ions.
XXI, 16
have done above) docs not begin at the beginning
Augustine, City of God,
of life, but some eight months after, and inasmuch
as our nature is eager to rise and hangs back from
33 Youth is a cause of hope for three reasons. . . .

descending (because the natural heat is reduced

And these three reasons may be gathered from the
and has small power, and the humid is thickened,
three conditions of the good which is the object of
not in quantity but in quality, and so is less easily
hope— namely, that it isfuture, arduous and pos-
evaporated and consumed) it comes to pass that
sible. For youth has much of the future be-
. . .

beyond old age there remains perhaps to the

fore and little of the past; and therefore since
it,
amount of ten years of our life, or a little more or
memory' is of the past, and hope of the future, it
a little less. And this period is called decrepitude.
remember and lives very much
has little

hope. Again, youths,

to
on account of the heat
in
of
Whence we have it of Plato whom (both in the —
strength of his own nature, and because of the
their nature, arc full of spirit, so that their heart
physiognomi scope which Socrates cast for him
and it is owing to the heart being ex-
c.xpands,
when first he saw him) we may believe to have
panded that one tends to that which is arduous;
therefore youths arc spirited and hopeful. Like-
had the most excellent nature that he lived —
eighty-one years, as testifies Tully in that Of Old
wise they who have
not suffered defeat, nor had
Age. And I believe that if Christ had not been
experience of obstacles to their efforts, are prone
crucified and had lived out the space which his
to count a thing possible to them. Therefore
life had power to cover according to its nature, he
youths, through inexperience of obstacles and of
would have been changed at the eighty-first year
their own shortcomings, easily count a thing possi-
from mortal body to eternal.
ble, and consequently arc of good hope.
Dante, Convivio, IV, 24
Aquinas, Summa Thtohgica, I-II, 40, 6

34 Human The
35 Fandar,Remember time is wasting every hour
life is divided into four ages. first is

called adolescence, that

Some share of all the beauty now we see,
is, the ‘increasing’ of life.

The second
And thus, ere age shall all they charms devour,
is called ‘manhood,’ that is to say,
the age of achievement, which may give perfec-
Go love, for old, none will have aught of thee!
This saying may a lesson to you be,
tion,and in this sense it is itself called perfect, be-
‘It might have been,’ said Beauty, beauty past.
cause none can give aught save what he hath. The
Chaucer, TtoUiis and Cressida, II, 57
third is called old age. The fourth is called decre-
pitude. . , .

As to the first, no one hesitates, but every sage 36 For true it is, age has great advantage;
agrees that it lasts up to the twenty- fifth year; and Experience and wisdom come with age;
because up to that time our soul is chiefly intent Men may the old out-run, but not out-wit.
on conferring growth and beauty on the body, Chaucer, Canterbury Tales: Knight’s Talc
whence many and great changes take place in the
person, the rational part cannot come to perfect 37 But I am old; I will nut play, for age;
discretion; wherefore Reason lay-s down that be- Grass time is done, my fodder is rummage.
fore this age there arc certain things a man may This white top advertises my old years,
not do without a guardian of full age. My heart, too, is as mouldy as my hairs,
/Vs for the second, which is truly the summit of Unless I fare like medlar, all pcnxrsc.
our life, (here is great diversity concerning the
f)c- For that fruit’s never ripe until it’s worse,
riod to be taken; but passing over what philoso- And falls among the refuse or in straw.
phers and physicians have written about it, and We ancient men, I fear, obey this law:
having recourse to my oum argumentation, I say Until we’re rotten we cannot be ripe;
that in the majority (on whom every' judgment We dance, indeed, the while the world \rill pipe.
alxiut a natural phenomenon may and should be Desire sticks in our nature like a nail
based) this age lasts isvcnty years. And the argu- To have, if hoar>' head, a verdant tail,
ment which gh'cs me this is that, if the apex of our .As has the leek; for though our strength be gone.
 — 1

42 I
Chapter L Man

Our ^vish is yet for folly till Iife*s
For when we may not act, then will we speak;
Yet in our ashes is there fire to reek
Four embers have we, which I shall confess:
Boasting and lying, anger, covetousness;
These four remaining sparks belong to eld.
Our ancient limbs may well be hard to wield.
But lust will never fail us, that is truth.
And yet I have had always a colt’s tooth.
done. people were wise and old people w’cre strong, but
God has arranged things better.
Luther, Table Talk, 4091
42 Gargantua, from three years upwards unto five,
was brought up and instructed in all convenient
discipline, by the commandment of his father;
and spent that time like the other little children of
the country, that is, and sleep-
in drinking, eating,

As many years as now are past and done ing: in eating, sleeping, and drinking: and in
Since first my tap of life began to run. sleeping, drinking, and eating. Still he w’allowcd
For certainly, when I w'as born, I know and rolled himself up and down in the mire and
Death turned my tap of life and let it flow; dirt: he blurred and sullied his nose with filth; he
And ever since that day the tap has run blotted and smutched his face with any kind of
Till nearly empty now is all the tun. scurvy and stuff; he trod down his shoes in the
The stream of life now drips upon the chime; heel; at the flics he did often times yawm, and ran
The silly tongue may well ring out the time very heartily after the butterflies, the empire
Of wretchedness that passed so long before; whereof belonged to his father.
For oldsters, save for dotage, there’s no more. Rabelais, Gargantua and Pantagruel, I, 1

Chaucer, Canterbury Tales: Reeve’s Prologue

43 It is possible that in those who employ their time
38 But Lord Christ! When I do remember me well, knowledge and experience grow with living;
Upon my youth and on my jollity, but vivacity, quickness, firmness, and other qual-
It tickles me about my heart’s deep root. ities much more our own, more important and
To this day docs my heart sing in salute essential, wither and languish. Sometimes it
. . .

That I have had my world in my own time. is the body that first surrenders to age, sometimes,

But age, alas! that poisons every prime, too, it is the mind; and I have seen enough whose
Has taken away my beauty and my pith; brains were enfeebled before their stomach and
Let go, farewell, the devil go therewith! legs; and inasmuch a malady hardly per-
as this is

The flour is gone, there is no more to tell, ceptible to the sufferer and obscure in its symip-
The bran, as best I may, must I now sell; toms, it is all the more dangerous. For the time, I
But yet to be right merry I’ll try. complain of the laws, not that they leave us at
Chaucer, Canterbu^ Tales: work too long, but that they set us to work too
Wife of Bath’s Prologue late. It seems to me that considering the frailty of
our life and how many ordinary natural reefs it is
39 And though your time of green youth flower as exposed to, w’C should not allot so great a part of it
yet. to birth, idleness, and apprenticeship.
Age creeps in always, silent as a stone; Montaigne, Essays^ I, 57, Of Age
Death threatens every age, nor will forget
For any state, and there escapes him none: 44 This fault of not being able to recognize oneself
And just we know% each one,
as surely as early and not feeling the impotence and extreme
That we shall die, uncertain are we all alteration that age naturally brings to both body
What day it is when death shall on us fall. and soul, and in my opinion equally, unless the
Chaucer, Canter buy Tales: Clerk’s Tale soul receives more than half of it, has ruined the
reputation of most of the w’orld’s great men.
40 Young tempted by girls, men who are
fellows arc Montaigne, Essays, II, 8,
thirty years old are tempted by gold, when they Affection of Fathers
are forty years old they are tempted by honor and
gIory% and those who are sixty years old say to 45 Old age puts more wrinkles in our minds than on
themselves, ‘What a pious man I have become!’ our faces; and we never, or rarely, see a soul that
Luther, Table Talkej 1601 in growing old does not come to smell sour and
musty. Man grows and dwindles in his entirety,
41 Youth is impertinent. So we see lawyers who in Montaigne, Essays, III, 2, Of Repentance
their year are masters of all law’s, in their
first

second year are Justinians, in their third year are 46 The w’hiles some one did chaunt this lovely lay:
licentiates, in their fourth year give formal opin- Ah! see, who
so fayre thing doest faine to see,
ions, and in their fifth year finally become trem- In springing flowre the image of thy day;
bling students. This is the way a boy acts in a Ah! see the virgin rose, how sw’eetly shee
bowling alley. First he expects to strike twelve Doth first peepe foorth with bashful modestee,
pins, then nine, then six, then three, and at last That fairer seemes, the Icsse ye see her may;
he’s satisified with one, and probably misses the Lo! see soonc after, how more bold and free
alley at that. It would be a good thing if young Her bared bosom e she doth broad display;
 1.3, The Ages of Man 43

Lo! sec soone after, how she fades and falls away. “Hem, boys!” Come, let’s to dinner; come, let’s to

dinner: Jesus, the days that we have seen! Come,

So passeth, in the passing of a day, come.
Of mortall life the leafe, the bud, the flowre,
Shakespeare, II Henry IV, III, ii, 206
Ne more doth florish after first decay,
That was sought to deck both bed and bowre
earst
Of many a lady, and many a paramowre: 49 Falstaff. Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are
to this vice of lying!
Gather therefore the rose, whitest yet is prime.
For soone comes age, that will her pride deflowre: Shakespeare, II Henry IV, III, ii, 325
Gather the rose of love, whilest yet is time,
Whilest loving thou mayst loved be with equall 50 King. I know thee not, old man: fall to thy pray-
crime. ers;

Spenser, Faerie Queen, Bk. II, XII, 74-75

How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!
Shakespeare, II Henry IV, V, v, 51

47 Chief Justice. Do you set down your name in the All the world’s a stage.
51 Jaques.
scroll of youth, that are written down old with all
And all the men and women merely players*.
the characters of age? Have you not a moist eye?
They have their exits and their entrances;
a dry hand? a yellow cheek? a white beard? a the man in his time plays many parts.
And
decreasing leg? an increasing belly? not your is
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
voice broken? your wind short? your chin double?
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
your wit single? and every part about you blasted
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
with antiquity? and will you yet call yourself
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
young? Fie, fie, fie, Sir John I
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover.
Falstaff My lord, I was born about three of the
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
clock in the afternoon, with a white head and
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier.
something a round belly. For my voice, I have lost
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard.
it with halloing and singing of anthems. To ap-
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
prove my youth further, I will not: the truth is, I
Seeking the bubble reputation
am only old in judgement and understanding; Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
and he that will caper with me for a thousand
In round belly with good capon lined,
fair
marks, let him lend me the money, and have at
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut.
him!
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
Shakespeare, II Henry IV, I, ii, 201 And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side.
48 Shallow. O, Sir John, do you remember since we
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
lay all night in the windmill in Saint George*s
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
field?
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
Falstaff No more of that, good Master Shallow,
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all.
no more of that.
That ends this strange eventful history,
Shal. Hal *twas a merry night. And is Jane
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Nightwork alive?
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything,
Fal. She lives, Master Shallow.
Shakespeare, As You Like It, II, vii, 139
Shal. She never could away with me.
Fal. Never, never; she would always say she
could not abide Master Shallow. 52 Clown. What is love? ’tis not hereafter;
Shal. By the mass, I could anger her to the Present mirth hath present laughter;
heart. She was then a bona-roba. Doth she hold What’s to come is still unsure:
her own well? In delay there no plenty;
lies

Fal.Old, old. Master Shallow. Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,
Shal. Nay, she must be old; she cannot choose Youth’s a stuff will not endure.
but be old; certain she’s old; and had Robin Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, II, iii, 48
Nightwork by old Nightwork before I came to
Clement’s Inn. 53 Polonius. What do you read, my lord?
Silence. That’s fifty five year ago. Hamlet. Words, words, words.
Shal. Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen Pol. What is the matter, my lord?
that that this knight and I have seen! Ha, Sir Ham. Between who?
John, said I well? Pol. I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.
Fal. We have heard the chimes at midnight. Ham. Slanders, sir: for the satirical rogue says
Master Shallow. here that old men have grey beards, that their
Shal. That we have, that we have, that we have; faces are wrinkled, their eyes purging thick amber
in faith, Sir John, we have: our watchword was and plum-tree gum and that they have a plentiful
 44 I
Chapter I. Man

lack of wit, together with most weak hams. Boldly, “Not guilty.”

Shakespeare, Hamlet, II, ii, 193 Shakespeare, JVintePs Tale, I, ii, 60

54 Hamlet. Rebellious hell, 59 Thou art thy mother’s glass, and she in thee
If thou canst mutine in a matron’s bones, Calls back the lovely April of her prime.
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax, So thou through windows of thine age shah see
And melt in her own fire. Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.
Shakespeare, Hamlet, III, iv, 82 Shakespeare, Sonnet III

55 Regan. O, sir, you are old; 60 When I consider every thing that grows

Nature in you stands on the very verge Holds in perfection but a little moment.
Of her confine. You should be ruled and led That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
By some discretion that discerns your state Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
Better than you yourself. Therefore, I pray you When I perceive that men as plants increase.
That to our sister you do make return; Cheered and check’d even by the self-same sky,
Say you have wrong’d her, sir. Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
Lear. Ask her forgiveness? And wear their brave state out of memory;
Do you but mark how this becomes the house; Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
“Dear daughter, I confess that I am old; Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,

Kneeling. Where wasteful Time debate th with Decay,

Age is unnecessary. On my knees I beg To change your day of youth to sullied night.
That you’ll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and Shakespeare, Sonnet XV
food.”
Reg. Good sir, no more; these are unsightly 61 That time of year thou mayst in me behold
tricks. When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Shakespeare, Lear, II, iv, 148 Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds
56 Macbeth. I have lived long enough; my way of life sang.
Is fall’n into the sear, the yellow leaf; In me thou see’st the twilight of such day
And that which should accompany old age, As after sunset fadeth in the west,
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, Which by and by black night doth take away,
I must not look to have; but, in their stead, Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.
Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath, In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire
Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
not. As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Shakespeare, Macbeth, V, iii, 22 Consumed with that which it was nourish’d by.
Shakespeare, Sonnet LXXIII
57 Cleopatra. My salad days.
When I was green in judgement, cold in blood, 62 To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
To say as I said then! For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra, I, v, 73 Such seems your beauty still.
Shakespeare, Sonnet CJV
58 Hermione. Come, I’ll question you
Of my Lord’s tricks and yours when you were 63 When my love swears that she is made of truth
boys. Ido believe her, though I know she lies,
You were pretty lordings then? That she might think me some untutor’d youth,
Polixenes. We were, fair Queen, Unlearned in the world’s false subtleties.
Two lads that thought there was no more behind Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
But such a day to-morrow as to-day, Although she knows my days are past the best,
And to be boy eternal. Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue:
Her. Was not my lord On both sides thus simple truth suppress’d.
is
The verier wag o’ the trvo? But wherefore says she not she is unjust?

Pol. We were as twinn’d Iambs that did
the sun,
And bleat the one at the other. What we changed
Was innocence for innocence; we knew not
The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream’d
That any did. Had we pursued that life,
And our weak spirits ne’er been higher rear’d
With stronger blood, we should have answer’d
heaven
frisk i’ And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love’s best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told.
Shakespeare, Sonnet CXXXVIII
64 Crabbed age and youth cannot live together:
Yputh is full of pleasance, age is full of care;
Youth like summer mom, age like winter
weather;
 13. The Ages of Man 45

Youth like summer brave, age like winter bare. day as we grow weaker in age, we grow stronger
Youth is full of sport, age’s breath is short; in sin; and the number of our days doth make but
Youth is nimble, age is lame; our sins innumerable. The same vice committed
Youth is and bold, age is weak and cold;
hot at sixteen, is not the same, though it agree in all
Youth is wild, and age is tame. other circumstances, at forty, but swells and dou-
Age, I do abhor thee; youth, I do adore thee. bles from the circumstances of our ages, wherein,
Shakespeare, The Passionate Pilgrim, XII besides the constant and inexcusable habit of
transgressing, the maturity of our judgement cuts

65 Come, my Celia, let us prove. off pretence unto excuse or pardon: every sin the
While we can, the sports of love; oftner it is committed, the more it acquireth in the

Time will not be ours forever; quality of evil; as it succeeds in time, so it pro-
He at length our good will sever. ceeds in degrees of badness; for as they proceed
Jonson, Come, My Celia they ever multiply, and like figures in Arithmct-
ick, the l«ist stands for more than all that went
66 Young men are fitter to invent than to judge; fit- before it. And though I think no man can live well

ter for executionthan for counsel; and fitter for once, but he that could live twice, yet for my own
new projects than for settled business. For the ex- part I would not live my
hours past, or begin
over
perience of age, in things that fall within the com- again the thred of my days: not upon Cicero*s
pass of it, dirccteth them; but in new things, abu- ground, because I have lived them well, but for
seth them. The young men arc the ruin
errors of fear I should live them worse.
of business; but the errors of aged men amount Sir Thomas Browne, Religio Medici, I, 42
but to this, that more might have been done, or
sooner. Young men, in the conduct and manage 70 Confound not the distinctions of thy Life which
of actions, embrace more than they can hold; stir Nature hath divided: that is. Youth, Adolescence,
more than they can quiet; fly to the end, without Manhood, and old Age, nor in these divided Peri-
consideration of the means and degrees; pursue
ods, wherein thou art in a manner Four, conceive
some few principles which they have chanced thyself but One. Let every division be happy in its
upon absurdly; care not to innovate, which draws proper Virtues, nor one Vice run through all. Let
unknown inconveniences; use extreme remedies each distinction have its salutary transition, and
at first; and, that which doubleth all errors, will
critically deliver thee from the imp>erfections of
not acknowledge or retract them; like an unready
the former, so ordering the whole, that Prudence
horse, that will neither stop nor turn. Men of age and Virtue may have the largest section. Do as a
object too much, consult too long, adventure too Child but when thou art a Child, and ride not on
little, repent too soon, and seldom drive business
a Reed at twenty. He who hath not taken leave of
home to the full period, but content themselves the follies of his Youth, and in his maturer state
with a mediocrity of success.
scarce got out of that division, disproportionately
Bacon, Of Youth and Age divideth his Days, crowds up the latter part of his
and
Life, leaves too narrow a corner for the Age of
67 Alonso of Arragon was wont to say, in commenda- Wisdom.
tion of age, That age appeared to be best in four
Sir Thomas Browne, Christian Morals, III, 8
things: Old wood best to bum; old wine to drink; old
friends to trust; and old authors to read.
Bacon, Apophthegms, LXXV 71 How soon hath Time the suttle thcef of youth,
Stoln on his wing my three and twentith yeer!

68 The proportion of the body to the extremities in My hasting dayes flie on with full career.

children after their birth continues excessive until But my late spring no bud or blossom shew’th.
they begin to stand and run. Infants, therefore, Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,
resemble dwarfs in the beginning, and they creep That I to manhood am arriv’d so near,

about like quadrupeds, attempting progressive And inward ripenes doth much less appear.
motion with the assistance of all their extremities; That som more timely-happy spirits indu’th.

but they cannot stand erect until the length of the Milton, How soon hath Time
leg and thigh together exceeds the length of the the suttle theef ofyouth
r^t of the body. And so it happens, that when
they first attempt to walk, they move with the 72 This is old age; but then thou must outlive
body prone, like the quadruped, and can scarcely Thy youth, thy strength, thy beauty, which will
rise so erect as the common dunghill foul. change
William Harvey, Animal Generation, 56 To withered weak &
gray; thy Senses then
Obtuse, all taste of pleasure must forgoe.
69 Age doth not rectifie, but incurvate our natures, To what thou hast, and for the Aire of youth
turning bad dispositions into worser habits, and Hopeful and cheerful, in thy blood will reigne
(like diseases) brings on incurable vices; for every A melancholly damp of cold and dry
 46 Chapter 1. Man

and consume thinks a reasonable indulgence, that those who

To waigh thy spirits down, last it

are condemned without any fault of their own, to

The Balme of Life.
Milton, Paradise Lost, XI, 535 a perpetual continuance in the world, should not
have their misery doubled by the load of a wife.
The childhood shews the man, As soon as they have compleated the term of
73
eighty years, they are looked on as dead in law;
As morning shews the day.
their heirs immediately succeed to their estates,
Milton, Paradise Regained, IV, 220
only a small pittance is reserved for their support,
and the poor ones arc maintained at the publick
74 Dollabella. Men are but children of a larger
charge. After that period, they are held incapable
growth;
of any employment of trust or profit; they cannot
Our appetites as apt to change as theirs,
purchase lands, or take leases; neither are they
And full as craving too, and full as vain.
allowed to be witnesses in any cause, either civil
Dry den. All for Love, IV, 43
or criminal, not even for the decision of meers and
bounds.
An depraved
75 Mirabell.
that of a girl
— woman’s
old appetite
the greensickness
’tis
is

a second of
like
At ninety they lose their teeth and hair; they
have at that age no distinction of taste, but eat
childhood; and like the faint offer of a latter
and drink what ever they can get, without relish
fall and withers
spring, serves but to usher in the
or appetite. The diseases they were subject to, still
in an affected bloom.
continue without encreasing or diminishing. In
Congreve, Way of the World, II, iv
talking, they forget the common appellation of
things, and the names of persons, even of those
76 He [the interpreter] gave me a particular account who are their nearest friends and relations. For
of the Struldbruggs among them. He said they the same reason, they never can amuse themselves
commonly acted like mortals, until about thirty with reading, because their memory will not serve
years old, after which by degrees they grew mel- 77 to carry them from the beginning of a sentence to
ancholy and dejected, increasing in both until the end; and by this defect, they are deprived of
they came to fourscore. This he learned from their the only entertainment whereof they might other-
own confession; for otherwise, there not being wise be capable.
above two or three of that species born in an age, The language of this country being always
they were too few to form a general observation upon the the Struldbruggs of one age, do not
flux,
by. When they came to fourscore years, which is
understand those of another; neither are they able
reckoned the extremity of living in this country, aftertwo hundred years, to hold any conversation
they had not only all and infirmities of
the follies
(farther thanby a few general words) with their
other old men, but many more which arose from
neighbours the mortals; and thus they lye under
the dreadful prospect of never dying. They were
the disadvantage of living like foreigners in their
not only opinionative, peevish, covetous, morose,
own country.
vain, talkative; but uncapable of friendship, and
Swift, Gulliver^s Travels, III, 10
dead to all natural affection, which never de-
scended below their grand-children. Envy and
impotent desires, are their prevailing passions. They nimble from
[the Yahoos] are prodigiously
But those objects against which their envy seems their infancy; however, once caught a young
I

principally directed, are the vices of the younger
sort,and the deaths of the old. By reflecting on
the former, they find themselves cut off from all
possibility of pleasure;and whenever they see a
funeral, they lament and repine that others are
gone to a harbour of rest, to which they them-
selves never can hope to arrive. They have no re-
membrance of any thing but what they learned
and observed in their youth and middle age, and
even that is very imperfect: and for the truth or
particulars of any fact, it is safer to depend on
common traditions, than upon their best recollec-
The least miserable among them, appear to
tions.
be those who turn to dotage, and entirely lose
their memories; these meet with more pity and
male of three years old, and endeavoured by all
marks of tenderness to make it quiet; but the little
imp fell a squalling, and scratching, and biting
with such violence, that I was forced to let it go;
and it was high time, for a whole troop of old ones
came about us at the noise; but finding the cub
was safe, (for away it ran) and my sorrel nag
being by, they durst not venture near us. I ob-
served the young animal’s flesh to smell very rank,
and the stink was somewhat between a weasel and
s.fox,but much more disagreeable. I forgot anoth-
er circumstance, (and perhaps I might have the
readers pardon, if it were wholly omitted) that
while I my hands, it
held the odious vermin in
voided excrements of a yellow liquid sub-
its filthy

assistance, because they want many bad qualities stance, all over my deaths; but by good fortune
which abound in others. there was a small brook hard by, where I washed
If a Struldbrugg happen to marry one of his myself as clean as I could; although I durst not
own kind, the marriage is dissolved of course by come into my master’s presence, until I was suffi-
the courtesy of the kingdom, as soon as the youn- ciently aired.
ger of the two comes to be fourscore. For the law
Swift, GuUiver^s Travels, IV, 8
 13. The Ages of Man 47

78 Invention is the Talent of Youth, and Judgment gained strength, and as soon as he can use his life

of Age; so that our Judgment grow^ harder to he holds it more securely.

please, when we have fewer Things to offer it:
This goes through the whole Commerce of Life.
When we arc old, our Friends find it difficult to
please us, and arc less concern’d whether we be
pleas’d or no.
This is nature’s law; why contradict it? Do you
not sec that in your efforts to improve upon her
handiwork you are destroying it; her cares are
wasted? To do from without what she does within
is according to you to increase the danger twofold.

Swift, Thoughts on Various Subjects On the contrary, it is the way to avert it; experi-
ence sho\vs that children delicately nurtured are
79 No wise Man ever wished to be younger. more likely to die. Provided we do not overdo it,
Swift, Thoughts on Various Subjects there is less risk in using their strength than in
sparing it. Accustom them therefore to the hard-
ships they will have to face; train them to endure
80 ^ery Man desires to live long; but no Man
extremes of temperature, climate, and condition,
^^ould be old.
hunger, thirst, and weariness. Dip them in the wa-
Swift, Thoughts on Various Subjects
ters of Styx. Before bodily habits become fixed you
may teach what habits you will without any risk,
81 Man has other enemies more formidable, against
but once habits are established any change is
which he is not provided udth such means of de-
fraught with peril. A child will bear changes
fence: these are the natural infirmities of infancy,
which a man cannot bear, the muscles of the one
old age, and illness of every kind, melancholy
are soft and flexible, they take whatever direction
proofs of our weakness, of which the two first are
you give them without any effort; the muscles of
common to all animals, and the last belongs chief-
the grown man are harder and they only change
ly to man in a state of society. With regard to
their accustomed mode of action when subjected
infancy, it is observable that the mother, carrying
to violence. So we can make a child strong with-
her child alwaj'S with her, can nurse with much
it
out risking his life or health, and even if there
greater case than the females of many other ani-
were some risk, it should not be taken into consid-
mals, which are forced to be perpetually going
eration. Since human life is full of dangers, can we
and coming, with great fatigue, one way to find
do better than face them at a time when they can
subsistence, and another to suckle or feed their
do the least harm?
young. It is true that if the woman happens to
Rousseau, Emile, I
perish, the infant is in great danger of perishing
with her; but this risk is common to many other
species of animals, whose young take a long time 83 The new-born infant cries, his early days are

before they arc able to provide for themselves. spent in crying. He is alternately petted and shak-
And if our infancy is longer than theirs, our lives en by way of soothing him; sometimes he is
are longer in proportion; so that all things are in threatened, sometimes beaten, to keep him quiet.

this respect fairly equal; though there are other

We do what he wants or we make him do what we
rules to be considered regarding the duration of want, we submit to his whims or subject him to
the first period of life, and the number of young, our own. There is no middle course; he must rule
which do not affect the present subject. In old age, or obey.
when men are less active and perspire little, the Rousseau, Emile, I

need for food diminishes with the ability to pro-

vide it. As the savage state also protects them from 84 Every old man complains of the growing depravi-
gout and rheumatism, and old age is, of all ills, ty of the world, of the petulance and insolence of
that which human aid can least alleviate, they the rising generation. He recounts the decency
cease to be, u'ithout others perceiving that they and and celebrates the
regularity of former times,
arc no more, and almost without perceiving it disciplineand sobriety of the age in which his
themselves. youth was passed; a happy age which is now no
Rousseau, Origin of Inequality, I
more to be expected, since confusion has broken
in upon the world, and thrown down all the
82 Fi.K your eyes on nature, follow the path traced by boundaries of civility and reverence.
her. She keeps children at work, she hardens them Johnson, Rambler No. 50
by all kinds of difficulties, she soon teaches them
the meaning of pain and grief. They cut their 85 He that would pass the latter part of life with
tectli and arc feverish, sharp colics bring on con- honour and decency, must, when he is young,
\’ulsions, they are choked by^ fits of coughing and consider that he shall one day be old; and remem-
tormented by worms, evil humours corrupt the ber, when he is old, that he has once been young.
blood, germs of x'arious kinds ferment in it, caus- Johnson, Rambler No. 50
ing dangerous eruptions. Sickness and danger
play the chief part in infancy. One half of the 86 To youth ... it should be carefully inculcated,
children who arc born die before their eighth that to enter the road of life without caution or
year. The child who has overcome hardships has reserv'e, in expectation of general fidelity and jus-
 48
tice, is to launch on the w’ide ocean wthout the
instruments of steerage, and to hope that every
\vind will be prosperous and that every coast will
afford a harbour.
Johnson, Rambler No. 175
87 Rasselas rose next day, and resolved to begin his
experiments upon life. “Youth, cried he, is the
time of gladness: I will join myself to the young
men, whose only business is to gratify their desires,
and whose time is all spent in a succession of en-
joyments.”
To such societies he was readily admitted, but a
few da)^ brought him back weary and disgusted.
Their mirth was without images, their laughter
without motive: their pleasures were gross and
sensual, in w'hich themind had no part; their con-
duct was at once wild and mean; they laughed at
order and at law', but the frown of power dejected,
and the eye of wisdom abashed them.
Johnson, Rasselas,
88 The old man trusts wholly to slow' contrivance
and gradual progression: the youth expects to
force his way by genius, \'igour, and precipitance.
The old man pays regard to riches, and the youth
reverences virtue. The old man defies prudence;
the youth commits himself to magnanimity
chance. The young man, who intends no
lieves thatnone is intended, and therefore acts
with openness and candour: but his father, haWng
suffered the injuries of fraud, is impelled to sus-
pect, and too often allured to practice it. Age
looks with anger on the temerity of youth, and
youth \vith contempt on the scrupulosity of age.
Johnson, Rasselas,
89 There arc few things that we so unwillingly give
up, even in advanced age, as the supposition that
we have still the pow'er of ingratiating ourselves
with the fair sex,
Johnson, Miscellanies, II
90 Johnson, Sir, I love the acquaintance of young peo-
ple; because, in the first place, I don’t like to tldnk
myself growing old. In the next place, young ac-
quaintances must last longest, if they do last; and
then. Sir, young men have more virtue than old
men; they have more generous sentiments in ev-
ery respect. I love the young dogs of this age: they
have more wit and humour and knowledge of life
than we had; but then the dogs are not so good
scholars. Sir, in my early years I read very hard. It
is a sad but a true one, that I knew
reflection,
almost as much at eighteen as I do now. My
judgement, to be sure, was not so good; but I had
all the facts, I remember very well, when I was at
Oxford, an old gentleman said to me, ‘Young
man, ply your book diligently now, and acquire a
Chapter /. Man
stock of knowledge; for when years come upon
you, you will find that poring upon books will be
but an irksome task.’
Boswell, Life ofJohnson (July 21, 1763)
91 (joldsmith. “I think, Mr. Johnson, you don’t go
near the theatres now. You give yourself no more
concern about a new play, than if you had never
had any thing to do with the stage.” Johnson.
“Why, Sir, our tastes greatly alter. The lad does
not care for the child’s rattle, and tlic old man
docs not care for the young man’s w'hore.” Golds-
mith. “Nay, Sir, but your Muse w’as not a whore.”
Johnson. “Sir, I do not think she was. But as wc
advance in the journey of life, w'e drop some of the
things which have pleased us; whether it be that
W'e are fatigued and don’t choose to carry so many
things any farther, or that wc find other things
which wc like better.” Boswell. “But, Sir, why
don’t you give us something in some other way?”
Goldsmith. “Ay, Sir, wc have a claim upon you,”
XVII Johnson. “No, Sir, I am not obliged to do any
more. No man is obliged to do as much as he can
do. A man is to have part of his life to himself. If
a soldier has fought a good many campaigns, he is
not to be blamed if he retires to case and tranq-
uillity. A physician, who has practised long in a
great city, may be excused if he retires to a small
and town, and takes less practice. Now, Sir, the good I
ill, be- can do by my conversation bears the same propor-
tion to the good I can do by my w'ritings, that the
practice of a physician, retired to a small town,
docs to his practice in a great city.” Boswell “But
I wonder. Sir, you have not more pleasure in writ-
ing than in not writing.” Johnson. “Sir, you may
wonder.”
XXVI Boswell, Lift ofJohnson (1766)
92 John Anderson, my jo, John,
When w'c w’cre first acquent;
Your locks w’ere like the raven,
Your bonnie brow' w'as brent;
But now your brow' is held, John,
Your locks are like the snow;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson, my jo.
Bums,yoA« Anderson, My Jo
93 The constitution of New York, to avoid investiga-
tions that must for ever be vague and dangerous,
has taken a particular age as the criterion of ina-
bility, No man can be a judge beyond sixty. I
believe there are few at present W’ho do not disap-
prove of this provision. There is no station, in re-
lation to which it is less proper than to that of a
judge. The deliberating and comparing faculties
generally preserv'e their strength much beyond
that period in men who survive it; and when, in
addition to this circumstance, w'e consider how
few there are w'ho outlive the season of intellectual
vigour, and how improbable it is that any consid-
 13. The Ages of Man 49

erable portion of the bench, whether more or less And later after many a tide
numerous, should be in such a situation at the They learn it painfully on their own hide,
same time, we be ready to conclude that lim-
shall Each came from his own head;
fancies then it

itations of this sort have little to recommend them. “The Master was a fool!” is what is said.
In a republic, where fortunes are not affluent and Goethe, Faust^ II, 2, 6744
pensions not expedient, the dismission of men
from stations in which they have served their 97 Bachelor of Arts. This is youth’s noblest message
country long and usefully, on which they depend and most fit!
for subsistence, and from which it will be too late
The world was not till I created it.
to resort to any other occupation for a livelihood,
’Twas I that led the sun up from the sea;
ought to have some better apology to humanity The moon began its changeful course with me.
than is to be found in the imaginary danger of a
The day put on rich garments, me to meet;
superannuated bench.
The earth grew green and blossomed, me to greet.
Hamilton, Federalist 79
At my behest in that primeval night
The stars unveiled their splendour to my sight.
94 We are moved in the presence of childhood, but it Who, if not I, your own deliverance wrought
is not because from the height of our strength and From fetters of Philistine, cramping thought?
of our perfection we drop a look of pity on it; it is,
I, as my spirit bids me, with delight
on the contrary, because from the depths of our I follow onward mine own inner light.
impotence, of which the feeling is inseparable Swift proceed with mine own raptured mind.
I
from that of the real and determinate state to Glory before me, darkness far behind.
which we have arrived, we raise our eyes to the
Goethe, Faust, II, 2, 6793
child’sdeterminableness and pure innocence. The
feeling we then experience is too evidently min-
gled with sadness for us to mistake its source. In 98 —A Simple Child,
the child all is disposition and destination; in us That lightly draws its breath.

all is in the state of a completed, finished thing, And feels its life in every limb.
and the completion always remains infinitely be- What should it know of death?
low the destination. It follows that the child is to Wordsworth, We Are Seven
us like a representation of the ideal; not, indeed,
of the ideal as we have but such as our
realized it, 99 My heart leaps up when I behold
100
destination admitted; and, consequently, it is not A rainbow in the sky:
at all the idea of its indigence, of its hindrances, So was it when my life began;
that makes us experience emotion in the child’s So is it now I am a man;
presence; it is, on the contrary, the idea of its pure So be it when I shall grow old.
and free force, of the integrity, the infinity of its Or let me die!
being. This is the reason why, in the sight of every The Child is father of the Man;
moral and sensible man, the child will always be a And I could wish my days to be
sacred thing; I mean an object which, by the Bound each to each by natural piety,
grandeur of an idea, reduces to nothingness all
Wordsworth, My Heart Leaps Up
grandeur realized by experience; an object which,
When I Behold
may lose in the judgment of the
in spite of all it
understanding, regains largely the advantage be-
fore the judgment of reason.
There is a Flower, the lesser Celandine,
That shrinks, like many more, from cold and rain;
Schiller, Simple and Sentimental Poetry
And, the first moment that the sun may shine,
Bright as the sun himself, ’tis out again!
95 FavLSt. I’ll feel, whatever my attire.
The pain of life, earth’s narrow way. When hailstones have been falling, swarm on
I am be content with play,
too old to swarm,
Too young to be without desire. Or green field and the trees distrest.
blasts the
What can the world afford me now? Oft have I it muffled up from harm.
seen
Thou shalt renounce! Renounce shalt thou! In close self-shelter, like a Thing at rest.
That is the never-ending song
Which in the ears of all is ringing, But lately, one rough day, this Flower I passed
Which always, through our whole life long.
And recognised it, though an altered form,

Hour after hour is hoarsely singing. Now standing forth an offering to the blast,
And buffeted at willby rain and storm.
Goethe, Favst I, 1544
\ .

I stopped and said with inly-muttered voice,

96 Mephistopheles. If, unadulterate, one says to youth “It doth not love the shower, nor seek the cold;
What does not please the callow brook the — This neither is its courage nor its choice,
truth! But its necessity in being old.
 — —
50 I
Chapter I. Man

“The sunshine may not cheer it, nor the dew; 104 Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive.
It cannot help itself in its decay; But to be young was very Heaven!
Stiff in its members, withered, changed of hue.” Wordsworth, The Prelude, XI, 108
And, in my spleen, I smiled that it was grey.
Wordsworth, The Small Celandine 105 What is the worst of woes that wait on age?
What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow?
101 There was a time when meadow, grove, and To view each loved one blotted from life’s page,
stream, And be alone on earth, as I am now.
The earth, and every common sight, Byron, Childe Harold's
To me did seem Pilgrimage, II, 98
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream. 106 ’Tis true, your budding Miss is very charming,
It is now as it hath been of yore;
not But shy and awkward at first coming out,
Turn wheresoe’er I may, So much alarm’d that she is quite alarming,
By night or day, All Giggle, Blush; half Pertness and half Pout;
The things which I have seen I now can sec no And glancing at Mamma, for fear there’s harm in

more. What you, she, it, or they, may be about.

Wordsworth, Ode: Intimations of Immortality, I The Nursery still lisps out in all they utter^
Besides, they always smell of bread and butter.

102 Our birthbut a sleep and a forgetting:

is Byron, Beppo, XXXIX
The Soul that rises with us, our lifers Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting. 107 Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story;
And cometh from afar: The days of our youth are the days of our glory;
Not in entire forgetfulness, And the myrtle and ivy of s\veet two-and-twenty
And not in utter nakedness. Arc worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.
But trailing clouds of glory do we come Byron, Stanzas Written on the Road

From God, who is our home: Between Florence and Pisa

Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close 108 Age generally makes men more tolerant; youth is
Upon the growing Boy, always discontented. The tolerance of age is the
But He beholds the light, and whence it flo\vs. result of the ripeness of a judgment which, not
He sees it in his joy; merely as the result of indifferance, is satisfied
The Youth, who daily farther from the east even with what is inferior, but, more deeply
Must travel, still is Nature’s Priest, taught by the grave experience of life, has been
And by the vision splendid led to perceive the substantial, solid worth of the
Is on his way attended; object in question. The insight then to which in —
At length the Man perceives it

common
die away. contradistinction from those ideals —
philosophy is
And fade into the light of day. to lead us, is, that the real world is as it ought to
Wordsworth, Ode: Intimations of Immortality, V be, that the truly good, the universal divine rea-
son, is not a mere abstraction, but a vital principle
103 And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills and capable of realizing itself.
Groves, Hegel, Philosophy of History,
Forebode not any severing of our loves! Introduction, 3
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;
I only have relinquished one delight 109 Among the Greeks we feel ourselves immediately
To live beneath your more habitual sway. at home, for we
are in the region of spirit; and
I love the Brooks which down their channels fret, though the origin of the nation, as also its philo-
Even more than when I tripped lightly as they; logical peculiarities, may be traced farther —even
The innocent brightness of a new-born Day to India —the proper emergence, the true palin-
Is lovely yet; genesis of spirit must be looked for in Greece first.
The Clouds that gather round the setting sun At an earlier stage I compared the Greek world
Do take a sober colouring from an eye with the period of adolescence; not, indeed, in that
That hath kept watch man’s mortality;
o’er sense, that youth bears within it a serious, antici-
Another race hath been, and other palms are pative destiny, and consequently by the very con-
won. ditions of itsculture urges towards an ulterior
Thanks to the human heart by which we live.
Thanks and
aim — presenting thus an inherently incomplete
to its tenderness, its joys, fears, and immature form, and being then most defec-
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
tive when it would deem itself perfect —
but in that
sense, that youth does not yet present the activity
Wordsworth, Ode: Intimations of work, does not yet exert itself for a definite in-
of Immortality, XI telligent aim, but rather exhibits a concrete fresh-
 —
13. The Ages of Man 51

ness of the soul^s life. It appears in the sensuous, adults who prattle and play to it. So God has
actual world, as incarnate spirit and spiritualized armed youth and puberty and manhood no less
sense —
in a unity which owed its origin to spirit. with its own piquancy and charm, and made it
Greece presents to us the cheerful aspect of youth- enviable and gracious and its claims not to be put
ful freshness, or spiritual vitality. It is here first by, if it will stand by itself. Do not think the youth

that advancing spirit makes itself the content of its has no force, because he cannot speak to you and
volition and its knowledge; but in such a way that me. Hark! in the next room his voice is sufficiently
state, family, law, religion, arc at the same time clear and emphatic. It seems he knows how to
objects aimed at by individuality, while the latter speak to his contemporaries. Bashful or bold then,
is individuality only in virtue of those aims. The he will know how to make us seniors very unnec-
man, on the other hand, devotes his life to labor essary.
for an objective aim; which he pursues consistent- Emerson, Self-Reliance
ly, even at the cost of his individuality.
Hegel, Philosophy of History, II, Introduction 113 A boy isin the parlor what the pit is in the play-
house; independent, irresponsible, looking out
110 He who lives to sec tw'o or three generations is like from his corner on such people and facts as pass
aman who sits some time in the conjurer’s booth by, he tries and sentences them on their merits, in
and witnesses the performance twice or
at a fair, the s%s'ift, summary way of boys, as good, bad, in-
were meant to be
thrice in succession. Tlie tricks teresting, silly, eloquent, troublesome. He cum-
seen only once; and when they arc no longer a bers himself never about consequences, about in-
novelty and cease to deceive their effect is gone. terests;he gives an independent, genuine verdict.
Schopenhauer, Sufferings of the World You must court him; he docs not court you. But
the man is as it were clapped into jail by his con-
111 A man’s life begins with the illusion that a long, sciousness. As soon as he has once acted or spoken
long time and a whole world lie before him, and with eclat he is a committed person, watched by
he begins with the foolish conceit that he has the sympathy or the hatred of hundreds, whose
plenty of time for all his many claims. The poet is affections must now enter into his account.
the eloquent, inspired advocate of this foolish but Emerson, Self-Reliance
beautiful conceit. But when in the infinite trans-
formation a man discovers the eternal so near to 114 It is time to be old,
life that there is not a single one of its claims, not To take in sail:

a single one of its evasions, not a single one of its The gods of bounds.
excuses, not a single one of its moments at a dis- Who sets to seas a shore,
tance from what he must do at this very moment, Came to me in his fatal rounds,
this very second, this very instant: then he is in And said: “No more!
the way of becoming a Christian. The sign of No farther shoot
childishness is to say: *^Me wants, me — me*'; the sign Thy broad ambitious branches, and thy root.
of youth is to say: —and —and 'T'; the Fancy departs: no more invent;
sign of maturity and the introduction to the eter- Contract thy firmament
nal is to will to understand that this “I” signifies To compass of a tent.”
nothing if it docs not become the “thou” to whom Emerson, Terminus
eternity unceasingly speaks, and says; “Thou shall,
thou shalt, thou shah.” The youth wishes to be the 115 My mariners,
only “I” in the whole world; maturity consists in Souls that have toil’d, and wrought, and thought
understanding this “thou” for itself, even if it is with me,
not said to any other single man. Thou shalt, thou That ever with a frolic welcome took
shalt love thy neighbor. O my hearer, it is not^ou The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
to whom I speak; it is to me, to whom eternity —
Free hearts, free foreheads, you and I arc old;
says: “Thou shalt.” Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.
Kierkegaard, Works of Love, I, 2C Death closes all; but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
112 What on this text
pretty oracles nature yields us Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
in the face and behavior of children, babes, and The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
even brutes! That divided and rebel mind, that The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the
distrust ofa sentiment because our arithmetic has deep
computed the strength and means opposed to our Moans round with many voices. Come, my
purpose, these have not. Their mind being whole, friends,
^cir eye is as yet unconquered; and when we look ’Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
m their faces we are disconcerted. Infancy con- Push off, and sitting well in order smite
forms to nobody; all conform to it; so that one The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
babe commonly makes four or five out of the To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
 —
52 I
Chapter /. Man

Of all the western stars, until I die. sacrifice everything, life itself, for it. Though these

It may be that the gulfs will wash us down; young men unhappily fail to understand that the
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, sacrifice of life is, in many cases, the easiest of all

And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. sacrifices, and that to sacrifice, for instance, five or

Tho* much is taken, much abides; and tho’ six years of their seething youth to hard and te-

We are not now that strength which in old days dious study, if only to multiply tenfold their pow-
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we ers of serving the truth and the cause they have set
are, —
before them as their goal such a sacrifice is ut-
One equal temper of heroic hearts, terly beyond the strength of many of them.

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
Tennyson,
116 Practically, the old have no very important advice
to give the young, their own experience has been
will Dostoevsky, Brothers Karamazov, Pt. I, I, 5
Ulysses 122 Prince Vasili seized Pierre’s hand and said to
Anna Pavlovna: “Educate this bear for me! He
has been staying with me a whole month and this
is the first lime I have seen him in society. Noth-

so partial, and their lives have been such misera- ing is so necessary for a young man as the society
ble failures, for private reasons, as they must be- of clever women.”
lieve; and it may be that they have some faith left Tolstoy, War and Peace, I, 4
which belies that experience, and they are only
less young than they were. I have lived some thiry 123 Natasha had not had a moment free since early
years on this planet, and I have yet to hear the morning and had not once had time to think of
firstsyllable of valuable or even earnest advice what lay before her.
from my seniors. They have told me nothing, and In the damp chill air and crowded closeness of
probably cannot tell me anything to the purpose. the swaying carriage, she for the first time vividly
Here is life, an experiment to a great extent un- imagined what was in store for her there at the
tried by me; but it does not avail me that they ball, in those brightly lighted rooms with music, —
have tried it. flowers, dances, the Emperor, and all the brilliant
Thoreau, Walden: Economy young people of Petersburg. The prospect was so
splendid that she hardly believed it would come
117 The youth gets together his materials to build a true, so out of keeping was it with the chill dark-
bridge to the moon, or perchance a palace or tem- ness and closeness of the carriage. She understood
ple on the earth, and at length the middleaged all that awaited her only when, after stepping
man concludes to build a wood-shed with them. over the red baize at the entrace, she entered the
Thoreau, youma/ (July 14^ 1852) hall, took off her fur cloak, and, beside Sonya and
in front of her mother, mounted the brightly illu-
118 How earthy old people become mouldy as the — minated between the flowers. Only then did
stairs
grave! Their wisdom smacks of the earth. There is she remember how she must behave at a ball, and
no foretaste of immortality in it. They remind me tried to assume the majestic air she considered in-
of earthworms and mole crickets. dispensable for a girl on such an occasion. But,
Thoreau, ypuma/ (Aug. 16, 1853) fortunately for her, she felt her eyes growing
misty, she saw nothing clearly, her pulse beat a
1 19 Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty hundred to the minute, and the blood throbbed at
breadth of the universe. her heart. She could not assume that pose, which
Old age, flowing free with the delicious near-by would have made her ridiculous, and she moved
freedom of death. on almost fainting from excitement and trying
Whitman, Song of the Open Road, XII with all her might to conceal it. And this was the
very attitude that became her best.
120 Grow old along with me! Tolstoy, War and Peace, VI, 15
The best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first wets made; 124 Consider well the proportions of things. It is better
Our times are in his hand to be a young June-bug than an old bird of para-
Who saith, “A whole 1 planned, dise.
Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be Mark Twain, Pudd’nhead Wilson*s
afraid!” Calendar, VIII
Browning, Rabbi Ben Ezra
125 The same space of time seems shorter as we grow older —
121 He (Alyosha] was to some extent a youth of our that is, the days, the months, and the yeare do so;
last epoch —that is, honest in nature, desiring the whether the hours do so is doubtful, and the min-
truth, seeking for and believing in it, and seek-
it utes and seconds to all appearance remain about
ing to serve it at once with all the strength of his the same. ... In youth we may- have an absolute-
soul, seeking for immediate action, and ready to ly new experience, subjective or objective, every
 13. The Ages of Man \
53

hour of the day. Apprehension is vivid, retentive-
ncss strong, and our recollections of that time, like
those of a time spent in rapid and interesting trav-
el, are of something intricate, multitudinous, and
long-drawn-out. But as each passing year converts
some of this experience into automatic routine
which we hardly note at all, the days and the
weeks smooth themselves out in recollection to
contentless units, and the years grow hollow and
collapse.
William James, P^xhology,
would be to most people in the form of a biologi-
cal treatise, Ihave written Back to Methuselah as
a contribution to the modern Bible.
Shaw, Back to Methuselah^ Pref.
128 Conrad. We’re not blaming you: you hadn’t lived
long enough. No more had we. Cant you see that
three-score-and-ten, though it may be long
enough for a very crude sort of village life, isnt
long enough for a complicated civilization like
XV ours? Flinders Petrie has counted nine attempts at
civilization made by people exactly like us; and

126 With the child, life is all play and fairy-tales and every one of them failed just as ours is failing.
learning the external properties of “things”; with They failed because the citizens and statesmen

the youth, it is bodily exercises of a more system- died of old age or over-eating before they had
atic sort, novels of the real world, boon-fellowship grown out of schoolboy games and savage sports
and song, friendship and love, nature, travel and and cigars and champagne. The signs of the end
adventure, science and philosophy; with the man, are always the same: Democracy, Socialism, and
ambition and policy, acquisitiveness, responsibil- Votes for Women, We shall go to smash within
ity to others, and the selfish zest of the battle of the lifetime of men now living unless we recognize
life. If a boy grows up alone at the age of games that we must live longer.

and sports, and learns neither to play ball, nor Shaw, Back to Methuselah^ II
row, nor sail,nor ride, nor skate, nor fish, nor
shoot, probably he will be sedentary to the end of 1 29 The Maiden. Clothes are a nuisance. I think I shall
his days; and, though the best of opportunities be do without them some day, as you ancients do.
afforded him for learning these things later, it is a The Ancient. Signs of maturity. Soon you will
hundred to one but he will pass them by and give up all these toys and games and sweets.
shrink back from the effort of taking those neces- The Youth. What! And be as miserable as you?
sary first steps the prospect of which, at an earlier The Ancient. Infant: one moment of the ecstasy
age, would have filled him with eager delight. of life as we live it would strike you dead.
The sexual passion expires after a protracted Shaw, Back to Methuselah, V
reign; but it is well known that its peculiar mani-
festation in a given individual depend almost en- 130 Is there an infantile sexuality? you will ask. Is
tirely on the habits he may form during the ezirly childhood not rather that period of life which is
period of its activity. Exposure to bad company distinguished by the lack of the sexual impulse?
then makes him a loose liver all his days; chastity No, gentlemen, it is not at all true that the sexual
kept at first makes the same easy later on. impulse enters into the child at puberty, as the
William James, P^'chology, XXTV devils in the gospel entered into the swine. The
child has his sexual impulses and activities from
127 Men do not live long enough: they are, for all the the beginning, he brings them with him into the
purposes of high civilization, mere children when world, and from these the so-called normal sexu-
they die; and our Prime Ministers, though rated ality of adults emerges by a significant devel-
as mature, divide their time between the golf opment through manifold stages. It is not very dif-
course and the Treasury Bench in parliament. ficult to observe the expressions of this childish
Presumably, however, the same power that made sexual activity; it needs rather a certain art to
this mistake can remedy it. If on opportunist overlook them or to fail to interpret them.

grounds Man now fixes the term of his life at Freud, Origin and Development
three score and ten he can equally fix it as
years, of Piycho-Analysis, IV
three hundred, or three thousand, or even at the
genuine Circumstantial Selection limit, which 131 To be sure, if it is the purpose of educators to stifle

would be until a sooner-or-Iater-inevitable fatal
accident makes an end of the individual. All that
is necessary to make him extend his present span
is that tremendous catastrophes such as the late
war shall convince him of the necessity of at least
and cigars if the race is
outliving his taste for golf
the child’s power of independent thought as early
as possible, in order to produce that “good behavi-
our” which is so highly prized, they cannot do
better than deceive children in sexual matters and
intimidate them by religious means. The stronger
characters will, it is true, withstand these influenc-

to be saved. This
not fantastic speculation: it is
is es; they will become rebels against the authority
deductive biology, if there is such a science as of their parents and later against ever)' other form
biolog)'. Here, then, is a stone that we have left of authority. When children do not receive the
unturned, and that may be worth turning. To explanations for which they turn to their elders,
make the suggestion more entertaining than it they go on tormenting themselves in secret with
 —
54 I
Chapter /. Man

the problem, and produce attempts at solution in 135 God guard me from those thoughts men think

which the truth they have guessed is mixed up in In the mind alone;

the most extraordinary way with grotesque inven- He that sings a lasting song

tions; or else they whisper confidences to each Thinks in a marrow-bone;

other which, because of the sense of guilt in the man
From all that makes a wise old
youthful inquirers, stamp everything sexual as
That can be praised of all;
horrible and disgusting,
0 what am I that I should not seem
Freud, Enlightaxmcnl
For the song's sake a fool?
of Children
1 pray — for fashion’s word is out

which the sense of And prayer comes round again

132 This age of childhood, in
That I may seem, though I die old,
shame is unknown, seems a paradise when we
look back upon it later, and paradise itself is noth-
A foolish, passionate man.
ing but the mass-phantasy of the childhood of the
Yeats, A Prayer for Old Age

individual. This is why in paradise men are naked

and unashamed, until the moment arrives when 136 That is no country for old men. The young
shame and fear awaken; expulsion follows, and In one another’s arms, birds in the trees
sexual life and cultural development begin.
—
^Those dying generations at their song, —
Freud, Interpretation
The salmon -falls, the mackerel -crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
of Dreams, V, D
Whatever is begotten, bom, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
133 If the infant could express itself, it would undoub-
Monuments of unaging intellect.
tedly acknowledge that the act of sucking at its

mother’s breast isand away the most impor-

far An aged man is but a paltry thing,
tant thing in would not be wrong in this,
life. It A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
for by this act it gratifies at the same moment the Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
t^vo greatest needs in life. Then we learn from For every tatter in its mortal dress,
psycho-analysis, not without astonishment, how Nor is there singing school but studying
much mental significance of this act is re-
of the Monuments of its own magnificence;
tained throughout life. Sucking for nourishment And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
becomes the point of departure from which the To the holy city of Byzantium,
whole sexual life develops, the unattainable proto- Yeats, Sailing to Byzantium
type of every later sexual satisfaction, to which in
times of need phantasy often enough reverts. The 137 Old places and old persons in their turn, when
desire to suck includes within it the desire for the spirit dwells in them, have an intrinsic vitality of
mother’s breast, which is therefore the first object of which youth is incapable; precisely the balance
sexual desire; cannot convey to you any ade-
I
and wisdom that comes from long perspectives
quate idea of the importance of this first object in and broad foundations.
determining every later object adopted, of the
Santayana, My Host the World, II
profound influence it exerts, through transforma-
tion and substitution, upon the most distant fields
138 Never have I enjoyed youth so thoroughly as I
of mental life,
have in my old age. ...
have drunk the plea-
I
Freud, General Introduction to sure of life more pure, more joyful, than it ever
P^'cho-Analysis, XX was when mingled with all the hidden anxieties
and little annoyances of actual living. Nothing is
134 In the act of birth there is a real danger to life. inherently and invincibly young except spirit.
We know what this means objectively; but what it And spirit can enter a human being perhaps bet-
means a psychological sense we have no idea.
in ter in the quiet of old age and dwell there more
The danger of birth has yet no mental content for undisturbed than in the turmoil of adventure.
the subject. One cannot possibly suppose that the Santayana, My Host the World, II
foetus has any sort of knowledge that its life is in
danger of being destroyed. It can only be aware of 139 I at least have found that old age is the time for
some vast upheavel in the economy of its narcissis- happiness, even for enjoying in retrospect the
tic Very large quantities of excitation
libido.
years of youth that were so distracted in their day;
crowd upon it, giving rise to new sensations of
in
and seem
I a certain sardonic defiance, a
to detect
unpleasure, and many organs acquire an in-
whining old beggars that look
sort of pride, in the
creased cathexis, thus foreshadowing the object-
so wretched as they stretch out a trembling hand
cathexis which will soon set in,
for a penny. They are not dead yet; they can hold
Freud, Inhibitions, Symptoms, together in spite of everything; and they are not
and Anxiety, VIII deceived about you, you well-dressed young per-
 28

56 Chapter I. Man

and not thine own loves himself more than all the rest of men, but
1 Let another man praise thee,
mouth; a stranger, and not thine own lips. yet sets less value on his own opinion of himself

Proverbs 27; than on the opinion of others.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, XII, 4

2 The gods help him who helps himself.

Euripides, Fragment U Withdraw into yourself and look. And if you do
not find yourself beautiful yet, act as does the
3 Crittas.Self-knowledge would certainly be main- creator of a statue that is to be made beautiful: he
tained by me to be the very essence of knowledge, cuts away here, he smoothes he makes this
there,

and in this I agree with him who dedicated the line lighter, this other purer, until a lovely face
inscription, “Know thyself!” at Delphi. has grown upon his work. So do you also: cut
Plato, Charmides, 164B away all that is excessive, straighten all that is

crooked, bring light to labour

all that is overcast,

4 Socrates. The wise or temperate man, and he only, to make all one glow of beauty and never cease
will know himself. chiselling your statue, until there shall shine out
Plato, Charmides, 167 A on you from it the godlike splendour of virtue,
until you shall see the perfect goodness surely es-
5 Athenian Stranger. The c.xcessive love of self is in tablished in the stainless shrine.
reality the source to each man of all offences. . . . Plotinus, First Ennead, VI, 9
Wherefore let every man avoid excess of self-love,
and condescend to follow a better man than him- 12 Man a great deep, Lord. You number his very
is

self, not allowing any false shame to stand in the hairs lost in Your sight: but the
and they arc not
way. hairs of his head arc easier to number than his
Plato, Laws, V, 731B affections and the movements of his heart.
Augustine, Confessions, IV, 14
6 Everyone has the obligation to ponder well his
own specific traits of character. He must also reg- 13 If I am deceived, I am. For he who i:?not, cannot
ulatethem adequately and not wonder whether be deceived; and if I am deceived, by this same
someone else’s traits might suit him better. The token I am.
more definitely his own a man’s character is, the Augustine, City of God, XI, 26
better it fits him.
Cicero, De Offidis, I, 31 14 For the most part, the human mind cannot attain
to self-knowledge otherwise than by making trial
7 Every animal is attached to nothing so much as to of its powers through temptation, by some kind of
its own interest. Whatever then appears to it an experimental and not merely verbal self-interro-
impediment to this interest, whether this be a gation.
brother, or a father, or a child, or beloved, or lov- Augustine, City of God, XVI, 32
er, it hates, spurns, curses; for its nature is to
love nothing so much as its own interest; this is fa- 15 It is a very ordinary and common thing amongst
ther, and brother and kinsman, and country, and men to conceive, foresee, know, and presage the
God. . . . misfortune, bad luck, or disaster of another; but to
If a man put in the same place his interest, have the understanding, providence, knowledge,
sanctity, goodness, and country, and
and parents, and prediction of a man’s own mishap, is very
friends, all these are secured: but if he puts in one scarce, and rare to be found any where.
place his interest, in another his friends, and his Rabelais, Gargantua and Pantagruel, III, 15
country and his kinsmen and justice itself, all
these give way being borne down by the weight of 16 If, as who study
ourselves have learned to do,
interest. each man who
hears a true statement immedi-
Epictetus, Discourses, II, 22 ately considered how it properly pertains to him,
each man would find that it is not so much a good
8 How much trouble he avoids
does not look to who saying as a good whiplash to the ordinary stupidi-
see what his neighbour says or does or thinks, but ty of his Judgment.
only to what he does himself, that it may be just Montaigne, Essays, Of Custom
I, 23,
and pure.
Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, IV, 1 17 This capacity for sifting truth, whatever it may
amount to in me, and this free will not to enslave
9 Look within. Within is the fountain of good, and my owe principally to myself. For
belief easily, I
it will ever bubble up, if thou wilt ever dig. the firmest and most general ideas I have arc
Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, VII, 59 those which, in a manner of speaking, were born
with me. They are natural and all mine. I pro-
10 I have often wondered how it is that every man duced them crude and simple, with a conception
 —
lA. Self- Knowledge and SelJ-‘Love 57

bold and strong, but a little confused and imper- found a man that knew how to love himself.

fect, Since then I have established and fortified Shakespeare, Othello, I, lit, 312
them by the authority of others and the sound
arguments of the ancients, with whom I found my 23 It hath been well said that the arch -flatterer, with
judgment in agreement. These men have given whom all the petty flatterers have intelligence, is a

me a firmer grip on my ideas and a more com- mnn’,s self.

plete enjoyment and jjosscssion of them. Bacon, Of Love

Montaigne, Essays, U, 17,
Of Presumption 24 For a long time I had remarked that it is some-
times requisite in common life to follow opinions
which one knows to l>e most uncertain, exactly as
18 It is a rare life that remains well ordered even in
pan though they were indisputable, as has been said
private. Any man can play his in the side
above. But Ixrcausc in this ease I wished to give
show and represent a worthy man on the boards;
myself entirely to the search after Truth, I
but to be disciplined witlun. in his own bosom,
thought that it was necessary for me to take an
where all is permissible, where all is concealed
apparently opposite course, and to reject as abso-
thaps the point.
lutely false cvcry'l hi ng ns to which I could imagine
Montaigne, Essays, III, 2,
the least ground of doubt, in order to sec if af-
Of Repentance
icnvards there remained anything in my l)clicf
that was entirely certain. Thus, liecausc our senses
19 Itwas a paradoxical command that was given us
sometimes deceive us, I wished to suppose that
of oldby that god at Delphi: “Look into yourself,
nothing is just as they cause us to imagine it to be;
know yourself, keep to yourself; bring back your
and because there arc men who deceive them-
mind and your will, which arc spending them-
selves in their reasoning and fall into paralogisms,
scKxs clsc^vhcrc, into themselves; you arc ntnning
even concerning the simplest matters of geometry',
out, you arc scattering yourself; concentrate your-
and judging that I svas as subject to error as was
self, resist yourself; yo\J arc Ivcing Ijetrayed, dis-
any other, I rejected as false all the reasons for-
persed, and away from yourself. Do you not
stolen
merly accepted by me as demonstrations. And
world keeps its sight all concentrated
see that this
since all the same thoughts and conceptions which
inward and its eyes open to contemplate itself? It
is alwap vanity for you, within and without; but we have while awake may also come to us in
sleep, without any of them lacing at that time true,
it is less vanity when it is less extensive. Except for
I resolved to assume that everything that ever en-
you, O man,“ said that god, “each thing studies
tered into my mind was no more true than the
itself first, and, according to its needs, lias limits to
illusions of my dreams. But immediately af-
its and desires. There is not a single thing
labors
icnvards I noticed that whilst I thus wished to
as empty and needy as you, who embrace the
think all things false, it was absolutely essential
universe: you arc the investigator without knowl-
that the “1“ who thought this should be some-
edge, the magistrate without jurisdiction, and all
what, and remarking that this truth **I thtnK, there-
in all, the fool of the farce."
JoTfl am" was so certain and so assured that all the
Montaigne, Essays, III, 9,
most extravagant suppositions brought fonvard by
Of Vanity
the sceptics were incapable of shaking it, 1 came
to the conclusion that 1 could receive it without
20 It is an absolute perfection and virtually divine to
scniplc as the first principle of the Philosophy.
know how to enjoy our being rightfully. We .seek
other conditions because we do not understand
Descartes, Discourse on Method, IV
the use of our own, and go outside of ourselves 25 Whosoever looketh into himself and considcreth
because we do not know what it is like inside. Yet what he doth when he docs think, opine, reason,
there is no use our mounting on .stills, for on stilts hope, fear, etc., and upon what grounds; he sh,nll
we must still walk on our own legs. And on the thereby read and know what arc the thoughts and
loftiest throne in the world we arc still sitting only passions of all other men upon llic like occasions.
on our own rump. I say the similitude of passions, which arc the
Montaigne, Essayst 111. 13, .same in all men,—desire, fear, hope, etc.; not the
Of Experience similitude of the objects of the pa.ssions, whicli arc
the things desired, feared, hoped, etc.: for these
21 Potonim. Tliis above all: to thine own self be true, the constitution individual, and particular educa-
And ii must follow, as the night the day, tion, do so vary, and they arc .so cas)' to be kept
Thou canst not then be false to any man. from our knowledge, that the characters of man’s
Shakespeare, }}amUt, I, iii, 78 heart, blotted and confounded as they arc with
dissembling, lying, counterfeiting, and erroneous
22 lago. O villainous!
I have looked upon the world doctrines, arc legible only to him that scarcheth
for four times seven years; and since I could dis- hearts. And though by men’s actions sve do dis-
tinguish betwixt a benefit and an injury, 1 never cover their design sometimes; yet to do it without
 —
58 I
Chapter L Man

comparing them with our own, and distinguishing tion, and absolutely that every one should endeav-
allcircumstances by which the case may come to our, as far as in him lies, to preserve his own
be altered, is to decipher without a key, and be for being. This is all true as necessarily as that the

the most part deceived, by too much trust or by whole is greater than its part.

too much diffidence, as he that reads is himself a Spinoza, Ethics, IV, Prop. 18, Schol.
good or evil man.
Hobbes, Leviathan, Intro. 31 We must consider what person stands for; —which,
I think, is a thinking intelligent being, that has
26 One must know oneself. If this does not serve to reason and reflection, and can consider itself as
discover truth, it at least serves as a rule of life, itself, the same thinking thing, in different dmes

and there is nothing better. and places; ^vhich it does only by that con-
Pascal, Pensees, II, 66 sciousness which is inseparable from thinking,
and, as seems to me, essential to it: it being
it

27 Man is to himself the most wonderful object in impossible for any one to perceive without perceiv-
nature; for he cannot conceive what the body is, ing that he does perceive. When we see, hear,
smell, taste, feel, meditate, or \vill anything, we
still less what the mind is, and least of all how a

body should be united to a mind. This isthe con- know that we do so.Thus it is always as to our
sununation of his difficulti^, and yet it is his very present sensations and perceptions: and by this
being. every one is to himself that which he calls self.

Pascal, Pensees, II, 72 Locke, Concerning Human Understanding,

Bk. II, XXVII, 9
28 The nature of self-love and of this human Ego is
to love self only and consider self only. But what 32 Suppose I wholly lose the memory of some parts of
will man do? He cannot prevent this object that my life, beyond a possibility of retrieving them, so
he loves from being full of faults and wants. He that perhaps I shall never be conscious of them
wants to be great, and he sees himself small. He again; yet am I
not the same person that did those
wants to be happy, and he sees himself miserable. actions, had those thoughts that I once was con-
He wants to be perfect, and he sees himself full of scious of,though I have now forgot them? To
imperfections. He wants to be the object of love which I answer, that we must here take notice
and esteem among men, and he sees that his faults what the word I is applied to; which, in this case,
merit only their hatred and contempt. This em- is the man only. And the same man being pre-

barrassment in which he finds himself produces in
him the most unrighteous and criminal passion
that can be imagined; for he conceives a mortal
enmity against that truth which reproves him and
which convinces him of his faults. He would anni-
sumed to be the same person, I is easily here sup-
posed to stand also for the same person. But if it
be possible for the same man to have distinct in-
communicable consciousness at different times, it
is past doubt the same man would at different

hilate it, but, unable to destroy it in its essence, he times make different persons; which, we see, is the
destroys it as far as possible in his own knowledge sense of mankind in the solemnest declaration of
and in that of others; that is to say, he devotes all human laws not punishing the
their opinions,
his attention to hiding his faults both from others mad man for the sober man’s actions, nor the so-
and from himself, and he cannot endure either ber man for what the mad man did, thereby —
that others should point them out to him, or that making them two persons; which is somewhat ex-
they should see them. plained by our way of speaking in English when
Truly it is an evil to be full of faults; but it is a we say such an one is “not himself,” or is “beside
still greater evil to be full of them and to be un- himself”; in which phrases it is insinuated, as if
willing to recognise them, since that is to add the those who now, or at least first used them, thought
further fault of a voluntary illusion. was changed; the self-same person was no
that self
Pascal, Pensees, II, 100 longer in that man.
Locke, Concerning Human Understanding,
29 If we do not know ourselves to be full of pride, Bk. II, XXVII, 20
ambition, lust, weakness, misery, and injustice,
we are indeed blind. And if, knowing this, we do 33 Self-esteem is the instrument of our conservation;
not desire deliverance, what can we say of a it resembles the instrument of the perpetuity of

man . . .? the species: it is necessary, it is dear to us, it gives

Pascal, Pensees, VII, 450 us pleasure, and it has to be hidden.
Voltaire, Philosophical Dictionaiy: Self-Esteem
30 Since reason demands nothing which is opposed
to nature, it demands, therefore, that every person 34 Our first duties are to ourselves; our first feelings
should love himself, should seek his own profit, are centred on self; all our instincts are at first
what is truly profitable to him, should desire ev- — directed to our own preservation and our own
erything that really leads man to greater perfec- welfare. Thus the first notion of justice springs not
 L4. Self-Knowledge and Self-Love 59

from what wc owe to others, but from what is due like. But if they have been consulted, and have
to us. happened to disapprove, opposition then becomes,
Rousseau, Emile, 11 in their estimation, an indispensable duty of self-
love, They seem to think themselves bound in
35 Johnson, A man should be careful never to tell talcs honour, and by all the motives of personal infalli-
of himself to his own disadvantage. People may be bility, to defeat the succc,ss of what has been re-
amused and laugh at the time, but they will be solved upon contrary to their sentiments. Men of
remembered, and brought out against him upon upright, benevolent tempers have too many op-
some subsequent occasion. portunities of remarking, with horror, to what
Bos^vcll, Life of Johnson (Mar. 14^ 1776) desperate lengths this disposition is sometimes car-
ried, and how often the great interests of society

36 Johnson. All censure of a man's self is oblique arc sacrificed to the vanity, to the conceit, and to
praise. It is in order to shew how much he can the obstinacy of individuals who have credit
spare. It has all the invidiousness of self-praise, enough to make their passions and their caprices

and all the reproach of falsehood. interesting to mankind.

Boswell, Life ofJohmon (Apr. 25, 1778) Hamilton, Federalist 70

37 Man has almost constant occasion for the help of 40 Cotmf«5 Tersky. Evcr>' individual character is in
his brethren, and it is inr vain for him to expect it the right that is in strict consistence with itself.

from their benevolence only. He will be more like- Self-contradiction is the only wrong,
ly to pres’ail if he can interest their self-love in his Schiller, Wallenstein*s Death, I

favour, and show them that it is for their osvn

advantage to him what he requires of them,
do for 41 Why is it that, in spite of all the mirrors in the
\N'hoc\'cr offers toanother a bargain of any kind, world, no one really knows what he looks like?
proposes to do this. Give me that which I want, Schopenhauer, Further Psychological
and you shall have this which you want, is the Observations
meaning of every' such offer; and it is in this man-
ner that SVC obtain from one another the far great- 42 Our Worhs arc the mirror wherein the spirit first
er part of those good offices w'hich wc stand in sees its natural lineaments. Hence, too, the folly of
need of. It is not from the benevolence of the lliat impossible Precept, Know thyself; till it lie
butcher, the brewer, or the baker that wc expect translated into this partially possible one, A'noit^
our dinner, but from their regard to their own what thou const u^rk at.

interest. Wc address ourselves, not to their hu- Carlyle, Sartor Resartus, 1 1, 7

manity but to their self-love, and never talk to
them of our own necessities but of their advan- 43 What I be clear in my mind what
really lack is to
tages. / am to do, what am
to know, except in so far
not I

Adam Smith, Wealth of Nations,
38 It is absolutely impossible to make out by experi-
ence with complete certainty a single ease in
which the maxim of an action, however right in
itself, rested simply on moral grounds and on the
conception of duty. Sometimes it happens that
with the sharpest self-examination wc can find
nothing beside the moral principle of duly which
could have been powerful enough to move us to
thisor that action and to so great a sacrifice; yet
w'ccannot from this infer with certainty that it
was not really some secret impulse of self-love, un-
der the false appearance of duty, that was the ac-
1, 2 as a certain understanding must precede every ac-
tion, The thing is to understand my.sclf, to .see
what God me to do; the thing is to
really wishes
find a truth which is truc/or mr, to find the idea for
which / can live and die. Wliat would be the use of
discovering so-called objective truth, of working
through all the systems of philosophy and of being
able, if required, to review them all and show up
the inconsistencies within each tystem; what —
good would it do me to be able to develop a theo-
ry’ of the state and combine all the details into a
single whole, and so construct a ut)rld in which I
did not live, but only held up to the view of
others; —what good would it do me to be able to

tual determining cause of the will. Wc like them explain the meaning of Christianity if it had no
to flatter ourselves by falsely taking credit for a deeper significance for me and for my life; —what
more noble motive; whereas in fact wc can never, good would it do me if truth stood before me, cold

even by the strictest examination, get completely and naked, not caring whether I recognised her or
behind the secret springs of action. not, and producing in me a shudder of fear rather
Kant, Fundamental Principles of the than a trusting devotion? I certainly do not deny
Metaphysic of Morals, 11 that I still recognise an imperative of understanding
and that through it one can work upon men, but it
39 Men often oppose a thing, merely because they mttst be taken up into my life, and that ts what I now
have had no agcnc)' in planning it, or because it recognise as the most important thing. That is
may have been planned by those whom they dis- what my soul longs after, as the African desert
 )

60 Chapter L Man

after the world’s opinion; it is easy in solitude to

thirste for water.
Kierkegaard, youmofy (Aug. I, 1835) live afterour own; but the great man is he who in
the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect s\veet-
ness the independence of solitude.
44 When a man
has gone astray to the point of per-
dition and about to sink, his last speech, the sign
is
Emerson, Self-Reliance

is: ‘and yet something better in me is being lost’. It

is like the bubbles rising to the surface from a
drowning man; that is the sign then he sinks.—
Just as self-isolation can be a man's downfall, be-
cause he will not reveal what is hidden, in the
same way to pronounce those words spells destruc-
tion. For that declaration expresses the fact that
he has become so objective to himself that he can
talk of his own destruction as of something settled,
which can now be of psychological interest to a
third person. The hope that there was something
better in him, which should have been used in
48 The other terror that scares us from self- trust is
our consistency; a reverence for our past act or
word because the eyes of others have no other
data for computing our orbit than our past acts,
and we are loth to disappoint them.
But why should you keep your head over your
shoulder? Why drag about this corpse of your
memory, lest you contradict somewhat you have
stated in this or that public place? Suppose you
should contradict yourself; what then?
Emerson, Self-Reliance

silence to work for his salvation, that hope is made

public and used as an ingredient in the funeral 49 Among those points of self-education which take
oration he pronounces upon himself. up the form of mental discipline, there isone of
Kierkegaard, Jmmals (1846 great importance, and, moreover, difficult to deal
with, because it involves an internal conflict, and
45 To believe your own thought, to believe that what equally touches our vanity and our ease. It con-
is true for you in your private heart is true for all sists in the tendency to deceive ourselves regard-
men — that is genius. Speak your latent convic- ing all we wish for, and the necessity of resistance
tion, and it be the universal sense; for the
shall to these desires. It is impossible for any one who
inmost in due time becomes the outmost, and our has not been constrained, by the course of his oc-
first thought is rendered back to us by the trum- cupation and thoughts, to a habit of continual
pets of the Last Judgment. Familiar as the voice self-correction to be aware of the amount of error
of the mind is to each, the highest merit we as- in relation to judgment arising from this tenden-
cribe to Moses, Plato and Milton is that they set cy. The force of the temptation which urges us to
at naught books and traditions, and spoke not seek for such evidence and appearances as are in
what men, but what th^ thought. A man should favour of our desires, and to disregard those which
learn to detect and watch that gleam of light oppose them, is wonderfully great. In this respect
which flashes across his mind from within, more we are all, more or less, active promoters of error.

than the lustre of the firmament of bards and In place of practising wholesome self-abnegation,
sages. Yet he dismisses without notice his thought, we ever make the wish the father to the thought:
because it is his. In every work of genius we recog- we receive as friendly that which agrees with, we
nize our own rejected thoughts; they come back to resist with dislike that which opposes us; whereas
us with a certain alienated majesty. Great works the very reverse is required by every dictate of
of art have no more affecting lesson for us than common sense.
this. They teach us to abide by our spontaneous Faraday, Observations on Mental Education
impression with good-humored inflexibility then
most when the whole cry of voices is on the other 50 I would rather sit on a pumpkin and have it all to
side. Else to-morrow a stranger will say with mas- myself than be crowded on a velvet cushion. I
terly good sense precisely what we have thought would rather ride on earth in an ox cart, with a
and felt all the time, and we shall be forced to free circulation, than go to heaven in the fancy
take with shame our own opinion from another. car of an excursion train and breathe a malaria all
Emerson, Self- Reliance the way.
Thoreau, Walden: Economy
46 Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron
string. 51 I never dreamed of any enormity greater than I

Emerson, Self-Reliance have committed. I never knew, and never shall

know, a worse man than myself.
47 What I must do is all that concerns me, not what Thoreau, Walden: Economy
the people think. This rule, equally arduous in
actual and in intellectual life, may seive for the 52 I only know myself as a human entity; the scene,
whole between greatness and mean-
distinction so to speak, of thoughts and affections; and am
ness. It is the harder because you will always find sensible of a certain doubleness
by which I can
those who think they know what is your duty bet- stand as remote from myself as from another.
ter than you know it. It is easy in the world to live However intense my experience, I am conscious of
 I A. Self-Knowledge and Self-Love 61

the presence and criticism of a part of me, which, scratched in all directions; but place now against

as it not a part of me, but spectator, shar-

were, is it a lighted candle as a centre of illumination, and
ing no experience, but taking note of it, and that lo! the scratches will seem to arrange themselves

is no more I than it is you. in a fine series of concentric circles round that

Thoreau, Walden: Solitude little sun. It is demonstrable that the scratches are

going everywhere impartially, and it is only your

53 1 celebrate myself, and sing myself. candle which produces the flattering illusion of a
Whitman, Song of Myself I concentric arrangement, its light falling with an
exclusive optical selection. These things are a par-

54 Do I contradict myself?
*
able. The scratches are events, and the candle is

Very well then I contradict myself, the egoism of any person now absent.
(I am large, I contain multitudes.) George Eliot, Middlemarch, III, 27
Whitman, Song of Myself LI
59 She [Mary Garth] sat to-night revolving, as she
55 It is not by wearing down into uniformity all that was wont, the scenes of the day, her lips often
is individual in themselves, but by cultivating it, curling with amusement at the oddities to which
and calling it forth, within the limits imposed by her fancy added fresh drollery: people were so ri-
the rights and interests of others, that human diculous with their illusions, carrying their fool’s
beings become a noble and beautiful object of caps unawares, thinking their own lies opaque
contemplation; and as the works partake the while everybody else’s were transparent, making
character of those who do them, by the same pro- themselves exceptions to everything, as if when all
cess human life also becomes rich, diversified, and the world looked yellow under a lamp they alone
animating, furnishing more abundant aliment to were rosy.

high thoughts and elevating feelings, and George Eliot, Middlemarch, III, 33
strengthening the tie which binds every individual
to the race, by making the race infinitely better 60 Consciousness is a source of self-cognition quite
worth belonging to. apart from and independent of reason. Through
Mill, On UbtTly, III his reason man observes himself, but only through
consciousness does he know himself.
56 Because the tyranny of opinion is such as to make Tolstoy, War and Peace, II Epilogue, VIII
eccentricity a reproach, it is desirable, in order to
break through that tyranny, that people should be 61 We are unknown,we knowers, ourselves to our-
eccentric. Eccentricity has always abounded when selves: this own good reason. We have nev-
has its

and where strength of character has abounded; er searched for ourselves —

how should it then
and the amount of eccentricity in a society has come to pass, that we should ever find ourselves?
generally been proportional to the amount of gen- Nietzsche, Genealogy of Morals, Preface, 1

ius, mental vigour, and moral courage it con-

tained.That so few now dare to be eccentric 62 The most spiritual human beings, as the strongest,
marks the chief danger of the time. find their happiness where others would find their
Mill, On Liberty, III destruction: in the labyrinth, in severity towards
themselves and others, in attempting; their joy lies
57 We are all of us born in moral stupidity, taking in self-constraint: with them asceticism becomes
the world as an udder to feed our supreme selves: nature, need, instinct.
Dorothea had early begun to emerge from that Nietzsche, Antichrist, LVII
stupidity, but yet it had been easier to her to im-
agine how she would devote herself to Mr Casau- 63 I am often confronted by the necessity of standing
bon, and become wise and strong in his strength by one of my empirical selves and relinquishing
and wisdom, than to conceive with that distinct- the rest. Not that I would not, if I could, be both
ness which is no longer reflection but feeling an — handsome and fat and well dressed, and a great
idea wrought back to the directness of sense, like athlete, and make a million a year, be a wit, a
the solidity of objects —
that he had an equivalent bon-vivant, and a lady-killer, as well as a philoso-
centre of self, whence the lights and shadows must pher; a philanthropist, statesman, warrior, and
always fall with a certain difference. African explorer, as well as a “tone-poet” and
George Eliot, Middlemarch, II, 21 saint. But the thing is simply impossible. The
millionaire’s work would run counter to the
58 An eminent philosopher among my friends, who saint’s; the bon-vivant and the philanthropist would
can dignify even your ugly furniture by lifting it trip each other up; the philosopher and the lady-
into the serene light of science, has shown me this killer could not well keep house in the same tene-
pregnant little fact. Your pier-glass or extensive ment of clay. Such different characters may con-
surface of polished steel made to be rubbed by a ceivably at the outset of life be alike possible to a
housemaid, will be minutely and multitudinously man. But to make any one of them actual, the rest
 62 I
Chapter /. Man LI
must more or be suppressed. So the seeker of
less others. The others arc too much absorbed in their

his truest, strongest, deepest selfmust review the own vital secrets to take an interest in ours. Hence
list carefully, and pick out the one on which to the stupidity and injustice of our opinions, so far

stake his salvation. All other selves thereupon be- as they deal with the significance of alien lives.

come unreal, but the fortunes of this self are real. Hence the falsity of our judgments, so far as they
Its failures are real failures, its triumphs real presume to decide in an absolute way on the value
triumphs, carry'ing shame and gladness with of other persons* conditions or ideals.

them, . Our thought, incessantly deciding,

. .
William James, On a Certain Blindness in

among many things of a kind, which ones for it Human Beings

shall be realities, here chooses one of many possi-
ble selves or characters, and forthwith reckons it 66 A return from the over-estimation of the property
no shame to fait in any of those not adopted ex- of consciousness is the indispensable preliminary
pressly as its own. to any genuine insight into the course of ps^'chic
William James, Psychology, X events . . , The unconscious must be accepted as
the general basis of the ps)’chic life. The uncon-
64 The consciousness of Self involves a stream of scious is the larger circle which includes the small-
thought, each part of which as “I" can 1 ) remem- er circle of the conscious; everything conscious has
ber those which went before, and know the things a preliminary unconscious stage, whereas the un-
they knew; and 2) emphasize and care para- conscious can stop at this stage, and yet claim to
mountly for certain ones among them as “me,” be considered a full psychic function. The uncon-
and appropriate to these the rest. The nucleus of the scious is the true psychic reality; in its inner nature it

“me” is always the bodily existence felt to be IS just as much unfcnoivn to us as the reality of the external

present at the time. Whatever remem be red-pas t- world, and it ir just as imperfectly communicated to us by

fcclings resemble this present feeling arc deemed to the data of consciousness as is the external uvrld by the
belong to the same me with it. Whatever other reports of our sense-orgaris.
things are perceived to be assoaoted with this feel- Freud, Interpretation of Dreams, VII, F
ing arc deemed to form part of that mc’s experience,
and of them certain ones (which fluctuate more or 67 We must say that all the acts and manifestations
less)arc reckoned to be themselves constituaxts of which I notice in m>'sclf and do not know Iiow' to
the me in a larger sense, —
such arc the clothes, the link up with the rest of my mental life must be
materia! possessions, the friends, the honors and judged as if they belonged to someone else and arc
esteem which the person receives or may receive. to be explained by the mental life ascribed to that
This me
is an empirical aggregate of things objec- person. Further, experience shows that we under-
tively known. The I which kno\vs them cannot stand very well how to interpret in others (i.c.,

itself be an aggregate; neither for psyxhological how to fit into their mental context) those same
purposes need it be considered to be an unchang- acts which we refuse acknowledge as mentally
to
ing mctaph)^ical entity like the Soul, or a princi- conditioned in ourselves.Some special hindrance
ple like the pure Ego, viewed as “out of time.” It evidently deflects our investigations from our-
is a Thought, at each moment different from that of selves and interferes with our obtaining true
the last moment, but appropriative of the latter, to- knowledge of ourselves.
gether with all that the latter called its own. All Freud, The Unconscious, I

the experiential facts find their place in this de-

scription, unencumbered with any hypothesis save 68 Many good words get spoiled when the word self
that of the existence of passing thoughts or states is prefixed to them: Words like pity, confidence,
of mind. The same brain may subserve many con- sacrifice, control, love. The reason is not far to
scious selves, cither alternate or coexisting; but by seek. The word self infects them %sith a fixed in-
what modifications in its action, or whether ultra- troversion and isolation. It implies that the act of
cerebral conditions may intervene, arc questions love or trust or control is turned back upon a self
which cannot now be ans^vc^cd. which already is in full existence and in whose
William James, P^chohgy, X behalf the act operates. Pity creates a fulfils and
selfwhen it is directed outward, opening the mind
65 The blindness in human beings ... is the blind- to new contacts and receptions. Pity for self with-
ness with which we all arc afflicted in regard to draws the mind back into itself, rendering its sub-
the feelings of creatures and people different from jectunable to learn from the buffetings of fortune.
ourselves. Sacrifice may enlarge a self by bringing about sur-
We arc practical beings, each of us with limited render of acquired possessions to requirements of
functions and duties to perform. Each is bound to new growth. ScU-sacrificc means a self-maiming
feel intensely the importance of his own duties which asks for compensatory pay in some later
and the significance of the situations that call possession or indulgence. Confidence as an out-
these forth. But this feeling is in each of us a vital going act is directness and courage in meeting the
secret, for sympathy with which we vainly look to facts of life, trusting them to bring instruction and
 1,5. Honor, Reputation, and Fame or Glory 63

support to a developing self. Confidence which But yesternight declare

terminates in the self means a smug complacency That he had found a text to prove
that renders a person obtuse to instruction by That only God, my dear.
events. Control means a command of resources Could love you for yourself alone
that enlarges the self; self-control denotes a self And not your yellow hair.”
which is contracting, concentrating itself upon its Yeats, For Anne Gregory
own achievements, hugging them tight, and there-
by estopping the growth that comes when the self
70 The philosophies of Descartes and Kant’ to the
is generously released; a self-conscious moral ath-
contrary, through the / think we reach our own self
leticism that ends in a disproportionate enlarge-
in the presence of others, and the others are just as
ment of some organ.
real to us as our own self. Thus, the man who
Dewey, Human Nature and Conduct, II, 5 becomes aware of himself through the cogito also
perceives all others, and he perceives them as the
69 “Never shall a young man. condition of his own existence. He realizes that he
Thrown into despair can not be anything (in the sense that we say that
By those great honey-colored someone is witty or nasty or jealous) unless others
Ramparts at your ear. recognize it as such. In order to get any truth
Love you for yourself alone about myself, I must have contact with another
And not your yellow hair.” person. The other is indispensable to my own exis-
tence, as well as to my knowledge about myself.
“But I can get a hair-dye
This being so, in discovering my inner being I
And set such color there,
discover the other person at the same time, like a
Brown, or black, or carrot, freedom placed in front of me which thinks and
That young men in despair
wills only for or against me. Hence, let us at once
May love me for myself alone announce the discovery of a world which we shall
And not my yellow hair.” call inter-subjectivity; this is the world in which

“I heard an old religious man man decides what he is and what others are.
Sartre, Existentialism

1.5 Honor, Reputation, and Fame or Glory

That the individual man should seek to distinction between true honor and its coun-
know himself for what he really is and terfeits, the latter being undeserved.
should esteem himself for his true worth Modern writers, in contrast, tend to sub-
make inevitable his desire to be known and stitute reputation for honor; though when
esteemed by others according to his merits. they distinguish between a well-deserved
Honor is the name that the ancients gave to reputation and one that is meretricious,
the good that satisfies this natural desire; they, too, are drawing a line that parallels
and they prized it highly among the goods the one that the ancients drew between hon-
that a virtuous man should seek —higher or and its counterfeits. Whether the term
than wealth or sensual pleasure. The Greek used “honor” or “reputation,” both an-
is

and Roman writers quoted here stress the cient and modern writers also tend to agree
relation of honor to virtue or merit. They that being well regarded or praised by
are, therefore, concerned with justice in the others has little worth when those others are
distribution or award of honors and with the foolish or vicious, and so are not worthy
 —
64 I
Chapter L Man

enough to set store by their opinion. It is the eyes of those whose judgment is worth
sometin’ies questioned whether one should heeding, cannot be pursued to the detriment
care at all about the opinion of others; God of one’s moral character; not so fame, for it
alone is the judge of one’s ultimate worth, belongs to the triad of things —
money, fame,
and virtue is its own reward. and power — that tempt men to those ex-
Three other terms were operative in the cesses of appetite which moralists condemn
selection of the passages to be quoted here. as lust and inordinate ambition. The price
One is shame, which is partly a synonym for that one must pay for fame and glory is
dishonor or disgrace, and partly the name sometimes too high. Nevertheless, it is also
for the emotion or sentiment an individual recognized that fame and glory^ can be well
experiences when he is aware of deficiencies deserved; and when not pursued they need
in himself that stand in the way of his being not be gained at the expense of virtue.
justly honored. The
other two terms are These matters overlap the discussion of

fame and glor^s which are sometimes syno- cavy^ and also of pride and humility, in
nyms for reputation or at least for renown, Chapter 4 on Emcoion. They also have rela-

but never synonyms for honor. Honor, prop- tion to the consideration of vnrtue and vice
erly conceived, or even a good reputation in in Chapter 9 on Ethics.
3

1 Hektor. I would feel deep shame let us go on and win gloiy’ for ourselves, or yield it

before the Trojans, and the Trojan women with to others.

trailing garments, Homer, Iliad, XII. 322
if like a coward I were to shrink aside from the
fighting; 4 Andromache. Repute! repute! repute! how youVe
and the spirit will not let me, since I have learned ballooned
to be valiant Thousands of good-for-nothings to celebrity!
and to fight always among the foremost ranks of Men whose glory is come by honestly
tire Trojans, Have all my admiration. But impostors
winning (or my own self great glor)% and for my Deserve none; luck and humbug’s all thc)' arc.
father.
Euripides, Andromache, 319
Homer, lliad^ VI, 441
5 Pelais. When
the public sets a war memorial up
Do who really sweated get the credit?
those
2 Achilles. Fate is the same for the man who holds
Oh no! Some general wangles the prestige!
back, the same if he fights hard.
Who, brandishing his one spear among thousands,
We are all held in a single honour, the brave with
Did one man’s work, but gets a world of praise.
the weaklings.
Euripides, Andromache, 694
A man dies still if he has done nothing, as one
who has done much.
6 It isonly the love of honour that never grows old;
Homer, Iliad, IX, 318
and honour it is, not gain, as some would have it,

that rejoices the heart of age and helplessness.

Hektor. Man, supposing you and I, escaping this Thucydides, Peloponnesian War, 11, 44
battle,
would be able to live on forever, ageless, immor- 7 The Athenians. In too many cases the very men that
tal, have their eyes perfectly open to what they arc
so neither would I myself go on fighting in the rushing into, let the thing called disgrace, by the
foremost mere influence of a seductive name, lead them on
nor would I urge you into the fighting where men to a point at which they become so enslaved by
win glory. the phrase as in fact to fall wilfully into hopeless
But now, seeing that the spirits of death stand disaster, and incur disgrace more disgraceful as
close about us the companion of error, than when it comes as the
in their thousands, no man can turn aside nor result of misfortune.
escape them, Thucydides, Peloponnesian War, V, 111
 66 Chapter 1, Man

The feeling is not becoming to every age, but wc feel more shame about a thing if it is done
only to youth. For we think young people should openly, before all men's eyes. Hence the proverb,
be prone to the feeling of shame because they live ‘shame dwells in the eyes\ For this reason we feel
by feeling and therefore commit many errors, but most shame before those who will always be with
arc restrained by shame; and we praise young us and those who notice what wc do, since in both

people who are prone to this feeling, but an older cases eyes are upon us.
person no one would praise for being prone to the Aristotle, Rhetoric, 1384*23

sense of disgrace, since we think he should not do

anything that need cause this sense. For the sense 21 Time as it goes round changes the seasons of
of disgrace not even characteristic of a good
is things.That which was in esteem, falls at length
man, since it is consequent on bad actions (for into utter disrepute; and then another thing
such actions should not be done; and if some ac- mounts up and issues out of its degraded state and
tions are disgraceful in very truth and others only every day is more and more coveted and blossoms
according to common opinion, this makes no dif- forth high in honour when discovered and is in
ference; for neither class of actions should be marvellous repute with men.
done, so that no disgrace should be felt); and it is Lucretius, Nature of Things, V
a mark of a bad man even to be such as to do any
disgraceful action. To be so constituted as to feel 22 No list of successes can bestow so much happiness
disgraced if one does such an action, and for this as their diminution will cause annoyance,
reason to think oneself good, is absurd; for it is for Cicero, Disputations, I, 46
voluntary actions that shame is felt, and the good
man will never voluntarily do bad actions. But 23 True fame has real substance and is precisely
shame may be said to be conditionally a good fashioned. It is not something ephemeral. It is,
thing; 1/ a good man does such actions, he will feel rather, the unanimous opinion of good men and
disgraced; but the virtues are not subject to such a the verdict of honest judges on an issue of out-
qualification. And if shamelessness —not to be standing merit. It is the echo of virtue’s voice. Be-
ashamed of —
doing base actions is bad, that does cause fame is concerned with duties rightly done,
not make it good to be ashamed of doing such good men do not disdain it. False fame, which
actions. tries to pass itself off as the true, is headstrong and
Aristotle, 1128*^10 thoughUess, It is compounded of faults and errors
and seeks only public acclaim. By its counterfeit
18 Those who desire honour from good men, and nature, it tarnishes the luster of real honor.
men who know, are aiming at confirming their Cicero, Disputations, III, 2
own opinion of themselves; they delight in hon-
our, therefore, because they believe in their own 24 Whom does false honour delight, or lying calum-
goodness on the strength of the judgement of those ny terrify, except the vicious and sickly-minded?
who speak about them. Horace, Epistles, I, 16
Aristotle, Elhics^ 1159^22
25 What utter foolishness it is to be afraid that those
19 Fame means being respected by everybody, or who have a bad name can rob you of a good one.
having some quality that is desired by all men, or Seneca, Letters to Lticilius, 91
by most, or by the good, or by the wise.
Aristode, Rhetoric, 1361*25 26 A prophet is not without honour, save in his o\%ti
country, and in his own house.
20 Since shame is a mental picture of disgrace, in Matthew 13:57
which we shrink from the disgrace itself and not
from its consequences, and we only care what 27 Woe unto you, when all men shall speak well of
opinion held of us because of the people who
is you! for so did their fathers to the false prophets.
form that opinion, it follows that the people be- Luke 6:26
fore whom we feelshame are those whose opinion
of us matters to us. Such persons are: those who 28 It is the fortune of all good men that their virtue
admire us, those whom we admire, those by whom rises in glory after their deaths,and that the envy
we wish to be admired, those with whom we arc which evil men conceive against them never out-
competing, and those whose opinion of us we re- lives them long.
spect. We admire those, and wish those to admire Plutarch, Nvma Pompilius
us, who possess any good thing that is highly es-
teemed; or from whom we are very anxious to get 29 It may be observed, in general, that when young
something that they are able to give us as a lover — men arrive early at fame and repute, if they are of
feels. We compete with our equals. We respect, as a nature but slightly touched with emulation, this
true, the views of sensible people, such as our eld- early attainment is apt to extinguish their thirst
ers and those who have been well educated. And and satiate their small appetite; whereas the first
 1.5, HonoTy Reputation^ and Fame or Glory j
67

distinctions of more solid and weighty characters madness; so that now they no more think what is
do but stimulate and quicken them and take them good, glorious, but will have those actions only
away like a wind in the pursuit of honour; they esteemed good that are glorious.
look upon these marks and testimonies to their Plutarch, Agis
virtue not as a recompense received for what they
have already done, but as a pledge given by them- 34 Returning to Rome with a great opinion of him-
selves of what they will perform hereafter, self for these things, a ludicrous incident befell
ashamed now to forsake or underlivc the credit him, as he tells us himself. Meeting an eminent

they have won, or, rather, not to exceed and ob- citizen Campania, whom he accounted his
in
scure all that is gone before by the lustre of their friend, he asked him what the Romans said and
following actions. thought of his actions, as if the whole city had
Plutarch, CoriolaniLS been filled with the glory of what he had done.
His friend asked him in reply, *‘Whcre is it you
30 He who least likes courting favour, ought also have been, Cicero?” This for the time utterly mor-
least to think of resenting neglect; to feel wounded tified and cast him down, to perceive that the re-
at being refuseda distinction can only arise from port of his actions had sunk into the city of Rome
an ovci^vccning appetite to have it. as into an immense ocean, without any visible ef-
Plutarch, Alcibiades and Coriolanus Compared fect or result in reputation. And afterwards con-
sidering w'ith himself that the glory he contended
31 There issomething higher and greater in the ad- for was an infinite thing, and that there was no
miration rendered by enemies to the virtue that fixed end nor measure in its pursuit, he abated
had been their owm obstacle, than in the grateful much of his ambitious thoughts. Nevertheless, he
acknowledgments of friends. Since, in the one was always excessively pleased with his own
case, it is virtue alone that challenges itself the praise, and continued to the very last to be pas-
honour; while, in the other, it may be rather sionately fond of glory; which often interfered
men’s personal profit and advantage that is the with the prosecution of his wisest resolutions.
real origin of what they do. Plutarch, Ctcero
Plutarch, Marcdlus and Pdopidas Compared
35 An excessive display ofoutward honour would
32 L^'sandcr’s father is said to have been Aristoclitus, seem be the most uncertain attestation
to of the
who was not indeed of the royal family but yet of real affection of a people for any king or poten-
the stock of the Hcraclidac. He was brought up in tate. Such show's lose their whole credit as tokens
povert>% and showed himself obedient and con- of affection w'hcn w'c reflect that they may
. . .

formable, as ever any one did, to tiic customs of
his country; of a manly spirit, also, and superior
to all pleasures, excepting only that which their
good actions bring to those who arc honoured and
successful; and it is accounted no base thing in
Sparta for their young men to be overcome with
this kind of pleasure. For they arc desirous, from
the vciy" first, to have their youth susceptible to
good and bad repute, to feel pain at disgrace, and
exultation at being commended; and any one who
is insensible and unaffected in these respects is
equally proceed from fear. The same decrees arc
voted upon the latter motive as upon the former.
And therefore judicious men do not look so much
to statues, paintings, or divine honours that arc
paid them, as to their own actions and conduct,
judging hence whether they shall trust these as a
genuine, or discredit them as a forced homage. As
in fact nothing is less unusual than for a people,
even while offering compliments, to be disgusted
with those who accept them greedily, or arrogant-
ly, or without respect to the frec-w'ill of the givers.

thought poor-spirited and of no capacity for vir- Plutarch, Demetrius

tue,

Plutarch, Lysander 36 Be a good soldier, be good to your ward, be a

person of honor.
33 The man who is completely wise and virtuous has If you arc summoned to court, in a case uncertain
no need at all of glory, except so far as it disposes and doubtful.
and eases his way to action by the greater trust Even though Phalaris threatens and brings up his
that procures him,
it A
young man may be
. . . bull to suborn you,
permitted, while yet eager for distinction, to pride Tell no lie, believe that the worst sin of all is pre-
himself a little in his good deeds; for . his vir-. . ferring
tues, which are yet tender and, as it were, in the Life to honor; don’t lose, for life’s sake, your rea-
blade, cherished and supported by praises, grow sons for living.
stronger, and take the deeper root. But when this Ifa man is worthy of death, he is dead, though he
passion is exorbitant, it is dangerous in all men, banquets on oysters,
and who govern a commonwealth, utterly
in those Though he bathes in a tub that recks with the
destructive.For in the possession of large power perfumes of Cosmos.
and authority, it transports men to a degree of Juvenal, Satire VIJI
 68 Chapter L Man

37 Is anyone preferred before you at an entertain-

those who pretend to give praise, and the narrow-
ment, or in courtesies, or in confidential inter- ness of the space withinwhich it is circumscribed,
course? If these things are good, you ought to re- and be quiet at last. For the whole earth is a
joice that he has them; and if they are evil, do not point, and how small a nook in it is this thy dwell-

be grieved that you have them not. And remem- ing, and how few are there in it, and what kind of

ber that you cannot be permitted to rival others in people are they who will praise thee.

externals without using the same means to obtain Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, IV, 3
them. For how can he who will not haunt the door
of any man, will not attend him, will not praise 41 Consider . . . the life lived by others in olden
him have an equal share with him who does these time, and the who will live after thee,
life of those
things? You are unjust, then, and unreasonable if and the life now lived among barbarous nations,
you are unwilling to pay the price for which these and how many know not even thy name, and how
things are sold, and would have them for nothing. many will soon forget it, and how they who per-
For how much are lettuces sold? An obulus, for haps now are praising thee will very soon blame
instance. If another, then, paying an obulus, takes thee, and that neither a posthumous name is of
the lettuces, and you, not paying it, go without any value, nor reputation, nor anything else.
them, do not imagine that he has gained any ad-
Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, IX, 30
vantage over you. For as he has the lettuces, so
you have the obulus which you did not give. So, in
the present case, you have not been invited to
42 A man seeking the fame of eloquence —before a
judge who is also a man, with a multitude of men
such a person’s entertainment because you have
not paid him the price for which a supper is sold.
—
standing about inveighs against his adversary
with inhuman hatred. Such a man will be most
It is sold for praise; it is sold for attendance. Give
vigilantly on guard lest by a slip of the tongue he
him, then, the value if it be for your advantage.
drop an and murder the word “human”: yet
‘h’
But if you would at the same time not pay the
one, and yet receive the other, you are unreason-
by the fury of his mind he
worries not at all that

able and foolish. Have you nothing, then, in place

may murder a real human.
of the supper? Yes, indeed, you have —not to Augustine, Confessions, I, 18
praise him whom you do not like to praise; not to
bear the insolence of his lackeys. 43 Here, then, O
God, is the memory still vivid in my
Epictetus, Encheiridion, XXV mind. I would not have committed that theft
alone: my pleasure in it was not what I stole but

38 I |Tiberius] am mortal and limited to the func- that I stole: yet I would not have enjoyed doing it,
tions of humanity, content if I can adequately fill I would not have done it, alone. friendship un- O
the highest place; of this, I solemnly assure you friendly, unanalysable attraction for the mind,

[the Senators], and would have posterity remem- greediness to do damage for the mere sport and
ber it. They will more than sufficiently honour my jest of it, desire for another’s loss with no gain to
memory by believing me to have been worthy of oneself or vengeance to be satisfied! Someone cries
my ancestry, watchful over your interests, coura- “Come on, let’s do it” —and we would be
geous in danger, fearless of enmity, when the ashamed to be ashamed!
State required These sentiments of your hearts
it. Augustine, Confessions, II, 9
are my temples, my most glorious and abid-
these
ing monuments. Those built of stone are despised 44 Love of praise tempts me even when I reprove it
as mere tombs, if the judgment of posterity passes in myself, indeed in the very fact that I do reprove
into hatred. And therefore this is my prayer to our it; a man often glories the more vainly for his very
allies, our citizens, and to heaven itself; to the last, contempt of vainglory; which reason he does
for
that, to my life’s close, it grant me a tranquil not really glory in his contempt of glory; in that
mind, which can discern alike human and divine he glories in it, he does not contemn it.
claims; to the first, that, when I die, they honour
Augustine, Confessions, X, 38
my career and the reputation of my name with
praise and kindly remembrance.
45 Let the desire of glory be surpassed by the love of
Tacitus, Amals, IV, 38 righteousness, so that, if there be seen anywhere
“lying neglected things which are generally dis-
39 The desire of glory is the last infirmity cast off credited,” if they are good, if they are right, even
even by the wise. the love of human praise may blush and yield to
Tacitus, Histories, IV, 6 the love of truth. For so hostile is this vice to pious
faith, if the love of glory be greater in the heart
40 Perhaps the desire of the thing called fame will than the fear or love of God, that the Lord said,
—
torment thee. See how soon everything is forgot- “How can ye believe, who look for glory from one
ten, and look at the chaos of infinite time on each another, and do not seek the glory which is from
and the emptiness of applause,
side of the present, God alone?”
and the changeableness and want of judgement in Augustine, City of God, V, 14
 7

7 ^. Honor, Reputation, and Fame or Glory 69

46 I do notsee what it makes for the safety, good glory of our tongue;and perchance one is born
morals, and certainly not for the dignity, of men, who both from the nest.
shall chase

that some have conquered and others have been Earthly fame is naught but a breath of wind,
conquered, except that it yields them that most which now cometh hence and now thence, and
insane pomp of human glory, in which “they have changes name because it changes direction.
received their reward” who burned with excessive What greater fame shalt thou have, if thou strip
desire of it and carried on most eager wars. thee of thy flesh when old, than if thou hadst
Augustine, City of God, V, 1 died ere thou wert done with pap and chink,
before a thousand years arc passed? which is
shorter space to eternity than the twinkling of
47 Whosoever, without possessing that desire of glory
an eye to the circle which slowest is turned in
which makes one fear to displease those who judge
and power, very heaven.
his conduct, desires domination
Dante, Purgatorio, XI, 91
often seeks to obtain what he loves by most open
crimes. Therefore he who desires glory presses on
to obtain it by the true way, or certainly by
cither
52 Duke Theseus. And gladder ought a friend be of his
deceit and artifice, wishing to appear good when
death
he is not. Therefore to him who possesses virtues it
When, in much honour, he yields up his breath,
is a great virtue to despise glory; for contempt of it
Than when his name’s grown feeble with old age;
is seen by God, but is not manifest to human Judg-
For all forgotten, then, is his courage.
ment,
Hence it is best for all of noble name
Augustine, City of God, V, 19 To when at the summit
die of their fame.
Chaucer, Canterbuiy Tales:
48 Many men have got a great name from the false Knight’s Tale
opinions of the crowd. And what could be baser
than such a thing? For those who arc falsely
praised, must blush to hear their praises. And if 53 It isunnecessary for a prince to have all good . . ,

they are justly won by merits, what can they add qualities but it is very necessary to appear to
. . .

to the pleasure of a wise man’s conscience? For he have them. And I shall dare to say this also, that
measures his happiness not by popular talk, but to have them and always to observe them is injuri-
by the truth of his conscience. ous, and that to appear to have them is useful; to
Boethius, Consolation appear merciful, faithful, humane, religious, up-
of Philosophy, III right, and to be so, but with a mind so framed
that should you require not to be so, you may be
49 It is impossible for happiness to consist in honour. able and know how to change to the opposite.
For honour is given to a man on account of some And you have to understand this, that a prince,
c-xccllcncc in him, and consequently it is a sign especially a new one, cannot observe all those

and testimony of the excellence that is in the per- things for which men are esteemed, being often
son honoured. Now a man’s excellence is in pro- forced, in order to maintain the state, to act con-

portion to his happiness, which is man’s perfect trary to faith, friendship, humanity, and religion.

good; and to its parts, that is those goods by which Therefore it is necessary for him to have a mind
he has a certain share of happiness. And therefore ready to turn itself accordingly as the winds and
honour can result from happiness, but happiness variations of fortune force it, yet, as I have said
cannot principally consist therein. above, not to diverge from the good if he can
avoid doing so, but, if compelled, then to know
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I-II, 2, 2
how to set about it.
For this reason a prince ought to take care that
50 Honour is not that reward of virtue, for which the
he never lets anything slip from his lips that is not
virtuous work, but they receive honour from men
replete with the above-named five qualities, that
by way of reward, as from those who have nothing
he may appear to him who sees and hears him
greater to offer. But virtue’s true reward is happi-
altogether merciful, faithful, humane, upright,
ness itself, for which the virtuous work, whereas if
and religious. There is nothing more necessary to
they worked for honour, it would no longer be
appear to have than inasmuch as
this last quality,
virtue, but ambition.
men judge generally more by the eye than by the
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I-II, 2, 2 hand, because it belongs to everybody to see you,
to few to come in touch with you. Every one sees
51 O empty glory of human powers! How short the what you appear to be, few really know what you
time green endures upon the top, if it be not
its are, and those few dare not oppose themselves to
overtaken by rude ages! the opinion of the many, who have the majesty of
Cimabuc thought to hold the field in painting, the state to defend them; and in the actions of all
and now Giotto hath the cry, so that the fame men, and especially of princes, which it is not pru-
of the other is obscured. dent to challenge, one judges by the result.
Even so one Guido hath taken from the other the Machiavelli, Prince, XVIII
 70 I
Chapter 1. Man

54 The role of true victory is in fighting, not in com- see that these are only thin streams and jets of

ing off safely; and the honor of valor consists in water spurting from a bottom other%vise muddy
combating, not in beating. and thick; so likewise those who judge us by this

Montaigne, Essays, I, 31, Of Cannibals brave outward appearance draw similar conclu-
sions about our inner constitution, and cannot as-

55 Of all the illusions in the world, the most univer- sociate common faculties, just like their own, with
the concern for reputation and these other faculties that astonish them and arc so
sally received is

glory, which we espouse even to the point of giv- far beyond their scope.

ing up and health, which arc ef-

riches, rest, life, Montaigne, Essays, III, 2, Of Repentance
fectual and substantial goods, to follow that vain
phantom and mere sound that has neither body 61 Whatever it is, whether art or nature, that im-
nor substance. And of the irrational humors
. . . prints in us this disposition to live with reference
of men, it seems that even the philosophers get rid it does us much more harm than good.
to others,
of this one later and more reluctantly than any We defraud ourselves of our oum advantages to
other. make appearances conform wdth public opinion.
Montaigne,Essays, I, 41, Not We do not care so much what we are in ourselves
Communicating One’s Glory and in reality as what we are in the public mind.
Even the joys of the mind, and wisdom, appear
56 We lend our goods and our lives to the need of our fruitless to us, if they are enjoyed by ourselves
friends; but to communicate one’s honor and en- alone, if they do not shine forth to the sight and
dow another with one’s glory, that is hardly ever approbation of others.
seen. Montaigne, Essays, III, 9, Of Vanity
Montaigne, Essays, I, 41, Not
Communicating One’s Glory 62 Joan La Pucelle. Glory is like a circle in the water,
Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself
57 God, who is himself all fullness and the acme of Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought.
all perfection, cannot grow and increase within; Shakespeare, 7 Hmty VI, I, ii, 133
but his name may grow and increase by the bless-
ing and praise we give to his external works.
63 Mowbray. The purest treasure mortal times afford
Which we cannot incorporate it in
praise, since
Is spotless reputation: that away,
him, inasmuch as he can have no accession of
Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.
good, we attribute to his name, which is the part
Shakespeare, Richard II, I, i, 177
outside him that is nearest him. That is why it is
to God alone that glory and honor belong. And
there is nothing so remote from reason as for us to
64 Pnncc of Arragon. O, that estates, degrees, and of-

fices
go in quest of it for ourselves; for since we are
indigent and necessitous within, since our essence Were not derived corruptly, and that clear hon-

is imperfect and continually in need of better-

our
ment, it is this betterment that we should work Were purchased by the merit of the wearer!
for.
How many then should cover that stand bare!
Montaigne, Essays, II, 16, Of Glory How many be commanded that command!
How much low peasantr)' would then be glean’d
From the true seed of honour! and how much
58 We care more that people should speak of us than
how they speak of us; and it is enough for us that honour
our name should be current in men’s mouths, no Pick’d from the chaff and ruin of the times

matter in what way it may be current. It seems To be new- varnish’d!

that to be known is to have one’s life and duration Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, II, ix, 41

somehow in the keeping of others.

Montaigne, II, 16, Of Glory 65 Falstajf. I would to God thou and I knew where a
commodity of good names were to be bought.
59 It might perhaps be excusable for a painter or Shakespeare, 7 Henry IV, I, ii, 91
another artisan, or even for a rhetorician or a
grammarian, to toil to acquire a name by his 66 Hotspur. By heaven, me thinks it were an easy leap,
works; but the actions of virtue are too noble in To pluck bright Honour from the pale-fac^
themselves to seek any other reward than from moon,
their own worth, and especially to seek it in the Or dive into the bottom of the deep,
vanity of human judgments. Where fathom- line could never touch the ground,
Montaigne, Essays, 11, 1 6, Of Glory And pluck up drowned Honour by the locks;
So he that doth redeem her thence might wear
60 Those who judge and touch us inwardly make lit- Without corrival all her dignities.
tle account of the brilliance of our public
acts, and Shakespeare, 7 Henry IV, I, iii, 201
 — ——
13 . Honor, Reputation, and Fame or Glory 71

67 FaUtaJf. Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand.

honour prick me off when I come on? how then? And with his arms outstretch’d, as he would fly.
Can honour set to a leg? no: or an arm? no: or Grasps in the comer. Welcome ever smiles,
take away the grief of a wound? no. Honour hath And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue
no skill in surgery, then? no. What is honour? a seek
word. What is in that word honour? what is that Remuneration for the thing it was;
honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he For beauty, wit,
that died o* Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service.
he hear it? no. Tfis insensible, then? Yea, to the Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all

dead. But will it not live with the living? no. To envious and calumniating Time.
Why? detraction will not suffer it. Therefore Til One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.
none of it Honour is a mere scutcheon: and so That one consent praise new-born gawds,
all \vith

ends my catechism. Though they are made and moulded of things

Shakespeare, I Hairy IV, V, i, 130 past.
And give to dust that is a little gilt
68 HamleL chances in particular men,
Oft it More laud than gilt o’er-dusted.
That for some vicious mole
of nature in them, The present eye praises the present object.
—
As, in their birth ^wherein they are not guilty, Shakespeare, Troilus and Cressida, III, iii, 145
Since nature cannot choose his origin
By the overgrowth of some complexion, 71 Cassio. Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason, have lost the immortal part of myself, and what
Or by some habit that too much o’er-leavens remains is bestial. My reputation, lago, my repu-
The form of plausive manners, that these men. tation!
Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect. la^o. As I am an honest man, I thought you had
Being nature’s livery, or fortune’s star received some bodily wound; there is more sense
Their virtues else —be they as pure as grace. in that than in reputation. Reputation is an idle
As infinite as man may undergo and most false imposition; oft got without merit,
Shall in the general censure take corruption and lost without deserving. You have lost no repu-
From that particular fault: the dram of eale tation at all, unless you repute yourself such a
Doth all the noble substance of a doubt loser-
To his own scandal. Shakespeare, Othello, II, iii, 262
Shakespeare, Hamlet, I, iv, 23
72 logo. Good name in man and woman, dear my
69 HamleL Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, lord,
thou shall not escape calumny. Is the immediate jewel of their souls.
Shakespeare, Hamlet, III, i, 139 Who steals my purse steals trash; ’tis something,
nothing;
70 Ulysses. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, Twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thou-
Wherein he puts alms for Oblivion, sands;
A great-sized monster of ingratitudes. But he that filches from me my good name;
Those scraps are good deeds past; which are Robs me of that which not enriches him;
devour’d And makes me poor indeed.
As fast as they are made, forgot as soon Shakespeare, Othello, III, iii, 155
As done. Perseverance, dear my lord.
Keeps honour bright; to have done is to hang 73 Lady Macbeth. Yet do I fear thy nature;
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail It is too full o’ the milk of human kindness
In monumental mockery. Take the instant way; To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great;
For honour travels in a strait so narrow, Art not without ambition, but without
Where one but goes abreast. Keep then the path; The illness should attend it. What thou wouldst
For Emulation hath a thousand sons highly.
That one by one pursue. If you give way. That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false.
Or hedge aside from the direct forthright. And yet w'ouldst wrongly win.
Like to an enter’d tide, they all rush by Shakespeare, Macbeth, I, v, 17
And leave you hindmost;
Or, like a gallant horse fall’n in first rank. 74 Volumnia. pray you, daughter, sing; or express
1
Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, yourself in a more comfortable sort. If my son
O’er-run and trampled on. Then what they do in were my husband, I should freelier rejoice in that
present, absence wherein he won honour than in the em-
Though less than yours in past, must o’ertop bracements of his bed where he would show most
yours; love. When yet he was but tender-bodied and the
For time is like a fashionable host only son of my womb, when youth with comeli-
 72 I
Chapter 1. Man

ness plucked all gaze his way, when for a day of Motion, where you see me lie, and where I don’t
kings* entreaties a mother should not sell him an trouble my Head whether it be a Disgrace to be
hour from her beholding, I, considering how hon- mawi’d with Cudgels or with Packstaves: Let ’em
our would become such a person, that it was no be what they will, I am only vex’d to feel them so
better than picture-like to hang by the wall, if heavy on my Shoulders, where I am afraid they
renown made it not stir, was pleased to let him are imprinted as deep as they are in my Mind.
seek danger where he was like to find fame. To a For all this, rcply’d Don Quixote, I must inform
cruel war I sent him; from whence he returned, thee. Friend Sancho, that there is no Remem-
his brow’s bound with oak. I tell thee, daughter, I brance which Time will not deface, nor no Pain to
sprang not more in joy at first hearing he was a which Death will not put a Period. Thank you for
man-child than now in first seeing he had proved nothing, quoth Sancho! WTiat w'orse can befal us,
himself a man. than to have only Death to trust to? Were our
Shakespeare, Coriolanus, I, iii, 1 Affliction to be cur’d with a Plaister or two, a
Man might have some Patience; but, for ought I
see, all the Salves in an Hospital won’t set us on
75 Wols^\ Let’s dry our eyes; and thus far hear me,
Cromwell; our best Legs again. Come, no more of this, cry’d
And, w’hen I am forgotten, as I shall be, Don Quixote; take Courage, and make a Virtue of
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Necessity; for ’tis what I am resolv’d to do.

Of me more must be heard of, say, I taught thee, Cer^'antes, Don Quixote, I, 15

Say, Wolscy, that once trod the ways of glory.

And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, pray thee tell me now' what does the
78 Don Quixote. I
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in;
say of me? What do the Neighbours, what
Town
A sure and though thy master miss’d it.
safe one,
do the People think of me? What say the Gentry,
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin’d me. and the better Sort? How' do the Knights dis-
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition.
course of my Valour, my high Feats of Arms, and
By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then.
my courteous Behaviour? What Thoughts do they
The image of his Maker, hope to win by it? entertain of my Design, to raise from the Grave of
Love thyself last. Cherish those hearts that hate
Oblivion the Order of Knight-Errantry, and re-
thee;
store it to the World? In short, tell me freely and
Corruption w’ins not more than honesty.
sincerely whatever thou hast heard; neither
Still inthy right hand carry gentle peace.
enlarg’d with flattering Commendations, nor
To silence envious tongues. Be Just, and fear not. by any Omission of my Dispraise; for
lessen’d ’tis
Let all the ends thou aim’st at be thy country’s,
the Duty of faithful Servants to lay Truth before
Thy God’s, and truth’s; then if thou fall’st, O their Masters in its honourable Nakedness. . . .

Cromwell,
Thou fall’st a blessed mart^’r!
Why then, quoth Sancho, first and foremost you
are to know’, that the common People take you for
Shakespeare, Hairy VIII, III, 431
ii,
a dow’nright Mad-man, and me for one that has
not much Guts in his Brains.
76 Griffith. Men’s evil manners live in brass; their vir-
Cervantes, Don Quixote, II, 2
tues
We write in water.
Shakespeare, Hairy VIII, IV, ii, 46 79 Don There are two Paths to Dignity and
Quixote.
Weal^; and Arms. Arms I have chosen, and
Arts
77 I w’ould have thee to know', that those Wounds the Influence of the Planet Mars that presided at
that are given with the Instruments and Tools my Nativity, led me to that adventurous Road. So
which a Man happens to have in his Hand, do not that all your Attempts to shake my Resolution are
really disgrace the Person struck. We read it ex- in vain: for in spite of all Mankind, I will pursue
presly in the Laws of Duels, Thai if a Shoanaker what Heaven has fated, Fortune ordain’d, what
strikes anotha Man with his Last which fu held in his Reason requires, and (w'hich is more) what my
Handy tho* it be of Woody as a Cudgel iSy yet the Party Inclination demands. I am sensible of the many
who was struck with it shall not be said to have been Troubles and Dangers that attend the Prosecution
atdgelVd. I tell thee this, that thou may’st not think of Knight-Errantry, but I also know' w'hat infinite
we are in the least dishonour’d, tho’ w’e have been Honours and Rew'ards are the Consequences of
horribly beaten in this Rencounter; for the Weap- the Performance. The Path of Virtue is narrow’,
ons which those Men us’d were but the Instru- and the Way of Vice eas)' and open; but their
ments of their Profession, and not one of ’em, as I Ends and Resting-places are very different. The
veiy' well remember, had either Tuck, or Sword, latter is a broad Road indeed, and dow’nhill all
or Dagger. They gave me no Leisure, quoth San- the w'ay, but Death and Contempt are alw’a>’s met
choy to examine things so narrowly; for I had no at the End whereas the former
of the Journey;
sooner laid my Hand on my Cutlass, but they leads to Glory and a Life that soon must
Life, not
cross’d my Shoulders with such a w'ooden Bless- have an End, but an immortal Being,
ing, as settl’d me on the Ground without Sense or Cervantes, Don Quixote, II, 6
 Honor, Reputation, and Fame or Glory j
73

80 Don Quixote. I tell thcc, Sancko, this Desire of Hon- my Estate, quitted my Pleasures, and throtvn my*-

our is*a strange bcv^•itching thing. What dost thou self into the Arms of Fortune. My design w'as to
think made Horaiins, arm’d at all Points, plunge give a new Life to Knight-Errantry, that so long

headlong from the Bridge into the rapid Tyber? has been the World; and thus, after infinite
lost to

What prompted Curtins to leap into the profound Toils and Hardships; sometimes stumbling, some-
flaming Gulph? What made Mulius burn his times falling; casting myself headlong in one
Hand? U^at forc’d Caesar over the Rubicon, spite place, and rising again in another, I have
of all the Omens that dissuaded his Passage? And compass’d a great part of my Desire, relieving
to instance a more modem Example, what made Widow’s, protecting Damsels, assisting Marry’*d
the undaunted Spaniards sink their Ships, when Women and Orphans, the proper and natural Of-
under the most courteous Cortez, but that scorning fice of Knights- Errant; and so by many Valorous

the staleHonour of this so often conquer’d World, and Christian-like Atchievements, I have merited
they sought a Maiden Glory' in a new Scene of the Honour of the Press in almost all the Nations
Victory'? These and a Multiplicity of other great of the World, Thirty thousand Volumes of my
Actions, arc outing to the immediate Thirst and History have been printed already, and thirty
Desire of Fame, which Mortals expect as the thousand Millions more are like to be printed, if
proper Price and immortal Rccompcncc of their Heaven prevent not. In short, to sum up all in one
great Actions. But we that arc Christian Cathol- Word, know', I am Don Quixote de la Mancha, other-
ick Knights-Errant must fix our Hopes upon a w'isc call’d. The Knight of the Wofu! Figure; I

higher Resvard, plac’d in the Eternal and Celes- owm it lessens the value of Praise to be the Pub-
tial Regions, where we may expect a permanent lisher of itsown self; yet ’tis w'hat I am sometimes
Honour and complcat Happiness; not like the forc’d to, when none present to do me
there is

Vanity of Fame, which at best is but the Shadow Justice. And now, good Sir, no longer let this
of gTcat Actions, and must necessarily vanish, Steed, this Lance, this Shield, this Annour, nor
when destructive Time has cat away the Sub- this Squire, nor the Paleness of my Looks, nor my
stance which it follow’d. So, my Sancho, since we exhausted Body, move your Admiration, since
expect a Christian Reward, we must suit our Ac- you know w’ho I am, and the Profession I follow.
tions to the Rules of Christianity. In Giants we Cervantes, Don Quixote, II, 16
must kill Pride and Arrogance: But our greatest
Foes, and whom we must chiefly combat, arc 82 Ambition is like choler; w'hich is an humour that
within. Envy we must overcome by Generosity maketh men active, earnest, full of alacrity, and
and Nobleness of Soul; Anger, by a repos’d and stirring, if it be not stopped. But if it be stopped,
easy' Mind; Riot and Drou-sincss, by Vigilance
and cannot have his w'ay, it becometh adust, and
and Temperance; Lasciviousness, by our inviola- thereby malign and venomous. So ambitious men,
ble Fidelity to those who are Mistresses of our if they find the way open for their rising, and still
Thoughts; and Sloth, by our indefatigable Pere- get forward, they are rather busy than dangerous;
grinations through the Universe, to seek Occa- but they be checked in their desires, they be-
if
sions of Military', as well as Christian Honours. and look upon men and
come secretly discontent,
This, Sancho, is the Road to lasting Fame, and a matters with an evil eye.
good and honourable Renown.
Bacon, Of Ambition
Cervantes, Don Quixote, II, 8
83 Certainly, great persons had need to borrow' other
81 When he [the Gentleman in Green] look’d on men’s opinions, to think themselves happy; for if
Don Quixote, he thought he had never beheld be- they judge by their own feeling, they cannot find
fore such a strange appearance of a Man. He it: but if they think with themselves w'hat other

could not but admire at the Lankness of his men think of them, and that other men would
Horse; he consider’d then the Long-back'd, Raw- fain be as they arc, then thc>’ are happy as it were
bon’d Thing that bestrid him; His wan, meagre by report, when perhaps they find the contrary'
hacc, his Air, his Gravity, his Arms and Equi- w'ithin.

page; such a Figure, as perhaps had not been seen Bacon, Of Great Place
in that Country' time our of mind. Don Quixote
obsen'cd how intent the travelling Gentleman 84 Honour is, or should be, the place of virtue; and
had been him, and reading his Desire
in surv'cy’ing as in nature things move violently to their place,
in his Surprize, as he tvas the very Pink of Courte- and calmly in their place; so virtue in ambition is
sy and fond of pleasing c\’ery one, without violent, in authority settled and calm. All rising to
staying
till he should question great place is by a winding stair; and if there be
him, he thought fit to pre-
vent him. Sir, said he, that y'ou arc surpriz’d at factions, it is good to side a man’s self w'hilst he is
thisFigure of mine, which appears so new and in the rising, and to balance himself when he is
cxotick,I do not wonder in the least; but your placed.
Admiration will cease when I have inform’d y'ou, Bacon, Of Great Place
that I am one of those Knights who go in quest of
Adventures, I have left my' Country', Mortgaged 85 Fame is like a river, that bearcth up things light
 74 Chapter I . Man

and swoln, and drowns things weighty and solid. imaginary existence. We would rather sep-
to that
Bacon, Of Praise aratethem from ourselves to join them to it; and
we would willingly be cowards in order to acquire
86 A man an ill husband of his honour, that en-
is the reputation of being brave. . , . We are so pre-
any action, the failing wherein may dis-
treth into sumptuous that we would wish to be known by all
grace him more than the carrying of it through the world, even by people who shall come after,
can honour him. when we shall be no more; and we are so vain
Bacon, Of Honour that the esteem of five or six neighbours delights
and Reputation and contents us.

Pascal, Pensees, II, 147-148

87 Although I do not care immoderately for glory,
or, if I dare say so, although I even hate it, inas- 92 Have you never seen people who, in order to com-
much as I judge it to be antagonistic to the repose plain of the little fuss you make about them, pa-
which I esteem above all other things, at the same rade before you the example of great men who
time I never tried to conceal my actions as though esteem them? In answer I reply to them, ”Show
they were crimes, nor have I used many precau- me the merit whereby you have charmed these
tions against being known, partly because I persons, and I also will esteem you.”
should have thought it damaging to myself, and Pascal, Pmsees, V, 333
partly because it would have given me a sort of
disquietude which would again have militated
93 Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise
against the perfect repose of spirit which I seek.
(That last infirmity of Noble mind)
And forasmuch as having in this way always held
myself in a condition of indifference as regards
To scorn delights, and live laborious dayes;
But the fair Guerdon when we hope to find,
whether I was known or was not known, I have
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
not yet been able to prevent myself from acquir-
Comes the blind Fury with th’ abhorred shears.
ing some sort of reputation, I thought that I
should do my best at least to prevent myself from
And slits the thin spun life. But not the praise,

acquiring an evil reputation,

Phoebus repli’d, and touch’d my
trembling ears;
Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil,
Descartes, Discourse on Method, VI
Nor in the glistering foil
Set off to th’world, nor in broad rumour lies,
88 Grief for the discovery of some defect of ability is
But lives and spreds aloft by those pure eyes,
shame, or the passion that disco vereth itself in
And perfet witnes of all judging Jove;
blushing, and consisteth in the apprehension of
As he pronounces lastly on each deed,
something dishonourable; and in young men is a
Of so much fame in Heav’n expect thy meed,
sign of the love of good reputation, and commend-
Milton, Lycidas, 70
able: in old men a sign of the same; but be-
it is

cause it comes too late, not commendable.

Hobbes, Leviathan, I, 6 94 I might relate of thousands, and thir names
Eternize here on Earth; but those elect
89 Let a man, as most men do, rate themselves at the Angels contented with thir fame in Heav’n
highest value they can, yet their true value is no Seek not the praise of men; the other sort
more than it is esteemed by others. In might though wondrous and in Acts of Warr,
Hobbes, Leviathan, I, 10 Nor of Renown less eager, yet by doome
Ganccld from Heav’n and sacred memorie,
90 The manifestation of the value we set on one an- Nameless in dark oblivion let them dwell.
other is that which is commonly called honouring For strength from Truth divided and from Just,
and dishonouring. To value a man at a high rate is Illaudable, naught merits but dispraise

to honour him; at a low rate is to dishonour him. But And ignominic, yet to glorie aspires
high and low, in this case, is to be understood by Vain glorious, and through infamie seeks fame;

comparison to the rate that each man setteth on Therfore Eternal silence be thir doome.
himself. Milton, Paradise Lost, VI, 373
Hobbes, Leviathan, I, 10
95 O Eve, in evil hour thou didst give eare
91 We do not content ourselves with the life we have To that falseWorm, of whomsoever taught
in ourselves and in our own being; we desire to To counterfet Mans voice, true in our Fall,
live an imaginary life in the mind of others, and False in our promis’d Rising; since our Eyes
for this purpose we endeavour to shine. We labour Op’nd we find indeed, and find we know
unceasingly to adorn and preserve this imaginary Both Good and Evil, Good lost, and Evil got,
existence and neglect the real. And if we possess Bad Fruit of Knowledge, if this be to know,
calmness, or generosity, or truthfulness, we are ea- Which leaves us naked thus, of Honour void,
ger to make it known, so 2is to attach these virtues Of Innocence, of Faith, of Puritie,
 /. 5 Honory
, Reputationy and Fame or Glory 75

Our wonted Ornaments now soild and staind, one For

loves, ceases. this reason those who glory
And in our Faces evident the signes in the good opinion of the multitude anxiously

Of foul concupiscence; whence evil store; and with daily care strive, labour, and struggle to
Even shame, the last of evils; of the first preserve their fame. For the multitude is change-

Be sure then. How shall I behold the face able and fickle, so be not pre-
that fame, if it

Henceforth of God or Angel, earst with joy served, soon passes away. As every one, moreover,
And rapture so oft beheld? those heavenly shapes isdesirous to catch the praises of the people, one
Will d 2i2 le now this earthly, with thir blaze person will readily destroy the fame of another;
Insufferable bright, O
might I here and, consequently, as the object of contention is
In solitude live savage, in some glade what is commonly thought to be the highest good,
Obscur’d, where highest Woods impenetrable a great desire arises on the part of every one to
To Starr or Sun-light, spread thir umbrage broad. keep down his fellows by every possible means,
And broyro as Evening: Cover me ye Pines, and he who at last comes off conqueror boeists
Ye Cedars,"with innumerable boughs; more because he has injured another person than
Hide me, where^ tnay never see them more. because he has profited himself. This glory of self-
But let us now, as in bad plight, devise satisfaction, therefore, is indeed vain, for it is real-

What best may for the presehU^erve to hide ly no glory.

The Parts of each from other, that seem most Spinoza, Ethics, IV, Prop. 58, Schol.
To shame obnoxious, and unseemliest seen.
99 Shame, although it is not a virtue, is nevertheless
Some Tree whose broad smooth Leaves together
good, in so far as it shows that a desire of living
sowd.
uprightly is present in the man who is possessed
And girded on our loyns, may cover round
with shame, just as pain is called good in so far as
Those middle parts, that this new commer,
it shows that the injured part has not yet putre-
Shame,
fied. A man, therefore, who is ashamed of what he
There sit not, and reproach us as unclean.
has done, although he is sorrowful, is nevertheless
So counsel’d hee, and both together went
more perfect than the shameless man who has no
Into the thickest Wood, there soon they chose
desire of living uprightly.
The Figtree. - . .

Spinoza, Ethics, IV, Prop. 58, Schol.

Those
They gatherd, broad as Amazonian Targe,
100 Since nothing can be more natural than to en-
And with what skill they had, together sowd.
courage with esteem and reputation that wherein
To gird thir waste, vain Covering if to hide
every one finds his advantage, and to blame and
Thir guilt and dreaded shame; O how unlike
discountenance the contrary; it is no wonder that
To that first naked Glorie.
esteem and discredit, virtue and vice, should, in a
Milton, Paradise Lost, IX, 1067
great measure, everywhere correspond with the
unchangeable rule of right and wrong, which the
96 What needs my Shakespear for his honour’d Bones,
law of God hath established; there being nothing
The labour of an age in piled Stones,
that so directly and visibly secures and advances
Or that his hallow’d reliques should be hid
the general good of mankind in this world, as obe-
Under a Star-ypointing Pyramid?
dience to the laws he has set them, and nothing
Dear son of memory, great heir of Fame,
that breeds such mischiefs and confusion, as the
What need’st thou such weak witnes of thy name?
Thou in our wonder and astonishment
neglect of them. And therefore men, without re-
nouncing all sense and reason, and their own in-
Hast built thy self a live-long Monument. . . .

terest, which they are so constantly true to, could

And so Sepulcher’d in such pomp dost lie.
not generally mistake, in placing their commen-
That Kings for such a Tomb would wish to die.
dation and blame on that side that really deserved
Milton, On Shakespear
it not. Nay, even those men whose practice was

otherwise, failed not to give their approbation

97 The more a man imagines that he is praised by
right, few being depraved to that degree as not to
other men, the more is this joy strengthened; for
condemn, at least in others, the faults they them-
the more a man imagines that he is praised by
selves were guilty of.
others, the more docs he imagine that he affects
Locke, Concerning Human Understanding,
others with joy accompanied by the idea of him-
self as a cause, and therefore he is affected with
Bk. II, XXVIII, 11

greater joy accompanied with the idea of himself.

101 Ambition often puts Men upon doing the meanest
Spinoza, Ethics, III, Prop. 53, Corol. Offices; so Climbing is performed in the same
Posture with Creeping.
98 What is called vainglory is nour-
self-satisfaction, Swift, Thoughts on Various Subjects
ished by nothing but the good opinion of the mul-
titude, so that when that is withdrawn, the satis- 102 And now, having grasped his new-purchased
faction, that is to say, the chief good which every sword in his hand, he [Tom Jones] was going to
 76 Chapter /. Man

issue forth, when the thought of what he was 107 Most men seem rather inclined to confess the
about to undertake laid suddenly hold of him, want of virtue than of importance.
and he began to reflect tliat in a few minutes he Johnson, Rambler No. 13
might possibly deprive a human being of life, or
might lose his own. “Very well,” said he, “and in 108 It is
. ..of the utmost importance that those who
what cause do I venture my life? Why, in that of have any intention of deviating from the beaten
my honour. And who is this human being? A ras-
roads of life and acquiring a reputation superior
cal hath injured and insulted me without
who to names hourly s^vept away by time among the
provocation. But is not revenge forbidden by
refuse of fame should add to their reason and their
Heaven? Yes, but it is enjoined by the world. spirit the power of persisting in their purposes, ac-
Well, but shall I obey the world in opposition to
quire the art of sapping what they cannot batter,
the express commands of Heaven? Shall I incur
and the habit of vanquishing obstinate resistance
the Divine displeasure rather than be called
by obstinate attacks.
— —
ha coward scoundrel? Bll think no more; I — Johnson, Rambler No. 43
am resolved, and must fight him.”
Fielding, Tom Jones, VII, 14
109 That praises are without reason lavished on the
dead, and that the honours due only to excellence
103 Mrs. Fitzpatrick. I made no doubt that his [Mr.
are paid to antiquity, is a complaint likely to be
Fitzpatrick’s] designs were strictly honourable, as
always continued by those who, being able to add
the phrase is; that is, to rob a lady of her fortune
nothing to truth, hope for eminence from the her-
by way of marriage.
esies ofparadox; or those who, being forced by
Fielding, Tom Jones, XI, 4 disappointment upon consolatory expedients, arc
willing to hope from posterity what the present
104 Honour sets all the parts of the body politic in age refuses, and flatter themselves that the regard
motion, and by its very action connects them; which IS yet denied by envy will be at last be-
thus each individual advances the public good, stowed by time.
while he only thinks of promoting his own inter-
Johnson, Preface to Shakespeare
est.

True it is that, philosophically speaking, it is a

falsehonour which moves all the parts of the gov- 110 Honour makes a great part of the reward of all
honourable professions. In point of pecuniary
ernment; but even this false honour is as useful to
gain, ail things considered, they are generally un-
the public as true honour could possible be to pri-
der-recompensed. Disgrace has the contrary
. . .
vate persons.
effect. The trade of a butcher is a brutal and an
Montesquieu, Spinl
odious business; but it is in most places more prof-
of Laws, III, 7
itable than the greater part of common trades.
The most detestable of all employments, that of
105 Honour . . . has its supreme laws, to which edu-
public executioner, is, in proportion to the quanti-
cation is obliged to conform. The chief of these arc
ty of work done, better paid than any common
that we are permitted to set a value upon our
trade whatever.
fortune, but are absolutely forbidden to set any
upon our lives.
Adam Smith, Wealth of Nations, I, 10

The second is that, when we are raised to a post

or preferment, we should never do or permit any- 111 As long as mankind shall continue to bestow more
thing which may seem to imply that we look upon liberal applause on their destroyers than on their
ourselves as inferior to the rank we hold. benefactors, the thirst of military glory will ever
The third is that those things which honour for- be the vice of the most exalted characters.
bids aremore rigorously forbidden, when the laws Gibbon, Decline and Fall
do not concur in the prohibition; and those it of the Roman Empire, I
commands are more strongly insisted upon, when
they happen not to be commanded by law. 112 Our estimate of personal merit is relative to the
Montesquieu, Spirit common faculties of mankind. The aspiring ef-
of Laws, IV, 2 forts of genius or virtue, either in active or specu-
lative life, arc measured not so much by their real
106 The savage lives within himself, while social man elevation as by the height
to which they ascend
lives constantly outside himself, and only knows above the age or country; and the
level of their
how to live in the opinion of others, so that he same stature which in a people of giants would
seems to receive the consciousness of his own exis- pass unnoticed, must appear conspicuous in a race
tence merely from the judgment of others con- of pigmies.
cerning him. Gibbon, Decline and Fall
Rousseau, Origin of Inequality, II of the Roman Empire, XLII
 7 . 5 . Honor, Reputation, and Fame or Glory 77

113 The road to eminence and power, from obscure reputation, that is, the opinion others have of us,
condition, ought not to be made too easy, nor a in indispensable if we are to make any progress in
thing too much of course- If rare merit be the the world.
rarest of all rare things, it ought to pass through Schopenhauer, Position, I
some sort of probation. The temple of honour
ought to be seated on an eminence. If it be opened
118 Nothing in life gives a man so much courage as
through virtue, let it be remembered too, that vir-
the attainment or renewal of the conviction that
tue is never tried but by some difficulty and some
other people regard him with favor; because it
struggle.
means that everyone joins to give him help and
Burke, Reflections on the Revolution in France
protection, which is an infinitely stronger bulwark
against the ills of life than anything he can do
114 Well is it known that ambition can creep as well himself.
as soar. The pride of no person in a flourishing
Schopenhauer, Position, IV
condition is more justly to be dreaded than that of
him who is mean and cringing under a doubtful
and unprosperous fortune. 119 The ultimate foundation of honor is the convic-
Burke, Letters on a Regicide Peace, III tion that moral character is unalterable: a single
bad action implies that future actions of the same
115 Respect applies always to persons only — not to kind will, under similar circumstances, also be
things. The latter may arouse inclination, and if
bad.
they are animals (for example, horses, dogs, etc.), Schopenhauer, Position, IV
even love or fear, like the sea, a volcano, a beast of
prey; but never Something that comes
respect. 120 Fame is something which must be won; honor,
nearer to this feeling and this, as an
is admiration, only something which must not be lost. The ab-
affection, astonishment, can apply to things also, sence of fame is obscurity, which is only a nega-
for example, lofty mountains, the magnitude, tive; but loss of honor is shame, which is a positive
number, and distance of the heavenly bodies, the quality.
strength and swiftness of many animals, etc. But
Schopenhauer, Position, IV
all this is not respect. A man also may be an ob-

ject to me of love, fear, or admiration, even to

astonishment, and yet not be an object of respect. 121 Honor concerned merely with such qualities as
is

His jocose humour, his courage and strength, his everyone may be expected to show under similar
power from the rank he has amongst others, may circumstances; fame only of those which cannot
inspire me with sentiments of this kind, but still be required of any man. Honor is of qualities
inner respect for him is wanting. Fontenellc says, which everyone has a right to attribute to himself;
*‘I bow before a man, but my mind does not
great fame only of those which should be left to others
bow.” I would add, before an humble plain man, to attribute. Whilst our honor extends as far as

in whom
I perceive uprightness of character in a
people have knowledge of us; fame runs in ad-
higher degree than I am conscious of in myself, my vance, and makes us known wherever it finds its
mind bows whether I choose it or not, and though I way. Everyone can make a claim to honor; very
bear my head never so high that he may not for- few to fame, as being attainable only in virtue of
get my superior rank. Why is this? Because his extraordinary achievements.
example exhibits to me a law that humbles my Schopenhauer, Position, V
self-conceit when I compare it with my conduct.
. . . Respect is a tribute which we cannot refuse to 122 Examine the man who lives in misery because he
merit, whether we will or not; we may indeed out- does not shine above other men; who goes about
wardly \vithhold it, but we cannot help feeling it producing himself, pruriently anxious about his
inwardly. gifts and claims; struggling to force everybody, as
Kant, Critique of Practical Reason, Pt. I, I, 3 it were begging everybody for God’s sake, to ac-

knowledge him a great man, and set him over the

116 Men can never acquire respect by benevolence heads of men! Such a creature is among the
alone, though they may
gain love, so that the wretchedest sights seen under this sun. A great
greatest beneficence only procures them honour man? A poor morbid prurient empty man; fitter
when it is regulated by worthiness. for the ward of a hospital, than for a throne
Kant, Critique of Practical Reason, Pt. I, 11, 2 among men. I advise you to keep-out of his way.
He cannot walk on quiet paths; unless you will
117 If people insist that honor is dearer than life itself, look at him, wonder at him, write paragraphs
what they really mean is that existence and well- about him, he cannot live. It is the emptiness of the
being are as nothing compared with other man, not his greatness. Because there is nothing in
people’s opinions. Of course, this may be only an himself, he hungers and thirsts that you would
exaggerated way of stating the prosaic truth that find something in him. In good truth, I believe no
 —
78 I
Chapter 1. Man

great man, not so much as a genuine man who mals, liking to be in sight of our fellows, but we
had health and real substance in him of whatever have an innate propensity to get ourselves noticed,
magnitude, was ever much tormented in this way. and noticed favorably, by our kind. No more
Carlyle, The Hero as King fiendish punishment could be devised, were such a
thing physically possible, than that one should be
turned loose in society and remain absolutely un-
123 I trust a good deal to common fame, as we all
noticed by all the members thereof. If no one
must. a man has good corn, or woods, or boards,
If
turned round when wc entered, answered when
or pigs to sell, or can make better chairs or knives,
crucibles or church organs than anybody else, you
wc spoke, or minded what we did, but if every
person we met “cut us dead,” and acted as if we
will find a broad, hard-beaten road to his house,
were non-existing things, a kind of rage and impo-
though it be in the woods.
tent despair would ere long well up in us, from
Emerson, yowma/ (Feb, 1855)
which the cruellest bodily tortures would be a re-
lief; for these would make us feel that, however
124 The nature and strength of the feelings which wc
bad might be our plight, we had not sunk to such
call regret, shame, repentance or remorse, depend
a depth as to be unworthy of attention at all.
apparently not only on the strength of the violat-
ed instinct, but partly on the strength of the temp-
William James, P^chology, X
tation, and often still more on the judgment of our
fellows. How far each man values the apprecia-
128 Hardly any of us have ethical energy enough for
tion of others,depends on the strength of his in-
more than one really inflexible point of honor.
nate or acquired feeling of sympathy; and on his
own capacity for reasoning out the remote conse- Shaw, Doctors Dilemma, Pref.

quences of his acts. Another element is most im-

portant, although not necessary, the reverence or
129 Tanner, We live in an atmosphere of shame. Wc
fear of the Gods, or Spirits believed in by each
are ashamed of everything that is real about us;
man: and this applies especially in cases of re-
ashamed of ourselves, of our relatives, of our in-
morse.
comes, of our accents, of our opinions, of our expe-
Darwin, Descent of Man^ I, 4
rience, just as we are ashamed of our naked skins.
We are ashamed to walk, ashamed to ride in
125 To do —
good unto others to do unto others as ye
. . .

an omnibus, ashamed to hire a hansom instead of

—
would they should do unto you is the founda- keeping a carriage, ashamed of keeping one horse
tion-stone of morality. It is, therefore, hardly pos-
instead of two and a groom-gardener instead of a
sible to exaggerate the importance during rude
coachman and footman. The more things a man
times of the love of praise and the dread of blame.
is ashamed of, the more respectable he is.
A man who was not impelled by any deep, in-
Shaw, Man and Superman, I
good of
stinctive feeling, to sacrifice his life for the
others, yetwas roused to such actions by a sense of
glory, would by his example excite the same wish
130 The highest form of vanity is love of fame. It is a
for glory in other men, and would strengthen by
passion easy to deride but hard to understand,
exercise the noble feeling of admiration.
and in men who live at all by imagination almost
Darwin, Descent of Man, I, 5 impossible to eradicate. The good opinion of pos-
terity can have no possible effect on our fortunes,
126 He [Mitya] unbearably awkward. All were
felt and the practical value which reputation may
clothed, while he was naked, and strange to say, temporarily have is quite absent in posthumous
when he was undressed he felt somehow guilty in
their presence, and was almost ready to believe
fame. The direct object of this passion that a —
name should survive in men’s mouths to which no
himself that he was inferior to them, and that now adequate idea of its original can be attached
they had a perfect right to despise him. seems a thin and fantastic satisfaction, especially
“When all arc undressed, one is somehow not when we consider how little we should probably
ashamed, but when one’s the only one undressed sympathise with the creatures that are to remem-
and everybody is looking, it’s degrading,” he kept ber us. Yet, beneath this desire for nominal
. . .

repeating to himself, again and again. “It’s like a longevity, apparently so inane, there may lurk an
dream; I’ve sometimes dreamed of being in such ideal ambition of which the ancients cannot have
degrading positions.” been unconscious when they' set so high a value on
Dostoevsky, Brothers Karamazov, Pt. Ill, IX, 6 fame. They often identified fame with immortali-
ty,a subject on which they had far more rational
127 ^4 man*s Social Selfh the recognition which he gets sentiments than have since prevailed.
from his mates. We are not only gregarious ani- Santayana, Life of Reason, II, 6
 —

1.6 I
Human Greatness

THE HERO

There is necessarily some overlapping and on the other, examples of

ness consists in;
there is certainly a connection between mat- human greatness. Tlierc would be many
ters covered in the preceding section and in more of the latter were it not for the fact
this one. Great men arc usually men who that many of the examples have been quot-
have won fame and glory for themselves; he- ed elsewhere: examples of greatness in wom-
roes are usually men who have been hon- en in Section 1.7; examples of great poets in

ored as such. What distinguishes the subjects Section 16.3; examples of great military
of the two sections is the fact that here we commanders in Section 14.2, and so on.
are concerned with the attributes or charac- In addition, there arc quotations that dis-
teristics that elevate a man above the com- cuss the phenomenonhuman genius and
of
monplace, that make him outstanding that describe heroes and heroic deeds or
among men, whether or not he is renowned achievements. The ancients magnify the
and honored for That a man
his greatness. hero and the heroic more than modern writ-
has genius remains the case even if no trib- ers do. The controversy about the role of the
ute is paid by others to his c.\traord inary great man in history' is characteristically a
gifts. modern one; and on this issue the reader
The passages on greatness in men and will find the affirmations of Carlyle and
women two groups: on the one
fall into Emerson opposed by the denials of Tolstoy.
hand, statements about what human great-

1 Ariabanus. Scest thou how God with his lightning back into the narrowest part of the pass, and re-
smites always the bigger animals, and will not suf- treating even behind the cross wall, they posted
fer them to w'ax insolent, while those of a lesser themselves upon a hillock, where they stood all
bulk chafe him not? How likeuasc his bolts fall drawn up together in one close body, except only
ever on the highest houses and the tallest trees? So the Thebans. The hillock whereof I speak is at the
plainly does He love to bring doum cvery’thing entrance of the straits, where the stone lion stands
that exalts itself. Thus ofuimes a mighty host is which was set up in honour of Leonidas. Here
discomfited by a few men, when God in his jeal- they defended themselves to the last, such as still
ousy sends fear or storm from heaven, and they had swords using them, and the others resisting
perish in a way unworthy of them. For God allows with their hands and teeth; till the barbarians,
no one to have high thoughts but Himself. who in part had pulled down the wall and at-
Herodotus, History^ VII, 10 tacked them in front, in part had gone round and
now encircled them upon every side, over-
2 Now Thermopylae] a fierce strug-
there arose [at whelmed and buried the remnant which was left
gle between the Persians and the Laccdxmonians beneath showers of missile weapons, , . ,

over the body of Leonidas, in which the Greeks
four times drove back the enemy, and at last by
their great braverysucceeded in bearing off the
body. This combat was scarcely ended when the
Persians uith Ephialtes approached; and the
Greeks, informed that they drew nigh, made a
change in the manner of their fighting.
The slain were buried where they fell; and in
their honour, nor less in honour of those who died
before Leonidas sent the allies away, an inscrip-
tion was set up, w'hich said:
Here did four thousand men from Pelops* land
Drawing Against three hundred myriads bravely stand.

79
 80 j
Chapter /. Man

This was in honour of all. Another was for the These take as your model and, judging happiness
Spartans alone: to be the fruit of freedom and freedom of va!our»

Go, stranger, and to Lacedaemon tell never decline the dangers of war. For it is not the
That here, ob^nng her behests, we fell miserable that would most justly be unsparing of
their lives; these have nothing to hope for: it is
Herodotus, History, VIl, 225
rathet they to whom continued life may bring re-
verses as yet unknown, and to whom a fall, if it
3 The Nurse. Strange arc the tempers of princes, and
came, would be most tremendous in its conse-
maybe because they seldom have to obey, and man
quences, And surely, to a of spirit, the degra-
mostly lord it over others, change they their dation of cowardice must be immeasurably more
moods with difficulty. Tis better then to have grievous than the unfclt death which strikes him
been trained to live on equal terms. Be it mine to in the midst of his strength and patriotism!
reach old age, not in proud pomp, but in security!
Thucy'didcs, Peloponnesian War, II, 43
. .Greatness that doth o’crrcach itself, brings no
.

blessing to mortal men; but pays a penalty of

greater ruin whenever fortune is wroth with a 6 Alcibiesdes. Many arc the marvels which I might
family. narrate in praise of Socrates; most of his ways
Euripides, Medea, 1 1 might perhaps be paralleled in anotlicr man, but
his absolute unlikcncss to any human being that is
or ever has been is perfectly astonishing. You may
4 Medea. Whoso is wise in his generation ought nev-
imagine Brasidas and others to have been like
er to have his children taught to be too clever; for
Achilles; or you may imagine Nestor and Antenor
besides the reputation they get for idleness, the)*
to have been like Pericles; and the same may be
purchase bitter odium from the citizens. For if
said of other famous men, but of this strange being
thou shouldst import new learning amongst dul-
lards., thou will be thought a useless triflcr., void of
you will ncs’cr be able to find any likeness, howev-
er rentote, cither among men who now arc or who
knowledge; tvhilc if thy fame in the city oVrtops
that of the pretenders to cunning knowledge, thou
ever have been —
other than that which I have al-

wilt win their dislike.

ready suggested of Silenus and the satyrs; and
they represent in a figure not only himself, but his
Euripides, Medea, 294
words. For, although I forgot to mention this to
you before, his words arc like the images of Sile-
5 So died these men as became Athenians.
Pericles. nus which open; they are ridiculous when you
You, must determine to have as
their survivors, first hear them; he clothes himself in language
unfaltering a resolution in the field, though you that is wanton satyr for his
like the skin of the —
may pray that it may have a happier issue. And talk is and smiths and cobblers and
of pack-asses
not contented with ideas derived only from words curriers, and he is al way's repeating the same
of the advantages which arc bound up with the things in the same words, so that any ignorant or
defence of your country', though these would fur- inexperienced person might feel disposed to laugh
nish a valuable text to a speaker even before an at him; but he who opens the bust and secs what
audience so alive to them as the present, you must is within wall find that they arc tlic only words
yourselves realize the power of Athens, and feed which have a meaning in them, and also the most
your eyes upon her from day to day, till love of dinne, abounding in fair images of virtue, and of
her your hearts; and then, when all her great-
fills the widest comprehension, or rather extending to
ness shall breakupon you, you must reflect that it the whole duty of a good and honourable man.
was by courage, sense of duty, and a keen feeling
Plato, Symposiurn, 221
of honour in action that men were enabled to win
all this, and that no personal failure in an enter-
prise could make them consent to deprive their 7 Socrates. When a man dies gloriously in war shall
country' of their valour, but they laid it at her feet we not say, in the first place, that he is of the
as the most glorious contribution that they could golden race?
offer. For this offering of their lives made in com- Glaucon. To be sure.
mon by them they each of them individually
all Nay, have wc not the authority of Hesiod for
received that renown which never grog's old, and affirming that when they arc dead
for a sepulchre, not so much that in which their
Th^' are holy angeb upon the earth, authors of good,
bones have been deprosited, but that noblest of
averiers of evil, the guardians of speech-gifted men?
shrines wherein their glory is laid up to be eter-

nally remembered upon cveiy’ occasion on which Yes; and wc accept his authority.
deed or story' shall call for its commemoration. Wc must learn of the god how wc are to order
For heroes have the whole earth for their tomb; the sepulture of divine and heroic personages, and
and in lands far from their own, where the col- what is to be their special distinction; and wc
umn with its epitaph declares it, there is must do as he bids?
enshrined in every breast a record unwritten with By all means.
no tablet to preserve it, except that of the heart. And in ages to come wc will reverence them
 ^

82 I
Chapter L Man

tains, take aim much higher than the mark, not to is also much less noble and less commendable.

reach by their strcngtli or arrow to so great a
height, but to be able with the aid of so high an
aim to hit the mark they wisli to reach.
MachiavcJIi, Pmcf, VI
Greatness of soul is not so much pressing upward
and forward as knowing how to set oneself in or-
der and circumscribe oneself. It regards as great
whatever is adequate, and shows its deviation by
liking moderate things better than eminent ones.

20 It was necessary ... to Moses that he should find

Tlicrc is nothing so beautiful and legitimate as to
the people of Israel in Eg>'pt enslaved and op- play the man well and properly, no knowledge so
pressed by the Egyptians, in order that they hard to acquire as the knowledge of how' to live
should be disposed to follow him so as to be deliv- this life well and naturally; and the most barba-

ered out ol bondage. It was necessary' that Romu- rous of our maladies is to despise our being.
lus should not remain in Alba, and that he should Montaigne, BssaySj III, 13, Of Experience
be abandoned at his birth, in order that he should
become King of Rome and founder of the fa- 24 77}omaliTi. And he that strives to touch the starres
therland. It was necessary’ titat Cyrus should find Oft stomblcs at a strawc,
the Persians discontented with the government of Spenser, Shepheardes Calendar (July)
the Mcdcs, and the Mcdcs soft and effeminate
through their long peace. Theseus could not have 25 Manillas. O you hard hearts, you cruel men of
shown his ability had he not found the Athenians Rome,
dispersed. These opportunities, therefore, made Knew you not Pompc)’? Many a time and oft
those men fortunate, and their high ability en- Have you climbed up to w’alls and battlements.
abled them to recognize the opportunity whereby To lowers and w’indows, yea, to chimney-tops,
their country was ennobled and made famous, Your infants in your arms, and there have sat
Machiavclli, Pnrtcr, VI The live-long day, with patient expectation,
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome:
21 Without doubt princes become great when they And when you saw Ins chariot but appear,
overcome the difficulties and obstacles by which Have you not made an universal shout,
they arc confronted, and therefore fortune, espe- Tliat Tiber trembled underneath her banks
cially when she desires to make a new prince To hear the replication of your sounds
great, who has a greater necessity to earn renown Made in her concave shores?
than an hcrcditar>’ one, causes enemies to arise And do you now put on your best attire?
and form designs against him, in orderthat he And do you now' cull out a holiday?
may have the opportunity of overcoming them, And do you now’ strew flowers in his way
and by them to mount higher, as by a ladder That comes in triumph over Pompey’s blood?
which his enemies have raised. Be gone!
Machiavclli, /Vinre, XX Run your houses, fall upon your knees.
to
Pray gods to intermit the plague
to the
22 Pantagruel.As a torch or candle, as long as it hath Tlial needs must light on this ingratitude.
lifeenough and is lighted, shines round al>out, dis- Shakespeare, yuh'ui Caesar I, ii 41
perses its light, delights those that arc near it,
yields them its scr\’ice and dearness, and never 26 Coiriuj, I, as /Eneas, our great ancestor,
causes any pain or displeasure; but as soon as it is Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
c-xtinguished, smoke and evaporation infect the
its The old Anchiscs bear, so from the w’avcs of Tiber
air, offend the by-standers, and arc noisome to all: Did I the tired Carsar. And this man
so, as long as those noble and renowned souls in- Is now become a god, and Cassius is
habit their bodies, peace, profit, pleasure, and A w'rctched creature and must bend his body.
honour never leave the places where they abide; If Carsar carelessly but nod on him.
but as soon as they leave them, both the continent Shakespeare, yiiZ/ar Caesar^ I, ii, 112
and adjacent islands arc annoyed with great com-
motions; in the air fogs, darkness, thunder, hail; 27 Cassius. I\Tiy, man, he doth bestride the narrow’
tremblings, pulsations, agitations of the earth; world
storms and hurricanes at sea; together with sad Like a Colossus, and we petty men
complaints amongst the p>eoplc, broaching of reli- Walk under his huge legs and peep about
gions, changes in governments, and ruins of com- To find ourselves dishonourable graves. . . .

monwealths. Brutus and Caesar: w’hat should be in that “Cic-

Rabelais, Gar^enfua and Panta^mel, IV, 26 sari’?
Why should that name be sounded more than
23 Popular opinion is wrong: it is much easier to go yours?
along the sides, where the outer edge scrv’cs as a Write them together, yours is as fair a name;
limit and a guide, than by tlie middle way, wide Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well;
and open, and to go by art than by nature; but it IVcigh them, it is as hcaty; conjure with ’em.
 — — ^

1.6, Human Greatness 83

Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cresar. greatness thrust upon ’em.
Now, in the names of all the gods at once, Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, II, v, 156
Upon what meat doth this our Csesar feed
That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed I 32 Hamlet, Rightly to be great
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods! Is not to without great argument,
stir

When went there by an age, since the great flood. But greatly to find quarrel in a straw
But it was famed with more than with one man? When honour’s at the stake,
When could they say till now, that talk’d of Shakespeare, Hamlet, IV, iv, 53
Rome,
That her wide walls encompass’d but one man? 33 Cleopatra. 1dream’d there was an Emperor
Now is it Rome indeed and room enough, Antony. . . .

When there is in it but one only man. His legs bestrid the ocean; his rear’d arm
Shakespeare, yuhor Caesar I, ii, 135 Crested the world; his voice was propertied
As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends;
28 Brutus, ’Tis a common proof But when he meant to quail and shake the orb,
That lowliness is young ambition’s ladder, He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty,
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face; There was no winter in ’t; an autumn ’twas
But when he once attains the upmost round, That grew the more by reaping. His delights
He then unto the ladder turns his back. Were dolphin-like; they show’d his back above
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees The element they lived in. In his lively'
By which he did ascend. Walk’d crowns and crownets; realms and islands
Shakespeare, Caesar, II, i, 21 were
As plates dropp’d from his pocket.
29 Mark Antony. The noble Brutus Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra, V, ii, 75
Hath you Cresar was ambitious:
told
If it were so, it was a grievous fault, 34 Wols^K I have touch’d the highest point of all my
And grievously hath C:csar answer’d it. greatness;
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest And, from that full meridian of my glory,
For Brutus is an honourable man; I haste now to my setting. I shall fall
So are they all, all honourable men Like a bright exhalation in the evening.
Come I to speak in Ccesar’s funeral. And no man sec me more.
He was my friend, 'faithful and just to me: Shakespeare, Henry VIII, III, ii, 223
But Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man. 35 IVols^. Farewell! a long farewell, to all my great-
He hath brought many captives home to Rome, ness!
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill: This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
Did this in Cassar seem ambitious? The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms,
When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept: And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: The third day comes a frost, a killing frost.
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
And Brutus is an honourable man. His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root,
You all did see that on the Lupercal And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured.
I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders.
Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition? This many summers in a sea of glory,
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; But far beyond my depth. My high-blown pride
And, sure, he is an honourable man. At length broke under me and now has left me,
Shakespeare, Caesar, III, ii, 82 Weary and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream that must for ever hide me.
30 Mark Antony. This was the noblest Roman of them Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye.
all: Shakespeare, Henry VIII, III, ii, 352
All the conspirators save onlyhe
Did that they did in envy of great Gasar; 36 It will, perhaps, be as well to distinguish three
He only, in a general honest thought species and degrees of ambition. First, that of men
And common good to all, made one of them. who are anxious to enlarge their own power in
His life was and the elements
gentle, their country, a vulgar and degenerate
which is
So mix’d in him that Nature might stand up kind; next, that of men who strive to enlarge the
And say to all the world, “This was a man!” power and empire of their country over mankind,
Shakespeare, yw/iuj Caesar, V, v, 68 which is more dignified but not less covetous; but
ifone were to endeavor to renew and enlarge the
31 Olivia. Be not afraid of greatness; some are born power and empire of mankind in general over the
great, some achieve greatness, and some have universe, such ambition (if it may be so termed) is
 84 I
Chapter L Man

both more sound and more noble than the other take away anything from them. They are seen of

two. God and the angels, and not of the body, nor of

Bacon, Nomm Organxm, I, 129 the curious mind. God is enough for them.
Archimedes, apart from his rank, would have
37 Men in great places are thrice servants: servants
the same veneration. He fought no battles for the
eyes to feast upon; but he has given his discoveries
of the sovereign or state; servants of fame; and
So as they have no freedom, to all men. Oh! how brilliant he was to the mind!
servants of business.
Pascal, PensieSj XII, 793
neither in their persons, nor in their actions, nor
in their times. It is a strange desire, to seek power
and to lose liberty; or to seek power over others 41 Satan. What matter where, if I be still the same,
and to lose power over a man’s self. And what I should be, all but less than hee
Bacon, Of Great Place ^Vhom Thunder hath made greater? Here at least
We shall be free; th’ Almighty hath not built

38 If a true survey be taken of counsellors and states-

men, there may be found (though rarely) those
which can make a small state great, and yet can-
not fiddle: as, on the other side, there will be
found a great many that can fiddle ver)' cunning-
ly, but yet are so far from being able to make a
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:
Here we may reign secure, and in my choyce
To reign is worth ambition though in Hell:
Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heav’n.
Milton, Paradise Lost, I, 256

small state great, as their gift lieth the other way; 42 One man, choosing a proper juncture, leaps into a
to bring a great and flourishing estate to ruin and gulf, thence proceeds a hero, and is called the sav-
decay. iour of his country: another achieves the same en-

Bacon, Of the True Greatness of Kingdoms terprise, but, unluckily timing it, has left the

and Estates brand of madness fixed as a reproach upon his

memory.
39 The greatest baseness of man is the pursuit of glo- Swift, Tale of a Tub, IX
ry. But it is also the greatest mark of his excel-
lence; for whatever possessions he may have on 43 When a true Genius appears in the World, you
earth, whatever health and essential comfort, he is may know him by this Sign, that the Dunces are
not satisfied if he has not the esteem of men. He all in confederacy against him.
values human reason so highly that, whatever ad- Swift, Thoughts on Various Subjects

vantages he may have on earth, he is not content

if he is not also ranked highly in the judgement of 44 Who noble ends by noble means obtains,
man. This is the finest position in the world. Or failing, smiles in exile or in chains,

Nothing can turn him from that desire, which is Like good Aurelius let him reign, or bleed
the most indelible quality of man’s heart. Like Socrates, that Man is great indeed.
And those who must despise men, and put them Pope, Essay on Man, Epistle IV, 233
on a level with the brutes, yet wish to be admired
and believed by men, and contradict themselves 45 Through a fatality’ inseparable from human na-
by their own feelings; their nature, which is ture, moderation in great men is very' rare; and as
stronger than all, convincing them of the great- it is always much easier to push on force in the

ness of man more forcibly than reason convinces direction in which it moves than to stop its move-
them of their baseness. ment, so in the superior class of the people, it is
Pascal, PenseeSj VI, 404 less difficult, perhaps, to find men extremely vir-
tuous, than extremely prudent.
40 All the glory of greatness has no lustre for people Montesquieu, Spirit of Laws, XXVIII, 41
who are in search of understanding.
The greatness of clever men is invisible to kings, 46 There have been men indeed splendidly wicked,
to the rich, to chiefs, and to all the worldly great. whose endowments threw a brightness on their
The greatness of wisdom, which is nothing if crimes, and whom scarce any villainy’ made per-
not of God, is invisible to the carnal-minded and fectly because they never could be
detestable,
to the clever. These are three orders differing in wholly divested of their excellencies; but such
kind. have been in all ages the great corrupters of the
Great geniuses have their power, their glory, world, and their resemblance ought no more to be
their greatness, their victoiy% their lustre, and preserved, than the art of murdering without
have no need of worldly greatness, with which pain.
they are not in keeping. They are seen, not by the Johnson, Rambler No. 4
eye, but by the mind; this is sufficient.
The have their power, their gIor>', their
saints 47 The errors and follies of a great genius are seldom
and need no worldly or intel-
victory, their lustre, without some radiations of understanding, by
lectual greatness, with \s'hich they have no affini- which meaner minds may be enlightened.
ty; for these neither add anything to them, nor
Johnson, Rambler No. 29
 1.6, Ihminn Greatness 85

48 The wit, the hero, the philosopher, whom their 54 Once the state has been founded, there can no
tempers or their fortunes have hindered from inti- longer be any heroes. 7'hcy come on the scene
mate relations, die without any other effect than only in uncivilized conditions. Their aim is right,
that of adding a new topic to the conversation of necessary, and political, and this they pursue as
the day. their own affair. Tlic heroes who founded states,

Johnson, Ramhlrr No. 78 introduced marriage and agriculture, did not do

this as their recognized right, and their conduct
.still has the appearance of being their particular
49 I said, I considered distinction of rank to be of so
will. But as the higher right of the Idea against
much importance in civilired society, that if I
nature, this heroic coercion is a rightful coercion.
were asked on the same day to dine with the first
Duke in England, and with the first man in Brit- Mere goodness can achieve little against the pow-
er of nature,
ain for genius, I should hesitate which to prefer.
Johnson. **To be sure, if you were to dine only once, Hegel, Philosophy of Rtght,
and it were never to be known where you dined, Additions, Par. 93
you would choose rather to dine with the first
man for genius; but to gain most respect, you
55 Gesar was contending for the maintenance of his
should dine with the first Duke in England. For
position, honor, and safety; and, since the power
nine people in ten that you meet with, would have
of his opponents included the smxrcigniy over the
a higher opinion of you for having dined with a
provinces of the Roman Empire, liis victory se-
Duke; and the great genius himself would receive
cured for him the conquest of that entire empire;
you better, because you had been wiili the great
and he thus became, though leaving the form of
Duke.*’
the constitution, the autocrat of the state. That
Boswell, Lift of Johnson
which secured for him the c.xccution of a design,
(Juiy 20, 1763)
which in the first instance was of negative import,
the autocracy of Rome, was, however, at the same
50 True great genius is alwa)-s accompanied with lime an independently necessary’ feature in tlic
good sense. history' of Rome and of the world. It was not,
Borwcll, London Journal then, his private gain merely, but an unconscious
(Dec. 17, 1762) impulse lliai occasioned tlic accomplishment of
that for which the time was ripe. Such arc all
51 Every' British name is effaced by the illustrious great historical —
men whose own paniailar aims
name of Arthur^ the hereditary prince of the Si- involve ihorx large issues which arc the will of the
lures, in South Wales, and the elective king or world-spirit. They may be called heroes, inas-
general of the nation. According to the most ra- much as they have derived their purposes and
tional account, he defeated, in twelve successive their vocation, not from the calm, regular course
battles, theAngles of the North and the Saxons of of things, sanctioned by the existing order; but
the West; but the declining age of the hero w'as from a concealed fount—one which has not at-
embittered by popular ingratitude and domestic tained to phenomenal, present existence from —
misfortunes. The csxnts of his life arc less interest- that inner spirit, still hidden beneath the surface,
ing than the singular revolutions of his fame. which, impinging on the outer world as on a shell,
Gibbon, Decline and Fall of the Roman bursts it in pieces, because it is another kernel

Empire, XXXVIII than that which belonged to the shell in question.

They arc men, therefore, who appear to draw the
52 The appellation of great has been often bestowed, impulse of their life from themselves; and whose
and sometimes dcscrs'cd, but Charlemagne is the deeds have produced a condition of things and a
only prince in whose favour the title has been in- complex of historical relations which appear to be
dissolubly blended with the name. only their interest, and their work.

Gibbon, Decline and Fall oj the Roman Hegel, Philosophy of History,

Empire, XLIX Introduction, 3

53 I want a hero: an uncommon w'ant, 5G World-historical men, the heroes of an epoch,

When es'cry year and month sends forth a new must ... be recognized as its clear-sighted ones;
one.
their deeds, their words arc the best of that time.
Till, aftercloying the gazettes wdth cant, Great men have formed purposes to satisfy them-
Tlic age discovers he is not the true one; selves, not others. Whatever prudent designs and
Of such as these I should not care to vaunt, counsels they might have learned from others
1*11 therefore take our ancient friend Don would be the more limited and inconsistent fea-
Juan— tures in their career; for it was they who best un-
We all have seen him, in the pantomime, derstood affairs; from whom others learned, and
Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time,
approved, or at least acquiesced in their policy.
Byron, Don Juan, I, 1 For that spirit which had taken this fresh step in
 —
86 Chapter 1. Man

history is the inmost soul of all individuals; but in literature, that may answer to my character as an
a state of unconsciousness which the great men in individual.
question aroused. Their fellows, therefore, follow Schopenhauer, Genius
these soul-leaders; for they feel the irresistible
power of their own inner spirit thus embodied. If 58 Compared with the short span of time they live,

we go on to cast a look at the fate of these world- men of great intellect are like huge buildings,
historical persons, whose vocation it was to be the standing on a small plot of ground. The size of the
agents of the world-spirit, we shall find it to have building cannot be seen by anyone, just in front of
been no happy one. They attained no calm enjoy- it; nor, for an analogous reason, can the greatness

ment; their whole life was labor and trouble; their of a genius be estimated while he lives. But when
whole nature was nought else but their master- a century has pcissed, the world recognizes it and
passion. When their object is attained they fall off wishes him back again.
like empty from the kernel. They die early,
hulls Schopenhauer, Reputation
like Alexander; they are murdered, like Csesar;
transported to St. Helena, like Napoleon. This 59 Every hero is a Samson. The strong man suc-

fearful consolation —
that historical men have not cumbs to the intrigues of the weak and the many;
enjoyed what is called happiness, and of which and if in the end he loses all patience he crushes
only private life (and this may be passed under both them and himself. Or he is like Gulliver at
very various external circumstances) is capable Liliput, overwhelmed by an enormous number of
this consolation those may draw from history, who little men.
stand in need of it; and it is craved by envy Schopenhauer, A Few Parables
vexed at what is great and transcendent striving, —
therefore, to depreciate it, and to find some flaw 60 It is natural for great minds —
the true teachers of
in it. Thus in modern times it has been demon- —
humanity to care little about the constant com-
strated ad nauseam that princes arc generally un- pany of others; just as little as the schoolmaster
happy on their thrones; in consideration of which cares for joining in the gambols of the noisy crowd
the possession of a throne is tolerated, and men of boys which surround him. The mission of these
acquiesce in the fact that not themselves but the great minds is to guide mankind over the sea of
personages in question are its occupants. The free error to the haven of truth —
to draw it forth from
man, we may observe, is not envious, but gladly the dark abysses of a barbarous vulgarity up into
recognizes what is great and exalted, and rejoices the light of culture and refinement. Men of great
that it exists. world without really belonging
intellect live in the
It is in the light of those common
elements to it; and
from their earliest years, they feel
so,
57 which constitute the interest and therefore the that there is a perceptible difference between
passions of individuals, that these historical men them and other people. But it is only gradually,
are to be regarded. They arc great men, because with the lapse of years, that they come to a clear
they willed and accomplished something great; understanding of their position. Their intellectual
not a mere fancy, a mere intention, but that isolation then reinforced by actual seclusion in
is
which met the case and fell in with the needs of their manner of life; they let no one approach
the age. . , .
who is not in some degree emancipated from the
A world-historical not so unwise as
individual is
prevailing vulgarity.
to indulge a variety of wishes to divide his regards.
Schopenhauer, Our Relation to Ourselves
He is devoted to the one aim, regardless of all else.
It is even possible that such men may treat other 61 Faith is loyalty to some inspired Teacher, some
great, even sacred interests, inconsiderately; con-
spiritual Hero. And what therefore is loyalty
duct which is indeed obnoxious to moral repre- proper, the life-breath of but an efflu-
all society,
hension. But so mighty a form must trample down ence of Hero-worship, submissive admiration for
many an innocent flower, crush to pieces many an the truly great? Society is founded on Hero-wor-
object in its path. ship.
Hegel, Philosophy of Hisloyy Introduction, 3 Carlyle, The Hero as Divinity

No difference of rank, position, or birth, is so great 62 Show our critics a great man, a Luther for exam-
as the gulf that separates the countless millions ple, they begin to what they call ‘account^ for
who use their head only in the service of their him; not to worship him, but take the dimensions
belly, in other words, look upon it as an instru- of him, —
and bring him out to be a little kind of
ment of the will, and those very few and rare per- man!
sons who have the courage to say; No! it is too Carlyle, The Hero as Divinity
good for that; my head shall be active only in its
own service; it shall try to comprehend the won- 63 In all epochs of the world’s history, we shall find
drous and varied spectacle of this world, and then the Great Man to have been the indispensable
reproduce it in some form, whether as art or as saviour of his —
epoch; the lightning, without
 L6. Human Greatness 87

which the fuel never would have burnt. The His- 69 It will never make any difference to a hero what
tory of the World was the Biography of Great
. . . the laws are. His greatness will shine and accom-
Men. plish itselfunto the end, whether they second him
Carlyle, The Hero as Divinity or not. he have earned his bread by drudgery,
If

and in the narrow and crooked ways which were

64 To me . . . ‘Hero-worship’ becomes a fact inex- all an evil law had left him, he will make it at

pressibly precious; the most solacing fact one sees least honorable by his expenditure. Of the past he

in the world at present. There is an everlasting will take no heed; for its wrongs he will not hold

hope in it for the management of the world. Had himself responsible: he will say, All the meanness
all traditions, arrangements, creeds, societies that of my progenitors shall not bereave me of the
men ever instituted, sunk away, this would re- power to make this hour and company fair and
main. The certainty of Heroes being sent us; our Whatsoever streams of power and com-
fortunate.
faculty, our necessity, to reverence Heroes when modity flow to me, shall of me acquire healing
sent: it shines like a polestar through smoke- virtue,and become fountains of safety. Cannot I
clouds, dust-clouds, and all manner of down -rush- too descend a Redeemer into nature? Whosoever
ing and conflagration. hereafter shall name my name, shall not record a
Carlyle, The Hero as King malefactor but a benefactor in the earth.
Emerson, The Conservative
65 Ever)' true man
a cause, a country, and an age;
is

requires infinite spaces and numbers and time ful-

70 Be a man’s intellectual superiority what it will, it
ly to accomplish his design; and posterity seem to
can never assume the practical, available suprem-
follow his steps as a train of clients. A man Caesar
acy over other men, without the aid of some sort
is born, and for ages after we have a Roman Em-
of external arts and entrenchments, always, in
pire. Christ is born, and millions of minds so grow
themselves, more or less paltry and base. This it is,
and cleave to his genius that he is confounded
that for ever keeps God’s true princes of the Em-
with virtue and the possible of man. An institu-
pire from the world’s hustings; and leaves the
tion is the lengthened shadow one man.
of
highest honours that this air can give, to those
Emerson, Self-Reliance
men who become famous more through their infi-
nite inferiority to the choice hidden handful of the
66 The hero is a mind of such balance that no distur-
Divine Inert, than through their undoubted supe-
bances can shake his will, but pleasantly and as it
riority over the dead level of the mass.
were merrily he advances to his own music, alike
in frightful alarms and in the tipsy mirth of uni-
Melville, Moby Dick, XXXIII
versal dissoluteness. somewhat not philo-There is

sophical in heroism; there is somewhat not holy in 71 The initiation of all wise or noble things comes
it; it seems not to know that other souls are of one
and must come from individuals; generally at first
texture uith it; it has pride; it is the extreme of from some one individual. The honour and glory
individual nature. Nevertheless we must pro- of the average man is that he is capable of follow-
foundly revere it. There is somewhat in great ac- ing that initiative; that he can respond internally
tionswhich does not allow us to go behind them. to wise and noble things, and be led to them with
Heroism feels and never reasons, and therefore is his eyes open. I am not countenancing the sort of
always right; and although a different breeding, “hero-worship” which applauds the strong man of
different religion and greater intellectual activity genius for forcibly seizing on the government of
would have modified or even reversed the particu- the world and making it do his bidding in spite of
lar action, yet for the hero that thing he does is
itself. All he can claim is, freedom to point out the
the highest deed, and is not open to the censure of
way. The power of compelling others into it is not
philosophers or divines. It is the avowal of the only inconsistent with the freedom and devel-
unschooled man that he finds a quality in him opment of all the rest, but corrupting to the strong
that is negligent of expense, of health, of life, of
man himself. It does seem, however, that when
danger, of hatred, of reproach, and knows that his the opinions of masses of merely average men are
will is higher and more excellent than all actual everywhere become or becoming the dominant
and all possible antagonists. power, the counterpoise and corrective to that
Emerson, Heroism tendency would be the more and more pro-
nounced individuality of those who stand on the
67 We have seen many counterfeits, but we are born higher eminences of thought. It is in these circum-
believers in great men. stances most especially, that exceptional individu-
Emerson, Character als,instead of being deterred, should be encour-
aged in acting differently from the mass. In other
68 Hitch your wagon to a star. Let us not fag in times there was no advantage in their doing so,
paltry works which serve our pot and bag alone. unless they acted not only differently but better.
Emerson, CiDi/tjation In this age, the mere example of non-conformity.
 88 I
Chapter /. Man

the mere refusal to bend the knee to custom, is there is no atrocity for which a “great” man can
itself a service. be blamed.
Mill, On Liberty^ III “CVrr grandP* say the historians, and there no
longer exists either good or evil but only ^*grand^
72 Great men are never the promoters of absolute and “not grand'' Grand is good, not grand is bad.
and immutable truths. Each great man belongs to Grand is the characteristic, in their conception, of
his time and can come only at his proper moment, some special animals called “heroes.”And Napo-
in the sense that there is a necessary and ordered leon, escaping home in a warm fur coat and leav-
sequence in the appearance of scientific discover- ing to perish those who were not merely his com-

ies, Great men may be compared to torches shin- rades but were (in his opinion) men he had
ing at long intervals, to guide the advance of sci- brought there, feels que c"est grand, and his soul is

ence. They light up their time, either by tranquil.

discovering unexpected and fertile phenomena “/)u sublime (he saw something sublime in him-
which open up new paths and reveal unknown self) au ridicule il ny a qu'un pas," said he. And the
horizons, or by generalizing acquired scientific whole world for fifty years has been repeating;
facts and disclosing truths which their predeces- "Sublime! Grand! Napoleon le Grand!" Du sublime au

sors had not perceived. If each great man makes ridicule il ny a qu*un pas.
the science which he vitalizes take a long step for- And it occurs to no one that to admit a great-
ward, he never presumes to fix its final bound- ness not commensurable with the standard of
aries, and he is necessarily destined to be outdis- right and wrong is merely to admit one’s own
tanced and left behind by the progress of nothingness and immeasurable meanness.
successive generations. Great men have been com- For us with the standard of good and evil given
pared to giants upon whose shoulders pygmies us by Christ, no human actions arc incommensur-
have climbed, who nevertheless sec further than able. And there is no greatness where simplicity,

they. This simply means that science makes prog- goodness, and truth are absent.
ress subsequently to the appearance of great men, Tolstoy, War and Peace, XIV, 18
and precisely because of their influence. The re-
sult is that their successors know many more sci- 75 To a lackey no man can be great, for a lackey has
entific facts than the great men themselves had in his own conception of greatness.
their day. But a great man is, none the less, still a Tolstoy, JVar and Peace, XV, 5
great man, that is to say, a giant. —
Claude Bernard, Expenmental Medicine, I, 2 76 I sought great human beings, I never found any-

thing but the apes of their ideal.

73 Man’s mind cannot grasp the causes of events in
Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols: Maxims
their completeness, but the desire to find those
and Arrows
causes is implanted in man’s soul. And without
considering the multiplicity and complexity of the
77 Great men, mate-
like great epochs, are explosive
conditions any one of which taken separately may
rial in whom
tremendous energy has been accu-
seem to be the cause, he snatches at the first ap-
mulated; their prerequisite has always been, his-
proximation to a cause that seems to him intelligi-
torically and physiologically, that a protracted
ble and says: “This is the cause!’’ In historical
assembling, accumulating, economizing and pre-
events (where the actions of men are the subject of
observation) the first and most primitive approxi-
serving has preceded them that there has been —
no explosion for a long time.
mation to present itself was the will of the gods
Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols: Expeditions
and, after that, the will of those who stood in the
—
most prominent position the heroes of history. of an Untimely Man
But we need only penetrate to the essence of any
historic event —which lies in the activity of the 78 Great human beings are necessary, the epoch in
general mass of men who take part in it — to be which they appear is accidental; that they almost
convinced that the will of the historic hero does always become master of their epoch is only be-
not control the actions of the mass but is itself cause they are stronger, because they are older,
continually controlled. because a longer assembling of force has preceded
Tolstoy, War and Peace, XIII, 1
them.
Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols: Expeditions
74 When it is impossible to stretch the very elastic of an Untimely Man
threads of historical ratiocination any farther,
when actions are clearly contrary to all that hu- 79 The genius — in his works, in his deeds — is neces-
manity calls right or even just, the historians pro- sarily a prodigal: his greatness lies in the fact that
duce a saving conception of “greatness.” “Great- he expends himself
ness,” seems, excludes the standards of right and
it Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols: Expeditions
wrong. For the “great” man nothing is wrong, of an Untimely Man
 L6. Human Guatrias ] 89

FO 'Pnr hue** that alx^ut piit3 all 5/>rti life, and he is able ‘to fling it away like a Bos^rf’
of qyrjTi^^rii 10 u<, and tcr<t’j m
in all tons ol vop. .as caring nothing for it, we account htm in the
Somr of ?ht tosti V.C mfct by actions that are easy, deepest way our bom superior. Each of us rn hit
and *on'-c of thr questions we answer in articu* ow-n penon feeh that a high-hraned inddferenrr
bifiy formulates! wt>rds. But the deepest question to life would shortcommgs
cjspiate all his
that is ever asked admits of no reply but the dumb William J,ames. r/AV/iCfr-r
turning of the will .and tiqhtcninc of our bean*
as we say, *‘)V^, / o .’// eren hfir/ tl
ttfinits XN’hcn
a dreadful object is presented, or when life as a 82 It is not . . . cass' for mental ci.ants who neithrr
whole turns up itt dark abs-sses to our sicsv, then hate nor intend to injure their fdlow-s to rcalire
the wortlilcss ones among us lose their hold on the that ncvcnhcless their fellows hate mental giants
situation altogether, and either escape from its
and ssould like to dcsiro)- them, not only ensoous-
dillicuUics by averting their attention, or if they ly because the juxtaposition of a superior wounds
cannot do that, collapse into yielding masses of their vanity, but quite humbly and honestly Ij---
plaintivcnrss and fear. The effort required for fac- cause it frightens them. Tear svill drive men to anv
ing and consenting to such object.s is l)cyond their e.xtrrmc; and the fear inspired by a superior Ivring
poster to make. But the heroic mind docs differ- is a mysters- svhich cannot be reasoned a wav.
ently. To it, too, the objccLs arc sinister and dread- Shaw, Sanl yevnr. Prrf.
ful, unwcla>me, incompatible with w*ished-for

things. But it can face them if ncccssar>% without

fur that losing its hold upon the rest of life, llic
83 Men do not alwas-s take their great thinkers seri-

wtJrld thus finds in the heroic man its worthy

ously, even when they profess mo^t to admire
them.
match and mate; and the effon which he is able
Freud, Crciif^ PsychchQ' en'//lw/>rrj cf
81 to put forth to hold himself erect and keep Im
I\'
fjeart unshaken is the direct measure of his worth

and function in the game of human life. He can

this Universe, He can meet it and keep up 84 ITc first epic poet . . . invented the heroic mvih.
hit faith in it in presence of those same features Tire hero ss-as a man who by hinwclf had slain the

which lay weaker brethren low. He can still

his father — the father who still .appe.ired in the mvih
find a yest in it, not by ’'ostrich-like forgetfulness/* as a totcmislic monster. Just as thr father had
but by purr inward willingness to face the world been the boy’s first ideal, so in the hero who as-
w-ith tlu^'e deterrent objects there. And hereby he pires to the father’s place the poet now created the
Ixtomes one of the masters and tVic lords of life. first ego ideal.

He mtisr lx: counted with henceforth; he forms a Freud, Group Pnchch^ cnH A r.rj\s:s cf the
part of human destiny. Eco. XII
William James. Pncholcjiv, XXVI
85 It IS indeed too sad that in life it should be as it is

In herohm. we fed, supreme mystcr)* is hid-

life’s in chess, move may lo'c us the
when one false
den. We tolerate no one wlio has no capacity game, but ss*ith the difference that we can have no
whatescr for It in any direction. On the other second game, no return-march. In the realm of
hand, no matter what a man’s frailties othcristsc fiction we discover that plurality of lives for which
m.ay l)e, if he Ik- willing to risk death, and still we crave. ^Vc die in llic person o! a gis en hero, yet
more if he suffer it heroically, in the serv ice lie has w-c sun-is-c him, and are reads to die again wirli
chosen, the fact consecrates him forrs-cr. Irrfcrior the next hero just as safely.
to oursrKrs in this or that way, if yet we cling to Freud. Th‘'t.s;h:s Wr.r cn^ 11
 1.7 Woman and Man
Woman is the subject of this section: the contemptuous attitude toward the “weaker”
quotations collected here are either state- sex. Plato, on the other hand, is almost

ments about the characteristics of the female unique in the ancient world in his view that
gender or statements about the relation of women should share the same educational
females to males. The reader, aware of the opportunities as men and that they should
current movement for the liberation of share in the rule of an ideal commonwealth.
women, must take cognizance of the fact But it is nevertheless a misreading of Plato
that almost all the statements about women to hold, assome commentators do, that he
here quoted, including those that describe considered men and women to be equals.
the extraordinary women of history and fic- The quotations from his works that are here
tion, were written by men; and also the fact assembled make that abundantly clear.
that almost all the statements that compare Among the more recent writers, Mon-
men and women are uncomplimentary to taigne may be aligned with those who are
women or deprecatory of their endowments. adamant in their belief in woman’s inferiori-

What interpretation one puts upon these ty, while Shakespeare clearly belongs with
facts will depend on the position that the thosewho see and appreciate the richness
reader takes in the present controversy and human variety of the life and character
about the genders. of women. But it is not until the reader
Among the ancient writers, two kinds of comes to the passages quoted from John
men (almost all of the authors being male) Stuart Mill in the latter half of the nine-
are represented. First, there are those who teenth century that he finds a clear advocate
^eem to have viewed women with more or for the social, economic, and political equal-
less contempt, considering them as misbe- ity of women and men. After Mill there are
gotten males or as biological mistakes, or others, of course; but the older views never-
even relegating them to a quasi-human sta- theless continue to be expressed by writers
tus, a little higher than the animals, per- right up to our own time. It is only recently
haps, but not in the same class as men. Sec- that the tide has turned.
ond, there are those who, not disputing the The one-sidedness of the quotations is

contention that women are essentially infe- strictly in function of the ages in which they
rior to men, nevertheless give the impression were written. If this book were to be revised
of having harder to understand them,
tried and brought up to date a hundred years
of having attempted to identify and evalu- from now, this obvious defect would most
ate the unique contributions of females to certainly be remedied. It should be noted
human society, Aeschylus, Sophocles, and that women as mothers are treated in quota-
Aristotle belong in the former group; Ho- tions appearing in Section 2.2 on Parents
mer, Euripides, and Plato belong in the lat- AND Children.
ter. Aristotle is practically unremitting in his

1 And the Lord God said, It is not good that the And the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall
man should be alone; I will make him an help upon Adam, and he slept: and he took one of his
meet for him. . . . ribs, and dosed up the flesh instead thereof;

90
 —
1,7. Woman and Man 91

And the rib, which the Lord God had taken
from man, made he a woman, and brought her
unto the man.
And Adam said, This is now bone of my bones,
and flesh of my flesh: she shall be called Woman,
because she was taken out of Man.
Wherefore they came again, and told him. And
he said. This is the word of the Lord, which he
spake by his servant Elijah the Tishbite, saying.
In the portion of Jezrcel shall dogs eat the flesh of
Jezebel:
And the carcase of Jezebel shall be as dung

Genesis 2:18-23 upon the face of the field in the portion of jezreel;
so that they shall not say. This is Jezebel.
II Kings 9:30-37
2 And she said unto him. How canst thou say, I love
thee, when thine heart is not with me? thou hast
4 It isbetter to dwell in a corner of the housetop,
mocked me these three times, and hast not told
than with a brawling woman in a wide house.
me wherein thy great strength lieth.
Proverbs 21:9
And it came to pass, when she pressed him dai-
lywith her words, and urged him, so that his soul
was vexed unto death; 5 Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is

That he told her all his heart, and said unto far above rubies.
her, There hath not come a razor upon mine Proverbs 31:10
head; for I have been a Nazarite unto God from
my mother’s if I be shaven, then my
womb: 6 Ghost of Agamemnon. ‘‘There is no being more fell,
strength will go from me, and I shall become more bestial than a wife in such an action,
weak, and be like any other man. and what an action that one planned!
And when Delilah saw that he had told her all The murder of her husband and her lord.
his heart, she sent and called for the lords of the Great god, I thought my children and my slaves
Philistines, saying. Come up this once, for he hath at least would give me welcome. But that woman,
shewed me all his heart. Then the lords of tlie plotting a thing so low, defiled herself
Philistines came up unto her, and brought money and all her sex, all women yet to come,
in their hand. even those few who may be virtuous,”
And she madehim sleep upon her knees; and
she called for aman, and she caused him to shave He paused then, and I (Odysseus] answered:
off the seven locks of his head; and she began to
‘‘Foul and dreadful.
afflict him, and his strength went from him.
That was the way that Zeus who views the wide
And she said. The Philistines be upon thee, world
Samson. And he awoke out of his sleep, and said, vented his hatred on the sons of Atreus
I will go out as at otlier times before, and shake
intrigues of women, even from the start.
myself. And he wist not that tlie Lord was depart-
Myriads
ed from him.
died by Helen’s fault, and Klytaimnestra
But the Philistines took him, and put out his
plotted against you half the world away.”
eyes, and brought him doum to Gaza, and bound
him with fetters of brass; and he did grind in the And he at once said:
prison house.
‘‘Let it be a warning
Judges 16:15-21 even to you. Indulge a woman never,
and never tell her all you know. Some things
3 And when Jehu w^as come to Jezrcel, Jezebel a man may tell, some he should cover up.”
heard of it; and she painted her face, and tired Homer, Odyss^, XI, 425
her head, and looked out at a window.
And as Jehu entered in at the gate, she said, 7 Then said the Lady Kirke:
Had Zimri peace, who slew his master? “So: all those trials arc over.
And he lifted up his face to the window, and Listen with care
said. Who is on my side? who? And there looked now, and a god will arm your mind.
to this,
out to him two or three eunuchs. Square in your ship’s path are Seirenes, crying
And he said. Throw her down. So they threw beauty to bewitch men coasting by;
her down: and some of her blood was sprinkled on woe who hears that sound!
to the innocent
the wall, and on the horses: and he trodc her un- He lady nor his children
will not see his
der foot. in joy, crowding about him, home from sea;
And when he was come in, he did cat and the Seirenes will sing his mind away
drink, and said, Go, see now this cursed woman, on their sweet meadow lolling. There are bones
and bury her: for she is a king’s daughter. ofdead men rotting in a pile beside them
And they went bury her: but they found no
to and flayed skins shrivel around the spot.
more of her than the skull, and the feet, and the Steer wide;
palms of her hands. keep well to seaward; plug your oarsmen’s ears
 —
92 I
Chapter L Man

%vith beeswax kneaded soft; none of the rest 12 The tNvo camps w'ere then joined in one, the

should hear that song. Scythians living w'ith the Amazons as their wives;
But if you wish to listen, and the men were unable to learn the tongue of
let the men tie you in the lugger, hand the women, but the women soon caught up the
and foot, back to the mast, lashed to the mast, tongue of the men. When they could thus under-
may stand one another, The Scyths addressed the
so you hear those harpies’ thrilling voices;
shout as you will, begging to be untied, Amazons in these words —*‘Wc have parents, and
your crew’ must only twist more line around you properties, let us therefore give up this mode of

and keep their stroke up, till the singers fade.” life, and return our nation, and live with them.
to

Homer, Odyssty, XII, 36 You shall be our wives there no less than here,
and we promise you to have no others.” But the
—
Amazons said “We could not live with your
Do not rage at me, Odysseus!
8 Penelope.
No one ever matched your caution! Think —
women our customs are quite different from
theirs. To draw the bow, to hurl the javelin, to
what difficulty the gods gave: they denied us
life together in our prime and flow’cring years,
bestride the horse, these are our arts of womanly —
employments we know nothing. Your women, on
kept us from crossing into age together.
the contrary, do none of these things; but stay at
Forgive me, don’t be angry. I could not
home in their waggons, engaged in womanish
W’clcome you ^vith love on sight! I armed myself
tasks, and never go out to hunt, or to do anything.
long ago against the frauds of men,
impostors who might come and all those many — We should never agree together. But if you truly
wish to keep us as your wves, and >vould conduct
whose underhanded ways bring evil on!
yourselves with strict justice towards us, go you
Helen of Argos, daughter of Zeus and Leda,
w'ould she have joined the stranger, Iain with him,
home to your parents, bid them give you your
inheritance, and then come back to us, and let us
if she had known her destiny? known the
and you live together by ourselves.”
Akhaians
in arms would bring her back to her own country?
The youths approved of the advice, and fol-

lowed it.
Surely a goddess moved her to adultery,
Herodotus, IV, II 4-1 15
her blood unchilled by war and evil coming,
the years, the desolation; ours, too.
But here and now, what sign could be so clear 13 Teanessa. He [Ajax] answered briefly in a well-

as this of our own bed? worn phrase,

No other man has ever laid eyes on it “Woman, a woman’s decency is silence.”

only my ow’n slave, Aktoris, that my father Sophocles, Ajax, 292

sent with me as a gift — she kept our door.
You make my stiff heart know’ that I am yours. 14 Deianira. The young thing

XXIII, 208
Homer, Odyssey,
9 Chorus. It is like a woman indeed
to take the rapture before the fact has
true.
They believe too easily, are too quick to shift
from ground to ground; and swift indeed
the rumor voiced by a w’oman dies again.
Aeschylus, Agamemnon^ 483
10 Neither in evils nor in fair good luck
Eteocles.
may I share a dwelling with the tribe of women!
When she’s triumphant, hers a confidence
past converse with another, w'hen afraid
an evil greater both for home and city.
Aeschylus, Seven Against Thebes^ 186
11 As for the carrying off of women, it is the deed,
they say, of a rogue: but to make a stir about such
as are carried off, argues a man a fool. Men of
sense care nothing for such women, since it is
plain that without their own consent they would
never be forced away.
Herodotus,
grows in her own places; the heat of the sun-god
does not confound her, nor does the rain, nor any
wind.
Pleasurably she enjoys an untroubled life
shown for
until the time she is no longer called a maiden
but woman, and takes her share of worry in the
night,
fearful for her husband or for her children.
Sophocles, IFomrn of Trachis, 144
13 Medea. Of all things that have life and sense we
women are the most hapless creatures; first must
we buy a husband at an exorbitant price, and o’er
ourselves a tyrant set which is an evil worse than
the first; and herein lies the most important issue,
whether our choice be good or bad. For divorce is
discreditable to women, nor can we disown our
lords. Next must the wife, coming as she does to
ways and customs new, since she hath not learnt
the lesson in her home, have a diviner’s eye to see
how best to treat the partner of her life. If haply
we perform these tasks with thoroughness and
tact, and the husband live with us, without resent-
ing the yoke, our life is a happy one; if not, ’twere
best to die. But when a man is vexed with what he
History, I, 4 finds indoors, he goeth forth and rids his soul of its
 —
/. 7. Woman and Man 93

disgust, betaking him to some friend or comrade in the clever ones. The limits of their minds
of like age; whilst we must needs regard his single deny the stupid lecherous delights.
self. And yet they say we live secure at home, We should not suffer servantsto approach them,
while they are at the wars, with their sorry reason- but give them as companions voiceless beasts,
ing, for I would gladly take my stand in battle dumb, but with teeth, that they might not
. . .

array three times o’er, than once give birth. converse,

Euripides, Medea, 230 and hear another voice in answer,
Euripides, Hippolytus, 616
16 Though a woman be timorous enough in all else,
and coward at the mere
as regards courage, a 20 Jphigenia. A man’s loss from his family is felt, while
the moment she finds her hon-
sight of steel, yet in a woman’s is of little moment.
our wronged, no heart is filled with deadlier Euripides, Iphigenia in Tauris, 1005
thoughts than hers.
Euripides, Medea, 263 21 Andromache. Nature tempers
The souls of women so they find a pleasure
1 7 We women, though by nature little apt for virtu- In voicing their afflictions as they come.
ous deeds, are most expert to fashion any mischief. Euripides, Andromache, 93
Euripides, Medea, 408
22 Andromache. They say one night of love suffices to

18 Jason. You women have such strange ideas, that dissolve

you think all is well so long as your married life a woman’s aversion to share the bed of any man.
runs smooth; but if some mischance occur to ruffle I hate and loathe that woman who casts away the

your love, all that was good and lovely erst you once
reckon as your foes. Yea, men should have begot- beloved,and takes another in her arms of love.
ten children from some other source, no female Even the young mare torn from her running mate
race existing; thus would no evil ever have fallen and teamed
on mankind. with another will not easily wear the yoke.
Euripides, Medea, 569 Euripides, Trojan Ji^omen, 665

19 Hippolytus. Women! This coin which men find 23 lysistra. I’ll tell you now: *tis meet ye all should
counterfeit! know.
Why, why, Lord Zeus, did you put them in the O ladies! sisters! if we really mean
world, To make the men make Peace, there’s but one
sun? If you were so determined
in the light of the way,
tobreed the race of man, the source of it We must abstain
should not have been women. Men might have Myrrhina. Well! tell us.

dedicated Ly, Will ye do it?

in your own temples images of gold, My. Do it? ay, surely, though it costour lives.
silver, or weight of bronze, and thus have bought Ly. We must abstain —each—from the joys of
the seed of progeny, ... to each been given Love.
his worth in sons according to the assessment How! what!why turn away? where are ye going?
of his gift’s value. So we might have lived What makes you pout your lips, and shake your
in houses free of the taint of women’s presence. heads?
But now, plague into our homes
to bring this What brings this falling tear, that changing col-
we drain the fortunes of our homes. In this our?
we have a proof how great a curse is woman. Will ye, or will ye not? What mean ye, eh?
For the father who begets her, rears her up, My. I’ll never do it. Let the war go on.
must add a dowry gift to pack her off Aristophanes, 118
to another’s house and thus be rid of the load.
And he again that takes the cursed creature 24 Lysistra. For if we women will but sit at home.
rejoicesand enriches his heart’s jewel Powdered and trimmed, clad in our daintiest
with dear adornment, beauty heaped on vileness. lawn,
With lovely clothes the poor wretch tricks her out Employing all our charms, and all our arts
spending the wealth that underprops his house. To win men’s love, and when we’ve won it, then
That husband has the easiest life whose wife Repel them, firmly, till they end the war.
is a mere nothingness, a simple fool, We’ll soon get Peace again, be sure of that.
uselessly sitting by the fireside. Aristophanes, Lysistrata, 149
I hate a clever woman —God forbid
that I should ever have a wife at home 25 must say anything on the subject of
Pericles. If I
with more than woman’s wits! Lust breeds mis- female excellence to those of you who will now be
chief in widowhood, it will be all comprised in this brief
 94 I
Chapter /. Man

exhortation. Great will be your glory in not falling in regard to the two exceptional cases, the superi-

short of your natural character; and greatest will ority in courage rests with the female. With all
be hers who is least talked of among the men, other animals the female is softer in disposition
whether for good or for bad. than the male, is more mischievous, less simple,
Thucydides, Peloponnesian War, II, 45 more impulsive, and more attentive to the nurture
of the young; the male, on the other hand, is more

26 You are quite right, he (Glaucon] replied, in spirited than the female, more savage, more sim-
maintaining the general inferiority of the female ple and less cunning. The traces of these differen-

sex: although many women are in many things tiated characteristics are more or less visible ev-

superior to many men, yet on the whole what you erywhere, but they are especially visible where
say is true. character is the more developed, and most of all
And if so, my friend, I [Socrates] said, there is in man.
no special faculty of administration in a state The fact is, the nature of man is the most
which a woman has because she is a woman, or rounded off and complete, and consequently in

which a man has by virtue of his sex, but the gifts man the qualities or capacities above referred to
of nature arc alike diffused in both; all the pur- are found in their perfection. Hence woman is
suits of men are the pursuits of women also, but in more compassionate than man, more easily
all of them a woman is inferior to a man. moved to tears, at the same time is more jealous,
Plato, Republic, V, 455B more querulous, more apt to scold and to strike.
She is, furthermore, more prone to despondency
27 You agree then, I [Socrates] said, that men and and less hopeful than the man, more void of
women arc to have a common way of life such as shame or self-respect, more false of speech, more
—
we have described common education, common deceptive, and of more retentive memory. She is
children; and they arc to watch over the citizens also more wakeful, more shrinking, more difficult

in common whether abiding in the city or going to rouse to action, and requires a smaller quantity

out to war; they are to keep watch together, and of nutriment.

to hunt together like dogs; and always and in all As was previously stated, the male is more cou-
things, as far as they are able, women are to share rageous than the female, and more sympathetic in
with the men? And in so doing they will do what the way of standing by to help. Even in the case of
is best, and will not violate, but preserve the natu- molluscs, when the cuttle-fish is struck with the
ral relation of the sexes. trident the male stands by to help the female; but

Plato, Republic, V, 466B when the male is struck the female runs away.
Aristotle, History of Animals, 608^22
28 Girls of age [i.e., puberty) have much need of
this
surveillance. For then in particular they feel a 30 As the first efficient or moving cause, to which
natural impulse to make usage of the sexual facul- belong the definition and the form, is better and
ties that are developing in them; so that unless more divine in its nature than the material on
they guard against any further impulse beyond which it works, it is better that the superior princi-
that inevitable one which their bodily devel- ple whould be separated from the inferior. There-
opment of itself supplies, even in the case of those fore, wherever it is possible and so far as it is possi-

who abstain altogether from passionate indul- ble, the male is separated from the female. For the

gence, they contract habits which are apt to con- first principle of the movement, or efficient cause,

tinue into later life. For girls who give way to whereby that which comes into being is male, is
wantonness grow more and more wanton; and the better and more divine than the material whereby
same is true of boys, unless they be safeguarded it is female. The male, however, comes together

from one temptation and another. and mingles with the female for the work of gen-
Aristotle, History of Animals, 581^12 eration, because this is common to both.
Aristotle, Generation of Animals, 732^3
29 In all genera in which the distinction of male and
female is found, Nature makes a similar differen- 31 The female is, as it were, a mutilated male,
tiation in the mental characteristics of the two Aristotle, Generation of Animals, 737®28
sexes. This differentiation is the most obvious in
the case of human kind and in that of the larger 32 Females are weaker and colder in nature, and we
animals and the viviparous quadrupeds. In the must look upon the female character as being a
case of these latter the female is softer in charac- sort of natural deficiency.
ter, is the sooner tamed, admits more readily of Aristotle, Generation of Animals, 775*15
caressing, is more apt in the w^ay of learning; as,
for instance, in the Laconian breed of dogs the 33 What difference does it make whether women
female is cleverer than the male. . . . rule, or the rulers are ruled by women? The result
In all cases, excepting those of the bear and is the same.
leopard, the female is Jess spirited than the male; Aristotle, Politics, I269‘>33
 L7> Woman and Man 95

34 Mercuiy. Woman’s a various and a changeful For with God nothing shall be impossible.
thing. And Mary said, Behold the handmaid of the
Virgil, Aeneid, IV Lord; be it unto me according to thy word. And
the angel departed from her.

35 Resistless thro’ the war Camilla rode, Luke l:2&-38

In danger unappall’d, and pleas’d with blood.
One side was bare for her exerted breast; 37 And it came to pass, that, when Elisabeth heard
One shoulder with her painted quiver press’d. the saUitation of Mary, the babe leaped in her
Now from afar her fatal jav’lins play; womb; and Elisabeth w'as filled with the Holy
Now with her ax’s edge she hews her way: Ghost:
Diana’s arms upon her shoulder sound; And she spake out with a loud voice, and said.
And when, too closely press’d, she quits the Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the
ground, fruit of thy womb.
From her bent bow she sends a backward wound. And whence is this to me, that the mother of
Her maids, in martial pomp, on either side, my Lord should come to me?
Larina, Tulla, fierce Tarpeia, ride: For, lo, as soon as the voice of thy salutation
Italians all; in peace, their queen’s delight; sounded in mine cars, the babe leaped in my
In war, the bold companions of die fight. wt)mb for joy.
So march’d the Tracian Amazons of old. And blessed is she that believed: for there shall
When Therm odon with bloody billows roll’d: be a performance of those things which were told
Such troops as these in shining arms were seen, her from the Lord.
When Ihescus met in fight their maiden queen: And Mary said, My soul doth magnify the
Such to the field Penthisilca led, Lord,
From the fierce virgin when the Grecians fled; And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.
With such, return’d triumphant from the war, For he hath regarded the low’ estate of his
Her maids with cries attend the lofty car; handmaiden: for, behold, from henceforth all

They clash with manly force their moony shields; generations shall call me blessed.
With female shouts resound the Phry'gian fields. Luke 1:41-48
Virgil, Ameid, XI
38 Now it came to pass, as they went, that he entered
36 The angel Gabriel \vas sent from God unto a city into a certain village: and a certain w'oman
of Galilee, named Nazareth, named Martha received him into her house.
To a \irgin espoused to a man whose name w'as And she had a sister called Marys which also
Joseph, of the house of David; and the virgin’s and heard his word.
sat at Jesus’ feet,
name w'as Mary. But Martha w’as cumbered about much serv'ing,
And the angel came in unto her, and said, Hail, and came to him, and said, Lord, dost thou not
thou that art highly favoured, the Lord is with care that my sister hath left me to servx alone? bid
thee: blessed art thou among women. her therefore that she help me.
And when she saw him, she w^as troubled at his And Jesus answered and said unto her, Martha,
sa>'ing, and cast in her mind what manner of salu- Martha, thou art careful and troubled about
tation this should be. many things;
And the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary*: But one thing is needful: and Mary hath cho-
forthou hast found favour with God. sen that good part, which shall not be taken away
And, behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, from her.
and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name Luke 10:38-42
Jesus.
He shall be great, and be called the Son of
shall 39 The day of the w’eck cometh Mary Magda-
first
the Highest: and the Lord God
shall give unto when it was yet dark, unto the sepul-
lene early,
him the throne of his father David: chre, and secth the stone taken aw'ay from the
And he shall reign over the house of Jacob for sepulchre. . . .

ever; and of his kingdom there shall be no end.
Then said Mary unto the angel, How shall this
be, seeing I know not a man?
And the angel answered and said unto her, The
Holy Ghost shall come upon thee, and the power
of the Highest shall overshadow thee: therefore
also that holy thing w'hich shall be born of thee
shall be called the Son of God.
And, behold, thy cousin Elisabeth, she hath
also conceiveda son in her old age: and this is the
sixth month with her, who was called barren.
But Mary' stood without at the sepulchre weep-
ing: and as she w'cpt, she stooped dowm, and
looked into the sepulchre.
And secth tw'o angels in white sitting, the one at
the head, and the other at the feet, where the
body of Jesus had lain.
And they say unto her, Woman, why weepest
thou? She saith unto them, Because they have
taken away my Lord, and I know not where they
have laid him.
And when she had thus said, she turned herself
 96 I
Chapter I. Man

back, and saw Jesus standing, and knew not that of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of
it was Jesus. God of great price.
Jesus saith unto her, Woman, why weepest For after this manner in the old time the holy
thou? whom seekest thou? She, supposing him to women also, who trusted in God, adorned them-
be the gardener, saith unto him, Sir, if thou have selves, being in subjection unto their own hus-
borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid bands:
him, and I will take him away. Even as Sara obeyed Abraham, calling him
Jesus saith unto her, Mary. She turned herself, lord: whose daughters ye arc, as long as ye do
and saith unto him, Rab-bo-nl; which is to say. well, and are not afraid uith any amazement.
Master. Likexrisc, ye husbands, dw'ell with them accord-
John 20:1-16 ing to knowledge, giving honour unto the wife, as
unto the weaker vessel, and as being heirs together
40 For a man indeed ought not to cover his head, of the grace of life; that your prayers be not hin-
forasmuch as he is the image and glory of God: dered.
but the woman is the gIor>' of the man. 1 Petrr 3:1-7
For the man is not of the woman; but the wom-
an of the man.
Neither was the man created for the woman;
45 Women from fourteen years old are flattered by

but the woman for the man.

men with the title of mistresses. Therefore, per-
ceiving that they are regarded only as qualified to
I Corinthians 11:7-9
give men pleasure, they begin to adorn them-
selves, and in that to place all their hopes. It is
41 Doth not even nature itself teach you, that, if a
worth while, therefore, to try that they may per-
man have long hair, it is a shame unto him?
ceive themselves honored only so far as they ap-
But if a woman have long hair, it is a glory to
pear beautiful in their demeanor and modestly
her: for her hair is given her for a covering,
virtuous,
I Corinthians 11:14-15 Epictetus, Enchtiridion, XL
42 Let your women keep silence in the churches: for
it is not permitted unto them to speak; but they 46 During this debate Severus Ccecina proposed that
are commanded to be under obedience, as also no magistrate who had obtained a province
saith the law. should be accompanied by his \rife. He began by
And if they w'ill learn anything, let them ask recounting at length how harmoniously he had
their husbands at home: for it is a shame for wom- lived with his wife, who had borne him six chil-
en to speak in the church. dren, and how in his own home he had obser\'cd
I Corinthians 14:34-35 what he was proposing for the public, by having
kept her in Italy, though he had himself served
43 I will . . . women
adorn tliemselves in mod-
that forty campaigns in various provinces. “With good
est apparel, \\4th shamefacedness and sobriety; reason,” he said, “had it been formerly decided
not with broided hair, or gold, or pearls, or costly that women w’ere not to be taken among our allies
array; or into foreign countries. A train of w’omen in-
But (which becometh women professing godli- volves delays through luxury in peace and
ness) with good works. through panic in ^var, and converts a Roman
Let the woman learn in silence w4th all subjec- army on the march into the likeness of a barbar-
tion. ian progress. Not only is the sex feeble and un-
But not a woman to teach, nor to usurp
I suffer equal to hardship, but, when it has libert>% it is
authority over the man, but to be in silence. spiteful, intriguing and greedy of power. They
For Adam was first formed, then Eve. show themselves off among the soldiers and have
And Adam was not deceived, but the woman the centurions at their beck. Lately a woman had
being deceived was in the transgression. presided at the drill of the cohorts and the evolu-
/ Timothy 2:8-14 tions of the legions. You should yourselves bear in
mind that, whenever men are accused of extor-
44 Likewise, ye wives, be in subjection to your own tion, most of the charges arc directed against the
husbands; that, if any obey not the word, they wives. It is to these that the vilest of the provin-
also may \vithout the word be won by the conver- cials instantly attach themselves; it is they who

sation of the wives; undertake and settle business; tivo persons receive
While they behold your chaste conversation homage w’hen they appear; there are two centres
coupled with fear. of government, and the w'omen^s orders tire the
Whose adorning let it not be that outward more despotic and intemperate. Formerly they
adorning of plaiting the hair, and of wearing of \vere restrained by the Oppian and other laws;
gold, or of putting on of apparel; now, loosed from every bond, they rule our hous-
But let it be the hidden man of the heart, in es, our tribunals, even our armies.”
that which is not corruptible, e\’en the ornament Tacitus, Annals, III, 33

1.7.
47 Just as in the human soul there is one element
which takes thought and dominates, another
which is subjected to obedience, so woman has
been created corporeally for man: for though she
has indeed a nature like that of man in her mind
and rational intelligence, yet by her bodily sex she
is subjected to the sex of her husband, much as
appetite, which is the source of action, must be
subjected to reason.
Augustine, Confessions,
48 From the words, “Till we all come to a perfect
man, to themeasure of the age of the fullness of
Christ,” and from the words, “Conformed to the
image of the Son of God,” some conclude lliat
women shall not rise women, but that all shall be
men, because God made man only of earth and
woman of the man. For my part, they seem to be
wiser who make no doubt that both sexes shall
rise. For there shall be no lust, which is now the
cause of confusion. For before they sinned, the
man and the woman were naked and were not
ashamed. From those bodies, then, vice shall be
withdrawn, while nature shall be preserved, And
the sex of woman is not a vice, but nature.
then indeed be superior to carnal intercourse and
child-bearing; nevertheless the female
shallremain adapted not to the old uses, but to a
new beauty, which, so far from provoking lust,
now extinct, shall excite praise to the w'isdom and
clcmcnc)’ of God, who both made what was not
and delivered from corruption what He made.
Augustine, City of God,
49 It was necessary for woman to be made, as the
Scripture says, as a helper to man; not, indeed, as
a helpmate in other works, as somesay, since man
can be more efficiently helped by another man in
other w’orks, but as a helper in the work of genera-
tion.
Aquinas, Summa
50 As regards the particular nature, woman is defec-
tive and misbegotten, for the active force in the
male seed tends to the production of a perfect
likeness in the masculine sex, while the produc-
tion of woman comes from defect in the active
force orfrom some material indisposition, or even
from some external change, such as that of a south
wind, which is moist, as the Philosopher observes.
On the other hand, in relation to the universal
nature, woman is not misbegotten, but is included
in nature’s intention as ordered to the work of
generation. Now the universal intention of nature
depends on God, Who is the universal
nature. Therefore, in producing nature, God
formed not only the male but also the female.
Aquinas, Summa
—
Woman and Man 97
51 It was right for the woman to be made from a rib
of man. First, to signify the social union of man
and woman, for the woman should neither use
authority over man, and so she was not made
from his head; nor was it right for her to be sub-
ject to man’s contempt as his slave, and so she was
not made from his feet. Secondly, for the sacra-
mental signification; for from the side of Christ
sleeping on the Cross the Sacraments flowed
XIII, 32
—
namely, blood and water on which the Church
was established.
Aquinas, Summa Theologica,
I. 92, 3
52 Already were mine eyes fixed on my Lady’s coun-
tenance again, and my mind with them, from
all other intent removed;
and she smiled not, but: “Were I to smile,” she
[Beatrice] began, “thou wouldst be such as was
Scmcle, when she turned to ashes;
for my beauty, which, along the steps of the cter*
nal palace kindlcth more, as thou hast seen, the
higher the ascent,
were it not tempered, so doth glow as that thy
mortal power, at its flash, would be like foliage
It shall
that the thunder shaticrcth.
Dante, Paradise, XXI, 1
members
53 Nine times now, since my birth, the heaven of
light had turned almost to the same point in its
oum gyration, when the glorious Lady of my
mind, who was called Beatrice by many who
knew not what to call her, first appeared before
XXII, 17
my eyes. She had already been in this life so long
that in its course the starry heaven had moved
toward the region of the East one of the twelve
parts of a degree; so that at about the beginning
of her ninth year she appeared to me, and I near
the end of my ninth year saw her. She appeared
to me clothed in a most noble color, a modest and
becoming crimson, and she was girt and adorned
in such wise as befitted her very youthful age. At
Theologica,
that instant, I say truly that the spirit of life,
I, 92, 1
which dwells in the most secret chamber of the
heart, began to tremble with such violence that it
appeared fearfully in the least pulses, and, trem-
bling, said these words: Ecce deus foriior me, qui ven-
tens dominabitur mihi [Behold a god stronger than I,
who coming shall rule over me].
Dante, Vita Nuova, II
54 Ladies that have intelligence of Love,
I of my lady wish with you to speak;
Not that I can believe to end her praise,
But to discourse that I may case my mind.
I say that when I think upon her worth.
So sweet doth Love make himself feel to me.
Author of
That if I then should lose not hardihood.
Speaking, I should enamour all mankind.
And I wish not so loftily to speak
Theologica, As to become, through fear of failure, vile;
I, 92. 1 But of her gentle nature I will treat
 — — —
98 I
Chapter L Man

In manner light compared with her desert. And to have mastery their man above;
Dante, Vita Nuova, XIX This thing you most desire, though me you kill

Do as you please, I am here at your will.”

55 Within her eyes my lady beareth Love, In all the court there was no \vife or maid
So that whom she regards is gentle made; Or \vidow that denied the thing he said,
All toward her turn, where’er her steps are But all held, he was worthy to have life.
stayed, Chaucer, Canterbury Tales: Wife
And whom she greets, his heart doth trembling of Bath’s Tale

move;
So that with face cast down, all pale to view, 60 The Friar. There is, indeed, no serpent so cruel,
For every fault of his he then doth sigh; When man treads on his tail, nor half so fell,

Anger and pride away before her fly: As woman is when she is filled with ire;
Assist me, dames, to pay her honor due. Vengeance is then the whole of her desire.

Dante, Vita Nuova^ XXI Chaucer, Canterbury Tales: Summoner’s Tale

56 After this sonnet, a wonderful vision appeared to 61 “Eh! By God’s mercy!”

cried our host. Said he:
me, in which I saw things which made me resolve “Now such a wife I pray God keep from me!
to speak no more of this blessed one, until I could Behold what tricks, and lo, what subtleties
more worthily treat of her. And to attain to this I In women are. For always busy as bees
study to the utmost of my power, as she truly Are they, us simple men thus to deceive,
knows. So that, if it shall please Him through And from the truth they turn aside and leave.”
whom all things live, that my life be prolonged for Chaucer, Canterbu^ Tales: Merchant’s Tale,
some years, I hope to say of her what was never Epilogue
said of any woman [i.c., as it turned out. The Di-
vine Comedy\. 62 Merchants Wife. And well you know that women
And then may it please Him who is the Lord of naturally
Grace, that my soul may go to behold the glory of Desire six things, and even so do I.

its lady, namely, of that blessed Beatrice, who in For women all would have their husbands be
glory looks upon the face of Him qui est per omnia Hardy, and wise, and rich, and therewith free.
saecxila benedictus [who is blessed forever]. Obedient to the wife, and fresh in bed.
Dante, Vila NnovOy XLIII Chaucer, Canterbury Tales: Shipman’s Tale

57 We women have, if I am not to lie, 63 Chanticleer. For there is truth in In principio

In this love matter, a quaint fantasy; Mulier est hominis confusio
Look out a thing we may not lightly have. (Madam, the meaning of this Latin is.

And after that we’ll cry all day and crave. Woman man’s delight and all his bliss).
is

Forbid a thing, and that thing covet we;
Press hard upon us, then we turn and flee.
Sparingly offer we our goods, when fair;
Great crowds at market make lor dearer ware,
And what’s too common brings but little price;
All this knows every woman who is wise.
Chaucer, Canterbury Tales: Wife
of Bath’s Prologue
Chaucer, Canterbu^ Tales: Nun’s Priest’s Tale
64 But I’m a vulgar man, and thus say I,
There is no smallest difference, truly,
Between a wife who is of high degree,
If of her body she dishonest be,
And a poor unknown wench, other than this
If it be true that both do what’s amiss

The gentlewoman, in her state above,

58 By God, if women had but written stories, She shall be called his lady, in their love;
As have these clerks within their oratories, And since the other’s but a poor woman,
They would have written of men more wickedness She shall be called his wench or his leman.
Than all the race of Adam could redress. And God knows very well, my own dear brother,
Chaucer, Canterbury Tales: Wife Men lay the one as low as lies the other.
of Bath’s Prologue Chaucer, Canterbury Tales: Manciple’s Tale

59 Command was given for silence in the hall. 65 Many good things may be perceived in a wife.
And that the knight should tell before them all First, there is the Lord’s blessing, namely, off-
What thing all worldly women love the best. spring. Then there is community of property.
This knight did not stand dumb, as does a beast, These are some of the pre-eminently good things
But to this question presently answered that can overwhelm a man. Imagine what it
With manly voice, so that the whole court heard: would be like without this sex. The home, cities,
*‘My liege lady, generally,” said he, economic life, and government would virtually
“Women desire to have the sovereignty disappear. Men can’t do without women. Even if
As well upon their husband as their love, it were possible for men to beget and bear chil-
 /, 7. JVoman and Man |
99

drcn, they still couldn’t do \Wthout women. privy' room, and then made a most lively alluring
Luther, Table Talk, 1658 sign unto him, to show* that the game did please
her. Whereupon, without any more advertise-

66 A woman that is neither fair nor good, to what use ment, or so much as the uttering of one word on
serves she? To make a nun of, said Gargantua. 69 either side, they fell to, and bringuard-
Yea, s.iid the monk, to make shirts and smocks. ised it lustily.

Rabelais, Gargantua and Pantagruel, I, 52 Rabelais, Gargantua and Pantagruel, III, 19

67 Panurge. WTicrc there is no woman, I mean, the Pondtbilts. The nature of women is set forth before
mother and wife in the union of a
of a family, our eyes, and represented to us by the moon in
lawful wedlock, the crazy and diseased arc in dan- divers other things as well as in this, that they
ger of being ill used, and of haWng much brab- squat, skulk, constrain their own inclinations,
bling and strife about them: as by dear experi- and, with all the cunning they can, dissemble and
ence hath been made apparent in the persons of play the hypocrite in the sight and presence of
popes, legates, cardinals, bishops, abbots, priors, their husbands; who come no sooner to l>c out of
priests, and monks: but there, assure yourself, yovi the way, but that forthwith they take their advan-
shall not find me. tage, pass the time merrily, desist from all Ial>our,
Rabelais, Gergarttua and Pantagruel, III, 9 frolic gad abroad, lay aside their counterfeit
it,

garb, and openly declare and manifest the interi-

68 Panurge, The greater part of women, whatever it or of their dispositions, even as the moon, when
be that they see, do alwa>‘s represent unto their she is in conjunction with the sun, is neither seen
fancies, think and imagine, hath some rela-
that it in the heavens, nor on ilic earth, but in her oppo-
tion to the sugared entering of the goodly itUy- sition, when remotest from him shincth in her
phallos, and grafting in the cleft of the overturned greatest fulness, and vvholly appeareth in her
tree the quickset-imp of the pin of copulation. brightest splendour whilst it is night. Thus women
Whatcs'cr signs, shess-s, or gestures we shall make, arc but women.
or whatever our behaviour, carriage or demean- \Micn I say womankind, I speak of a sex so
our shall happen to be in their vicsv and presence, frail, so variable, so changeable, .so fickle, incon-
thc>' wall interpret the whole in reference to the stant, and imf)erfcci, that, in my opinion, Nature,
act of androg)*nation, and the culbutizing exer- under favour nevertheless, of the prime honour
cise; by which means we shall be abusively disap- and reverence which is due unto her, did in a
pointed of our designs, in regard that she will take manner mistake the road which she had traced
allour signs for nothing else but tokens and repre- formerly, and stray exceedingly from that excel-
sentations ofour desire to entice her unto the lists lence of providential judgment, by the which she
of a Cyprian combat, or catscnconny skirmish. Do had created and formed all other things, when she
you remember what happened at Rome two liun- built, framed, and made up the woman. And hav-
dred and thrcc-scorc years after the foundation ing thought upon it a hundred and five times, I
thereof? A young Roman gentleman encountering know not what else to determine therein, save
by chance at the fool of Mount CcHon w'ith a only that in the devising, hammering, forging,
beautiful Latin lady named Verona, who from and composing of the woman, she hath had a
her very cradle upwards had alwap been deaf much and by a great deal more
tenderer regard,
and dumb, very' civilly asked her, not without a respectful, heed to the delightful consortship, and
chironomaiic Italianising of hU demand, with sociable delectation of the man, than to the per-
various jeetigation of his fingers, and otiicr gestic- fection and accomplishment of the indiv'idual
ulations, as yet customaiy’ amongst the speakers womanishness or muliebrity, ^'hc divine philoso-
of that country'* What senators, in her descent pher Plato was doubtful in what rank of living
from the top of the hill, she had met with going up creatures to place and collocate them, whether
thither. For you arc to conceive, that he, knowing amongst the rational animals, by elevating them
no more of her deafness than dumbness, was igno- to an upper seal in the spccifical classes of human-
rant of both. She in the meantime, who neither ity; Of with the irrational, by degrading them to a
heard nor understood so much as one word of lower bench on the opposite side, of a brutal kind,
what he said, straight imagined, by all that she and mere bestiality. For nature hath posited in a
could apprehend in the lively gesture of his manu- and intestine place of their bodies, a
privy, secret
al signs, that what he then required of her was, member, by some not impertinently termed
sort of
what herself had a great mind to, even that which an animal, which is not to be found in men.
a young man doth naturally desire of a woman. Therein sometimes arc engendered certain hu-
Then was it, that by signs, which in all occurrenc- mours, so saltish, brackish, clammy, sharp, nip-
es of venereal love arc
incomparably more attrac- ping, tearing, prickling, and most eagerly tickling,
tive, and efficacious than words, she beck-
valid that by their stinging acrimony, rending nitrosity,
oned to him to come along with her to her house; figging itch, wriggling mordicancy, and smarting
which when he had done, she drew him aside to a salsitudc, (for the said member is altogether sin-
 1 00 I
Chapter L Man

e\vy, and of a most quick and lively feeling,) their do not know themselves well enough. The world
whole body is shaken and cbrangled their senses has nothing more beautiful; it is for them to do
totally ravished and transported, the operations of honor to the arts and to decorate decoration.
their judgment and understanding utterly con- What do they need but to live beloved and hon-
founded, and all disordinatc passions and pertur- ored? They possess and know only too much for

bations of the mind throughly and absolutely al- this;they need only arouse a little and rekindle
lowed, admitted, and approved of; yea, in such the faculties that arc in them. When 1 see them
sort, that if nature had not been so favourable intent on rhetoric, astrology, logic, and similar
unto them as to have sprinkled their forehead drugs, so vain and useless for their needs, I begin
with a little tincture of bashfulncss and modesty, to fear that the men who advise them to do this,
you should see them in a so frantic mood run mad do so as a means of gaining authority over them
after lechery, and hie apace up and down with under this pretext. For what other excuse could I
haste and lust, in quest of, and to fix some cham- find for them? Enough that wathout our help they
ber-standard in their Paphian ground, that never can adjust the charm of their eyes to gaiety, sever-
did the Proetides, Mimallonidcs, nor Lytean ity, or s%vcctncss, season a “no” with harshness,

Thyads deport themselves in the time of their uncertainty, or encouragement, and that they
Bacchanalian festivals more shamelessly, or need no interpreter for the speeches we make in
with a so effronted and brazen-faced impudency; courting them. With this knowledge they hold the
because this terrible animal is knit unto, and hath whip hand and master the schoolmasters and the
an union with all the chief and most principal school.
parts of the body, as to anatomists is evident. Let If, however, it vexes them to ^leld to us in any

itnot here be thought strange that I should call it matter whatever, and if they want, out of curiosi-
an animal, seeing therein I do no other^vise than ty, to have a share in book learning, poetry is an

follow and adhere to the doctrine of the academic amusemem suited to their needs; it is a wanton
and a proper mo-
peripatetic philosophers. For if and subtle art, in fancy dress, wordy, all pleasure,
tion be a certain mark and infallible token of the all show, like themselves. They will also derive
life and animation of the mover, as Aristotle wri- \^rious benefits from history'. In philosophy, from
teth, and that any such tiring as moveth of itself the part that is useful for life, they will take the
ought to be held animated, and of a living nature, lessons that will train them to judge our humors
then assuredly Plato with very good reason did and characteristics, to defend themselves against
give it the denomination of an animal, for that he our treacheries, to control the impetuosity of their
perceived and observed in it the proper and self- o\v7i desires, to husband their freedom, to prolong
stirring motions of suffocation, precipitation, cor- the pleasures of life, and to bear humanly the in-
rugation, and of indignation, so extremely violent, constancy of a lover, the rudeness of a husband,
that often- times by them
taken and removed
is and the annoyance of years and w'rinklcs; and
from the woman all other sense and moving what- things of that sort. That is the most I should assign
soever, as if she rverc in a s\vounding lipothymy, to them in the matter of learning.
benumbing symeope, epileptic, apoplectic pals>', Montaigne, Essays, III, 3, Three Kinds
and true resemblance of a pale-faced death. of Association
Rabelais, Gnrganfiia and Pantagmtl^ III, 32
72 Women arc not wrong at all when they reject the
70 What the use of that art of virginal shame, that
is have been introduced into the
rules of life that
sedate coldness, that severe countenance, that world, inasmuch as it is the men who have made
profession of ignorance of things that they know these without them. There is naturally strife and
belter than we who instruct them
them, but to in wrangling bcUvecn them and us: the closest com-
increase in us the desire to conquer, to overxvhelm munion we have with them is still tumultuous and
and subdue to our appetite all this ceremony and tempestuous.
these obstacles? For there is not only pleasure but Montaigne, Essays, III, 5, On Some Verses
also glory in driving wild and seducing that soft of Virgil
sweetness and that childlike modesty, and in re-
ducing a proud and commanding gravity to the 73 The most useful and honorable science and occu-
mercy of our ardor. pation for a w’oman is the science of housekeeping.
Montaigne, Essays, 11, 15, That Our Desire I know some that are miserly, very few that are
good managers. This is her ruling quality, which a

71 If the wellborn ladies will take my advice, they man should seek out before any oAer, as the sole
will content themselves -with displaying their o^vn dowry on w’hich the ruin or salvation of our
natural riches. They conceal and cover up their households depends.
own beauties under foreign beauties. It is very Montaigne, Essays, III, 9, Of Vanity'
simple-minded to put out your own light so as to
shine by a borrowed light. They are buried and 74 Demetrius. She is a w'oman, therefore may be
entombed under art. . The reason is that they
. . woo'd;
 —
/, 7. Woman and Man 101

She is a woman, therefore may be won. I grant I am a woman; but withal

Shakespeare, Titiis AndroniciLX, II, i, 82 A w’oman well-reputed, Cato’s daughter.
Tlunk you 1 am no stronger than my sex.
75 Julia. Maids, in modesty, say “no'* to that Being so father’d and so husbanded?
Which they would have the profferer constnic Tellme your counsels, I will not disclose 'em:
*‘ay.” have made strong proof of my constancy.
I

Shakespeare, Ti/v Gmllemm Giving myself a voluntary wound

of Vrrona, I, ii, 55 80 Here, in the thigh: can I bear that with patience.
And not my husband’s secrets?
76 Romfo. WTtat lady is that, which doth cnricli the Brutus. O ye gods,
hand Render me worthy of this noble wife!
Of yonder knight? Shakespeare, yu/ntf Caesar, II, i, 292
Saviaiiman.know* not, sir.
I

Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn Rosalind. Do you not know I am a W'oman? when I
bright! think, I must speak.
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Shakespeare, As You Like It, III, ii, 263
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiopc’s car;
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! 01 Itwas a lover and liis lass,
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
As yonder lady o’er her fellows show's. That o’er the green corn-field did pass
The measure done, I’ll watch her place of In the spring time, the only pretty ring lime.
stand, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding:
And, touching hers, make blessed my aide Sweet lovers love tlic spring.
hand. Shakespeare, As You Like It, V, iii, 17
Did my heart love till now? fors%vcar it, sight!
For 1 ne’er saw true beauty till this night. 82 Duke. Ixt still the woman take
Shakcsj>carc, Rom(o and Juliet, I, v, 43 An elder than herself; so wears she to him.
So sw'ap she level in her husband's heart:
77 You sec me, Lord Bassanio, where
Portia. I stand. For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
Such as I am: though for m>’sclf alone Our fancies arc more giddy and unfirm,
I would not be ambitious in my wish. More longing, w-avering, sooner lost and worn.
To wash m>*sclf much better; yet, for you Than women’s arc.
I would be trebled twenty times m)*sclf; Viola. I think it well, my lord.
A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times Duke. Then let thy love be younger than th>'sclf.
More rich; Or thy affection cannot hold the bent;
That only to stand high in your account. For women arc as roses, whose fair flower
I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, Being once display’d, doth fall that vcr>' hour.
Exceed account; but the full sum of me Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, II, iv, 30
Is sum of something, which, to term in gross.

Is an unlesson’d girl, unschool’d, unpractised; 83 Duke. There is no woman’s sides

Happy in this, she is not yet so old Gan bide the iKating of so strong a passion
But she may learn; happier than this, As love doth give my heart; no w'oman’s heart
She is not bred so dull but she can learn; So big, to hold so much; they lack retention.
Happiest of all is that her gentle spirit Alas, their love may be call’d appetite,
Commits itself to yours to be directed, No motion of the liver, but the palate,
As from her lord, her governor, her king. Tliat suffer surfeit, cloymcni, and revolt;
Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, III, ii, 150 But mine is all as hungry* as the sea.
And can digest as much: make no compare
78 Balthasar. Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Bctw'ccn that love a woman can bear me
Men were deceivers ever, And that I owe Olivia.
One foot in sea and one on shore, Viola. Ay, but I know
To one thing constant never: Duke. What dost thou know?
Then sigh not so, but let them go, Vio. Too xvcll w'hat love W'omcn to men may
And be you blithe and bonny, ow'e.
Converting alt your sounds of woe In faith, they arc as true of heart as we.
Into Hey nonny, nonny, My fatherhad a daughter loved a man.
Shakespeare, Much Ado As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,
About Nothing, II, iii, 64 I should your lordship
Duke. And what’s her histoiy*?
79 Portia. I grant I am
a woman; but withal Vio. A blank, my lord. She never told her love,
A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife: But let concealment, like a w'orm i’ the bud,
 —
102 I
Chapter /. Man

Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, O’er-picturing that Venus where we see
And with a green and yellow melancholy The fancy outwork nature. On
each side her
She sat like patience on a monument, Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids,
Smiling at grief.Was not this love indeed? With divers-col our ’d fans, whose wind did seem
Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, II, iv, 96 To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool.
And what they undid did.
84 Hamlet. Frailty, thy name is woman! Agr. O, rare for Antony!
Shakespeare, Hamlet, I, ii, 146 Eno. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides,
So many mermaids, tended her i’ the eyes.
85 Hamlet. thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool; for
If And made their bends adornings. At the helm
wise men know well enough what monsters you A seeming mermaid steers; the silken tackle
make of them. Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands,
That yarely frame the office. From the barge
Shakespeare, Hamlet, III, i, 141
A strange invisible perfume hits the sense
86 lago. Come on, come on; you are pictures out of Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast
doors. Her people out upon her; and Antony,
Bells in your parlours, wild-cats in your kitchens, Enthroned i’ the market-place, did sit alone,
Saints in your injuries, devils being offended, Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy,
Players in your housewifery, and housewives in Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too
your beds. And made a gap in nature.
Desdemona, O, fie upon thee, slanderer! Agr. Rare Egyptian!
Shakespeare, Othello, II, i, 110 Eno. Upon her landing, Antony sent to her,
Invited her to supper. She replied.

87 Lear.Behold yond simpering dame, Itshould be better he became her guest;

Whose face beUveen her forks presages snow; Which she entreated. Our courteous Antony,
That minces virtue, and does shake the head Whom ne’er the word of “No” woman heard
To hear of pleasure’s name; speak.
The fitchew, nor the soiled horse, goes to’t Being barber’d ten times o’er, goes to the feast.
With a more riotous appetite. And for his ordinary pays his heart
Down from the waist they are Centaurs, For what his eyes eat only.
Though women all above; Agr. Royal wench!
But to the girdle do the gods inherit. She made great Ceesar lay his sword to bed.
Beneath is all the fiends’; 90 He plough’d her and she cropp’d.
There’s hell, there’s darkness, there’s the sulphu- Eno. I saw her once

rous pit, Hop forty paces through the public street;

Burning, scalding, stench, consumption; fie, fie, And having lost her breath, she spoke, and
fie! pah, pah! Give me an ounce of civet, good 91
panted,
apothecary, to sw^eeten my imagination. That she did make defect perfection.
Shakespeare, Lear, IV, vi, 120 And, breathless, power breathe forth.
Mecaenas. Now Antony must leave her utterly.

88 Eno. Never; he will not.

Lear. Cordelia, Cordelia! stay a little.
What is’t thou say’st. Her voice was ever soft.
Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.
Shakespeare, Lear, V,
89 Enobarbus. When she first met Mark Antony, she
pursed up his heart, upon the river of Cyd-
Ha!
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety. Other women cloy
iii, 271 The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry
Where most she satisfies; for vilest things
Become themselves in her, that the holy priests
Bless her when she is riggish.

nus. Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra, II, ii, 191

Agripfa. There she appeared indeed; or my re-
porter devised well for her.
Eno. you.
I will tell Caesar. Women are not
The barge she sat in, like a burnish’d throne, In their best fortunes strong; but want will perjure
Burn’d on the water. The poop was beaten gold; The ne’er-touch’d vestal.
Purple the sails, and so perfumed that Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra, III, xii, 29
The winds were Jove-sick with them; the oars
were silver,
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made Clown. You must not think I am so simple but I
The water which they beat to follow faster, know the devil himself will not eat a woman. I
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, know that a woman is a dish for the gods, if the
Itbeggar’d all description: she did lie devil dress her not. But, truly, these same whore-
In her pavilion—cloth-of-gold of tissue son devils do the gods great harm women;
in their
 —
L7. Woman and Man 103

for in every ten that they make, the devils mar Nature of Women is, at best, but weak and imper-
five. fect;and for that reason we should be so far from
Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopalrat V, ii, 273 casting Rubs in its way, that we ought, with all
imaginable Care, to remove every Appearance
92 Posthumus. Is there no way for men to be but that might hinder its Course to that Perfection it

women wants, which is Virtue.

Must be half-workers? We are all bastards; If you believe the Naturalists, the Ermine is a
And that most venerable man which I very white little Creature; when the Hunters have

Did call my father, was I know not where found its Haunts, they surround it almost with
When I was stamp’d; some coiner with his tools Dirt and Mire, towards which the Ermine being
Made me a counterfeit. Yet my mother seem’d forc’d to fly, rather than sully its native White
The Dian of that time; so doth my wife with Dirt, it be taken, preferring its
suffers itself to

The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance! Colour to its Liberty and Life. The virtuous
Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain’d Woman is our Ermine, whose Chastity is whiter
And pray’d me oft forbearance; did it with than Snow; but to preserve its Colour unsully’d,
A pudency so rosy the sweet view on’t you must observe just the contrary Method: The
Might w'ell have warm’d old Saturn; that I Addresses and Services of an importunate Lover,
thought her are the Mire into which you should never drive a
As chaste as unsunn ’d snow. O, all the devils! Woman; for ’tis ten to one she will not be able to
This yellow lachimo, in an hour was’t not? — free herself and avoid it, being but too apt to
— —
Or less at first? perchance he spoke not, but, stumble into it; and therefore That should be al-
Like a full-acom’d boar, a German one. ways remov’d, and only the Candour and Beauty
Cried “O!” and mounted; found no opposition of Virtue, and the Charms of a good Fame and
But what he look’d for should oppose and she Reputation plac’d before her. A good Woman is
Should from encounter guard. Could I find out also not unlike a Mirrour of Crystal, which will
The woman’s part in me! For there’s no motion infallibly be dimm’d and stain’d by breathing too
That tends to vice in man, but I affirm much upon it: She must rather be us’d like the
It is the woman’s part: be it lying, note it, Reliques of Saints, ador’d but not touch’d; or like
The woman’s; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers; a Garden of curious tender Flowers, that may at a
Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers; distance gratify the Eye, but are not permitted by
Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain, the Master to be trampled on or touch’d by every
Nice longing, slanders, mutability. Beholder.
All faults that may be named, nay, that hell Cervantes, Don Quixote, I, 33
knows,
Why, hers, in part or all; but rather, all; 95 Two of far nobler shape erect and tall,
For even to vice Godlike erect, with native Honour clad
They are not constant, but are changing still In naked Majestic seemd Lords of all.
One but of a minute old, for one
vice, And worthie seemd, for in thir looks Divine
Not half so old as that. I’ll write against them. The image of thir glorious Maker shon,
Detest them, curse them. Yet ’tis greater skill Truth, Wisdome, Sanctitude severe and pure.
In a true hate, to pray they have their will; Severe, but in true filial freedom plac’t;
The very devils cannot plague them better. Whence true autoritie in men; though both
Shakespeare, Cymbdine^ II, v, 1 Not equal, as their sex not equal seemd;
For contemplation hee and valour formd,
93 Anne. By my troth and maidenhead, For softness shee and sweet attractive Grace,
I would not be a queen. Hee for God only, shee for God in him:
Oid Lady. Beshrew me, I would, His fair large Front and Eye sublime declar’d
And venture maidenhead for ’t; and so would Absolute rule; and Hyacinthin Locks
you. Round from his parted forelock manly hung
For all this spice of your hypocrisy. Clustring, but not beneath his shoulders broad:
You, that have so fair parts of vs’oman on you, Shee as a vail down to the slender waste
Have too a woman’s heart; which ever yet Her unadorned golden tresses wore
Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty; Dissheveld, but in wanton ringlets wav’d
^Vhich, to say sooth, are blessings; and which As the Vine curies her tendrils, which impH’d
gifts, Subjection, but requir’d with gentle sway,
Saring your mincing, the capacity And by her yeilded, by him best receivd,
Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive, Yeildcd with coy submission, modest pride,
If you might
please to stretch it. And sweet reluctant amorous delay.
Shakespeare, Heniy VIII, II, iii, 24 Milton, Paradise Lost, IV, 288

94 Lothano. You must

remember, my Friend, that the 96 So hand in hand they passd, the lovlicst pair
 104 Chapter L Man

That ever since in loves imbraces met, Hers in all real dignitie: Adornd
Adam the goodliest man of men since born She was indeed, and lovely to attract
His Sons, the fairest of her Daughters Eve. Thy Love, not thy Subjection, and her Gifts
Milton, Paradise Lost, IV, 321 Were such as under Government well seem’d,
Unseemly to beare rule, which was thy part
97 To whom [Adam] thus Eve with perfet beauty And person, had’st thou known thy self aright.

adomd. Milton, Paradise Lost, X, 145

My Author and Disposer, what thou bidst
Unargu’d I obey; so God ordains, 102 Adam. O
why did God,
God is thy Law, thou mine: to know no more Creator wise, that peopl’d highest Heav’n
Is womans happiest knowledge and her praise. With Spirits Masculine, create at last
With thee conversing I forget all time, This noveltic on Earth, this fair defect
All seasons and thir change, all please alike. Of Nature, and not fill the World at once
Milton, Paradise Lost, IV, 634 With Men as Angels without Feminine,
Or some other way to generate
find
98 Who [God] stooping op’nd my left side, and took Mankind? this mischief had not then befall’n,
From thence a Rib, with cordial spirits warme. And more that shall befall, innumerable
And Life-blood streaming fresh; wide was the Disturbances on Earth through Femal snares,
wound. And straight conjunction with this Sex.
But suddenly with flesh fill’d up & heal’d: Milton, Paradise Lost, X, 888
The Rib he formd and fashond w'ith his hands;
Under his forming hands a Creature grew, 103 Chorus of Danites. Wisest Men
Manlike, but different sex, so lovly faire, Have err’d, and by bad Women been deceiv’d;
That what seemd fair in all the World, seemd And shall again.
now Milton, Samson Agonisies, 210
Mean, or in her summd up, in her containd
And in her looks, which from that time infus’d
104 In argument with men a woman ever
Dalila.
Sweetness into my heart, unfelt before,
Goes by the worse, whatever be her cause.
And into all things from her Aire inspir’d
Milton, Samson Agonistes, 903
The spirit of love and amorous delight.
Milton, Paradise Lost, VIII, 465
105 Dorine. A woman always has her revenge ready.

99 Adam. When I approach Moliere, Tartuffe, II, ii

Her loveliness, so absolute she seems

And in her self compleat, so well to know
Her own, that what she wills to do or say,
Seems \visest, vertuousest, discreetest, best;
All higher knowledge in her presence falls
Degraded, Wisdom in discourse with her
Looses discount’nanc’t, and like folly shewes;
Authoritie and Reason on her waitc,
As one intended first, not after made
Occasionally; and to consummate all,
Greatness of mind and nobleness thir seat
106 Mirabell. A fellow that lives in a \vindmill has not
a more whimsical dwelling than the heart of a
man that is lodged in a woman. There is no point
of the compass to which they cannot turn, and by
which they are not turned; and by one as well as
another, for motion, not method, is their occupa-
tion.To know this, and yet continue to be in love,
is be made wise from the dictates of reason, and
to
yet persevere to play the fool by the force of in-
stinct.

Build in her loveliest, and create an awe Congreve, H^ay of the World, II, vii

About her, as a guard Angelic plac’t.

Milton, Paradise Lost, VIII, 546 107 Mrs. Marwood. O, man, man! Woman, woman!
The devil’s an were a painter, I would
ass: If I
100 Adam. Thus it shall befall draw him like an idiot, a driveler with a bib and
Him who to worth in Women overtrusting bells. Man should have his head and horns, and

Lets her Will rule; restraint she will not brook, woman the rest of him. Poor simple fiend!
And left to her self, if evil thence ensue, Congreve, Way of the World, III, vii
Shee first his weak indulgence will accuse.
Milton, Paradise Lost, IX, 1182 108 In the female nurseries, the young [Lilliputian]
girls of quality are educated much like the males,
101 Son of God. Was shee thy God, that her thou didst only they are dressed by orderly servants of their
obey own sex, but always in the presence of a professor
Before his voice, or was shee made thy guide, or deputy, until they come to dress themselves,
Superior, or but equal, that to her which is at five years old. And if it be found, that
Thou did’st resigne thy Manhood, and the Place these nurses ever presume to entertain the girls
Wherein God set thee above her made of thee, with frightful or foolish stories, or the common
And for thee, whose perfection farr e.xceird follies practised by chamber-maids among us;
 y —
/. 7. Woman and Man 105

they are publickly whipped thrice about the city, may contribute very much to their quiet and re-
imprisoned for a year, and banished for life to the pose: that our sex, as well as theirs, are far from
most desolate parts of the country. Thus, the being such perfect creatures as they are apt to
young ladies there are as much ashamed of being imagine, and that Love is not the only passion
cowards and fools, as the men. which governs the male world, but is often over-
Swift, Gulliver^s Travels I, 6 come by avarice, ambition, vanity, and a thou-
sand other passions.
109 Men, some to Business, some to Pleasure take;
Hume, Of the Study of History
But every Woman is at heart a Rake:
Men, some to Quiet, some to public Strife;
But every Lady would be Queen for life. 114 All womankind, continued Trim . . . from the
Pope, Moral Essays, Epistle II, 215 highest to the lowest, an’ please your honour, love
jokes; the difficulty is to know how they choose to

have them cut; and there is no knowing that, but

no “I pity your country ignorance from my heart,’*
cries the lady [Mrs. Western],
—“Do you?” an«
by trying, as we do with our artillery in the field,
by raising or letting down their breeches, till we
swcred Western; “and I pity your town learning;
hit the mark.
I had rather be anything than a courtier, and a
1 like the comparison, said my uncle Toby,
Presbyterian, and a Hanoverian too, as some peo-
better than the thing itself
ple, I believe, are.”—“If you mean me,” answered
she, “you know I am a woman, brother; and it
—Because your honour, quoth the corporal,
signifies nothing what I am. Besides ” “I do
—— loves glory, more than pleasure.

know you are a woman,” cries the squire, “and it’s Sterne, Tristram Shandy, IX, 8
well for thee that art one; if hadst been a man, I
promise thee I had lent thee a flick long ago.” — 115 From the beginning of the world women have
“Ay, there,” said she, “in that flick lies all your
complained of the fickleness that is imputed to
fancied superiority. Your bodies, and not your
them in favour of the first new object which pre-
brains, are stronger than ours. Believe me, it is
sents itself, and whose novelty is often its only
well for you that you are able to beat us; or, such
merit. Many ladies (it must be confessed, despite
is the superiority of our understanding, we should
the infinite respect we have for them) have treat-
make all of you what the brave, and wise, and
ed men as they complain they have themselves
witty, and polite are already our slaves.”— been treated; and the story of Gioconda is much
Fielding, Tom Jones, VI, 2
older than Ariosto.

111 Mrs. Fitzpatrick. What is the reason, my dear, that Voltaire, Philosophical Dictionary:
we, who have understandings equal to the wisest New Novelties
and greatest of the other sex, so often make choice
of the silliest fellows for companions and favour- 116 I must not forget that precious half of the Repub-
ites? it raises my indignation to the highest pitch, lic, which makes the happiness of the other; and
to reflect on the numbers of women of sense who whose sweetness and prudence preserve its tran-
have been undone by fools.
quillity and virtue. Amiable and virtuous daugh-
Fielding, Tom Jones, XI, 4 ters of Geneva, it will be always the lot of your sex
to govern ours. Happy are we, so long as your
112 Of civil Laws contrary to the Law of Nature. . . .
chaste influence, solely exercised within the limits
The law passed which condemned every
. . ,
of conjugal union, is exerted only for the glory of
woman, who, having carried on a criminal com- the State and the happiness of the public. It was
merce did not declare it to the king before she thus the female sex commanded at Sparta; and
married him, violated the regard due to natural thus you deserve to command at Geneva. What
modesty. It is as unreasonable to oblige a woman man can be such a barbarian as to resist the voice
to make this declaration, as to oblige a man not to of honour and reason, coming from the lips of an
attempt the defence of his own life. affectionate wife? Who would not despise the van-
Montesquieu, Spirit of Laws, XXVI, 3 ities of luxury, on beholding the simple and mod-

est attire which, from the lustre it derives from

1 13 There nothing which I would recommend more
is you, seems the most favourable to beauty? It is
earnestly to my female readers than the study of your task to perpetuate, by your insinuating influ-
history as an occupation, of all others, the best ence and your innocent and amiable rule, a re-
suited both to their sex and education, much more spect for the laws of the State, and harmony
instructivethan their ordinary books of amuse- among the citizens. It is yours to reunite divided
ment, and more entertaining than those serious families by happy marriages; and, above all
compositions which are usually to be found in things, to correct, by the persuasive sweetness of
Among other important truths which
their closets. your lessons and the modest graces of your conver-
they may learn from history they may be in- sation, those extravagancies which our young peo-
formed of nvo particulars, the knowledge of which ple pick up in other countries, whence, instead of
 ^

106 Chapter /. Man

many by which they might profit,

useful things 121 The Germans treated their women with esteem
they bring homehardly anything, besides a puer- and confidence, consulted them on every occasion
ile air and a ridiculous manner, acquired among of importance, and fondly believ.ed that in their
loose women, but an admiration for I know not breasts resided a sanctity and wisdom more than
what so-called grandeur, and paltry recompenses human. Some of these interpreters of fate, such as
for being slaves, which can never come near the Velleda, in the Batavian war, governed, in the
real greatness of liberty. Continue, therefore, al- name of the deity, the fiercest nations of Germa-
ways to be what you are, the chaste guardians of ny. The rest of the sex, without being adored as
our morals, and the sweet security for our peace, goddesses, were respected as the free and equal
exerting on every occasion the privileges of the companions of soldiers; associated even by the
heart and of nature, in the interests of duty and marriage ceremony to a life of toil, of danger, and
virtue. of glory. In their great invasions, the camps of the
Rousseau, Origin of Inequality Dedication barbarians were filled with a multitude of women,

who remained firm and undaunted amidst the

117 Next day, Sunday, July 31, 1 told him I had been sound of arms, the various forms of destruction,
that morning at a meeting of the people called
and the honourable wounds of their sons and hus-
Quakers, where I had heard a woman preach,
bands. Fainting armies of Germans have more
woman’s preaching is like a dog’s than once been driven back upon the enemy by
Johnson. “Sir, a
walking on his hinder legs. It is not done well; but the generous despair of the women who dreaded

you are surprized to find it done at all.”

death much less than servitude. If the day was
irrecoverably lost, they well knew how to deliver
Boswell, Life of Johnson 5/, 1763)
themselves and their children, with their own
hands, from an insulting victor. Heroines of such
118 Johnson. Where is no education, as in savage
there
a cast may claim our admiration; but they were
countries, men have the upper hand of wom-
will
most assuredly neither lovely, nor very susceptible
en. Bodily strength, no doubt, contributes to this;
of love. Whilst they affected to emulate the stem
but it would be so, exclusive of that; for it is mind
virtues of man^ they must have resigned that at-
that always governs. When it comes to dry under-
tractive softness in which principally consists the
standing, man has the better.
charm of woman. Conscious pride taught the Ger-
Bos%vell, Life of Johnson (1776) man females to suppress every tender emotion
that stood in competition with honour, and the
119 He {Johnson] observed once, at Sir Joshua firsthonour of the sex has ever been that of chasti-
Reynolds’s, that a beggar in the street will more ty. The sentiments and conduct of these high-spir-
readily ask alms from a man^ though there should ited matrons may, at once, be considered as a
be no marks of wealth in his appearance, than cause, as an effect, and as a proof of the general
from even a well-dressed woman; which he ac- character of the nation. Female courage, however
counted for from the greater degree of carefulness it may be raised by fanaticism, or confirmed by

as to money that is to be found in women; saying habit, can be only a faint and imperfect imitation
farther upon it, that the opportunities in general of the manly valour that distinguishes the age or
that they possess of improving their condition are country in which it may be found.
much fewer than men have; and adding, as he Gibbon, Decline and Fall
looked round the company, which consisted of
of the Roman Empire^ IX
—
men only, there is not one of us who does not
think he nught be richer if he would use his en-
122 There’s nought but care on every han’,
deavour.
In every hour that passes, O;
Boswell, Life of Johnson (1780) What signifies the life o’ man,
An’ ’twere na for the lasses, O?
120 In every age and country, the wiser, or at least the Green grow the rashes, O!
stronger, of the two sexes, has usurped the powers Green grow the rashes, O!
of the state, and confined the other to the cares The sweetest hours that e’er I spent.
and pleasures of domestic life. In hereditary mon- Were spent amang the lasses, O!
archies, however, and especially in those of mod- Bums, Green Grow the Rashes
ern Europe, the gallant spirit of chivalry, and the
law of succession, have accustomed us to allow a 123 With regard to the other sex, nature proposes to it
singular exception; and a woman is often ac- simplicity of character as the supreme perfection
knowledged the absolute sovereign of a great to which should reach. Accordingly, the love of
it
kingdom, in which she would be deemed incapa- pleasing in women strives after nothing so much
ble of exercising the smallest employment, civil or as the appearance of simplicity; a sufficient proof,
military.
if it were the only one, that the greatest power of

Gibbon, Decline and Fall the sex reposes in this quality. But, as the princi-
of the Roman Empire^ VI ples that prevail in the education of women arc
 —
y.7. Woman and Man 107

perpetually struggling with this character, it is as stygian Banks staying for waftage,*I melt into the

difficult for them in the moral order to reconcile air with a voluptuousness so delicate that I am
this magnificent gift of nature with the adv-an* content to be alone. These things, combined with
tages of a good education as it is difficult for men the opinion I have of the generality of women
to prcscn*c them unchanged in the Intellectual or- who appear to me as children to whom 1 would
der; and the woman who knows how to join a rather give a sugar Plum than my time, form a
knowledge of the world to this sort of simplicity in barrier against Matrimony which I rejoice in.
manners is as deserving of respect as a scholar Keats, Letter to George and
who joins to the strictness of scholastic rules the Georgiann Keats (e. Oct 25, J8/S)
freedom and originality of thought.
Schiller, Simple and Sentimental Poetry 129 It must be noticed connexion with sex-relations
in
that a girl in surrendering her body loses her hon-
124 What is it men in women do require? our. With a man, however, the ease is otherwise,
The lineaments of gratified desire. because he has a •field for ethical activity outside
What is it women do in men require? the family. A girl is destined in essence for the
The lineaments of gratified desire. marriage tic and for that only; it is therefore de-
DIakc, Gnomic VerseSf XV! I, 4 manded of her that her love shall take the form of
marriage and that the different moments in love
125 Mephistopheles. Girls have a great desire to know-, each
shall attain their true rational relation to
it's true. other.
If one is sleek and pious, true to ancient isms. Hegel, Philosophy of Right,
They think: if there he knuckles, us hcMI follow Additions, Par. 164
too.
Goethe, FamU I, 3525 130 Women arc capable of education, but they arc
not made for activities which demand a universal
126 Leader of the Chorus. Impetuous and foolish, perfect faculty such as the more advanced sciences, phi-
woman-type! losophy, and certain forms of artistic production.
Dependent on the moment, sport of cvcr>’ breeze Women may have happy ideas, taste, and ele-
Of good and c\4I fortune, neither this nor that gance, but they can not attain to the ideal. Tlic
Can ye with calmness l>car. difference between men and women is like that
Goethe, Faust, 11, 3, 9127 between animals and plants. Men correspond to
animals, while svomcn correspond to plants be-
127 In her first passion woman loves her lover. cause their development is more placid and the
In all the others all she loves is love, principle that underlies it is the rather vague uni-
Which a habit she can ne'er get over,
grosN-s ty of feeling. When women hold the helm of gov-
—
And fits her loosely like an easy glove, ernment, the state is at once in jeopardy, because
As you may find, whene’er you like to prove her: women regulate their actions not by the demands
One man alone at first her heart can move; of universality but by arbitrary' inclinations and
She then prefers him in the plural number. opinions. Women
arc educated who knows —
Not finding that the additions much encumber. how? — as were by breathing in ideas, by li^’ing
it

Byron, Don Juan, III, 3 rather than by acquiring knowledge. Tlic status of
manhood, on the other hand, is attained only by
128 The roaring of the W'ind is my wife and the Stars the stress of thought and much technical exertion.
through the window pane arc my Children. The Hegel, Philosophy of Right,
mighty abstract Idea I have of Beauty in all Additions, Par. 166
things stifles the more divided and minute domes-
tic happiness —
an amiable wife and s\vect Chil- 131 Women arc directly fitted for acting as the nurses
dren I contemplate as a part of that Beauty, but I and teachers of our early childhood by the fact
must have a thousand of those beautiful particles that they are themselves childish, frivolous and
to fill up my heart. I feel more and more every short-sighted; in a word, they arc big children all
day, as my
imagination sircngihcns, that I do not their life long —sx kind of intermediate stage be-
live in this world alone but in a thousand tween the child and the full-grown man, who is
—
worlds No sooner am I alone than shapes of epic man In the strict sense of the word.
greatness arc stationedaround me, and serve my Schopenhauer, iVomen
Spirit the office
which is equivalent to a King’s
—
bodyguard then ‘Tragedy with sceptred pall 1 32 The fundamental fault of the female character is
comes sw'ccping by.’ According to my state of that has no sense ofjustice. This is mainly due to
it
mind I am with Achilles shouting in the Trenches, the fact .that women arc defective in tlic pow-
. .

or with Theocritus in the Vales of Sicily. Or 1 ers of reasoning and deliberation; but it is also
throw my w'holc being into Troilus, and repeating traceable to the position which Nature has as-
those lines, ‘I wander like a lost Soul upon the signed to them as the weaker sex. They arc depen-
 108 Chapter L Man

dent, not upon strength, but upon craft; and 136 King, Manis the hunter; woman is his game.

hence their instinctive capacity for cunning, and The and shining creatures of the chase,
sleek
their ineradicable tendency to say what is not We hunt them for the beauty of their skins;
true. For as Hons are provided with claws and They love us for it, and we ride them down.
teeth, and elephants and boars with tusks, bulls Tennyson, The Princess, V, 147
with horns, and cuttle fish with its clouds of inky
fluid, so Nature has equipped woman, for her de- 137 King, Man for the field and woman for the
fense and protection, with the arts of dissimula- hearth;
tion; and all the power which Nature has confer- Man for the sword, and for the needle she;
red upon man in the shape of physical strength Man with the head, and woman with the heart;
and reason, has been bestowed upon women in Man to command, and woman to obey;
this form. Hence, dissimulation is innate in wom-
AH else confusion.
an, and almost as much a quality of the stupid as
Tennyson, The Princess, V, 437
of the clever. It is as natural for them to make use
of it on every occasion as it is for those animals to
138 It certainly at appears a highly remarkable
first
employ their means of defense when they are at-
fact that the same female butterfly should have
tacked; they have a feeling that in doing so they
the power of producing at the same time three
are only within their rights. Therefore a woman
distinct female forms and a male; and that an
who is perfectly truthful and not given to dissimu-
hermaphrodite plant should produce from the
lation is perhaps an impossibility, and for this
very reason they are so quick at seeing through
same seed-capsule three distinct hermaphrodite
forms, bearing three different kinds of females and
dissimulation in others that it is not a wise thing
three or even six different kinds of males. Never-
to attempt it with them.
theless these cases are only exaggerations of the
Schopenhauer, Women
common fact that the female produces offspring of
two sexes which sometimes differ from each other
133 The natural feeling between men is mere indiffer- in a wonderful manner.
ence, but between women it is actual enmity. The Darwin, Origin of Species, II
reason of this is that trade-jealousy —odinm figuli-
—
num which, in the case of men does not go be-
139 Man is more courageous, pugnacious and energet-
yond the confines of their own particular pursuit;
ic than woman, and has a more inventive genius.
but, with women, embraces the whole sex; since
His brain is absolutely larger, but whether or not
they have only one kind of business. Even when
proportionately to his larger body, has not, I be-
they meet in the street, women look at one anoth-
lieve, been fully ascertained. In woman the face is
er like Guelphs and Ghibellines.
rounder; the Jaws and the base of the skull small-
Schopenhauer, Women body rounder, in parts more
er; the outlines of the
prominent; and her pelvis is broader than in man;
134 That woman is by nature meant to obey may be but this latter character may perhaps be consid-
seen by the fact that every woman who is placed ered rather as a primary than a secondary sexual
in. the unnatural position of complete indepen- character. She comes to maturity at an earlier age
dence, immediately attaches herself to some man, than man.
by whom she allows herself to be guided and Darwin, Descent of Man, III, 19
ruled. It because she needs a lord and master. If
is

she is young, it will be a lover; if she is old, a

140 The chief distinction in the intellectual powers of
priest,
the two sexes is shewn by man’s attaining to a
Schopenhauer, Women higher eminence, in whatever he takes up, than
—
can woman whether requiring deep thought,
135 As for myself, I do not hesitate to avow that al- reason, or imagination, or merely the use of the
though the women of the United States are con- senses and hands. If two lists were made of the
fined within the narrow circle of domestic life, most eminent men and women in poetry, paint-
and their situation is in some respects one of ex- ing, sculpture, music (inclusive both of composi-
treme dependence, I have nowhere seen woman tion and performance), history, science, and phi-
occupying a loftier position; and if I were asked, losophy, with half-a-dozen names under each
now that I am drawing to the close of this work, in subject, the nvo lists would not bear comparison.
which I have spoken of so many important things We may also infer, from the law of the deviation
done by the Americans, to what the singular pros- from averages, so well illustrated by Mr, Gallon,
perity and growing strength of that people ought in his work on Hereditary Genius, that if men arc
mainly to be attributed, I should reply: To the capable of a decided pre-eminence over women in
superiority of their women. many subjects, the average of mental power in
Tocqueville, Democracy in America^ man must be above that of woman.
Vol. II, III, 12 Darwin, Descent of Man, III, 19
 1.7. Woman and Man 109

HI To avoid enemies or to attack them with success, arc to have no favour. Let Nature alone sit high
to capture wild animals, and to fashion weapons, above the lists, “rain influence and judge the
requires the aid of the higher mental faculties, prize.”
namely, observation, reason, invention, or imagi- 7’. H. Huxley, Emanctfmtwn — Black and White
nation, These various faculties will thus have been
continually put to the test and selected during 144 Mankind have long since abandoned the only
manhood; they moreover, have been
will, premises which will support the conclusion that
strengthened by use during this same period of women ought not to have votes. No one now holds
life. Consequently in accordance with the princi- that women should be in personal servitude; that
ple often alluded to, we might c.\pcct that they they should have no thought, wish, or occupation,
would at least tend to be transmitted chiefly to the but to be the domestic drudges of husbands, fa-
male offspring. thers, or brothers. It is allowed to unmarried, and
Darsvin, Dfscmt of Mon^ III, 19 wants but little of being conceded to married
women, and have pecuniary* and
to hold property,

142 It is, indeed, fortunate that the law of the equal business interests, in the same manner as men. It
transmission of characters to both sexes prevails is considered suitable and proper that women

with mammals; otherwise, it is probable that man should think, and write, and be teachers. As soon
would have become as superior in mental endow- a.s these things arc admitted, the political disqual-
ment to woman, as the peacock is in ornamental ification ha,s no principle to rest on. 7’hc whole
plumage to the peahen. mode of thought of the modern world
with in- is

Darwin, Descent of A/«n, III, 19 crca.sing emphasis pronouncing against the claim
of society to decide for individuals what they arc

143 With few insignificant exceptions, girls have been and arc not fit for, and what (hey shall and shall
educated either to be drudges, or toys, beneath not l>c allowed to attempt. H the principles of
man; or a sort of angels above him; the highest modem politics and political economy arc good
ideal aimed at oscillating between Clii rehen and for anything, proving that these points can
it is for

Beatrice. The possibility that the ideal of woman- only be riglitly judged of by the individuals them-
hood lies neither in the fair saint, nor in the fair selves: and that, under complete freedom of

sinner; that the female type of character is neither choice, wherever there are real diversities of apti-
better nor worse than the male, but only weaker; tude, the great number will apply themselves to
that women arc meant neither to be men’s guides the things for which they* arc on the average fit-
nor their pla>nhings, but their comrades, their fel- test, and the exceptional course will only be taken

lows, and their equals, so far as Nature puts no by the exceptions. Either the whole tendency of
bar to that equality, docs not seem to have en- modern social improvements has been wrong, or it
tered into the minds of those who have had the ought to be carried out to the total alK}Iiiion of all

conduct of the education of girls. and disabilities which

exclusions close any honest
If the present sy'Slcm of female education stands employment to a human being.
self-condemned, as inherently absurd; and if that Mill, Beprrsentatwe Government, VIII
which we have just indicated is the true position
of woman, what is the first step towards a better 145 All causes, social and natural, combine to make it
state of things? \Vc reply, emancipate girls. Rec- unlikely that women should be collectively rebel-
ognise the fact that they share the senses, percep- lious to the power of men. 7’hcy arc so far in a
tions, feelings, reasoning powers, emotion, of boys, position different from all other subject classes,
and that the mind of the average girl is less differ- that their masters require something more from
ent from that of the average boy, than the mind of them than actual service. Men
do not want solely
one boy is from that of another; so that whatever the obedience of women, they want their senti-
argument justifies a given education for all boys, ments. All men, c.xccpt the most brutish, desire to
justifies its application to girls as well. So far from have, in the woman most nearly connected with
imposing artificial restrictions upon the acquire- them, not a forced slave but a willing one, not a
ment knowledge by women, throw every facili-
of slave merely, but a favourite.
ty in their way. Let us have “s\vcct girl grad-
. . . Mill, Subjection of Women, I

uates” by all means. They will be none the less

sweet for a little wisdom; and the “golden hair” 146 One thing we may be certain of that what is —
will not curl less gracefully outside the head by contrary to women’s nature to do, they never will
reason of there being brains within. Nay, if ob- be made to do by simply giving their nature free
vious practical difficulties can be overcome, let play. The anxiety of mankind to interfere in be-
those women who feel inclined to do so descend half of nature, for fear lest nature should not suc-
into the gladiatorial arena of life. Let them, if
. . . ceed in effecting its purpose, is an altogether un-
they so please, become merchants, barristers, poli- necessary solicitude. What women by nature
ticians. Let them have a fair field, but let them cannot do, it is quite superfluous to forbid them
understand, as the necessary correlative, that they from doing. What they can do, but not so well as
 —
no Chapter /. Man

the men whoare their competitors, competition employed forand a man who has cultivated
it;

suffices toexclude them from; since nobody asks
for protective duties and bounties in favour of
women; it is only asked that the present bounties
and protective duties in favour of men should be
recalled. If women have a greater natural inclina-
tion for some things than for others, there is no
the habit of turning his hand to many things, far
from being the slothful and lazy person described
by Adam Smith, is usually remarkably lively and
active. It is true, however, that change of occupa-
tion may be too frequent even for the most versa-
tile. Incessant variety is even more fatiguing than

need of laws or social inculcation to make the ma- perpetual sameness.

jority of them do the former in preference to the Mill, Principles of Political Econorri^,
latter. Whatever women’s services are most want- Bk. I, VIII, 5
ed for, the free play of competition will hold out
the strongest inducements to them to undertake. 149 The same reasons which make it no longer neces-

And, as the words imply, they arc most wanted for sary that the poor should depend on the rich,
the things for which they arc most fit; by the ap- make it equally unnecessary that women should
portionment of which to them, the collective fac- depend on men; and the least which justice re-
ulties of the two sexes can be applied on the whole quires is that law and custom should not enforce
with the greatest sum of valuable result. dependence (when the correlative protection has
Mill, Subjection of Womaij I become superfluous) by ordaining that a woman,
who docs not happen to have a provision by in-
147 The less fit a man is for the possession of power heritance, shall have scarcely any means open to
the less likely to over any
be allowed to exercise it her of gaining a livelihood, except as a wife and
person with that person’s voluntary consent the — mother. Let women who prefer that occupation,
more docs he hug himself in the consciousness of adopt it; but that there should be no option, no

the power the law gives him, exact its legal rights other carriere possible for the great majority of
to the utmost point which custom (the custom of women, except in the humbler departments of
men like himself) will tolerate, and take pleasure life, isa flagrant social injustice. The ideas and
in using the power, merely to enliven the agree- institutions by which the accident of sex is made
able sense of possessing What
is more; in the
it. the groundwork of an inequality of legal rights,
most naturally brutal and morally uneducated and a forced dissimilarity of social functions, must
part of the lower classes, the legal slavery of the ere long be recognised as the greatest hindrance to
woman, and something in the merely physical moral, social, and even intellectual improvement.
subjection to their will as an instrument, causes Mill, Principles of Political Economy,
them and contempt to-
to feel a sort of disrespect Bk. IV, vn, 3
wards their own wife which they do not feel to-
wards any other woman, or any other human 150 You may a boy into shape, as you would a
cliiscl

being, with whom they come in contact; and
which makes her seem to them an appropriate
subject for any kind of indignity. Let an acute
observer of the signs of feeling, who
judge for himself whether this is
site opportunities,
rock, or hammer him
into it, if he be of a better
kind, as you would a piece of bronze. But you
cannot hammer a girl into anything. She grows as
has the requi- —
a flower docs, she will wither without sun; she
\rill decay in her sheath, as a narcissus will, if you

not the case: and if he finds that it is, let him not do not give her air enough; she may fall, and de-
wonder at any amount of disgust and indignation file her head in dust, if you leave her without help

that can be felt against institutions which lead at some moments of her life; but you cannot fetter
naturally to this depraved state of the human her; she must take her own fair form and way, if
mind. she take any.
Mill, Subjection of fVomen^ II Ruskin, Sesame and Lilies, II, 78

148 The occupations of nine out of every ten men arc 151 The happiest women, like the happiest nations,
special, those of nine out of every ten women gen- have no history.
eral, embracing a multitude of details, each of George Eliot, The Mill on the Floss, VI, 3
which requires very Utile time. Women arc in the
constant practice of passing quickly from one 152 I should like to know what is the proper function
manual, and still more from one mental operation of women, if it is not to make reasons for husbands
to another, which therefore rarely costs them to stay at home, and still stronger reasons for
cither effort or loss of time, while a man’s occupa- bachelors to go out.
tion generally consists in working steadily for a George Eliot, The Mill on the Floss, VI, 6
long time at one thing, or one very limited class of
things. But the situations are sometimes reversed, 153 She [Rosamond] spoke and wept with that gentle-
and with them the characters. Women are not ness which makes such words and tears omnipo-
found less efficient than men for the uniformity of tent over 'a loving-hearted man. Lydgate drew his
factory work, or they would not so generally be chair near to hers and pressed her delicate head
 112 Chapter 1. Man

exemption of women from military service is which is probably the purest and truest feminine
founded, not on any natural inaptitude that men type. With the development of puberty, the ma-
do not share, but on the fact that communities turing of the female sexual organs, which up till
cannot reproduce themselves without plenty of then have been in a condition of latency, seems to
women. Men are more largely dispensable, and bring about an intensification of the original nar-
are sacrificed accordingly. cissism, and this is unfavourable to the devel-
Shaw, Saint Joan^ Pref. opment of a true object-love with its accompa-
nying sexual over-estimation; there arises in the
159 Man is no longer, like Don Juan, victor in the woman a certain self-sufficiency (especially when
duel of sex. Whether he has ever really been may there is a ripening into beauty) which compen-
be doubted: at all events the enormous superiority sates her for the social restrictions upon her ob-
of Woman’s natural position in this matter is tell- ject-choice, Strictly speaking, such women love
ing with greater and greater force, only themselves with an intensity comparable to
Shaw, Man and Superman, Epistle Dedicatory that of the man’s love for them. Nor does their
need lie in the direction of loving, but of being
160 In Shakespear’s plays the woman always takes the loved; and that man finds favour witli them who
initiative. In his problem plays and his popular fulfils this condition. The importance of this type

plays alike the love interest is the interest of seeing of woman for the erotic life of mankind must be
the woman hunt the man down. She may do it by recognized as very great. Such women have the
charming him, like Rosalind, or by stratagem, greatest fascination for men, not only for aesthetic
like Mariana; but in every case the relation be- reasons, since as a rule they are the most beauti-
tween the woman and the man is the same: she is ful, but also because of certain interesting psycho-

the pursuer and contriver, he the pursued and dis- logical constellations.
posed of. When she is baffled, like Ophelia, she Freud, On Narcissism, II

goes mad and commits suicide; and the man goes

straight from her funeral to a fencing match. No 164 Throughout the ages, the problem of woman has
doubt Nature, with very young creatures, may puzzled people of every' kind.
save the woman the trouble of scheming: Prospero Freud, New Introductory Lectures
know's that he has only to throw Ferdinand and on P^'ch(hAnalysis, XXXI 11
Miranda together and they will mate like a pair
of doves. But the mature cases
. . . all illustrate 165 Male or female is the first differentiation that you
the Shakespearian law. make when you meet another human being, and
Shaw, Man and Superman, Epistle Dedicatory you arc used to making that distinction with abso-
lute certainty. Anatomical science shares your
161 We laugh at the haughty American nation be- certainty in one point, but not much more. ... It
cause it makes the negro clean its boots and then points out to you that parts of the male sexual
proves the moral and physical inferiority of the apparatus are also to be found in the body of the
negro by the fact that he is a shoeblack; but we female, although in a rudimentary condition, and
ourselves throw the whole drudgery of creation on vice versa. Science secs in this phenomenon an
one sex, and then imply that no female of any indication of bisexuality, as though the individual
womanliness or delicacy would initiate any effort were neither man nor woman, but both at the
in that direction. There arc no limits to male hy- same time, only rather more the one than the
pocrisy in this matter. other. It then expects you to make yourselves fa-
Shaw, Man and Superman, Epistle Dedicatory miliar with the idea that the proportions in which
the masculine and the feminine mingle in an indi-
162 Home is the girl’s prison and the woman’s work- vidual arc subject to quite extraordinary varia-
house. tions. And even though, apart from very' rare
Shaw, Man and Superman, Maxims for cases, only one kind of sexual product ova or —
Revolutionists —
seminal cells is present in any one individual,
you will go wrong if you take this factor as being
163 Complete object-love ... is, properly speaking, of decisive importance, and you must conclude
characteristic of theman. It displays the marked that what constitutes masculinity or femininity is
sexual over-estimation which is doubtless derived an unknown element which it is beyond the pow-
from the original narcissism of the child, now er of anatomy to grasp.
transferred to the sexual object. This sexual over- Freud, New Introductory Lectures
estimation is the origin of the peculiar state of on Psycho-Analysis, XXXIII
being in love, a state suggestive of a neurotic com-
pulsion, which is thus traceable to an impoverish- 166 We must not overlook one particularly constant
ment of the ego in respect of libido in favour of relationbetween femininity and instinctual life.
the love-object, A
different course is followed in The repression of their aggressiveness, which is
the type most frequently met with in women. imposed upon women by their constitutions and
 1.7. Woman and Man 113

by society, favours the development of strong ma- dumb animals, is radically incompatible with
sochistic impulses, which have the effect of bind- friendship.
ing erotically the destructive tendencies which Santayana, Life of Reason, 11, 6
have been turned inwards. Masochism is, then, as
they say, truly feminine. But when, as so often 169 Ido not intend, for the mere sake of correcting an
happens, you meet with masochism in men, what inappropriate word, to enter upon a comparative
else can you do but say that these men display study of the two sexes. Suffice it to say that wom-
obvious feminine traits of character? an is man, but that she is less
as intelligent as
You are now prepared for the conclusion that capable of emotion, and that if there is any facul-
psychology cannot solve the riddle of femininity. ty or power of the soul which seems to attain less
The solution must, I think, come from somewhere development in woman than in man, it is not in-
else, and it cannot come until we have learned in telligence, but sensibility. I mean of course sensi-
general how the differentiation of living creatures bility in the depths, not agitation at the surface.
into two sc.xes came about. We know nothing Bergson, Two Sources of Morality
whatever about the matter. and Religion, I
Freud, New Introductory Lectures
on Pjycfio-Analysist XXXIIl 1 70 God of heaven thcrcs nothing like nature the wild
mountains then the sea and the waves rushing
167 It must be admitted that women have but little then the beautiful country with fields of oats and
sense of justice, and this is no doubt connected wheat and all kinds of things and all the fine cat-
with the preponderance of envy in their mental tle going about that would do your heart good to
life; for the demands of justice arc a modification sec rivers and lakes and flowers all sorts of shapes
of envy; they lay down the conditions under and smells and colours springing up even out of
which one is w'illing to part with it, the ditches primroses and violets nature it is as for
Freud, New Introductory Lectures them saying theres no God I wouldn't give a snap
on P^'cho-Analysis, XXXIIl of my two fingers for all their learning why dont
they go and create something I often asked him
168 Friends arc generally of the same sex, for when atheists or whatever they call themselves go and
men and women only in their conclu-
agree, it is wash the cobbles off themselves first and then go
sions; their reasons are alwa^'s different. So that howling for the priest and they dying and why
while intellectual harmony benveen men and w’hy because theyre afraid of hell on account of
women is easily possible, its delightful and magic their bad conscience ah yes I know them w'cll who
quality lies does not
precisely in the fact that it was the first person in the universe before there
arise from mutual understanding, but is a ran- was anybody that made it all who ah that they
spiracy of alien essences and a kissing, as it were, dont know neither do I so there you are they
in the dark. As man's body differs from woman's might as well try' to stop the sun from rising to-
in sex and strength, so his mind differs from hers morrow the sun shines for you he said the day we
in quality and function: they can co-operate but were lying among the rhododendrons on Howth
can never fuse. The human race, in its intellectual head in the grey tweed suit and his straw hat the
life, isorganised like the bees: the masculine soul day I got him to propose to me yes first I gave him
is a worker, sexually atrophied, and essentially the bit of seedcake out of my mouth and it was
dedicated to impersonal and universal arts; the Icapycar like nowyes 16 years ago my God after
feminine a queen, infinitely fertile, omnipresent
is that long kiss near lost my breath yes he said I
I
in its brooding industry', but passive and abound- was a flower of the mountain yes so we arc flowers
ing in intuitions without method and passions all a womans body yes that was one true thing he
wthout justice. Friendship with a woman is there- said in his life and the sun shines for you today yes
fore apt to be more or less than friendship: less, that was why I liked him because I saw he under-
because there is no intellectual parity; more, be- stood or felt what a woman is and I knew I could
cause (even when the relation remains wholly dis- always get round him and I gave him all the plea-
passionate, as in respect to old ladies) there is sure I could leading him on till he asked me to say
something mysterious and oracular about a yes and I wouldnt answer first only looked out
woman’s mind w'hich inspires a certain instinctive over the sea and the sky I was thinking of so many
deference and puts it out of the question to judge things he didnt know of Mulvey and Mr Stan-
what she says by masculine standards. She has a hope and Hester and father and old captain
land of sibylline intuition and the right to be irra- Groves and the sailors playing all birds fly and I
tionally a pTopos. There is a gallantry of the mind say stoop and washing up dishes they called it on
which pervades all conversation with a lady, as the pier and the sentry in front of the governors
there is a natural courtesy toward children and house with the thing round his white helmet poor
tnystics; but such a habit of respectful
concession, devil half roasted and the Spanish girls laughing
marking as it does an intellectual alienation as in their shawls and their tall combs and the auc-
profound as that which separates us from the tions in the morning the Greeks and the jews and
 114 I
Chapter L Man

the Arabs and the devil knows who else from all
the ends of Europe and E>uke street and the fowl
market all clucldng outside Larby Sharons and
the poor donkeys slipping half asleep and the
vague fellows in the cloaks asleep in the
the steps and the big wheels of the carts of the
and the figtrees in the Alameda gardens yes and
allthe queer little streets and pink and blue and
yellow houses and the rosegardens and the jessa-
mine and geraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar
shade on as a girlwhere I was a Flower of the mountain yes
when put the rose in my hair like the Andalu-
I

bulls and the old castle thousands of years old yes sian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how
and those handsome Moors all in white and tur- he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I
bans like kings asking you to sit down in their thought well as well him as another and then I
a shop and Ronda with the old win-
little bit of asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then
dows of the posadas glancing eyes a lattice hid for he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain
her lover to kiss the iron and the wineshops half flower and first I put my arms around him yes
open at night and the castanets and the night we and drew him down to me so he could feel my
missed the boat at Algeciras the watchman going breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going
about serene with his lamp and O that awful like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes,
deepdown torrent O and the sea and the sea crim- Joyce, Ulysses
son sometimes like fire and the glorious sunsets

1.8 I
Life and Death

THE FEAR OF DEATH

It is often said that man alone among ani- tality and his hopes for or visions of another
mals is conscious of the inevitability of life—a life after death. But serious discus-
dying, a fact that undoubtedly colors his at- sion of the philosophical and theological
titude toward life, especially in advancing problems of immortality the survival of —
years. The passages assembled here revolve the soul after the death of the body, its rein-
around that fundamental theme —the con- carnation in another body, or the resurrec-
sciousness of death as inescapable, the atti- tion of its original body —involves subtleties
tudes of the living toward death, the fear of and technicalities that preclude its being
dying and the courage of those who, over- represented among the materials quoted
coming such fear, die well. Exemplifying the here.
latter, there are quotations that describe fa- Still another theme is the one first enunci-
mous death scenes in which the dying dis- ated by Socrates while awaiting his execu-
play admirable fortitude and calm. There tion —that to study philosophy is to learn to
are also passages that describe violent die, or at least how to prepare for death.
deaths —by murder or by catastrophe, such Montaigne affords us eloquent elaborations
as plague or earthquake. of this theme, and he is accompanied by
Another theme that runs through this others who, in one way or another, develop
chapter is man^s contemplation of his mor- the point.
 —
1.8. Life and Death 115

1 In the sweat of thy face shah thou eat bread, till Yet even I have also my death and my strong
thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast destiny,
thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt and there shall be a dawn or an afternoon or a
thou return. noontime
Gentsis 3:19 when some man in the fighting will take the life
from me also
2 I have set before you and death, blessing and
life either with a spearcast or an arrow flown from the
cursing: therefore choose life, that both thou and bowstring.
thy seed may live. Homer, Iliad, XXI, 106
Deuitronomy 30:19
8 Odysseus. I bit my lip,
3 Then unto him. What thing is
said his servants rising perplexed, with longing to embrace her
this that thou hast done? thou didst fast and weep [Odysseus* mother’s ghost],
for the child, while it was alive; but when the and tried three times, putting my arms around
child was dead, thou didst rise and eat bread. her,
And he said, While the child was yet alive, I but she went sifting through my hands, impalpa-
fasted and wept: for I said, Who can tell whether ble
God will be gracious to me, that the child may as shadows are, and wavering like a dream.
live? Now thisembittered all the pain I bore,
But now he is dead, wherefore should I fast? and I cried in the darkness:
can I bring him back again? I shall go to him, but
he shall not return to me. ‘O my mother,
II Samuel 12:21-23 will you not stay, be still, here in my arms,
may we not, in this place of Death, as well,

4 The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; hold one another, touch with love, and taste
blessed be the name of the Lord. salt tears’ relief, the twinge of welling tears?

Job 1:21 Or is this all hallucination, sent

against me by the iron queen, Persephone,
5 Then in turn the shining son of Hippolochos to make me groan again?’
[Glaukos] answered: My noble mother
‘High-hearted son of Tydeus, why ask of my gen- answered quickly:
eration? ‘O my child— alas,

As is the generation of leaves, so is that of human- most sorely tried of men — great Zeus’s daughter,
ity. Persephone, knits no illusion for you.
The wind scatters the leaves on the ground, but All mortals judgment when they die.
meet this

the live timber No flesh and bone are here, none bound by sinew,
burgeons with leaves again in the season of spring since the bright-hearted pyre consumed them
returning. down^
So one generation of men will grow while another
10
the white bones long exanimate — to ash;
dies.’ dreamlike the soul flies, insubstantial.’

Homer, Iliady VI, 144 Homer, Odyss^, XI, 205

6 Achilleus. Of possessions 9 ‘But was there ever a man more blest by fortune
cattle and fat sheep are things to be had for the than you, Akhilleus? Can there ever be?
lifting, We ranked you with immortals in your lifetime,
and tripods can be won, and the tawny high we Argives did, and here your power is royal
heads of horses, among the dead men’s shades. Think, then,
but a man’s life cannot come back again, it can- Akhilleus:
not be lifted you need not be so pained by death.’
nor captured again by force, once it has crossed To this
the teeth’s barrier. he answered swiftly:
Homer, Iliadj IX, 405 ‘Let me hear no smooth talk
of death from you, Odysseus, light of councils.
1 Achilleus. So, friend
[Lykaon], you die also. Why Better, I say, to break sod as a farm hand
all this clamour about it? for some poor country man, on iron rations,
Patroklos also is dead, who was better by far than than lord it over all the exhausted dead.’
you are. Homer, Odyss^, XI, 483
Do you not see what a man I am, how huge, how
splendid Apollo. Zeus could undo shackles, such hurt can be
and bom of a great father, and the mother who made good,
bore me immortal? and there is every kind of way to get out. But once
 A
116 Chapter L Man

the dust has drained down all a man’s blood, once and then were to tell us how many days and
life,

the man had passed in the course of his life better

nights he
has died, there is no raising of him up again. and more pleasantly than this one, I think that
This is a thing for which my father never made any man, I will not say a private man, but even
curative spells. All other states, without effort the great king will not find many such days or
of hard breath, he can completely rearrange. nights, when compared with the others. Now if

Aeschylus, Eumaiides, 645 death be of such a nature, I say that to die is gain;
for eternity is then only a single night. But if

11 Orestes. No wise man I count him, who, when death is the Journey to another place, and there,
death looms near, attempts to quell its terrors by as men say, all the dead abide, what good, my O
piteous laments, nor yet the man who bewails the friends and Judges, can be greater than this? If
Death'god’s arrival, when he has no hope of res- indeed when the pilgrim arrives in the world be-
cue; for he makes two evils out of one; he lets low, he is delivered from the professors of Justice
himself be called a fool and all the same he dies; in this world, and finds the true Judges who are
he should let his fortune be, said to give Judgment there, Minos and Rhada-
Euripides, Iphigenia in Tauris, 484 manthus and Aecus and Triptolemus, and other
Kins of God who were righteous in their own life,
12 Hecuba. You may go now, and hide the dead in his that pilgrimage will be worth making. What
poor tomb; would not a man give if he might converse with
he has those flowers that are the right of the un- Orpheus and Musaeus and Hesiod and Homer?
derworld. Nay, if this be true, let me die again and again. I
I think it makes small difference to the dead, if myself, too, shall have a wonderful interest in
they there meeting and conversing with Palamedes,
are buried in the tokens of luxury. All this and Ajax the son of Telamon, and any other an-
is an empty glorification left for those who live. cient hero who has suffered death through an un-
Euripides, Trojan Women, 1246 just Judgment; and there will be no small plea-
sure, as I think, in comparing my own sufferings

13 Socrates. Strange, indeed,would be my conduct, O with theirs. Above all, I shall then be able to con-
men of Athens, who, when I was ordered by
if I
tinue my search into true and false knowledge; as
the generals whom you chose to command me at in this world, so also in the next; and I shall find

Potidaea and Amphipolis and Delium, remained out who is wise, and who pretends to be wise, and
where they placed me, like any other man, facing is not. What would not a man give, O Judges, to

—
death if now, when, as I conceive and imagine, be able to examine the leader of the great Trojan
God orders me to fulfil the philosopher’s mission expedition; or Odysseus or Sisyphus, or number-
of searching into myself and other men, I were to less others, men emd women too! What infinite
desert my post
through fear of death, or any other delight would there be in conversing with them
fear; that would indeed be strange, and I might and asking them questions! In another world they
justly be arraigned in court for denying the exis- do not put a man to death for asking questions:
tence of the gods, if I disobeyed the oracle because assuredly not. For besides being happier than we
I was afraid of death, fancying that I was wise are, they will be immortal, if what is said is true.

when I was not For the fear of death is in-

wise. Wherefore, O Judges, be of good cheer about
deed the pretence of wisdom, and not real wis- death, and know of a certainty, that no evil can
dom, being a pretence of knowing the unknown; happen to a good man, either in life or after
and no one knows whether death, which men in death.
their fear apprehend to be the greatest evil, may Plato, Apology, 40B
not be the greatest good.
Plato, Apology, 28B 16 Socrates. The hour of departure has arrived, and

—
we go our ways I to die, and you to live. Which
14 Socrates. The difficulty ... is not to avoid death, is better God only knows.

but to avoid unrighteousness; for that runs faster Plato, Apology, 42B
than death.
Plato, Apology, 39 17 Socrates. It has been proved to us by experience
that if we would have pure knowledge of anything
15 Socrates. There is a change and migration of the we must be quit of the body —the soul in herself
soul from this world to another. Now if you sup- must behold things in themselves: and then wc
pose that there is no consciousness, but a sleep like shall attain the wisdom which we desire, and of
the sleep of him who is undisturbed even by which we say that we are lovers; not while we live,
dreams, death will be an unspeakable gain. For if but after death; for if while in company with the
a person were to select the night in which his sleep body, the soul cannot have pure knowledge, one
was undisturbed even by dreams, and were to of two things follows —
either knowledge is not to
compare with this the other days and nights of his be attained at all, or, if at all, after death. For
 6

118 I
Chapter L Man

deeds done here were once a laughing matter to sores of life are in no small measure fostered by
him, but now he is tormented with the thought the dread of death. For foul scorn and pinching
that they may be true: cither from the weakness of want in every case arc seen to be far removed
age, or because he is now drawing nearer to that from a life of pleasure and security and to be a
other place, he has a clearer view of these things; loitering so to say before the gates of death. And
suspidons and alarms crowd thickly upon him, while men driven on by an unreal dread wish to
and he begins to reflect and consider what wrongs escape far away from these and keep them far
he has done to others. And when he finds that the from them, they amass wealth by civil bloodshed
sum of his transgressions is great he will many a and greedily double their riches piling up murder
time like a child start up in his sleep for fear, and on murder; cruelly triumph in the sad death of a
he is filled with dark forebodings. But to him who brother and hate and fear the tables of kinsfolk.
is conscious of no sin, s^veet hope ... is the kind Often likewise from the same fear envy causes
nurse of his age. them to pine: they make moan that before their
Plato, Republic^ I, 3 SOB very eyes he is powerful, he attracts attention,
who walks arrayed in gorgeous dignity, while they
20 As for his [Socrates’] claim that he was forewarned are wallowing in darkness and dirt. Some wear
by “the deity” what he ought to do and what not themselves to death for the sake of statues and a
to do, some may think that it must have been a name. And often to such a degree through dread
delusion because he was condemned to death. But of death does hate of life and of the sight of day-
they should remember two facts. First, he had al- upon mortals, that they commit self-
light seize
ready reached such an age that, had he not died murder with a sorrowing heart, quite forgetting
then, death must have come to him soon after. that this fear is the source of their cares, this fear
Secondly, he escaped the most irksome stage of which urges men to ev'ery sin, prompts this one to

life and the inevitable diminution of mental pow-
ers, and instead won glory by the moral strength
revealed in the wonderful honesty and frankness
and probity of his defence, and in the equanimity
and manliness with which he bore the sentence of
death.
Xenophon, Memorabilia^ IV,
21 Now is the most terrible of all things; for it
death
is and nothing is thought to be any longer
the end,
either good or bad for the dead.
Aristotle, Ethics,
22 Death and wounds will be painful to the brave
man and against his will, but he will face them
because it is noble to do so or because it is base not
to do so. And the more he is possessed of virtue in
its entirety and the happier he is, the more he will
be pained at the thought of death; for life is best
worth living for such a man, and he is knowingly
losing the greatest goods, and this is painful.
Aristotle, Ethics,
put all shame to rout, another to burst asunder
the bonds of friendship, and in fine to overturn
duty from its very base, since often ere now men
have betrayed country and dear parents in seek-
ing to shun the Acherusian quarters. For even as
children arc flurried and dread all things in the
8 thick darkness, thus we in the daylight (ear at
times things not a whit more to be dreaded than
what children shudder at in the dark and fancy
sure to be. This terror therefore and darkness of
mind must be dispelled not by the rays of the sun
1 1 15^27 and glittering shafts of day, but by the aspect and
law of nature.
Lucretius, Nature of Things, III
25 When thebody has died, we must admit that the
soul has perished, wrenched away throughout the
body. To link forsooth a mortal thing with an ev-
erlasting and suppose that they can have sense in
conrunon and can be reciprocally acted upon, is
sheer folly; for what can be conceiv'cd more incon-
1117^7 gruous, more discordant and inconsistent with it-
self, than a thing which is mortal, linked with an

23 Now defined in the case of animals by the

life is immortal and everlasting thing, tiydng in such
power man by the power
of perception, in that of union to weather furious storms.
of perception or thought; and a power is defined Lucretius, Nature of Things, III
by reference to the corresponding activity, which
is the essential thing; therefore life seems to be 26 “Now no more shall thy house admit thee with
essentially the act of perceiving or thinking. And glad welcome, nor a most virtuous wife and sweet
life is among the things that are good and pleas- children run to be the first to snatch kisses and
ant in themselves. touch thy heart with a silent joy. No more mayst
Aristotle, Ethics, 1 1 70^1 thou be prosperous in thy doings, a safeguard to
thine own. One disastrous day has taken from
24 Avarice . and blind lust of honours which con-
. . thee luckless man in luckless wise all the many
strain unhappy men to overstep the bounds of prizes of life.” This do men say; but add not
right and sometimes as partners and agents of thereto “and now no longer does any craving for
crimes to strive night and day with surpassing ef- these things beset thee withal.” For if they could
fort to struggle up to the summit of power these — rightly perceive this in thought and follow up the
 — H
LS, Life and Death 119

thought in words, they would release tlicmsclvcs miserable after death or even to be happy? After
from great distress and apprehension of mind. all, w ho is such a fool as to feel certain however —
“Thou, even as now thou art, sunk in the sleep of young he may l>c that he — will !>c alive in the
death, shall continue so to be all time to come, evening? Nay, that lime of life has many more

freed from all distressful pain.s; we with a sor-

but chances of death than ours. Young men more eas-
row that would not l>c sated wept for thee, when ily contract diseases; their illnesses arc more seri-

closeby thou didst turn to an aslirn hue on thy ous; their treatment has to lx; more .scs'crc. Ac-
appalling funeral pile, and no length of days shall cordingly, only a few arrive at old age. H that
pluck from our hearts our cver-during grief.” T*his were not so, life would lx: conducted belter and
question therefore should be asked of this .speaker, more wisely; for it is in old men that thought,
what there U in it so passing bitter, if it come in and prudence arc to be found; and if there
rca.son,
the end to sleep and rest, that any one should pine had Ixrcn no old men, states would never have
in never-ending sorrow. existed at all.

Lucretius, Nature of Thia^s, III Cicero, XIX

27 Once more what evil lust of life is this which con- 31 HI am wrong in thinking the human soul immor-
strains U 5 with such force to be so mightily trou- tal. I am glad to be wrong; nor will I allow the
bled in doubts and dangers? A sure term of life is mistake which gives me .so much pleasure to lx:

fixed for mortals, and death cannot l)c slnmnctl, wrested from me as long as I live. But if when
but meet it we must, Nforcosxr we arc ever en- dead, as some insignificant philosophers think, I
gaged, ever involved in the .same pursuits, and no am to Ik without sensation, I am not afraid of
new pleasure is struck out by living on; but whilst dead philosophers deriding my errors. Again, if
what we crave wanting, it seems to transcend all
is we arc not to Ik immortal, it is neverthcIc^s wliai
the rest; then, it has been gotten, we crave
when a man must —
wish to have his life end at its prop-
something else, and c\’cr docs the same thirst of er time. Tor nature puls a limit to living as to
life possess us, as we gape for it open-mouthed. cver>'thing else. Now, old age is. as it were, the
Quite doubtful it is what (ortvmc the future will playing out of the drama, tlic full fatigue of which
carry svith it or what chance will bring us or what we should slum, especially when we also feel that
end is at hand. Nor by prolonging life do we take we have had more than enough of it.
one tittle from the lime past in death nor can we Cicero, OWdjjc, XXI
fret anything away, whereby we may haply lx; a
less long time in the condition of the dead. Tlicrc- 32 Happy the man, who, studying nature's lawTs,
fore you may complete as many generations as 'Hi rough known cffcct-s can trace the secret
you please during your life; none the less howeser cause
will that cs’crlasting death await you; and for no His mind possessing in a quiet state,
less long a time will he be no more in being, who Fearless of Fortune, and resigned to Fate!
beginning with to-day has ended his life, than the Virgil, GeoTp^s, II

man who has died many months and years ago.

Lucretius, Nature of III 33 In youth alone unltappy mortals live;

But all! the mighty bliss is fugitive:

28 The philosopher's whole life is a preparation for Discoloured .sickness, anxious labours, come.
death. And age. and death's inexorable doom.
Cicero, Dnf’Utations^ I, 30 Virgil, Gfoj^tes, III

29 Let us gel rid of such old wivc.s* tales as the one 34 Ah! Postumus, Posturnus, fast fly the years,
that tells us it is tragic to die l>cforc one's lime. And prayers to w rinkles and impending age
What “time” is that, I would like to know? Na- Bring not delay; nor shall assuage
ture is the one svho has granted us the loan of our Death's stroke with pious tears;
lives, without setting any schedule for repayment.
What No, not though on each day that comes to tlicc
has one to complain of if she calls in the
With thrice a hundred bulls thou sought to gain
loan when she will?
Grim Pluto’s pity, all were vain!
Cicero, Disputationt^ I, 39
Great Gcr^-on he'll not free.

30 What a poor dotard must he l>c who has not Or Tiiyos, from the gloomy stream, whose tide
learnt in the course of so long a life that death is Eacli child of earth must traverse shore to shore,
not a thing to be feared? Death, that is either to W’licthcr a crown on earth we bore.
be totally disregarded, if it entirely extinguishes Or crofters lived and died.
the soul, or is cs’cn to be desired, if it brings him Horace, Odes, 11, 14
where he is to exist forever. A third alternative, at
any rate, cannot possibly be discovered. Why then 35 While you pray for life, study death. Fatted bulls
should I be afraid if I am destined either not to be fall from some slight w-ound, and creatures of
 ^

120 Chapter 1. Man

great stamina arc downed by one blow from a and saw him, she fell down at his feet, saying unto
man’s hand. A tiny blade can sever the tendons of him, Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother
the neck; and when the head is severed the hulk had not died.
of the body crumples in a heap. No secret comer When Jesus therefore saw her weeping, and the
of the body hides the soul. No knife can dig it out, Jew’S also w'eeping which came with her, he
nor any wound aimed at the vital parts; death is groaned in the and was troubled,
spirit,

near at hand. For these death blows I have ap- And said, Where have ye laid him? They said
—
pointed no specific spot anywhere you wish: the unto him, Lord, come and see.
way is open. When breath departs the body, that Jesus wept.
moment we call dying is so brief we cannot be Then said the Jews, Behold how he loved him!
aware of it. Whether one is strangled or drowned, And some of Could not this man,
them said,

or the skull is fractured from a fall on the hard
ground, or fire deprives us of air; whatever the
case, the end comes quickly. Arc you blushing for
shame? For so long a time you are in fear of what
is over so quickly.
Seneca, On Providence
which opened the eyes of the blind, have caused
that even this man should not have died?
Jesus therefore again groaning in himself com-
eth to the grave. It was a cave, and a stone lay
upon it.
VI Jesus said, Take ye aw'ay the stone. Martha, the
sister of him that was dead, saith unto him. Lord,

36 What is death? Either a transition or an end. I am by this time he stinketh: for he hath been dead
not afraid of coming to an end, this being the four days.
same as never having begun, nor of transition, for Jesus saith unto her, Said I not unto thee, that,
I shall never be in confinement quite so cramped if thou wouldest believe, thou should est sec the
anywhere else as I am here. glory of God?
Seneca, Letters to Luciltus^ 65 Then they took away the stone from the place
w’here the dead was laid. And Jesus lifted up his

37 As it is with a play, so it is with life what matters— eyes, and said, Father, I thank thee that thou hast
is not how long the acting lasts, but how good it is.
heard me.
It is not important at what point you stop. Stop And I knew that thou hearest me always: but
—
wherever you will only make sure that you because of the people which stand by I said it,
round it off with a good ending. that they may believe that thou hast sent me.

Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 77 And when he thus had spoken, he cried with a
loud voice, Lazarus, come forth.
38 Then said Martha unto Jesus, Lord, if thou hadst And he that was dead came forth, bound hand
been here, my brother had not died. and foot W'ith graveclothes; and his face was
But I know, that even now, whatsoever thou bound about with a napkin. Jesus saith unto
wilt ask of God, God will give it thee.
them. Loose him, and let him go.
Jesus saith unto her, Thy brother shall rise John 11:21-44
again.
Martha saith unto him, I know that he shall 39 Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of
rise again in the resurrection at the last day. wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth
Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection, and alone; but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit.

the life: he that believeth in me, though he were He that loveth his life shall lose it; and he that
dead, yet shall he live: hateth his life in this w’orld shall keep it unto life

And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall eternal.

never die. Believest thou this? John 12:24-25
She saith unto him. Yea, Lord: I believe that
thou art the Christ, the Son of God, which should 40 For since by man came death, by man came also
come into the world. the resurrection of the dead.
And when she had so said, she went her way, For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall
and called Mary her sister secretly, saying, The all be made alive.
Master is come, and calleth for thee. But ever)’ man in his owm order: Christ the
As soon as she heard that, she arose quickly, firsifruits; a^tCI^va^d they that are the Christ’s at

and came unto him. his coming.

Now Jesus was not yet come into the town, but Then cometh the end, when he shall have de-
was in that place where Martha met him. up the kingdom to God, even the Father;
livered
The Jews then which were with her in the when he shall have put dowm all rule and all au-
house, and comforted her, when they saw Mary, thorityand power.
that she rose up hastily and went out, followed For he must reign, till he hath put all enemies
her, saying, She goeth unto the grave to w'eep under his feet.
there. The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.
Then when Mary was come where Jesus was. I Corinthians 15:21-26
 1.8. Life and Death 121

41 All flesh is not the same flesh: but there is one 45 Throwing away then all things, hold to these only
kind of flesh of men, another flesh of beasts, an- which are few; and besides bear in mind that ev-
other of fishes, and another of birds. ery man lives only this present time, which is an
There are also celestial bodies, and bodies ter- indivisible point, and that all the rest of his life is

restrial:but the glory of the celestial is one, and either past or it is uncertain. Short then is the
the glory of the terrestrial is another. time which every man lives, and small the nook of
There is one glory of the sun, and another glory the earth where he lives; and short too the longest
of the moon, and another glory of the stars: for posthumous fame, and even this only continued
one star differcth from another star in glory. by a succession of poor human beings, who will
So also is the resurrection of the dead. It is sown very soon die, and who know not even themselves,
in corruption; it is raised in incorruption: much less him who died long ago.
It is sown in dishonour; it is raised in glory: it is Marcus Aurelius, Meditations^ III, 10
sown in weakness; it is raised in power:
It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual 46 Always observe how ephemeral and worthless hu-
body. There is a natural body, and there is a spiri- man things are, . . . Pass then through this little

tual body. . . . space of time conformably to nature, and end thy

Now this I say, brethren, that flesh and blood journey in content, just as an olive falls off when it
cannot inherit the kingdom of God; neither doth is ripe, blessing nature who produced it, and

corruption inherit incorruption. . . . thanking the tree on which it grew.

For must put on incorruption,
this corruptible Marcus Aurelius, Meditationsj IV, 48
and this mortal must put on immortality.
So when this corruptible shall have put on in- 47 Soon, very soon, thou wilt be ashes, or a skeleton,
corruption, and this mortal shall have put on im- and either a name or not even a name; but name
mortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying is sound and echo. And the things which are
that is written. Death is swallowed up in victory. much valued in life are empty and rotten and
O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is trifling, and like little dogs biting one another,
thy victory? and little children quarrelling, laughing, and then
/ Corinthians 15:39-55 straightway weeping.
Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, V, 33
42 And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his
name that sat on him was Death, and Hell fol- 48 How can it be that the gods after having arranged
lowed with him. And power was given unto them all things well and benevolently for mankind,
over the fourth part of the earth, to killwith have overlooked this alone, that some men and
sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with very good men, and men who, as we may say,
the beasts of the earth. have had most communion with the divinity, and
Remlation 6:8 through pious acts and religious observances have
been most intimate with the divinity, when they
have once died should never exist again, but
43 The death of happy men is not . . . most griev-
should be completely extinguished?
ous, but most blessed, since it secures their felicity,
But if this is so, be assured that if it ought to
and puts it out of fortune’s power. And that Spar-
have been otherwise, the gods would have done it.
tan advised well, who, embracing Diagoras, that
For if it were just, it would also be possible; and if
had himself been crowned in the Olympic Games,
it were according to nature, nature would have
and saw his sons and grandchildren victors, said,
“Die, Diagoras, for thou canst not be a god.”
had it so. But because it is not so, if in fact it is not
so, be thou convinced that it ought not to have
Plutarch, Pdopidas
been so.
Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, XII, 5
44 One finds it by many that a soothsay-
also related
er bade him prepare for some great danger on the
49 This devouring of Kind by Kind is necessary as
Ides of March. When this day was come, Caesar,
the means to the transmutation of living things
as he went to the senate, met this soothsayer, and
which could not keep form for ever even though
said to him by way of raillery, *‘The Ides of
no other killed them: what grievance is it that
March are come,” who answered him calmly,
when they must go their despatch is so planned as
“Yes, they are come, but they are not past.” The
to be serviceable to others?
day before his assassination he supped with Mar-
more, what does it matter when they are
Still
cus Lepidus; and as he was signing some letters devoured only to return in some new form? It
according to his custom, as he reclined at table,
comes to no more than the murder of one of the
there arose a question what sort of death was
the personages in a play; the actor alters his make-up
best. At which he immediately, before any one
and enters in a new role. The actor, of course, was
could speak, said, “A sudden one.” not really killed; but if dying is but changing a
Plutarch, Caesar body as the actor changes a costume, or even an
 122 Chapter 1, Man

exit from the body like the exit of the actor from But, doubtless, the second, as it happens to none
the boards when he has no more to say or do, of the good, so it can be good for none.
what is there so very dreadful in this transforma- Augustine, City of God, XIII, 2
tion of living beings one into another?
Plotinus, Third Ennead, II, 15 56 As regards bodily death, that is, the separation of
the soul from the body, it is good unto none while
50 Life in the Supreme is the native activity of Intel- it is being endured by those whom wc say arc in

lect; in virtue of that converse it brings forth gods, the article of death. For the very violence with
brings forth beauty, brings forth righteousness, which body and soul are wrenched asunder,
brings forth all moral good; for of all these the which in the living had been conjoined and close-
soul is pregnant when it has been with God.
filled ly intertwined, brings with it a harsh experience,
This state is its first and its final, because from jarring horridly on nature so long as it continues,
God it comes, its good lies There, and, once till there comes a total loss of sensation, which
turned to God again, it is what it was. Life here, arose from the very interpenetration of spirit and
with the things of earth, is a sinking, a defeat, a flesh. And all this anguish is sometimes forestalled
failing of the wing. by one stroke of the body or sudden flitting of the
Plotinus, Sixth Ennead, IX, 9 soul, the swiftness of w'hich prevents it from being
felt. But whatever that may be in the dying which

51 The soul in its nature loves God and longs to be at with violently painful sensation robs of all sensa-

one with Him in the noble love of a daughter for tion, yet, when it is piously and faithfully borne, it

a noble father; but coming to human birth and increases the merit of patience, but docs not make
lured by the courtships of this sphere, she takes up the name of punishment inapplicable. Death, pro-
with another love, a mortal, leaves her father and ceeding by ordinary generation from the first
falls. man, is the punishment of all who arc born of
But one day coming to hate her shame, she puts him, yet, if it be endured for righteousness’ sake, it
a%vay the evil of earth, once more seeks the father, becomes the glory of those who arc born again;
and finds her peace. and though death be the award of sin, it some-
Plotinus, Sixth Ennead, IX, 9 times secures that nothing be awarded to sin.
Augustine, City of God, XIII, 6
52 The soul lives by avoiding those things which if

they are sought bring death. Refrain from the 57 Wc gratification when our good
enjoy some
ugly savagery of pride, from the slothly pleasure friends die; forthough their death leaves us in
of lust, from all that lyingly bears the name of sorrow, we have the consolatory assurance that
science, that the wild beasts may be tamed, the they arc beyond the ills by which in this life even
cattle brought to subjection, and the serpents the best of men arc broken down or corrupted.
made an allegory
harmless. For these animals arc Augustine, CUy of God, XIX, 8
for the movements of the mind. The pomp of
pride and the delight that is in lust and the poison 58 Now among all passions inflicted from without,
of curiosity arc the movements of a soul that is death holds the first place, just as sexual concupis-
—
dead not dead so that it has lost all movement, cences are chief among internal passions. Conse-
but dead by departing from the fountain of life so quently, when a man conquers death and things
that it is taken up by the world that passes away directed to death, his is a most perfect victory.
and conformed to it. But Your word, O God, is a Aquinas, Summa Theohgica, III Suppl., 96, 6
fountain of life everlasting and does not pass
away. 59 J^ens. “Just as there never died a man,” quoth
Augustine, Conjessiom, XIII, 21 he,
“But he had lived on earth in some degree.
53 All these last offices and ceremonies that concern Just so there never lived a man,” he said,
the dead, the careful funeral arrangements, and “In all this world, but must be sometime dead.
the equipment of the tomb, and the pomp of obse- This world is but a thoroughfare of woe.
quies, are rather the solace of the living than the And we are pilgrims passing to and fro;
comfort of the dead. Death is the end of every worldly sore.”
Augustine, Citj^ of God, I, 12 Chaucer, Canterhuiy Tales: Knight’s Tale

54 The death ... of the soul takes place when God 60 I go to seek a great perhaps.
forsakes it, as the death of the body when the soul Rabelais, Last iVords (ascribed to)
forsakes it.

Augustine, Cily of God, XIII, 2 61 Man, that is born of a woman, hath but a short
time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up,
55 Of the first and bodily death, then, we may say and is cut down, like a flower; he fleeth as it were
that to the good it is good, and evil to the evil. a shadow, and never continucth in one stay.
 —
L8. Life and Death 123

In the midst of life we are in death; of whom and, since death always the same, why never-
is

may we week for succour, but of thee, O Lord, theless there is much more
assurance against it
who for our sins art justly displeased? among villagers and humble folk than among
Book of Common Prayer others, I truly think it is those dreadful faces and
trappings with which we surround it, that frighten
62 In everything else there may be sham: the fine us more than death itscll: an entirely new way ol
reasonings of philosophy may be a mere pose in living; the cries of mothers, wives, and children;

us; or else our trials, by not testing us to the quick, the visits of people dazed and benumbed by grief;
give us a chance to keep our face always com- the presence of a number of pale and weeping
posed. But in the last scene, between death and servants; a darkened room; lighted candles; our
ourselves, there is no more pretending; we must bedside besieged by doctors and preachers; in
talk plain French, we must show what there is short, everything horror and fright around us.

that is good and clean at the bottom of the pot. There we are already shrouded and buried. Chil-
Montaigne, Essays, I, 19, That Our dren fear even their friends when they see them
Happiness masked, and so do we ours. We must strip the
mask from things as well as from persons; when it
63 There are gallant and fortunate deaths. I have is off, we shall find beneath only that same death

seen death bring a wonderfully brilliant career, which a valet or a mere chambermaid passed
and that such a splendid end that
in its flower, to through not long ago without fear. Happy the
in my opinion and cou-
the dead man’s ambitions death that leaves no leisure for preparing such
rageous designs had nothing so lofty about them ceremonies!
as their interruption. He arrived where he aspired Montaigne, Essays, I, 20, That to

to without going there, more grandly and glori- Philosophize

ously than he had desired or hoped. And by his
fall he went beyond the power and the fame to 68 It is not without reason that we are taught to

which he had aspired by his career. study even our sleep for the resemblance it has
Montaigne, Essays, I, 19, That Our with death. How easily we pass from waking to
Happiness sleeping! With how little sense of loss we lose con-
sciousness of the light and of ourselves! Perhaps
64 It is uncertain where death awaits us; let us await the faculty of sleep, which deprives us of all action
it everywhere. Premeditation of death is premedi- and all feeling, might seem useless and contrary to
tation of freedom. He who has learned how to die nature, were it not that thereby Nature teaches us
has unlearned how to be a slave. Knowing how to that she has made us for dying and living alike,
die frees us from all subjection and constraint. and from the start of life presents to us the eternal
There nothing evil in life for the man who has
is state that she reserves for us after we die, to accus-
thoroughly grasped the fact that to be deprived of tom us to it and take away our fear of it.

life is not an evil. Montaigne, Essays, II, 6, Of Practice

Montaigne, Essays, I, 20, That to
Philosophize 69 Life is full of fireworks; death, of love and cour-
tesy.
65 What does it matter when it comes, since it is Montaigne, Essays, II, 35, Of Three Good
inevitable? To the man who told Socrates, “The Women
thirty tyrants have condemned you to death,” he
replied: “And nature, them,” 70 Gaunt O, but they say the tongues of dying men
Montaigne, Essays, I, 20, That to Enforce attention like deep harmony:
Philosophize Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in
vain,
66 Nature forces us to it. Go out of this world, she For they breathe truth that breathe their words in
says, as you entered it. The same passage that you pain.
made from death to life, without feeling or fright, He that no more must say is listen’d more
make again from life to death. Your death is a
it Than they whom youth and ease have taught
part of the order of the universe; it is a part of the to glose;
life of the world. More are men’s ends mark’d than their lives be-
Montaigne, Essays, I, 20, That to fore:
Philosophize The setting sun, and music at the close.
As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last.
67 Now I have often pondered how it happens that Writ in remembrance more than things long past.
in wars the face of death, whether we see it in Shakespeare, Richard //, II, i, 5
ourselves or in others, seems to us imcomparably
less tcrrif)'ing than in our houses—-otherwise
you 71 Prince of Wales. When that this body did contain a
would have an army of doctors and snivelers spirit,
 124 I
Chapter 1. Man

A kingdom for it was too small a bound; not within this month, you shall nose him as you
But now two paces of the vilest earth go up the stairs into the lobby.

Is room enough, King. Go seek him there.

Shakespeare, / Henry IV, V, iv, 89 I

To some Attendants.
Ham. He will stay till you come,
72 Feeble. By my troth, I care not; a man can die but Shakespeare, Hamlet, IV, iii, 17
once: we owe God a death . . . and let it go which
way it will, he that dies this year is quit for the 76 Ophelia. We must be patient; but I cannot choose
next, but weep, to think they should lay him i* the cold
Shakespeare, II Henry IV, III, ii, 250 ground.
Shakespeare, Hamlet, IV, v, 68
73 Caesar. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard.
It seems to me most strange that men should fear; 77 Hamlet. That skull had a tongue in it, and could
Seeing that death, a necessary end, sing once. How the knave jowls it to the ground,
Will come when it will come. as if it were Cain’s jaw-bone, that did the first
Shakespeare, Caesar, II, ii, 34 murder! It might be the pate of a politician,
which this ass now o’er-reaches; one that would
74 Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off, circumvent God, might it not?
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. Horatio. It might, my lord.

Do not for ever with thy vailed lids Ham. Or of a courtier; which could say “Good
Seek for thy noble father in the dust. morrow, sweet lord! How dost thou, good lord?”
Thou know'st ’tis common; all that lives must die, This might be my Lord Such-a-one, that praised
Passing through nature to eternity. my Lord Such-a-one’s horse, when he meant to
Hamlet. Ay, madam, it is common. beg it; might it not?
Queen. If it be, Hor. Ay, my lord.
Why seems it so particular with thee? Ham. Why, e’en so; and now my Lady Worm’s;
Ham. Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not chapicss, and knocked about the mazzard with a
“seems.” sexton’s space. Here’s fine revolution, an we had
’Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, the trick to sce’t.
. . There’s another. Why may
.

Nor customary suits of solemn black, not that be the skull of a lawyer? Where be his
Nor windy suspiration of forced breath, quiddities now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye. and his tricks? Why does he suffer this rude knave
Nor the dejected ’haviour of the visage, now to knock him about the sconce with a dirty
Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief, shovel, and will not tell him of his action of bat-
That can denote me truly: these indeed seem, tery? Hum! This fellow might be in’s time a great
For they are actions that a man might play: buyer of land, with his statutes, his recognizances,
But I have that within which passeth show; his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries. Is
These but the trappings and the suits of woe. this the fine of his fines, and the recovery of his
Shakespeare, Hamlet, I, ii, 68 recoveries, tohave his fine pate full of fine dirt?
Will his vouchers vouch him no more of his pur-
75 King. Now, Hamlet, where’s Polonius? chases, and double ones too, than the length and
Hamlet.At supper. breadth of a pair of indentures? The very convey-
King.At supper! where? ances of his lands will hardly lie in this box; and
Ham. Not where he eats, but where he is eaten. must the inheritor himself have no more, ha?
A certain convocation of politic worms are e’en at Hor. Not a jot more, my lord.
him. Your your only emperor for diet. We
worm is Shakespeare, Hamlet, V, i, 83
and we fat ourselves
fat all creatures else to fat us,
for maggots. Your fat king and your lean beggar is 78 Hamlet. Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio; a
but variable service, two dishes, but to one table; fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He
that’s the end. hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and
King. Alas, alas! now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my
Ham. A man may fish with the worm that hath gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have
eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes
that worm. now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of
King. What dost thou mean by this? merriment, that were wont to set the table on a
Ham. Nothing but to show you how a king may roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning?
go a progress through the guts of a beggar. quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady’s
King. WherePolonius?is chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick,
Ham. In heaven; send thither to see. If your to this favour she must come; make her laugh at
messenger find him not there, seek him i’ the that.
other place yourself. But indeed, if you find him Shakespeare, Hamlet, V, i, 202
 ——
L8. Life and Death 125

79 Hamlet. To what base uses we may return, Hora- Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor
tio! Why may not imagination trace the noble beauty.
dust of Alexander, till he find it stopping a bung- To make thy riches pleasant. What’s yet in this
hole? TTiat bears the name of life? Yet in this life
Horatio. Twere to consider too curiously, to con- Lie hid moe thousand deaths; yet death we fear,

sider so. That makes these odds all even.

Ham. No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him Shakespeare, Measure for Measure, III, i, 4
thither with modesty enough, and likelihood to
as thus: Alexander died, Alexander was
82 Isabella. The sense of death is most in apprehen-
lead it;
sion;
buried, Alexander rcturneth into dust; the dust is

we make loam; and why of that

And the poor beetle that we tread upon,
earth; of earth
In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great
loam, whereto he was converted, might they not
As when a giant dies.
stop a beer-barrel?
Shakespeare, Measure for Measure, III, i, 78
Shakespeare, Hamlet, V, i, 223

83 Claudio. Death is a fearful thing.

80 Hamlet. be now, ’tis not to come; if it be not to
If it Isabella. And shamed a hateful.
life

come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not
come; the readiness is all. Since no man has aught where;
of what he leaves, what is’t to leave betimes? To lie in cold obstruction and to rot;
Shakespeare, Hamlet, V, ii, 231 This sensible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit
To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside
81 Duke. Be absolute for death; either death or life
In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice;
Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with
To be imprison’d in the viewless winds.
life:
And blown with restless violence round about
do lose thee, I do lose a thing
If I
The pendent world; or to be worse than worst
That none but fools would keep, A breath thou
Of those that lawless and incertain thought
art,
Imagine howling; ’tis too horrible!
Servile to all the skyey influences,
The and most loathed wordly life
weariest
That dost this habitation, where thou keep^st.
That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment
Hourly afflict. Merely, thou art Death^s fool;
Can lay on nature is a paradise
For him thou labourist by thy flight to shun
To what we fear of death.
And yet runn^st toward him still. Thou art not
Isab. Alas, alas!
noble;
Shakespeare, Measure for Measure, III, i, 116
For all accommodations that thou bear’st
the
Are nursed by baseness. Thou’rt by no means
84 Othello. It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul
valiant;
Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars!
For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork
It is the cause. Yet I’ll not shed her blood;
Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep,
Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow.
And that thou oft provokest; yet grossly fear’st
And smooth as monumental alabaster.
Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thy-
Yet she must die, else she’ll betray more men.
self;
Put out the light, and then put out the light.
For thou exist’st on many a thousand grains
If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,
That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not;
I can again thy former light restore.
For what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get.
Should I repent me; but once put out thy light,
And what thou hast, forget’st. Thou are not cer-
Thou cunning’st pattern of excelling nature,
tain;
I know not where is that Promethean heat
For thy complexion shifts to strange effects,
That can thy light relume. When I have pluck’d
After the moon.
thou art rich, thou’rt poor;
If
the rose,
For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows,
I cannot give it vital growth again,
Thou bcar’st thy heavy riches but a journey,
And death unloads thee. Friend hast thou none; It must needs wither.
Shakespeare, Othello, V, ii, 1
For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire,
The mere effusion of thy proper loins, 85 Edgar. Men must endure
Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum, Their going hence, even as their coming hither;
For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth Ripeness is all.
nor age.
Shakespeare, Lear, V, ii, 10
But, asit were, an after-dinner’s sleep,

Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth 86 Macbeth. If it were done when ’tis done, then
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms ’t>N’erc well
Of palsied eld; and when thou art old and rich. It were done quickly. If the assassination
 —
126 Chapter I. Man

Could trammel up the consequence, and catch To wear a heart so white. [/LnorArmg within.] I hear
With his surcease success; that but this blow a knocking
Might be the be-all and the end-all here, At the south entry. Retire we to our chamber.
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, A little water clears us of this deed.
We’d jump the life to come. But in these cases Shakespeare, Macbeth, II, ii, 60
We still have judgement here; that we but teach
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return 90 Macbeth. Better be with the dead.
To plague the inventor. Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace,

Shakespeare, Macbeth, I, vii, 1

Than on the torture of the mind to lie
In restless ectasy. Duncan is in his grave;
After life’s fitful fever he sleeps well;
87 Macbeth. There’s one did laugh in’s sleep, and one Treason has done his worst; nor steel, nor poison,
“Murder!”
cried Malice domestic, foreign IcN'y, nothing.
That they did wake each other. I stood and heard Can touch him further.
them; Shakespeare, Macbeth, III, ii, 19
But they did say their prayers, and address’d them
Again to sleep. 91 Cleopatra.[Antony dies.] The crown o’ the earth
Lady Macbeth. There are two lodged together. doth melt. My lord!
Macb. One cried “God bless usl” and “Amen”
O, wither’d is the garland of the war,
the other;
The soldier’s pole is fall’n; young boys and girls
As they had seen me with these hangman’s hands. Are level now with men; the odds is gone,
Listening their fear, I could not say “Amen,” And there is nothing left remarkable
When they did say “God bless us!”
Beneath the visiting moon.
Lady M. Consider it not so deeply.
Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra, IV, xv, 63
Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce
“Amen”?
92 Fear no more the heat o’
Gaidtrius, the sun.
I had most need of blessing, and “Amen”
Nor the furious winter’s rages;
Stuck in my throat
Thou thy worldly task hast done.
Lady M. These deeds must not be thought
Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages.
After these ways; so, it will make us mad.
Golden lads and girls all must,
Mach. Methought I heard a voice cry, “Sleep no
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
more!
Shakespeare, Cymbeline, IV, ii, 258
Macbeth does murder sleep,” the innocent sleep,
Sleep that knits up the ravell’d sleave of care.
The death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath, 93 Stephana. He that dies pay's all debts.

Shakespeare, Tempest, III, ii, 140

Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,
Chief nourisher in life’s feast
Lady M. What do you mean? 94 No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Macb. Still it cried, “Sleep no more!” to all the Than you hear the surly sullen bell
shall

house; Give warning to the world that I am fled

“Glamis hath murder’d sleep, and therefore From this vile world, with vilest w'orms to d\vell.

Cawdor Shakespeare, Sonnet LXXI

Shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no
more.” 95 Well! said Don thou wilt never be silent
Quixote,
till thy Mouth’s Clay; when thou’rt dead, I
full of
Shakespeare, Macbtlh, II, ii, 23
hope I shall have some Rest. Faith and Troth norv
Master, quoth Sancho, you did ill to talk of Death,

88 Lady Macbeth. The sleeping and the dead Heaven bless us, ’tis no Child’s Play; you’ve e’en
Are but as pictures; tis the eye of childhood spoil’d my Dinner; the very Thought of raw
That fears a painted devil. Bones and lanthorn Jaws makes me sick. Death
eats up all Things, both the young Lamb and old
Shakespeare, Macbeth, II, ii, 53
Sheep; and I have heard our Parson say, Death
values a Prince no more than a Clown; all’s Fish
89 Macbeth. Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this that comes to his Net; he throw's at all, and s^veeps
blood Stakes; he’s no Mow'cr that takes a Nap at Noon-
Glean from my hand? No, this my hand will Day, but drives on, fair Weather or foul, and cuts
rather down the green Grass as w'ell as the ripe Corn:
The multitudinous seas incarnadine, He’s neither squeamish nor queesy-stomach’d, for
Making the green one red. he swallows without chew'ing, and crams dowm all
things into his ungracious Maw; and tho’ you can
Re-enter Lady Macbeth.
see no Belly he has, he has a confounded Dropsy,
Lady Macbeth. My hands are of your colour; but and thirsts after Men’s Lives, which he guggles
I shame down like Mother’s Milk. Hold, hold, cry’d the
 L8. Life and Death 127

Knight, go no further, for thou art come to a very Than that it lived at all. Farewell!
handsome Period; thou hast said as much of Jonson, Epitaph on Elizabeth, L. H.
Death in thy home-spun Cant, as a good Preacher
could have done: Thou hast got the Knack of 100 Men fear death as children fear to go in the dark;
Preaching, Man! I must get thee a Pulpit and and as that natural fear in children is increased
Benefice, I think. with tales, so is the other. Certainly, the contem-
Cervantes, Don Quixotej II, 20 plation of death, as the wages of sin and passage
to another world, holy and religious; but the
is

96 O eloquent, just, and mighty Death! whom none fear of it, as a tribute due unto nature, is weak.
could advise, thou hast persuaded; what none Yet in religious meditations there is sometimes

hath dared, thou hast done; and whom all the mixture of vanity and of superstition. Groans . . .

world hath flattered, thou only hast cast out of the and convulsions, and a discoloured face, and
world and despised; thou hast drawn together all friends weeping, and blacks, and obsequies, and
the far-stretched greatness, all the pride, cruelty, the like, show death terrible.
and ambition of man, and covered it all over with Bacon, Of Death
these two narrow words, Hicjacet!
Sir Walter Raleigh, History of the World, 101 It is worthy the observing that there is no passion
Bk. V, VI, 12 in the mind of man
weak but it mates and
so
masters the fear of death; and therefore death is
97 Wee can dye by it, if not live by love. no such terrible enemy when a man hath so many
And if tombes and hearse
unfit for attendants about him that can win the combat of
Our legend bee, it will be fit for verse; him. Revenge triumphs over death; love slights it;
And if no peece of Chronicle wee prove, honour aspireth to it; grief flieth to it; fear pre-

We’ll build in sonnets pretty roomes; occupateth it.

As well a well wrought urne becomes Bacon, Of Death

The greatest ashes, as half e-acre tombes.

Donne, The Canonization 102 There is neither the word nor the thing of purga-
tory, neither in this nor any other text; nor any-
98 Death be not proud, though some have called
thing that can prove a necessity of a place for the

thee
soul without the body. For God, that could
. , .

Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe, give a life to a piece of clay, hath the same power
For, those, whom thou think’st, thou dost over-
to give life again to a dead man, and renew his

throw.
inanimate and rotten carcass into a glorious, spiri-
tual, and immortal body.
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee. Hobbes, Leviathan, IV, 44
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must
flow. 103 If the nearness of our last necessity brought a
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe, nearer conformity into it, there were a happiness
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie. in hoary hairs and no calamity in half senses. But
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and des- the long habit of living indisposeth us for dying.
perate men. Sir Thomas Browne, Um-Burial, V
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as 104 To extend our memories by monuments whose
well.
death we daily pray for, and whose duration we
And better than thy stroake; why swell’st thou cannot hope without injury to our expectations in
then? the advent of the Last Day, were a contradiction
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally. to our beliefs. We whose generations are ordained
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die. in this setting part of time are providentially tak-
Donne, Holy Sonnet X en off from such imaginations, and, being necessi-
tated to eye the remaining particle of futurity, are
99 Wouldst thou hear what man can say naturally constituted unto thoughts of the next
In a little? Reader, stay. world, and cannot excusably decline the consider-
Underneath this stone doth lie ation of that duration which maketh pyramids
As much beauty as could die; pillars of snow and all that’s past a moment.
\Vhich in life did harbor give Sir Thomas Browne, Um-Burial, V
To more virtue than doth live.
If at all she had a fault.
105 The number of the dead long exceedeth all that
Leave it buried in this vault. shall live. The night of time far surpasseth the
One name was Elizabeth; day, and who knows when was the equinox? Ev-
Th other, let it sleep with death: ery hour adds unto that current arithmetic, which
Fitter, where it died, to tell, scarce stands one moment. And since death must
 1 28 ]
Chapter I. Man

be the Lucina of life, and even pagans could doubt it, think only of making themselves happy for the

whether thus to live were to die; since our longest moment.

sun sets at right dcsccnsions and makes but winter Yet this eternity exists, and death, which must
arches, and therefore it cannot be long before we open into it and threatens them every hour, must
lie down in darkness and have our light in ashes; in a little time infallibly put them under the

since the brother of death daily haunts us with dreadful necessity of being cither annihilated or
dying mementos, and time, that grows old in it- unhappy for ever, without knowing which of these
self, bids us hope no long duration, diuturnity is a eternities for ever prepared for them.
is

dream and folly of expectation. This a doubt of terrible consequence. They

is

Sir Thomas Browne, Um-Burialy V are in peril of eternal woe and thereupon, as if the
matter were not worth the trouble, they neglect to
To hold long subsistence seems but a scape in inquire whether this is one of those opinions
106
oblivion. But man is a noble animal, splendid in which people receive with too credulous a facility,
ashes and pompous in the grave, solemnizing na- or one of those which, obscure in themselves, have
and deaths with equal lustre, nor omitting
tivities a very firm, though hidden, foundation. Thus
ceremonies of bravery in the infamy of his nature. they know not whether there be truth or falsity in
Sir Thomas Browne, Um^Bunal, V the matter, nor whether there be strength or
weakness in the proofs. They have them before
107 To monuments, to live in their
subsist in lasting their eyes; they refuse to look at them; and in that

names and predica-

productions, to exist in their ignorance they choose all that is necessary to fall
ment of chimaeras, was large satisfaction unto old into this misfortune if it exists, to await death to
expectations, and made one part of their Elysi- make trial of it, yet to be very’ content in this state,
ums. But nothing in the metaphysics of
all this is to make profession of it, and indeed to boast of it.

true belief. Toindeed is to be again ourselves,

live Can we think seriously of the importance of this
which being not only a hope, but an evidence, in subject without being horrified at conduct so ex-
noble believers, his all one to lie in St. Innocent’s travagant?
churchyard as in the sands of Egypt; ready to be Pascal, PmshSy III, 195
anything, in the ecstasy of being ever, and as con-
tent with six foot as the moles of Adrianus. no We arc fools to depend upon the society of our
Sir Thomas Browne, UT7i‘Burial, V fellow- men. Wretched as we arc, powerless as we
are, they will not aid us; we shall die alone.

108 As men arc not able to fight against death, misery, Pascal, Paisees, 111, 211
ignorance, they have taken it into their heads, in
order to be happy, not to think of them at all. 1 1 1 Eve. Dust I am, and shall to dust retumc:
Despite these miseries, man wishes to be happy, 0 welcom hour whenever! why delayes
and only wishes be happy, and cannot wish not
to His hand to execute what his Decree
to be so. But howhe set about it? To be hap-
will Fixd on this day? why do I overlive.
py he would have to make himself immortal; but, Why am I mockt with death, and length’nd out
not being able to do so, it has occurred to him to To deathless pain? how gladly would I meet
prevent himself from thinking of death. Mortalitic my sentence, and be Earth
Pascal, Pmsees, II, 168-169 Insensible, how glad would lay me do\s’n
As in my Mothers lap? there I should rest
109 For not to be doubted that the duration of this
it is And sleep secure.
life isbut a moment; that the state of death is Milton, Paradise Lost, X, 770
eternal, whatever may be its nature; and that thus
all our actions and thoughts must take such differ- 112 Adam. Have I now seen Death? Is this the way
ent directions, according to the state of that eter- 1 must return to native dust? sight O
nity, that it is impossible to take one step with Of terrour, foul and ugly to behold,
sense and judgement, unless we regulate our Horrid to think, how horrible to feel!
course by the truth of that point which ought to Milton, Paradise Lost, XI, 462
be our ultimate end.
There is nothing clearer than this; and thus, 113 Michael. Many shapes
according to the principles of reason, the conduct Of Death, and many arc the wayes that lead
of men is wholly unreasonable, if they do not take To his grim Cave, all dismal; yet to sense
another course. More terrible at th* entrance then within.
On this point, therefore, we condemn those who Some, as thou by violent stroke shall die.
saw’st,
livewithout thought of the ultimate end of life, By Famin, by Intemperance more
Fire, Flood,
who let themselves be guided by their own incli- In Meats and Drinks, which on the Earth shal
nations and their own pleasures without reflecdon bring
and without concern, and, as if they could annihi- Diseases dire.
late eternity by turning away their thought from Milton, Paradise Lost, XI, 467
 1.8, Life and Death 129

114 Manoa. Come, come, no time for lamentation now, is mad: if he does not think so, he lies. He may tell
Nor much more cause, Samson hath quit himself you, he holds his finger in the flame of a candle,
Like Samsonj and heroicly hath finish’d without feeling pain; would you believe him?
A life Heroic, on his Enemies When he dies, he at least givesup all he has.’’
Fully reveng’d, hath left them years of mourning, Boswell. “Foote, Sir, told me, that when he was
And lamentation to the Sons of Caphtor very ill he was not afraid to die.” yoAnron. “It is not
Through all Philistian bounds. To Israel true. Sir. Hold a pistol to Foote’s breast, or to
Honour hath left, and freedom, let but them Hume’s breast, and threaten to kill them, and
Find courage to lay hold on this occasion, you’ll see how they behave.” Boswell. “But may we
To himself and Fathers house eternal fame; not fortify our minds for the approach of death?”
And which is best and happiest yet, all this Here I am sensible I was in the wrong, to bring
With God not parted from him, as was feard, before his view what he ever looked upon with
But favouring and assisting to the end. horrour; for although when
in a celestial frame, in
Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail his Vanity of Human Wishes^ he has supposed death
Or knock the breast, no weakness, no contempt. to be “kind Nature’s signal for retreat,” from this
Dispraise, or blame, nothing but well and fair. state of being to “a happier seat,” his thoughts
And what may quiet us in a death so noble. upon this aw’eful change were in general full of
Milton, Samson Agonistes, 1708 dismal apprehensions. His mind resembled the
vast amphitheatre, the Colisceum at Rome. In the
115 Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree’s shade. centre stood his judgement, which, like a mighty
Where heaves the turf in many a moldering gladiator, combated those apprehensions that,
heap. like the wild beasts of the Arena, were all around
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid. in cells, ready to be let out upon him. After a
The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep. conflict, he drives them back into their dens; but
not killing them, they were still assailing him. To
The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, my question, whether we might not fortify our
The s\vaIlow Uvittering from the straw-built
minds for the approach of death, he answered, in
shed.
a passion, “No, Sir, let it alone. It matters not how
The cock’s shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
a man dies, but how he lives. The act of dying is
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
not of importance, it lasts so short a time.” He
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, added, (with an earnest look,) “A man knows it
Or busy housewife ply her evening care: must be so, and submits. It will do him no good to
No children run to lisp their sire’s return, whine.”
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Boswell, Life of Johnson (Oct. 26, 1769)
Gray, Elegy Written in a Country Church-Yard
119 It is plain that the hope of a future life arises from the
116 If we were immortal we should be miserable;
all feeling, which exists in the breast of every man,
no doubt it is hard to die, but it is sweet to think that the temporal is inadequate to meet and satis-

that we shall not live for ever, and that a better fy the demands of his nature.
will put an end to the sorrows of this world. If
life Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, Pref.
w'Chad the offer of immortality here below, who to 2nd Ed.
would accept the sorrowful gift?
Rousseau, EmUe^ II 1 20 The average duration of human life will to a cer-
tain degree vary from healthy or unhealthy cli-
117 A frequent and attentive prospect of that moment mates, from wholesome or unwholesome food,
which must put a period to all our schemes and from virtuous or vicious manners, and other caus-
deprive us of all our acquisitions, is indeed of the es, but it may be
doubted whether there is
fairly
utmost efficacy to the just and rational regulation advance in the nat-
really the smallest perceptible
of our lives; nor w'ould ever anything 'ivicked, or ural duration of human life since first we have
often anything absurd, be undertaken or prosecut- had any authentic history of man.
ed by him who should begin every day with a Malthus, Population, IX
serious reflection that he isborn to die.
Johnson, Rambler No. 17 121 Wagner. Ah, God! how long is art!
And soon it is we die.
118 When we were alone, I introduced the subject of Oft when my critical pursuits I ply,
death, and endeavoured to maintain that the fear I grow uneasy both in head and heart.
truly
of might be got over. I told him that David
it How hard to gain the means whereby
Hume said to me, he was no more uneasy to think A man mounts upward to the source!
he should not be after this life, than that he had not And ere man’s ended barely half the course.
been before he began to exist.
Johnson. “Sir, if he Poor devil! I suppose he has to die.
really thinks so, his perceptions
are disturbed; he Goethe, Faust, I, 558
 —— ——
130 Chapter L Man

122 Mephistopheles. “Past”

— ’tis a stupid word. ‘O’ course there is,’ replied his father with a nod
Past —^why? of grave approval. ‘Wot ’ud become of the un-
Past and pure Naught, sheer Uniformity! dertakers vithout it, Sammy?’
Of what avail’s perpetual creation Dickens, Pickwick Papers^ LII
If later swept off to annihilation?
“So it is past!” You see what that must mean? 127 Sunset and evening star,
same as had
It is the never been,
it And one clear call for me!
And yet whirls on as if it weren’t destroyed, And may there be no moaning of the bar,
I should prefer the Everlasting Void. When I put out to sea.
Goethe, Fausts II, 5, 1 1595
But such a moving seems asleep,
tide as
Too sound and foam,
full for
123 Peace, peace! he not dead, he doth not sleep
is
When that which drew from out the boundless
He hath awakened from the dream of life deep
’Tis we, who, lost in stormy visions, keep
Turns again home.
With phantoms an unprofitable strife,
And in mad trance strike with our spirit’s knife Twilight and evening bell,

Invulnerable nothings. We decay And after that the dark!

Like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief And may there be no sadness of farewell,
Convulse us and consume us day by day, When I embark;
And cold hopes swarm like worms within our liv-
For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place
ing clay.
The flood may bear me far,
He has outsoared the shadow of our night; I hope to see my Pilot face to face
Envy and calumny and hate and pain. When I have crost the bar.
And that unrest which men miscall delight. Tennyson, Crossing the Bar
Can touch him not and torture not again;
From the contagion of the world’s slow stain 128 Methinks we have hugely mistaken this matter of
He is secure, and now can never mourn Life and Death. Methinks that what they call my
A heart grown cold, a head grown gray in vain; shadow here on earth is my true substance. Me-
Nor, when the spirit’s self has ceased to bum, thinks that in looking at things spiritual, we are
With sparklcss ashes loan an unlamented urn. too much like oysters observing the sun through
Shelley, Adonais, XXXIX~XL the water, and thinking that thick water the thin-
nest of air. Methinks my body is but the lees of my
124 ‘Whom the gods love die young,’ was said of yore, better being. In fact take my body who will, take
And many deaths do they escape by this: it I it is not m>'self. And therefore three cheers
say,
The death of friends, and that which slays even forNantucket, and come a stove boat and stove
more body when they will, for stave my soul, who can
The death of friendship, love, youth, all that is. do this?
Except mere breath; and since the silent shore Melville, Mofy Dick, VII
Awaits at last even those who longest miss
The old archer’s shafts, perhaps the early grave 129 The one visible quality in the aspect of the dead
Which men weep over may be meant to save. which most appals the gazer, is the marble pallor
Byron, Don Juan^ IV, 12 lingering there; as if indeed that pallor were
much like the badge of consternation in the other
125 Darkling I listen; and, for many a time world, as of mortal trepidation here. And from
have been half in love with easeful Death,
I that pallor of the dead, we borrow the expressive
Call’d him soft names in many a mused rhyme, hue of the shroud in which we wrap them.
To take into the air my quiet breath; Melville, Mol^ Dick, XLII
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To upon the midnight with no pain,
cease 130 The in us is like the water in the river. It may
life
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad rise this year higher than man has ever known it,
In such an ecstasy! and flood the parched uplands; even this may be
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in the eventful year, which will drown out all our
vain muskrats. It was not always dry land where we
To thy high requiem become a sod. dwell. I see far inland the banks which the stream
Keats, Ode to a Nightingale anciently washed, before science began to record
its freshets. Every one has heard the story which

126 ‘Veil, gov’ner, ve must all come to it, one day or has gone the rounds of New England, of a strong
another.’ and beautiful bug which came out of the dry leaf
‘So we must, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller the elder. of an old table of apple-tree wood, which had
‘There’s a Providence in it said Sam.
ail,’ stood in a farmer’s kitchen for sixty years, first in
 —
1.8, Life and Death 131

Connccdcut, and afterward in Massachusetts still a whole street before him, and
ing, there’s
from an egg deposited in the living tree many however many houses have been passed, he wdll
years earlier still, as appeared by counting the an- still think there are many left And so to the very
nua! layers beyond it; which was heard gnawing end, to the very scaffold.
out for several weeks, hatched perchance by the Dostoevsky, Brothers Karamazov,
heat of an um. Who docs not feel his faith in a Pt. IV, XII, 9
resurrection and immortality strengthened by
hearing of this? WIio knows what beautiful and 133 Whoever has lived long enough to find out what
winged life, whose egg has been buried for ages life is, knows how deep a dept of gratitude we owe
under many concentric layers of woodenness in to Adam, the first great benefactor of our race. He
the dead dry life of society, deposited at first in the brought death into the world.
alburnum of the green and living tree, which has Mark Twain, Pudd*nhead Wilson*s
been gradually converted into the semblance of its Calendar, III
well-seasoned —
tomb heard perchance gnawing
out now for years by the astonished family of man, 134 Let us endeavour so to live that when we come to
as they sat round the festive board may unex- — die even the undertaker will be sorry.
pectedly come forth from amidst society’s most
Mark Twain, Pudd'^nhead Wilson’s
trivia! and handselled furniture, to enjoy its per-
Calendar, VI
fect summer life at last!
do not say that John or Jonathan
I will realize
all this;but such is the character of that morrow
1 35 Why is it that we rejoice at a birth and grieve at a
funeral? It is because we are not the person in-
which mere lapse of time can never make to
volved.
dawn. The light which puts out our eyes is dark-
ness to us. Only that day dawns to which we are
Mark Twain, Pudd’ahead Wilson’s

awake. There is more day to dawn. The sun is but

Calendar, IX
a morning star.
Thoreau, Walden: Conclusion
136 All say, ‘How hard it is that we have to die’ ^a —
strange complaint to come from the mouths of
people who have had to live.
131 Come lovely and soothing death,
Mark Twain, Pudd’nhead Wilson’s
Undulate round the world, serenely arriving,
arriving.
Calendar, X
In the day, in the night, to all, to each,
Sooner or later delicate death
137 The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.
Mark Twain, Cable from London to the

Prais’d be the fathomless universe. Associated Press (1897)

For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge
curious. 138 Our own death is indeed unimaginable, and
And for love, s^vcct love —but praise! praise! whenever we make the attempt to imagine it we
praise! can perceive that we really survive as spectators.
For the surc-en winding arms of cool-enfolding Hence the psychoanalytic school could venture on
death. the assertion that at bottom no one believes in his
Whitman, When Lilacs Last in the own death, or to put the same thing in another
Dooryard Bloom^dy 135 way, in the unconscious every one of us is con-
vinced of his own immortality.
132 Ippolit Kirillovitch. I imagine that he [Mitya] felt Freud, Thoughts on War and Death, II

something like what criminals feel when they are

being taken to the scaffold. They have another 139 Life is impoverished, it loses in interest, when the
long, long street to pass down and at walking highest stake in the game of living, life itself, may
pace, past thousands of people. Then tlierc will be not be risked. It becomes as flat, as superficial, as
a turning into another street and only at the end one of those American flirtations in which it is
of that street the dread place of execution! I fancy from the first understood that nothing is to hap-
that at the beginning of the journey the condem- pen, contrasted with a Continental love-affair in
ned man, sitting on his shameful cart, must feel which both partners must constantly bear in mind
that he has infinite life still before him. The hous- the serious consequences.
es recede, the cart moves on —oh, that’s nothing. Freud, Thoughts on War and Death, II
Us still far to the turning into the second street
and he still looks boldly to right and to left at 140 To endure life remains, when all is said, the first
those thousands of callously curious people with duty of all living beings. Illusion can have no val-
their eyes fixed on him, and he still fancies that he ue if it makes this more difficult for us.
ts just such a man as they. But now the turning We remember the old saying: If you desire
comes to the next street. Oh, that’s nothing, noth- peace, prepare for war.
 132 j
Chapter I, Man

It would be timely thus to paraphrase it: If you physical being, and not at all sad in itself; it be-
would endure life, be prepared for death. comes sad by virtue of a sentimental illusion,
Freud, Thoughts on War and Dtath, II which makes us imagine that they wish to endure,
and that their end is always untimely; but in a
healthy nature it is not so. VVhat is truly sad is to
141 We perceive duration as a stream against which
have some impulse frustrated in the midst of its
we cannot go. It is the foundation of our being,
career, and robbed of its chosen object; and what
and, as we feel, the very substance of the world in
is painful have an organ lacerated or de-
is to
which we live.
stroyed when vigorous, and not ready for
it is still
Bergson, Creative Evolution^ I
its natural sleep and dissolution. We must not

confuse the itch which our unsatisfied instincts

142 Death is not an event of life. Death is not lived
continue to cause with the pleasure of satisfying
through.
and dismissing each of them in turn. Could they
If by eternity is understood not endless tempo-
all be satisfied harmoniously we should be satis-
ral duration but timelessness, then he lives eter- 144
fied once for all and completely. Then doing and
nallywho lives in the present.
dying would coincide throughout and be a perfect
Our life is endless in the way that our visual
pleasure.
field is without limit.
The temporal immortality of the human soul,
Santayana, A Long Way Round to Nirvana

that is to say, its not

eternal survival after death, is

only in no way guaranteed, but this assumption in A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to
the first place will not do for us what we always the window. It had begun to snow again. He
tried to make it do. Is a riddle solved by the fact watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, fall-

that I survive for ever? Is this eternal life not as ing obliquely against the lamplight- The time had
enigmatic as our present one? The solution of the come for him on his journey westward.
to set out
riddle of life in space and time lies outside space Yes, the ne^vspape^s were right; snow was general
and time. all over Ireland- It was falling on every part of the

Wittgenstein, Tractalus Logico-Philosophicus^
6.4311-6.4312
143 That the end of life should be death may sound
sad: yet what other end can anything have? The
dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling
softlyupon the Bog of Allen, and, farther west-
ward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shan-
non waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of
the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael

end of an evening party is to go to bed; but its use Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the
is to gather congenial people together, that they
crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of
may pass the time pleasantly. An invitation to the the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul

dance is not rendered ironical because the dance swooned slo%vly as he heard the snow falling faint-
ly through the universe and faintly falling, like
cannot last for ever; the youngest of us and the
most vigorously wound up, after a few hours, has the descent of their last end, upon all the living
had enough of sinuous stepping and prancing. and the dead.
The transitoriness of things is essential to their Joyce, The Dead

1 .9 Suicide

Other animals, as for example the lem- action, and actually commits the act with
mings,may commit self-destruction en masse, care and forethought.
and when they do so, they do so driven by The basic moral issue is one on which the
instinct, but man alone deliberates about pagan writers of antiquity, notably the Ro-
whether to take his own individual life, dis- man Stoics, and Christian theologians and
putes the propriety or justification of such philosophers take opposite sides. Suicide for
 B

L9. Suicide 133

the one is a dignified way out of life’s insu- of opinion among secular writers on whether
perable difficulties; for the other, it is a deliberate suicide is an act of courage or
grievous, mortal sin, resulting in eternal cowardice or whether one has the right to
damnation. There is, in addition, a division take one’s own life.

1 And and
the Philistines foilowed hard after Saui, the instrument he is using; and he who through
and the Philistines slew Jonathan,
after his sons; anger voluntarily stabs himself does this contrary
and A-bin-a-dab, and Mal-chi-shu-a, the sons of to the right rule of life, and law does not
this the
Saul. allow; therefore he is acting unjustly. But towards
And the battle went sore against Saul, and the whom? Surely towards the state, not towards him-
archers hit him, and he was wounded of the arch- self. For he suffers voluntarily, but no one is vol-

ers. untarily treated unjustly. This is also the reason

Then armourbearer. Draw thy
said Saul to his why the state punishes; a certain loss of civil rights

sword, and thrust me through therewith; lest these attaches to the man who destroys himself, on the
uncircumcised come and abuse me. But his ar- ground that he is treating the state unjustly.
mourbearer would not; for he was sore afraid. So Aristotle, 1138^4
Saul took a sword, and fell upon it.
And when his armourbearer saw that Saul was 5 Then Juno, grieving that she [Dido] should sus-

dead, he fell likewise on the sword, and died. tain

So Saul died, and his three sons, and all his A death so ling’ring, and so full of pain,
house died together. Sent Iris down, to free her from the strife
/ Chronicles 10:2-6 Of labVing nature, and dissolve her life.
For since she died, not doom’d by Heav’n’s de-
2 When I say, My
bed shall comfort me, my couch cree.
shall ease my complaint; Or her own crime, but human casualty,
Then thou scarest me with dreams, and terrifi- And rage of love, that plung’d her in despair.
est me through visions: The Sisters had not cut the topmost hair,
So that my soul chooseth strangling, and death Which Proserpine and they can only know;
rather than my life. Nor made her sacred to the shades below.
I loathe it; I would not live alway: let me Downward the various goddess took her flight,
alone; for my days are vanity. And drew a thousand colors from the light;
Job 7:13-16 Then stood above the dying lover’s head,
And said: “J thus devote thee to the dead.
3 Socrates. Any man who has the spirit of philosophy, This off’ring to th’ infernal gods I bear.”
will be willing to die; but he will not take his own
Thus while she spoke, she cut the fatal hair:
life, for that is held to be unlawful. The gods . . .
The struggling soul was loos’d, and life dissolv’d in
arc our guardians, and we men are a posses-
. . .
air.
sion of theirs. . . . And
one of your own posses-
if
Virgil, Aeneidj IV
sions, an ox or an ass, for example, took the liberty
of putting himself out of the way when you had 6 ‘Rehearse death.* To say this is to tell a person to
given no intimation of your wish that he should rehearse his freedom. A person who has learned
die, would you not be angry with him, and would how to die has unlearned how to be a slave. He is
you not punish him if you could? . . . above, or at any rate beyond the reach of, all po-
Then, if we look at the matter thus, there may litical powers. What are prisons, warders, bars to
be reason in saying that a man should wait, and him? He has an open door. There is but one chain
not take his own life until God summons him. holding us in fetters, and that is our love of life.
Plato, Phaedo, 61 There is no need to cast this love out altogether,

but does need to be lessened somewhat so that,

it
4 Whether a man can treat himself unjustly or not,
in the event of circumstances ever demanding
is evident from what has been
said. For (a) one
this, nothing may stand in the way of our being
class of just acts
are those acts in accordance with
prepared to do at once what we must do at some
any virtue which are prescribed by the law; e.g.
time or other.
the law does not expressly permit suicide, and
Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 26
what it does not expressly permit it forbids. Again,
when a man in violation of the law harms another 7 Then Judas, which had betrayed him, when he
(otherwise than in retaliation) voluntarily, he acts saw that he was condemned, repented himself,
unjustly, and a voluntary agent is one
who knows and brought again the thirty pieces of silver to the
both the person he is affecting by his action and chief priests and elders.
 134
Saying, I have sinned in that I have betrayed
the innocent blood. And they said, What is that to
us? see thou to that.
And he cast down the pieces of silver in the
temple, and departed, and went and hanged him-
self.
And the chief priests took the silver pieces, and
said, It is not lawful for to put them into the trea-
sury, because it is the price of blood.
And and bought with them
they took counsel,
the potter’s bury strangers in.
field, to
Wherefore that field was called, The field of
blood, unto this day.
Matthew 27:3-8
8 [Lycurgus] was now about that age in which life
was still and yet might be quitted with-
tolerable,
out regret. Everything, moreover, about him was
in a prosperous condition. He there-
sufficiently
fore made an endof himself by a total abstinence
from food, thinking it a statesman’s duty to make
his very death, if possible, an act of service to the
state,and even in the end of his life to give some
example of virtue and effect some useful purpose.
He would, on the one hand, crown and consum-
mate his own happiness by a death suitable to so
honourable a life, and on the other hand, would
secure to his countrymen the enjoyment of the ad-
vantages he had spent his life in obtaining for
them, since they had solemnly sworn the mainte-
nance of his institutions until his return.
Plutarch, Lycurgus
10
9 Chiefly being ashamed to sully the glory of his
former great actions, and of his many victories
and trophies, he [Themistoclcs] determined to put
a conclusion to his life, agreeable to its
course. He and invited his
sacrified to the gods,
friends; and, having entertained them and shaken
hands with them, drank bull's blood, as is the usu-
a poison producing in-
al story; as others state,
stant death; and ended
days in the city of
his
Magnesia, having lived sixty- five years, most of
which he had spent in politics and in wars, in
government and command. The king being in-
formed of the cause and manner of his death, ad-
mired him more than ever, and continued to show
kindness to his friends and relations.
Plutarch, TTiemistocUs
Brutus, having to pass his army from Abydos to
the continent on the other side, laid himself down
one night, as he used to do, in his tent, and was
not asleep, but thinking of his affairs, and what
events he might expect. For he is related to have
been the least inclined to sleep of all men who
have commanded armies, and to have had the
greatest natural capacity for continuing awake,
and employing himself without need of rest. He
thought he heard a noise at the door of his tent,
and looking that way, by the light of his lamp,
I
Chapter 1. Man
which was almost out, saw a terrible figure, like
that of a man, but of unusual stature and severe
countenance. He was somewhat frightened at
but seeing it neither did nor spoke anything
first,
to him, only stood silently by his bedside, he asked
who it was. The spectre answered him, “Thy evil
genius, Brutus, and thou shalt see me at Philippi,”
Brutus answered courageously, “Well, I shall see
you,” and immediately the appearance vanished.
When the time was come, he drew up his army
near Philippi against Antony and Gsesar, and in
the first battle won the day, routed the enemy,
and plundered Cssar’s camp. The night before
the second battle, the same phantom appeared to
him again, but spoke not a word. He presently
11 understood his destiny was at hand, and exposed
himself to all the danger of the battle. Yet he did
not die in the fight, but seeing his men defeated,
got up to the top of a rock, and there presenting
his sword to his naked breast, and assisted, as they
say, by a friend, who helped him to give the
thrust, met his death.
Plutarch, Caesar
Now the birds began to sing, and he again fell
into a slumber. At length Butas came back,
little
and told him all was quiet in the port. Then Cato,
laying himself down, as if he would sleep out the
rest of the night, bade him shut the door after
him. But as soon as Butas was gone out, he took
his sword, and stabbed it into his breast; yet not
being able to use his hand so well, on account of
the swelling, he did not immediately die of the
wound; but struggling, fell off the bed, and throw-
ing down a little mathematical table that stood
by, made such a noise that the servants, hearing
previous it, cried out. And
immediately his son and all his
friends came chamber, where, seeing him
into the
lie weltering in his blood, a great part of his bow-
els out of his body, but himself still alive and able
to look at them, they all stood in horror. The phy-
sician went to him, and would have put in his
bowels, which were not pierced, and sewed up the
wound; but Cato, recovering himself, and under-
standing the intention, thrust away the physician,
plucked out his own bowels, and tearing open the
wound, immediately expired.
In less time than one would think his own fam-
ily could have known this accident, all the three
hundred were at the door. And a little after, the
people of Utica flocked thither, crying out with
one voice he was their benefactor and their sav-
iour, the only free and only undefeated man. . . .
Caesar had been informed that Cato stayed at
Utica, and did not seek to fly; that he had sent
away the rest of the Romans, but himself, with his
son and a few of his friends, continued there very
unconcernedly, so that he could not imagine what
might be his design. But having a great consider-
ation for the man, he hastened thither with his
army. When he heard of his death, it is related he
 L9. Suicide
said these words,"Cato, I grudge you your death,
as you have grudged me the preservation of your
life.” And, indeed, if Cato would have suffered
himself to owe his life to C»sar, he would not so
much have impaired his own honour, as augment-
ed the other’s glory.
Plutarch, Cato the Younger
12 Cicero’s death excites our pity; for an old man to
be miserably carried up and down by his servants,
flying and hiding himself from that death which
was, in the course of nature, so near at hand; and
yet at last to be murdered. Demosthenes, though
he seemed at first a little to supplicate, yet, by his
preparing and keeping the poison by him, de-
mands our admiration; and still more admirable
was his using it. When the temple of the god no
longer afforded him a sanctuary, he took refuge,
as it were, at a mightier altar, freeing himself from
from arms and soldiers, and laughing to scorn the
cruelty of Antipater.
Plutarch, Demosthenes and Cicero Compared
13 When he understood she was alive, he eagerly
gave order to the servants to take him up, and in
their arms was carried to the door of the building.
Cleopatra would not open the door, but, looking
from a window, she let down ropes and
sort of
cords, to which Antony was fastened; and she and
her two women, the only persons she had allowed
to enter themonument, drew him up. Those that
were present say that nothing was ever more sad
than this spectacle, to see Antony, covered all over
with blood and just expiring, thus drawn up, still
holding up his hands to her, and lifting up his
body with the little force he had left. As, indeed, it
was no easy task for the women; and Cleopatra,
with all her force, clinging to the rope, and strain-
ing with her head to the ground, with difficulty
pulled him up, while those below encouraged her
with their cries, and joined in all her efforts and
anxiety.
When she had got him up, she laid him on the
bed, tearing all her clothes, which she spread
upon him; and, beating her breast with her
hands, lacerating herself, and disfiguring her own
face with the blood from his wounds, she called
him her lord, her husband, her emperor, and
seemed to have pretty nearly forgotten all her own
evils, she was so intent upon his misfortunes. An-
tony, stopping her lamentations as well as he
could, called for wine to drink, either that he was
thirsty, or that
he imagined that it might put him
the sooner out of pain. When he had drunk, he
advised her to bring her own affairs, so far as
might be honourably done, to a safe conclusion,
and that, among all the friends of Caesar, she
should rely on Proculeius; that she should not pity
him in his last turn of fate, but rather rejoice for
him in remembrance of his past happiness, who
had been of all men the most illustrious and pow-
I
135
erful, and in the end had fallen not ignobly, a
Roman by a Roman overcome.
Plutarch, Antonjf
14 Having made these lamentations, crowning the
tomb with garlands and kissing it, she gave orders
to prepare her a bath, and, coming out of the
bath, she lay down and made a sumptuous meal.
And a country fellow brought her a little basket,
which the guards intercepting and asking what it
was, the fellow put the leaves which lay upper-
most aside, and showed them it was full of figs;
and on their admiring the largeness and beauty of
the figs, he laughed, and invited them to take
some, which they refused, and, suspecting noth-
ing, bade him carry them in. After her repast,
Cleopatra sent to Caesar a letter which she had
written and sealed; and, putting everybody out of
the monument but her two women, she shut the
doors.
C;Esar, opening her letter, and finding pathetic
prayers and entreaties that she might be buried in
the same tomb with Antony, soon guessed what
was doing. At first he was going himself in all
haste, but, changing his mind, he sent others to
see. The thing had been quickly done. The mes-
sengers came at full speed, and found the guards
apprehensive of nothing; but on opening the
doors they saw her stone-dead, lying upon a bed
of gold, set out in all her royal ornaments. Iras,
one of her women, lay dying at her feet, and
Charmion, just ready to fall, scarce able to hold
up her head, was adjusting her mistress’s diadem.
And when one that came in said angrily, "Was
this well done of your lady, Charmion,” "Ex-
tremely well,” she answered, "and as became the
descendant of so many kings;” and as she said
this, she fell down dead by the bedside.
Plutarch, Antonj^
15 Take care that there be not among us any young
men of such a mind that,when they have recog-
nized their kinship to God, and that we are fet-
tered by these bonds, the body, I mean, and its
possessions, and whatever else on account of them
is necessary to us for the economy and commerce
of life, they should intend to throw off these things
as if they were burdens painful and intolerable,
and to depart to their kinsmen. This is the
. . .
labour that your teacher and instructor ought to
be employed upon, if he really were what he
should be. You should come to him and say, "Ep-
ictetus,we can no longer endure being bound to
this poor body, and feeding it and giving it drink,
and rest, and cleaning it, and for the sake of the
body complying with the wishes of these and of
those. Are not these things indifferent and nothing
to us, and is not death no evil? And are we not in
a manner kinsmen of God, and did we not come
from Him? Allow us to depart to the place from
which we came; allow us to be released at last
 136 I
Chapter
from these bonds by which we are bound and
w'cighed down. Here there are robbers and thieves
and courts of justice, and those who are named
tyrants, and think that they have some power over
us by means of the body and its possessions. Per-
mit us to show them that they have no power over
any man.” And I on my part would say, “Friends,
wait for God; when He shall give the signal and
release you from this service, then go to Him; but
for the present endure to dwell in this place where
He has put you: short indeed is this time of your
dwelling here, and easy to bear for those who arc
so disposed: for what tyrant or what thief, or what
courts of justice, are formidable to those who have
thus considered as things of no value the body and
the possessions of the body? Wait then, do not
depart without a reason.”
Epictetus, Discourses, I,
16 When Claudius began to deliberate about the ac-
quittal of Asiaticus, Vitellius, with tears in his
eyes, spoke of his old friendship with the accused,
and of their jointhomage to the emperor’s moth-
er, Antonia. Hethen briefly reviewed the services
of Asiaticus to the State, his recent campaign in
the invasion of Britain, and everything else which
seemed likely to win compassion, and suggested
that he should be free to choose his death.
Claudius’s reply was in the same tone of mercy.
Some friends urged on Asiaticus the quiet death of
self-starv'ation, but he declined it with thanks. He
took his usual exercise, then bathed and dined
cheerfully, and saying that he had better have
fallen by the craft of Tiberius or the fury of Caius
Csesar than by the treachery of a woman and the
shameless mouth of Vitellius, he opened his veins,
but not till he had inspected his funeral pyre, and
directed its removal to another spot, lest the
smoke should hurt the thick foliage of the trees. So
complete was his calmness even to the last.
Tacitus, Annab, XI, 3
17 Seneca, quite unmoved, asked for tablets on
which to inscribe his will, and,on the centurion’s
refusal, turned to his friends, protesting that as he
was forbidden to requite them, he bequeathed to
them the only, but still the noblest possession yet
remaining to him, the pattern of his life, which, if
they remembered, they would win a name for
moral worth and steadfast friendship. At the same
time he called them back from their tears to man-
ly resolution, now with friendly talk, and now
with the sterner language of rebuke. “Where,” he
asked again and again, “are your maxims of phi-
losophy, or the preparation of so manv years’
study against evils to come? Who knew not Nero’s
cruelty? After a mother’s and a brother’s murder,
nothing remains but to add the destruction of a
guardian and a tutor.”
Having spoken these and like words, meant, so
to say, for all, he embraced his wife; then soften-
1. Man
ing awhile from the stem resolution of the hour,
he begged and implored her to spare herself the
burden of p>erpctual sorrow, and, in the contem-
plation of a life \drtuously spent, to endure a
husband’s loss with honourable consolations. She
declared, in answer, that she too had decided to
die, and claimed for herself the blow of the execu-
tioner. Thereupon Seneca, not to thwart her no-
ble ambition, from an affection too which would
not leave behind him for insult one whom he
dearly loved, replied: “I have shown you w^ys of
smoothing life; you prefer the glory of dying. I
will not grudge you such a noble example. Let the
fortitude of so courageous an end be alike in both
of us, but let there be more in your decease to win
fame.”
Then by one and the same stroke they sundered
9 \vith a dagger the arteries of their arms.
Tacitus, Annab, XV, 62-63
18 It happened at the time that the emperor was on
his way to Campania and that Petronius, after
going as far as Cumse, %vas there detained. He
bore no longer the suspense of fear or of hope. Yet
he did not fling away life with precipitate haste,
but having made an incision in his veins and then,
according to his humour, bound them up, he
again opened them, while he conversed with his
friends, not in a serious strain or on topics that
might win for him the glory of courage. And he
listened to them as they repeated, not thoughts on
the immortality of the soul or on the theories of
philosophers, but light poetry and playful verses.
To some of his slaves he gave liberal presents, a
flogging to others. He dined, indulged himself in
sleep, that death, though forced on him, might
have a natural appearance. Even in his will he
did not, as did many in their last moments, flatter
Nero or Tigellinus or any other of the men in
power. On the contrary, he described fully the
prince’s shameful excesses, with the names of his
male and female companions and their novelties
in debauchery, and sent the account under seal to
Nero. Then he broke his signet-ring, that it might
not be subsequently available for imperilling
others.
Tacitus, Annab, XVI, 19
19 When thou hast assumed these names, good, mod-
est, true,rational, a man of equanimity, and mag-
nanimous, take care that thou dost not change
these names; and if thou shouldst lose them,
quickly return to them. . But if thou shalt per-
. .
ceive that thou fallest out of them and dost not
maintain thy hold, go courageously into some
nook where thou shalt maintain them, or even
depart at once from life, not in passion, but ^vith
simplicity and freedom and modesty, after doing
this one laudable thing at least in thy life, to have
gone out of it thus.
Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, X, 8
 L9. Suicide I
137

20 In no passage of the holy canonical books there As a green brand, that is burning at one end, at
can be found either divine precept or permission the other drops, and hisses with the wind which
to take away our own life, whether for the sake of is escaping:

entering on the enjoyment of immortality, or of so from that broken splint, words and blood came
shunning, or ridding ourselves of anything what- forth together: whereat I let fall the top, and
ever. Nay, the law, rightly interpreted, even pro- stood like one who is afraid. . . .

where it says, *‘Thou shalt not kill.”

hibits suicide, The Poet listened a while, and then said to me:
. There is no limitation added nor any excep-
. . “Since he is silent, lose not the hour; but speak,
tion made in favour of any one, and least of all in and ask him, if thou wouldst know more.”
favour of him on whom the command is laid! . . . Whereat I to him: “Do thou ask him farther, re-
The commandment is, “Thou shalt not kill man”; specting what thou thinkest will satisfy me; for
therefore neither another nor yourself, for he who I could not, such pityis upon my heart.”

kills himself still kills nothing else than man. He therefore resumed;“So may the man do freely
Augustine, City of God, I, 20 for thee what thy words entreat him, O impris-
oned spirit, please thee
21 But this we affirm, this we maintain, this wc every tell us farther, how the soul gets bound up in these
way pronounce to be right, that no man ought to knots; and tell us, ifthou mayest, whether any
inflict on himself voluntary death, for this is to ever frees itself from such members.”
escape the ills of time by plunging into those of Then and soon that wind
the trunk blew strongly,
eternity; that no man ought to do so on account of was changed into these words: “Briefly shall
another man’s sins, for this were to escape a guilt you be answered.
which could not pollute him, by incurring great Wlicn the fierce spirit quits the body, from which
guilt of his own; that no man ought to do so on it has torn itself, Minos sends it to the seventh

account of his own past sins, for he has all the gulf.

more need of this life that these sins may be It fallsinto the wood, and no place is chosen for
healed by repentance; that no man should put an it; but wherever fortune flings it, there it
end to this life to obtain that better life we look for sprouts, like grain of spelt;
after death, for those who die by their own hand shoots up to a sapling, and to a savage plant; the
have no better life after death. Harpies, feeding then upon its leaves, give pain,
Augustine, City of God, I, 26 and to the pain an outlet.
Like the others, wc shall go for our spoils, [but not
22 Parricide is more wicked than homicide, but sui- to the end that any may be] clothc[d] with them

cide is the most wicked of all. again: for it is not just that a man have what he
Augustine, On Patience takes from himself.
Hither shall we drag them, and through the
23 Nessus had not yet reached the other side, when mournful wood our bodies shall be suspended,
we moved into a wood, which by no path was each on the thorny tree of its tormented shade.”
marked. Dante, Inferno, XIII, 1

Not green the foliage, but of colour dusky; not

smooth the branches, but gnarled and warped; 24 And death is not the remedy for just one malady,
apples none were there, but withered sticks with but the remedy for all ills. It is a very sure haven,
poison. . . .
which is never to be feared, and often to be
Already heard wailings uttered on every
I side, sought. It all comes to the same thing rvhether
and saw no one to make them: wherefore I, all man gives himself his death or suffers it, whether
bewildered, stood still. he runs to meet his day or awaits it; wherever it
I I was thinking so many
think he thought that comes from, it is still his; wherever the thread
voices came,
amongst those stumps, from people breaks, it is all there, that’s the end of the skein.
who hid themselves on our account. The most voluntary death is the fairest.
Therefore the Master said: “If thou breakest off Life depends on the will of others; death, on our
any little shoot from one of these plants, the own.
thoughts, which thou hast, will all become de- Montaigne, Essays, 11, 3, Custom of Cea
fective.”
Then I stretched my hand a little forward, and 25 Just as I do not violate the laws against thieves
plucked a branchlet from a great thorn; and when I carry away my own money and cut my
the trunk of it cried, “Why dost thou rend me?” own purse, or those against firebugs when I burn
And when it had grown dark with blood, it again my own wood, so I am not bound by the laws
began to cry: “Why hast dost thou tear me? against murderers for having taken my own life.
thou no breath of pity? Montaigne, Essays, II, 3, Custom of Cea
Men we were, and now arc turned to trees: truly
thy hand should be more merciful, had we been 26 Cassius. Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most
souls of serpents.” strong;
 — —
138 Chapter 1. Man
29

Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat: Give me my robe, put on my crown;

Cleopatrd^ I

Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass. have

Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron. Immortal longings in me. Now no more
Can be retentive to the strength of spirit; The juitfcof Egypt’s grape shall moist this lip.

But life, being weary of these worldy bars, Yare, y^re, good Iras; quick. Methinks I hear
Antony ^ see him rouse himself
Never lacks power to dismiss itself.
Shakespeare, Caesar, I, iii, 91 To praise my noble act; I hear him mock
The luck of Cajsar, which the gods give men
To excuse their after wrath. Husband, I come:
27 Hamlet. To be, or not to be: that is the question.
Whether nobler in the mind to suffer
’tis
Now to that name my courage prove my title!
I am firc and air; my other elements
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, So; have you done?
I give to baser life.
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips.
And by opposing end them? To die; to sleep;
Farewell* kind Charmian; Iras, long farewell.
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
and
Kisses them. Iras falls dies.
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks the aspic in my Dost
Have I lips? fall?
That flesh is heir to, His a consummation
If thou and nature can so gently part,
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;
The stroke of death is as a lover’s pinch.
To sleep? perchance to dream. Ay, there’s the
Which hurts, and is desired. Dost thou lie still?
rub;
If thus fhou vanishest, thou tell’st the world
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
It is not worth leave-taking.
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain; that I
Must give us pause. There’s the respect
may say,
That makes calamity of so long life;
The do weep!
gocls themselves
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time.
Cleo. This proves me base.
The oppressor’s wrong.^ the proud man’s
II she first meet the curled Antony,
contumely,
He’ll make demand of her, and spend that kiss
The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,
Which is my heaven to have. Come, thou mortal
The insolence of office and the spurns
wretch,
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
To an ^hich she applies to her breast.
When he himself might his quietus make
With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear.
Of life at once untie. Poor venomous fool.
To grunt and s%veat under a weary life.
Be angry* and dispatch. O, couldst thou speak.
But that the dread of something after death,
That I might hear thee call great Ccesar ass
The undiscover’d country from whose bourn
Unpolioied!
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have Char. O eastern star!
Cleo. Peace, peace!
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Dost thou not see my baby at my breast,
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
That sucks the nurse asleep?
And thus the native hue of resolution
Char. O, break! O, break!
with the pale cast of thought,
Is sicklied o’er
As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle
Cleo.
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry, O —
Antony! Nay, I will take thee too.
Applyi^S o^other asp to her arm.
And lose the name of action.
Shakespeare, Hamlet, III, i, 56
What should I stay — [Dies.]

Char. In this vile world? So, fare thee well.

Now boast thee. Death, in thy possession lies

28 Cleopatra. Then is it sin

A lass unparrallel’d. Downy
windows, close;

To rush into the secret house of death. And golden Pheebus never be beheld
Ere death dare come to us? How do you, women? Of eyes again so royal! Your crown’s awry;
I’ll mend it, and then play.
What, what! good cheer! Why, how now, Char-
Enter the Guard, rushing in.
mian!
My noble girls! Ah, women, women, look, 1st Guard. Where is the Queen?
Our Lamp is spent, it’s out! Good sirs, take heart. Char. Speak softly, wake her not.
We’ll bury him; and then, what’s brave, what's 1st Guard. Casar hath sent
noble. Char. Too slow a messenger.
Let’s do it after the high Roman fashion, Apptifs an asp.

And make death proud to take us. Come, away; O, comc apace, dispatch! I partly feel thee.
This case of that huge spirit now is cold. 1st Guard. Approach, ho! All’s not well; Gsesar’s
Ah, women, women! come; we have no friend beguiled.
But resolution and the briefest end. 2nd Guard. There’s Dolabella sent from Caesar;
Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra, IV, xv, 80 call him.
 L9, Suicide I
139

1st Guard. What work is here! Charmian, is this principles and customs; among the English it is

well done? the consequence of a distemper, being connected

Char. It is well done, and fitting for a princess with the physical state of the machine, and inde-
Descended of so many royal kings. pendent of every other cause.
Ah, soldier! [Z)i«.] In all probability it is a defect of the filtration
Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra, V, ii, 283 of the nervous juice: the machine, whose motive
faculties are often unexerted, is weary of itself; the
soul feels no pain, but a certain uneasiness in ex-
30 1st Guard. O Cjcsar, isting. Pain a local sensation, which leads us to
is
This Charmian lived but now; she stood and
the desire of seeing an end of it; the burden of life,
spake.
which prompts us to the desire of ceasing to exist,
Ifound her trimming up the diadem
is an evil confined to no particular part.
On her dead mistress; tremblingly she stood
Montesquieu, Spirit of Laws, XIV, 12
And on the sudden dropp’d.
Caesar. * O noble weakness!
33 That Suicide may often be consistent with interest
Ifthey had s^valIow’d poison, ’twould appear
By external swelling; but she looks like sleep, and with our duty to ourselves, no one can ques-
As she would catch another Antony tion, who allows that age, sickness, or misfortune,

In her strong toil of grace.

may life a burden, and make it worse even
render
Dolabella. Here, on her breast. than annihilation. I believe that no man ever
threw away life while it was worth keeping. For
There is a vent of blood and something blown.
such is our natural horror of death, that small
The like is on her arm.
motives will never be able to reconcile us to it;
1st Guard. This is an aspic’s trail; and these

figleaves
and though perhaps the situation of man’s health
or fortune did not seem to require this remedy,
Have slime upon them, such as the aspic leaves
Upon the caves of Nile.
we may at least be assured, that any one who,
Caes. Most probable without apparent reason, has had recourse to it,
That so she died; for her physician tells me was cursed with such an incurable depravity or
gloominess of temper as must poison all enjoy-
She hath pursued conclusions infinite
Of easy ways to die. Take up her bed; ment, and render him equally miserable as if he
And bear her women from the monument. had been loaded with the most grievous misfor-
She shall be buried by her Antony. tune. If Suicide be supposed a crime, it is only

No grave upon the earth shall clip in it cowardice can impel us to it. If it be no crime,
A pair so famous. both prudence and courage should engage us to
rid ourselves at once of existence when it becomes
Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra, V, ii, 344
a burden. It is the only way that we can then be
useful to society, by setting an example, which, if
31 A man kills himself under compulsion by another imitated, would preserve to every one his chance
when that other turns the right hand, with which for happiness in life, and would effectually free
the man had by chance laid hold of a sword, and him from all danger or misery.
compels him to direct the s^vord against his own Hume, On Suicide
heart; or the command of a tyrant may compel a
man, as it did Seneca, to open his own veins, that
34 There are said to be occasions when a wise man
is to say, he may desire to avoid a greater evil by
kills himself, but generally speaking it is not an
a less. External and hidden causes also may so
excess of reason that makes people take their own
dispose his imagination and may so affect his lives.
body as to cause it to put on another nature con- Voltaire, Letter to James Marriott
trary to that which it had at first, and one whose (Feb. 26, 1767)
idea cannot exist in the mind; but a very little
reflection will show that it is as impossible that a
man, from the necessity
35 We talked of the melancholy end of a gentleman
of his nature, should en-
deavour not
who had destroyed himself. yoAnron. “It was owing
to exist, or to be changed into some
toimaginary difficulties in his affairs, which, had
other form, as it is that something should be be-
he talked with any friend, would soon have van-
gotten from nothing.
ished.’’ Boswell. “Do you think, Sir, that all who
Spinoza, Ethics, IV, Prop. 20, Schol. commit suicide are mad?’’ yb/mron. “Sir, they are
often not universally disordered in their intellects,
32 We do not find in history that the Romans ever but one passion presses so upon them, that they
killed themselves without a cause; but the English yield to it, and commit suicide, as a passionate
are apt to commit suicide most unaccountably; man will stab another.’’ He added, “I have often
they destroy themselves even in the bosom of hap- thought, that after a man has taken the resolution
piness. This action among the Romans was the to kill himself, it is not courage in him to do any
effect of education, being connected with their thing, however desperate, because he has nothing
 —
140 Chapter L Man

to fear.” Goldsmitfu “I don’t see that.” Johnson. of humanity he destro>-s himself

as an end in itself If

“Nay, but my dear Sir, why should not you sec in order to escape from painful circumstance, he
what every one else sees?” Goldsmith. “It is for fear uses a person merely as a mean to maintain a toler-
of somethin^ that he has resolved to kill himself; able condition up to the end of life. But a man is
and %vin not that timid disposition restrain him?” not a thing, that is to say, something which can be
Johnson. “It docs not signify that the fear of some- used merely as means, but must in all his actions
thing made him resolve; it is upon the state of his be always considered as an end in himself. I can-
mind, after the resolution is taken, that I argue. not, therefore, dispose in any w’ay of a man in my
Suppose a man, cither from fear, or pride, or con- own person so as to mutilate him, to damage or
science, or whatever motive, has resolved to kill kill him.
himself; when once the resolution is taken, he has Kant, Fundamental Principles of the
nothing to fear. He may then go and take the Metaphysic of Morals, II
King of Prussia by the nose, at the head of his
army. He cannot fear the rack, who is resolved to 39 Suicide is not abominable because God forbids it;

kill himself. When Eustace Budgel was walking God forbids it because it is abominable.
down to the Thames, determined to drown him- Kant, Lecture (1775)
self, he might, if he pleased, without any appre-

hension of danger, have turned aside, and first set 40 Suicide may at a first glance be regarded as an act
fire to St. James’s palace.” of courage, but only the false courage of tailors
Bos^vell, Life ofJohnson and servant girls. Or again it may be looked upon
(Apr. 2h 2773) as a misfortune, since inward distraction
it is

which leads to it. But the fundamental question

36 The powers of this world have indeed lost their is: Have I a right to take my life? The answer will

dominion over him who is resolved on death, and be that I, as this individual, am not master of my
his arm can only be restrained by the religious life, because life, as the comprehensive sum of my

apprehension of a future state. Suicides are enu- activity, is nothing external to personality, which
merated by Virgil among the unfortunate, rather itself is this immediate personality. Thus w’hen a

than the guilty, and the poetical fables of the in-
ferral shades could not seriously influence the
faith or practice of mankind. But the precepts of
the Gospel or the church have at length imposed a
pious servitude on the minds of Christians, and
condemn them to expect, without a murmur, the
last stroke of disease or the executioner.
Gibbon, Decline and Fall of the Roman
Empire,
37 A man reduced to despair by a series of misfor-
tunes wearied of life, but is still so far in pos-
feels
session of his reason that he can ask himself
w'hether it would not be contrary to his duty to
person is said to have a right over his life, the
W'ords arc a contradiction, because they mean
that a person has a right over himself. But he has
no such right, since he does not stand over himself
and he cannot pass judgement on himself. When
Hercules destroyed himself by fire and when Bru-
tus fell on his sword, this w’as the conduct of a
hero against his personality. But as for an unqual-
XLIV ified right to suicide, we must simply say that
there is no such thing, even for heroes,
Hegel, Philosophy of Right,
Additions, Par. 70
41 They tell us that suicide is tlie greatest piece of

himself to take his own life. Nowhe inquires cowardice; that only a madman could be guilty of
whether the maxim of his action could become a it; and other insipidities of the same kind; or else
universal law' of nature. His maxim is: “From ^If- they make the nonsensical remark that suicide is
love I adopt it as a principle to shorten my life wrong; when it is quite obvious that there is noth-
w'hen its longer duration is likely to bring more ing in the world to which every man has a more
evilthan satisfaction.” It is asked then simply unassailable title than to his own life and person.
whether this principle founded on self-love can Schopenhauer, Suicide
become a universal law’ of nature. Now we see at
once that a system of nature of which it should be 42 Suicide may also be regarded as an experiment
a law to destroy life by means of the very feeling a question which man puts to Nature, trying to
whose special nature it is to impel to the improve- force her to an answer. The question is this: What
ment of life would contradict itself and, therefore, change will death produce in a man’s existence
could not exist as a system of nature; hence that and in his insight into the nature of things? It is a
maxim cannot possibly e.\ist as a universal law of clurns)’ experiment to make; for it involves the
nature and, consequently, would be wholly incon- destruction of the very consciousness which puts
sistent with the supreme principle of all duty. the question and awaits the ans^vc^.
Kant, Fundamental Principles of the Schopenhauer, Suicide
Metaphysic of Morals, II
43 I knew’ a young lady of the last “romantic” gener-
38 He w’ho contemplates suicide should ask himself ation W’ho after some years of an enigmatic pas-
whether his action can be consistent with the idea sion for a gentleman, w'hom she might quite easily
 7 . 9 . Suicide 141

have married at any moment, invented insupera- had read the book with troubles, falsehoods,
filled

and ended by throw-

ble obstacles to their union, sorrow, and evil, up more brightly than
flared

ing herself one stormy night into a rather deep ever before, lighted up for her all that had been in
and rapid river from a high bank, almost a darkness, flickered, began to grow dim, and was
precipice, and so perished, entirely to satisfy her quenched for ever.

own caprice, and to be like Shakespeare’s Ophe- Tolstoy, Anna Karenina, VII, 31
lia. Indeed, if this precipice, a chosen and favour-

ite spot of hers, had been less picturesque, if there 45 The reasoning both of pessimist philosophy and of
had been a prosaic flat bank in its place, most ordinary suicide is this: There is an animal self
44 likely the suicide would never have taken place. which is attracted to life, but the yearnings of this
This is a fact, and probably there have been not a self can never be gratified. There is another self, a

few similar instances in the last two or three gen- rational one, which has no longing for life, but
erations. merely critically contemplates all the false joy of
Dostoevsky, Brothers Karamazov, Pt. I, I, 1 and the passions
life of the animal self and rejects
them entirely.
If I yield tothe first I see that my life is mean-
And all at once she thought of the man crushed
ingless and that I am heading for misery, in which
by the train the day she had first met Vronsky,
I am more and more involved. If I abandon my-
and she knew what she had to do. With a rapid,
light step she went down the steps that led from
self to the second —
the reasonable self I no lon- —
ger feel any attraction to life. I see that it is absurd
the tank to the rails and stopped quite near the
and impossible to live for the one thing I want,
approaching train.
that is, my personal happiness. It would be possi-
She looked at the lower part of the carriages, at
ble to live for reasonable consciousness, but it is
the screws and chains, and the tall cast-iron wheel
not worth while and I do not want to. Serve that
of the moving up, and trying
carriage slowing
first

to measure the middle between the front and back

source from whence I came —God? Why? If God
exists,he will find people to serve him without me.
wheels, and the very minute when that middle
point would be opposite her.
And why should I do it? One can contemplate
this play of life as long as one does not find it dull,
“There,” she said to herself, looking into the
shadow of the carriage, at the sand and coal-dust and when it is dull one can go away and kill one-
—
which covered the sleepers “there, in the very self. And that is what I will do.

middle, and I will punish him and escape from Tolstoy, On Life, XXII
everyone and from myself.”
46 The thought of suicide is a powerful comfort: it
She tried to fling herself below the wheels of the helps one through many a dreadful night.
first carriage as it reached her; but the red bag
Nietzsche, B^ond Good and Evil, IV, 157
which she tried to drop out of her hand delayed
her, and she was too late; she missed the moment. 47 The relatives of a suicide take it in ill part that he
She had to wait for the next carriage. A feeling did not remain alive out of consideration for their
such as she had known when about to take the reputation.
first plunge in bathing came upon her, and she
Nietzsche, Human, All~Too-Human, 322
crossed herself. That familiar gesture brought
back into her soul a whole series of girlish and 48 All this about the impossibility of suicide is said
childish memories, and suddenly the darkness on the supposition of positive motives. When pos-
that had covered everything for her was torn sessed by the emotion of fear, however, we are in a
apart, and life rose up before her for an instant negative state of mind; that is, our desire is limited
with all its bright past joys. But she did not take to the mere banishing of something, without re-
her eyes from the wheels of the second carriage. gard to what shall take its place. In this state of
And exactly at the moment when the space be- mind there can unquestionably be genuine
tween the wheels came opposite her, she dropped thoughts, and genuine acts, of suicide, spiritual
the red bag, and drawing her head back into her and social, as well as bodily. Anything, anything, at
shoulders, on her hands under the carriage,
fell such times, so as to escape and not to be!
and lightly, as though she would rise again at William James, P^chology, X
once, dropped on to her knees. And at the same
instant she was terror-stricken at what she was 49 Fear of one form or other is the great thing
life in

doing. “Where am I? What am

doing? What
I but it isn’t reason that will ever do it.
to exorcise;
for?” She tried to get up, to drop backwards; but Impulse without reason is enough, and reason
something huge and merciless struck her on the without impulse is a poor makeshift. I take it that
head and rolled her on her back. “Lord, forgive no man is educated who has never dallied with
me all!” she said, feeling it impossible to struggle. the thought of suicide.
A peasant muttering something was working at William James, Letter to B. P, Blood
the iron above her. And the light by which she (June 28, 1896)
 Chapter 2

FAMILY

Chapter 2 is divided into three sections: 2.1 However, the reader whose interest is in all
The Institution of the Family, 2.2 Parents and of the many related aspects of the human
Children, and 2.3 Marriage. family would do well to explore the materi-
Certain of the passages quoted in this als of this chapter as a whole and to trace for
chapter could have been placed in tvvo of himself the intricate pattern of insights and
the three sections, and some, perhaps, in all observations that are woven together in the
three. The institution of the family is insep- fabric of our understanding of the one hu-
arable from the marriage rite and all that it man institution with which every human
entails; the relation ofhusband and wife re- being has had intimate experience.
sults from marriage and is fundamental to There is probably no other subject treated
the institution of the family; the parental in thisbook about which everyone has an
care and direction of children, as well as opinion or judgment, and feelings, senti-
filial respect and obedience, are aspects of ments, or emotional attitudes, as well as
domestic government that take different wishes or desires, overt or covert, conscious
forms in different types of familial institu- or unconscious. There is probably no other
tions. subject on which there are comments from
All of these points of coincidence or over- so wide a diversity of sources —from poets,
lapping being acknowledged, it is, neverthe- novelists, dramatists, and historians; philos-
less, the case that the matters considered in ophers and theologians; moralists, econo-
the three sections are sufficiently distinct to mists, and political theorists; biologists, psy-
justify a division of the texts accordingly. chologists, and psychoanalysts.

142
 —

2.1 The Institution of the Family

One important relationship constitutive of family —the husband alone, or both hus-
most, if not all, families is that of siblings band and wife; and who is ruled —the chil-

brother and brother, sister and sister, broth- dren alone or both wife and children? What
er and a relationship that, as gen-
sister. It is power or authority is exercised in domestic
eralized under the notion of fraternity or government? What makes it legitimate? Is it

brotherhood, is often set up as a model for absolute or limited and, if limited, what are
those who are not bound to one another by its Answers to questions of this sort
limits?

any ties of consanguinity. On the other usually involve comparisons of parental rule
hand, as we are reminded by the opening with despotic rule and constitutional gov-
text from Genesis about Gain and Abel, ani- ernment. Those interested in the passages
mosity and jealousy also tear at the hearts of that treat of such matters should, perhaps,
those who are tied to one another by bonds look also at similar passages in Chapter 10
of blood. Blood may be thicker than water, on Politics, especially Section 10.3 on Gov-
but it also has a lower boiling point. ernment: Its Nature, Necessity, and Forms,
Passages dealing with siblings, and their Section Government of and by the Peo-
1 0.4 on
benevolence or malevolence, are assembled ple: and Section
Republic and Democracy,
in this section, and are thus separated from 10.6 on Despotism AND Tyranny. Doing so will
the other two basic familial relationships help one to think about some of the most
(husband and wife, parents and children), problems of family life the extent
difficult —
which are treated in Sections 3 and 2 re- to which the domestic community can be
spectively. organized as a democracy, and the safe-
Another, perhaps even more basic, theme guards that can be erected against tyran-
in this section is the type of government that nical or despotic misrule.
is regulative of family life. Who rules in the

1 And Adam knew Eve his wife; and she conceived, And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt
and bare Cain, and said, I have gotten a man rule over him.
from the Lord. And Cain talked with Abel his brother: and it
And she again bare his brother Abel. And Abel came when they were in the field, that
to pass,
was a keeper of sheep, but Cain was a tiller of the Cain rose up against Abel his brother, and slew
ground. him.
And in process of time it came to pass, that And the Lord said unto Cain, Where is Abel
Cain brought of the fruit of the ground an offering thy brother? And he said, I know not: Am I my
unto the Lord. brother’s keeper?
And Abel, he also brought of the firstlings of his Genesis 4:1—9
flock and of the fat thereof. And the Lord had
respect unto Abel and to his offering: 2 And the boys grew: and Esau was a cunning
But unto Cain and to his offering he had not hunter, a man and Jacob was a plain
of the field;
respect. And Cain was very wroth, and his counte- man, dwelling in tents.
nance fell. And Isaac loved Esau, because he did eat of his
And the Lord said unto Cain, Why art thou venison: but Rebekah loved Jacob.
wroth? and why is thy countenance fallen? And Jacob sod pottage: and Esau came from
If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and w’as faint:
the field,
and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And Esau said to Jacob, Feed me, I pray thee,

143
 144 Chapter 2, Family

with that same red pottage; for I am faint: there- joy to their friends! But they know best.
all this

fore was his name called Edom. Homer, Odyss^, VI, 179
And Jacob said, Sell me this day thy birthright.
And Esau said, Behold, I am at the point to die: 6 Odysseus. Where shall a man find sweetness to sur-

and what profit shall this birthright do me?

to pass

And Jacob said. Swear to me this day; and he his own home and his parents? In far lands

s^varc unto him: and he sold his birthright unto he shall not, though he find a house of gold.

Jacob.
Homer, Odyss^, IX, 34

Then Jacob gave Esau bread and pottage of

7 Teiresias. I tell you, king, this man, this murderer
and he did eat and drink, and rose up,
lentiles;
(whom you have long declared you are in search
and went his way: thus Esau despised his birth-
of,
right.
indicting him in threatening proclamation
25:27-34
Genesis
as murderer of Laius) —he is here.
In name he is a stranger among citizens
3 If a man
have two wives, one beloved, and anoth- but soon he will be shown to be a citizen
er hated, and they have born him children, both true native Theban, and he’ll have no joy
the beloved and the hated; and if the firstborn son of the discovery: blindness for sight
be was hated:
her’s that and beggary for riches his exchange,
Then it shall be, when he maketh his sons to he shall go journeying to a foreign country
inherit that which he hath, that he may not make tapping his way before him with a stick.
the son of the beloved firstborn before the son of He shall be proved father and brother both
the hated, which is indeed the firstborn: to his own children in his house; to her
But he acknowledge the son of the hated
shall that gave him birth, a son and husband both;
for the firstborn, by giving him a double portion
a fellow sower in his father’s bed
of all that he hath: for he is the beginning of his with that same father that he murdered.
strength; the right of the firstborn is his.
Go within, reckon that out, and if you find me
Deuteronomy 21:15-17 mistaken, say I have no skill in prophecy.
Sophocles, Oedipus the King^ 448

4 If brethren dwell together, and one of them die,

and have no child, the wife of the dead shall not
8 Antigone. tomb, O O
marriage-chamber, hollowed
out
marry without unto a stranger: her husband^s
house that will watch forever, where I go.
brother shall go in unto her, and take her to him
to wife, and perform the duty of an husband’s
To my own people, who arc mostly there;
Persephone has taken them to her.
brother unto her.
Last of them all, ill-fated past the rest,
And It shall be, that the firstborn which she
beareth shall succeed in the name of his brother
shaJl I descend, before my course is run.

which is dead, that his name be not put out of

Still when I get there I may hope to find
Israel.
I come as a dear friend to my dear father,
And if the man like not to take his brother’s
to you, my mother, and my brother too.

wife, then let his brother’s wife go up to the gate

All three of you have known my hand in death.
I washed your bodies, dressed them for the grave,
unto the elders, and say, My husband’s brother
poured out the last libation at the tomb.
refuseth to raise up unto his brother a name in
Last, Polynciccs knows the price I pay
Israel,he will not perform the duty of my
for doing final service to his corpse.
husband’s brother.
Then the elders of his city shall call him, and And yet the wise will know my choice was right.
speak unto him: and if he stand to it, and say, I
Had I had children or their father dead.
like not to take her;
I’d let them moulder. I should not have chosen
in such a case to cross the state’s decree.
Then shall his brother’s wife come unto him in
the presence of the elders, and loose his shoe from
What is the law that lies behind these words?
off his foot, and spit in his face, and shall answer
One husband gone, 1 might have found another,
or a child from a new man in first child’s place,
and say, So shall it be done unto that man that
will not build up his brother’s house.
but with my parents hid away in death,
no brother, ever, could spring up for me.
Deuteronomy 24:5-9
Such was the law by which I honored you.
Sophocles, Antigone, 891
5 Odysseus. And may the gods accomplish your de-
sire: 9 Socrates.Here, then, is one difficulty in our law
a home, a husband, and harmonious about women, which we may say that we have
—
converse with him the best thing in the world now escaped; the wave has not swallowed us up
being a strong house held in serenity alive for enacting that the guardians of either sex
where man and wife agree. Woe to their enemies, should have all their pursuits in corrunon; to the
 2 ./. The Institution of the Family |
145

and also to the possibility of this arrange-

utility duction but also for the various purposes of life;
ment the consistency of the argument \vith itself for from the start the functions arc divided, and
bears witness. those of man and woman arc different; so they
Glaucon. Yes, that was a mighty wave ^vhich you help each other by throwing their peculiar gifts
have escaped. into the common stock. It is for these reasons that
Yes, I said, but a greater is coming; you will not both utility and pleasure seem to be found in this
think much of this when you see the next. kind of friendship. But this friendship may be
Go on; let me sec. based also on virtue, if the parties are good; for
The law, I said, which is the sequel of this and each has its own virtue and they will delight in
of all thathas preceded, is to the following ef- the fact. And children seem to be a bond of union
fect
—
“that the wives of our guardians are to be (which is the reason why childless people part
common, and their children are to be common, more easily); for children arc a good common to
and no parent is to know his o\vn child, nor any both and what is common holds them together.
child his parent.” Aristotle, £//u'rr, 1162^16
Yes, he said, that is a much greater wave than
the other; and the possibility as well as the utility
12 A husband and father . . . rules over wife and
of such alaw arc far more questionable.
children, both free, but the rule differs, the rule
I do not think, I said, that there can be any
over his children being a royal, over his wife a
dispute about the very great utility of having
constitutional rule. For although there may be e.x-
wives and children in common; the possibility is
ceptions to the order of nature, the male by
is
quite another matter, and will be very much dis-
nature command than the female.
fitter for
puted.
Aristotle, Politics, 1 259^39
1 think that a good many doubts may be raised
about both.
Plato, Republic, V, 457A 13 The citizens might conceivably have wives and
children and property in common, as Socrates
proposes in the Republic of Plato, Which is better,
10 SocraUs. How can marriages be made most benefi-
our present condition, or the proposed new order
cial? —that a question which I put to you, be-
is
of society?
cause I see in your house dogs for hunting, and of
the nobler sort of birds not a few. Now, I beseech
There are many difficulties in the community
you, do tell me, have you ever attended to their
of women. And the principle on which Socrates
rests the necessity of such an institution evidently
pairing and breeding?
is not established by his arguments. Further, as a
Glaucon. In what particulars?
Why, means to the end which he ascribes to the state,
in the first place, although they arc all of
the scheme, taken literally, is impracticable, and
a good sort, arc not some better than others?
True.
how we are to interpret it is nowhere precisely
stated.
And do you breed from them all indifferently,
or do you take care to breed from the best only? Aristotle, Politics, 1261M
From the best.
And do you take the oldest or the youngest, or 14 Next after they had got themselves huts and skins
only those of ripe age? and and the woman united with the man
fire,
I choose only those of ripe age. passed with him into one domicile and the duties
And if care was not taken in the breeding, your of wedlock were learnt by the two, and they saw
dogs and birds would greatly deteriorate? an offspring born from them, then first mankind
Certainly. began to soften. For fire made their chilled bodies
And the same of horses and animals in general? less able now to bear the frost beneath the canopy
Undoubtedly. of heaven, and Venus impaired their strength and
Good heavens! my dear friend, I said, what children ^s'ith their caresses soon broke down the
consummate skill will our rulers need if the same haughty’ temper of parents. Then too neighbours
principle holds of the human species! began to join in a league of friendship mutually
Certainly, the same principle holds. desiring neither to do nor suffer harm; and asked
Plato, Republic, V, 459A for indulgence to children and womankind, when
with cries and gestures they declared in stammer-
11 Between man and %vifc friendship seems to exist ing s{>cech that meet it is for all to have mercy on
by nature; for man is naturally inclined form to the weak. And though harmony could not be es-
couples—e\‘en more than to form cities, inasmuch tablished without exception, yet a very large por-
as the household is earlier and more necessary tion observed their agreements with good faith, or
than the city, and reproduction is more common else the race of man would
then have been wholly
to man ^rith the animals. With the other animals cut off, nor could breeding have continued their
the union c,xtcnds only to this point, but human generations to this day.
beings live together not only for the sake of repro- Lucretius, A^ature of Things, V
 146 I
Chapter 2, Family

15 Aeneas. Arm’d once again, my glitt’ring s^vord I 19 We arc inquiring about ordinary marriages and
wield, those which arc free from distractions, and mak-
While th’ other hand sustains my weighty shield. ing this inquiry we do not find the affair of mar-
And abandon’d field.
forth I rush to seek th* riage in this state of the world a thing which is

I went; but sad Creusa stopp’d my way, especially suited to the Cynic,
And cross the threshold in my passage lay, “How, then, shall a man maintain the existence
Embrac’d my knees, and, when I would have of society?” In the name of God, arc those men
gone, greater benefactors to society who introduce into
Shew’d me my feeble sire and tender son: the world to occupy their own places two or three
‘Ifdeath be your design, at least,’ said she, grunting children, or those who superintend as far
‘Take us along to share your destiny. as they can all mankind, and see what they do,
If any farther hopes in arms remain, how they live, what they attend to, what they ne-
This place, these pledges of your love, maintain. glect contrary to their duty? Did they who left
To whom do you expose your father’s life. little children to the Thebans do them more good

Your son’s, and mine, your now forgotten wife!’ than Epaminondas who died childless? And did
Virgil, Aeneidy II Priamus, who begat fifty worthless sons, or Da-
naus or /Eolus contribute more to the community
16 There came then mother,
his brethren and his than Homer? then shall the dut>» of a general or
and, standing without, sent unto him, calling him. the business of a writer exclude a man from mar-
And the multitude sat about him, and they said riage or the begetting of children, and such a man
unto him, Behold, thy mother and thy brethren shall not be judged to have accepted the condition
without seek for thee. of childlessness for nothing; and shall not the roy-

And he answered them, saying, Who is my alty of a Cynic be considered an equivalent for

mother, or my brethren? the want of children? Do we not perceive his

And he looked round about on them which sat grandeur and do ^vc not justly contemplate the

about him, and said. Behold my mother and my character Diogenes; and do we, instead of this,
of

brethren! turn our eyes to the present Comics, w'ho arc dogs
For whosoever shall do the will of God, the that wait at tables and in no respect imitate the
same is my brother, and my sister, and mother, Cynics of old except perchance in breaking wind,
Mark 3:31-35 but in nothing else? For such matters would not
have moved us at all nor should we have won-
17 Suppose yc that I am come to give peace on dered if a Cynic should not marry or beget chil-
earth? you. Nay; but rather division:
I tell dren. Man, the Cynic is the father of all men; the
For from henceforth there shall be five in one men are his sons, the women are his daughters: he
house divided, three against two, and two against so carefully visits all, he care for all.
so well docs

three. Do you think thatfrom idle impertinence that

it is

The father shall be divided against the son, and he rebukes those whom he meete? He docs it as a
the son against the father; the mother against the father, as a brother, and as the minister of the
daughter, and the daughter against the mother; father of all, the minister of Zeus.
the mother in law against her daughter in law, Epictetus, Discourses, III, 22
and the daughter in law against her mother in
law, 20 They who care for the rest rule —the husband the
Luke 12:51-53 wife, the parents the children, the masters the ser-
vants; and they who arc cared obey —the
for
18 Lycurgus was of a persuasion that children were women their husbands, the children their parents,
not so much tlie property of their parents as of the the ser>’ants their masters. But in the family of the
whole commonwealth, and, therefore, would not just man who lives by faith . . . even those who
have his citizens begot by the first-comers, but by rule serve those whom they seem to command; for
the best men that could be found; the laws of they rule not from a love of power, but from a
other nations seemed to him very absurd and in- sense of the duty they owe to others not because —
consistent, where people would be so solicitous for they are proud of authority', but because they love
their dogs and horses as to exert interest and to mercy.
pay money to procure fine breeding, and yet kept Augustine, Ci^' of God, XIX, 14
their wives shut up, to be made mothers only by
themselves, tvho might be foolish, infirm, or dis- 21 Now the saints of ancient times were, under the
eased; as if it were not apparent that children of a form of an cartlily kingdom, foreshadowing and
bad breed would prove their bad qualities first foretelling the kingdom of heaven. And on ac-
upon those who kept and were rearing them, and count of the necessity for a numerous offspring,
well-born children, in like manner, their good the custom of one man having several Nvives was
qualities. at that time blameless: and for the same reason it
Plutarch, Lycurgus was not proper for one w’oman to have several
 2 ./. The Institution of the Family 147

husbands, because a woman does not in that way household. Those whom nature had sent into the
become more fruitful, but, on the contrary, it is world before me relieved me of that burden for a
base harlotry to seek either gain or offspring by long time. I had already contracted a different
promiscuous intercourse. In regard to matters of bent, suitable to my disposition. At all
more
this sort, whatever the holy men of those times did events,from what I have seen of it, it is an occu-
without lust. Scripture passes over without blame, pation more bothersome than difficult: whoever is
although they did things which could not be done capable of anything else will very easily be capa-
at the present time, except through lust. ble of this.
Augustine, Christian Doctrine, III, 12 Montaigne, Essays, III, 9, Of Vanity

22 In comparing love to love we should compare one

26 Don Another Thing makes me more
Quixote,
union with another. Accordingly we must say that
uneasy: Suppose we have found out a King and a
friendship among blood relations is based upon
Princess, and I have fill’d the World with the
their connection by natural origin, the friendship
Fame of my unparallel’d Atchievements, yet can-
of fellow-citizenson their civic fellowship, and the
not I tell how I am of Royal
to find out that
friendship of those who are fighting side by side
Blood, though were but second Cousin to an
it
on the comradeship of battle. Therefore in mat-
Emperor: For, ’tis not to be expected that the
ters pertaining to nature we should love our kin-
King will ever consent that I shall wed his Daugh-
dred most, in matters concerning relations be-
ter ’till I have made
by authentick Proofs,
this out
tween citizens, we should prefer our
tho’ my Service deserve it never so much; and
fellow-citizens, and on the battlefield our fellow-
thus for want of a Punctilio, I am in danger of
soldiers.
losing what my Valour so justly merits, ’Tis true,
. . .

If however we compare union with union, it is

indeed, I am a Gentleman, and of a noted ancient
evident that the union arising from natural origin
Family, and possess’d of an Estate of a hundred
is prior to, and more stable than, all others, be-
and twenty Crowns a Year; nay, perhaps the
cause something affecting the very substance,
it is
learned Historiographer who is to write the Histo-
while other unions are something added above
ry of my improve and beautify my
Life, will so
and may cease altogether. Therefore the friend-
Genealogy, that he will find me to be the fifth, or
ship of kindred is more stable, while other friend-
sixth at least, in Descent from a King; For, Sancho,
ships may be stronger in respect of that which is
there arc two sorts of Originals in the World;
proper to each of them.
some who sprung from mighty Kings and Princes,
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, II-II, 26, 8
by little and little have been so lessen’d and
obscur’d, that the Estates and Titles of the follow-
23 Although the father ranks above the mother, the
ing Generations have dwindled to nothing, and
mother has more to do with the offspring than the
ended in a Point like a Pyramid; others, who from
father has. Or we may say that woman was made mean and low Beginnings still rise and rise, till at
chiefly in order to be man’s helpmate in relation
last they are rais’d to the very Top of human
to the offspring, whereas the man was not made
Greatness: So vast the Difference is, that those
for this purpose. Wherefore the mother has a clos-
who were Something are now Nothing, and those
er relation to the nature of marriage than the fa-
that were Nothing are now Something. And
ther has.
therefore who knows but that I may be one of
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, III Suppl., 44, 2
those whose Original is so illustrious; which being
handsomely made out, after due Examination,
24 Love hates people to be attached to each other
ought undoubtedly to satisfy the King, my Fa-
except by himself, and takes a laggard part in
ther-! n -law. But even supposing he were still re-
relations that are set up and maintained under fractory, the Princess be so desperately in
is to
another title, as marriage
Connections and
is.
love with me, that she will me without his
marry
means have, with reason, as much weight in it as
Consent, tho’ I were a Son of the meanest Water-
graces and beauty, or more. We do not marry for
Carrier; and if her tender Honour scruples to
ourselves, whatever we say; we marry just as
bless me against her Father’s Will, then it may not
much or more for our posterity, for our family.
be amiss to put a pleasing Constraint upon her, by
The practice and benefit of marriage concerns our
conveying her by Force out of the Reach of her
race very far beyond us. Therefore I like this fash-
Father, to whose Persecutions either Time or
ion of arranging it rather by a third hand than by
Death will be sure to put a Period.
our own, and by the sense of others rather than by
our own. How opposite is all this to the conven- Cervantes, Don Quixote, I, 21

tions of love!

Montaigne, Essays, III, 5, On Some Verses 27 He that hath wife and children hath given hos-

of Virgil tages to fortune; for they are impediments to great

enterprises, either of virtue or mischief.
25 I was up
late in taking the management of a Bacon, Of Marriage and Single Life
 —
148 I
Chapter 2, Family

28 Private bodies regular and lawful are those that tions of that which is political. The power of the

are constituted without letters, or other written father doth not reach at the property of the
all to

authority, saving the laws common to all other child, which is only in his o^vn disposing.
subjects. And because they be united in one per- Locke, II Civil Govemmentf XV, 170
son representative, they are held for regular; such
as are all families, in which the father or master 31 Witwoad. Odso, brother, is it you? Your servant,
ordereth the whole family. For he obligeth his brother.
children, and servants, as far as the law permit- Your Why, yours, Your
teth, though not further, because none of them are
Sir Wilfull
servant again
— servant!
and your friend and
’sheart,
sir.

bound to obedience in those actions which the law vant to that —and a
hath forbidden to be done. In all other actions, for your service, sir:
during the time they are under domestic govern- scut for your service,
ser-
—and a flap-dragon
[Puff.]
and a hare’s foot, and a hare’s
sir; an you be so cold and so

ment, they are subject to their fathers and mas- courtly!

ters, as to their immediate sovereigns. jyit. No offense, I hope, brother.
Hobbes, Leviathan, II, 22 Sir Wil. ’Sheart, sir, but there is, and much of-
fense. A pox, your Inns o* Court breeding,
is this

29 God, having made man such a creature that, in not to know your friends and your relations, your
His own judgment, it was not good for him to be ciders and your betters?
alone, put him under strong obligations of necessi- JVit. Why, Brother Wilfull of Salop, you may be

ty, convenience, and inclination, to drive him into as short as a Shrew-sbury cake, if you please. But I
society, as well as fitted him with understanding tell you ’tis not modish to know relations in town.

and language to continue and enjoy it. The first You think you’re in the country, where great lub-
society was bet\vcen man and wife, which gave berly brothers slabber and kiss one another when
beginning to that between parents and children, they meet, like a call of sergeants.—-’Tis not the
to which, in time, that betw^ecn master and ser- fashion here; ’tis not inded, dear brother.
vant came to be added. And though all these Sir IVil. The fashion’s a fool; and you’re a fop,
might, and commonly did, meet together, and dear brother,
make up but one family, wherein the master or Congreve, IVay of the World, III, xv
mistress of it had some sort of rule proper to a
family, each of these, or all together, came short of 32 The expansions of the human heart were the
first

“political society,” as we shall see if we consider effects ofa novel situation, which united husbands
the different ends, tics, and bounds of each of and \vivcs, fathers and children, under one roof.
these. The habit of living together soon gave rise to the
Locke, II Civil Government, VII, 77 finest feelings known to humanity, conjugal love
and paternal affection. Every family became a lit-
30 Paternal or parental power is nothing but that tle society, the more united because liberty and

which parents have over their children to govern
them, for the children’s good, ^till they come to the
use of reason, or a state of knowledge, wherein
they may be supposed capable to understand that
rule, whether it be the law of Nature or the mu-
nicipal law of their country', they are to govern
—
themselves by capable, I say, to know it, as well
as several others, who live as free men under that
law. The affection and tenderness God hath
planted in the breasts of parents towards their
children makes it evident that this is not intended
to be a severe arbitrary government, but only for
the help, instruction, and preservation of their off-
spring. But happen as it will, there is, as I have
proved, no reason why it should be thought to
extend to life and death, at any time, over their
reciprocal attachment were the only bonds of its
union. The sexes, whose manner of life had been
hitherto the same, began now to adopt different
ways of living. The women became more seden-
tary,and accustomed themselves to mind the hut
and their children, while the men went abroad in
search of their common subsistence. From living a
softer life, both sexes also began to lose something
of their strength and ferocity; but, if individuals
became some extent less able to encounter wild
to
beasts separately, they found it, on the other
hand, easier to assemble and resist in common.
Rousseau, Origin of Inequality, II
33 In the family, it is clear, for several reasons which
lie in its very nature, that the father ought to com-

children, more than over anybody else, or keep mand. In the first place, the authority ought not
the child in subjection to the will of his parents to be equally divided between father and mother;
when grown to a man and the perfect use of rea- the government must be single, and in every divi-
son, any farther than as having received life and sion of opinion there must be one preponderant
education from his parents obliges him to respect, voice to decide. Secondly, however lightly we may
honour, gratitude, assistance, and support, all his regard the disadvantages peculiar to women, yet,
life, to both father and mother. And thus, it is as they necessarily occasion intervals of inaction,
true, the paternal a natural government, but
is this is a sufficient reason for excluding them from
not at all extending itself to the ends and jurisdic- this supreme authority: for when the balance is
 Zy. The Institution of the Family \
149

perfectly even, a straw is enough to turn the scale. ble of bearing any, and is generally exhausted by
Besides, the husband ought to be able to superin- tw'o or three. Barrenness, so frequent among w'om-
tend his wife’s conduct, because it is of importance cn of fashion, is vcr>' rare among those of inferior
for him to be assured that the children, whom he station. Luxury in the fair sex, w’hilc it inflames
is obliged to acknowledge and maintain, belong to perhaps the passion for enjoyment, seems al way's
no one but himself. Thirdly, children should be to weaken, and frequently to destroy altogether,
obedient to their father, at first of necessity, and the powers of generation.
afterwards from gratitude: after having had their But poverty, though it docs not prevent the
wants satisfied by him during one half of their generation, is extremely unfavourable to the rear-
lives, ihc>’ ought to consecrate the other lialf to ing of children. The tender plant is produced, but
providing for his. Fourthly, scr\'ants owe him their in so cold a .soil and so severe a climate, soon w'ith-
services in exchange for the provision he makes ers and dies. It is not uncommon, 1 have been
for them, though they may break off die bargain frequently told, in the Highlands of Scotland for a
as soon as it ceases to suit them. mother who has l>ornc twenty children not to
Rousseau, Political Ectmomy have two alive.
Adam Smith, Wealth of Nations, I, 8
34 The most ancient of all societies, and the only one
that is natural, is the family: and even .so the chil- 37 Laws frequently continue in force long after the
dren remain attached to the father only so long as circumstances which first gave occasion to them,
they need him for their prcscrv'ation. As soon as and which could alone render them reasonable,
this need ceases, the natural bond is dissolved. arc no more. In the present state of Europe, the
The children, released from the obedience they proprietor of a single acre of land is as perfectly
owxd to the fallicr, and the father, released from secure of his possession as the proprietor of a hun-
the care he owed his children, return equally to dred thousand. The right of primogeniture, how-
independence. If they remain united, they contin- ever, still continues to be respected, and as of all
ue so no longer naturally, but voluntarily; and the institutions it is the fittest to support the pride of
family itself is then maintained only by con\xn- family distinctions, it is still likely to endure for
tion. many centuries. In every other respect, nothing
This common liberty results from the nature of can be more contrary to the real interest of a
man. His first law' is to provide for his owm prcscr- numerous family than a right which, in order to
x-aiion, his first cares arc those which he owes to enrich one, beggars all the rest of the children,
himself; and, as soon as he reaches years of discre- Adam Smith, Wealth of Nations, III, 2
tion, he is the sole judge of the proper means of
preserving himself, and consequently becomes his 38 Personal right of a real kind is the right to the
own master. (iossession an external object as a thing, and to
of
The family then may be called the first model the use of it as a person. mine and thine em-
of political societies: the ruler corresponds to the
braced under this right relate specially to the fam-
father, and the people to the children; and all,
ily and household; and the relations involved arc
being born free and equal, alienate their liberty
those of free beings in reciprocal real interaction
only for their owm advantage. The whole differ-
with each other, llirough their relations and in-
ence b that, in the family, the Jove of the father
fluence as persons upon one another, in accor-
for his children repays him for the care he lakes of dance w'ith the principle of external freedom as
them, while, in the State, tlic pleasure of com- the cause of it, they fomj a society composed as a
manding takes the place of the love which the whole of members standing in community w'ith
chief cannot have for the peoples under him.
each other as persons; and this constitutes the
Rousseau, Social Contract^ I, 2 household. n»c mode in which this social status in
acquired by individuals, and the functions which
35 I talked of the attachment which subsisted
little prevail within it, proceed neither by arbitrary in-
bctw'ccn near relations in London. "Sir, (said dividual action (facto), nor by mere contract (fac-
Johnson,) in a countr)- so commercial as ours, to), but by law (lege). And this law as being not
w'hcrc every man can do for himself, there is not only a right, but also as constituting possession in
somuch occasion for that attachment. No man is reference to a person, is a right rising above all
thought the worse of here, whose brother was mere real and personal right. It must, in fact, form
hanged.” the right of humanity in our own person; and, as
Boswell, Life ofJohnson (Apr. 6, 1772) such, it has as its consequence a natural permis-
sive law. by the favour of which such acquisition
36 Poverty, though it no doubt discourages, docs not becomes possible to us.
always prevent marriage. It seems even to be fa- The acquisition that is founded upon this law
vourable to generation. A half-starved Highland is, as regards its objects, threefold. Tlie man ac-
woman frequently bears more than tw'cnty chil- quires a wife; the husband and w'ifc acquire chil-
dren, while a pampered fine lady is often incapa- dren, constituting a family; and the family ac-
 —
150 I
Chapter 2, Family

quire domestics. All these objects, while acquira- would, when at last successful in finding a part-
ble, are inalienable; and the right of possession in ner, prevent too close interbreeding within the
these objects is the most strictly personal of all rights. limits of the same family.
Kant, Science of Rigkty 22-23 Dansin, Descent of hfan. III, 20

39 He heard it, but he heeded not — his eyes 44 However terrible and disgusting under the capi-
Were with his heart and that w'as far away; talistsystem the dissolution of the old family tics
He reck’d not of the life he lost nor prize. may appear, nevertheless, modern industry, by as-
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay. signing as it does an important part in the process
There w'ere his young barbarians all at play. of production, outside the domestic sphere, to
There w'as their —
Dacian mother he, their sire. women, young persons, and to children of both
to
Butcher’d to make a Roman holiday. sexes, createsa new economic foundation for a
Byron, Childe Harold’s PilgrimagCy IV, 141 higher form of the family and of the relations be-
is, of course, just as absurd to
t^vccn the sexes. It
40 The family, as the immediate substantiality of hold the Teutonic-Christian form of the family to
mind, is specifically characterized by love, which be absolute and final as it would be to apply that
is mind’s feeling of its own unity. Hence in a fam- character to the ancient Roman, the ancient
ily, one’s frame of mind is to have self-con- Greek, or the Eastern forms w’hich, moreover, tak-
sciousness of one’s individuality within this unity en together, form a series in historic development.
as the absolute essence of oneself, with the result Moreover, it is obvious that the fact of the collec-
that one is in it not as an independent person but tive working group being composed of individuals
as a member, of both sexes and all ages, must necessarily, under
Hegel, Philosophy of Right, 158 suitable conditions, become a source of humane
development; although in its spontaneously devel-
41 The ethical dissolution of the family consists in oped, brutal, capitalistic form, where the labourer
this, that once the children have been educated to exists for the process of production, and not the
freedom of pei^nality, and have come of age, process of production for the labourer, that fact is

they become recognized as persons in the eyes of a pestiferous source of corruption and slavery.
the law and as capable of holding free property of Marx, Capital, Vol. I, IV, 15
their own and founding families of their own, the
sons as heads of new families, the daughters as 45 Abolition of the family! Even the most radical
wives. TTiey now have their substantive destiny in flare up at this infamous proposal of the Commu-
the new family; the old family on the other hand nists.
falls into the background as merely their ultimate On what foundation is the present family, the
basis and origin, while a fortiori the clan is an ab- bourgeois family, based? On capital, on private
straction, devoid of rights. gain. In its completely developed form this family
Hegel, Philosophy of Right, 177 e.xists only among the bourgeoisie. But the state of
things finds its complement in the practical ab-
42 The piety of the family relation should be re- sence of the family among the proletarians, and in
spected in the highest degree by the state; by its public prostitution.
means the state obtains as its members individuals The bourgeois family will vanish as a matter of
who are already moral (for as mere persons they course when its complement vanishes, and both
are not) and who in uniting to form a state bring w'illvanish w'ith the vanishing of capital.
with them that sound basis of a political edifice Do you charge us with wanting to stop the e,x-
the capacity of feeling one ^vith a whole. ploitation of children by their parents? To this
Hegel, Philosophy of History, Introduction, 3 crime we plead guilty.
But, you will say, w'c destroy the most hallowed
43 Looking far enough back in the stream of time, of relations when w’e replace home education by
and judging from the social habits of man as he social.
now exists, the most probable view is that he ab- And your education! Is not that also social, and
originally lived in small communities, each with a determined by the social conditions under w'hich
single wife, or if po\verfuI with several, whom he you educate, by the interx'ention of society, direct
jealously guarded against all other men. Or he or indirect, by means of schools, etc.? The Com-
may not have been a social animal, and yet have munists have not invented the intervention of so-
lived with several wives, like the gorilla; for all the ciety in education; they do but seek to alter the
natives “agree that but one adult male is seen in a character of that interv'ention and to rescue edu-
band; when the young male grows up, a contest cation from the influence of the ruling class.
takes place for mastery,and the strongest, by kill- The bourgeois claptrap about the family and
ing and driving out the others, establishes himself education, about the hallowed co-relation of par-
as the head of the community.” The younger ent and child, becomes all the more disgusting,
males, being thus expelled and wandering about. the more, by the action of modem industry, all
 2J. The Institution of the Family 151

family ties among the proletarians are tom asun- 50 In order to carry through any undertaking in
der and their children transformed into simple ar- family life, there must necessarily be either com-
ticles of commerce and instruments of labour. plete division between the husband and wife, or

Marx and Engels, Communist ManifestOy 11 loving agreement. When the relations of a couple
are vacillating and neither one thing nor the
other, no can be undertaken.
sort of enterprise
46 The duties of parents to their children are those
which are indissolubly attached to the fact of
Many remain for years in the same
families
place, though both husband and wife are sick of
causing the existence of a human being. The par-
it, simply because there is neither complete divi-
ent owes to society to endeavour to make the child
sion nor agreement between them.
a good and valuable member of it, and owes to
the children to provide, so far as depends on him,
Tolstoy, Anna Karenina, VII, 23

such education, and such appliances and means,

as will enable them to start with a fair chance of 51 Our immediate family is a part of ourselves. Our
achieving by their own exertions a successful life. father and mother, our wife and babes, are bone
To this every child has a claim; and I cannot ad- of our bone and flesh of our flesh. When they die,
mit, that as a child he has a claim to more. a part of our very selves is gone. If they do any-
Mill, Principles of Political Economy, thing wrong, it is our shame. If they are insulted,
Bk. II, 11, 3 our anger flashes forth as readily as if we stood in
their place. Our home comes next. Its scenes are

47 The family, justly constituted, would be the real part of our life; its awaken the tenderest
aspects
school of the virtues of freedom. It is sure to be a feelings of affection; and we do not easily forgive
sufficient one of everything else. It will always be the stranger who, in visiting it, finds fault with its

a school of obedience for the children, of com- arrangements or treats it with contempt. All these
mand for the parents. What is needed is, that it different things are the objects of instinctive pref-
should be a school of sympathy in equality, of liv- erences coupled with the most important practical
ing together in love, without power on one side or interests of life. We
all have a blind impulse to

obedience on the other. This it ought to be be- watch over our body, to deck it with clothing of
tween the parents. It would then be an exercise of an ornamental sort, to cherish parents, wife and
those virtues which each requires to fit them for babes, and to find for ourselves a home of our own
all other association, and a model to the children which we may live in and “improve.”
of the feelings and conduct which their temporary William James, P^chology, X
training by means of obedience is designed to ren-
der habitual, and therefore natural, to them. The
52 We are told that sexual attraction is diverted from
moral training of mankind will never be adapted
the members of the opposite sex in one family ow-
to the conditions of the life for which all other
ing to their living together from early childhood;
human progress is a preparation, until they prac-
or that a biological tendency against in-breeding
tise in the family the same moral rule which is
has a mental equivalent in the horror of incest!
adapted to the moral constitution of human soci-
Whereby it is entirely overlooked that no such rig-
ety. Any sentiment of freedom which can exist in
orous prohibitions in law and custom would be
a man whose nearest and dearest intimacies are
required if any trustworthy natural barriers
with those of whom he is absolute master, is not
against the temptation to incest existed. The op-
the genuine or Christian love of freedom, but,
posite is the truth. The first choice of object in
what the love of freedom generally was in the an-
mankind regularly an incestuous one, directed
cients and in the middle ages —
an intense feeling
to the
is

mother and sister ofmen, and the most

of the dignity and importance of his own person-
stringent prohibitions are required to prevent this
ality; making him disdain a yoke for himself, of
sustained infantile tendency from being carried
which he has no abhorrence whatever in the ab-
into effect.
stract, but which he is abundantly ready to im-
pose on others for his own interest or glorification. Freud, General Introduction
to P^cho-Analysis, XXI
Mill, Subjection of Women, II

48 The pleasure married people get from one anoth- 53 The indestructible strength of the family as a nat-
er . . .is only the beginnings of marriage and not ural group formation rests upon the fact that this
its whole significance, which lies in the family. necessary presupposition of the father’s equal love

Tolstoy, War and Peace,

can have a real application in the family.
I Epilogue, X Freud, Group P^chology and Analysis
of the Ego, X
49 Happy families are all alike; every unhappy fam-
ily is unhappy in its own way. 54 The conditions of object-choice in women are of-
Tolstoy, Anna Karenina, I, 1 ten enough made unrecognizable by social consid-
 152 Chapter 2, Family

erations. Where that choice is allowed to manifest second marriage may easily turn out far more sat-
itself freely, it often occurs according to the narcis- isfactorily.
, ,, r j
Freud, New Introductory Lectures
sistic ideal of the man whom the girl would have
remained attached to
on Psycho-Analysis, XXXIII
liked to be. If the girl has
her father, if, that is to say, she has remained in 55 Love is an overture in which
but a prelude to life,

the Oedipus-complex, then she chooses according
to a father-type. Since, when she turned from her
mother to her father, the antagonistic part of her
ambivalent feelings remained directed on to her
mother, such a choice should ensure a happy mar-
the theme of the impending work is exquisitely
hinted at, but which remains nevertheless only a
symbol and a promise. What is to follow, if all
goes well, begins presently to appear. Passion set-
tles down into possession, courtship into partner-

riage. But very often a factor emerges which in ship, pleasure into habit. A child, half mystery
general imperils such solutions of the ambiva- and half plaything, comes to show us what we
lence-conflict. The antagonism which has been have done and to make its consequences perpetu-
left behind may follow in the wake of the positive al. We see that by indulging our inclinations we

attachment, and extend to the new object. The have woven about us a net from which we cannot
husband, who had in the first instance inherited escape: our choices, bearing fruit, begin to mani-

his position from the father, comes in the course of fest our destiny. That life which once seemed to
time to inherit the position of the mother as well. spread out infinitely before us is narrowed to one
In this way it may easily occur that the second mortal career. We learn that in morals the infinite
part of a woman’s life is taken up with a struggle is a chimera, and that in accomplishing anything

against her husband, just as the shorter earlier definite a man renounces everything else. He sails
part was occupied with rebellion against her henceforth for one point of the compass.
mother. After this reaction has been lived out, a Santayana, Life of Reason, 11, 2

2.2 Parents and Children

Some of the matters covered in Section 2.1 sights that represent probing in depth, as the
unavoidably spill over into this one, such as reader will discover for himself by compar-
the authority of parents and the respect or ing the observations of such moderns as Dos-
obedience owed to them by their offspring. toevsky, Tolstoy, and Freud with the re-
But there are, in addition, many new points marks of their predecessors.
of interest here, such as observations about Many of the passages quoted are not
the joys and pains of parenthood and of statements about the relation of parents and
childhood, and insights into the complexities children, but rather examples or manifesta-
of the parent-child relationship. If every fac- tions of that relationship. Like the catalogue
et of the subject is not covered, or not cov- of the ships in Homer’s Iliad, the mere recit-
ered with equal adequacy, it is at least possi- al of the names of famous pairs or trios re-
ble to claim that this assemblage of passages corded in these passages has the effect of
represents a fair sampling of the wide div- awakening our interest: David and Absa-
ersity of opinions and attitudes across the lom, Thetis and Achilles, Priam and Hector,
centuries. Yet it is only recently — in the last Odysseus and Telemachus, Clytemnestra
hundred years or less —that our under- and Orestes, Medea and her children, Hec-
standing of this human relationship has tor and Astyanax, Socrates and his sons, An-
grown highly sophisticated and involves in- chises and Aeneas, Gertrude and Hamlet,
 22, Parents and Children |
153

Lciir and Cordelia* Goncril, and Regan, his failu!r, Mill and his,rreucl and his, Stc-
Squire Western and Sopliia, RouSvSean and phen Daedalus (i.c», James Joyce) and Ins.

1 Unto the woman he Mid, I will ijreaily multiply Am! the one woman said, O my lord, I and this
thy yorrow and thy conception; in v)rrow thou woman dwell in one hou'c; and was delivered of I

shalt bring forth children. a child with her in tlic house.

Grxein J;ir> And it came to pavs the third day after that I
was delivered, that this woman was delivered also:
2 And Jephthah \'owcd a vow unto the I^ord, and and we were together; there was no stranger svith
thou shall witliout fail deliver the children
said. If us in the house, save svr two in the house.
of Amnton into mine hands, And this woman’s child died in the night; l>c-
TTicn it shall l>e, that whatsoever comcih forth cause she overlaid it.
of the doors of my hou^ to meet me, when I re- And sho .arose at midnight, and took my ?^n
turn in pe^acc from the children of Ammon, sltall from iKside me, while thine handmaid slept, and
surely l)c the Lord’s, and I will offer it up for a laid it in her lx)sont, and laid her dr.ul child in
burnt offering. my lx>som.
So Jcphthalt passed over unto the children of And when 1 rose in themorning to give my
Ammon to fight againu them; and the I,otd de- child suck, behold, was dead: but when I had
it

livered them into his hands. . . . considered it in the morning, lv“hold, it was not
And Jephthah came to Mirpeh unto his hou^e, my son, which 1 did iKar.
and, behold, his daughter came out to meet him 5 And woman said, Nay; but the living
the other
with timbrels and with dantt^: and she was his is my and the tlcad Is tliy fon. And this said,
son,
only child; beside her he had neither son nor No; but the drad is thy vm, and tlic living is my
daughter. sort, they spake iKforc the king.
And it came to pass, when hr s.aw her, that he 'Hien said the king, The one with, ITis is my
rent his clothes, and yaid, Alas, my daughter! thoti son that liveth, and thy son is the dead: and the
hast brought me and tlmu art one of
very* low, other saith. Nay; but thy son is the dead, and my
them that trouble me: for I have opened my ron is the living.
mouth unto the Lord, and I cannot go bach. And the king saitl. bring me a sword. And they
And she said unto him, My father, if thou hast brought a swcird l>rforr the king.
opened thy mouth unto the I.ord, do to me ac- And the king .said, Divide the living child in
cording to that which hath proceeded out of thy two, and give half to the one. and half to tire
mouth; forasmuch as the I^rd hath taken ven- other,
geance for thee of thine enemies, even of the chil- 'fhen spake the woman whose the living cliild
dren of Ammon. was unto the king, for her Iwsscls yearned upon
And she said unto her father, l.et this thing I>e her son, and she .said, O iny lord, give her the
done for me: let me alone two months, that I may living child, an<l in no wise slay it. Hut the other
go up and down upon tlic mountains, and l>cwnil said, lart it l>e neither mine nor thine, but divide
my virginity, I and my fellows. it.

And he Go. And he sent Iicr away for tw'O

said, 'Oicn the king answered and said, Give licr tl»c
months: and she went with her companions, and living child, and in no wise slay it: she is the
bewailed her virginity upon the mountains. mother thereof.
And it came to pass at the end of two months, / A'rn^x 3:10-27
that she relumed unto licr father, who did with
her according to his vow* whicli he had vowed: !» He that sparcth his ro<l hateth his son: but he that
and she knew' no man. loveth him cliastcncth him iKtimcs.
11:30-39 Provnh 13:24

3 And the king was much moved, and went up to Train up a child in the way he should go: and
the chamber over the gate, and wept: and as he when he is old, he will not depart from it,
went, thus he said, O
my son Ab-sa-1om, my son, Proirrbs 22:6
my son Ab-sa-lom! W'ould Gorl 1 had died for thee,
O Ab^sa-lom* my son, my son! 7 But when the twelfth daw*n after this day ap-
I! Samtitl 1B:33 peared, tire gotls who
live forever came back to Olympos all in a body
4 ITicn came there two women, that wTre harlots, and Zeus led them; nor did Thetis forget the en-
unto the king, and stood before him. treaties
 154 1
Chapter 2, Family

of her son, but she emerged from the sea’s waves when they fought about Ilion.”
early So will one speak of you; and
for you it will be yet

in themorning and went up to the tall sky and a fresh grief,

Olympos. to be widowed of such a man who could fight off
She found Kronos’ broad-browed son apart from the day of your slavery.
the others But may I be dead and the piled earth hide me
upon the highest peak of rugged Olympos.
sitting under before I
She came and sat beside him wth her left hand hear you crying and know by this that they drag
embracing you captive.*
his knees, but tookhim underneath the chin with So speaking glorious Hektor held ‘out his arms
her right hand to his baby,
and spoke in supplication to lord Zeus son of Kro- who shrank back to his fair-girdled nurse’s bosom
nos: screaming, and frightened at the aspect of his owm
‘Father Zeus, if ever before in word or action father,
I did you favour among the immortals, now grant terrified as he saw the bronze and the crest with
what I ask for. its horse-hair,
Now give honour to my son short-lived beyond all nodding dreadfully, as he thought, from the peak
other of the helmet.
mortals. Since even now the lord of men Aga- Then his beloved father laughed out, and his hon-
memnon oured mother,
dishonours him, who has taken away his prize and and at once glorious Hektor lifted from his head
keeps it. the helmet
Zeus of the counsels, lord of Olympos, now do him and laid it in all its shining upon the ground.
honour. Then taking
So long put strength into the Trojans, until the up dear son he tossed him about in his arms,
his
Achaians and
kissed him,
give my son his rights, and his honour is increased and lifted his voice in prayer to Zeus and the
among them.* other immortals:
Homer, Iliads I, 493 ‘Zeus, and you other immortals, grant that this
boy, who is my son,

8 Then tall Hektor of the shining helm answered may be as I am, pre-eminent among the Trojans,
great in strength, as am I, and rule strongly over
her. . . .

Ilion;
‘I know this thing well in my heart, and my
mind knows it: and some day let them say of him: “He is better
there will come a day when sacred Ilion shall per- by far than his father”,
ish,
as he comes in from the fighting; and let him kill

and Priam, and the people of Priam of the strong

his enemy
ash spear. and bring home the blooded spoils, and delight

But it not so
is much the pain to come of the
the heart of his mother.’
Trojans So speaking he set his child again in the arms of
that troubles me, not even of his beloved
Priam the king nor
Hekabe, wife, who took him back again to her fragrant
not the thought of my brothers who in their num- bosom
bers and valour smiling in her tears.

shalldrop in the dust under the hands of men who Homer, Iliad, VI, 440
hate them,
as troubles me the thought of you, when some
bron ze-arm oured 9 Andromache. The day
Achaian leads you off, taking away your day of of bereavement leaves a child with no agemates to
liberty, befriend him.
in tears; and in Argos you must work at the loom He bo\vs his head before everyman, his cheeks arc
of another, bewept, he
and carry water from the spring Messeis or Hy- goes, needy, a boy among his father’s companions,
percia, and tugs at this man by the mantle, that man by
all unwilling, but strong will be the necessity upon the tunic,
you; and they pity him, and one gives him a tiny drink
and some day seeing you shedding tears a man from a goblet,
will say of you: enough to moisten his lips, not enough to moisten
“This is the wife of Hektor, who was ever the his palate.
bravest fighter But one whose parents are living beats him out of
of the Trojans, breakers of horses, in the days the banquet
 2.2. Parents and Children 155

hitting him with his fists and in words also abuses must they die in any case; and since they must, I
him: will slay them — I, the mother that bare them. O
“Get out, you! Your father is not dining among heart of mine, steel thyself! Why
do I hesitate to
us.” do the awful deed that must be done? Gome, take
Homer, Iliad, XXII, 489 the sword, thou wretched hand of mine! Take it,

and advance to the post whence starts the life of

10 Athena. “But tell me this now, make it clear to me: sorrow! Away
with cowardice! Give not one
You must be, by your looks, Odysseus* boy? thought to thy babes, how dear they are or how
The way your head is shaped, the fine eyes yes, — thou art their mother. This one brief day forget
how like him! We took meals like this together thy children dear, and after that lament; for
many a time, before he sailed for Troy though thou wilt slay them yet they were thy dar-
with all the lords of Argos in the ships. lings still.

I have not seen him since, nor has he seen me.*’ Euripides, Medea, 1236

And thoughtfully Telemakhos replied: 14 Andromache. O darling child I loved too well for
happiness,
“Friend, let me put it in the plainest way.
your enemies will kill you and leave your mother
My mother says I am his son; I know not
forlorn.
surely. Who has known his own engendering?
Your own father’s nobility, where others found
I wish at least I had some happy man
protection, means your murder now. The memory
as father, gro>ving old in his house
but unknown death and silence are the fate
of his valor comes ill-timed for you. O bridal bed,
of him that, since you ask, they call my father.”
O marriage rites that brought me home to
Hector’s house
Homer, Odyss^, I, 213
a bj-ide, you were unhappy in the end. I lived
never thinking the baby I had was born for butch-
1 1 CUissa. A baby is like a beast, it does not think
ery
but you have to nurse it, do you not, the way it
wants.
by Greeks, but for lordship over all Asia’s pride of
earth.
For the child still in swaddling clothes can not tell
us
Poor child, are you crying too? Do you know what
they
if he is hungry or he needs to make
thirsty, if

water. Children’s young insides are a law to them-

will do to you? Your fingers clutch my dress.

selves.
What use,

Aeschylus, Libation Bearers, 753

to nestle likea young bird under the mother’s
wing?
12 Chorus. Amongst mortals I do assert that they who Hector cannot come back, not burst from under-
are wholly without experience and have never ground
had children far surpass in happiness those who to save you, that spear of glory caught in the
arc parents. The childless, because they have nev- quick hand,
er proved whether children grow up to be a bless- nor Hector’s kin, nor any strength of Phrygian
ing or curse tomen are removed from all share in arms.
many troubles; whilst those who have a sweet race Yours the sick leap head downward from the
of children growing up in their houses do wear height, the fall
away, as I perceive, their whole life through; first where none have pity, and the spirit smashed out
with the thought how they may train them up in in death.
virtue, next how they shall leave their sons the O last and loveliest embrace of all, O child’s
means to live; and from clear
after all this ’tis far sweet fragrant body. Vanity in the end. I nursed
whether on good or bad children they bestow for nothing the swaddled baby at this mother’s
their toil. But one last crowning woe for every breast
mortal man I now will name; suppose that they in vain the wrack of the labor pains and the long
have found sufficient means to live, and seen their sickness.
children grow to man’s estate and walk in virtue’s Now once again, and never after this, come close
path, still if fortune so befall, comes Death and toyour mother, lean against my breast and wind
bears the children’s bodies off to Hades. Can it be your arms
any profit to the gods to heap upon us mortal men around my neck, and put your lips against my
beside our other woes this further grief for chil- lips.

dren lost, a grief surpassing all? Euripides, Trojan Women, 740

Euripides, Medea, 1090
15 Iphis. In grief I ask: Why cannot mortals be
13 Medea. My friends, I am
upon the deed;
resolved Twice young, then reach old age a second time?
at once will I slay my children and then leave this If anything goes wrong at home, we right it
land, without delaying long enough to hand them By afterthoughts; but not so with a life.
over to some more savage hand to butcher. Needs If youth and age came twice, a double life
 156 I
Chapter 2. Family

Would be our lot, and we could set things right but in god's name^in the name of heaven^

No matter what mistakes were made. When 1 saw what was I supposed to do?
others Shout hurrah
With families, I became an adorer of children by keeping still?

And sorely longed for some to call my own. Euripides, Orestes^ 566
had come to this experience
If I
With children, and known what it is for a father 18 Socrates. When my sons arc grown up, I would ask
to lose them, you, O my punish them; and I would
friends, to
Never would I have reached the point of woe have you trouble them, as I have troubled you, if
Where now I stand; to have started into life they seem to care about riches, or anything, more
A noble youth,* and then be robbed of him. than about virtue; or if they pretend to be some-
And now, in my wretchedness, what shall I do? thing when they arc really nothing, then re- —
Return to my house, to sec the emptiness prove them, as I have reproved you, for not caring
Of many rooms, and a hopeless round of living? about that for which they ought to care, and
Or shall I go where Capancus once dwelt? thinking that they arc something when they arc
What a delight that was, when I had this child I really nothing. And if you do this, both I and my
But now she is no more she who would draw— sons will have received justice at your hands.
My check to her lips and clasp my head in her Plato, Apology, 41B
hands.
To an old father, nothing is more sweet 19 Athenian Stranger. All which a man has belongs to
Than a daughter. Boys arc more spirited, but those who gave him birth and brought him up,
their ways and that he must do all that he can to minister to
Are not so tender. them, first, in his property, secondly, in his person,
Euripides, Suppliant 1080 and thirdly, in his soul, in return for the endless
care and travail w’hich they bestowed upon him of
16 Oustes. 1 had two duties, two clear choices, old, in the days of his infancy, and which he is
both of them conflicting. now to pay back to them when they arc old and in
My father begot me, the extremity of tltcir need. And all his life long
my mother gave me birth. She was the furrow he ought never to utter, or to have uttered, an
in which his seed was sown. But without the unbecoming word to them; for of light and fleet-
fatlicr, ing words the penalty is most severe; Nemesis, the
there is no birth. That being so, I thought, messenger of justice, is appointed to watch over all
I ought to stand by him, the true agent such matters. When they are angry’ and want to
of my birth and being, rather than with her satisfy their feelings in word or deed, he should
w'ho merely brought me up. give way to them; for a father who thinks that he
Euripides, Or«f«, 552 has been wxonged by his son may be reasonably
expected to be very’ angry'. At their death, the
17 Orestes. Tell me, what would happen most moderate funeral is best, neither exceeding
ifour women decided to adopt my mother’s the customary expense, nor yet falling short of the
example, honour which has been usually shown by the for-

killed their husbands and then came rushing mer generation to their parents. And let a man
home not forget to pay the yearly tribute of respect to
to their children, exposing their breasts for pity? the dead, honouring them chiefly by omitting
Why, they could murder a man for any trifle, nothing that conduces to a perpetual remem-
on any pretext. But my “crime,” as call you it, brance of them, and giving a reasonable portion
has stopped that practice for good or kept it of his fortune to the dead. Doing this, and living
from spreading. after this manner, we shall receive our reward
I had every’ right to kill her. from the Gods and those who are above us [that is,
I hated her, and I had every reason in the world the demons]; and wc shall spend our day’s for the
to hate. most part in good hope.
Gods, my poor father away from home, Plato, Laws, IV, 717A
a soldier fighting in war in his country’s service,
and what did she do? She took a lover 20 Athenian Stranger. Of all animals the boy is the most
and betrayed his bed! unmanageable, inasmuch as he has the fountain
And w'hen she was caught, of reason in him not yet regulated; he is the most
did she do the proper thing and put herself insidious, sharp-witted, and insubordinate of ani-
to death? mals. Wherefore he must be bound with many
Not my mother. No, she murdered him bridles; in the first place, when he gets away from
to save herself. mothers and nurses, he must be under the man-
should not invoke the gods
I agement of tutors on account of his childishness
when defending myself on a charge of murder, and foolishness; then, again, being a freeman, he
 2.2, Parents and Children 157

must be controlled by teachers, no matter what
they teach, and by studies; but he is also a slave,
and in that regard any freeman who comes in his
way may punish him and his tutor and his in-
structor, if any of them docs anything wrong; and
There shot a streaming lamp along the sky.
Which on the winged lightning seem’d to fly;
From o’er the roof the blaze began to move.
And, trailing, vanish’d in th* Idxan grove.
It swept a path in hcav’n, and shone a guide,

he who comes across him and docs not inflict Then in a steaming stench of sulphur died.
upon him the punishment w'hich he deserves, shall “The good old man with suppliant hands
incur the greatest disgrace. implor’d
Plato, Laws, VII, 808B The gods’ protection, and their star ador’d.
‘Now, now,’ said he, *my son, no more delay!
21 In the matter of food wc should help our parents 1 yield, I follow where Heav’n shews the way. . . .

before all others, since wc owe our own nourish- 'Haste, my dear father, (’tis no time to wait,)
ment to them, and it is more honourable to help And load my shoulders with a ^^^lling freight.
in this respect the authors of our being even before Whate’er befalls, your life shall be my care;
ourselves;and honour too one should give to one’s One death, or one dcliv’rance, wc will share.
parents as one docs to the gods, but not any and My hand shall lead our little son; and you,
every honour; for that matter one should not give My faithful consort, shall our steps pursue.’’
the same honour to one’s father and one’s mother. Virgil, Aeneid, 11
Aristotle, Ethics, 1165*21
26 And lo a voice from heaven, saying, This is my
22 Those arc wrong who in their laws attempt to beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.
check the loud cr^'ing and screaming of children, Matthew 3:17
for these contribute towards their growth, and, in
a manner, exercise their bodies. Straining the 27 Now his parents went to Jerusalem every year at
voice has a strengthening effect similar to that the feast of the passover.
produced by the retention of the breath in violent And when he was twelve years old, they went
exertions. up to Jerusalem after the custom of the feast.
Aristotle, Politics, 1336*34 And when they had fulfilled the days, as they
returned, the child Jesus tarried behind in Jerusa-
23 Begin, auspicious boy! to cast about lem; and Joseph and his mother knew not of it.
Thy infant eyes, and, with a smile, thy mother But they, supposing him to have been in the
single out. company, went a day’s journey; and they sought
Thy mother well dcscrv’cs that short delight. him among their kinsfolk and acquaintance.
The nauseous qualms of ten long months and tra- And when they found him not, they turned
vail to requite. back again to Jerusalem, seeking him.
Then smile! the frowming infant’s doom is read. And came to pass, that after three days they
it

No god shall croum the board, nor goddess
the bed.
Virgil, Eclogues,
24 CoToebus. Behold! Polites, one of Priam’s sons,
Pursued by Pyrrhus, there for safety runs.
Thro’ sw-’ords and foes, amaz’d and hurt, he flies
Thro* empty courts and open galleries.
Him Pyrrhus, urging with his lance, pursues,
And often reaches, and his thrusts renews.
The youth, transfix’d, with lamentable cries.
Expires before his wretched parent’s eyes:
Whom gasping at his feet when Priam saw,
The fear of death gave place to nature’s law;
And, shaking more with anger than with age,
*The gods,’ said he, ‘requite thy brutal rage!
As sure they will, barbarian, sure they must,
If there be gods in heav’n, and gods be just
Who tak’st in wrongs an insolent delight;
With a son’s death t’ infect a father’s sight.*
Virgil, Aeneid, 11
25 Aeneas. Scarce had he said, when, on our
hear
A peal of rattling thunder roll in air:
bless found him in the temple, sitting in the midst of
the doctors, both hearing them, and asking them
IV questions.
And all that heard him were astonished at his
understanding and answers.
And when they saw him, they were amazed:
and his mother said unto him. Son, why hast thou
thus dealt with us? behold, thy father and I have
sought thee sorrowing.
And he said unto them. How is it that ye sought
me? wist ye not that I must be about my Father’s
business?
And they understood not the saying which he
spake unto them.
And he went down with them, and came to
Nazareth, and was subject unto them: but his
mother kept all these sayings in her heart.
LwA-r 2:41-51
28 And he said, A certain man had two sons:
And the younger of them said to his father. Fa-
ther, give me the portion of goods that falleth to
left, wc me. And he divided unto them his living.
And not many days after the younger son gath-
ered all together, and took his journey into a far
 158 Chapter 2. Family

country, and there wasted his substance with riot- his mother, said, “O woman,
the Athenians gov-
ous living. ern the Greeks; govern the Athenians, but you
I

And when he had spent all, there arose a govern me, and your son governs you; so let him
mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in use his power sparingly, since, simple as he is, he
want. can do more than all the Greeks together.”
And he went and joined himself to a citizen of Plutarch, Aiarcus Cato
that country; and he sent him into his fields to
feed swine. 30 As soon as he [Cato] had a son born, though he
And he would fain have with the
filled his belly had never such urgent business upon his hands,
husks that the swine did eat: and no man gave unless it were some public matter, he would be by
unto him. when his wife washed it and dressed it in its swad-
And when he came to himself, he said. How dling clothes. For she herself suckled it; nay, she
many hired servants of my father’s have bread often, too, gave her breast to her servants’ chil-
enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger! dren, to produce, by suckling the same milk, a
I will arise and go to my father, and will say kind of natural love in them to her son. When he
unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, began to come to years of discretion, Cato himself
and before thee, would teach him to read, although he had a ser-
And am no more worthy to be called thy son: vant, a very good grammarian, called Chilo, who
make me as one of thy hired servants. taught many
others; but he thought not fit, as he
And he arose, and came to his father. But when himself said, to have his son reprimanded by a
he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and slave, or pulled, it may be, by the cars when found
had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, tardy in his lesson: nor would he have him owe to
and kissed him. a servant the obligation of so great a thing as his
And the son said unto him. Father, I have sin- learning; he himself, therefore (as we were say-
ned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no ing), taught him his grammar, law, and his gym-
more worthy to be called thy son. nastic exercises. Nor did he only show him, too,
But the father said to his servants, Bring forth how throw a dart, to fight in armour, and to
to
the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring ride, but to box also and to endure both heat and
on his hand, and shoes on his feet: cold, and to swim over the most rapid and rough
And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and rivers. He says, likewise, that he wrote histories, in
let us eat, and be merry: large characters, with his own hand, that so his
For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he son, without stirring out of the house, might learn
was lost, and is found. And they began to be mcr- to know' about his countrymen and forefathers;
ry* nor did he less abstain from speaking anything
Now his elder son was in the field: and as he obscene before his son, than if it had been in the
came and drew nigh to the house, he heard mu- presence of the sacred virgins, called vestals.
sick and dancing. Plutarch, Marcus Cato
And he called one of the servants, and asked
29 what these things meant.
31 After the birth of our four sons you yearned for a
And
he said unto him. Thy brother is come;
daughter, and I seized the opportunity of giving
and thy father hath killed the fatted calf, because
her your dear name: I know that she was precious
he hath received him safe and sound.
to you. Peculiar poignancy attaches to tenderness
And he was angry, and would not go in: there- for childrenwhen their presence is altogether wel-
fore came his father out, and intreated him.
come and completely untainted by ill will and re-
And he ansu'cring said to his father, Lo, these proach. The child herself possessed a marvelous
many years do I serve thee, neither transgressed I
checrincss of temper and gentleness, and her re-
at any time thy commandment: and yet thou nev- sponsiveness to love and eagerness to please
er gavest me a kid, that I might make merry with
evoked not only pleasure but an appreciation of
my friends:
human goodness. She w'ould invite her nurse to
But as soon as this thy son was come, which
offer her breast not only to other infants but ev'en
hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast
to furnishings and toys in w'hich she took delight.
killed for him the fatted calf.
Itwas as if, out of humane sensibilities, she invited
And he said unto him, Son, thou art ever with them to her own table, to share in the good things
me, and all that I have is thine. she had; what was most delightful to her she
It was meet that we should make merry, and be
wished all who pleased her to enjoy.
glad: for this thy brother was dead, and is alive
I cannot see, my dear wife, why these and simi-
again; and was lost, and is found.
lar qualities which delighted us when she was
Luke 15:11-32 alive should now distress and confound us when
we bring them to mind. Rather do I fear lest w'C
The sayings of Themistoclcs, who, when his son lose those memories along with our grief, ... In
was making many demands of him by means of general, nature avoids everything that causes dis-
 2.2, Parents and Children 159

tress. But in the case of our child, in the degree children and the mere bargain of a lustful love,
that she proved to us a thing most lovable to fon- where if children come they come unwanted
dle and look at and hear, so the mcmor>’ of her though when they are born, they compel our love.
must abide with us and become part of us, and it Augustine, Confessions, IV, 2
will bring us a greater quantity and variety of joy
than of sorrow. 37 Why I left the one country and went to the other,
Plutarch, Consolation to His Wife You Knew, O God, but You did not tell either me
or my mother. She indeed was in dreadful grief at
32 So, shun damnable deeds. For this there’s at least my going and followed me right to the scacoasi.
one good reason Tlicrc she clung to me passionately, determined
Lest our children repeat the crimes we have that should either go back home with her or take
I

taught them. We all her to Rome with me, but I deceived her with the
Arc easily led, too prone to imitate wicked behav- pretence that I had a friend whom I did not want
ior. . . . to leave until he had sailed off with a fair wind.
To a child is due the greatest respect: in whatever Thus I lied to my mother, and such a mother.
Nastiness you prepare, don’t despise the years of Augustine, Confessions, V, 8
your children,
But let your infant son dissuade you from being a 38 When the day was approaching on which she [St.
sinner. Monica] was to depart this life a day that You—
For if, in days to come, he earns the wrath of the —
knew though we did not it came about, as I be-
censor, lieve by Your secret arrangement, that she and I
Being a man like you not only in body and fea- stood alone leaning in a window, which looked
tures. inw'ards to the garden within the house where we
But also the son of your ways, a walker in all of were staying, at Ostia on the Tiber; for there we
your footsteps, were away from cvcry*body, resting for the sea-
Treading deeper in vice, you will oh, of — voyage from the weariness of our long journey by
course! —
be indignant. land. There we talked together, she and I alone,
Rail with bitter noise, and make a new will. That in deep joy; and forgetting the things that were behind
vnW teach him. and looking foru^ard to those that were before, we were
Yet what makes you assume the father's frown, discussing in the presence of Truth, which You
and the father's arc, what the eternal life of the saints could be
Freedom of speech and act, when you behave like, which eye has not seen nor ear heard, nor has it

worse, as an old man, entaed into the heart of man. But with the mouth of
Than he ever did, and the windy cupping-glass our heart we panted for the high waters of Your
searches fountain, the fountain of the life which is with
Vainly around your head for brains that it cannot You: that being sprinkled from that fountain ac-
discover? cording to our capacity, we might in some sense
Juvenal, Satire XIV meditate upon so great a matter.
And our conversation had brought us to this
33 Once a child is bom, it is no longer in our power point, that any pleasure whatsoever of the bodily
not to love it nor care about it. senses, in any brightness whatsoever of corporeal
Epictetus, Discourses^ I, 23 light, seemed to us not worth of comparison with
tlic pleasure of that eternal Light, not worthy
34 Throw between yourself and your son a little es- even of mention. Rising as our love flamed up-
tate,and you will know how soon he will wish to ward towards that Selfsame, we passed in review
bury you and how soon you wish your son to die. the various levels of bodily things, up to the heav-
Epictetus, Discourses, II, 22 ens themselves, whence sun and moon and stars
shine upon this earth. And higher still we soared,
35 My mother (St, Monica] would not be satisfied thinking in our minds and speaking and marvel-
but urged him [the bishop] with repeated entreat- ling at Your works: and so we came to our oum
ies and floods of tears to see me and discuss with souls, and went beyond them to come at last to
me. He, losing patience, said: *‘Go your way; as that region of richness unending, where You feed
sure as you live, it is impossible that the son of Israel forever w'ith the food of truth.
these tears should perish.^’ In the conversations we Augustine, Confessions, IX, 10
had afterwards, she often said that she had ac-
cepted this answer as if it had sounded from 39 When her [St. Monica’s] illness was close to its
heaven. end, meeting with c.xprcssions of endearment such
Augustine, Confessions, III, 12 services as1 rendered, she called me a dutiful lov-

ing son, and said in the great affection of her love

36 What a gulf there is between the restraint of the that she had never heard from my mouth any
marriage-covenant entered into for the sake of harsh or reproachful word addressed to herself.
 160 Chapter 2 Family
.

But what possible comparison was there, my O tertained, taught, instructed, and schooled their
God who made us, between the honour I showed children with the same care and solicitude, to
her and the service she had rendered me? make them matches fit to attain to the felicity of a
Augustine, Confessions^ IX, 12 so happy marriage, that from them might issue an
offspring and progeny no less heirs to the laudable
40 A man’s children are more lovable to him than endowments and exquisite qualifications of their
his father. , .because parents love their
. First, parents, whom they every way resemble, than to
children as being part of themselves; but the fa- their personal and real estates, moveables and in-
ther is not part of his son, so that the love of a heritances? How doleful, trist, and plangorous

father for his children, is more like a man’s love would such a sight and pageantry prove unto
for himself. Secondly, because parents know bet- them?
ter that so and so is their child than vice versa. Rabelais, Gargantua and Pantagruelf III, 48
Thirdly, because children are nearer to their par-
ents, as being part of them than their parents are 44 If thereany truly natural law, that is to say, any
is

to them to whom they stand in the relation of a instinct thatis seen universally and permanently

principle. Fourthly, because parents have loved imprinted in both the animals and ourselves
longer, for the father begins to love his child at (which is not beyond dispute), I may say that in
once, while the child begins to love his father after my opinion, after the care every animal has for its
a lapse of time; and the longer love lasts, the own preservation and the avoidance of what is
stronger it is. harmful, the affection that the begetter has for his
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, II-II, 26, 9 begotten ranks second. And because Nature seems
to have recommended it to us with a view to ex-
41 Strictly speaking, , . . the father should be loved tending and advancing the successive parts of this
more than the mother. For father and mother are machine of hers, it is no wonder if, turning back-
loved as principles of our natural origin. Now the ward, the affection of children for their fathers is

father is more excellent way than

principle in a not so great.
the mother, because he is the active principle, Montaigne, Essays^ II, 8,
while the mother is a passive and material princi- Affection of Fathers
ple. Consequently, strictly speaking, the father is

to be loved more. 45 A true and well-regulated affection should be

Aquinas, Summa TTieologica, II-II, 26, 10 bom and increase with the knowledge children
give us of themselves; and then, if they are worthy
42 You fathers and you mothers fond, also. of it, the natural propensity going along with rea-
If you have children, be it one or two, son, we should cherish them with a truly paternal
Yours is the burden of their wise guidance love; and we should likewise pass judgment on
The while they are within your governance. them if they are otherwise, always submitting to
Beware that not from your own lax living, reason, notwithstanding the force of nature. It is

Or by your negligence in chastening
They fall and perish; for I dare well say.
If that should chance you’ll dearly have to pay.
Under a shepherd soft and negligent
Full many a sheep and lamb by wolf is rent.
Chaucer, Canterbuiy Tales: Physician’s Tale
43 May and mothers, think you, be
not these fathers
sorrowful and heavy-hearted, when they see an
unknown fellow, a vagabond stranger, a barba-
rous lout, a rude cur, rotten, fleshless, putrified,
scraggy, boily, botchy, poor, a forlorn caitiff,
miserable sneak, by an open rapt, snatch away
before their own eyes their so fair, delicate, neat,
well-behavioured, richly provided for and health-
ful daughters, on whose breeding and education
they had spared no cost nor charges, by bringing
them up in an honest discipline to all the honour-
able and virtuous employments becoming one of
their sex, descended of a noble parentage, hoping
by those commendable and industrious means in
an opportune and convenient time to bestow them
on the worthy sons of their well-deserving neigh-
bours and ancient friends, who had nourished, en-
very often the reverse; and most commonly we
feel more excited over the stamping, the games,
and the infantile tricks of our children than we do
later over their grown-up actions, as if we had
loved them for our pastime, like monkeys, not like
men. And some supply toys very liberally for their
childhood, who tighten up at the slightest expen-
diture they need when they are of age. Indeed it
seems that the jealousy we feel at seeing them ap-
pear in the world and enjoy it when we are about
to leave it makes us more stingy and tight with
and them; it vexes us that they are treading on our
heels, as if to solicit us to leave. And if we had that
to fear, then since in the nature of things they
cannot in truth either be or live except at the ex-
pense of our being and our life, we should not
have meddled with being fathers.
As for me, I think it is cruelty and injustice not
to receive them into a share and association in our
goods, and as companions in the understanding of
our domestic affairs, when they are capable of it,
and not to cut down and restrict our own comforts
in order to provide for theirs, since we have begot-
ten them to that end. It is an injustice that an old,
 — —— —
22. Parents and Children \
161

broken, half-dead father should enjoy alone, a m As meditation or the thoughts of love,
comer of his hearth, possessions that uould suffice May .sweep to my revenge.
for the advancement and maintenance of many Ghost. I find thee apt;
children, and let them meanwhile, for lack of And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed
means, lose their best years without making prog- That roots itself in ease on l^thc wharf,
ress in public service and the kttowlcdgc of men. Wouldst thou not stir in this.

Montaigne, Essays, II, 0, Shakespeare, Hamlet, I, v, 22

Affection of Fathers
50 Hamlet. Now, mother, what’s the matter?
Qtieen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much of-
46 It is .
. wronf^ and foolish to prohibit children
.

fended.
who have come of age from being familiar with
their fathers, and to prefer to maintain an austere
Ham. Mother, you Itavc my fatlicr much offend-
ed.
and disdainful gravity toward them, hoping there-
by to keep them in fear and obedience. For that is
Qiiem. Come, come, you answer with an idle
tongue.
a verj' futile farce, which makes fat Iters annoying
Ham Go, go, you question with a wicked
to their children and, what is worse, ridiculous.
tongue.
They have in their hands youth and vigor, and
consequently the u-ind and favor of the world be-
Qiirfn. Why, how now, Hamlet!
hind them; and they receive with mocker)' these
Ham. What s the matter now?
fierce and tyrannical look.s from men who have no
Have you forgot me?
blood left in either heart or veins — real scarecrows
Ham.
You
No, by the rood, not
arc the Queen, your husband’s brother’s
so:

in a hemp field. Even if I could make m)*sclf

wife;
feared, I would much rather make myself loved.
Montaigne, Essays, ff, 8,
And Would it were not so! —you arc my mother.
Affection of Fathers
Shakespeare, Hamlet, III, iv, 8

51 Lear. Give me the map there. Know that we have

47 My father loved to build up Nfontaigne, where he divided
was bom; and in all this administration of domes- In three our kingdom; and ’tis our fast intent
tic affairs, 1 love to follow his example and his To shake all cares and business from our age;
rules, and shall bind my successors to them as
Conferring them on younger strengths, while we
much as I can. If I could do better for him, I
Unburthen’d cravvl toward death. Our son of
would. I glor)' in the fact that his will still operates
Cornwall,
and acts through me. God forbid that I should
And you, our no Ic-ss loving son of Albany,
allow to fail in my
hands any semblance of life We have this hour a constant will to publish
that I could restore to so good a father. Wlicncvcr
Our daughters* several dowers, that future strife
I have taken a hand in completing some old bit of
May be prevented now. TIjc Princes, France and
wall and repairing some badly constructed build-
Burgundy,
ing, it has certainly been out of regard more to his
Great rivals in our youngest daughter’s love,
intentions than to my own satisfaction. And 1
I^ng in our court have made their amorous so-
blame my
indolence that I have not gone further
journ,
toward completing the things he began so hand-
And here arc to be answer’d. Tell me, my daugh-
somely in his house; all the more because I have a
ters^
good chance of being the last of my race to possess
Since now we will divest us, both of rule.
it, and the last to put a hand to it.
Interest of territor)', carc.s of state
Montaigne, Essays, III, 9,
Which you shall we say dotli love us most?
of
Of Vanity Shakespeare, Lear, 38
1, i,

48 LamceloL It is a wise father 52 Cordelia. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave

that knows his own child. My heart into my mouth. I love your Majesty
Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, II, ii, 80 According to my bond; nor more nor lc.ss.

Lear. How, how, Cordelia! mend your speech a

49 Ghost. List, list, O, list! little.
If thou didst ever thy dear father love Lest it may mar your fortunes.
Hamlet. O Godl Cor. Good my lord,
Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural You have begot me, bred me, loved me, I
murder. Return those duties back as arc right fit,
Ham. Murder! Obey you, love you, and most honour you.
Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is; Why have my sisters husbands, if they say
But thismost foul, strange, and unnatural. They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,
Ham. Haste me to know’t, that I, with wings as That lord whose hand must take my plight shall
swift carry
 —
162 Chapter 2. Family

Half my love with him, half my care and duty. wide!

Cor. Still, still, far

Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, Doct. He’s scarce awake. Let him alone awhile.
To love my father all. Lear. Where have I been? Where am 1? Pair
Lear. But goes thy heart with this? daylight?
Cor. Ay, good my lord. I am mightily abused. I should e’en die v%ith pity,

Lear, So young, and so untender? To sec another thus. I know not what to say.
Cor. So young, my lord, and true. I will not swear these are my
hands. Let’s see;
Lear. Let it be so; thy truth, then, be thy dower, I feel this pin prick. Would I were assured

Shakespeare, Lear^ I, i, 93 Of my condition!

Cor. O, look upon me, sir,

53 Lear.Hear, Nature, hear; dear goddess, hear! And hold your hands in benediction o’er me.
Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend No, sir. you must not kneel.
Lear. Pray, do not mock me.
To make this creature fruitful!
Into her womb
convey sterility! I ama very»foolish fond old man.
Dry up in her the organs of increase; Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less;
And from her derogate body never spring And, to deal plainly,
A babe to honour her! If she must teem, I fear I am not in my perfect mind.

Create her child of spleen; that it may live, Methinks I should know you, and know this man;
And be a thwart disnatured torment to her! Yet I a^m doubtful; for I am mainly ignorant
Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth; What place this is; and all the skill I have
Remernbers not these garments; nor I know not
With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks;
Turn all her mother’s pains and benefits Where I did lodge last night. Do
not laugh at me;
To laughter and contempt; that she may feel For, as I am a man, I think this lady

How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is To be my child Cordelia.

To have a thankless child! Away, away I Cor. And so I am, I am.
Shakespeare, Lear, I, iv, 297 Lear. Be your tears wet? yes, ’faith. I pray, weep
not.

54 Doctor. Please you, draw near. Louder the music If you have poison for me, I will drink it.
I know you do not love me; for your sisters
there!
Cordelia. O
my dear father! Restoration hang Have, as I do remember, done me wrong.
Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss You have some cause, they have not.
Repair those violent harms that my two sisters Cor. No cause, no cause.
Have in thy reverence made! Shakespeare, Lear, IV, vii, 25
Kent. Kind and dear Princess!
Cor. Had you not been their father, these white 55 Pericles. A terrible childbed htist thou had, my
flakes dear;
Had challenged pity of them. Was this a face No light, no fire; the unfriendly elements
To be opposed against the warring winds? Forgot thee utterly; nor have- 1 time
To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder? To give thee hallow’d to thy grave, but straight
In the most terrible and nimble stroke Must cast thee, scarcely coffin’d, in the ooze,
Of quick, cross lightning? to watch —poor per- Where, for a monument upon thy bones.
du! And e^er-remaining lamps, the belching whale
With this thin helm? Mine enemy’s dog. And humming water must o’erwhelm thy corpse.
Though he had bit me, should have stood that Lying with simple shells. O Lychorida,
night Bid Nestor bring me spices, ink, and paper,
Against my fire; and wast thou fain, poor father, My casket and my jewels; and bid Nicander
To hovel thee with swine and rogues forlorn Bring me the satin coffer. Lay the babe
In short and musty straw? Alack, alack! Upon the pillow. Hie thee, whiles I say
’Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once A priestly farewell to her.
Had not concluded all. He wakes; speak to him.
Shakespeare, Pericles, III, 57
i,
Doct. Madam, do you; ’tis fittest.

Cor. How does my royal lord? How fares your

Majesty? 56 Leontes. Looking on the lines

Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o’ the Of my boy’s face, methoughts I did recoil
grave. Twenty-three years, and saw myself unbreech’d,
Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound In my green velvet coat, my dagger muzzled.
Upon Lest should bite its master, and so prove,
a wheel of fire, that mine own tears it

Do scald like molten lead. As ornaments oft do, too dangerous.

Cor. do you know me?
Sir, How methought, I then was
like, to this kernel,

Lear. You are a spirit, I know. When did you This squash, this gentleman.
die? Shakespeare, Winters Tale, I, ii, 153
 164 I
Chapter 2. Family

lifebeing the end for which one man becomes parents arebound to. For God having given man
subject to another, every man is supposed to an understanding to direct his actions, has al-
promise obedience to him in whose power it is to lowed him a freedom of will and liberty of acting,
save or destroy him. as properly belonging thereunto within the
Hobbes, Leviathan^ II, 20 bounds of that law he is under. But whilst he is in
an estate wherein he has no understanding of his
62 And because the first instruction of children dc- own to direct his will, he is not to have any 'Mil of
pendeth on the care of their parents, it is neces- his own to follow. He that understands for him

sary that they should be obedient to them whilst must will for him too; he must prescribe to his
they are under their tuition; and not only so, but will, and regulate his actions, but when he comes

that also afterwards, as gratitude requireth, they
acknowledge the benefit of their education by ex-
ternal signs of honour. To which end they are to
be taught that originally the father of every man
was also his sovereign lord, with power over him
of life and death; and that the fathers of families,
when by a Commonwealth they re-
instituting
signed that absolute power, yet it was never in-
tended they should lose the honour due unto them
for their education. For to relinquish such right
was not necessary to the institution of sovereign
power; nor would there be any reason why any
man should desire to have children, or take the
care to nourish and instruct them, if they were
afterwards to have no other benefit from them
than from other men. And this accordeth with the
fifth Commandment.
Hobbes, Leviathariy II,
63 Manoa. His ransom, if my whole inheritance
May compass it, shall willingly be paid
And numberd down: much rather I shall chuse
To live the poorest in my Tribe, then richest.
And he in that calamitous prison left.
No, I am fixt not to part hence without him.
For his redemption all my Patrimony,
If need be, I am ready to forgo
And quit; not wanting him, I shall want nothing.
Chorus. Fathers are wont to lay up for thir Sons,
Thou for thy Son art bent to lay out all;
Sons wont nurse thir Parents in old age,
to
Thou in old age car’st how to nurse thy Son,
Made older then thy age through eye-sight lost.
to the estate that made his father a free man, the
son is a free man too.
Locke, II Civil Government^ VI, 58
66 But though there be a time when a child comes to
be as free from subjection to the will and com-
mand of his father as he himself is free from sub-
anybody else, and they arc
jection to the will of
both under no other restraint but that which is
common to them both, whether it be the law of
Nature or municipal law of their country, yet this
freedom exempts not a son from that honour
which he ought, by the law of God and Nature, to
pay his parents, God having made the parents in-
struments in His great design of continuing the
race of mankind and the occasions of life to their
children. As He
hath laid on them an obligation
30 to nourish, preserve, and bring up their offspring,
so He has laid on the children a perpetual obliga-
tion of honouring their parents, which, containing
in it an inward esteem and reverence to be shown
by all outward expressions, ties up the child from
anything that may ever injure or affront, disturb
or endanger the happiness or life of those from
whom he received his, and engages him in all ac-
tions of defence, relief, assistance, and comfort of
those by whose means he entered into being and
has been made capable of any enjoyments of life.
From this obligation no state, no freedom, can ab-
solve children.
Locke, II Civil Government, VI, 66
67 Those . that intend ever to govern their chil-
. .

Man. It shall be my delight to tend his eyes. dren should begin it whilst they are very little,
Milton, Samson AgonisteSj 1476 and look that they perfectly comply with the will
of their parents. Would you have your son obedi-
64 If parents carry it lovingly towards their children, ent to you when past a child, be sure then to es-
mixing their mercies with loving rebukes, and tablish the authority of a father as soon as he is
their loving rebukes with fatherly and motherly capable of submission, and can understand in
compassions, they are more likely to save their whose power he is. If you would have him stand in
children than by being churlish and severe to- awe of you, imprint it in his infancy; and as he
wards them. approaches more to a man, admit him nearer to
Bunyan, Life and Death of Mr. Badman your familiarity; so shall you have him your obe-
dient subject (as is fit) whilst he is a child, and
65 The power, then, that parents have over their your affectionate friend when he is a man. For
children arises from that duty which is incumbent methinks they mightily misplace the treatment
on them, to take care of their offspring during the due to their children, who are indulgent and fa-
imperfect state of childhood. To inform the mind, miliar when they are little, but severe to them,
and govern the actions of their yet ignorant non- and keep them at a distance when they are grown
age, reason shall take its place and ease them
till up: for liberty and indulgence can do no good to
of that trouble, is what the children want, and the children; their want of judgment makes them
 2.2. Parents
stand in need of restraint and discipline; and on
the contrary, imperiousness and severity is but an
ill %\'ay of treating men who have reason of their
own to guide them; unless you have a mind to
make your children, when grown up, weary of
you, and secretly to say %vdthin themselves, “When
will you die, Father?’’
Locke, Some Thoughts Concerning Education, 40
68 Their notions [the Lilliputians] relating to the du-
ties of parents and children differ extremely from
ours. For, since the conjunction of male and
male founded upon the great law of nature, in
is
order to propagate and continue the species; the
Lilliputians ^vill needs have it, that men and
women are joined together like other animals, by
the motives of concupiscence; and that their ten-
derness towards their young, proceedeth from the
like natural principle: for which reason they will
never allow, that a child is under any obligation
to his father for begetting him, or to his mother for
bringing him into the world; which, considering
the miseries of human life, was neither a benefit in
itself, nor intended so by his parents, whose
thoughts in their love-encounters were otherwise
employed-
Swift, Gulliver^s Travels,
69 “Pray, brother, have you not observed something
very extraordinary in my niece lately?” “No, — man is so fond, that he spends much of his time in
not I,” answered Western: “is anything the matter
with the girl?” — “I think there is,” replied she;
“and something of much consequence too.”
“Why, she doth not complain of anything,” cries
Western; “and she hath had the small-pox.”
“Brother,” returned she, “girls are liable to other
distempers besides the small- pox, and sometimes
possibly tomuch worse.” Here Western interrupt-
ed her %vith much earnestness, and begged her, if
anything ailed his daughter, to acquaint him im-
mediately; adding, “she knew he loved her more
than his own soul, and that he w’ould send to the
world’s end for the best physician to her.” “Nay,
nay,” answered she, smiling, “the distemper is
so terrible: but I believe, you are con-
brother,
vinced I know the world, and I promise you I was
never more deceived in my life, if my niece be not
—
most desperately in love.” ^“How! in love!” cries
Western, in a passion; “in love, without acquaint-
ing me! I’ll disinherit her; I’ll turn her out of
doors, stark naked, without a farthing. Is all my
kindness vor ’ur, and vondness o’ur come to this,
to fall in love without asking me leave?”^ “But — Montesquieu,
you \sill not,” answered Mrs. Western, “turn this
daughter, whom you love better than your own
soul, out of doors, before you know whether you
shall approve her choice. Suppose she should have
fixed on the very person whom you yourself would
vrish, I hope you would not be angry then?”
“No, no,” cries Western, “that would make a dif-
ference. If she marries the man I would ha’
and Children 165
she may love whom she pleases, I shan’t trouble
my head about that.”
Fielding, Tom Jones, VI, 2
70 We now return to take leave of Mr. Jones and
Sophia, who, within two days after their mar-
riage, attended Mr. Western and Mr. Allworthy
into the country. Western hath resigned his family
seat, and the greater part of his estate, to his son-
in-law, and hath retired to a lesser house of his in
another part of the country, which is better for
fe- hunting. Indeed, he is often as a visitant with Mr.
Jones, who, as well as his daughter, hath an infi-
nite delight in doing everything in their power to
please him. And this desire of theirs is attended
with such success, that the old gentleman declares
he was never happy in his life till now. He hath
here a parlor and ante-chamber to himself, where
he gets drunk with whom he pleases: and his
daughter is still as ready as formerly to play to
him whenever he desires it; for Jones hath assured
her that, as, next to pleasing her, one of his high-
est satisfactions is to contribute to the happiness of
the old man; so, the great duty which she express-
es and performs to her father, renders her almost
equally dear to him \vith the love which she bes-
I, 6 tows on himself.
Sophia hath already produced him two fine
children, a boy and a girl, of whom the old gentle-
the nursery, where he declares the tattling of his
little grand-daughter, who is above a year and a
half old, is sweeter music than the finest cry of
dogs in England.
— Fielding, Tom Jones, XVIII, 13
71 Illicit conjunctions contribute but little to the
propagation of the species. The father, who is un-
der a natural obligation to nourish and educate
his children, is not then fixed; and the mother,
with whom the obligation remains, finds a thou-
sand obstacles from shame, remorse, the con-
straint of her sex, and the rigour of laws; and be-
not sides, she generally wants the means.
Women who have submitted to public prostitu-
tion cannot have the convenience of educating
their children: the trouble of education is incom-
patible with their station; and they are so corrupt
that they can have no protection from the law.
It follows from all this that public continence is
naturally connected Mth the propagation of the
species.
Spirit of Laws, XXIII, 2
72 I \vish either my father or my mother, or indeed
both of them, as they were in duty both equally
bound to it, had minded what they were about
when they begot me; had they duly considered
— how much depended upon what they were then
doing; —that not only the production of a ratio-
her, nal Being was concerned in it, but that possibly
 —
166 I
Chapter 2. Family

the happy formation and temperature of hin body, in the- name of nature, to violate her most sacred
perhaps his genius and the very cast of his right.

—
mind; and, for aught t!icy knew to the contrary', Rousseau, Ongm of /nfqtuihi}\ Appendix
even the fortunes of his w!io!c house might take
their turn from the humours and dispositions 76 I stated to him this case:
—
“Suppose a man has a
which were then uppcrmt»t; —
Had tlicy duly daughter w4io he kno^^•s has been seduced, but her
weighed and considered all this, and proceeded misfortune is concealed from the world? should he
accordingly, I —
am verily persuaded I should keep her in his house? Would he not, by doing so,
have made a quite different figure in the world, \)c acccasar>* to imposition? And, perhaps, a wor-
from that in which the reader is likely to see me. thy, unsuspecting man
might come and many*
Sterne, Tmtiam Shandy, J, 1 this woman, unless the father inform him of the
truth." “Sir, he is accessary' to no imposi-
tion. His d.iughtcr is in his house; and if a man
73 Alack-o-day, replied the Corjwral, brightening up
courts her, he takes his chance. If a friend, or,
his face —
your lionour knows I have neither xWfe
indeed, if any man asks his opinion whether he
—
or child I can have no sorroxvs in this world.
should marry' her, he ought to advise him against
Sterne, Tnsiram Shandy, IV', 4
it, without telling why, l>ccausc his real opinion is

then required. Or. if hr has other daughters who

74 1 cannot recall to mind, without the sweetest emo- know of her frailly, he ought not to keep her in hb
tions, the memory' of that virtuous citizen, to house- Vou are to coasidcr the slate of life is this;

whom I owe my being, and by svhom was often I SVC are to judge ofone another’s cfiaracters as well
instructed, in my infancy, in the respect which i.s as svT can; and a man is not bound, in honesty or
due to you. I see him still, living by the work of Itis honour, to tel! us the faults of his daughter or of
hands, and feeding his soul on the sublimcsl himself- A man who has debauched his friend’s
truths. I see the works of Tacitus, Plutarch, and daughter is not obliged to say to every bexfy
Grotius lying bclorc him in the midst ol the tools ‘Take care of me; don’t let me into your houses
of his trade. At his side stands his dear son, receiv- without suspicion. I once debauched a friend’s
’’
ing, alas with too little profit, the tender instnic- dauglitcr. I may debauch yours.*
tions of the Ixrst of faihctx. But, if the follies of BossvcII, Life rfjchnicn (Apr. 5, 1776)
youth made me for a while forget his wise lessons,
I have at length the happiness to be conscious
77 I said, I disliked the custom which some people
that, whatever propensity one may have to vice, it company,
had of bringing ihcir children into be-
is not easy for an education, svith which love has
cause it in a manner forced us to pay foolish com-
mingled, to be entirely thro\%'n away. *'
You arc
pliments to please tlicir parents.
Rousseau, Ont^tn of !nrqunftt>, riglit, Sir. We ma\ be excused for not caring

l>cdicaiion much about other people’s children, for there arc

many svho care very’ little about their own chil-
dren. It may be obsersed, that men, who from
75 But is it not a thousand times more common and
more dangerous for paternal rights openly to of- being engaged in business, or from their course in
fend against humanity? How many talents have whatever svay, seldom sec their children, do
life in

not been thrown away, and inclinations forced, by not care much about them. I myself should not
the unwise constraint of fathers? How many men, have had much fondness for a child of my own.”
who would have distinguished themselves in a fit-
Mti. TkreU. “Nay, .Sir, how can you talk John-
have died dishonoured and wretched
ting estate, son “At least, 1 ncs'cr w’ished to have a child.”

in another for which they had no taste! Ho\v
many happy, but unequal, marriages liavc been
broken or disturbed, and how many chaste waves
have been dishonoured, by an order of things con-
tinually in contradiction with that of nature!
many good and virtuous luusbands and wives arc
reciprocally punished for having l)ccn ill-assorted!
How many young and unhappy victims of
parents’ avarice plunge into vice, or pass their
melancholy days in tears, groaning in the indissol-
uble bonds which their hca^^s repudiate and gold
alone has formed! Fortunate sometimes arc those
w'hosc courage and virtue remove them from life
before inhuman violence makes them spend it in
crime or in despair. Forgive me, father and moth-
er, whom I shall ever regret: my complaint embit-
ters your griefs; but w’Ould they might be an eter-
nal and terrible example to every one who dares,
Boswell, Life of jehnstn (Apr W, t776)
78 ! hesitate, from the apprehension of ridicule,
when I approach the delicate subject of my early
How love. By this word 1 do not mean the polite atten-
tion, the gallantry, without hope or design, w’hich
has originated in the spirit of chivalry', and is in-
their tenvoven with the texture of French manners. I
understand by this passion the union of desire,
friendship, and tenderness, which is inflamed by a
single female, which prefers licr to the rest of her
sex, and which seeks her possession as the supreme
or the sole happiness of our being. I need not
blush at recollecting the object of my choice; and
though my love was disappointed of success, I am
rather proud that I was once capable of feeling
such a pure and c.xaltcd sentiment. TIic personal
attractions of Mademoiselle Susan Curchod were
 2.2. Parents and Children 167

embellished by the virtues and talents of the being into the world who becomes in fact a citizen
mind. Her fortune was humble, but her family of the world, and they have placed that being in a

was respectable. Her mother, a native of France, state which they cannot be left to treat with indif-

had preferred her religion to her country. The ference, even according to the natural conceptions
profession of her father did not extinguish the of right.
moderation and philosophy of his temper, and he Kant, Science of Right, 28
lived content with a small salary and laborious
duty in the obscure lot of minister of Grassy, in An unhappy alternative is before you,
80 Mr. Bennet.
the mountains that separate the Pays de Vaud
Elizabeth. From this day you must be a stranger
from the county of Burgundy. In the solitude of a
to one of your parents. Your mother will never see
sequestered village he bestowed a liberal, and
you again if you do not marry Mr. Gollins, and I
even learned, education on his only daughter. She
will never see you again if you do.
surpassed his hopes by her proficiency in the sci-
ences and languages; and in her short visits to Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, XX
some relations at Lausanne, the wit, the beauty,
and erudition of Mademoiselle Curchod were the 81 Ghildren have the right to maintenance and edu-
theme of universal applause. The report of such a cation at the expense of the family’s common cap-
prodigy awakened my curiosity; I saw and loved. ital. The right of the parents to the service as ser-

79 ... At Grassy and Lausanne I indulged my vice of their children is based upon and is
dream of felicity: but on my return to England, I restrictedby the common task of looking after the
soon discovered that my father would not hear of family generally. Similarly, the right of the par-
this strange alliance, and that, without his con- ents over the wishes of their children is de-
sent, I was myself destitute and helpless. After a termined by the object in view — discipline and
painful struggle I yielded to my fate; I sighed as a education. The punishment of children does not

lover, I obeyed as a son; my wound was insensibly aim at justice as such; the aim is more subjective
healed by time, absence, and the habits of a new and moral in character, i.e. to deter them from
life. exercising a freedom still in the toils of nature and
to lift the universal into their consciousness and
Gibbon, Autobiography
will.
Ghildren are potentially free and their life di-
From the duty of man
towards himself that is, — rectlyembodies nothing save potential freedom.
towards the humanity in his own person there — Gonsequently they are not things and cannot be
thus arises a personal right on the part of the
the property either of their parents or others. In
members of the opposite sexes, as persons, to ac-
respect of his relation to the family, the child’s
quire one another really and reciprocally by mar- education has the positive aim of instilling ethical
riage. In like manner, from the fact of procreation in principles intohim in the form of an immediate
the union thus constituted, there follows the duty feeling forwhich differences are not yet explicit,
of preserving and rearing children as the products so that thus equipped with the foundation of an
of this union. Accordingly, children, as persons, ethical life, his heart may live its early years in
have, at the same time, an original congenital
love, trust, and obedience. In respect of the same
right —distinguished from mere hereditary relation, thiseducation has the negative aim of
right — be reared by the care of their parents
to till
raising children out of the instinctive, physical,
they are capable of maintaining themselves; and level on which they are originally, to self-subsis-
thisprovision becomes immediately theirs by law,
tence and freedom of personality and so to the
without any particular juridical act being re-
level on which they have power to leave the natu-
quired to determine it.
ral unity of the family.
For what is thus produced is a person, and it is
Hegel, Philosophy of Right, 174-175
impossible to think of a being endowed with per-
sonal freedom as produced merely by a physical
process. And hence, m the practical relation, it is
82 The between husband and wife is
relation of love
quite a correct and even a necessary idea to re- in itself not objective, because even if their feeling
gard the act of generation as a process by which a is their substantial unity, still this unity has no

person is brought without his consent into the objectivity. Such an objectivity parents first ac-
world and placed in it by the responsible free will quire in their children, in whom they can see ob-
of others. Tliis act, therefore, attaches an obliga- jectified the entirety of their union. In the child, a
tion to the parents to make their children far — as mother loves its father and he its mother. Both
as their power goes —contented with the condition have their love objectified for them in the child.
thus acquired. Hence parents cannot regard their While in their goods their unity is embodied only
child as, in a manner, a thing of their own making; in an external thing, in their children it is embod-
for a being endowed with freedom cannot be so ied in a spiritual one in which the parents are
regarded. Nor, consequently, have they a right to loved and which they love.
destroy it as if it were their own property, or even Hegel, Philosophy of Right,
to leave it to chance; because they have brought a Additions, Par. 173
 168 j
Chapter 2. Family

83 As a child, man must have lived with his parents Thus at the same time that the power of aris-
encircled by their love and trust, and rationality tocracy’ is declining, the austere, the conventional,
must appear in him as his very' ouu subjectivity. and the legal part of parental authority vanishes
In the early years education by the mother
it is and a spedcs of equality’ prc\’ails around the do-
especially which is important, since ethical princi- mestic hearth. I do not know, on the whole,
ples must be implanted in the child in the form of whether society’ loses by the change, but I am in-
feeling. It is noteworthy that on the whole chil- clined to bclie\’e that man individually is a gainer
dren love their parents less than their parents love by it.

them. The reason for this is that they’ are gradu- Tocqueville, Democracy in America,

ally increasing in strength, and are learning to Vol. II, III, 8

stand on their o>vn feet, and so are I earing their
parents behind them. Tlie parents, on the other
85 The eager fate which carried thee
hand, possess in their children the objective em-
Took the largest part of me:
bodiment of their union.
For this losing is true dying;
Hegel, Philosophy of Righi^
This is lordly man’s dou’n-Iy’ing,
Additions, Par. 175
This his slow but sure reclining.
Star by star his world resigning.
84 When men live more for the remembrance of
what has been than for the care of what is, and 0 child of paradise,
when they are more given to attend to what their Boy who made dear his father’s home,
ancestors thought than to think themselves, the In whose deep eyes
father is the natural and necessary tie between the Men read the welfare of the times to come,
past and the present, the link by which the ends of 1 am too much bereft.

these Uvo chains are connected. In aristocracies, Emerson, Threno<fy

then, the father is not only the ciril head of the

family, but the organ of its traditions, the ex-
86 Grieve not so, dear mother, (the just-grown daughter
pounder of customs, the arbiter of its manners.
its
speaks through her sobs.
He is listened to wth deference, he is addressed The little sisters huddle around speechless and
with respect, and the love that is felt for him is
dismay’d,)
always tempered with fear.
See, dearest mother, the letter says Pete will soon be better.
When the condition of society' becomes demo-
cratic and men adopt as their general principle Alas poor boy, he will nev'er be better, (not may-
that it is good and lawdul to judge of all things for be needs to be better, that brave and simple
oneself, using former points of belief not as a rule soul,)
of faith, but simply as a means of information, the WTiile they’ stand at home at the door he is dead
power which the opinions of a father exercise over already,
those of his sons diminishes as well as his legal The only son is dead.
power.
But the mother needs to be better.
Perhaps the subdivision of estates that democ-
She with thin form presently drest in black.
racy brings about contributes more than anything
By day her meals untouch’d, then at night fitfully
else to change the relations existing be^veen a fa-
sleeping, often w’aking,
ther and his children. When the prop>erty of the
In the midnight waking, weeping, longing w’ith
father of a family and himself
is scanty, his son
one deep longing,
constantly live in the same place and share the
same occupations; habit and necessity bring them
O that she might withdraw unnoticed, silent from
life escape and \rithdraw,
together and force them to hold constant commu-
To follow, to seek, to be with her dear dead son.
nication. The inevitable consequence is a sort of
Whitman, Come Up
familiar intimacy, >vhich renders authority less
From the Fields Father
absolute and which can ill be reconciled with the
external forms of respect.
Now, in democratic countries the class of those 87 My father, in all his teaching, demanded of me
who are possessed of sm2dl fortunes is precisely not only the utmost that I could do, but much
that which gives strength to the notions and a par- that I could by no possibility’ have done. ^Vhat he
ticular direction to the manners of the commu- w'as himself willing to undergo for the sake of my
nity. That class makes its opinions preponderate instruction, may be judged from the fact, that I
as universally as its will, and even those who are \vent through the w’hole process of preparing my
most inclined to resist its commands are carried Greek same room and at the same
lessons in the
aw'ay in the end by its example. I have kno\>’n tabic at w’hich he was w'riting: and as in those
eager opponents of democracy who allowed their day’s Greek and English lexicons were not, and I
children to address them uith perfect colloquial could make no more use of a Greek and Latin
equality. lexicon than could be made without haring yet
 2,2. Parents and Children 169

begun to learn Latin, I was forced to have re- her life — for so the care of him really was — ^will

course to him for the meaning of every word for some time to come be terrible.

which I did not know. This incessant interruption, Arnold, Letter to Lady de Rothschild
he, one of the most impatient of men, submitted (Nov. 30, 1868)
to, and wrote under that interruption several vol-

umes of his History and all else that he had to 90 Ivan.“Who doesn’t desire his father’s death?” . . .

write during those years. He turned suddenly to the audience. “My fa-
Mill, Autobiography, I ther has been murdered and they pretend they
arc horrified,” he snarled, with furious contempt.

88 I remember the very place in Hyde Park where, “They keep up the sham with one another. Liars!

in my fourteenth year, on the eve of leaving my They all desire the death of their fathers.”

father’s house for a long absence, he told me that Dostoevsky, Brothers Karamazov,
I got acquainted with new peo-
should find, as I Pt, IV, XII, 5
ple, that I had been taught many things which
youths of my age did not commonly knowj and 91 “Well, madam,” he [Prince Bolkonsky) began,
that many persons would be disposed to talk to stooping over the book close to his daughter and
me of this, and to compliment me upon it. What placing an arm on the back of the chair on which
other things he said on this topic I remember very she she felt herself surrounded on all
sat, so that

imperfectly; but he wound up by saying, that sidesby the acrid scent of old age and tobacco,
whatever I knew more than others, could not be which she had known so long. “Now, madam,
ascribed to any merit in me, but to the very un- these triangles are equal; please note that the an-
usual advantage which had fallen to my lot, of gle ABC ...”
having a father who was able to teach me, and The princess looked in a scared way at her
willing to give the necessary trouble and time; father’s eyes glittering close to her; the red
that it was no matter of praise to me, if I knew patches on her face came and went, and it was
more than those who had not had a similar ad- plain that she understood nothing and was so
vantage, but the deepest disgrace to me if I did frightened that her fear would prevent her under-
not. standing any of her father’s further explanations,
Mill, Autobiography, I however clear they might be. Whether it was the
teacher’s fault or the pupil’s, this same thing hap-

89 Iwas sure you would be touched by the death of pened every day: the princess’ eyes grew dim, she
my poor little boy, to whom you have so often could not see and could not hear anything, but
showed kindness. I imagine every one here was only conscious of her stern father’s withered
thought he could not get through the winter, face close to her, of his breath and the smell of

though they could give no special name to his him, and could think only of how to get away
complaint except to call it, with the doctors, “fail- quickly to her own room to make out the problem
ure in vital power” following upon the slight in peace. The old man was beside himself: moved
shock given to him by his fall from a pony the chair on which he was sitting noisily back-
in
Westmorland. But his mother and I had watched ward and forward, made efforts to control himself
him through so many
ebbings and flowings of his and not become vehement, but almost always did
scanty stock of vital power that we had always become vehement, scolded, and sometimes flung
hopes for him, and till I went into his room last the exercise book away.
Monday morning an hour before the end I did The princess gave a wrong answer.
not really think he would die. The astonishing “Well now, isn’t she a fool!” shouted the prince,
self-control which he had acquired in suffering pushing the book aside and turning sharply away;
was never shown more than in the last words he but rising immediately, he paced up and down,
said to me, when his breath grew shorter and lightly touched his daughter’s hair and sat down

shorter, and from this, and the grieved face of the
doctor as he entered the room, he knew, I am
sure, that the end was come; and he turned to me,
—
and his mamma, who was always with him, and
whom he adored, having gone into tlie next room
for a moment —
he whispered to me, in his poor
labouring voice, “Don’t let mamma come in.” At
his age that seems to me heroic self-control; and it
again.
He drew up his chair and continued to explain.
“This won’t do, Princess; it won’t do,” said he,
when Princess Mary, having taken and closed the
exercise book with the next day’s lesson, was
about to leave: “Mathematics are most impor-
tant, madam! I don’t want to have you like our
silly ladies. Get used to it and you’ll like it,” and

was this patience and fortitude in him, joined to he patted her cheek. “It will drive all the nonsense
his great fragility and his exquisite turn for music, out of your head.”
which interested so many people in him, and Tolstoy, War and Peace, I, 25
which brings us a sort of comfort now in all the
kind and tender things that are said to us of him. 92 Nicholas’ letter was read over hundreds of times,
But to Mrs. Arnold the loss of the occupation of and those who were considered worthy to hear it
 170 Chapter 2, Family

had to come to the countess, for she did not let it thing that man can show.
out of her hands. The tutors came, and the nurses, William James, P^chology, XXIV
and Dmitri, and several acquaintances, and the
countess reread the letter each time with fresh 95 It is unavoidable and quite normal that the child
pleasure and each time discovered in it fresh should make his parents the objects of his fint
proofs of Nikolenka’s virtues. How strange, how But his libido must not remain fixed
object- choice.
extraordinary, how joyful it seemed, that her son, on these chosen objects, but must take them
first

the scarcely perceptible motion of whose tiny merely as a prototype and transfer from these to
limbs she had felt twenty years ago within her, other persons in the time of definite object-choice.
that son about whom she used to have quarrels The breaking loose of the child from his parents is
with the too-indulgent count, that son who had thus a problem impossible to escape if the social
first learned to say “pear” and then “granny,” virtue of the young individual is not to be im-
that this son should now be away in a foreign land paired. During the time that the repressive activi-
amid strange surroundings, a manly warrior ty is making its choice among the partial sexual

doing some kind of man’s work of his own, with- impulses and later, when the influence of the par-
out help or guidance. The universal experience of ents, which in the most essential way has fur-
ages, showing that children do grow impercepti- nished the material for these repressions, is less-
bly from the cradle to manhood, did not exist for ened, great problemsfall to the work of education,

the countess. Her son’s growth toward manhood, which at present certainly does not always solve
at each of its stages, had seemed as extra-ordinary them in the most intelligent and economic way.
to her as if there had never existed the millions of Freud, Origin and Development
human beings who grew up in the same way. As of P^cho-Analysis, IV
twenty years before, it seemed impossible that the
little creature who lived somewhere under her
96 For me . . . thisbook has an additional subjective
heart would ever cry, suck her breast, and begin
significance, which I did not understand until af-
to speak, so now she could not believe that that
ter its completion. It reveals itself to me as a piece

little creature could be this strong, brave man, this

ofmy self-analysis, as my reaction to the death of

model son and officer that, judging by this letter, my father, that is, to the most important event,
the most poignant loss in a man’s life.
he now was.
Freud, Interpretation of Dreams,
Tolstoy, War and Peace, III, 6
Pref. to 2nd (German) Ed.

93 Princess Mary, alarmed by her father’s feverish 97 If we look at the attitude of fond parents towards
and sleepless activity after his previous apathy, their children, we cannot but perceive it as a re-

could not bring herself to leave him alone and for vivaland reproduction of their own, long since
the first time in her life ventured to disobey him. abandoned narcissism. Their feeling, as is well
She refused to go away and her father’s fury broke known, is characterized by over-estimation, that
over her in a terrible storm. He repeated every sure indication of -a narcissistic feature in object-

injustice he had ever inflicted on her. Trying to
convict her, he told her she had worn him out,
had caused his quarrel with his son, had harbored
nasty suspicions of him, making it the object of
her life to poison his existence, and he drove her
from her that if she did not go
his study telling
away it was all the same to him. He declared that
he did not wish to remember her existence and
warned her not to dare to let him see her. The fact
that he did not, as she had feared, order her to be
choice which we have already appreciated. Thus
they are impelled to ascribe to the child all man-
ner of perfections which sober observation would
not confirm, to gloss over and forget all his short-
—
comings a tendency with which, indeed, the de-
nial of childish sexualityis connected. Moreover,
they are inclined to suspend in the child’s favour
the operation of all those cultural acquirements
which their own narcissism has been forced to re-
spect, and to renew in his person the claims for

carried away by force but only told her not to let privileges which were long ago given up by them-

him see her cheered Princess Mary. She knew it selves. The child shall have things better than his

was a proof that in the depth of his soul he was parents; he shall not be subject to the necessities
glad she was remaining at home and had not gone which they have recognized as dominating life.
away. Illness, renunciation of enjoyment, re-
death,

Tolstoy, War and Peace, X, 8 strictions own will, are not to touch him;
on his
the laws of nature, like those of society, are to be
abrogated in his favour; he is really to be the cen-
—
94 The passionate devotion of a mother ill herself, tre and heart of creation, “His Majesty the Baby,”
—
perhaps to a sick or dying child is perhaps the as once we fancied ourselves to be. He is to fulfil
most simply beautiful moral spectacle that human those dreams and wishes of his parents which they
life affords. Contemning every danger, triumph- never carried out, to become a great man and a
ing over every difficulty, outlasting all fatigue, hero in his father’s stead, or to marry a prince as a
woman’s love is here invincibly superior to any- tardy compensation to the mother. At the weakest
 2.2, Parents and Children 171

point of all in the narcissistic position, the immor- ents and children; these relations may well be a
tality of the ego, which is so relentlessly assailed more complicated. Again, this complex
great deal
by reality, security is achieved by fleeing to the may be more or less strongly developed, or it may
child. Parental love, which is so touching and at even become inverted, but it is a regular and very
bottom so childish, is nothing but parental narcis- important factor in the mental life of the child;
sism bom again and, transformed though it be we are more in danger of underestimating than of
98 and that
into object-love, it reveals its former character in- overestimating its influence of the devel-
fallibly. opments which may follow from it. Moreover, the
Freud, On Narcissism^ II parents themselves frequently stimulate the chil-
dren to react with an Oedipus complex, for par-
ents are often guided in their preferences by the
We find it far more offensive for love to be lacking
difference in sex of their children, so that the fa-
between parents and children than between
and We have, so to speak, sancti-
ther favours the daughter and the mother the son;
brothers sisters.

former love while allowing the latter to

or else, where conjugal love has grown cold, the
fied the
remain profane. Yet everyday observation may
child may be taken as a substitute for the love-
object which has ceased to attract.
show us how frequently the sentiments enter-
It cannot be said that the world has shown
tained towards each other by parents and grown-
great gratitude to psycho-analytic research for the
up children fall short of the ideal set up by society,
discovery of the Oedipus complex; on the con-
and how much hostility lies smouldering, ready to
has excited the most violent opposi-
trary, the idea
burst into flame if it were not stifled by consider-
ations of filial or parental duty and by other, ten- 99 tion in grown-up people; and those who omitted
to join in denying the existence of sentiments so
der impulses. The motives for this hostility are
universally reprehended and tabooed have later
well known, and we recognize a tendency for
those of the same sex to become alienated, daugh- made up for this by proffering interpretations so
ter from mother and father from son. The daugh-
v«de of the mark as to rob the complex of its val-
ter sees in her mother the authority which imposes
ue. My own unchanged conviction is that there is
nothing in to deny or to gloss over. We ought to
it
limits to her will, whose task it is to bring her to
that renunciation of sexual freedom which society
reconcile ourselves to facts in which the Greek
demands; in certain cases, too, the mother is still a myth itself saw the hand of inexorable destiny.

rival, who objects to being set aside. The same Freud, General Introduction to

thing is repeated still more blatantly between fa- Psycho-Analysis, XIII

ther and son. To the son the father is the embodi-
ment of the social compulsion to which he so un- I have . . . described the relationship of a boy to
willingly submits, the person who stands in the his father and mother; things proceed in just the
100
way of his following his own will, of his early sex- same way, with the necessary reversal, in little

ual pleasures and, when there is family property, The loving devotion to the father, the need
girls.

of his enjoyment of When

a throne is involved,
it. to do away with the superfluous mother and to
this impatience for the death of the father may take her place, the early display of coquetry and
approach tragic intensity. The relation between the arts of later womanhood, make up a particu-
father and daughter or mother and son would larly charming picture in a little girl, and may
seem less liable to disaster; the latter relation cause us to forget its seriousness and the grave
furnishes the purestexamples of unchanging ten- consequences which may later result from this sit-
derness, undisturbed by any egoistic considera- uation.
tion. . . . Freud, General Introduction to
The son, when quite a little child, already be- P^cho-Analysis, XXI
gins to develop a peculiar tenderness towards his
mother, whom he looks upon as his own property, From the time of puberty onward the human in-
regarding his father in the light of a rival who dividual must devote himself to the great task of
disputes this sole possession of his; similarly the freeing himself the parents; and only after this
from
littledaughter sees in her mother someone who detachment accomplished can he cease to be a
is

disturbs her tender relation to her father and oc-
cupies a place which she feels she herself could
very well fill. Observation shows us how far back
these sentiments date, sentiments which we de-
by the term Oedipus complex, because in the
scribe
Oedipus myth the nvo extreme forms of the wishes
arising from the situation of the son the wish to
killthe father and to marry the mother are real-
ized in an only slightly modified form. I do not
assert that the Oedipus complex exhausts all the
possible relations which may exist between par-
child and so become a member of the social com-
munity. For a son, the task,consists in releasing his
libidinal desires from his mother, in order to em-
ploy them in the quest of an external love-object
, in reality; and in reconciling himself with his fa-
ther if he has remained antagonistic to him, or in
— freeing himself from his domination if, in the reac-
— tion to the infantile revolt, he has lapsed into sub-
servience to him. These tasks are laid down for
every man; it is noteworthy how seldom they are
carried through ideally, that is, how seldom they
 172 1
Chapter 2. Family

are solved in a manner ps)xhologicalIy as well as 102 A father, Stephen said, battling against hopeless-
socially satisfactory. In neurotics, however, this ness, isa necessary evil. Fatherhood, in the
. . .

detachment from the parents is not accomplished sense of conscious begetting, is unknown to man.
at all; the son remains all his life in subjection to It is a mystical estate, an apostolic succession,

his father, and incapable of transferring his libido from only begetter to only begotten. On that mys-
to a new sexual object. In the reversed relation- tery and not on the madonna which the cunning
ship the daughter’s fate may be the same. In this Italian intellect flung to themob of Europe the
sense the Oedipus complex is justifiably regarded church founded and founded irremovably be-
is

as the kernel of the neuroses. cause founded, like the world, macro- and micro-
Freud, General Introduction to cosm, upon the void. Upon incertitude, upon un-
P^'cho-Analysis, XXI likeliho^. Amor matris, subjective and objective
genitive, may be the only true thing in life. Pater-
nity may be a legal fiction. Who is the father of
101 The only thing that brings a mother undiluted any son that any son should love him or he any
satisfaction is her relation to a son; it is quite the son? . . .

most complete relationship between human They are sundered by a bodily shame so stead-
beings, and the one that is the most free from am- fast that the criminal annals of the world, stained

bivalence. The mother can transfer to her son all with all other incests and bestialities hardly record
the ambition which she has had to suppress in its breach. Sons ^vith mothers, sires with daugh-

herself, and she can hope to get from him the sat- ters, lesbic sisters, loves that dare not speak their

isfaction of all that has remained to her of her name, nepheu's with grandmothers, jailbirds with
masculinity complex. Even a marriage is not firm- keyholes, queens with prize bulls. The son unborn
ly assured until the woman has succeeded in mak- mars beauty: born, he brings pain, divides affec-
ing her husband into her cliild and in acting the tion, increases care. He is a male: his growth is his

part of a mother towards him. father’s decline, his youth his father’s envy, his

Freud, New Introductory Lectures friend his father’s enemy.

on P^'cho’AnalysiSj XXXIII Joyce, Ulysses

2.3 I
Marriage

This section, like its predecessor, contains Samuel Johnson, J. S. Mill and Harriet
many^ passages that reflect or manifest the Taylor, Pierre and Natasha (in War and
relation of husband and wife rather than Peace),
theorize or comment about it. Here, too, we In addition to passages of the type just
can recite a moving list of famous pairs that mentioned, there are, of course, many others
the reader will recognize in passages quoted: that look at marriage from every^ point of
Jacob and Rachel, Odysseus and Penelope, view and express every variety of attitude
Oedipus and Jocasta, Alcibiades and Hip- toward it. The general impression one can
parete, Caesar and Pompeia, the Wife of hardly avoid getting is that of a great,
Bath and all her husbands, Petruchio and blooming confusion, which may be the only'^
Katherina, Benedick and Beatrice, Othello one that an open-eyed appraisal affords.
and Desdemona, Leontes and Hermione, The reader who carefully^ explores the whole
Adam and Eve (in Paradise Lost as well as in range of materials here assembled, and who
Genwjj), Mirabell and Millamant (in compares later with earlier points of view,
Congreve’s Way of the World), Dr. and Mrs. may also come away with the impression
 — ——
23, Marriage 173

that our ancestors were more light-hearted ters — not only divorce, but also conjugal
about, or at least less plagued by, the inher- and in incest, adul-
love, or sex in marriage,

ent difficulties of the marriage bond than tery,and cuckoldry. Relevant texts dealing
later generations for whom the bond is more with conjugal love, marital sex, and adul-
easily dissolved by divorce. tery will, also be found in Chapter 3 on
The consideration of marriage cannot Love, especially in Section 3.3 on Sexual
help touching on a number of related mat- Love.

1 Therefore shall a man leave his father and his she that maketh ashamed is as rottenness in his
mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they bones.
shall be one flesh. Proverbs 12:4
Gfnrsts 2:24
6 House and riches are the inheritance of fathers:
and a prudent wife is from the Lord.
2 And Laban unto Jacob, Because thou art my
said
Proverbs 19:14
brother, shouldest thou therefore serve me for
nought? tell me, what shall thy wages be?
7 Such is the way of an adulterous woman; she eat-
And Laban had two daughters: the name of the
cth, and wjpcib her mouth, and saith, I have done
elder was Leah, and the name of the younger was
no wickedness.
Rachel.
Proverbs 30:20
Leah was tender eyed; but Rachel was beauti-
ful and well favoured. 8 Calypso. “Son of Laertes, versatile Odysseus,
And Jacob loved Rachel; and said, I will serve after these years with me, you still desire
thee seven years for Rachel thy younger daughter.
your old home? Even so, I wish you well.
And Laban said. It is better that I give her to If you could see it all, before you go
thee, than that I should give her to another man:
all the adversity you face at sea
abide with me.
you would stay here, and guard this house, and be
And Jacob
they seemed unto
served seven years for Rachel;
him but a few
and —
immortal though you wanted her forever,
days, for the love
that bride for whom you pine each day.
he had to her.
Cart I be less desirable than she is?
Gmesis 29:15-20 Less interesting? Less beautiful? Can mortals
compare with goddesses in grace and form?’’
3 And Judah said unto Onan, Go in unto thy
To this the strategist Odysseus answered:
brother’s wife, and marry her, and raise up seed to
thy brother. “My is no cause for anger.
lady goddess, here
And Onan knew that the seed should not be My quiet —
Penelope how well I know
his; and it came to pass, when he went in unto his would seem a shade before your majesty,
brother’s wife, that he spilled it on the ground, lest death and old age being unknown to you,
that he should give seed to his brother. while she must die. Yet, it is true, each day
And the thing which he did displeased the I long for home, long for the sight of home.’’

Lord: wherefore he slew him also. Homer, Odyssey, V, 203

Gfngsis 38:8-10
9 Penelope. “Do not rage at me, Odysseus!
No one ever matched your caution! Think
4 The eye also of the adulterer waiteth for the twi-
what difficulty the gods gave: they denied us
light, saying. No eye shall see me: and disguiseth
life together in our prime and flowering years,
his face.
kept us from crossing into age together.
In the dark they dig through houses, which
Forgive me, don’t be angry. I could not
they had marked for themselves in the daytime:
welcome you with love on sight! I armed myself
they know not the light.
long ago against the frauds of men,
For the morning is to them even as the shadow
of death: if one know them, they are in the terrors
—
impostors who might come and all those many
whose underhanded ways bring evil on!
of the shadow of death.
Helen of Argos, daughter of Zeus and Leda,
>6 24:15-17 would she have joined the stranger, lain with him,
if she had known her destiny? known the
5 A virtuous woman is a crown to her husband: but Akhaians
 —
174 Chapter 2. Family

in arms would bring her back to her own country? tion in the world. They
take the mother’s and not
Surely a goddess moved her to adultery, the father’s name. Ask a Lycian who he is, and he
her blood unchilled by war and evil coming, answers by giving his own name, that of his moth-
the years, the desolation; ours, too. er, and so on in the female line. Moreover, if a

But here and now, what sign could be so clear free woman marry a man who is a slave, their
as this of our own bed? children arc full citizens; but if a free man marry
No other man has ever laid eyes on it a foreign w'oman, or live with a concubine, even
only my own slave, Aktoris, that my father though he be the first person in the State, the
sent with me as a gift —she kept our door. children forfeit all the rights of citizenship.
You make my stiff heart know that I am yours.” Herodotus, History, I, 1 73

Now from his [Odysseus’] breast into his eyes the 12 Once a year each village the maidens of age to
in
ache marry were collected all together into one place;
of longing mounted, and he wept at last, while the men stood round them in a circle. Then
his dear wife, clear and faithful, in his arms, a herald called up the damsels one by one, and
longed for offered them for sale. He began with the most
as the sunwarmed earth is longed for beautiful. When she w'as sold for no small sum of
by a swimmer money, he offered for sale the one who came next
spent in rough water where his ship went down to her in beauty. All of them were sold to be
under Poseidon’s blows, gale winds and tons of wives. The richest of the Babylonians who wished
sea. to wed bid against each other for the loveliest
Few men can keep alive through a big surf maidens, while the humbler wife-seekers, who
to crawl, clotted with brine, on kindly beaches were indifferent about beauty, took the more
in joy, in Joy, knowing the abyss behind: homely damsels with marriage-portions. For the
and so she too rejoiced, her gaze upon her hus- custom was that when the herald had gone
band, through the whole number of the beautiful dam-
her white arms round him pressed as though for- sels, he should then call up the ugliest a cripple, —
ever. if there chanced to be one —
and offer her to the
The rose Dawn might have found them weeping men, asking who would agree to take her with the
still
smallest marriage-portion. And the man who of-
had not grey-eyed Athena slowed the night fered to take the smallest sum had her assigned to
when night was most profound, and held the him. The marriage-portions were furnished by the
Dawn money paid for the beautiful damsels, and thus
under the Ocean of the East. That glossy team, the fairer maidens portioned out the uglier. No
Firebright and Daybright, the Dawn’s horses one was allowed to give his daughter in marriage
that draw her heavenward for men Athena — to the man of his choice, nor might any one carry
stayed their harnessing. away the damsel whom he had purchased without
Homer, Odyss^, XXIII, 208 finding bail really and truly to make her his wife;
if, however, it turned out that they did not agree,

10 So they [Odysseus and Penelope] came the money might be paid back.
into thatbed so steadfast, loved of old, Herodotus, History, I, 196
opening glad arms to one another.
Telemakhos by now had hushed the dancing, 13 Their marriage-law [of the Amazons] lays it down
hushed the women. In the darkened hall that no girl shall wed till she has killed a man in
he and the cowherd and the swineherd slept. battle.Sometimes it happens that a woman dies
unmarried at an advanced age, having never been
The royal pair mingled in love again
able in her whole lifetime to fulfil the condition.
and aftenvard lay revelling in stories;
Herodotus, History, IV, 117
hers of the siege her beauty stood at home
from arrogant crowding on her sight,
suitors, 14 The Thracians who live above the Crestonseans
and how they fed their courtship on his cattle, observe the following customs. Each man among
oxen and fat sheep, and drank up rivers them has several wives; and no sooner does a man
of wine out of the vats. die than a sharp contest ensues among the wives
Odysseus told upon the question which of them all the husband
of what hard blows he had dealt out to others loved most tenderly; the friends of each eagerly
—
and of what blow's he had taken all that story. plead on her behalf, and she to w'hom the honour
She could not close her eyes till all was told. isadjudged, after receiving the praises both of
Homer, Odyss^, XXIII, 295 men and women, is slain over the grave by the

hand of her next of kin, and then buried with her

11 Their customs are partly Cretan,
[the Lycians’] husband. The others are sorely grieved, for noth-
partly Carian. They
have, however, one singular ing is considered such a disgrace.
custom in which they differ from every other na- Herodotus, History, V, 5
 2J, Marriage 175

15 Masatger. When she came raging into the house whole city in property and in
becomes unequal
she went disposition;and hence there arise in most states
straight to hermarriage bed, tearing her hair the very results which we least desire to happen.
with both her hands, and cr>’ing upon Laius Now, to add to the law an express provision, not
—
long dead Do you remember, Laius, only that the rich man shall not marry into the
that night long past whicJi bred a child for us rich family, nor the powerful into the family of
to send you to your death and leave the powerful, but that the slower natures shall be
a mother making children with her son? compelled to enter into marriage with the quick-
And then she groaned and cursed the bed in er, and the quicker \rith the slower, may awaken
which anger as well as laughter in the minds of many;
she brought forth husband by her husband, for there is a difficulty in perceiving that the city
children ought to be well mingled like a cup, in which the
by her own child, an infamous double bond. maddening wine is hot and fiery, but when chas-
How after that she died I do not know, tened by a soberer God, receives a fair associate
for Oedipus distracted us from seeing. and becomes an excellent and temperate drink.
He burst upon us shouting and we looked Plato, Laws, VI, 773A
to him paced frantically around,
as he
begging us alwa^’s: Give me a sword, I say, 17 Athenian Stranger. Dninkenness is always improper,
to find this wife no wife, this mother’s \\t)mb, except at the festivals of the God who gave wine;
this field of double soNving whence 1 sprang
and peculiarly dangerous, when a man is engaged
and where I sowed my children! As he raved in the business of marriage; at such a crisis of their
—
some god showed him the w'ay none of us there. lives a bride and bridegroom ought to have all
Bellowing terribly and led by some their svits about them.
invisible guide he rushed on the two doors,
Plato, Laws, VI, 775A
wrenching the hollow bolts out of their sockets,
he charged inside. There, there, we saw his wife
hanging, the t\ristcd rope around her neck.
18 Athenian Stranger. The bride and bridegroom
should consider that they arc to produce for the
When he saw her, he cried out fearfully
state the best and fairest specimens of children
and cut the dangling noose. ITtcn, as she lay,
poor woman, on the ground, what happened
which they can. Now all men who arc associated
in any action alwaj’S succeed when they attend
after,
W 21S terrible to see. He tore the brooches
and give their mind to what they' arc doing, but
the gold chased brooches fastening her robe
when they do not give their mind or have no
a\N*ayfrom her and lifting them up high mind, they fail; wherefore let the bridegroom give
his mind to the bride and to the begetting of chil-
dashed them on his own e^'cballs, shrieking out
such things as: they will never see the crime dren, and the bride in like manner give her mind

I have committed or had done upon me! to the bridegroom, and particularly at the time
when their children arc not yet bom.
Sophocles, Oedipus
Plato, Laws, VI, 783B
the King, 1241

16 Athenian Stranger. We will say to him who bom of is

19 The man and wife seems to be aris-
association of

good parents —O
my son, you ought to make such
a marriage as wise men would approve. Now they
would advise you neither to avoid a poor mar-
riage, nor specially to desire a rich one; but if
other things are equal, always to honour inferiors,
tocratic; for theman rules in accordance with his
worth, and in those matters in which a man
should rule, but the matters that befit a woman he
hands over to her. If the man rules in everything
the relation passes over into oligarchy; for in

and w’ith them to form connections; — this will be

doing so he is not acting in accordance with their
respective worth, and not ruling in virtue of his
for the benefit of the city and of the families
which arc united; superiority.
equable and symmetri-
for the
cal tends infinitely more to virtue than the un- Aristotle, Ethics, 1 1 60^33
mixed. And he who is conscious of being too head-
strong, and carried away more than is fitting in 20 Women should marry when they are about eigh-
all his actions, ought to desire to become the rela- teen years of age, and men at seven and thirty;
tion of orderly parents; and he who is of the oppo- then they arc in the prime of life, and the decline
site temper ought to seek the opposite alliance. in the powere of both will coincide. Further, the
Let there be one word concerning all mar- children, if their birtli takes place soon, as may
riages: —
Every man shall follow, not after the reasonably be expected, will succeed in the begin-
marriage which is most pleasing to himself, but ning of their prime, when the fathers arc already
after that which is most beneficial to the state. For in the decline of and have nearly reached
life,

somehow every one is by nature prone to that their term of three-score years and ten.
which is likest to himself, and in this way the Aristotle, Politics, 1335*28
 176 I
Chapter 2. Family

21 Ye have heard that it was said by them of old Let the husband render unto the wife due be-
time, Thou shalt not commit adultery: nevolence: and likewise also the wife unto her
But I say unto you, That whosoever looketh on husband.
a woman to lust after her hath committed adul- The wife hath not power of her own body, but
tery with her already in his heart. the husband: and likewise also the husband hath
And if thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, not power of his own body, but the wife.
and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee Defraud ye not one the other, except it be with
that one of thy members should perish, and not consent for a time, that ye may give yourselves to
that thy whole body should be cast into hell. fasting and prayer; and come together again, that
And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and Satan tempt you not for your incontinency.
cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that But I speak this by permission, and not of com-
one of thy members should perish, and not that mandment.
thy whole body should be cast into hell. For I would that all men were even as I myself.
It hath been said, Whosoever shall put away his But every man hath his proper gift of God, one
wife, let him give her a writing of divorcement: after this manner, and another after that.
But I say unto you, That whosoever shall put I say therefore to the unmarried and widows, It

away his wife, saving for the cause of fornication, is good for them if they abide even as I.

causeth her to commit adultery: and whosoever But if they cannot contain, let them marry: for
shallmarry her that is divorced committeth adul- it is better to marry than to burn.
tery.
7 Corinthians 7:1-9
Matthew 5:27-32

24 Likewise, ye husbands, dwell with them according

22 The Pharisees also came unto him, tempting him,
to knowledge, giving honour unto the wife, as
and saying unto him, Is it lawful for a man to put
unto the weaker vessel, and as being heirs together
away his wife for every cause?
of the grace of life.
And he answered and said unto them, Have ye
not read, that he which made them at the begin- I Peter 3:7
ning made them male and female,
And said, For this cause shall a man leave fa-
25 With respect to wives and children, and that com-
ther and mother, and shall cleave to his wife: and
munity which both, with a sound policy, appoint-
they twain shall be one flesh?
ed, to prevent all jealousy, their methods, howev-
Wherefore they are no more t^vain, but one
er, were different. For when a Roman thought
flesh. What therefore God hath joined together,
himself to have a sufficient number of children, in
let not man put asunder.
case his neighbour who had none should come
They say unto him, Why did Moses then com- and request his wife of him, he had a lawful pow-
mand to give a writing of divorcement, and to put
er to give her up to him who desired her, either for
her away?
a certain time, or for good. The Lacedaemonian
He saith unto
them, Moses because of the hard-
husband, on the other hand, might allow the use
ness of your hearts sufferedyou to put away your
of his wife to any other that desired to have chil-
wives: but from the beginning it was not so.
dren by her, and yet still keep her in his house, the
And I say unto you. Whosoever shall put away
original marriage obligation still subsisting as at
his wife, except it be for fornication, and shall
first. Nay, many husbands, as we have said, would
marry another, committeth adultery: and whoso
invite men whom they thought likely to procure
marrieth her which is put away doth commit
them fine and good-looking children into their
adultery.
houses. What is the difference, then, between the
His disciples say unto him, If the case of the
two customs? Shall we say that the Lacedaemoni-
man be so with his wife, it is not good to marry.
an system is one of an extreme and entire uncon-
But he said unto them. All men cannot receive
cern about their wives, and would cause most peo-
this saying, save they to whom it is given.
ple endless disquiet and annoyance with pangs
For there are some eunuchs, which were so born
and jealousies; the Roman course wears an air of
from their mother’s womb: and there are some
a more delicate acquiescence, draws the veil of a
eunuchs, which were made eunuchs of men: and
new contract over the change, and concedes the
there be eunuchs, which have made themselves
general insupportableness of mere community?
eunuchs for the kingdom of heaven’s sake. He that
is able to receive it, let him receive it, Plutarch, Lyaxrgxis and Nxima Compared

Matthew 19:3-12
26 Hipparete was a virtuous and dutiful wife, but, at
23 Now concerning the things whereof ye wrote unto last, growing impatient of the outrages done to
me: It is good for a mannot to touch a woman. her by her husband’s continual entertaining of
Nevertheless, to avoid fornication, let every courtesans, as well strangers as Athenians, she de-
man have his own wife, and let every woman have parted from him and retired to her brother’s
her own husband. house. Alcibiades seemed not at all concerned at
 178 Chapter 2. Family

party who labors under this impediment remains Marriage forbidden? Pray you, now, tell me;
for ever without hope of marriage, while the other Or where commanded He virginity?
may many to whom she will in the Lord. I read as well as you no doubt have read
Aquinas, 5’ummn Tkeologica, III Suppl., 58, 1 The apostle when he speaks of maidenhead;
He said, commandment of the Lord he’d none.
37 Our Lord permitted a man to put away his wife Men may advise a woman to be one,
on account of fornication, in punishment of the But such advice commandment, no;
is not
unfaithful party and in favor of the faithful party, He left own judgment so.
the thing to our
so that the latter is not bound to marital inter- For had Lord God commanded maidenhood,
course with the unfaithful one. There arc however He’d have condemned all marriage as not good;
seven cases to be excepted in which it is not lawful And certainly, if there were no seed sown.
to put away a wife who has committed fornica- Virginity —where then should
it be grown?

tion, when either the wife is not to be blamed, or Paul dared not to forbid us, at the least,
both parties are equally blameworthy. The first is A thing whereof his Master’d no behest.
if the husband also has committed fornication; the The dart is set up for virginity;
second is if he has prostituted his wife; the third is Catch it who can; who runs best let us see.
if the wife, believing her husband dead on ac- “But this word is not meant for every wight,
count of his long absence, has married again; the But where God wills to give it, of His might.
fourth is if another man has fraudulently I know well that the apostle was a maid;

impersonated her husband in the marriage-bed; Nevertheless, and though he wrote and said
the fifth is if she be overcome by force; the sixth is He would that everyone were such as he,
ifhe has been reconciled to her by having carnal All is not counsel to virginity;
intercourse with her after she has committed adul- And so to be a wife he gave me leave
tery; the seventh is if both having been married Out of permission; there’s no shame should grieve
in the state of unbelief, the husband has given his In marrying me, if that my mate should die.
wife a bill of divorce and she has married again; Without exception, too, of bigamy.
for then if both be converted the husband is And though ’twere good no woman’s flesh to
bound to receive her back again. touch,
Aquinas, Summa Theologicoy III Suppl., 62, 1 He meant, own bed or on his couch;
in his
For peril and tow to assemble;
’tis fire
38 The [marriage] debt may be demanded in two You know what this example may resemble.
ways. First, explicitly, as when they ask one an- This is the sum: he held virginity
other by words; secondly, implicitly, when namely Nearer perfection than marriage for frailty.
the husband knows by certain signs that the wife And frailty’s all, I say, save he and she
would wish him to pay the debt, but is silent Would lead their lives throughout in chastity.
through shame. And so even though she does not “I grant this well, I have no great envy
ask for the debt explicitly in words, the husband is Though maidenhood’s preferred to bigamy;
bound to pay it, whenever his wife shows signs of Let those who will be clean, body and ghost,
wishing him to do so. Of my condition I will make no boast.
Aquinas, Summa Tkeologica, III Suppl., 64, 2 For well you know, a lord in his household,
He has not every vessel all of gold;
39 Since the wife has power of her husband’s body, Some are of wood and serve well all their days.
and with regard to the act of procrea-
vice versa, God calls unto Him in sundry ways,
folk
tion, the one is bound to pay the [marriage] debt And each one has from God a proper gift,
to the other, at any season or hour, with due re- Some this, some that, as pleases Him to shift.
gard to the decorum required in such matters, for “Virginity is great perfection known,
this must not be done at once openly. And continence e’en with devotion shown.
Aquinas, Summa Tkeologica, III Suppl., 64, 9 But Christ, Who of perfection is the well.
Bade not each separate man he should go sell
40 “For then, the apostle says that I am free All that he had and give it to the poor
To wed, in God’s name, where it pleases me. And follow Him in such wise going before.
He says that to be wedded is no sin; He spoke to those that would live perfectly;
Better to marry than to burn within. And, masters, by your leave, such am not I.
What care I though folk speak reproachfully I will devote the flower of all my age

Of wicked Lamech and his bigamy? To all the acts and harvests of marriage.
I know well Abraham was holy man, “Tell me what purpose or end
also, to
And Jacob, too, as far as know I can; The were made, that I defend,
genitals
And each of them had spouses more than two; And for what benefit was man first wrought?
And many another holy man also. Trust you right well, they were not made for
Or can you say that you have ever heard naught
That God has ever by His express word Explain who will and argue up and down
 y

180 I
Chapter 2. Family

46 The preachers of Varennes, saith Panurge, detest on his wife or his mistress; whose misfortune
and abhor the second marriages, as altogether him more; for whom he wishes more
w’ould afflict
foolish and dishonest. Foolish and dishonest? honor. These questions admit of no doubt in a
quoth Pantagruel, A plague take such preachers! sound marriage.
Yea, but, quoth Panurge, the like mischief also Montaigne, Essays, III, 5, On Some Verses
befell the Friar Charmer, who in a full auditory of Virgil
making a sermon at Pareilly, and therein abomi-
nating the reiteration of marriage, and the enter- 51 Lx)vc and marriage are two intentions that go by
ing again the bonds of a nuptial tie, did swear and separate and distinct roads. A woman may give
heartily give himself to the swiftest devil in hell, if herself to a man whom she would not at all want
he had not rather choose, and would much more to have married; 1 do not mean because of the
willingly undertake, the unmaidening or depucc- state of his fortune, butbecause of his personal
lating of a hundred virgins, than the simple qualities. Few men have married their mistresses
drudgery' of one widow. who have not repented it.
Rabelais, Gargantua and Pantagruel^ III, 6 Montaigne, Essays, III, 5, On Some Verses
of Virgil
47 Panurge. I will never be in the danger of being

made a cuckold, for the defect hereof is Causa sine 52 That man knew what it was all about, it seems to
qua non; yea, the sole cause, as many think, of me, ^vho said that a good marriage \vas one made
making husbands cuckolds. What makes poor between a blind >vife and a deaf husband.
scoundrel rogues to beg, I pray you? Is it not be- Montaigne, Essays, III, 5, On Some Verses
cause they have not enough at home wherewith to of Virgil
fill their bellies and their pokes? What is it makes

the wolves to leave the woods? Is it not the want of 53 KaUiarina. Fie, fie! unknit that threatening unkind
flesh meat? What maketh women whores? You brow,
understand me well enough. And dart not scornful glances from those e)’es,
Rabelais, Gargantua and Pantagmely III, 14 To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor:
It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads.
48 I N. take thee N. to my wedded Wife [Husband], Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair
to have and to hold from this day forward, for buds.
better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness And in no sense is meet or amiable.
and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us A woman moved is like a fountain troubled.
do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty;
thereto I plight [give] thee my troth. And while it is so, none sodry' or thirsty
Book of Common Prayer Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it.
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper.
49 We have thought to tie the knot of our marriages Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee.
more firmly by taking away all means of dissolv- And for thy maintenance commits his body
ing them; but the knot of \sill and affection has To painful labour both by sea and land,
become loosened and undone as much as that of To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
constraint has tightened. And on the contrary, WTiilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe;
what kept marriages in Rome so long in honor And craves no other tribute at thy hands
and security was everyone’s freedom to break But love, fair looks, and true obedience;
them off at will. They loved their wives the better Too little payment for so great a debt.
because they might lose them; and, with full liber- Such duty as the subject owes the prince
ty of divorce, five hundred years and more passed Even such a woman oweth to her husband;
before anyone took advantage of it. And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour.
Montaigne, Essays II, 15, That Our Desire And not obedient to his honest \riU,
What is she but a foul contending rebel
50 A good marriage, if such there be, rejects the com- And graceless traitor to her loving lord?
pany and conditions of love. It tries to reproduce I am ashamed that women are so simple

those of friendship. It is a sweet association in life, To offer ^var where they should kneel for peace,
full of and an infinite number of
constancy, trust, Or seek for rule, supremacy' and s\vay,
useful and solid services and mutual obligations. When they are bound to serv'e, love, and obey.
No woman who savors the taste of it would . . . Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth,
want to have the place of a mistress or paramour Unapt to toil and trouble in the world,
to her husband. If she is lodged in his affection as But that our soft conditions and our hearts
a wife, she is lodged there much more honorably Should well agree with our external parts?
and securely. When he dances ardent and eager Come, come, you froward and unable worms!
attention elsewhere, still let anyone ask him then My mind hath been as big as one of yours.
on whom he would rather have some shame fall. My heart as great, my reason haply more,
 —

23. i\farri(igc IBl

To bandy \vord for word and frown for frown; country copulatives, to .swear and to forswear; ac-
But now scf our lances arc but straws,
I cording as marriage binds and blood breaks: a
Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare, j>oor virgin, sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but
That seeming to l>c most which we indeed least mine own; a j>oor humour of mine, sir, to take
arc. that that no man else will: rich honesty dwells like
Then your stomachs, for it is no lx>ot,
vail a miser, sir, in a poor house; as your pearl in your
And hands below your husband’s
place your foot; foul oyster.
In token of which duty, if he please, Shakespeare, e\s Like It, V, iv, 56
My hand is ready; may it do him case,
Shakespeare, Tamir.t^ of the Shfir^ V, ii, 136 59 Slender. I will marry* her, sir, at your request; but if

there be no great love in thebeginning, yet heav-

54 LtencAo. Well, niece, 1 hope to see yo\i one day en may decrease it upon letter acquaintance,
fitted with a husband. wlicn we arc married and have more occasion to
Beatrice. Not till God make men of some other know one. another. I hope, upon familiarity will
metal than earth. W^oiild it not grieve a woman to crow more contempt. But if you say, “Marry' her,”
be overmastered with a piece of valiant dust? to I will marry* her; that I am freely diswlvcd. and
make an account of her life to a cIckI of svas-ss-ard dissolutely.
marl? No, uncle, Til none: Adam’s sons arc my Shakespeare, Mert} lYnes
brethren; and, truly, I hold it a sin to match in of lYtndsor^ I, i. 253
my kindred.
Leon. Daughter, rcn)cm!x:r what I told yotj: if 60 Mtitress Par/ Wives may Ik merry', and yet honest
the Prince do solicit you in that kind, you know too.
your ansvs er, Shakcs|Karc, Mere) Wtus
Beal Tlic fault will be in the music, cousin, if of B'nffior, IV, ii, !0B
you be not wooed in goo<f time: if the Prince fx:

too important, tell him there is measure in ev- 61 Chun He that cars rny land spares my team and
erything and so dance out the answer. For, hear gives me leave to in the crop; if Ik his cuckold, I

me, Hero: wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a he’s my drudge. He that comforts my wife is the
Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque pace: the first cherisher of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes
suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as my flesh and blood foves my flesh and blood; he
fantastical; the wedding, manncrly-morlcst, as a that loves my flcsli and bloo<l is my friend; ergo,
measure, full of state and ancientry; and then he that kiv.es my wife is my friend.
comes repentance and, with his bad legs, falls into Shakespeare, All's BV// Ihal
the cinque pace faster and faster, till he sink into Ends Well, I. iii, 47
his grave,
Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrcsvdly. 62 Othello. (7 cur^e of marriage,
Beat. I have a good eye, uncle; I can sec a 'Hiat we can call these delicate creatures ours
church by daylight. And I had rather be a toad,
not their appetites!
Shakespeare, Much Ado And upon the vapour of a dungeon,
live
About A'cMwg, n, i, 61 Ilian keep a corner in tlic thing I love
For other’s uses.
55 Benedick. The world must Ik peopled. When 1 said Sliakc.spearc, Othello, III, iii, 268
I would die a bachelor, 1 did not think I should
live till I were married.
63 Desdemcna. 1 have heard it said so. O, these men,
Shakespeare, Much Ado these men!
About Nothinf^, H, iii, 251 Dost thou in conscience think tell me, Emilia —
'Iliatthere Ik women do abuse their luisbands
56 Jacques. Will you be married, motley? In such gross kind?
Touchstone. As the ox hath his lx>w, sir, the horse /;mt7w. 'riicrc be some such, no question.
his curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath his Des. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the
desires; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be world?
nibbling. Emil. Why, would not you?
Shakespeare, As You Like //, III, iii, 79 Des. No, by this heavenly light!
Emil. Nor I neither by this heavenly light;
57 Rosalind.Men arc April when they woo, Decem- I might do’t as well i’ the dark.
ber when they wed: maids arc May when they arc Des. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the
maids, but the sky changes when they arc wives. world?
Shakespeare, As Few Like It, IV, i, 147 Emil. The world's a huge thing; it is a great
price.
58 Touchstone. God ’ild you, sir; I desire you of the For a small vice.
bkc. I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the Des. In troth, I think thou wouldst not.
 182 Chapter 2. Family

Emil. In troth, I think I should; and undo’t 65 Prospero. Then, as my gift and thine own acquisi-
when I had done. Marry, I would not do such a tion
thing for a joint-ring, nor for measures of lawn, Worthily purchased, take my daughter; but
nor for gowns, petticoats, nor caps, nor any petty If thou dost break her virgin- knot before

exhibition; but, for the whole world why, who — All sanctimonious ceremonies may
would not make her husband a cuckold to make With full and holy rite be minister’d,
him a monarch? I should venture purgatory for’t. No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall
Da. Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong To make this contract grow; but barren hate,
For the whole world. Sour-cyed disdain, and discord shall bestrew
Emil. Why, the wrong is but a wrong i’ the The union of your bed with weeds so loathly
world; and having the world for your labour, ’tis a That you shall hate it both. Therefore take heed,
wrong in your own world, and you might quickly As Hymen’s lamps shall light you.
make it right. Ferdinand. As I hope
Des. do not think there is any such woman.
I For quiet days, fair issue, and long life,
Emil. Yes, a dozen; and as many to the vantage With such love as *tis now, the murkiest den,
as would store the world they played for. The most opportune place, the strong’st sugges-
But I do think it is their husbands* faults tion;
If wives do fall. Say that they slack their duties, Our worscr genius can, shall never melt
And pour our treasures into foreign laps. Mine honour into lust, to take away
Or else break out in peevish jealousies, The edge of that day’s celebration
Throwing restraint upon us; or say they strike us. When I shall think, or Phoebus* steeds arc
Or scant our former having in despite; founder’d.
Why, we have galls, and though we have some Or Night kept chain’d below.
grace, Shakespeare, Tempest, IV, i, 13
Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know
64 Their wives have sense like them; they see and
66 Well, quoth Sancho, who had been silent, and list*-
smell ning all the while, my Wife us’d to tell me, she
And have their palates both for sweet and sour,
would have every one marry with their Match.
As husbands have. What is it that they do Like to like, quoth the Devil to the Collier, and
When they change us for others? Is it sport?
every Sow to her own Trough, as t’other Saying is.
I think it is. And doth affection breed it?
... A Murrain seize those that will spoil a good
I think it doth. Is*t frailty that thus errs?
Match between those that love one another! Nay,
It is so too. And have not we affections,
said Don Quixote, if Marriage should be always the
Desires for sport, and men have?
frailty, as
Consequence of mutual Love, what would become
Then let them use us well; else let them know, and their Authority
of the Prerogative of Parents,
The ills we do, their ills instruct us so. over their Children? young Girls might always
If
Shakespeare, Othello^ IV, iii, 60 chuse their own Husbands, we should have the
best Families intermarry with Coachmen and
Grooms; and your Heiresses would throw them-
Ltonies. There have been. selves away upon the first wild young Fellows,
Or I am much deceived, cuckolds ere now; whose promising Out-sides and Assurance makes
And many a man there is, even at this present, ’em set up for Fortunes, though all their Stock
Now while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm, consists in Impudence. For the Understanding
That litde thinks she has been sluiced in*s absence which alone should distinguish and chuse in these
And his pond fish*d by his next neighbour, by Cases as in all others, is apt to be blinded or bias’d
Sir Smile, his neighbour. Nay, there's comfort in’t by Love and Affection; and Matrimony is so nice
Whiles other men have gates and those gates and critical a Point, that it requires not only our
open’d, own cautious Management, but even the Direc-
As mine, against their will. Should all despair tion of a superior Power to chuse right. Whoever
That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind undertakes a long Journey, if he be wise, makes it
Would hang themselves. Physic for *t there is his Business to find out an agreeable Companion.
none; How cautious then should He be, who is to take a
a bawdy planet, that will strike
It is Journey whose Fellow-Traveller must not
for Life,
Where *tis predominant; and *tis powerful, think part with him but at the Grave; his Companion at
it, Bed and Board and Sharer of all the Pleasures
From east, west, north and south. Be it concluded. and Fatigues of his Journey; as the Wife must be
No barricade for a belly; know’t; to the Husband! She is no such Sort of Ware, that
and out the enemy
It will let in a Man can be rid of when he pleases: When once
With bag and baggage. Many thousand on*s that’s purchas’d, no Exchange, no Sale, no Alien-
Have the disease, and feel’t not. ation can be made; She is an inseparable Acci-
Shakespeare, Winter*s Tale, I, it, 190 dent to Man: Marriage is a Noose, which.
 23. Marriage 183

fasten’d about the Neck, runs the closer, and fils young man not yet, an elder man not at all.’* It is

more by our struggling to get loose: 'Tis a

uncas>- often seen that bad husbands have very good
Gerdisn Knot which none can unt>', and being wives; whether it be that it raiseth the price of
twisted ^iih our Thread of Life, nothing but the their husband’s kindness when it comes; or that
Sc)-thc of Death can cut it. the wives take a pride in their patience. But this
Cervantes, Don QuixoU, II, 19 never fails if the bad husbands were of their own
choosing, against their friends’ consent; for then

67 The Honourable Poor Man, said he [Don Quix- they will be sure to make good their owm folly.
ote), if the Poor can dcscr\’c that Epithet, when he Bacon, Of Marriage and Single Life
has a Beautiful Wife, is blcss’d with a Jewel: He
that deprives him him of his Honour,
of her, robs 69 This said unanimous, and other Rites
and may be said to deprive him of his Life. The Observing none, but adoration pure
Woman that is Beautiful, and keeps her Honesty Which God likes best, into thir inmost bower
when her Husband is Poor, dcserv'cs to be Handed they w'cnt; and cas’d the putting off
Crown’d with Laurel, as the Conquerors were of These troublcsom disguises which w’ce wear.
Old. Beauty is a templing Bait, that attracts the Strait side by side were laid, nor turned I w'ccnc
Eyes of all Beholders, and the Princely Eagles, Adam from his fair Spouse, nor Eve the Rites
and the most high-flown Birds stood to its pleasing M)'stcrious of connubial Love refus’d:
Lure. But when they find it in Necessity, then Wliatcver Hypocrites austerely talk
Kites and Crows, and other ravenous Birds will Of puritic and place and innocence.
all be grappling svith the alluring Prey. She that Defaming as impure what God declares
can withstand these dangerous Attacks, well de- Pure, and commands to som, leaves free to all.
serves to be the Crowm of her Husband. However, Our Maker bids increase, w ho bids abstain
Sir, take this along with you, as the Opinion of a But our Destroyer, foe to God and Man?
Wise Man, whose Name I have forgot; he said, Haile wedded Love, m^'stcrious Law, true soursc
(here w-as but one good Woman in the World, and Of human ofspring, sole proprietic.
his AdWee u'as, that every' Married Man should In Paradise of all things common else.

think his own Wife was she, as being the only way By thee adulterous was driv’n from men
lust
to live contented. For my own part, I need not Among the bestial herds to raunge, by thee
make the Application to myself, for I am not Founded in Reason, Loyal, Just, and Pure,
Married, nor have I as yet any Thoughts that Relations dear, and all the Charities
way; but if I had, ’twould not be a Woman’s For- Of Father, Son, and Brother first w’ere knowm.
tune, but her Character should recommend her; Milton, Paradise Lost, IV, 736
for publick Reputation is the Life of a Lady’s Ver-
tuc, and the outward Appearance of Modesty is in 70 Adam. I now' see
one sense as good as the Reality; since a priv'ate Bone of Bone, Flesh of my Flesh, my Self
my
Sin is not so prejudicial in this World, as a publick Before me; Woman is her Name, of Man
Indecency'. If you bring a \Voman honest to your Extracted; for this cause he shall forgoe
Bosom, ’tis easy keeping her so, and perhaps you Father and Mother, and to his Wife adhere;
may improve her Vcrtucs. If you take an unchaste And they shall be one Flesh, one Heart, one
Partner to your Bed, ’tis hard mending her; for Soule.
the Extremes of Vice and Venue arc so great in a Milton, Paradise Lost, VIII, 494
Woman, and their Points so far asunder, that ’tis

very improbable, 1 won’t say impossible, they 71 They looking back, all th’ Eastern side beheld
should ever be reconcil’d. Of Paradise, so late thir happic seat,
Ccrv'anics, Don QuixoU, II, 22 \Vav’d over by that flaming Brand, the Gate
With dreadful Faces throng’d and fierie Armes:
68 Grave natures, led by custom, and therefore con- Som natural tears they drop’d, but wip’d tlicm
stant. arc commonly loving husbands; as was said soon;
of UK-sses, tftnlcrn suam praetulit immoTialitali [he The World was all before them, w'hcrc to choose
preferred his aged wife to immortality). Chaste Thir place of rest, and Providence thir guide:
women arc often proud and for\%*ard, as presum- They hand in hand w'ith wandring steps and slow*,
ing upon the merit of their chastity. It is one of Through Eden took thir solitaric way,
the best bonds both of chastity and obedience in Milton, Paradise Lost. XII, 641
the wife if she think her husband wise; which she
will nc\‘erdo if she find him jealous. \S’ivcs arc 72 If woman, whom St. Paul terms
unchastity in a
young men’s mistresses; companions for middle the glory of man, be such a scandal and dishon-
age; and old men’s nurses. So as a man may haNX our, then certainly in a man, who is both the im-
a quantl to marry when he w’ill. But yet he w-as age and glory’ of God, it must, though commonly
reputed one of the wise men that made answer to not so thought, be much more dcflouring and dis-
the question, when a man should marry? —‘*A honourable; in that he sins both against his owm
 184 I
Chapter 2, Family

body, which is the perfcctcr sex, and his own glo- power over her than she has over his life; the pow-
ry*, which is in the woman; and, that which is er of thehusband being so far from that of an
worst, against the image and glory of God, which absolute monarch that the wife has, in many
is in himself. eases, a from him where natu-
liberty to separate
Milton, Apology Jot Smectymnvm ral right or their contract allows it, whether that
contract be made by themselves in the state of
73 What thing more instituted to the solace and de- Nature or by the customs or la\N’s of the country
light of man than marriage? And yet the misinter- they live in, and the children, upon such separa-
preting of some scripture, directed mainly against tion, fall to the father or mother’s lot as such con-

the abusers of the law for divorce given by Moses, tract docs determine.

hath changed the blessing of matrimony not sel- Locke, II Civil Government, VII, 82
dom into a familiar and coinhabiting mischief, at
least into a drooping and disconsolate household 76 Sharper. Thus grief still treads upon the heels of
captivity, without refuge or redemption so — pleasure;
ungoverned and so wild a race doth superstition Married in haste, we may repent at leisure.
run us from one extreme of abused liberty into the Congreve, The Old Bachelor, V, iii

other of unmerciful restraint. For although God in

the first ordaining of marriage taught us to what 77 Aiillamant. Ah! I’ll never marry', unless I am first
end he did it, in words expressly implying the apt made sure of my will and pleasure.
and cheerful conversation of man >vith woman, to Mirabell. Would you have ’em both before mar-
comfort and refresh him against the evil of soli- riage? Or will you be contented \vith the first now,
tary' life, not mentioning the purpose of genera- and stay for the other till after grace?
tion till afterwards, as being but a secondary end Milla. Ah, don’t be impertinent, —My dear lib-
in dignity, though not in necessity: yet now, if any erty, shall I leave thee? My faithful solitude, my
two be but once handed in the church, and have darling contemplation, must I bid you then ad-
tasted in any sort the nuptial bed, let them find ieu? Ay-h adieu —My morning thoughts, agree-
themselves never so mistaken in their dispositions able wakings, indolent slumbers, ye ye all doxtemrs,
through any error, concealment, or misadventure, sommeils du adieu. — can’t
matin, more
I do’t, ’tis
that through their different tempers, thoughts and than impossible. — Mirabell,
Positively, I’ll lie
constitutions, they can neither be to one another a abed in a morning as long as I please.
remedy against loneliness nor live in any union or Mira. Then I’ll gel up in a morning as early as
contentment all their days; yet they shall, so they I please.
be but found suitably weaponed to the least possi- Milla. Ah, idle creature, get up when you
bility' of sensual enjoyment, be made, spite of an- will. —and d’ye hear?
won’t be called names al-
1
tipathy, to fadge together and combine as they ter I’m married; positively I won’t be called
may to their unspeakable wcarisomcncss and de- names.
spair of all sociable delight in the ordinance Mira. Names!
which God established to that very end. Milla. Aye, as wife, spouse, my dear, joy, jewel,
Milton, Doclnne and Discipline of love, sw'ccthcart, and the rest of that nauseous
Divorce, I, Pref. cant, in which men and their \rivcs arc so ful-
somcly familiar — I shall never bear that, —Good
74 With regard to marriage, it is plain that it is in Mirabell, don’t let us be familiar or fond, nor kiss
accordance with reason, if the desire of connection before folks, like my Lady Fadlcr and Sir Francis;
is engendered not merely by external form, but by nor go to Hyde Park together the first Sunday in
a love of begetting children and wisely educating a new chariot, to provoke eyes and whispers; and
them; and if, in addition, the love both of the then never be seen there together again, as if we
husband and wife has for its cause not external were proud of one another the first week, and
form merely, but chiefly liberty of mind. ashamed of one another ever after. Let us never
Spinoza, Ethics, IV, Appendix XX visit together, nor go to a play together, but let us

be very strange and well bred; let us be as strange

75 The husband and wife, though they have
common concern, yet having different
standings, will unavoidably sometimes have dif-
ferent wills too. It therefore being necessary that
the last determination (that is, the rule) should be
placed somewhere, it naturally falls to the man’s
but one as if we had been married a great while; and as
under- well bred as if we were not married at all.
Mira. Have you any more conditions to offer?
Hitherto your demands are pretty reasonable.
Milla. Trifles —
as liberty to pay and receive vis-
its to and from whom I please; to write and re-

share as the abler and the stronger. But this, ceive letters, without interrogatories or wr>' faces
reaching but to the things of tlicir common inter- on your part; to wear what I please; and choose
est and
property, leaves the wife in the full and conversation with regard only to my own taste; to
true possession of what by contract is her peculiar have no obligation upon me to converse with wits
right, and at least gives the husband no more that I don’t like, because they arc your acquain-
 —
23, Marriage 185

tancc; or to be intimate ^^^th fools, because they lows; for prevention of which, I banish all foreign
may be your relations. Come to dinner when I forces, all auxiliaries to the tea table, as orange
please, dine in my dressing room when I’m out of brandy, all aniseed, cinnamon, citron and Barba-
humor, without giving a reason. To have my clos- dos waters, together sviih ratafia and the most no-
be sole empress of my tea table,
el inxnolatc; to ble spirit of clary. —
But for cowslip-wine, poppy
which you must never presume to approach with- water, and all dormiiivcs, those I allow. These
out first asking leave. And
wherever I am,
lastly, provisos admitted, in other things I may prove a
you shall always knock at the door before you tractable and complying husband.
come in. These articles subscribed, if I continue to Milla. O, horrid provisos! filthy strong waters! I
endure you a little longer, I may by degrees dwin- toast fellows, odious men! I hate your odious pro-
dle into a wife. visos.

Mira. Your something advanced in

bill of fare is Mira. Then %ve’rc agreed. Shall I kiss your hand
this latter account. Well, have I liberty to offer upon the contract?
conditions —
that when you are dwindled into a Congreve, Ucy of the World, IV, v
wife, I may not be beyond measure enlarged into
a husband? 78 Their [the Lilliputians’] ma.xim is, that among
SUUa. You have free leave, propose your ut- people of quality, a w'ifc should be always a rea-
most, speak and spare not. sonable and agreeable companion, because she
Mita. thank you. Imprimis then, I covenant
I cannot alway-s be young.
that your acquaintance be general; that you ad- Swift, Gulliver^s Travels, I, 6
mit no sworn confidante or intimate of your own
sex; no shc-friend to screen her affairs under your 79 This gentleman [Mr. Allworthy] had in his youth
countenance and tempt you to make trial of a married a very' worthy and beautiful woman, of
mutual secrecy. No decoy duck to wheedle you a whom he had been extremely fond: by her he had
foi>— scrambling to the play in a mask then — three children, all of whom died in their infancy'.
bring you home in a pretended fright, when you He had likewise had the misfortune of burying
think you shall be found out —
and rail at me for this beloved wife herself, about five years before
missing the play, and disappointing the frolic the time in which this history’ chuscs to set out.
which you had to pick me up and prove my con- This however great, he bore like a man of
loss,

stanc)'. sense and constancy, though it must be confest he

Milla. Detestable imprimis! I go to the play in a would often talk a liiilc whimsically on this head;
mask! for he sometimes said he looked on himself as still
lion, I you continue to like
article, that married, and considered his wife as only gone a
your own face as long asand while it pass-
I shall; little before him, a journey which he should most

es current with me, that you endeavor not to new certainly, sooner or later, take after her; and that
coin it. To which end, together with all vizards for he had not the least doubt of meeting her again in
the day, I prohibit all masks for the night, made a place where he should never part with her
of oiled-skins and I know not what hog’s bones, — —
more sentiments for which his sense was ar-
hare’s gall, pig water, and the marrow of a roasted raigned by one part of his neighbours, his religion
cat. In short, I forbid all commerce with the gen- by a second, and his sincerity by a third.
tlewoman in what-d’ye-call-it court. Item, I .shut Fielding, Tom Jones, I, 2
my doors against all bawds \rith baskets, and pen-
nyworths of muslin, china, fans, atlases, etc. Item, 80 The squire, to whom woman had been a
that poor
wlicn you shall be breeding— time of their mar-
faithful upper-serv’ant all the
Ah! Name it not.
Milla. riage, had returned that behaviour by making
Mim. Which may be presumed, with a blessing what the world calls a good husband. He very
on our endeavors seldom swore at her (perhaps not above once a
Milla. Odious endeavors! Aveek) and never beat her: she had not the least
Mira. I denounce against all strait lacing, occasion for jealousy, and was perfect mistress of
squeezing for a shape, till you mold my boy’s head her time; for she was nc\er interrupted by her
like a sugar loaf; and instead of a man-child, husband, who was engaged
all the morning in his
make me father to a crooked billet. Lastly, to the field and all the evening with bottle
exercises,
dominion of the tea table I submit. But with — companions. She scarce indeed ever saw him but
proviso that you exceed not in your province; but at meals; where she had the pleasure of carving
restrain yourself to naiiv-e and simple tea-table those dishes which she had before attended at the
drinks, as tea, chocolate, and coffee. As likewise to dressing. From these meals she retired about five
genuine and authorized tea-table talk
mending
—such as minutes after the other scrv'anis, having only-
of fashions, spoiling reputations, railing stayed to drink “the king over the water.” Such
at absent friends, and so forth —
but that on no were, it seems, Mr. ^Vcstc^n’s orders; for it was a
account YOU encroach upon the men’s preroga- ma,xim with him, that women should come in
ti%T, and presume to drink healths, or toast fel- with the first dish, and go out after the first glass.
 —
186 I
Chapter 2. Family

Obedience W
perhaps no difficult
to these orders 2is fortune to have a wife who was debauched by a
task; for the conversation (if may be called so) it priest before her marriage, and who since covered
was seldom such as could entertain a lady. It con- herself with disgrace by public scandals: he was so
sisted chiefly of hallowing, singing, relations of moderate as to leave her without noise. This man,
sporting adventures, b —d— y, and abuse of wom- about forty years old, vigorous and of agreeable
en, and of the government. appearance, needs a woman; he is too scrupulous
Fielding, Tom Jones, VII, 4 to seek to seduce another man’s wife, he fears in-
tercourse with a public woman or with a widow
81 “O my dear Sophy, you are a woman of sense; if who would serve him as concubine. In this dis-
you marry a man, as is most probable you will, of quieting and sad state, he addresses to his Church
lesscapacity than yourself, make frequent trials of a plea of which the following is a precis:
his temper before marriage, and see whether he My wife is criminal, and it is I who am pun-
can bear to submit to such a superiority. Prom- — ished. Another woman is necessary as a comfort to
ise me, Sophy, you will take this advice; for you my life, to my virtue even; and the sect of which I
will hereafter find importance.” “It is very like-
its am a member refuses her to me; it forbids me to
ly I shall never marry at
all,” answered Sophia; “I marry an honest girl. The civil la^vs of to-day,
think, at least, I shall never marry a man in whose unfortunately founded on canon law, deprive me
understanding I see any defects before marriage; of the rights of humanity. The Church reduces me
and I promise you I would rather give up my own to seeking cither the pleasures it reproves, or the
than see any such afterwards.” “Give up your un- sheimeful compensations it condemns; it tries to

derstanding!” replied Mrs. Fitzpatrick; “oh, fie, force me be criminal.

to
child! I will not believe someanly of you. Ev- I cast my eyes over all the peoples of the earth;

erything else might myself be brought to give

I there is not a single one except the Roman Catho-
up; but never this. Nature would not have allot- lic people among whom divorce and a new mar-

ted this superiority to the wife in so many instanc- riage are not natural rights.
es, if she had intended we should all of us have What upheaval of the rule has therefore made
surrendered it to the husband. This, indeed, men among the Catholics a virtue of undergoing adul-
of sense never expect of us.” tery, and a duty of lacking a wife when one has

Fielding, Tom Jones, XI, 7 been infamously outraged by one’s own? . . .

That our priests, that our monks renounce

82 Young women who are conducted by marriage
alone to liberty and pleasure, who have a mind
which dares not think, a heart which dares not
feel, eyes which dare not see, ears which dare not
hear, who appear only to show themselves silly,
condemned without intermission to trifles and
precepts, have sufficient inducements to lead
wives, to that I consent; it, is an outrage against
population, it is a misfortune for them, but they
merit this misfortune which they have made for
themselves. They have been the victims of the
popes who wanted to have in them slaves’, soldiers
without families and without fatherland, living
solely for the Church: but I, magistrate, who serve

them on to marriage: it is the young men that the state all day, I need a wife in the evening; and
want to be encouraged. the Church has not the right to deprive me of a
Montesquieu, Spirit of Laws, XXIII, 9 benefit which Gqd accords me. The apostles were
married, Joseph was married, and I \vant to be. If
83 Of all the riddles of a married life, said my father, I, Alsacian, am dependent on a priest who dwells
crossing the landing in order to set his back at Rome, if this priesthas the barbarous power to
against the wall, whilst he propounded it to my rob me of a wife, let him make a eunuch of me for
—
uncle Toby of all the puzzling riddles, said he, the singing of Misereres in his chapel.
in a marriage state, —
of which you may trust me, Voltaire, Philosophical Dictionary: Adultery
brother Toby, there are more asses* loads than all
Job’s stock of asses could have carried —there is 85 Johnson told me, with an amiable fondness, a lit-
not one that has more intricacies in it than this tle pleasing circumstance relative to this work.

that from the very moment the mistress of the Mrs. Johnson, in whose judgement and taste he
house is brought to bed, every female in it, from had great confidence, said to him, after a few
my lady’s gentlewoman down to the cinder- numbers of The Rambler had come out, “I thought
wench, becomes an inch taller for it; and give very well of you before; but I did not imagine you
themselves more airs upon that single inch, than could have written any thing equal to this.” Dis-
all the other inches put together. tant praise, from whatever quarter, is not so de-
I think rather, replied my uncle Toby, that ’tis lightful as that of a wife whom a man loves and
we who sink an inch lower. If I meet but a esteems.
woman —
with child I do it. Boswell, Life ofJohnson (1750)
Sterne, Trisitam Shandy, IV, 12
86 He [Johnson] talked of the heinousness of the
84 A senior magistrate of a French town had the mis- crime of adultery, by which the peace of families
 2J. Marriage 187

was destroyed. He said, “Confusion of progeny woman in particular?” Johnson. “Ay, Sir, fifty

constitutes the essence of the crime; and therefore thousand.” Bosiveli “Then, Sir, you arc not of
a woman who breaks her marriage vo\s^ is much opinion with some who imagine that certain men
more criminal than a man who does it. A man, to and certain women are made for each other; and
be sure, is criminal in the sight of God: but he docs that they cannot be happy if they miss their coun-
not do his wife a very material injury', if he does terparts?” yoAnron. “To be sure not, Sir. I believe
not insult her; if, for instance, from mere wanton- marriages would in general be as happy, and of-
ness of appetite, he steals privately to her cham- ten more so, if they were all made by the Lord
bermaid. Sir, a wife ought not greatly to resent Chancellor, upon a due consideration of charac-
this. Iwould not receive home a daughter who ters and circumstances, without the parties having
had run away from her husband on that account. any choice in the matter,”
A wife should study to reclaim her husband by Boswell, Life of Johnson (Mar. 22, 1776)
more attention to please him. Sir, a man will not,
once in a hundred instances, leave his wife and go 91 We then talked of marrying women of fortune;
to a harlot, if his wife has not been negligent of and I mentioned a remark, that a man
common
pleasing.” may be, upon the whole, richer by marry'ing a
Boswell, Life ofJohnson (1768) woman with a very small portion, because a wom-
an of fortune will be proportionally expensive;
87 A gentleman who had been very' unhappy in mar- whereas a woman who brings none will be very
riage,married immediately after his wife died: moderate in expenses, Johnson. “Depend upon it,
Johnson said, it was the triumph of hope over ex- Sir, this is not true. A woman of fortune being
perience. used to the handling of money, spends it judi-
Boswell, Life of Johnson (1770) ciously: but a woman who gets the command of
money for the first time upon her marriage, has
88 A was started, whether the state of mar-
question such a gust in spending it, that she throws it away
riagewas natural to vnTsn. Johnson. “Sir, it is so far with great profusion.”
from being natural for a man and woman to live Boswell, Life of Johnson (Mar. 28, 1776)
ina state of marriage, that we find all the motives
which they have for remaining in that connection, 92 Johnson. “Between a man and his wife, a husband’s
and the restraints which civilized society imposes infidelity is nothing. They arc connected by chil-
to prevent separation, arc hardly sufficient to dren, by fortune, by serious considerations of com-
keep them together.” munity. Wise married women don’t trouble them-
Bosu’ell, Life of Johnson (Mar, 31, 1772) selves about the infidelity in their husbands.”
Bosiveli “To be sure there is a great difference
89 On Friday, May 7, I breakfasted with him at Mr. between the offence of infidelity in a man and
Thrale’s in the Borough. NVhilc we were alone, I that of his wife.” Johnson. “The difference is
endeavoured as well as I could to apologise for a boundless. The man imposes no bastards upon his
lady who had been divorced from her husband by wife.”
act of Parliament. I said, that he had used her Boswell, Life of Johnson (Oct. 10, 1779)
very ill, had behaved brutally to her, and that she
could not continue to live with him without hav- 93 The domestic relations are founded on marriage,
ing her delicacy contaminated; that all affection and marriage founded upon the natural reci-
is

for him was thus destroyed; that the essence of procity or intercommunity ... of tlic sexes. This
conjugal union being gone, there remained only a natural union of the sexes proceeds according to
cold form, a mere civil obligation; that she was in the mere animal nature or according to the
. . . ,

the prime of with qualities to produce happi-

life, law. The latter is marriage which is the . . . ,

ness; that these ought not to be lost; and, that the
gentleman on whose account she was divorced
had gained her heart while thus unhappily situat-
ed. Seduced, perhaps, by the charms of the lady in
question, I thus attempted to palliate
sensible could not be justified; for
union of two persons of different sex for life-long
reciprocal possession of their sexual faculties. The
end ofproducing and educating children may be
regarded as always the end of nature in implant-
what I was ing mutual desire and inclination in the sexes; but
when I had fin- it is not necessary for the rightfulncss of marriage

ished my harangue, my venerable friend gave me
a proper check; “My dear Sir, never accustom
your mind to mingle virtue and vice. The
woman’s a whore, and there’s
Boswell, Life ofJohnson
that those who marry should set this before them-
selves as the end of their union, otherwise the
marriage would be dissolved of itself when the
an end on’t.” production of children ceased.
(May 7, 1773) Kant, Science of Right, 24

90 Boswell, do you not suppose that there

“Pray, Sir, 94 The relation of the married persons to each other
are fifty vs’omen in the world, with
any one of is a relation of equality as regards the mutual pos-
whom a man may be as happy, as with any one session of their persons, as well as of their goods.
 188 I
Chapter 2, Family

Consequently marriage is only truly realized in and so also to genuine natural feeling.

monogamy; for in the relation of polygamy the 99 Hegel, Philosophy of Right, 168
person who is given away on the one side, gains
only a part of the one to whom that person is Familiarity, close acquaintance, the habit of com-
given up, and therefore becomes a mere res. But in mon pursuits, should not precede marriage; they
respect of their goods, they have severally the should come about for the first time wthin it. And
right to renounce the use of any part of them, their development has all the more value, the
although only by a special contract. Hence
. . . richer it is and the more facets it has.
the question may be raised as to whether it is not Hegel, Philosophy of Right,
contrary to the equality of married persons when Additions, Par. 168
the law says in any way of the husband in relation
to the wife, “he shall be thy master,” so that he is 100 It is a much greater shock to modesty to go to bed

represented as the one who commands, and she is with a man whom one has only seen twice, after
the one who obeys. This, however, cannot be re- half a dozen words mumbled in Latin by a priest,
garded as contrary to the natural equality of a than to yield in spite of one’s self to a man whom
human pair, if such legal supremacy is based only one has adored for two years.
upon the natural superiority of the faculties of the Stendhal, On Love, I, 21
husband compared with the wife, in the effectua-
tion of the common interest of the household, and 101 Among aristocratic nations birth and fortune fre-

if the right to command is based merely upon this

quently make two such different beings of man
fact. For this right may thus be deduced from the and woman that they can never be united to each

very duty of unity and equality in relation to the other.Their passions draw them together, but the
md involved. condition of society and the notions suggested by
it prevent them from contracting a permanent
Kant, Science of Right, 26
and ostensible tie. The necessary consequence is a
great number of transient and clandestine connec-
95 It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a sin-
tions. Nature secretly avenges herself for the con-
gle man in possession of a good fortune, must be
straint imposed upon her by the law's of man.
in want of a wife.
This is not so much the case when the equality
Jane Austen, Pnde and Prejudice, I
of conditions has swept away all the imaginary or
the real barriers that separated man from woman.
96 ’Tis pity learned virgins ever wed No girl then believes that she cannot become the
With personsno sort of education,
of w'ife of the man who loves her, and this renders all
Or gentlemen, who, though well born and bred, breaches of morality before marriage very uncom-
Grow tired of scientific conversation: mon; for, whatever be the credulity of the pas-
I much upon this head.
don’t choose to say sions, a woman will hardly be able to persuade
I’m a plain man, and in a single station. herself that she is beloved when her lover is per-
—
But Oh! ye lords of ladies intellectual, fectly free to marry her and does not.
Inform us truly, have they not hen-peck’d you all? Tocqueville, Democraty in America,
Byron, Don Juan, I, 22 Vol. II, III, II

102 Mr. Weller. Wen you’re a married man, Samivel,

97 Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch’s wife.
you’ll understand a good many things as you
He would have written sonnets all his life? don’t understand now'; but vether it’s worth w'hile
Byron, Don Juan, III, 8
goin’ through so much, to learn so little, as the
charity-boy said ven he got to the end of the al-
98 Marriage results from the free surrender by both phabet, is a matter o’ taste.
sexes of their personality —a personality in every Dickens, Pickwick Papers, XXVII
possible way unique in each of the parties. Conse-
quently, ought not to be entered by two people
it 103 Mr. Micawber. Accidents will occur in the best-reg-
identical in stockwho are already acquainted and ulated families; and in families not regulated by
perfectly known to one another; for individuals in that pervading influence which sanctifies while it
the same circle of relationship have no special enhances the ——
a I would say, in short, by the
personality of their own in contrast with that of influence of Woman, in the lofty character of
others in the same circle. On the contrary, the Wife, they may be expected w-ith confidence, and
parties should be drawn from separate families must be borne with philosophy.
and be different in ori-
their personalities should Dickens, David Copperfield, XXVIII
gin. Since the very conception of marriage is that
it is a freely undertaken ethical transaction, not a 104 Civilised men are largely attracted by the mental
tie directly grounded in the physical organism charms of women, by their wealth, and especially
and its desires, it follows that the marriage of by their social position; for men rarely marry into
blood-relations runs counter to this conception a much lower rank. The men who succeed in ob-
 23. Marriage 189

taining the more beautiful women will not have a Bourgeois marriage is in reality a system of
better chance of leaving a long line of descendants wives in common and thus at the most what the
than other men with plainer wives, save the few Communists might possibly be reproached with is

who bequeath their fortunes according to primo- that they desire to introduce, in substitution for a
geniture. With respect to the opposite form of se- hypocritically concealed, an openly legalized,
lection, namely, of the more attractive men by the community women.
of
women, although in civilised nations women have Marx and Engels, Communist Manifesto, 11
free or almost free choice, whicli is not the ease
with barbarous races, yet their choice is largely 107 What marriage may be in the ease of two persons
influenced by the social position and wealth of the of cultivated faculties, identical in opinions and
men; and the success of the latter in life depends purposes, between whom there exists that best
much on their intellectual pouters and energy, or kind of equality, similarity of powers and capaci-
on the fruits of these same powers in their forefa- ties with reciprocal superiority in them so that —
thers. each can enjoy the luxury of looking up to the
Darwin, Descent of Man^ III, 20 other, and can have alternately tlic pleasure of
leading and of being led in the path of devel-
105 Man scans with scrupulous care the character and —
opment I will not attempt to describe. To those
pedigree of his horses, cattle, and dogs before he who can conceive it, there is no need; to those who
matches them; but when he comes to his own cannot, it would appear the dream of an enthusi-
marriage he rarely, or never, takes any such care. ast. But I maintain, with the profoundcst convic-

He is impelled by nearly the same motives as the
lower animals, when they are left to their own free
choice, though he is in so far superior to them that
he highly values mental charms and virtues. On
the other hand he is strongly attracted by mere
wealth or rank. Yet he might by selection do
something not only for the bodily constitution and
frame of his offspring, but for their intellectual
and moral qualities. Both sexes ought to refrain
from marriage if they arc in any marked degree
inferior in body or mind; but such hopes arc Uto-
pian and will never be even partially realised un-
til the laws of inheritance arc thoroughly known.
Ever^'one docs good service, who aids towards this
end.
Darwin, Descent of Man, III, 21
106 But you Communists w'ould introduce community
of women, screams the whole bourgeoisie in cho*
rus.
Thebourgeois sees in his wife a mere instru-
ment He hears that the instruments
of production.
of production arc to be exploited in common, and,
naturally, can come to no other conclusion than
that the lot of being common to all will likewise
fall to the women.
He has not even a suspicion that the real point
aimed at is to do away with the status of women
as mere instruments of production.
For the rest, nothing is more ridiculous than the
virtuous indignation of our bourgeois at the com-
munity of women
which, they pretend, is to be
openly and officially established by the Commu-
nists. The Communists have no nc^ to introduce
community of w'omen; it has existed almost from
time immemorial.
Our bourgeois, not content with having the
wives and daughters of their proletarians at their
disposal, not to speak of common prostitutes, take
the greatest pleasure in seducing each othcris
wives.
tion, that this,and this only, is the ideal of mar-
riage; and that all opinions, customs, and
institutions which favour any other notion of it, or
turn the conceptions and aspirations connected
with it into any other direction, by whatever pre-
tences they may be coloured, arc relies of primi-
tive barbarism. The moral regeneration of man-
kind w'ill only really commence, when the most
fundamental of the social relations is placed un-
der the rule of equal justice, and when human
beings learn to cultivate their strongest sympathy
with an equal in rights and in cultivation.
Mill, Subjection of Women, IV
108 Natasha did not follow the golden rule advocated
by clever folk, especially by the French, which
say's that a girl should not let herself go when she
marries, should not neglect her accomplishments,
should be even more careful of her appearance
than when she was unmarried, and should fasci-
nate her husband as much as she did before he
became her husband. Natasha on tlic contrary
had at once abandoned all her witchery, of which
her singing had been an unusually powerful part.
Site gave it up just because it was so powerfully
seductive. She took no pains with her manners or
with delicacy of speech, or with her toilet, or to
show herself to her husband in her most becoming
attitudes, or to avoid inconveniencing him by
Ijcing too exacting. She acted in contradiction to
all those rules. She felt that the allurements in-
stinct had formerly taught her to use would now
be merely ridiculous in the eyes of her husband, to
whom she had from the first moment given herself
—
up entirely that is, with her whole soul, leaving
no corner of it hidden from him. She felt that her
unity with her husband was' not maintained by
the poetic feelings that had attracted him to her,
—
but by something else indefinite but firm as the
bond between her own body and soul.
Tolstoy, War and Peace, 1 Epilogue, X
 190 I
Chapter 2, Family

109 If the purpose of dinner is to nourish the bod)% a “I love you awfullyl” Natasha suddenly said.
man who eats nvo dinners at once may perhaps “Aw’fully, awfully!”
get more enjoyment but mII not attain his pur- “No, he would not have approved,” said Pierre,
pose, for his stomach will not digest the nvo din- after reflection.“What he would have approved
ners. • of is our family life. He was alwa)’s so anxious to
If the purpose of marriage is the family, the find seemliness,happiness, and peace in cv-
person who \nshes to have many wives or hus- eiy’thing,and I should have been proud to let him
bands may perhaps obtain much pleasure, but in see us. There now —
you talk of my absence, but
that case will not have a family. you wouldn’t believe what a special feeling I have
If the purpose of food is nourishment and the for you after a separation. . .

.” Natasha began.
purpose of marriage is the family, the whole ques- “Yes, I should think . .

tion resolves itself into not eating more than one “No, it’s not that. I never leave off loving you.
can digest, and not having more wives or hus- And one couldn’t love more, but this is something
bands than are needed for the family —that is, one special. . . . Yes, of course
—” he did not finish

wife or one husband. Natasha needed a husband. because their eyes meeting said the rest.
A husband was given her and he gave her a fam- “What nonsense it is,” Natasha suddenly ex-
ily. And she not only saw no need of any other or claimed, “about honeymoons, and that the great-
better husband, but as all the povvers of her soul est happiness is at first! On the contraiy’, now’ is
were intent on serving that husband and family, the best of all.”
she could not imagine and saw no interest in Tolstoy, War and Peacfy I Epilogue, XVI
imagining how it would be if things were differ-
ent.
112 Even concubinage h.is been corrupted —by mar-
Tolstoy, War aad Pface, I Epilogue, X riage.
Nietzsche, Bgond Good and EnV, IV, 123
110 Natasha and Pierre, left alone, also began to talk
as only a husband and wife can talk, that is, with 113 Marriage is popular because it combines the ma.x-
extraordinary' dearness and rapidity, under- imum of temptation with the maximum of oppor-
standing and expressing each other's thoughts in tunity.
ways contrary to all rules of logic, without prem- Shaw, Man and Superman^ hlaxims
ises, deductions, or conclusions, and in a quite pe- for Revolutionists
culiar way. Natasha was so used to this kind of
talk with her husband that for her it was the sur-
114 IVhen two people are under the influence of the
est sign of something being wrong between them if
most violent, most insane, most dclusiv’c, and most
Pierre followed a line of logical reasoning. V\Tien
transient of passions, they are required to swear
he began proving an>'thing, or talking argumen-
that they will remain in that excited, abnormal,
tatively and calmly and she, led on by his exam-
ple, began to do the same, she knew’ that they
and exhausting condition continuously until
death do them part.
were on the v’erge of a quarrel.
Shaw, Getting Afarriedj Pref.
Tolstoy, War and Peace^ I Epilogue, XVI

115 Liza. Theres lots of women has to make their hus-

1 1 1 Natasha would have had no doubt as to the great-
ness of Pierre’s idea, but one thing disconcerted
her. “Can a man so important and necessary’ to
society be also my husband? How did this hap-
pen?” She wished to express this doubt to him.
“Now who could decide whether he is really clev-
erer than all the others?” she asked herself, and
passed in review all those w’hom Pierre most re-
spected. Judging by what he had said there was
no one he had respected so highly as Platon Kara-
taev’.
“Do you know’ what I am thinking about?” she
asked. “About Platon Karataev. IVould he hav’e
approved of you now’, do you think?”
Pierre w'as not at all surprised at this question.
He understood his w’ife’s line of thought.
“Platon Karataev?” he repeated, and pon-
dered, evidently sincerely tiy’ing to imagine Kara-
taev’s opinion on the subject. “He would not have
understood . . yet perhaps he would.”
. Russell, Marriage and Marais, III
bands drunk to make them fit to live xvith. You
see, it’s like this. If a man has a bit of a con-
science, it alw’ays takes him when he’s sober; and
then it makes him low-spirited. A drop of booze
just takes that off and makes him happy.
Shaw, Pygmalion, III
116 Owing to the subjection of women there has in
most communities been no genuine com-
civilized
panionship between husbands and wives; their re-
lation has been one of condescension on the one
side and duty on the other. All the man’s serious
thoughts and purposes he has kept to himself,
since robust thought might lead his wife to betray
him. In most cmlized communities women have
been denied almost all experience of the world
and of affairs. They have been kept artificially
stupid and therefore uninteresting.
 1

2.3, Marriage 191

117 It is . . .
possible for a civilized man and woman each other’s policeman. If marriage is to achieve
to be happy in marriage, although if this is to be its possibilities, husbands and wives must learn to

the ease a number of conditions must be fulfilled. understand that whatever the law may say, in
There must be a feeling of complete equality on their private lives they must be free.
both sides; there must be no interference with mu* Russell, Marriage and Morals, IX
tual freedom; there must be the most complete
physical and mental intimacy; and there must be
a certain similarity in regard to standards of val- 1 18 We know the very widespread custom of breaking
ues. (It is fatal, for example, if one values only a vessel or a plate on the occasion of a rothal;
money while the other values only good work.) everyone present possesses himself of a fragment
Given all these conditions. 1 believe marriage to in s)‘mbolic acceptance of the fact that he may no
be the best and most important relation that can longer put forward any claim to the bride, pre-
exist between two human beings. If it has not of- sumably a custom which arose with monogamy.
ten been realized hitherto, that is chiefly because Trend Gmeral
, Introduction to
husband and wife have regarded themselves as p5)cho- Analysts, XVI
 Chapter 3

LOVE

This chapter is divided into six sections: 3.1 two of the types of love that are discussed
The Nature, Kinds, and Power of Love, 3.2 here —sexual love and friendship. There are
Hate, 3.3 Sexual Love, 3.4 Friendship, 3.5 reasons for placing quotations of this sort in
Charity AND Mercy, and 3.6 Love of Country: the chapter on Family; however, the reader
Patriotism. interested in these subjects can consult the
While many of the passages here quoted index under appropriate terms to find the
are so multifaceted in their significance that passages in Chapter 2 that might have been
they could have been placed in two or more included in Sections 3.4 and 3.5 of this
sections, the division of the texts holds up for chapter.
the most part. We have placed first the pas* There is problem about the relation
also a
sages that try to say what love isand what of this chapter to the one that follows it. In
different types of love there are. That is im- the opinion of many, love is an emotion and
mediately followed by quotations dealing might, therefore, have been covered in one
with hate —the antithesis or, as some main- of the several sections of Chapter 4. But this
tain, the correlate of love. Then come three would have done violence to the opinion of
sections each devoted to one of the principal those who maintain that love involves com-
kinds of love, and last a section dealing with ponents that are not emotional or passional,
a variant of one of these kinds. and that certain types of love are the very
The reader may wonder about the rela- antithesis of passion. In addition, the sheer
tion of this chapter to the one that precedes quantity and variety of the quotations about
it. Conjugal love and the love between par- love would have made it practically unfeasi-
ents and children, treated in quotations in- ble to include them all without differentia-
cluded in the chapter on marriage, involve tion in a single section of Chapter 4.
 3.1 1
The Nature, Kinds, and Power of Love

As the title of the section indicates, the pas- and others as creatures of God.” Though we
sages assembled here arc of three sorts: they do have single English words “friendship” —
ivy to say what love is or what distinctively —
and “charity” for the second and third
characterizes it; they try to distinguish the types of love, our over-broad or over-narrow
various kinds of love and to relate them to usage of them, together with a prevalent
one another; and they express divers atti- tendency to over-stress the sexual or erotic
tudes toward the power that love exerts over aspect of love, often obscures or distorts our
human beings. understanding of the kinds of love and their
Those who attempt to define what love is relation to one another.
and what it is not cannot avoid facing ques- One consequence of these linguistic diffi-
tions about its relation to desire. Is the word culties is the necessity of placing here not
“love” just a synonym for the word “de- only passages that use the word “love” with
sire”? Is desire only one of the components maximum generality to cover every kind of
of love? Is the kind of desire that enters into love, but also passages that use the term in
love different from all the desires that arc one or another more restricted sense without
not transformed by love? Can there be love indicating the specific type of love that is

without desire? Different answers to such intended. To have done otherwise would
questions result in different conceptions of have required us to impose our interpreta-
love and different classifications of the kinds tion upon the quotations. We felt that it was
of love. After reading the passages here that better to let the reader interpret them for
deal with these matters, the reader might himself, if he wishes, after he has explored
find it useful to turn to the quotations deal- the variety of loves that the quotations in
ing with desire in Section 4.4 of the chapter later sections of this chapter discuss or c.xem-
that follows. plify.
The fact that English has only one word The passages that express the attitudes
to cover what other languages use at least writers have taken toward the force of love
three words to name complicates the inter- in human life range from admiration bor-
pretation of passages that attempt to distin- dering on awe or reverence to complaints
guish different The Greek
types of love. verging on fear or dread. Though in most of
triad of eris, phUia, and agape, and the Latin these quotations the word “love” is em-
triad of amor, deliclio, and caritas, name three ployed without any qualifying adjective, the
distinct types of love that can only be desig- reader, we think, will discover for himself
nated in English by such phrases as “erotic that most of them are referring to sexual or
or se.\ual love,” “friendly love” “divine erotic love, especially those that express
love” or “the love of God and of one’s self qualms about the effects of love.

I And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee, or to Where thou and there will I be
dicst, will I die,
return from following after thee; for whither thou buried: the Lord do me, and more also, if
so to
gocst, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will ought but death part thee and me.
lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God Ruth 1; 16-17
my God:

193
 — — AA
194 I
Chapters. Love

2 Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon one, who is the object of his worship,and the phy-
thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is sician who can alone assuage the greatness of his
cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of pain.
fire,which hath a most vehement flame. Plato, Phaedms, 252
Many waters cannot quench love, neither can
the floods drown it: if a man would give all the 8 Paujcnfos. Not every love, but only that which has
substance of his house for love, it would utterly be a noble purpose, is noble and worthy of praise.
contemned. The Love who is common
the offspring of the
Song of Solomon 8:6-7 Aphrodite is common, and has no dis-
essentially
crimination, being such as the meaner sort of men
feel, and is apt to be of women as well as of
3 Chorus. Love unconquered in fight, love who falls
youths, and is of the body rather than of the
on our havings.
soul—the most foolish beings are the objects of
You rest in the bloom of a girl’s un withered face.
this love which desires only to gain an end, but
You cross the sea, you are known in the wildest
never thinks of accomplishing the end nobly, and
lairs.
therefore does good and evil quite indiscrimi-
Not the immortal gods can fly,
nately. The goddess who is his mother is far youn-
nor men of a day. Who has you within him is
ger than the other, and she was bom of the union
mad.
of the male and female, and partakes of both.
Sophocles, Antigone, 781
But the offspring of the heavenly Aphrodite is

derived from a mother in whose birth the female

4 Deianira. How foolish one would be to climb into
the ring
with Love and try to trade blows with him, like a
boxer.
For he rules even the Gods as he pleases.
Sophocles, fVomen of Trachis, 441
5 Chorus. When in excess and past all limits
doth come, he brings not glory or repute to man;
but if the Cyprian queen in moderate might ap-
proach, no goddess is so full of charm as she.
Euripides, Medea, 627
6 Chorus. Cypris, you guide men’s hearts
and the inflexible
hearts of the Gods and with you
comes Love with the flashing wings,
comes Love with the swiftest of wings.
Over the earth he flies
and the loud-echoing salt-sea.
He bewitches and maddens the heart
of the victim he swoops upon.
He bewitches the race of the mountain-hunting
lions and beasts of the sea,
and all the creatures that earth feeds,
and the blazing sun sees
and man, too
over all you hold kingly power,
Love, you are only ruler
over all these.
Euripides, Hippolytus, 1268
7 Socrates. The soul of the lover will never forsake his
beautiful one, whom he esteems above all; he has
forgotten mother and brethren and companions,
and he thinks nothing of the neglect and loss of his
property; the rules and proprieties of life, on
which he formerly prided himself, he now de-
spises, and is ready to sleep like a servant, wherev-
er he is allowed, as near as he can to his desired
has no part, —she is from the male only; this is
that love which is and the goddess being
of youths,
older, there is nothing of wantonness in her. Those
who arc inspired by this love turn to the male,
and delight in him who is the more valiant and
intelligent nature; any one may recognise the
pure enthusiasts in the very character of their at-
Love tachments. For they love not boys, but intelligent
beings whose reason is beginning to be developed,
much about the time at which their beards begin
to grow. And in choosing young men to be their
companions, they mean to be faithful to them,
and pass their whole life in company with them,
not to take them in their inexperience, and de-
ceive them, and play the fool with them, or run
away from one to another of them. But the love of
young boys should be forbidden by law, because
their future is uncertain; they may turn out good
body or soul, and much noble
or bad, either in
enthusiasm may be thrown away upon them.
Plato, Symposium, 181
9 “What then is Love?” I (Socrates] asked; “Is he
mortal?” “No.” “What then?” “As in the former
instance, he is neither mortal nor immortal, but in
a mean between the two.” “What is he, Dioti-
ma?” “He is a great spirit, and like all spirits he is
intermediate between the divine and the mortal.”
“And what,” I said, “is his power?” “He inter-
prets,” she [Diotima] replied, “between gods and
men, conveying and taking across to the gods the
prayers and sacrifices of men, and to men the
commands and replies of the gods; he is the medi-
ator who spans the chasm which divides them,
and therefore in him all is bound together, and
through him the arts of the prophet and the
priest, their sacrifices and mysteries and charms,
and allprophecy and incantation, find their way.
For God mingles not with man; but through Love
all the intercourse and converse of god with man.
 196 Chapter 3. Love

thee earth manifold in works puts forth sweet-
smelling flowers; for thee the levels of the sea do
laugh and heaven propitiated shines with out-
spread light. For soon as the vernal aspect of day
is disclosed, and the birth-favouring breeze
vonius unbarred is blowing fresh, first the fowls of
the air, O
lady, show signs of thee and thy enter-
ing in, thoroughly smitten in heart by thy power.
Next the wild herds bound over tlie glad pastures
and swim the rapid rivers: in such wise each made
prisoner by thy charms follows thee with desire,
whither thou goest to lead it on. Yes, throughout
seas and mountains and sweeping rivers and leafy
homes of birds and grassy plains, striking fond
love into the breasts of all thou constrainest them
each after its kind to continue their races with
The sluices of the sky were open spread.
And rolling thunder rattled o’er his head;
The raging tempests called him back in vain,
And every boding omen of the main:
of Fa- Nor could his kindred, nor the kindly force
Of weeping parents, change his fatal course;
No, not the dying maid, who must deplore
His floating carcase on the Sestian shore.
Virgil, Georgies, III
18 Now everyone recognizes that the emotional state
for which we make this "Love” responsible rises in
souls aspiring to be knit in the closest union with
some beautiful object, and that this aspiration
takes two forms, that of the good whose devotion
is for beauty itself, and that other which seeks its

desire. Thou
. . art sole mistress of the na-
. . . . consummation in some vile act. It is sound, I
. . .

ture of things and without thee nothing rises up think, to find the primal source of Love in a ten-
into the divine borders of light, nothing grows to dency of the Soul towards pure beauty, in a recog-
be glad or lovely. nition, in a kinship, in an unreasoned con-
Lucretius, Nature of Things, I sciousness of friendly relation.
Plotinus, Third Ennead, V, I

15 The passion we usually call love (and, heaven

help me) I can come up with no other name for it) 19 Those that love beauty of person without carnal
is so trivial that I can think of nothing to compare desire love for beauty’s sake; those that have for —
it with. —
women, of course the copulative love, have the
Cicero, Disputations, IV, 32 further purpose of self-perpetuation: as long as
they are led by these motives, both are on the
16 Love conquers all; and we must yield to Love. right path, though the first have taken the nobler
Virgil, Eclogues, X way.
Plotinus, Third Ennead, V, 1

17 Not only man’s imperial race, but they

That wing the liquid air, or swim the sea, 20 A body tends by its weight towards the place
Or haunt the desert, rush into the flame: proper to it —weight docs not necessarily tend to-

For Love is lord of all, and is in all the same. wards the lowest place but towards its proper
’Tis with this rage, the mother-lion stung, place. Fire tends upwards, stone downwards. By
Scours o’er the plain, regardless of her young: their weight they are moved and seek their proper
Demanding rites of love, she sternly stalks. place. Oil poured over water is borne on the sur-
And hunts her lover in his lonely walks. face of the water, water poured over oil sinks be-
’Tis then the shapeless bear his den forsakes; low the oil: it is by their weight that they are
In woods and fields, a wild destruction makes: moved and seek their proper place. Things out of
Boars with their tusks; to battle tigers move, their place are in motion: they come to their place
Enraged with hunger, more enraged with love. and are at rest. My love is my weight: wherever I

Then woe to him, that, in the desert land go my love is what brings me there.
Of Libya, travels o’er the burning sand! Augustine, Confessions, XIII, 9
The stallion snuffs the well-known scent afar,
And snorts and trembles for the distant mare; 21 If we were we should love the fleshly and
beasts,
Nor bits nor bridles can his rage restrain, sensual and this would be our sufficient good;
life,

And rugged rocks are interposed in vain:
He makes his way o’er mountains, and contemns
Unruly torrents, and unforded streams.
The bristled boar, who
New grinds his arming tusks,
The sleepy lecher shuts his
About churning chaps the frothy bubbles rise:
his
He rubs his sides against a tree; prepares
And hardens both his shoulders for the wars.
What did the youth, when Love’s unerring dart
Transfixed his liver and inflamed his heart?
Alone, by night, his watery way he took;
About him, and above the billows broke;
and when it was well with us in respect of it, we
should seek nothing beyond. In like manner, if we
were trees, we could not, indeed, in the strict sense
feels the pleasing wound, of the word, love anything; nevertheless we should
and digs the ground. seem, as it were, to long for that by which we
little eyes; might become more abundantly and luxuriantly
fruitful. If we were stones, or waves, or wind, or
flame, or anything of that kind, we should want,
indeed, both sensation and life, yet should possess
a kind of attraction towards our own proper posi-
tion and natural order. For the specific gravity of
bodies is, as it were, their love, whether they are
carried downwards by their weight, or upwards
 3J. The Nature, Kinds, and Power of Love
by For the body is borne by its gravi-
Ihcir levity.
ty,
by love, whithersoever it is borne.
as the spirit
But we arc men, created in the image of our Crea-
tor, Whose eternity is true, and Whose truth is
eternal, Whose love is eternal and true.
Augustine, City of God, XI, 28
22 Two have been formed by two loves: the
cities
earthly by the love of self, even to thecontempt of
God: the heavenly by the love of God, even to the
contempt of self. The former, in a word, glories in
itself, the latter in the Lord. For the one seeks
glory from men; but the greatest glory of the other
is God, the witness of conscience.
Augustine, City of God, XIV, 28
23 Through Love the universe \vith constancy makes
changes all without discord: earth’s elements,
though contrary, abide in treaty bound: Phoebus
in his golden car leads up the glowing day; his
sister rules the night that Hesperus brought: the
greedy sea confines its waves in bounds, lest the
earth’s borders be changed by its beating on
them: all these are firmly bound by Love, which
rules both earth and sea, and has its empire in the
heavens too. If Love should slacken this its hold,
all mutual love would change to war; and these
would undo the scheme which now their
strive to
glorious movements carry out with trust and with
accord. By Love arc peoples too kept bound to-
gether by a treaty which they may
Love binds with pure affection the sacred tie of
wedlock, and speaks its bidding to all trusty
friends. O happy race of mortals, if your hearts
arc ruled as is the universe, by Love!
Boethius, Consolation of Philosophy, 11
24 The good we receive from God is twofold, the
good of nature, and the good of grace. Now the
fellowship of natural goods bestowed on us by God
is the foundation of natural love, in virtue of
which not only man, so long as his nature remains
unimpaired, loves God above all things and more
than himself, but also cveiy' single creature, each
in its own way, that is, cither by an intellectual, or
by a rational, or by an animal, or at least by a
natural love, as stones do, for instance, and other
things bereft of knowledge, because each part nat-
urally loves the common good of the
than its own particular good. This is
itsoperation, since the principal inclination of
each part is towards common action conducive to
the usefulness of the whole. may
be seen in
It also
political virtues according to which sometimes the
citizens suffer damage even to their owm property
and persons for the sake of the common good.
And so much more is this realized with regard to
the friendship of charity which is based on the
fellowship of the gifts of grace. Therefore man
ought, out of charity, to love God, Who is the
common good of all. more than himself, since
happiness is in God as in the universal
197
tain-head principle of all who are able to have a
share of that happiness.
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, II-II, 26, 3
25 It is natural to a man to love his own work (thus it
is be observed that poets love their own poems);
to
and the reason is that we love to be and to live,
and these are made manifest especially in our ac-
tion.
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, II-II, 26, 12
26 [Everything] hath its specific love, as, for example,
the simple bodies have a love which has an innate
affinity to their proper place; and that is why
earth ever drops to the centre; but the love of fire
is for the upper circumference, under the heaven
of themoon, and therefore it ever riseth thereto.
Primary compound bodies, like the minerals,
have a love for the place where their generation is
ordained; and therein they grow, and thence
draw vigour and power. Whence we see the mag-
net ever receive power from the direction of its
generation.
Plants, which are the primary living things,
have a more manifest love for certain places, ac-
cording as their composition requires; and there-
fore we see certain plants almost alw'ays gather
along watercourses, and certain on the ridges of
mountains, and certain on slopes and at the foot
not break. of hills, the which, if we transplant them, either
die altogether or live as if in gloom, like things
parted from the place dear to them.
As for the brute animals, not only have they a
more manifest love for their place, but we see that
they love one another.
Men have their proper love for perfect and
comely things. And because man (though his
whole form be one sole substance) has in himself,
by his nobility, something of the nature of each of
these things, he may have all these loves, and has
them all indeed. For in virtue of the nature of the
simple body, which predominates in the subject,
he naturally loves to descend; and therefore when
he moves his body upward it is more toilsome. By
the second nature, of a complex body, he loves the
place and further the time of his generation, and
therefore everyone is naturally of more efficient
whole more body at the place where he was generated, and at
evidenced by the time of his generation, than at any other. . . .
And by the third nature, to wit that of plants,
man hath love for certain food, not in so far as it
affects the sensebut in so far as it is nutritious;
and such food maketh the working of this nature
most perfect; and other food docs not so, but
makes it imperfect. And therefore we see that
some certain food shall make men fair of face and
stout of limb, and of a lively colour; and certain
other shall work the contrary' of this. And in vir-
tue of the fourth nature, that of animals, to wit
the sensitive, man hath another love whereby he
and foun- lovcth according to sensible appearance, like to a
 198 I
Chapters. Love

beast; and this is the love in man which most 28 “Master, my vision is so quickened in thy light,
needeth a ruler, because of its overmastering oper- that discern clearly all that thy discourse im-
I

ation, especially in the delight of taste and touch. ports or describes;

And by the fifth and last nature, that is to say the therefore I pray thee, sweet Father dear, that thou
truly human or, rather say, the angelic, to wit the define love to me, to which thou dost reduce
rational, man hath love to truth and to virtue; every good work and its opposite.”
and from this love springeth the true and perfect “Direct,” said he [Virgil], “towards me the keen
friendship, drawn from nobility. eyes of the understanding, and the error of the
Dante, Convwio, III, 3 blind who make them guides shall be manifest
to thee.
27 Virgtl. Nor Creator, nor creature, my son, was ever The mind which is created quick to love, is re-

without love, either natural or rational; and spon.^ivc to everything that is pleasing, soon as
this thou knowest. by pleasure it is awakened into activity.
The natural is always without error; but the other Your apprehensive faculty draws an impression
may err through an evil object, or through too from a real object, and unfolds it within you, so
little or too much vigour. that it makes the mind turn thereto.
While it is directed to the primal goods, and in And if, being turned, it inclines towards it, that
the secondary, moderates itself, it cannot be the inclination is love; that is nature, which
cause of sinful delight; through pleasure is bound anew within you.
but when itturned awry to evil, or speeds to-
is Then, even as fire moves upward by reason of its
wards the good with more or less care than it form, whose nature it is to ascend, there where
ought, against the Creator his creature works. it endures longest in its material;
Hence thou mayst understand that love must be so the enamoured mind falls to desire, which is a
the seed of every virtue in you, and of every spiritual movement, and never rests until the
deed that deserves punishment. object of its love makes it rejoice.
Now inasmuch as love can never turn its face Now may be apparent to thee, how deeply the
from the weal of its subject, all things are safe truth hidden from the folk who aver that ev-
is

from self-hatred; ery act of love is in itself a laudable thing,

and because no being can be conceived as existing because, forsooth, its material may seem always to
alone in isolation from the Prime Being, every be gt>od; but not every’ imprint is good, albeit
affection is cut off from hate of him. the wax may be good.”
It follou’s, if I judge well in my division, that the “Thy words and my attendant wit,” I answered
evil we love isour neighbour’s, and this love him, “have made love plain to me, but that has
arises in three ways in your clay. made me more teeming with doubt;
There is he who through his neighbour’s abase- for if love is and the
offered to us from without,
ment hopes to excel, and solely for this desires soul walks with no other foot, it is no merit of
that he be castdown from his greatness; hers whether she go straight or crooked.”
there he who fears to lose power, favour, honour
is And he to me: “So far as reason sees here, I can
and fame because another is exalted, wherefore tell thee; from beyond that point, ever await
he groweth sad so that he loves the contrary; Beatrice, for ’tis a matter of faith.
and there is he who seems to be so shamed Every substantial form, which is distinct from
through being wronged, that he becomes matter and is in union with it, has a specific
greedy of vengeance, and such must needs seek virtue contained within itself
another’s hurt. which is not perceived save in operation, nor is

This threefold love down below is mourned for: manifested except by its effects, just as life in a
now I desire that thou understand of the other, plant by the green leaves.
which hastes toward good in faulty degree. Therefore man knou’s not whence the under-
Each one apprehends vaguely a good wherein the standing of the first cognitions may come,
mind may find rest, and desires it; wherefore nor the inclination to the prime objects of appe-
each one strives to attain thereto. tite,
If lukewarm love draw you towards the vision of it which you, even as the instinct in bees to
iire in
or the gaining of it, this cornice, after due peni- make honey; and this prime will admits no de-
tence, torments you for it. sert of praise or of blame.
Another good there is, which maketh not men Now in order that to this will every other may be
happy; ’tis not happiness, ’tis not the good es- related, innate u’ith you is the virtue which giv-
sence, the fruit and root of all good. eth counsel, and ought to guard the threshold of
The abandons itself too much to this, is
love that assent.
mourned for above us in three circles: but how This is the principle whence is derived the reason
it is distinguished in three divisions, I do not of desert in you, according as it garners and
say, in order that thou search for it of thyself. winnows good and evil loves.
Dante, Purgatorio^ XVII, 91 Those who in their reasoning went to the founda-
 3.L The Nature, Kinds, and Power of Love |
199

tion, perceived this innate freedom, therefore And once they’re satisfied, they soon grow sick
they left ethics to the world. Of ancient love and look for something new!
Wherefore suppose that every love which is kin- But when all’s done, then what can women do!
dled within you arise of necessity, the power to These men at first their love like mad will spend.
arrest it is within you.” But sharp attacks oft weaken at the end.
Dante, Purgatono, XVIII, 10
“Full often it hath been exemplified,
The treason that to women men will show;
29 So fared it with this rash and hardy knight [Troi- And that’s the end, when such a love hath died.
lus]. For what becomes of it, when it doth go.
Who was a king’s son of most high degree. No living creature on this earth can know.

For though he thought that nothing had the For then there’s nothing left to love or spurn;
might What once was naught, to nothing doth return.
To curb the heart of such a one as he, “And love, how busy must be
31 if I I
Yet with a look, no longer was he free. To guard against all idle people’s chatter.
And he who stood but now in pride above And fool them that they see no fault in me.
All men, at once was subject most to Love,
For true or not, to them it'doesn’t matter,

And now I bid you profit by this man, Ifbut their lying tales amuse or flatter;
Ye worthy folk, and wise and proud withal, For who can stop the wagging of a tongue,
And scorn not Love, he who so lightly can Or sound of bells the while that they are rung!”
The freedom of rebellious hearts enthral; Chaucer, Troilus and Cressida, II, 111-115
For still the common fate on you must fall.

That love, at nature’s very heart indwelling, O happy light, of which the beams so clear
Shall bind all things by nature’s might compel- Illume the third expanse of heaven’s air.
ling.
Loved of the sun, Jove the daughter dear,
of

That this is true hath oftentimes been proved,

O Love’s Delight, thou goodly one and fair,

For well you know, and in wise books may read, In gentle hearts abiding everywhere,

That men of greatest worth have deepest loved. Thou primal cause of joy and all salvation.

And none so powerful in word or deed, Exalted be thy name through all creation!

But he the greater power of love must heed, In heaven and hell, on earth and salty sea,
For all his fame or high nobility; All creatures answer to thy might supernal,
Thus hath it been and ever shall it be! For man, bird, beast, fish, herb and leafy tree.
And fitting is should be so,
it that it
Their seasons know from thy breath ever vernal,
For wisest men have most
with love been pleased, God loves, and grants that love shall be eternal.
And those that dwelt in sorrow and in woe. All creatures in the world through love exist,

By love have often been consoled and cased, And lacking love, lack all that may persist.

And cruel wrath by love hath been appeased; Mover of Jove to that so happy end,
For love lends lustre to an honorable name, Through which all earthly creatures live and be,
And saves mankind from wickedness and shame. When mortal love upon him thou didst send,
Chaucer, Troilus and Cressida, I, 33-36 For as thou wilt, the power lies with thee
Of case in love or love’s adversity,
And in a thousand forms is thy descent
30 [Her] thought was this, “Alas, since I [Cressida]
am free,
On earth, in love to favor or prevent!

Should I now love and risk my happy state Fierce Mars for thee must subjugate his ire,
And maybe put in bonds my liberty? All hearts from thee receive their fates condign;
What folly such a course to contemplate! Yet ever when they feel thy sacred fire,
Am I not satisfied to see the fate In dread of shame, their vices they resign,
Of others, with their fear and joy and pain? And gentler grow, more brave and more benign;
Who loveth not, no cause hath to complain, And high or low, as each in his rank strives,
All owe to thee the joys of all their lives.
“For lovers ever lead a stormy life,
And have done so since loving was begun. Houses and realms in greater unity,
For always some distrust and foolish strife And faith in friendship thou canst make to grow.
There is in love, some cloud across the sun. Thou understandest likings hard to see.
Then nothing by us women can be done, Which cause much wonder that they should be so,
But weep in wretchedness and sit and think, As when in puzzlement, one seeks to know.
’This is our lot, the cup of woe to drink!’ Why this loves that, why she by him is sought.
“And slanderous tongues, they arc so very quick Why one and not the other fish is caught.

To do us harm, and men are so untrue. From thee comes law for all the universe,
 — — —
200 I
Chapters. Love

And this I know, as all true lovers see, Than those that have more cunning to be strange.
That who opposeth, ever hath the worse. Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, II, ii, 90

Now, lady bright, in thy benignity,

Help me to honor those who honor thee, 36 LySander. Ay me! for aught that I could ever read,
And teach me, clerk of love, that I may tell Could ever hear by tale or history.
The joy of those who in thy service dwell. The course of true love never did run smooth;
Chaucer, Troilus and Cressida, III, 1-6 But, either it w'as different in blood

Hermione. O
cross! too high to be enthrall’d to

32 Arcila. Know you not well the ancient writer’s saw low.
Of ‘Who shall give a lover any law?’ Lys. Or else misgraffed in respect of years
Love isa greater law, aye by my pan, Her. O spite! too old to be engaged to young.
Than man has ever given to earthly man. Lys. Or else it stood upon the choice of
Chaucer, Canterbury Tales: friends
Knight’s Tale Her, O hell! to choose love by another’s eyes.
Lys. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice.
33 O, how this spring of love resembleth
Proteus. War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it.

The uncertain glor)' of an April day. Making it momentary as a sound.

Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, Swift as a shadow, short as any dream;
And by and by a cloud takes all away! Brief as the lightning in the collied night.
Shakespeare, Two Gentlemen That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,
of Verona, I, lii, 84 And ere a man hath pow-er to say “Behold!”
The jaw^ of darkness do devour it up:
34 Biron. Love, first learned in a lady’s eyes. So quick bright things come to confusion.
Lives not alone immured in the brain; Shakespeare, Midsummer-Night*s
But, with the motion of all elements, Dream, I, i, 132
Courses as swift as thought in every power.
And gives to every' power a double power, 37 Lorenzo. The moon shines bright: in such a night
Above their functions and their offices. as this,
It adds a precious seeing to the eye; When the s\veet wind did gently kiss the trees
A lover’s eyes will gaze an eagle blind; And they did make no noise, in such a night
A lover’s ear will hear the low'cst sound, Troilus methinks mounted the Troyan w’alls
When the suspicious head of theft is stopp’d: And sigh’d his soul toward the Grecian tents.
Love’s feeling is more soft and sensible Where Cressid lay that night.
Than are the tender horns of cockled snails; Jessica. In such a night
Love’s tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in Did Thisbe fearfully o’ertrip the dew'
taste: And saw the lion’s shadow ere himself
For valour, is not Love a Hercules, And ran dismay’d aw'ay.
Stillclimbing trees in the Hesperides? Lor. In such a night
Subtle as Sphinx; as sweet and musical Stood Dido with a willow' in her hand
As bright Apollo’s lute, strung with his hair; Upon the wald sea banks, and w'aft her love
And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods To come again to Carthage.
Make heaven drow'sy with the harmony. Jes. In such a night
Never durst poet touch a pen to wTite Medea gather’d the enchanted herbs
Until his ink w'ere temper’d w4th Liove’s sighs; That did renew old >Eson.
O, then his lines would ravish savage ears Lor. In such a night
And plant in tyrants mild humility. Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew',
Shakespeare, Lovers Labour^s Lost, IV, iii, 327 And with an unthrift love did run from Venice
As far as Belmont.
35 Juliet.Dost thou love me? I know' thou wilt say Jes. In such a night
“Ay,” Did young Lorenzo swear he loved her well.
And I w’ill take thy word: yet, if thou swear’st. Stealing her soul with many vows of faith
Thou mayst prove false; at lovers’ perjuries, And ne’er a true one.
They say, Jove laughs. O
gentle Romeo, Lor. In such a night
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully: Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew'.
Or if thou think’st I am too quickly won, Slander her love, and he forgave it her.
I’ll frown and be perverse and say thee nay. Jes. I would out-night you, did no body come;
So thou wilt w'oo; but else, not for the wnrld. But, hark, I hear the footing of a man.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond, Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, V, i, 1
And therefore thou mayst think my ’haviour
light; 38 do much wonder that one man, seeing
Benedick. I
But trust me, gentleman, I’ll prove more true how much another man is a fool w'hen he dedi-
 202 I
Chapter 3. Love

And often did beguile her of her tears O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark
When I did speak of some distressful stroke That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
That my youth suffer’d. My story being done, It is the star to every wandering bark,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs. Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be
She swore, in faith, ’twas strange, ’twas passing taken.
strange, Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and
’Twas pitiful, ’twas wondrous pitiful. checks
She wish’d she had not heard it, yet she wish’d Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
That heaven had made her such a man. She Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
thank’d me. But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her, Shakespeare, Sonnet CKVl
I should but teach him how to tell my story.
And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake: 48 Reply’d Don Quixote; a Knight-Errant cannot be
She loved me dangers I had pass’d,
for the without a Mistress; ’tis not more essential for the
And I loved her that she did pity them. Skies to have Stars; than ’tis to us to be in Love.
This only is the witchcraft I have used. Insomuch, that I dare affirm, that no History ever
Here comes the lady; let her witness it. made mention of any Knight-Errant, that was not
Shakespeare, Othello^ I, iii, 76 a Lover; for were any Knight free from the Im-
pulses of that generous Passion, he wou’d not be
43 Othello. Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul, allow’d to be a lawful Knight; but a mis-born In-
But I do love thee! and when I love thee not. truder, and one who was not admitted within the
Chaos is come again. Pale of Knighthood at the Door, but leap’d the
Shakespeare, Othello, III, iii, 90 Fence, and stole in like a Robber and a Tliicf.
Cervantes, Don Quixote, I, 13
44 Othello. I pray you, in your letters,

When you shall these unlucky deeds relate. 49 Don Quixote. Dost thou not know, excommunicated
Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate. Traitor (for certainly Excommunication is the
Nor set down aught in malice. Then must you least Punishment can fall upon thee, after such
speak Profanations of the peerless Dulcinea^s Name) and
Of one that loved not wisely but too well; art thou not assur’d, vile Slave and ignominious
Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought Vagabond, that I shou’d not have Strength suffi-

Perplex’d in the extreme; of one whose hand, cient to kill a Flea, did not [Dulcinea] give
Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away Strength to my Nerves, and infuse Vigour into my
Richer than all his tribe. Sinews? Speak, thou Villain with the Viper’s
Shakespeare, Othello, V, ii, 340 Tongue; Who do’st thou imagine has restor’d the
Queen Kingdom, cut off the Head of a
to her
45 Cleopatra. If it be love indeed, tell me how much. Giant, and made thee a Marquis (for I count all
Antony. There’s beggary in the love than can be this as done already) but the Power of Dulcinea,
reckon’d. who makes use of my Arm, as the Instrument of
a bourn how far to be beloved.
Cleo. I’ll set her Act in me? She fights and overcomes in me;
Ant.Then must thou needs find out new heav* and I live and breathe in her, holding Life and
en, new earth. Being from her.
Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra, I, i, 14 Cervantes, Don Quixote, I, 30

46 Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul 50 Stand still, and I will read to thee
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come. A lecture, love, in Love’s philosophy.
Can yet the lease of my true love control. These three hours that we have spent,
Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom. Walking here, two shadow's w'cnt
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured, Along with us, which w'c ourselves produced;
And the sad augurs mock their own presage; But, now the sun is just above our head,
Incertainties now crown themselves assured, We do those shadows tread.
And peace proclaims olives of endless age. And to brave clearness all things are reduced.
Now with the drops of this most balmy time So whilst our infant loves did grow,
My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes, Disguises did, and shadow’s, flow
Since, spite of him, I’ll poor rhyme.
live in this From us and our cares; but, now’ ’tis not so.

Shakespeare, Sonnet CVll

That love hath not attained the high’st degree,
Which is still diligent lest others see.
47 Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love Except our loves at this noon stay,
Which alters when it alteration finds, We shall new shadotvsmake the other way.
Or bends with the remover to remove. As the first were made to blind
 3.1, The Nature, Kinds, and Power of Love 203

Others, these which come behind also itself naturally, according as it gives itself to

Will work upon ourselves, and blind our eyes. them; and it hardens itself against one or the
If our loves faint, and west\vardly decline. other at its will. You have rejected the one and
To me thou, falsely, thine, kept the other. Is it by reason that you love your-
And I to thee, mine actions shall disguise. self?

The morning shadows wear away, Pascal, Penshsy IV, 277

But these grow longer all the day;
But oh, love’s day is short, if love decay. 55 Love joy with the accompanying idea of an ex-
is

ternal cause. This explains with sufficient

. . .

Love is a growing, or full constant light,

clearness the essence of love; that which is given
And his first minute after noon, is night.
by some authors, who define love to be the will of
Donne, A Lecture upon the Shadow
the lover to unite himself to the beloved object,
expressing not the essence of love but one of its
51 Dull sublunary lovers’ love
properties, and in as much as these authors have
(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit
not seen with sufficient clearness what is the es-
Absence, because it doth remove
sence of love, they could not have a distinct con-
Those things which elemented it.
ception of its properties, and consequently their
But we, by a love so much refined, definition has by everybody been thought very ob-
That ourselves know not what it is, scure. I must observe, however, when I say that it
Inter-assured of the mind. is a property in a lover to will a union with the

Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss. beloved object, that I do not understand by a will
a consent or deliberation or a free decree of the
Our two souls therefore, which are one,
mind . nor even a desire of the lover to unite
. . ,
Though I must go, endure not yet
himself with the beloved object when it is absent,
A breach, but an expansion.
nor a desire to continue in its presence when it is
Like gold to airy thinness beat.
present, for love can be conceived without either
If they be two, they are two so one or the other of these desires; but by will I
As stiff twin compasses are two, understand the satisfaction that the beloved object
Thy soul the fixt foot, makes no show produces in the lover by its presence, by virtue of
To move, but doth, if the other do. which the joy of the lover is strengthened, or at
any rate supported.
And though it in the centre sit,
Spinoza, Ethics, III, Prop. 59, Schol. 6
Vet when the other far doth roam,
It leans, and hearkens after it,
56 Any one reflecting upon the thought he has of the
And grows erect, as that comes home.
delight which any present or absent thing is apt to
Such wilt thou be to me, who must produce in him, has the idea we call love. For
Like th* other foot, obliquely run; when a man declares in autumn when he is eating
Thy firmness makes my circle just, them, or in spring when there are none, that he
And makes me end, where I begun. loves grapes, it is no more but that the taste of
Donne, A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning grapes delights him: let an alteration of health or
constitution destroy the delight of their taste, and
52 The stage is more beholding to love than the life he then can be said to love grapes no longer.
of man. For as to the stage, love is ever matter of Locke, Concerning Human Understanding,
comedies, and now and then of tragedies; but in Bk. 11, XX, 4
life it doth much mischief, sometimes like a siren,

sometimes like a fury. 37 Fainall. For a passionate lover, methinks you are a
Bacon, Of Love man somewhat too discerning in the failings of
your mistress.
53 We may,
seems to me, find differences in love
it Mirabeli And for a discerning man, somewhat
according to the esteem which we bear to the ob- too passionate a lover; for I like her with all her
ject loved as compared with oneself: for when we faults, nay, like her for her faults. Her follies are
esteem the object of love less than ourselves, we so natural, are so artful, that they become her,
have only a simple affection for it; when we es- and those affectations which in another woman
teem it equally \vith ourselves, that is called would be odious, serve but to make her more
friendship; and when we esteem it more, the pas- agreeable. I’ll tell thee, Fainall, she once used me
sion which we have may be called devotion. with that insolence that in revenge I took her to
Descartes, Passions of the Soult LXXXIII pieces; sifted her, and separated her failings; I
studied ’em, and got ’em by rote. The catalogue
54 The heart has its reasons, which reason does not was so large that I was not without hopes, one day
know. We feel it in a thousand things. I say that or other, to hate her heartily: to which end I so
the heart naturally loves the Universal Being, and used myself to think of ’em that at length, con-
 204 I
Chapters. Love

trary to my and expectation, they gave me

design which I am an advocate, though it satisfies itself

every hour and less disturbance, till in a few

less in a much more delicate manner, doth neverthe-
days it became habitual to me to remember ’em less seek its own satisfaction as much as the gross-
without being displeased. They are now grown as est of all our appetites.
familiar to me as my own frailties, and in all And, lastly, that this love, when it operates to-
probability in a little time longer I shall like ’em wards one of a different sex, is very apt, towards
as well. itscomplete gratification, to call in the aid of that
Congreve, Way of the Worlds I, iii hunger which I have mentioned above; and
which it is so far from abating, that it heightens
58 Do you lock
Mirabel!. yourself up from me, to all its delights to a degree scarce imaginable by

make my search more curious? Or is this pretty those who have never been susceptible of any
artifice contrived to signify that here the chase other emotions than what have proceeded from
must end, and my pursuit be crowned, for you can appetite alone.

fly no further?
In return to all these concessions, I desire of

Millamant. Vanity! No —
Fll fly and be followed philosophers to grant, that there some (I be-
is in

to the last moment. Though I am upon the very lieve in many) human breasts a kind and benevo-

verge of matrimony, expect you should solicit

I lent disposition, which is gratified by contributing

me as much as if I were wavering at the grate of a to the happiness of others. That in this gratifica-

monastery, with one foot over the threshold. I’ll tion alone, as in friendship, in parental and filial

be solicited to the very last, nay and afterwards. affection, asindeed in general philanthropy, there
What, after the last?
Mira. isa great and exquisite delight. That if we will not
Milla. O, I should think I was poor and had cal! such disposition love, we have no name for it.

nothing to bestow, if I were reduced to an inglori- That though the pleasures arising from such pure
ous ease; and freed from the agreeable fatigues of love may be heightened and sweetened by the as-
solicitation. sistance of amorous desires, yet the former can
Mira. But do not you know that when favors arc subsist alone, nor arc they destroyed by the inter-

conferred upon instant and tedious solicitation,
that they diminish in their value
the giver loses the grace, and the receiver lessens
his pleasure?
may be in things of common applica-
Milla. It
tion,but never sure in love. O, I hate a lover that
can dare to think he draws a moment’s air, inde-
pendent on the bounty of his mistress. There is not
so impudent a thing in nature as the saucy look of
vention of the latter. Lastly, that esteem and gra-
and that both titude are the proper motives to love, as youth and
beauty are to desire, and, therefore, though such
desire may naturally cease, when age or sickness
overtakes its object; yet these can have no effect
on love, nor ever shake or remove, from a good
mind, that sensation or passion which hath grati-
tude and esteem for its basis.
Fielding, Tom Jones, VI, I

an assured man, confident of success. The pedan-

tic arrogance of a very husband has not so prag-
60 Our connections wth the fair sex are founded on
matical an air.
the pleasure of enjoyment; on the happiness of
Congreve, Way of the World, IV, v loving and being loved; and likewiseon the ambi-
tion of pleasing the ladies, because they are the
59 To avoid, however, all contention, if possible, with best judges of some of those things which consti-
these philosophers, they will be called so; and to
if
tute personal merit. This general desire of pleas-
show our own disposition to accommodate matters ing produces gallantry, which is not love itself, but
peaceably between us, we shall here make them the delicate, the volatile, the perpetual simulation
some concessions, which may possibly put an end of love. According
to the different circumstances
to the dispute. of every country and age, love inclines more to
First, we will grant that many minds, and per- one of those three things than to the other two.
haps those of the philosophers, are entirely free
Montesquieu, Spirit of Laws, XXVIII, 22
from the least traces of such a passion.
Secondly, that what is commonly called love,
namely, the desire of satisfying a voracious appe- 61 In general, it may be affirm’d, that there is no
tite with a certain quantity of delicate white hu- such passion in human minds, as the love of man-
man flesh, is by no means that passion for which I kind, merely as such, independent of personal
here contend. This is indeed more properly hun- qualities, of services, or of relation to ourself. . . .

ger; and as no glutton is ashamed to apply the We may affirm, that man in general, or human
word love to his appetite, and to say he loves such nature,is nothing but the object both of love and

and such dishes; so may the lover of this kind, hatred,and requires some other cause, which by a
with equal propriety, say, he hungers after such double relation of impressions and ideas, may ex-
and such women. cite these passions.

Thirdly, I will grant, which I believe will be a Hume, Treatise of Human

most acceptable concession, that this love for Nature, Bk. Ill, 11 1
 3.L The NaUirCy Kindsy and Power of Love |
205

62 There arc so many sorts o( love that one docs not love is not a subject of reasoning, but of feeling,
know to whom to address oneself for a definition and therefore there arc no common principles
of it. The name of “love” is given boldly to a ca- upon which one can persuade another concerning
price lasting a few days, a sentiment witliout es- it. Every man feels for himself, and know's how he

teem, gallants’ affectations, a frigid habit, a ro- is affected by particular qualities in the person he
mantic fantas)', relish followed by prompt admires, the impressions of w'hich arc too minute
disrelish: people give this name to a thousand chi- and delicate to be substantiated in language.
meras. Bos\vcll, Life of Johnson (1752)
If philosoplicrs want
probe to the bottom tliis
to
barely philosophical matter,let them meditate on
G4 If our friend has been injured, w’c readily s>'m-
the banquet of Plato, in which Socrates, honour-
and grow' nngry’ with
pathisc w'ith his resentment,
able lover of Alcibiadcs and Agathon, converses
the very person with whom he is angr>'. If he has
with them on the mctaph)'sics of love.
received a benefit, we readily enter into his grati-
Lucretius speaks of it more as a natural philoso-
tude, and have a ver)' high sense of the merit of
pher: Virgil follows in the steps of Lucretius; amor
his benefactor. Cut if he is in love, though we may
omnibus idrm.
think his passion just as reasonable as any of the
It is the stuff of nature broidcred by nature. Do
kind, yet we never think ourselves bound to con-
you want an idea of love? look at the sparrows in
ceive a passion of the same kind, and for the same
your garden; look at your pigeons; look at the bull
person for whom he has conceived it. Tlic passion
which is brought to the heifer; look at this proud
appears to ever)* Ixxly, but the man who feels it,
horse which two of your grooms lead to the quiet
entirely disproportioned to the value of the object;
marc awaiting him; she draws aside her tail to
and love, though it is pardoned in a certain age
welcome him; see how her eyes sparkle; hark to
because we know it is natural, is always laughed
the neighing; watch the prancing, the cursetting,
at, because we cannot enter into it,
the cars pricked, the mouth opening with little

consailsions, the swelling nostrils, the flaring

Adam Smith, llxcory of Moral SmUmcnlSy I, *1

manes rising and floating, the impetu-

breath, the
ous movement with which he hurls himself on the G5 hove a matter of fffUngy not of will or volition,
is

object which nature has destined for him; but be and cannot love l>ecausc 1 ivill to do so, still less
I

not jealous of him, and think

advantages of of the because I oughl (I cannot !>c necessitated to love);
the human compensate for all
species; in love tJicy hence there is no such thing as a dtitj to love. Bmno-
those that nature has given to the animals ImcCy however {arnor bmnoUntiae)^ as a mode of ac-
strength, beauty, nimblcness, speed. . . . tion, may be subject to a law’ of duty. Disinterest-
As men have received the gift of perfecting all ed benevolence is often called (though vcr>’
that nature accords them, they have perfected improperly) love; even w’hcrc the happiness of the
love. Cleanliness, the care of oneself, by rendering other is not concerned, but the complete and free
the skin more delicate, increase the pleasure of surrender of all one's ow n ends to the ends of an-
contact;and attention to one’s health renders the other (even a superhuman) being, love is spoken
organs of voluptuousness more sensitive. All the of as being also our duty. But all duty is necessUa-
other sentiments that enter into that of love, just twn or constraint, although it may be self-con-
like metals which amalgamate with gold: friend- straint according to a law. But what is done from
ship, regard, come to help; the faculties of mind constraint is not done from love.
and body arc still further chains. It is a duty to do good to other men according to

Self-love above all lightens all these bonds. One our power, whether we love them or not, and this
applauds oneself for one’s choice, and a crowd of duty loses nothing of its weight, although we must
illusions form the decoration of the building of make the sad remark that our species, alas! is not
which nature has laid the foundations. such as to be found particularly worthy of love
That is what you have above the animals. Hut if when we know it more closely. Hatred of men, how’-
you taste so many pleasures unknown to them, ever, always hateful: even though without any
is

how many sorrows too of which the beasts have no active hostility it consists only in complete aver-
idea! What is frightful for you that over three-
is sion from mankind (the solitary misanthropy).
fourths of the earth nature has poisoned the plea- For benevolence still remains a duty even towards
sures of love and the sources of life with an appall- the manhater, whom one cannot love, but to
ing disease to which man alone is .subject, and whom we can show kindness.
which infects in him the organs of generation Kant, Introduction to the Metaphysical
alone. Elements of Ethics, XII
Voltaire, Philosophical Dictionaiy: Love
66 I went to the Garden of Love,
63 To argue from her [Mrs. Johnson’.s] being much And saw what I never had seen:
older than Johnson, or any other circumstances, A Chapel was built in the midst.
that he could not really love her, is absurd; for Where I used to play on the green.
 206 I
Chapters. Love

And the gates of this chapel were shut, And will not dare to trust itself w'ith truth,
And “Thou shalt not’* writ over the door; And love is taught hypocrisy from youth.
So I turned to the Garden of Love, Byron, Don Juan, 1, 72
That so many sweet flowers bore;
70 Love in a hut, with water and a crust,
And saw was Mth graves,
—
And
I it filled
tombstones where flowers should be;
Is —
Love, forgive us! cinders, ashes, dust;
Love in a palace is perhaps at last
And priests in black gowns were u^alking their
More grievous torment than a hermit’s fast.
rounds.
Keats, Lamia, II, 1
And binding with briars my joys and desires.

Blake, The Gcrden of Love

71 Love means in general terms the consciousness of
my unity with another, so that I am not in selfish
67 “Love seckcth not Itself to please,
isolation but win my self-consciousness only as the
Nor for itself hath any care. renunciation of my independence and through
But for another gives its ease,
knowing myself as the unity of my'self with anoth-
And builds a Heaven in Hell’s despair.”
er and of the other with me. Love, however, is
So sung a little Clod of Clay feeling, that is, ethical life in the form of some-

Trodden with the cattle’s feet, thing natural. In the state, feeling disappears;
But a Pebble of the brook therewe are conscious of unity as lav*'; there the
Warbled out these metres meet: content must be rational and know’n to us. The
first moment in love is that I do not w'ish to be a
“Love seeketh only Self to please.
sclf-subsistcnt and independent person and that, if
To bind another to Its delight,
I w'cre, then I would feel defective and incom-
Joy's in another’s loss of ease. plete. The second moment is that I find myself in
And builds a Hell in Heaven’s despite.”
another person, that I count for something in the
Blake, The Ctod and the Pebble other, w'hile the other in turn comes to count for
something in me. Love, therefore, is the most tre-
68 No move towards the extinction of tlte passion be- mendous contradiction; the Understanding can-
tween the sexes has taken place in the five or six not resolve it since there is nothing more stubborn
thousand years that the world has existed. Men in than this point of self-consciousness w’hich is ne-
the decline of life have in all ages declaimed gated and which nevertheless I ought to possess as
against a passion w'hich they have ceased to feel, affirmative. Love is at once the propounding and
but wath as little reason as success. Those who the resolving of this contradiction. As the resolv-
from coldness of constitutional temperament have ing of it, love is unity' of an ethical ty'pe.
never felt what love is w'ill surely be allowed to be Hegel, Philosophy of Right,
very incompetent judges w'ith regard to the power Additions, Par. 158
of this passion to contribute to the sum of pleasur-
able sensations in Those who have spent their
life.
72 This is w’hat goes on in the mind [in the birth of
youth in criminal excesses and have prepared for love]:
themselves, as the comforts of their age, corporal 1. Admiration.
debility'and mental remorse, may well inveigh 2. One says to one’s self: “Ho^v delightful to kiss
against such pleasures as vain and futile, and un- her, to be kissed in return,” etc.
productive of lasting satisfaction. But the plea- 3. Hope.
sures of pure love w'ill bear the contemplation of One studies her perfections. It is at this moment
the most improved reason, and the most exalted that a woman should surrender herself, to get the
virtue.Perhaps there is scarcely a man w'ho has greatest possible sensual pleasure. The eyes of
once experienced the genuine delight of virtuous even the most modest w'omcn light up the mo-
love, how'cver great his intellectual pleasures may ment hope is born; passion is so strong and plea-
have been, that does not look back to the period sure is so acute that they betray thcmselvw in the
as the sunny spot in his whole life, w'here his imag- most obvious manner.
and con-
ination loves to bask, w'hich he recollects 4. Love is born.
templates w'ith the fondest regrets, and which he To love is to derive pleasure from seeing, touch-
would most wish to live over again. ing and feeling through all one’s senses and as
Malthus, Population, XI closely as possible, a lovable person w'ho loves us.
5. The first crystallization begins.
69 And if she met him, though she smiled no more, We take a joy in attributing a thousand perfec-
She look’d a sadness sweeter than her smile. tions to a woman of w'hose love we are sure; we
As if her heart had deeper thoughts in store analytic all our happiness w’ith intense satisfac-
She must not ow’n, but cherish’d more the while tion. This reduces itself to giving ourselves an ex-
For that compression in its burning core; aggerated idea of a magnificent possession w'hich
Even innocence itself has many a wile. has just fallen to us from Heaven in some w'ay w'e
 3,L The Nature, Kinds, and Power of Love 207

do not understand, and the continued possession moment of intoxication and obeys the behests of

of which is assured to us. modesty, which she is alarmed at having trans-

This is what you will find if you let a lover turn gressed, or merely from prudence or coquettish-
things over in his mind for twenty-four hours. ncss.
mines of Salzburg a bough stripped
In the salt The lover begins to be less sure of the happiness
of its leaves by winter is thrown into the depths of which he has promised himself; he begins to crit-
the disused workings; two or three months later it icize the reasons he gave himself for hoping.

is pulled out again, covered with brilliant crystals: He tries to fall back on the other pleasures of
even the tiniest twigs, no bigger than a timtit’s He finds th^ no longer exist. He is seized with a
life.

claw, are spangled with a vast number of shim- dread of appalling misery, and his attention be-
mering, glittering diamonds, so that the original comes concentrated.
bough is no longer recognizable. 7. Second crystallization.

I call cr)'stallization that process of the mind Now begins the second crystallization, produc-
which discovers fresh perfections in its beloved at ing as its diamonds various confirmations of the
ever)’ turn of events. . . . following idea:
This phenomenon which I have allowed myself “She loves me.”
to call aystallization, arises from the promptings of Every quarter of an hour, during the night fol-

Nature which urge us to enjoy ourselves and drive lowing the birth of doubt, after a moment of terri-
the blood to our brains, from the feeling that our ble misery, the lover says to himself: “Yes, she
delight increases with the perfections of the be- loves me”; and crystallization sets to work to dis-
loved, and from the thought: "She is mine,” The cover fresh charms; then gaunt-eyed doubt grips
savage has no time to get beyond the first step. He him again and pulls him up with a jerk. His heart
grasps his pleasures, but his brain is concentrated misses a beat; he says to himself: “But does she
on following the buck fleeing from him through love me?” Through all these harrowing and deli-
the forest, and wdth whose flesh he must repair his cious alternations the poor lover feels acutely:
own strength as quickly as possible, at the risk of “With her I would experience joys which she
falling beneath the hatchet of his enemy. alone in the world could give me.”
At the other extreme of civilization, I have no It is the clearness of this truth and the path he
doubt that a sensitive woman arrives at the point treads between an appalling abyss and the most
of experiencing no sensual pleasure except with perfect happiness, that make the second crystalli-
the man she loves. This is in direct opposition to zation appear to be so very much more important
the savage. But, amongst civilized communities than the first.

woman has plenty of leisure, whilst the savage The lover hovers incessantly amongst these
lives so close to essentials that he is obliged to treat three ideas;
his female as a beast of burden. If the females of 1. She is perfect in eveiy’ way.
many animals have an easier lot, it is only because 2. She loves me,
the subsistence of the males ismore assured. 3. How can I get the strongest possible proof of
But us leave the forests
let and return to Paris. her love for me?
A passionate man sees nothing but perfection in The most heart-rending moment in love that is

the w’oman he loves; and yet his affections may still young is when has been wrong
it finds that it

wander, for the spirit wearies of monotony,

still in its chain of reasoning and must destroy a whole
even in the case of the most perfect happiness. agglomeration of crystals.
So what happens to rivet his attention at this: Even the fact of crystallization itself begins to
6. Doubt is born. appear doubtful.
When his hopes have first of all been raised and Stendhal, On Love, I, 2
then confirmed by ten or a dozen glances, or a
whole series of other actions which may be com- 73 Man is not free to refuse to do the thing which
pressed into a moment or spread over several gives him more pleasure than any other conceiv-
days, the lover, recovering from his first amaze- able action.
ment and growing used to his happiness, or per- Love is like a fever; it comes and goes without
haps merely guided by theory which, based al- the will having any part in the process. That is
ways on his most frequent experiences, is really one of the principal differences between sympa-
only correct in the case of light women, the lover, thy-love and passion-love, and one can only con-
I say, demands more positive proofs of love and gratulate one’s self on the fine qualities of the per-
wants to advance the moment of his happiness. son one loves as on a lucky chance.
If he takes too much for granted
he will be met Stendhal, On Love, I, 5
with indifference, coldness or even anger: in
France there will be a suggestion of irony which 74 Give all to love;
seems to say: “You think you have made more Obey thy heart;
progress than you really have.” A woman behaves Friends, kindred, days.
m this way either because she is recovering from a Estate, good-fame.
 — — —
208 Chapters, Love

Plans, credit and the Muse, 77 To love one maiden only, cleave to her,
Nothing refuse. And worship her by years of noble deeds,
Until they won her; for indeed I knew
T'is a brave master; Of no more subtle master under heaven
Let it have scope; Than is the maiden passion for a maid.
Follow it utterly, Not only to keep down the base in man.
Hope beyond hope: But teach high thought, and amiable words
High and more high And courtliness, and the desire of fame,
It dives into noon,
And love of truth, and all that makes a man.
With wing unspent, Tennyson, Guinevere, 472
Untold intent;
But it is a god,
Knows its own path
78 Young love-making —that gossamer web! Even

And the outlets of the

the points it —the things whence
clings to its sub-
intcrlacings arc swung— are scarcely
sky.
tle percepti-
It was never for the mean; ble: momentary touches of finger-tips, meetings of
It rcquireth courage stout. rays from blue and dark orbs, unfinished phrases,
Souls above doubt, lightest changes of check and lip, faintest tremors.
Valor unbending, The web itself is made of spontaneous beliefs and
It will reward, indefinable joys, yearnings of one life towards an-
They shall return other, visions of completeness, indefinite trust.
More than they were. Greorge Eliot, Middlemarch, IV, 36
And ever ascending.
79 Father Zossima. Love in action is a harsh and
Leave all for love;
dreadful thing compared with love in dreams.
Yet, hear me, yet,
Love in dreams is greedy for immediate action,
One word more thy heart behoved,
rapidly performed and in the sight of all. Men
One pulse more of firm endeavor,
will even give their lives if only the ordeal does
Keep thee to-day,
not last long but is soon over, with all looking on
To-morrow, forever.
and applauding as though on the stage. But active
Free as an Arab
love is labour and fortitude, and for some people
Of thy beloved.
too, perhaps, a complete science.
Cling with life to the maid; Dostoevsky, Brothers Karamazov, Pt. 1, 11, 4
But when the surprise.
First vague shadow of surmise 80 She began to cry and a still greater sense of pity,
her bosom young,
Flits across tenderness, and love welled up in Pierre. He felt
Of a joy apart from thee, the tears trickle under his spectacles and hoped
76 Free be she, fancy-free; they would not be noticed.
Nor thou detain her vesture^s hem, “We won’t speak of it any more, my dear,” said
Nor the palest rose she flung Pierre, and his gentle, cordial tone suddenly
From her summer diadem. seemed very strange to Nat^ha.
Though thou loved her as thyself,
“We won’t speak of it, my dear I’ll tell him —
everything; hut one thing I beg of you, consider
As a purer clay.
self of
Though her parting dims the day, me your friend and if you want help, advice, or
Stealing grace from all alive;
simply to open your heart to someone not now, —
Heartily know,
—
but when your mind is clearer think of me!” He
took her hand and kissed it. “I shall be happy if
When half-gods go.
it’s in my power . .
The gods arrive.
Pierre grew confused.
Emerson, Give All to Love
“Don’t speak to me like that. I am not worth
it!” exclaimed Natasha and turned to leave the
lb I hold it whatever befall;
true,
room, but Pierre held her hand.
I feel it, when
I sorrow most;
He knew he had something more to say to her.
’T is better to have loved and lost
But when he said it he was amazed at his own
Than never to have loved at all, words.
Tennyson, In Memoriam, XXVII “Stop, stop! You have your whole life before
you,” said he to her.
In the spring a livelier iris changes on the “Before me? No! All is over for me,” she replied
burnish’d dove; with shame and self-abasement.
In the spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to “All over?” he repeated. “If I were not myself,
thoughts of love. but the handsomest, cleverest, and best man in
Tennyson, Locksl^ Hall, 19 the world, and were free, I would this moment ask
 3.L The Nature, Kinds, and Power of Love 209

on my knees for your hand and your love!” soul. And he understood her feelings, her suffer-
For the first time for many
days Natasha wept ings, shame, and remorse. He now understood for
tears of gratitude and tenderness, and glancing at the first time all the cruelty of his rejection of her,
Pierre she went out of the room. the cruelty of his rupture with her. “If only it were
Pierre too when she had gone almost ran into possible for me to see her once more! Just once,
and looking into those eyes to say .”
the anteroom, restraining tears of tenderness . .

joy that choked him, and without finding the , . . And his attention w'as suddenly carried
sleeves of his fur cloak threw it on and got into his into another world, a world of reality and deliri-
sleigh. um which something particular was happen-
in
“Where to now, your excellency?” asked the ing. In that world some structure w’as still being
coachman. erected and did not fall, something was still
“Where to?” Pierre asked himself. “Where can stretching out, and the candle with its red halo
I go now? Surely not to the Club or to pay calls?” was burning, and the same shirtlike sphinx
still

All men seemed so pitiful, so poor, in comparison
with this feeling of tenderness and love he experi-
enced: in comparison with that softened, grateful,
last look she had given him through her tears.
“Home!” said Pierre, and despite twenty- two
degrees of frost Fahrenheit he threw open the
bearskin cloak from his broad chest and inhaled
the air with joy.
It was clear and frosty. Above the dirty, ill-lit
streets, above the black roofs, stretched the dark
starry sky.Only looking up at the sky did Pierre
cease to feelhow sordid and humiliating were all
mundane things compared with the heights to
which his soul had just been raised. At the en-
trance to the Arbat Square an immense expanse
of dark starry sky presented itself to his eyes. Al-
most in the center of it, above the Prechistenka
Boulevard, surrounded and sprinkled on all sides
by stars but distinguished from them all by its
nearness to the earth, its white light, and its long
uplifted tail, shone the enormous and brilliant
—
comet of 1812 the comet which was said to por-
tend all and the end of the world. In
kinds of woes
Pierre, how^ever, that comet with its long lumi-
nous tail aroused no feeling of fear. On the con-
trary he gazed joyfully, his eyes moist with tears,
at this brightcomet which, having traveled in its
orbit with inconceivable velocity through immea-
surable space, seemed suddenly like an arrow
piercing the earth —
to remain fixed in a chosen
spot, vigorously holding its tail erect, shining and
displaying its white light amid countless other
scintillating stars. It seemed to Pierre that this
comet fully responded to what was passing in his
own softened and uplifted soul, now blossoming
into a new life.
Tolstoy, War and Peace, VIII, 22
lay near the door; but besides all this something
creaked, there was a whiff of fresh air, and a new
white sphinx appeared, standing at the door. And
the sphinx had the pale face and shining eyes of
the very Natasha of whom he had just been think-
ing.
“Oh, how oppressive this continual delirium
is,”thought Prince Andrew, trying to drive that
face from his imagination. But the face remained
before him with the force of reality and drew
nearer. Prince Andrew wished to return to that
former world of pure thought, but he could not,
and delirium drew him back into its domain. The
soft whispering voice continued its rhythmic mur-
mur, something oppressed him and stretched out,
and the strange face was before him. Prince An-
drew collected all his strength in an effort to re-
cover his senses, he moved a little, and suddenly
there was a ringing in his ears, a dimness in his
eyes, and a man plunged into water he lost
like
consciousness. When he came to himself, Natasha,
that same living Nat^ha whom of all people he
most longed to love with this new pure divine love
that had been revealed to him, was kneeling be-
fore him. He realized that it was the real living
Nat^ha, and he was not surprised but quietly
happy. Natasha, motionless on her knees (she was
unable to stir), with frightened eyes riveted on
— him, was restraining her sobs. Her face was pale
and rigid. Only in the lower part of it something
quivered.
Prince Andrew sighed with relief, smiled, and
held out his hand.
“You?” he said. “How fortunate!”
With a rapid but careful movement Natasha
drew nearer to him on her knees and, taking his
hand carefully, bent her face over it and began
kissingit, just touching it lightly with her lips.

81 “When loving with human love one may pass “Forgive me!” she whispered, raising her head
from love to hatred, but divine love cannot and glancing at him. “Forgive me!”
change. No, neither death nor anything else can “I love you,” said Prince Andrew.
destroy it. It is the very essence of the soul. Yet “Forgive !” . . .

how many people have I hated in my life? And of “Forgive what?” he asked.
them all, I loved and hated none as I did her.” “Forgive me for what I ha-ve do-nc!” faltered
And . . Andrew] vividly pictured to
. [Prince Natasha in a scarcely audible, broken whisper,
himself Natasha, not as he had done in the past and began kissing his hand more rapidly, just
with nothing but her charms which gave him de- touching it with her lips.
light, but for the first time picturing to himself her “I love you more, better than before,” said
 210 Chapter 3. Love

Prince Andrew, lifting her face wth his hand so as tred as an imperfect stage of it, an Anteros ^yca, —
to look into her eyes. even needs hatred and hatefulncss as its object.
Tolstoy, IVar and Peace, XI, 32 For self-love is no love; so if God’s self is love, that
which he loves must be defect of love; just as a
82 All men from their very earliest years know that luminary can light up only that which othcrw'isc
besides the good of their animal personality there would be dark,
isanother, a better, good in life, which is not only C. S. Peirce, Evolutional}' Love

independent of the gratification of the appetites of

the animal personality, but on the contrary the 84 Whatever is done from love always occurs beyond
greater the renunciation of the welfare of the ani- good and evil.
mal personality the greater this good becomes. Nietzsche, B^'ond Good and Evil, IV, 153
This feeling, solving all life’s contradictions and
giving the greatest good to man, is known to all. 85 Libido is an expression taken from the theory of
That feeling is love. the emotions. We call by that name the cnerg)’
Life is the activity of animal personality sub- (regarded as a quantitative magnitude, though
jected to the Reason is the law to
lavs' of reason. not at present actually mensurable) of those in-
which, for his own good, man’s animal personality stincts which have to do with all that may be com-
must be subjected. Love is the only reasonable ac- prised under the word love. The nucleus of what
tivity of man. we mean by love naturally consists (and this is
Tolstoy, On Life, XXII what is commonly called love, and what the poets
sing of) in sexual love with sexual union as its aim.
83 Philosophy, when just escaping from its golden But we do not separate from this what in any —
pupa-sldn, mythology, proclaimed the great evo- case has a share in the name love on the one —
lutionary agency of the universe to be Love. Or, hand, self-love, and on the other, love for parents
since this pirate-lingo, English, is poor in such-like and children, friendship, and love for humanity in
words, let us say Eros, the cxubcrance-Iovc. Af- general, and also devotion to concrete objects and
terwards, Empedocles set up passionate-love and to abstract ideas. Our justification lies in the fact
hate as the two co-ordinate powers of the univ- that psycho-analytic research has taught us that
erse. In some passages, kindness is the word. But all these tendencies are an expression of the same
certainly, in any sense in which it has an opposite, instinctive activities; in relations beUveen the sex-
to be senior partner of that opposite, is the highest es these instincts force their way towards sexual
position that love can attain. Nevertheless, the on- union, but in other circumstances they are divert-
tological gospeller, in whose days those views were ed from this aim or are prevented from reaching
familiar topics, made the One Supreme Being, by it, though always preserving enough of their origi-

whom all things have been made out of nothing, nal nature to keep their identity recognizable (as
to be cherishing-love. What, then, can he say to in such features as the longing for proximity, and
hate? . . . [John’s] statement that God is love self-sacrifice).

seems aimed at that saying of Ecclesiastes that we We are of opinion, then, that language has car-
cannot tell whether God bears us love or hatred. ried out an entirely justifiable piece of unification
“Nay,” says John, “we can tell, and very simply! in creating the word love with its numerous uses,
We know and have trusted the love which God and that we cannot do better than take it as the
hath in us. God is love.” There is no logic in this, basis of our scientific discussions and expositions
unless it means that God loves all men. In the as well.
preceding paragraph, he had said, “God is light Freud, Group P^’ckology and the

and in him is no darkness at all.” We are to un- Analysis of the Ego, IV

derstand, then, that as darkness is merely the de-
fect of light, so hatred and evil are mere imperfect 86 In the development of mankind as a whole, just as
stages of love and loveliness. This concords
. , . in individuals, love alone acts as the civilizing fac-
with that utterance reported in John’s Gospel: tor in the sense that it brings a change from
“God sent not the Son into the world to judge the egoism to altruism. And this is true both of the
world; but that the world should through him be sexual love for women, with all the obligations
saved. He that believeth on him is not judged: he which it involves of sparing what women are fond
that believeth not hath been judged already. . . . of, and also of the desexualized, sublimated homo-

And this is the judgment, that the light is come sexual love for other men, which springs from
into the world,and that men loved darkness rath- work in common.
er than the light.” That is to say, God visits no Freud, Group P^'chohgy and the

punishment on them; they punish themselves, by Analysis of the Ego, VI

their natural affinity for the defective. Thus, the
love that God
not a love of which hatred is
is, is 87 A small minority are enabled ... to find happi-
the contrary; otherwise Satan would be a co-ordi- ness along the path of love; but far-reaching men-
nate power; but it is a love which embraces ha- tal transformations of the erotic function are nec-
 3,L The Nature, Kinds, and Power of Love 211

cssary before this is possible. These people make She bid me take love cas>', as the leaves grow on
themselves independent of their object’s acquies- the tree;
cence by transferring the main value from the fact But I, being young and foolish, with her would
of being loved to tlicir ovsm act of loving; they not agree.
protect themselves against loss of it by attaching In a field by the river my love and I did stand.
their love not to individual objects but to all men And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-
equally* and they avoid the uncertainties and di- white hand.
sappointments of genital love by turning away She bid me take life cas)-, a.s the grass grows on the
92
from its sexual aim and modifying the instinct w'eirs;

into an impulse with an inhibited aim. The state But I was young and foolish, and now am full of

which they induce in themselves by this process tears.

an unchangeable* undcviaiing, tender attitude Yeats, Down by the Salley Gardens

has little superficial likeness to the stormy vicissi-
tudes of genital love, from w'hich it is nevertheless
Imagine a piece music which expresses love. It
of
derived.
is not love for any
particular person. Another
Freud, Civilization and Its Discontents, IV piece of music will express another love. Here we
have two distinct emotional atmospheres, two dif-
88 When a love-relationship is at its height, no room ferent fragrances, and in both eases the quality of
is left for any surrounding world;
interest in the love will depend upon its essence and not upon its
the pair of lovers arc sufficient unto themselves, object. Ncs'crlhclcss, hard to conceive a love
it is
do not cs'cn need the child they have in common w'hich is, so to speak, at work, and yet applies to
to make them happy. In no other case docs Eros nothing. As a matter of fact, the mystics unani-
so plainly betray the core of his being, his aim of mously bear w'itncss that God needs us, just as we
making one out of many. need God. Why should He need us unless it be to
Freud, Civilization and Its Discontents, V love us?And it is to this vcr>' conclusion that the
philosopherwho holds to the m>’siical experience
89 An animal c.xhibits in its life-activity a multitude must come. Creation w'ill appear to him as God
of acts of breathing, digesting, secreting, c.xcrct- undertaking to create creators, that He may have,
ing, attack, defense, search for food, etc., a multi- besides Himself, beings worthy of His love.
tude of specific responses to specific stimulations We should hesitate to admit this if it were
of the environment. But myiholog)’ comes in and merely a question of humdrum dwrllcrs on this
attributes them all to a nisus for self-preservation. comer of the universe called Earth. But, as wt
Thence but a step to the idea that all con-
it is have said before, it is probable that life animates
scious acts arc prompted by self-love. This premiss all the planets resolving round all the stars. It
is then elaborated in ingenious schemes, often
doubtless lakes, by reason of the diversity of con-
amusing when animated by a cynical knowledge ditions in which it exists, the most varied forms,
of the “world,” tedious when of a %vouId-be logical some remote from what we imagine them to
verj'
nature, to prove that cvcr>' act of man including be; but its essence is cvcr)'>vhcrc the same, a slow
his apparent generosities is a variation played on accumulation of potential energy' to be spent sud-
the theme of self-interest. dcntly in free action. We might still hesitate to
Dewey, Human Nature and Conduct, II, 5 admit this, if we regarded as accidental the ap-
pearance amid the plants and animals that people
90 When you arc old and gray and full of sleep, the earth of a living creature such as man, capa-
And nodding by the fire, take down this book, ble of loving and making himself loved. But w'c
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look have show'n that this appearance, w'hilc not pre-
Your cy'cs had once, and of their shadow's deep; determined, was not accidental either. Though
How many there were other lines of evolution running along-
loved your moments of glad grace.
And side the line wdiich led to man, and though much
loved your beauty w'iih love false or true,
is incomplete in man himself, we can say, while
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrow's of your changing face; keeping closely to what experience shows, that it is
man who accounts for the presence of life on our
And bending down beside the glow'ing bars. planet. Finally, we might well go on hesitating if
Murmur, a little sadly, how' Love fled we believed that the universe is essentially raw
And paced upon the mountains overhead matter, and that has been super-added to
life
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars. matter. We have shown, on the contrary', that
Yeats, When You Are Old matter and life, as we define them, arc coexistent
and interdependent. This being the ease, there is
91 Down by the sallcy gardens my love and I did nothing to prevent the philosopher from following
meet; to its logical conclusion the idea which my'sticism
She passed the sallcy gardens wnth little snow- suggests to him of a universe which is the mere
white feet. visible and tangible aspect of love and of the need
 212 Chapters. Love

of loving, together with all the consequences en-
tailed by this creative emotion: I mean
pearance of living creatures in which this emotion
finds its complement; of an infinity of other beings
without which they could not have appeared, and
lastly of the unfathomable depths of material sub-
stance without which life would not have been
possible.
Bergson, Two Sources of Morality
and Religion^ III
93 To be omnivorous one pole of true love: to be
is
exclusive is A man whose heart, if I
the other.
may say so, lies deeper, hidden under a thicker
coat of mail, will have less play of fancy, and will
be far from finding every charm charming, or ev-
ery sort of beauty a stimulus to love. Yet he may
not be less prone to the tender passion, and when
once smitten may be so penetrated by an unimag-
ined tenderness and joy, that he will declare him-
self incapable of ever loving again, and may actu-
ally be so. Having no rivals and in deeper soil,
love can ripen better in such a constant spirit; it
has to build upon is a furtive glance or casual
the ap- motion, people fall in love at first sight. For they
must fall in love somehow, and any sdmulus is
enough if none more powerful is forthcoming.
When society, on the contrary, allows constant
and easy intercourse between the sexes, a first im-
pression, if not reinforced, will soon be hidden and
obliterated by others. Acquaintance becomes nec-
essary for love when it is necessary for memory.
But what makes true love is not the information
conveyed by acquaintance, not any circumstan-
tial charms that may be therein discovered: it b
still a deep and dumb instinctive affinity, an inex-
plicable emotion seizing the heart, an influence
organising the world, like a luminous crystal,
about one magic point. So that although love sel-
dom springs up suddenly in these days into any-
thing like a full-blown passion, it is sight, it is
presence, that makes in time a conquest over the
heart; for all virtues, sympathies, confidences will
fail to move a man to tenderness and to worship,
unless a poignant effluence from the object envel-
op him, so that he begins to walk, as it were, in a

will not waste itself in a continual patter of little

dream.
pleasures and illusions. But unless the passion of it Santayana, Life of Reasony II, 1

is to die down, it must somehow assert its univer-

sality: what it loses in diversity it must gain in 94 If to create was love’s impulse originally, to create
applicability. It must become a principle of action is its effort still, after it has been chastened and

and an influence colouring everything that is has received some rational extension. The ma-
dreamt of; otherwise it would have lost its dignity chinery which serves reproduction thus finds kin-
and sunk into a dead memory or a domestic bond. dred but higher uses, as every organ does in a
True love, it used to be said, is love at first sight. liberal life; and what Plato called a desire for
Manners have much to do with such incidents, birth in beauty may be sublimated even more,
and the race which happens to set, at a given until yearns for an ideal immortality in a trans-
it

time, the fashion in literature makes its tempera- figured world, a world made worthy of that love
ment public and exercises a sort of contagion over which its children have so often lavished on it in
all men’s fancies. If women are rarely seen and their dreams.
ordinarily not to be spoken to; if all imagination Santayana, Life of Reason, II, 1

3.2 I
Hate

In almost all the traditional enumerations of one, and perhaps even a minor, component,
the emotions, love and hate are joined to- then it may be the case that there are also
gether as contraries, along with such paired kinds of hate that are pure acts of will with-
opposites as hope and desire, pleasure and out passion or involve will as well as emo-
pain, desireand aversion, and so on. If there tion. The reader should have this in mind as
are kinds of love that are either not emo- he discovers that there may be as many vari-
tional at all or involve bodily passion as just eties of hate as there are of love. He should
 —
3,2. Hate 213

also explore related passages in Section 4.10 in which his theory^ of love-hate ambiva-
on Jealousy in the following chapter. lence is set forth.

Where passages treat love and hate to- One of the major subjects covered in this

gether, they arc usually quoted here rather section is misanthropy — hatred for man-
than under love. Also included here arc pas- kind. The reader may wonder about the
sages from Freud tliat deal with instinctual type of love that is its opposite. Is it friend-
aggressiveness, even though the word “hate” ship or charity or both? Comparing the texts
docs not appear in them; in addition, of with passages in Sections 3.4 and 3.5 may
course, there arc other passages from Freud help him to arrive at an answer.

1 Terror drove them, and Fear, and Hate whose classes:we all hate any thief and any informer.
wrath is relentless, Moreover, anger can be cured by time; but hatred
she the sister and companion of murderous Arcs, cannot. The one aims at giving pain to its object,
she who is only a little thing at the first, but there- the other at doing him harm; the angr>' man
after wants his victims to feel; the hater docs not mind
grows until she strides on the earth with her head whether they feel or not. All painful things arc
striking heaven, felt; but the greatest evils, injustice and folly, are
Homer, IV, 440 the least felt, since their presence causes no pain.
And anger is accompanied by pain, hatred is not:
2 Socrates. I have said enough in answer to tlic the angr>’man feels pain, but the hater docs not.
charge of Mclcius: any elaborate defence is un- Much may happen to make the angry* man pity
ncccssar)*; but I know only too well how many arc those who offend him, but the hater under no cir-
the enmities which 1 have incurred, and this is cumstances wishes to pity a man whom he has
what be my destruction if I am destroyed;
uill once hated: for the one would have the offenders
not Meletus, nor yet Anytus, but the cn \7 and suffer for what they have done; the other would
detraction of the world, which has been the death have them cc.ise to exist.
of many good men, and will probably be the Aristotle, Rhetoric, 1382*1
death of many more; there is no danger of my
being the last of them. 5 What am
most apprehensive about concerning
I

Plato, Apoto^', 20A you is because you arc unaware of (he real
this:
pathway to fame, you may think it is really glori-
3 Soaales. Misanthropy arises out of the too great ou.s to have more power than anyone else and to

—
confidence of inexperience; you trust a man and
him altogether true and sound and faithful,
lord it over your fellow citizens. If this is your
think opinion, you really arc blind when it comes to
and then in a little while he turns out to be false knowing real fame. What really is glorious is to be
and knavish; and then another and another, and a citizen held in high regard by all, deserv'ing well
when this has happened several times to a man, of the republic, one svho is praised, courted, and
especially when it happens among those whom he loved. be feared and hated is obnoxious.
But to It
deems to be his own most trusted and familiar is a proof of weakness and degeneracy.
friends, and he has often quarrelled with them, he Cicero, Philippics, I, 14
at last hates all men, and believes that no one has
any good in him at all. Experience would
. , . 6 Injuries done to us by those of higher rank must
have taught him the true state of the ease, that be endured, and not only with composure, but
few arc the good and few the evil, and that the with the appearance of good cheer. They will
great majority are in the interv'al between them. commit the same offense again if they arc con-
Plato, Phaedo, 89B vinced they got away with it once. Those whose
spirit has become overbearing because of good for-
4 Enmity and Hatred should clearly be studied by tune have this serious fault; they hate those whom
reference to their opposites. Enmity may be pro- they have injured.
duced by anger or spite or calumny. Now whereas Seneca, On Anger, II, 33
anger arises from offences against oneself, enmity
may arise even without that; we may hate people 7 He is in the light, and hateth his
that saith he
merely because of what we take to be their char- brother, darkness even until now.
is in
acter. Anger is always concerned w'ith individuals, He that lovcth his brother abideth in the light,
• . whereas hatred is directed also against
.
and there is none occasion of stumbling in him.
 214 I
Chapters. Love

But he that hateth his brother is in darkness, most put his teeth into the other there where
and walketh in darkness, and knoweth not whith- the brain joins with the nape.
er he goeth, because that darkness hath blinded Not otherwise did Tydeus gnaw the temples of
his eyes. Mcnalippus for rage, than he the skull and the
/ John 2;9-ll other parts,
“O thou! who by such brutal token shewest thy

8 For this is the message that ye heard from the hate on him whom thou devourest, tell me
beginning, that we should love one another. why,” I said; *‘on this condition,

Not as Cain, who was of that wicked one, and that ifthou with reason complainest of him, I,
slew his brother. And wherefore slew he him? Be- knowing who ye are and his offence, may yet
cause his own works were evil, and his brother’s repay thee in the world above, if that, where-
righteous. with I speak, be not dried up.”
Marv^el not, my brethren, if the world hale you. From the fell repast that sinner raised his mouth,

/ John 3:11-13 wiping it upon the hair of the head he had laid
waste behind.
9 If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, Then he began: ‘‘Thou v^illest that I renew des-
he a liar: for he that loveth not
is his brother perate grief, which wrings my heart, even at the
whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom very thought, before I tell thereof.
he hath not seen? But if my words arc to be a seed, that may bear
I John 4:20 fruit of infamy to the traitor whom gnaw,
I

thou shall see me speak and weep at the same

10 Benefits received are a delight to us as long as we time.
think we can requite them; when that possibility 1 know not who thou mayest be, nor by what
is far c.Kcceded, they arc repaid with hatred in- mode thou hast come down here; but, when I
stead of gratitude. hear thee, in truth thou scemest to me a Floren-
Tacitus, /I IV, 18 tine.
Thou know that I was Count UgoHno, and
hast to
11 It is, indeed, human nature to hate the man this theArchbishop Ruggieri; now I will tell
whom you have injured. thee why I am such a neighbour to him.
Tacitus, Agncola That by the effect of his ill devices I, confiding in
him, was taken and thereafter put to death, it is
12 It is strange that we should not realise that no not necessary to say.
enemy could be more dangerous to us than the But that which thou canst not have learnt, that is,
hatred with which we hate him, and that by our how cruel was my death, thou shall hear and —
efforts against him we do less damage to our ene- know if he has offended me.
my than is wrought in our own heart. A narrow hole within the mew, which from me
Augustine, Confessions, I, 18 has the title of Famine, and in which others yet
must be shut up,
13 It is impossible for an effect to be stronger than its had through its opening already shewn me several
cause. Now every hatred arises from some love as moons, when I slept the evil sleep that rent for
its cause. . . .Therefore it is impossible absolutely me the curtain of the future.
for hatred to be stronger than love. This man seemed to me lordand master, chasing
But furthermore, love must be stronger, abso- the wolf and his whelps, upon the mountain for
lutely speaking, than hatred. Because a thing is which the Pisans cannot see Lucca.
moved to the end more strongly than to the With hounds meagre, keen, and dexterous, he had
means. Now turning away from evil is ordered as put in front of him Gualandi with Sismondi,
a means to the gaining of good, as to amend. and with Lanfranchi.
Therefore, absolutely speaking, the soul’s move- After short course, the father and his sons seemed
ment in respect of good is stronger than its move- to me weary; and methought I saw their flanks
ment in respect of evil. torn by the sharp teeth.
Nevertheless hatred sometimes seems to be When I awoke before the dawn, I heard my sons
stronger than love, for two reasons. First, because [who were with me, weeping in their sleep, and]
hatred is more keenly fell than love. Second- . . . asking for bread.
ly,because comparison is made between a hatred Thou art right cruel, if thou dost not grieve al-
and a love which do not correspond to one anoth- ready at the thought of what my heart forebod-
er. ed; and if thou weepest not, at what are thou
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I-II, 29, 3 used to weep?
They were now awake, and the hour approaching
14 Isaw two frozen in one hole so closely, that the one at which our food used to be brought us, and
head was a cap to the other; each was anxious from his dream,
and as bread is chewed for hunger, so the upper- and below I heard the outlet of the horrible tower
 3.2. Hate 215

locked up: whereat I looked into the faces of my Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
sons,without uttering a word. Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
I did not w'cep: so stony grew I within; they wept; Grim-visaged War hath smooth’d his wrinkled
and my little Anselm said: ‘Thou lookest so, front;
father, what ails thee?’ And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds
But I shed no tear, nor answered all that day, nor To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
the next night, till another sun came forth upon He capers nimbly in a lady’s chamber
the world. To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
When a small ray w'as sent into the doleful prison, But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,

and 1 discerned in their four faces the aspect of Nor made to courtan amorous looking-glass;
my own, I, that am rudely stamp’d, and want love’s
I bit on both my hands for grief. And they, think- majesty
ing that I did it from desire of eating, of a sud- To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
den rose up, I, that am curtail’d of this fair proportion.
and said: ‘Father, it will give us much less pain, if Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
thou wilt cat of us: thou didst put upon us this Deform’d, unfinish’d, sent before my time
and do thou strip it off.’
miserable flesh, Into this breathing world, scarce half made up.
Then calmed myself, in order not to make them
I And that so lamely and unfashionable
, more unhappy; that day and the next wc all That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
were mute. Ah, hard earth! why didst thou not Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
open? Have no delight to pass away the time.
When we had come to the fourth day, Gaddo Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
threw himself stretched out at my feet, saying: And descant on mine own deformity:
*My father! why don’t you help me?’ And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover.
There he died; and even as thou scest me, saw I To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
the three fall one by one, between the fifth day I am determined to prove a villian
and the sixth; whence I betook me, And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
already blind, to groping over each, and for three Shakespeare, Richard III, I, i, 1

days called them, after they were dead; then

fasting had more power than grief.” 18 Lady Anne. Poor key-cold figure of a holy king!
When he had spoken this, with eyes distorted he Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster!
seized the miserable skull again with his teeth, Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!
which as a dog’s were strong upon the bone. Be it lawful that I invocatc thy ghost.
Dante, Inferno, XXXII, 124 To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,
Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter’d son,
15 The prince must consider . . . how to avoid those Stabb’d by the selfsame hand (Richard’s] that
things which will make him
hated or contempt- made these wounds!
ible; and as often as he
have succeeded he shall Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life,
w'ill have fulfilled his part, and he need not fear I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.
any danger in other reproaches. Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes!
makes him hated above all things, as I have
It Cursed be the heart that had the heart to do it!
said, tobe rapacious, and to be a violator of the Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence!
property and women of his subjects, from both of More direful hap betide that hated wretch
which he must abstain. And when neither their That makes us wretched by the death of thee
property nor honour is touched, the majority of Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads,
men live content, and he has only to contend with Or any creeping venom’d thing that lives!
the ambition of a few, whom he can curb with If ever he have child, abortive be it,
ease in many ways. Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,
Machiavelli, Prince, XIX Whose ugly and unnatural aspect
May fright the hopeful mother at the view;
16 Hatred is acquired as much by good works as by And that be heir to his unhappiness!
bad ones. If ever he have wife, let her be made

Machiavelli, Prince, XIX As miserable by the death of him

As I am made by my poor lord and thee!
17 Gloucester. Now is the winter of our discontent Shakespeare, Richard III, I, ii, 5
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour’d upon our house 19 Shylock. You’ll ask me, why I rather choose to have
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. A weight of carrion flesh than to receive
Now are our brows bound \vith victorious Three thousand ducats: I’ll not answer that:
wreaths; But say it is my humour: is it answer’d?
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; What if my house be troubled with a rat
 ——
216 Chapters. Love

And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats Pluck the grave wrinkled Senate from the bench,
To have it baned? What, are you answer’d yet? And minister in their steads! To general filths

Some men there are love not a gaping pig; Convert o’ the instant, green virginity!
Some, that are mad if they behold a cat; Do’t in your parents’ eyes! Bankrupts, hold fast;
And others, when the bagpipe sings i’ the nose, Rather than render back, out with your knives
Cannot contain their urine: for affection, And cut your trusters’ throats! Bound servants,
Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood steal!

Of what it likes or loathes. Now, for your answer: Large-handed robbers your grave masters are,
As there is no firm reason to be render’d. And pill by law. Maid, to thy master’s bed;
Why he cannot abide a gaping pig; Thy mistress is o’ the brothel! Son of sixteen.
Why he, a harmless necessary cat; Pluck the lined crutch from thy old limping sire.
Why he, a woollen bag-pipe; but of force With it beat out his brains! Piety, and fear,
Must yield to such inevitable shame Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth.
As to offend, himself being offended; Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood,
So can I give no reason, nor I will not. Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades.
More than a lodged hate end a certain loathing Degrees, observances, customs, and laws,
I bear Antonio, that I follow thus Decline to your confounding contraries.
A losing suit against him. Are you answer’d? And let confusion live! Plagues, incident to men.
Bassannio. This is no answer, thou unfeeling Your potent and infectious fevers heap
man, On Athens, ripe for stroke! Thou cold sciatica.
To excuse the current of thy cruelty. Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt
Shy. I am not bound to please thee with my As lamely as their manners! Lust and liberty
answers. Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth.
Bass. Do all men kill the things they do not That ’gainst the stream of virtue they may strive.
love? And drown themselves in riot! Itches, blains,
Shy. Hates any man the thing he would not kill? Sow all the Athenian bosoms; and their crop
Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, IV, i, 40 Be general leprosy! Breath infect breath,
That their society, as their friendship, may
20 !ago. That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it; Be merely poison! Nothing I’ll bear from thee.
That she loves him, ’tis apt and of great credit. But nakedness, thou detestable town!
The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not, Take thou that too, with multiplying bans!
Is of constant, loving,noble nature, Timon will to the woods; where he shall find
And dare think he’ll prove to Desdemona
I The unkindest beast more kinder than mankind.
A most dear husband. Now, I do love her too; —
The gods confound hear me, you good gods
Not out of absolute lust, though peradventure all—
I stand accountant for as great a sin, The Athenians both within and out that wall!
But partly led to diet my revenge, And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow
For that I do suspect the lusty Moor To the whole race of mankind, high and low!
Hath leap’d into my
thought whereof
seat; the Amen.
Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards; Shakespeare, Timon of Athens, IV, i, 1

And nothing can or shall content my soul

Till I am even’d with him, wife for wife, 22 As for the passions, of hate, lust, ambition, and
Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor covetousness, what crimes they are apt to produce
At least into a jealousy so strong is so obvious to every man’s experience and un-

That judgement cannot cure. Which thing to do, derstanding as there needeth nothing to be said of
If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash them, saying that they are infirmities, so annexed
For his quick hunting, stand the putting on, to the nature, both of man and all other living
I’ll have our Michael Cassio on the hip. creatures, as that their effects cannot be hindered
Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb but by extraordinary use of reason, or a constant
For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too severity in punishing them. For in those things
Make the Moor thank me, love me, and reward men hate, they find a continual and unavoidable
me. molestation; whereby either a man’s patience
For making him egregiously an ass must be everlasting, or he must be eased by re-
And practising upon his peace and quiet moving the power of that which molesteth him:
Even to madness. the former is difficult; the latter is many times
Shakespeare, Othello, II, i, 295 impossible without some violation of the law.
Hobbes, Leviathan, II, 27
21 Timon. Let me look back upon thee. O thou wall
That girdlest in those wolves, dive in the earth 23 All men naturally hate one another. They employ
And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent! lust as far as possible in the service of the public
Obedience fail in children! slaves and fools. weal. But this is only a \pTetence\ and a false image
 3.2, Hate 217

of love; for at bottom it is only hate. 29 I have ever hated all nations, professions and

Pascal, Pmseesy VII, 451 communities, and all my love is toward individu-
als. .But principally I hate and detest that
. .

24 Love nothing but joy accompanied with the idea

is animal called man; although I heartily love John,
of an external cause, and haired is nothing but sor- Peter, Thomas, and so forth.
row with the accompanying idea of an external Swift, Letter to Pope (Sept. 29, 1725)
cause. We sec too that he who loves a thing neces-
sarilyendeavours to keep it before him and to 30 The body of Jonathan Swift, Doctor of Divinity,
preserve it, and, on the other hand, he who hates dean of this cathedral church, is buried here,
a thing necessarily endeavours to remove and de- where fierce indignation can no longer lacerate
stroy it. his heart. Go, passerby, and imitate if you can one
Spinoza, Ethics, III, Prop, 13, Schol. who strove with all his strength to serve human
liberty.

25 Every one endeavours as much as possible to Swift, Epitaph in St. Patrick*s Cathedral, Dublin
make others love what he loves, and to hate what
he hates. And so we see that each person by na- 31 In this, w'e have said, he [Mr. Allworthy] did not
ture desires that other persons should live accord- agree with his wife; nor, indeed, in anything else:
ing to his way of thinking; but if every one does for though an affection placed on the under-
this, then all are a hindrance to one another, and standing is, by many wise persons, thought more
if every one wishes to be praised or beloved by the durable than that which is founded on beauty, yet
rest, then they all hate one another. it happened otherwise in the present case. Nay,

Spinoza, Ethics, III, Prop. 31, Corol. the understandings of this couple were their prin-
cipal bone of contention, and one great cause of
26 No one can hate God. . . . many quarrels, which from time to time arose be-
The idea of God which
in us is adequate and
is tween them; and which at last ended, on the side
perfect, and therefore insofar as we contemplate of the lady, in a sovereign contempt for her hus-
God do we act, and consequently no sorrow can band; and on the husband’s, in an utter ab-
exist with the accompanying idea of God; that is horrence of his wife.
to say, no one can hate God. . . . Fielding, Tom Jones, II, 7
Love to God cannot be turned into hatred. . . .

But some may object, that if we understand 32 One situtation only of the married state is exclud-
God to be the cause of all things, we do for that ed from pleasure: and that is, a state of indiffer-
very reason consider Him be the cause of sor-
to ence: but as many of my readers, I hope, know
row. But I reply, that insofeu* as we understand the what an exquisite delight there is in conveying
causes of sorrow, it ceases to be a passion, that is to pleasure to a beloved object, so some few, I am
say, it be sorrow; and therefore insofar as
ceases to afraid, may have experienced the satisfaction of
we understand God to be the cause of sorrow do tormenting one we hate. It is, I apprehend, to
we rejoice. come at this latter pleasure, that we see both sexes
Spinoza, Ethics, V, Prop. 18 often give up that ease in marriage which they
might otherwise possess, though their mate was
27 Zara. Heav’n has no Rage like Love to hatred never so disagreeable to them. Hence the wife of-
turn’d, ten puts on fits of love and jealousy, nay, even
Nor Hell a Fury like a Woman scorn’d. and prevent
denies herself any pleasure, to disturb
Congreve, The Mourning Bride, III, ii those of her husband; and he again, in return,
puts frequent restraints on himself, and stays at
28 My and family received me with great sur-
wife home in company which he dislikes, in order to
prize and joy, because they concluded me certain- confine his wife to what she equally detests.
ly dead; but I must freely confess, the sight of Hence, too, must flow those tears which a widow
them filled me only with hatred, disgust and con- sometimes so plentifully sheds over the ashes of a
tempt; and the more, by reflecting on the near husband with whom she led a life of constant dis-
alliance I had to them. For, although since my quiet and turbulency, and whom now she can
unfortunate exile from the Houyhnhnm country, never hope to torment any more.
I had compelled my self to tolerate Fielding, Tom Jones, 7
the sight of II,
Yahoos, and to converse with Don Pedro de Men-
dez; yet my memory and imaginations were per- 33 “If I was not as great philosopher as Socrates him-
petually filled with the virtues and ideas of those self,” returned Mrs. Western, “you would over-
exalted Houyhnhnms. And w’hen I began to con- come my patience. What objection can you have
by copulating >vith one of the Yahoo-
sider, that
to the young gentleman?”
spcciK,I had become a parent of more, it struck “A very solid objection, in my opinion,” says
me With the utmost shame, confusion, and horror. —
Sophia “I hate him.”
Swift, GulltvePs Travels, IV, 11 “Will you never learn a proper use of words?”
 218 Chapters. Love

answered the aunt. “Indeed, child, you should came to identify with him, not only all his bodily
consult Bailey’s Dictionary'. It is impossible you woes, but all his intellectual and spiritual exasper-
should hate a man from whom
you have received ations.The \Vhite Whale swam before him as the
no injury. By hatred, therefore, you mean no monomaniac incarnation of ail those malicious
more than dislike, which is no sufficient objection agencies which some deep men feel eating in
against your marrying of him. I have kno^vTl them, till left living on with half a heart
they are
many couples, who have entirely disliked each and That intangible malignity which
half a lung.
other, lead very' comfortable genteel lives. Believe has been from the beginning; to whose dominion
me, child, I know these things better than you. even the modem Christians ascribe one-half of the
You will allow me, I think, to have seen the world, worlds; which the ancient Ophites of the east rev-
in which I have not an acquaintance who would erenced in their statue devil; Ahab did not fall —
not rather be thought to dislike her husband than dovm and w’orship it like them; but deliriously
to like him. The contrary is such out-of-fashion transferring its idea to the abhorred w’hitc whale,
romantic nonsense, that the very imagination of it he pitted himself, all mutilated, against it. All that
is shocking.” most maddens and torments; all that stirs up the
• Fielding, Tom Jonts^ VII, 3 lees of things; all truth with malice in it; all that

cracks the sinews and cakes the brain; all the sub-
34 Johnson. A man will please more upon the whole tle demonisms of life and thought; all evil, to cra-

by negative qualities than by positive; by never zy Ahab, w’ere visibly personified, and made prac-
offending, than by giving a great deal of delight. tically assailable in Moby Dick. He piled upon
In the first place, men hate more steadily than the whale’s white hump the sum of all the general
they love; and if I have said something to hurt a rage and hate felt by his whole race from Adam
man once, I shall not get the better of this, by down; and then, as if his chest had been a mortar,
saving many things to please him. he burst his hot heart’s shell upon it.
Boswell, Life ofJohnson (1777) Melville, Moby Dick, XLI

35 Ahah. “All visible objects, man, are but as paste- 37 Enmity or hatred seems also to be a highly persis-
—
board masks. But in each event in the living act, tent feeling, perhaps more so than any other that
—
the undoubted deed there, some unknown but can be named. Dogs are very apt to hate
. . .

still reasoning thing puts forth the mouldings of its both strange men and strange dogs, es{>ccially if
features from behind the unreasoning mask. If they live near at hand, but do not belong to the
man will strike, strike through the mask! How can same family, tribe, or clan; this feeling w ould thus
the prisoner reach outside except by thrusting seem be innate, and is certainly a most persis-
to
through the wall? To me, the white whale is that tent one. It seems to be the complement and con-
wall, shoved near to me. Sometimes I think there’s verse of the true social instinct. From what w’c

naught beyond. But ’tis enough. He tasks me; he hear of savages, it would appear that something of
heaps me; I sec in him outrageous strength, with the same kind holds good with them. If this be so,
an inscrutable malice sinewing it. That inscruta- it would be a small step in any one to transfer

ble thing is chiefly what I hate; and be the w'hite
whale agent, or be the white whale principal, I
will w'reak that hate upon him. Talk not to me of
blasphemy, man; I’d strike the sun if it insulted
me.”
Melville, Moby Dick,
36 His three boats stove around him, and oars and
such feelings to any member of the same tribe if
he had done him an injur)’ and had become his
enemy. Nor is it probable that the primitive con-
science would reproach a man for injuring his en-
emy; rather it would reproach him, if he had not
XXXVI revenged himself. To do good in return for evil, to
love your enemy, is a height of morality to which
it may be doubted whether the social instincts

men both, whirling in the eddies; one captain, w’ould, by themselves, have ever led us. It is neces-
seizing the line- knife from his broken prow’, had sary that these instincts, together with S)'mpathy,
dashed at the whale, as an Arkansas duellist at his should have been highly cultivated and extended
foe, blindly seeking with a sLv-inch blade to reach by the aid of reason, instruction, and the love or
the fathom-deep life, of the whale. That captain fear of God, before any such golden rule would
was Ahab. And then it was, that suddenly sw'eep- ever be thought of and obeyed.
ing his sickle-shaped lower jaw beneath him, Danvin, Descent of Man, I, 4, fn. 27
Moby Dick had reaped away Ahab’s leg, as a
mower a blade of grass in the field. No turbaned 38 The hunting instinct has [a] . . . remote origin in the
Turk, no hired Venetian or Malay, could have evolution of the race. The hunting and the fight-
smote him with more seeming malice. Small rea- ing instinct combine in many manifestations.
son was there to doubt, then, that ever since that They both support the emotion of anger; they
almost fatal encounter, Ahab had cherished a combine in the fascination which stories of atroci-
wild vindictiveness against the whale, all the more ty have for most minds; and the utterly blind ex-
fell for that in his frantic morbidness he at last citement of giving the rein to our fury when our
 3.2. Hale 219

blood up (an excitement whose intensity is

is 40 It is noteworthy that in the use of the word hate no
greater than that of any other human passion save , . . intimate relation to sexual pleasure and the
one) is only explicable as an impulse aboriginal in sexual function appears: on the contrary’, the
character, and having more to do with immediate painful character of the relation seems to be the
and overwhelming tendencies to muscular dis- sole decisive feature. The ego hates, abhors, and
charge than to any possible reminiscences of ef- pursues with intent to destroy all objects which
fects of experience, or association of ideas. I say arc for it a source of painful feelings, without tak-
this here, because the pleasure of disinterested ing into account whether they mean to it frustra-
cruelty has been thought a paradox, and writers tion of sexual satisfaction or of gratification of the
have sought to show that it is no primitive attri- needs of self-preservation. Indeed, it may be as-
bute of our nature, but rather a resultant of the serted that the true prototypes of the hate-relation
subtile combination of other less malignant ele- arc derived not from sexual life, but from the
ments of mind. This is a hopeless task. If evolution struggle of the ego for self-preservation and seJf-

and the survival of the fittest be true at all, the maintcnancc.

destruction of prey and of human rivals must have Freud, Instincts and Their Vicissitudes

been among the most important of man’s primi-

tive functions, the fighting and the chasing in- 4 1 The relation of hate to objects is older than that of
stincts must have become ingrained. Certain per- love. It is derived from the primal repudiation by
ceptions must immediately, and without the the narcissistic ego of the external ^vorld whence
39
intervention of interferences and ideas, have flou's the stream of stimuli. As an expression of tlic
prompted emotions and motor discharges; and pain-reaction induced by objects, it remains in
both the latter must, from the nature of the case, constant intimate relation with the instincts of
have been very violent, and tlicrcforc, when un- sclf-prcscivation, so that sexual and ego-instincts
checked, of an intensely pleasurable kind. It is just readily develop an antithesis which repeats that of
because human bloodthirstiness is such a primi- love and hate.
tive part of us that it is so hard to eradicate, espe- Freud, Instincts and Their Vicissitudes
cially where a fight or a hunt is promised as part
of the fun. 42 Almost every intimate emotional relation between
William James, P^^chology, XXIV two people which lasts for some time marriage, —
friendship, the relations between parents and chil-
I will put the following case: Let there be a person —
dren leaves a sediment of feelings of aversion
near me whom hate so strongly tliai 1 have a
I and hostility, which have first to be eliminated by
lively impulse to rejoice should anything happen repression. This is less disguised in the common
to him. But the moral side of my nature docs not wrangles between business partners or in the
give way to this impulse; I do not dare to express grumbles of a subordinate at his superior. The
this sinister wish, and when something docs hap- same thing happens when men come together in
pen to him which he does not dcscrv'c I suppress larger units. Every time two families become con-
my satisfaction, and force myself to thoughts and nected by a marriage, each of them thinks itself
expressions of regret.Everyone will at some time superior to or of better birth than the other. Of
have found himself in such a position. But now let two neighbouring towns, each is the other’s most
it happen that the hated person, through some jealous rival; every little canton looks down upon
transgression of his own, draws upon himself a the others with contempt. Closely related races
well-deserved calamity; I shall now be allowed to keep one another at arm’s length; the South Ger-
give free rein tomy satisfaction at his being visited man cannot endure the North German, the Eng-
by a just punishment, and I shall be expressing an lishman casts every' kind of aspersion upon the
opinion which coincides with that of other impar- Scotchman, the Spaniard despises the Portuguese.
tial persons. But I observe that my satisfaction We arc no longer astonished that greater differ-
proves to be more intense than that of others, for ences should lead to an almost insuperable repug-
It has received reinforcement from another nance, such as the Gallic people feel for the Ger-
source— from my hatred, which was hitherto pre- man, the Aryan for the Semite, and the white
vented by the inner censorship from furnishing races for the coloured.
the affect, but which, under the altered circum- Freud, Group Psychology and the Analysis
stances, is no longer prevented from doing so. This VI
of the Ego,
case generally occurs in social life when antipa-
thetic persons or the adherents of an unpopular
43 In our unconscious we daily and hourly deport all
minority have been guilty of some offence. Their who stand in our way, all who have offended or
punishment is then usually commensurate not injured us. Tlic expression: “Devil take him!”
with their guilt, but with their guilt plus the ill-
^vhich so frequently comes to our lips in joking
>^11 against them that has hitherto not been put anger, and which really means “Death take him!”
into effect.
is in our unconscious an earnest, deliberate death-

Freud, Interpretation of Dreams, VI, H wish. Indeed, our unconscious w'ill murder even
 .

220 I
Chapter 3, Love

for trifles; like the ancient Athenian law of Draco, them; when deprived of satisfaction of it they' arc
it knoH-s no other punishment for crime than ill at case. There is an adv'antage, not
be under- to

death; and this has a cenain consistency, for every valued, in the e.xistence of smaller communities,
injury to our almighty and autocratic ego is at through which the aggressive instinct can find an
bottom a crime of lese-majesti outlet in enmity tow'ards those outside the group.
And so, if we arc to be judged by the \s'ishes in unite considerable numbers
It is alw'ays possible to

our unconscious, we are, like primitive man, sim- of men in love tow-ards one another, so long as
ply a gang of murderers. It is well that all these there arc still some remaining as objects for ag-
wishes do not possess the potency' which was gressive manifestations, The Jewish people,
. . .

attributed to them by primitive men; in the cross- scattered in all directions as they arc, have in this
fire of mutual maledictions, mankind would long way rendered services which dcscr\’c recognition
since have perished, the best and wisest of men to the dev'elopment of culture in the countries
and the lovliest and fairest of women with the rest. where they' settled; but unfortunately not all the

Freud, Thoughts on War and Death, II massacres of Jew's in the Middle Ages sufficed to
procure peace and security for their Christian
44 Men clearly do not find it easy' to do without satis- contemporaries
faction of this tendency to aggression that is in Freud, Cimlizaiion and Its Discontents, V

3.3 Sexual Love

The love that the Greeks called eros and the involvement of any kind? If the reader
Romans amor is certainly always a love that wishes to pursue such inquiries, he will find
involves intense bodily passions, persistent it useful to consider what is said about other
emotional drives, powerful, often disturbing, kinds of love, as set forth in the next two
desires,and a mixture of sensual pleasures sections.
and pains that are usually inseparable from Light on these matters may also come
one another. This much is explicidy clear or from a pivotal distinction that underlies
plainly intimated in the passages that treat many discussions of love and that is particu-
sexual or erotic love. But what may not be larly germane to the consideration of sexual
clear, and even perplexing, is the relation of love —the distinction between acquisitive
sexuality itself to sexual love. and benevolent impulses. Acquisitive desire
Are all sexual desires or acts impulses or aims at self-satisfaction or benefit to one’s
—
embodiments of love in men and other an- self, whereas the benevolent impulse tends
imals? Or does sexual behavior become a in the opposite direction toward the good of
manifestation of love, or a kind of love, only another or benefit to the person beloved.
when sexual desires and activities are some- The term “concupiscence” or “concupis-
how transformed by other sentiments and cent” that occurs in certain of the quota-
impulses, such as the sentiments and impul- tions connotes acquisitive desire unaccom-
ses that are involved in the kind of love panied by any benevolent impulse. The
called friendship? Such questions lead to answer to the question about the distinction
still another. If there can be mere sexuality, between mere sexuality and sexual love
i.e., sexual desire or performance, ^^^thout may, therefore, turn on the answer to anoth-
love, can there also be love without sexual er question: Is concupiscence or purely ac-
 33, Sexual Love 221

quisitive desire ever truly a form of love? favored or feared, it is never condemned as
The reader will find that the authors quoted immoral, as lust, sexual or othervvdse, always
do not agree on any single or simple answer is. If the moral problems that are raised in-
to the question. terest the reader, he should turn to Chapter
Wherever the truth of the matter lies, the 9 on Ethics, and especially to Section 9.10
fact that concupiscence enters into the con- on Virtue AND Vice and Section 9.12 on Tem-
sideration of sexual love impels us to include PERANCE AND INTEMPERANCE.
in this section texts that deal with lust in its The discussion of sexual love as well as
myriad forms —not just sexual lust, but the lust also involves moral considerations of the
lust for power, the lust for worldly goods, sortconnoted by such terms as “fornication”
and so on. This, in turn, makes a certain and “adultery” which are relevant to the
amount of moralizing unavoidable; for, treatment of marriage and conjugal love in
though love, especially sexual love, is either the preceding chapter as well as here.

I And it came to pass after these things, that his words of his wife, which she spake unto him, say-
master’s [Potiphar’s] ^^^^e cast her eyes upon Jo- ing, After this manner did thy servant to me; that
seph; and she said, Lie with me. his wrath was kindled.
But he refused, and said unto his master’s wife, And Joseph’s master took him, and put him
Behold, my master wotteth not what is with me in into the prison, a place where the king’s prisoners
the house, and he hath committed all that he hath were bound: and he was there in the prison.
to my hand; Gmfsis 39:7-20
There is none greater in this house than I; nei-
ther hath he kept back any thing from me but 2 And it came an cveningtide, that David
to pass in
thee, because thou art his wife: how then can I do arose from off his bed,and walked upon the roof
this great wickedness, and sin against God? of the king’s house: and from the roof he saw a
And it came spake to Joseph day
to pass, as she woman washing herself; and the woman was very
by day, that he hearkened not unto her, to lie by beautiful to look upon.
her, or to be with her. And David sent and enquired after the woman.
And it came to pass about this time, that Joseph And one said. Is not this Bath-sheba, the daughter
went into the house to do his business; and there of E-li-am, the wife of U-ri-ah the Hittite?
was none of the men of the house there within. And David sent messengers, and took her; and
And she caught him by his garment, saying, Lie she came unto him, and he lay with her; for she
in
with me: and he left his garment in her hand, and was purified from her unclean ness: and she re-
fled, and got him out. turned unto her house.
And it came to pass, when she saw
that he had And the woman conceived, and sent and told
left his garment hand, and was fled forth,
in her David, and said, I am with child. . . . And it

That she called unto the men of her house, and came to pass in the morning, that David wrote a
spake unto them, saying. See, he hath brought in letter to Joab, and sent it by the hand of U-rl-ah.
an Hebrew unto us to mock us; he came in unto And he wrote in the letter, saying. Set ye U-ri-
me to lie with me, and I cried with a loud voice: ah in the forefront of the hottest battle, and retire
And it came to pass, when he heard that I lifted yet from him, that he may
be smitten, and die.
up my voice and cried, that he left his garment And it came to pass, when Joab observed the
with me, and fled, and got him out. city, that he assigned U-ri-ah unto a place where
And she laid up his garment by her, until his he knew that valiant men were.
lord came home. And the men of the city went out, and fought
And she spake unto him, according to these with Joab: and there fell some of the people of the
words, saying, The Hebrew servant, which thou servants of David: and tj-ri-ah the Hittite died
hast brought unto us, came in unto me to mock also. . And when the wife of U-ri-ah heard
. .

me: that U-ri-ah her husband was dead, she mourned

And it came to pass, as up my voice and
I lifted for her husband.
cried, that he left his garment with me, and fled And when the mourning was past, David sent
out. and fetched her to his house, and she became his
And it came to pass, when his master heard the wife, and bare him a son. But the thing that Da-
 ————
222 I
Chapters. Love

vid had done displeased the Lord. and when he learned it. Lord Hephaistos went

II Samud \ \:2-21 with baleful calculation to his forge.

There mightily he armed his anvil block
3 And Amnon said unto Tamar, Bring the meat and hammered out a chain, whose tempered links
into the chamber, that may eat of thine hand.
I could not be sprung or bent; he meant that they
And Tamar took the cakes which she had made, should hold.
and brought them into the chamber to Amnon Those shackles fashioned, hot in wrath Hephais-
her brother. tos

And when she had brought them unto him to climbed to the bower and the bed of love,
cat, he took hold of her, and said unto her. Come pooled all his net of chain around the bed posts
lie with me, my sister. and swung it from the rafters overhead
And she answered him, Nay, my brother, do light as a cobweb even gods in bliss

not force me; for no such thing ought to be done
in Israel; do not thou this folly.
And I, whither shall I cause my shame to go?
and as for thee, thou shalt be as one of the fools in
Israel. Now therefore, I pray thee, speak unto the
king; for he will not withhold me from thee.
Howbeit he would not hearken unto her voice;
but, being stronger than she, forced her, and lay
with her.
Then Amnon hated her exceedingly; so that
the hatred wherewith he hated her was greater
than the love wherewith he had loved her. And
Amnon said unto her, Arise, be gone.
And she said unto him, There is no cause: this
evil in sending me away is greater than the other
that thou didst unto me. But he would not heark-
en unto her.
Then he called his servant that ministered unto
him, and said, Put now this woman out from me,
and bolt the door after her.
could not perceive, so wonderful his cunning.
Seeing his bed now made a snare, he feigned
a journey to the trim stronghold of Lemnos,
the dearest of earth’s towns to him. And Arcs?
Ah, golden Arcs’ watch had its reward
when he beheld the great smith leaving home.
How promptly to the famous door he came,
intent on pleasure with sweet Kythereia!
She, who had left her father’s side but now,
sat in her chamber when her lover entered;
and tenderly he pressed her hand and said;
“Come and lie down, my darling, and be happy*
Hephaistos is no longer here, but gone
to sec his grunting Sintian friends on Lemnos.”
As she, too, thought repose would be most wel-
come,
the pair went in to bed —into a shower
of clever chains, the netting of Hephaistos.
So trussed, they could not move apart, nor rise,

And she had a garment of divers colours upon at last they knew there could be no escape,
her; for with such robes were the king’s daughters they were to see the glorious cripple now
that were virgins apparelled. Then his servant for Helioshad spied for him, and told him;
brought her out, and bolted the door after her. so he turned back, this side of Lemnos Isle,
IlSamud 13:10-18 sick at heart, making his way homeward.
Now in the doorway of the room he stood
4 To keep thee from the evil woman, from the flat- while deadly rage took hold of him; his voice,
tery of the tongue of a strange woman. hoarse and terrible, reached all the gods:
Lust not after her beauty in thine heart; neither
let her take thee with her eyelids.
“O Father Zeus, O
gods in bliss forever,
here is indecorous entertainment for you,
For by means of a whorish woman a man is
Aphrodite, Zeus’s daughter,
brought to a piece of bread: and the adulteress
caught in the act, cheating me, her cripple,
will hunt for the precious life.
Can a man take fire in his bosom, and his
with Ar« —devastating Arw.
Cleanlimbed beauty is her joy, not these
clothes not be burned?
bandylcgs I came into the world with:
Gan one go upon hot coals, and his feet not be
no one to blame but the two gods who bred me!
burned?
Come see this pair entwining here
So he that goeth in to his neighbour’s wife;
in my own bed! How hot it makes me burn!
whosoever toucheth her shall not be innocent.
I think they may not care to lie much longer,
Proverbs 6:24-29
pressing on one another, passionate lovers;
they’ll have enough of bed together soon.
5 Now to his harp the blinded minstrel sang
And yet the chain that bagged them holds them
of Ares’ dalliance with Aphrodite;
down
how hidden in Hephaistos’ house they played
tillFather sends me back my wedding gifts
at love together, and the gifts of Ares,
all I poured out for his damned pigeon,
that
dishonoring Hephaistos’ bed and how — so lovely, and so wanton.”
the word that wounds the heart came to the
master All the others
from Helios, who had seen the two embrace; were crowding in, now, to the brazen house
 3J. Sexual Love 223

Poseidon who embraces earth, and Hermes neglect of him, have never, as at all un-
I think,

the runner, and Apollo, lord of Distance. derstood the power of Love. For they had un-
if

The goddesses stayed home for shame; but these derstood him they would surely have built noble
munificences ranged there in the doorway, temples and altars, and offered solemn sacrifies in
and irrepressible among them all his honour; but this is not done, and most certain-
arose the laughter of the happy gods. ly ought to be done: since of all the gods he is the
Gazing hard at Hephaistos’ handiwork best friend of men, the helper and the healer of
the gods in turn remarked among themselves: the ills which are the great impediment to the
happiness of the race. I will try to describe his
“No dash in adultery now.”
power to you [Eryximachus], and you shall teach
“The tortoise tags the hare the rest of the world what I am teaching you. In
Hephaistos catches Ares —and Ares outran the the first place, let me treat of the nature of man
wind.” and what has happened to it; for the original hu-
man nature was not like the present, but different.
“The lame god’s craft has pinned him. Now shall
The sexes were not two as they are now, but origi-
he nally three in number; there was man, woman,
pay what is due from gods taken in cuckoldry.”
and the union of the two, having a name corre-
They made these improving remarks to one an- sponding to this double nature, which had once a
other, real existence, but is now lost, and the word “An-

but Apollo leaned aside to say to Hermes: drogynous” is only preserved as a term of re-
proach. In the second place, the primeval man
“Son of Zeus, beneficent Wayfinder, was round, his back and sides forming a circle;
would you accept a coverlet of chain, if only and he had four hands and four feet, one head
you lay by Aphrodite’s golden side?” with two faces, looking opposite ways, set on a
To this the Wayfinder replied, shining:
round neck and precisely alike; also four ears, two
privy members, and the remainder to correspond.
“Would I not, though, Apollo of distances! He could walk upright as men now do, backwards
Wrap me in chains three times the weight of or forwards as he pleased, and he could also roll
these, over and over at a great pace, turning on his four
come goddesses and gods to see the fun; hands and four feet, eight in all, like tumblers
only let me lie beside the pale-golden one!” going over and over with their legs in the air; this

The gods gave way again to peals of laughter. was when he wanted to run fast. Now the sexes
were three, and such as I have described them;
Homer, Odyss^, VIII, 266
because the sun, moon, and earth are three; and
the man was originally the child of the sun, the
6 That man seems to me peer of gods, w'ho sits in
woman of the earth, and the man-woman of the
thy presence, and hears him thy sweet
close to
moon, which is made up of sun and earth, and
speech and lovely laughter; that indeed makes my
they were all round and moved round and round
heart flutter in my bosom. For when I see thee but
like their parents. Terrible was their might and
a little, I have no utterance left, my tongue is bro-
strength, and the thoughts of their hearts were
ken down, and straightway a subtle fire has run
great, and they made an attack upon the gods; of
under my skin, with my eyes I have no sight, my
them is told the tale of Otys and Ephialtes who, as
ears ring, s^veat pours down, and a trembling
Homer says, dared to scale heaven, and would
seizes all my body; I am paler than grass, and
have laid hands upon the gods. Doubt reigned in
seem in my madness little letter than one dead.
the celestial councils. Should they kill them and
Sappho, The Ode to Aphrodite (fragment)
annihilate the race with thunderbolts, as they had
done the giants, then there would be an end of the
7 The Nurse. The chaste, they love not vice of their
sacrifices and worship which men offered to them;
own will,
but, on the other hand, the gods could not suffer
but yet they love it.
their insolence to be unrestrained.
Euripides, HippolytuSy 359 At a good deal of reflection, Zeus dis-
last, after
covered a way. He said: “Methinks I have a plan
8 Socrates. In the friendship of the lover there
is no which will humble their pride and improve their
real kindness; he has an appetite and wants to manners; men shall continue to exist, but I will
feed upon you. “Just as the wolf loves the lamb, so
cut them in two and then they will be diminished
the lover adores his beloved.”
in strength and increased in numbers; this will
Plato, PhaedruSy 241B have the advantage of making them more profit-
able to us. They shall walk upright on tw'o legs,
9 Aristophanes . , . had a mind to praise Love in and if they continue insolent and will not be
another way, unlike that either of Pausanias or quiet, I will split them again and they shall hop
Erj'ximachus. Mankind, he said, judging by their about on a single leg.” He spoke and cut men in
 A

224 Chapters. Love

two, like a sorb-apple which is halved for pickling, they grow up become our statesmen, and these
or as you might divide an egg with a hair; and as only, which is a great proof of the truth of what I

he cut them one after another, he bade Apollo am saying. When

they reach manhood they are
give the face and the half of the neck a turn in lovers of youth, and are not naturally inclined to
order that the man might contemplate the section marry or beget children, —
if at all, they do so only

of himself: he would thus learn a lesson of humili- in obedience to the law; but they arc satisfied if
ty. Apollo was also bidden to heal their wounds they may be allowed to live with one another un-
and compose their forms. So he gave a turn to the wedded; and such a nature is prone to love and
face and pulled the skin from the sides all over ready to return love, always embracing that
that which in our language is called the belly, like which is akin to him. And when one of them
the purses which draw in, and he made one meets with his other half, the actual half of him-
mouth at the centre, which he fastened in a knot self, whether he be a lover of youth or a lover of

(the same which is called the navel); he also another sort, the pair arc lost in an amazement of
moulded the breast and took out most of the ^v^in- love and friendship and intimacy, and will not be
klcs, much as a shoemaker might smooth leather out of the other’s sight, as I may say, even for a
upon a last; he left a few, however, in the region moment: these are the people who pass their
of the belly and navel, as a memorial of the pri- whole lives together; yet they could not explain
meval state. After the division the two parts of what they desire of one another. For the intense
man, each desiring his other half, came together, yearning which each of them has towards the
and throwing their arms about one another, en- other docs not appear to be the desire of lover’s
nvined in mutual embraces, longing to grow into intercourse, but of something else which the soul
one, they were on the point of dying from hunger of either evidently desires and cannot tell, and of
and self-neglect, because they did not like to do which she has only a dark and doubtful presenti-
anything apart; and when one of the halves died ment. Suppose Hephaestus, with his instruments,
and the other sur\'ived, the survivor sought anoth- to come to the pair who are lying side by side and
er mate, man orwoman as we call them, —being to say to them, “What do you people want of one
the sections of entire men or women,— and clung another?” they would be unable to explain. And
to that. They were being destroyed, when Zeus in suppose further, that when he saw their perplexity
pity of them invented a new plan; he turned the he said: “Do you desire to be wholly one; always
parts of generation round to the front, for this had day and night to be in one another’s company?
not been always their position, and they sow'ed the for if this is what you desire, I am ready to melt
seed no longer as hitherto like grasshoppers in the you into one and let you grow together, so that
ground, but in one another; and after the transpo- being two you shall become one, and while you
sition the male generated in the female in order live live a common life as if you were a single
that by the mutual embraces of man and woman man, and after your death in the world below still
they might breed, and the race might continue; or be one departed soul instead of two I ask wheth- —
if man came to man they might be satisfied, and er this is what you lovingly desire, and whether
rest, and go their ways to the business of life: so —
you are satisfied to attain this?” there is not a
ancient is the desire of one another which is im- man of them who when he heard the proposal
planted in us, reuniting our original nature, mak- would deny or would not acknowledge that this
ing one of two, and healing the state of man. meeting and melting into one another, this be-
Each of us when separated, having one side coming one instead of two, was the very expres-
only, like a flat fish, is but the indenture of a man, sion of his ancient need. And the reason is that
and he is always looking for his other half. Men human nature was one and we were a
originally
who are a section of that double nature which was whole, and the desire and pursuit of the whole is
once called Androgynous are lovers of women; called love.
adulterers are generally of this breed, and also Plato, Symposium, 1 89
adulterous women who men: the women
lust after
who are a section of the woman do not care for 10 Animals in general seem naturally disposed to this
men, but have female attachments; the female intercourse at about the same period of the year,
companions are of this sort. But they who are a and that is when changing into summer.
\rinter is

section of the male follow the male, and while And this is the season of spring, in which almost
they are young, being slices of the original man, all things that fly or walk or s^vim take to pairing.
they hang about men and embrace them, and Some animals pair and breed in autumn also and
they are themselves the best of boys and youths, in winter, as is the case with certain aquatic ani-
because they have the most manly nature. Some mals and certain birds. Man pairs and breeds at
indeed assert that they are shameless, but this is all seasons, as is the case also with domesticated
not true; (or they do not act thus from any want of animals, owing to the shelter and good feeding
shame, but because they are valiant and manly, they enjoy: that is to say, with those whose period
and have a manly countenance, and they em- of gestation is also comparatively brief, as the sow
brace that which is like them. And these when and the bitch, and with those birds that breed
 3J. Sexual Love 225

frequently. Many animab time the season of in- 13 But anxious cares already seiz’d the queen:
tercourse with a view to the right nurture subse- She fed within her veins a flame unseen;
quently of their young. In the human species, the The hero’s valor, acts, and birth inspire
male is more under sexual excitement in winter, Her soul with love, and fan the secret fire.
and the female in summer. His w'ords, his looks, imprinted in her heart.
Aristotle, History of Animals, 542*20 Improve the passion, and increase the smart.
Virgil, Aeneid, IV
1 1 Men most cases continue to be sexually compe-
in
14 Dido. To thb one error I might yield again;
tent until they arc sixty years old, and if that limit
For, since Sichaeus was untimely slain.
be overpassed then until seventy years; and men
This only man is able to subvert
have been actually knowm to procreate children at
With many men and many
The fix’d foundations of my stubborn heart.
seventy years of age.
And, to confess my frailty, to my shame.
w'omcn it so happens that they are unable to pro-
Somewhat I find within, if not the same,
duce children to one another, while they are able
Too like the sparkles of my former flame.
to do so in union with other indbiduals. The same
Virgil, Aeneid, IV
thing happens with regard to the production of
male and female offspring; for sometimes men
and w’omcn in union with one another produce
15 What priestly rites, alas! what pious art.
male children or female, as the ease may be, but
What vows avail to cure a bleeding heart!
children of the opposite sex when otherwise
A gentle fire she feeds within her veins.

mated. And they arc apt to change in this respect

Where the soft god secure in silence reigns.

with advancing age: for sometimes a husband and

Sick with desire, and seekinghim she loves.
wife while they arc young produce female chil-
From street to street the raving Dido roves.
dren and in later life male children; and in other
So when the w^atchful shepherd, from the blind,
eases the very contrary occurs. And just the same
Wounds with a random shaft the careless hind.
Distracted with her pain she flies the woods.
thing is true in regard to the generative faculty:
Bounds o’er the lawn, and seeks the silent floods,
forsome w'hilc young arc childless, but have chil-
dren when they grow older; and some have chil-
With fruitless care; for still the fatal dart

dren to begin with, and later on no more.

Sticks in her side, and rankles in her heart.
Virgil, Aeneid, IV
Aristotle, History of Animals, 585^6

16 The queen and prince, as love or fortune guides.

12 As when a thirsty man seeks to drink and
in sleep One common cavern in her bosom hides.
water is not given to quench the burning in his Then first the trembling earth the signal gave.
frame, but he seeks the idob of w'aters and toils in And flashing fires enlighten all the cave;
%’ain and thirsts as he drinks in the midst of the Hell from below, and Juno from above.
torrent stream, thus in love Venus mocks lovers And howling nymphs, were conscious of their love
with idob, nor can bodies satisfy them by all their From this ill-omen’d hour in time arose
gazing upon them nor can they with their hands Debate and death, and all succeeding w'oes.
rub aught off the soft limbs, wandering undecided The queen, whom sense of honor could not
over the whole body. At last wben they have unit- move,
ed and enjoy the flow'cr of age, when the body No longer made a secret of her love.
now has a presage of delights and Venus is in the But call’d it marriage, by that specious name
mood to sow the fields of woman, tliey greedily To veil the crime and sanctify the shame.
clasp each other’s body and suck each other’s lips Virgil, Aeneid, IV
and breathe in, pressing meanwhile teeth on each
other’s mouth; all in vain, since they can rub
17 NVhat I hate is the girl who gives with a feeling she
nothing off nor enter and pass each with his whole
has to.
body into the other’s body; for so sometimes they mind somewhere
Dry in the bed, with her else,
seem to will and strive to do: so greedily are they
gathering w'ool.
held in the chains of Venus, w*hile their limbs melt
Duty is all very’ well, hut’s let’s not confuse it with
ovcrpowxrcd by the might of the pleasure. At
pleasure;
length when the gathered desire has gone forth,
I do not want any girl doing her duty for me.
there ensues for a brief while a short pause in the
^Vhat I like to hear are the words of utter aban-
burning passion; and then returns the same fren-
don,
z>', then comes back the old madness, when they
Words that say, “Not too soon!”, words that
arc at a loss to
know w'hai they really desire to get, say, “Wait just a while!”
and cannot find what device b to conquer ^at
Let me see my girl with eyes that confess her ex-
mischief; in such utter uncertainty they pine aw*ay
citement;
by a hidden wound.
Let her, after she comes, w’ant no more for a
Lucretius, Nature of Things, IV while.
 226 Chapters, Love

What docs youth know of delight? Some things Coax and flatter and tease, with inarticulate mur-

ought not to be hurried; murs,

After some thirty-odd years, lovers begin to Even with sexual words, in the excitement of
learn how. play,
Let the premature guzzle wine that is hardly fer- And if nature, alas! denies you the final sensation
mented, Cry out as if you had come, do your best to
ril take wine from a jar mellowed in vintage pretend.
with time. Really, I pity the girl whose place, let us say, can-
Only the full-grown tree resists the heat of the not give her
sunlight, Pleasure it gives to the man, pleasure she ought
Meadow'S too recently sown offer the barefoot to enjoy.
no joy. So, if you have to pretend, be sure the pretense is

Who wants Hermione, if Helen is his for the tak- effective,

ing? Do
your best to convince, prove it by rolling
18 Look for a woman, mature, not any slip of a your eyes.
girl. Prove by your motions, your moans, your sighs,
Love is an art learned late, but if you are willing, what a pleasure it gives you.
and patient, Ah, what a shame! That part has its own inti-

Playing your part like a man, you will have mate signs.
fitting reward. CK'id, Art of Love, III, 771
Ovid, Art of Love, II, 685
19 Love not the world, neither the things that are in
the world. If any man love the world, the love of
What a girl ought to know is herself, adapting her the Father not in him.
is

method, For the world, the lust of the flesh,

all that is in

Taking advantage of ways nature equips her to and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not
use. of the Father, but is of the world.
Lie on your back, if your face and all of your And the world passe th away, and the lust there-
features are pretty; of; but he that doeth the will of God abideth for

If your posterior’s cute, better be seen from be- ever.

hind. / John 2:15-17

Milanion used to bear Atalanta’s legs on his
shoulders; 20 I came where a cauldron of illicit
to Carthage,
If you have beautiful legs, let them be lifted like loves leapt and boiled about me. I was not yet in
hers. love, but I was in love with love, and from the
Little girls do all right if they sit on top, riding very depth of my need hated myself for not more
horseback; keenly feeling the need. I sought some object to
Hector’s Andromache knew she could not do love, since I was thus in love with loving; and I
this: too tall! hated security and a life with no snares for my
Press the couch with your knees and bend your feet. For within I was hungry, all for the want of

neck backward a little, that spiritual food which is Thyself, my God; yet
If your view, full-length, seems what a lover [though I was hungry for want of it] I did not
should crave. hunger for it: I had no desire whatever for incor-
If the breasts and thighs are youthful and lovely ruptible food, not because I had it in abundance
to look at, but the emptier I was, the more I hated the
Let the man stand and the girl lie on a slant on thought of it. Because of all this my soul was sick,
the bed. and broke out in sores, whose itch I agonized to
Let your hair come down, in the Laodamian fash- scratch with the rub of carnal things — carnal, yet
ion: if there were no would not be
soul in them, they
If your belly is lined, better be seen from be- objects of love. My longing then was to love and
hind. to be loved, but most when I obtained the enjoy-
There are a thousand ways: a simple one, never ment of the body of the person who loved me.
too tiring, Thus I polluted the stream of friendship with
Is to lie on your back, turning a bit to the right. the filth of unclean desire and sullied its limpidity
My Muse can give you the truth, more truth than with the hell of lust. And vile and unclean as I
Apollo or Ammon; was, so great was my vanity that I was bent upon
Take it from me, what I know took many les- passing for clean and courtly. And I did fall in
sons to learn. love, simply from wanting to. O my God, my
Let the woman feel the act of love to her marrow, Mercy, with how much bitterness didst Thou in
Let the performance bring equal delight to the Thy goodness sprinkle the delights of that time! I
two. was loved, and our love came to the bond of con-
 33, Sexual Love 221

summation: I wore my chains with bliss but with mode of generation which would take place after
torment too, for I was scourged with red hot rods sin, which He foresaw.
of jealous)', with suspicions and fears and tempers But this is unreasonable. For what is natural to
and quarrels. man was neither acquired nor forfeited by sin.

Augustine, Confessions, III, 1 Now it is clear that generation by coition is natu-

ral to man by reason of his animal life, which he

21 I in my great worthlessness —^for it was greater possessed even before sin . . . just as it is natural
thus early — had begged You for chastity, saying to other perfect animals, as the corporeal mem-
“Grant me chastity and continence, but not yet.” bers make So we cannot allow that these
it clear.

For I was afraid that You would hear my prayer members would have had a natural use, as other
too soon, and too soon would heal me from the members had, before sin.

disease of lust which I wanted satisfied rather Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 98, 2
than extinguished.
Augustine, Confessions, VIII, 7 25 The virtue of chastity most of all makes man apt
for contemplation, since sexual pleasures most of

22 Certainly, had not culpable disobedience been all weigh the mind down to sensible objects.
visited with penal disobedience, the marriage of Aquinas, Summa Theologica, II-II, 180, 2
Paradise should have been ignorant of this strug-
gle and rebellion, this quarrel between will and 26 A remedy can be employed against concupiscence
lust, that the will may be satisfied and lust re- in two ways. First, on the part of concupiscence by
strained, but those members, like all the rest, repressing it in its root, and thus matrimony af-
should have obeyed the will. The field of genera- fords a remedy by the grace given therein. Sec-
tion should have been sown by the organ created ondly, on the part of its act, and this in two ways:

for this purpose, as the earth is sown by the hand. first, by depriving the act to which concupiscence

And whereas now, as we essay to investigate this
subject more exactly, modesty hinders us and
compels us to ask pardon of chaste ears, there
would have been no cause to do so, but we could
have discoursed freely, and without fear of seem-
ing obscene, upon all those points which occur to
one who meditates on the subject. There would
not have been even words which could be called
obscene, but all that might be said of these mem-
bers would have been as pure as what is said of
the other parts of the body. Whoever, then, comes
to the perusal of these pages with unchaste mind,
let him blame his disposition, not his nature; let
him brand the actings of his own impurity, not
the words which necessity forces us to use, and for
which every pure and pious reader or hearer will
very readily pardon me.
Augustine, Cify of God, XIV, 23
23 I define charity as a motion of the soul
inclines of its outward shamefulness, and this is
done by the marriage blessings which justify car-
nal concupiscence; secondly, by hindering the
shameful act, which is done by the very nature of
the act; because concupiscence, being satisfied by
the conjugal act, does not incline so much to other
wickedness.
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, III Suppl., 42, 3
27 No wise man should allow himself to lose a thing
except for some compensation in the shape of an
equal or better good. Wherefore for a thing that
has a loss attached to it to be eligible, it needs to
have some good connected with it, which by com-
pensating for that loss makes that thing ordinate
and right. Now there is a loss of reason incident^ll
to the union of man and woman, both because the
reason is carried away entirely on account of the
vehemence of the pleasure, so that it is unable to
whose understand anything at the same time . . and .

purpose is to enjoy God

His own sake and
for again because of the tribulation of the flesh which
one’s self and one’s neighbor for the sake of God. such persons have to suffer from solicitude for
Lust, on the other hand is a motion of the soul temporal things. Consequently the choice of this
bent upon enjoying one’s self, one’s neighbor, and union cannot be made ordinate except by certain
any creature without reference to God. compensation whereby that same union is right-
Augustine, Christian Doctrine, III, 10 ed; and these arc the goods which excuse mar-
riage and make it right.
24 Some of the earlier doctors, considering the
nature Aquinas, Summa Theologica, III Suppl., 49, 1

of concupiscence as regards generation in our

present state, concluded that in the state of inno-
cence generation would not have been effected in
the same way, TTius Gregory' of Nyssa says that in
Paradise the human race would have been multi-
plied by some other means, just as the angels were
multiplied without coition by the operation of the
Divine Power. He adds that God made man male
and female before sin because He foreknew the
28 Some say that whenever pleasure is the chief mo-
tive for the marriage act it is a mortal sin; that
when it is an indirect motive it is a venial sin; and
that when it spurns the pleasure altogether and is
displeasing, it is wholly void of venial sin; so that
it \s'ould be a mortal sin to seek pleasure in this
act, a venial sin to take the pleasure when offered,
but that perfection requires one to detest it. But
 228 I
Chapters. Love

this is impossible since . . . the same judgment Of that which it pleases thee to hear and to speak,
applies to pleasure as to action, because pleasure we will hear and speak with you, whilst the
in a good action is good, and in an evil action, wind, as now, is silent for us.
evil; wherefore, as the marriage act not evil in is The town, where I was born, sits on the shore,
itself, neither will it be always a mortal sin to seek where Po decends to rest with his attendant
pleasure therein. Consequently the right answer streams.

to this question is that if pleasure be sought in
such a way as to exclude the honesty of marriage,
so that, to wit, it is not as a wife but as a woman
that a man treats his wife, and that he is ready to
use her in the same way if she were not his wife, it
is a mortal sin; wherefore such a man is said to be
too ardent a lover of his wife, because his ardor
carries him away from the goods of marriage. If,
however, he seek pleasure within the bounds of
marriage, so that it would not be sought in anoth-
Love, which is quickly caught in gentle heart,
took him with the fair body of which I was be-
reft; and the manner still afflicts me.
Love, which to no loved one permits excuse for
loving, took me so strongly with delight in him,
that, as thou scest, even now it leaves me not.
Ix)ve led us to one death; Ga'ina waits for him
who quenched our life.” These words from
them were offered to us.
After I had heard those wounded souls, I bowed

er than his wife, it is a venial sin. my face, and held it low until the Poet said to
Aquinas, Summa ThcologicQy III Suppl., 49, 6 me: “What art thou thinking of?”
When I answered, I began: “Ah me! what sweet
thoughts, what longing led them to the woful
29 Although old people have not sufficient calidity to
pass!”
procreate, they have sufficient to copulate.
Wherefore they are allowed to marry, insofar as Then I turned again to them; and I spoke, and

marriage is intended as a remedy, although it

began: “Francesca, thy torments make me
does not befit them as fulfilling an office of nature. weep with grief and pity.
But tell me: in the time of the sweet sighs, by what
Aquinas, 5iimma Theologica, III Suppl., 58. 1
and how love granted you to know the dubious
desires?”
30 I came into a place void of all light, which bellows And she to me: *^Thtre is no greater pain than to
like the sea in tempest, when it is combated by recall a happy time in wretchedness; and this
warring winds. thy teacher knows.
The hellish storm, which never rests, leads the But if thou hast such desire to learn the first root
spirits with its sweep; whirling, and smiting it of our love, I will do like one who weeps and
vexes them. tells.
When they arrive before the min, there the One day, for pastime, we read of Lancelot, how
shrieks, the meanings, and the lamentation; love constrained him; we were alone, and with-
there they blaspheme the divine power. out all suspicion.
I learnt that to such torment are doomed the car- Several times that reading urged our eyes to meet,
nal sinners, who subject reason to lust. and changed the colour of our faces; but one
Dante, Inferno, V, 28 moment alone it was that overcame us.
When wc read how the fond smile was kissed by
31 I began: “Poet [Virgil], willingly would I speak such a lover, he, who shall never be divided
with those two that go together, and seem so from me,
lightupon the wind.’' kissed my mouth all trembling: the book, and he

And he to me: “Thou shall see when they are who wrote it, was a Galeotto; that day we read
nearer to us; and do thou then entreat them by in it no farther.”

that love, which leads them; and they will Whilst the one spirit spake, the other wept so, that
come.” I fainted with pity, as if I have been dying; and

Soon as the wind bends them to us, I raised my fell, as a dead body falls.

voice: “O wearied souls! come to speak with us, Dante, Inferno, V, 73

if none denies it.”
As doves called by desire, with raised and steady
32 And then he [Troilus] told him [Pandar] of his
wings come through the air to their loved nest,
happy night,
borne by their will:
And how at first he was afraid, and why,
so those spirits issued from the band where Dido
And said, “I swear upon my honor bright
coming to us through the malignant air;
is,
And by my faith in you and God on high,
such was the force of my affectuous cry.
I never knew what loving did imply;
“O living creature, gracious and benign! that
For as my heart’s desires rose in height,
goest through the black air, visiting us who
stained the earth with blood;
The greater grew my love and my delight,”
Chaucer, Troilus and Cressida, III, 236
if the King of the Universe were our friend, we
would pray him for thy peace; seeing that thou
hast pity of our perverse misfortune. 33 Now, to speak of the first desire, that is, concupis-
 3.3. Sexual Love 229

ccnce, according to the law for our sexual parts, 35 Then said Pantagruel, How dost thou know that
which were lawfully made and by rightful word the privy parts of women are at such a cheap
of God; I say, for as much as man is not obedi- rate? For in this city there are many virtuous,
ent to God, Who is his Lord, therefore is the honest, and chaste women besides the maids. Et
flesh disobedient to Him, through concupiscence, ubi prenus? [And where will you find them?] said
which is also called the nourishing of and the rea- Panurge. I will give you my opinion of it, and that
son for Therefore all the while that a man has
sin. upon certain and assured knowledge. I do not
wdthin himself the penalty of concupiscence, it is brag, that I have bum-basted four hundred and
impossible but that he will be sometimes tempted seventeen, since I came into this city, though it be
and moved in his flesh to do sin. And this shall not but nine days ago; but this very morning I met
fail so long as he lives; it may well grow feeble and with a good fellow, who in a wallet, such as
34
remote by virtue of baptism and by the grace of >Esop’s was, carried two little girls, oftwo or three
God through penitence; but it shall never be fully years old at the most, one before, and the other
quenched so that he shall never be moved within behind. He demandedalms of me, but I made
himself, unless he be cooled by sickness or by ma- him answer, had more cods than pence.
that I

leficence of sorcery or by opiates. Afterwards I asked him. Good man, these two
Parson Tale girls, are they maids? Brother, said he, I have car-
Chaucer, Canterbujy Tales:
ried them thus these two years, and in regard of
her that is before, whom I see continually, in my
This is the Devil’s other hand, with five fingers to
opinion she is a virgin; nevertheless, I will not put
catch the people into his slavery. The first finger is
the foolish interchange of glances between the
my finger in the fire for it; as for her that is be-
hind, doubtless I can say nothing.
foolish woman and the foolish man, which slays
just as the basilisk slays folk by the venom of its Rabelais, Gargantua
sight; for the lust of the eyes follows the lust of the and Pantagruel, II, 15
heart. The second finger is vile touching in wicked
manner; and thereupon Solomon says that he 36 The woman who goes to bed with a man should
who touches and handles a woman fares like the put off her modesty with her skirt and put it on
man that handles the scorpion which stings and again with her petticoat.
suddenly slays by its poisoning; even as, if any
Montaigne, Essays, I, 21, Power of the
man touch warm pitch, it defiles his fingers. The Imagination
third is vile words, which are like fire, which im-
mediately burns the heart. The fourth finger is

kissing; and he were a great fool who would

truly
37 Married people, whose time is all their own,
kiss the mouth of a burning oven or of a furnace. should neither press their undertaking nor even
And the more fools they are who kiss in vileness; attempt it if they are not ready; it is better to fail
for that mouth is the mouth of Hell; and I speak unbecomingly to handsel the nuptial couch,
specifically of these old dotard whoremongers,
which is full of agitation and feverishness, and
who though they cannot do anything,
will yet kiss wait for some other more private and less tense
and so taste them. Certainly they are like dogs, for opportunity, than to fall into perpetual misery for
a dog, when he passes a rosebush, or other bushes, having been stunned and made desperate by a
though he cannot piss, yet will he heave up his leg first refusal.Before taking possession, the patient
and make an appearance of pissing. And as for should try himself out and offer himself, lightly,
the opinion of many that a man cannot sin for by sallies at different times, without priding him-
any lechery he does with his wife, certainly that self and obstinately insisting on convincing him-
opinion is wrong. God knows, a man may slay self definitively. Those who know that their mem-
himself with his own knife, and make himself bers are naturally obedient, let them take care
drunk out of his own tun. Certainly, be it
wife, be
only to counteract the tricks of their fancies.
it any worldly thing that a man loves
child, or People are right to notice the unruly liberty of
more than he loves God, it is his idol, and he is an thismember, obtruding so importunately when
idolater. Man should love his wife with discretion, we have no use for it, and failing so importunately
calmly and moderately; and then she is as it were when we have the most use for it, and struggling
his sister. The fifth finger of the Devil’s hand is the for mastery so imperiously with our will, refusing

stinking act of lechery. Truly, the five fingers of with so much pride and obstinacy our solicita-
gluttony the Fiend thrusts into the belly of a man, tions, both mental and manual.

and with his five fingers of lechery he grips him by Montaigne, Essays, I, 21, Power of the
the loins in order to throw him into the furnace of Imagination
Hell; wherein he shall have the fire and the ever-
lastingworms, and weeping and wailing, sharp 38 Truly it is also a fact worthy of consideration that
hunger and thirst, and horror of devils that shall
the masters of the craft order as a remedy to amo-
trample all over him, without respite and without
rous passions the entire and open sight of the body
end.
that we pursue; that to cool our love, we need
Chaucer, Canterbuiy Tales: Parson’s Tale only see freely what we love. . And although . .
 230 I
Chapters, Love

this recipe may perhaps proceed from a somewhat faction or end can be prescribed to it, for it alwap
cooled and delicate temperament, still it is a won- goes beyond its possession.

derful sign of our defectiveness that acquaintance Montaigne, Essays, III, 5, On Some
and one another. It is
familiarity disgust us with Verses of Virgil
not so much modesty as artfulness and prudence
that makes our ladies so circumspect in refusing 41 He who can await, the morning after, without
us entry to their boudoirs before they arc painted dying c>f shame, the disdain of those fair eyes that
and dressed up for public display. have witnessed his limpness and impertinence,
Montaigne, Essays, II, 12, Apology for . . . never felt the satisfaction and pride of
Raymond Sebond having conquered them and put circles around
them by the vigorous exercise of a busy and active
39 Wc eat and drink as the animals do, but these are night,
not actions that hinder the operations of our Montaigne, Essays, III, 5, On Some
mind. In these we keep our advantage over them. Verses of Virgil
But this other puts every other thought beneath its
yoke and by its imperious authority brutifies and 42 Now this is a relationship that needs mutuality
bestializes ail the theology and philosophy there is and The other pleasures that wc re-
reciprocity.
in Plato; and yet he does not complain of it. In ceive be acknowledged by recompenses of a
may
everything else you can keep some decorum; all different nature, but this one can be paid for only
other operations come under the rules of decency. in the same kind of coin. In truth, in this delight
This one cannot even be imagined other than vi- the pleasure I give tickles my imagination more
cious or ridiculous. Just to see this, try to find a s%vcctlythan that which I feel. Now there is no
wise and discreetway of doing it. Alexander used nobility in aman who can receive pleasure where
to say that he knew himself to be mortal chiefly he gives none; it is a mean soul that is willing to
by this action and by sieep. Sieep suffocates and owe evcrylbrng titA takes pleasure in lostering re-
supresses the faculties of our mind; the sexual act lations with persons to whom he is a burden.
likewise absorbs and Truly it is a
dissipates them. There is neither beauty, nor grace, nor intimacy
mark not only of our original corruption but also so exquisite that a gallant man should desire it at
of our inanity and deformity. this price. If they can be kind to us only out of
On the one hand Nature pushes us on to it, pity, I had much rather not live at all than live on
having attached to this desire the most noble, use- alms.
ful, and pleasant of all her operations; and on the Montaigne, Essays, III, 5, On Some
other hand she lets us accuse and shun it as Verses of Virgil
shameless and indecent, blush at it, and recom-
mend abstinence. Are we not brutes to call brutish 43 Friar Laurence. These violent delights have violent
the operation that makes us? ends
The various nations in their religions have And in their triumph die, like fire and powder.
many conventions in common, such as sacrifices, Which as they kiss consume: the sweetest honey
lamps, burning incense, fasts, offerings, and, Is loathesome in his own dcliciousness
among other things, the condemnation of this ac- And in the taste confounds the appetite:
tion. All opinions come to this, besides the very Therefore love moderately; long love doth so;
widespread practice of cutting off the foreskin, Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
which is a punishment of the act. Perhaps we are Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, 11, vi, 9
right to blame ourselves for making such a stupid
production as man, to call the action shameful, 44 Theseus, Fair Hermia, question your desires;
and shameful the parts that are used for it. Know of your youth,
examine well your blood,
Montaigne, Essays, III, 5, On Some Whether, if you yield not to your father’s choice,
Verses of Virgil You can endure the livery of a nun,
For aye to be in shady cloister mew’d,
40 The truth is that it is contrary to the nature of To live a barren sister all your life,
love not violent, and contrary to the nature
if it is Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon.
of violence if it is constant. And those who are Thrice-blessed they that master so their blood
astonished at this and exclaim against it and seek To undergo such maiden pilgrimage;
out the causes of this malady in women as if it But eafthlicrhappy is the rose distill’d
were unnatural and incredible, why don’t they see Than that which withering on the virgin thorn
how often they accept it in themselves without Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness.
being appalled and calling it a miracle? It would Shakespeare, Midsummer’NighVs
perhaps be more strange to see any stability in it. Dream, I, i, 67
It is not simply a bodily passion. If there is no end
to avarice and ambition, neither is there any to 45 PoloniuS. I do know,
lechery. It still lives after satiety; no constant satis- When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
 Sexual Love |
231

Lends tlic tongue vou'S*. these blazes, daughter, And Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here
Giving more light than heat, extinct in both. Bed, chamber, Pandar to provide this gear!
Even in their promise, as it is a-making, Shakespeare, Troilus and Cressida, HI, ii, 204
You must not take for fire.
Shakespeare, Hamlet, I, iii, 115 50 lago. Mark me with what violence she first loved
the Moor, but for bragging and telling her fantas-
46 Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more. tical lies; and will she love him still for prating?

Thou turn’st mine eyes into my very soul; let not thy discreet heart think it. Her eye must be
And there I see such black and grained spots fed; and what delight shall she have to look on the
As will not leave their tinct. devil? When the blood is made dull with the act of
Hamlet. Nay, but to live sport, there should be, again to inflame it and to
In the rank s%vcat of an cnscamcd bed. give satiety a fresh appetite, lovclinc.ss in favour,
Stew’d in corruption, honeying and making love sympathy in years, manners, and beauties; all
Over the nasty sty which the Moor is defective in. Now, for want of
Queen. O, speak to me no more; these required conveniences, her delicate tender-
These words, like daggers, enter in mine cars; ness will find itself abused, begin to heave the
No more, sweet Hamlet! gorge, disrelish and abhor the Moor; very' nature
Ham. A murderer and a villain; w'ill instruct her in it and compel her to some sec-
A slave that not twentieth part the tithe
is ond choice.
Of your precedent lord; a vice of kings; Shakespeare, Othello, II, i, 224
A cutpursc of the empire and the rule,
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole. 51 Fool.Now' a little fire in a w'ild field were Hke an
And put it in his pocket! old lecher’s heart; a small spark, all the rest on ’s
Queen. No more! body cold.
Shakespeare, Hamlet, III, iv, 88 Shakespeare, Lear, III, iv, 116

47 Fairies. Fie on sinful fantasy! 52 Gloucester. The trick of that voice I do well remem-
Fie on lust and luxur)’! ber.
Lust is but a bloody fire, Is’l not the King?
Kindled with unchaste desire. Lear. Ay, every incli a king!
Fed in heart, whose flames aspire When I do stare, see how' the subject quakes.
As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher. 1 pardon that man’s life. What was thy cause?
Pinch him, fairies, mutually; Adultery'?
Pinch him for his villainy; Thou shah not die. Die for adultery! No:
Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about, llic wren goes to’t, and the small gilded fly
Till candles and starlight and moonshine be out. Docs lecher in my sight.

Shakespeare, yUrrp- H^nes Let copulation thrive; for Gloucester’s bastard son
of Windsor, V, v, 97 Was kinder to his father than my daughters
Got ’tween the lawful sheets.
48 Cressida. They say all lovers swear more perfor- To’t, luxury', pell-mell; for I lack soldiers.
mance than they arc able and yet rcscr^’c an abili- Shakespeare, Lear, IV, vi, 108
ty that they never perform, vowing more than the
perfection of ten and discharging less than the 53 Philo. Nay, but this dotage of our general’s
tenth part of one. O’crflows the measure. Those his goodly eyes,
Shakespeare, Troilus and Cressida, III, ii, 91 Tliat o’er the files and musters of the w'ar
Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now
49 Pandarus. Go a bargain made. Seal it, seal it;
to, turn,
I’ll be the witness. Here I hold your hand, here The office and devotion of their view
my cousin’s. If ever you prove false one to anoth- Upon a tawny front; his captain’s heart.
er, since I have taken such pains to bring you Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst
together, let all pitiful gocrs-bctwccn be called to The buckles on his breast, reneges all temper,
the world’s end after my name; call them all Pan- And is become the bellows and the fan
dars; let all constant men be Troiluscs, all false To cool a gipsy’s lust.
women Cressids, and all brokcrs-bc tween Pan-
Flourish. Enter Antony, Cleopatra, her Ladies,
dars! say, amen.
the Train, with Eunuchs fanning her.
Troilus. Amen.
Cressida. Amen. Look, where they come!
Pan. Amen. Whereupon I will show you a Take but good note, and you shall see in him
chamber with a bed; which bed, because it shall The triple pillar of the world transform’d
not speak of your pretty encounters, press it to Into a strumpet’s fool.
death. Away! Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra, I, i, 1
 —
232 Chapters. Love

54 ProspgTo. Look thou be true; do not give dalliance nal form, and absolutely all love which recognises
Too much the rein. The strongest oaths are straw any other cause than the freedom of the mind,
To the fire i* the blood. easily passes into hatred, unless, which is worse, it
Shakespeare, Tempesty IV, i, 51 becomes a species of delirium, and thereby discord
is cherished rather than concord,

55 The expense of spirit in a waste of shame

Spinoza, Ethics, IV, Appendix XIX
Is lust in action; and till action, lust
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame, 61 He [Johnson] for a considerable time used to fre-
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust, quent the Green Room, and seemed to take delight
Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight, in dissipating his gloom, by mixing in the spright-

Past reason hunted, and no sooner had. ly chit-chat of the motley circle then to be found

Past reason hated, as a swallow’d bait dierc. Mr. David Hume related to me from Mr.

On purpose laid to make the taker mad; Garrick, that Johnson at last denied himself this
Mad in pursuit, and in possession so; amusement, from considerations of rigid virtue;
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme; saying, “I’ll come no more behind your scenes,
A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe; David; for the silk stockings and white bosoms of
Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream. your actresses excite my amorous propensities.”
All this the world well knows; yet none knows Boswell, Life of Johnson (1749)

well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. 62 Boswell “So then. Sir, you would allow of no irreg-

Shakespeare, Sonnet CXXIX ular intercourse whatever benveen the sexes?”

Johnson- “To be sure I would not. Sir. I would pun-
ish it much more than it is done, and so restrain it.
56 I could be content that we might procreate like
In all countries there has been fornication, as in
trees,without conjunction, or that there were any
all countries there has been theft; but there may
way to perpetuate the World without this trivial
be more or less of the one, as well as of the other,
and vulgar way of coition; it is the foolishest act a
wise man commits in all his life; nor is there any
in proportion to the force of law. All men will
naturally commit fornication, as all men will nat-
thing that will more deject his cool’d imagination,
urally steal. And, Sir, it is very absurd to argue, as
when he shall consider what an odd and unwor-
has been often done, that prostitutes are necessary
thy piece of folly he hath committed.
to prevent the violent effects of appetite from vio-
Sir Thomas Browne,
lating the decent order of life; nay, should be per-
Religio Medicij II, 9
mitted, in order to preserve the chastity of om
wives and daughters. Depend upon it, Sir, severe
57 Lust has become natural to us and has made our laws, steadily enforced, would be sufficient against
second nature. Thus there are two natures in us those evils, and would promote marriage.”
the one good, the other bad. Where is God? Boswell, Life ofJohnson (Apr. 5, 1776)
Where you are not, and the kingdom of God is
within you.
63 With the venerable proconsul [Gordianus], his
Pascal, Penseesy X, 660 son, who had accompanied him into Africa as his
lieutenant,was likewise declared emperor. His
58 When lust manners were less pure, but his character was
By unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul talk. equally amiable with that of his father. Twenty-
But most by leud and lavish act of sin, two acknowledge concubines, and a library of six-
Lets in defilement to the inward parts, ty-two thousand volumes, attested the variety of
The soul grows clotted by contagion, his inclinations, and from the productions which
Imbodies, and imbnites, till she quite loose he left behind him, it appears that the former as
The divine property of her first being. well as the latter were designed for use rather
Milton, ComuSy 463 than ostentation.
Gibbon, Decline and Fall of the Roman
59 Nor those mysterious parts were then conceald, Empire, VII
Then was not guiltie shame, dishonest shame
Of natures works, honor dishonorable, 64 Although the progress of civilisation has undoubt-
Sin-bred, how have ye troubl’d all mankind edly contributed to assuage the fiercer passions of
With shews instead, meer shews of seeming pure, human nature, it seems to have been less favour-
And banisht from mans life his happiest life, able to the virtue of chastity, whose most danger-
Simplicitie and spotless innocence. ous enemy is the softness of the mind. The refine-

Milton, Paradise Lort, IV, 312 ments of life corrupt while they polish the
intercourse of the sexes. The gross appetite of love
60 The love of a harlot, that is to say, the lust of becomes most dangerous when it is elevated, or
sexual intercourse, which arises from mere exter- rather, indeed, disguised by sentimental passion.
 — —
234 Chapter 3, Love

that the greater siae, strength, courage, and pug- outside influence? Is it regarded as possible that
nacity of the male, his special weapons of offence, the knowledge withheld from them will not reach
as well as his special means of defence, have been them in other ways? Or is it genuinely and seri-
acquired or modified through that form of selec- ously intended that later on they should consider
tion which I have called sexual. This does not de- everything connected with sex as something despi-
pend on any superiority in the general struggle for cable and abhorrent from which their parents and
but on certain individuals of one sex, general-
life, teachers wish to keep them apart as long as possi-
ly the males, being successful in conquering other ble?
males, and leaving a larger number of offspring to I am really at a loss to say which of these can be
inherit their superiority than do the less successful the motive for the customary concealment from
males. children of everything connected with sex. I only
Danvin, Descent of Man, II, 18 know that these arguments are one and all equal-
ly foolish, and that I find it difficult to pay Acm
74 Of all the causes which have led to the differences compliment of serious refutation.
in external appearance between the races of man, Freud, Sexual Enlightenment of Children
and a certain extent behveen man and the low-
to
er animals, sexual selection has been the most effi- 79 Seriously, not so easy to define what the term
it is

cient. sexual includes.Everything connected wth the dif-

Darwin, Descent of Man^ III, 20 ference between the two sexes is perhaps the only
way of hitting the mark; but you will find that too
75 Ratikin. There’s something here, my dear boy general and indefinite. you take the sexual act
If

[Alyosha], that you don’t understand yet. A man itself as the central point, you
Nvill perhaps declare

will fall in love with some beauty, with a woman’s sexual to mean everything which is concerned with
body, or even with a part of a woman’s body (a obtaining pleasurable gratification from the body
sensualist can understand that), and he’ll aban- (and particularly the sexual organs) of the oppo-
don his own children for her, sell his father and site sex; inthe narrowest sense, everything which
mother, and his country, Russia, too. If he’s hon- is directed to the union of the genital organs and

est, he’ll steal; if he’s humane, he’ll murder; if he’s the performance of the sexual act. In doing so,
faithful, he’ll deceive. Pushkin, the poet of however, you come very near to reckoning the
women’s feet, sung of their feet in his verse. Others sexual and the improper as identical, and child-
don’t sing their praises, but they can’t look at birth would really have nothing to do with sex. If
their feet without a thrill —
and it’s not only their then you make the function of reproduction the
feet.Contempt’s no help here, brother, even if he kernel of sexuality you run the risk of excluding
did despise Grushenka. He does, but he can’t tear from it a whole host of things like masturbation,
himself away. or even kissing, which are not directed towards
Dostoevsky, Brothers Karamazov, Pt. I, II, 7 reproduction, but which are nevertheless
undoubtedly sexual. However, we have already
76 Of the delights of this world man cares most for found that attempts at definition always lead to
sexual intercourse. He will go any length for it us give up trying to do any better
difficulties; let
risk fortune, character, reputation, life itself. And in this particular czise.
what do you think he has done? In a thousand Freud, General Introduction
years you would never guess He has left it out of his to P^'cho-Analysis, XX
heaven! Prayer takes its place.

Mark Twain,
77 Christianity gave Eros poison to drink: he did not
die of it but degenerated into a vice.—
Nietzsche, B^'ond Good and Evil, IV, 168
78 What can be the aim of withholding from
dren, or let us say from young people, this infor-
Notebook 80 It isindeed one of the most important social tasks
of education to restrain, confine,and subject to an
individual control (itself identical with the de-
mands of society) the sexual instinct when it
breaks forth in the form of the reproductive func-
tion. In its own interests, accordingly, society
chil- would postpone the child’s full development until
it has attained a certain stage of intellectual ma-

mation about the sexual life of human beings? Is turity, since educability practically ceases with
it a fear of arousing interest in such matters pre- the full onset of the sexual instinct. Without this
maturely, before it spontaneously stirs in them? Is the instinct would break all bounds, and the labo-
it a hope of retarding by concealment of this kind riously erected structure of civilization would be
the development of the sexual instinct in general, swept away. Nor is the task of restraining it ever
until such time as it can find its way into the only an easy one; success in this direction is often poor
channels open to it in the civilized social order? Is and, sometimes, only too great. At bottom
it supposed that children would show no interest society’s motiveeconomic; since it has not
is

or understanding for the facts and riddles of sex- means enough to support life for its members
ual life if they were not prompted to do so by without work on their part, it must see to it that
 S.S, Sexua/ Love 235

the number of these members is restricted and was sufficiently penetrable to allow some of the
their energies directed away from sexual activities dreams of childhood to be retained.
on to their work —the eternal primordial struggle Freud, General Introduction

for existence, therefore, persisting to the present to P^*cho‘AnalysiSy XX

day.
Experience must have taught educators that 81 A woman can be proud and stiff

the task of moulding the sexual will of the next When on love intent;
generation can only be carried out by beginning But Love has pitched his mansion in
toimpose their influence very early, and interven- The place of excrement;
ing in the sexual life of children before puberty, For nothing can be sole or whole
instead of waiting till the storm bursts. Conse- That has not been rent.
quently almost all infantile sexual activities arc Yeats, Crazy Jane Talks with the Bishop
forbidden or made disagreeable to the child; the
ideal has been to make the child’s life asexual, 82 What lively lad most pleasured me
and time it has come to this that it is
in course of Of all that with me Jay?
really believed to be asexual, and is given out as I answer that I gave my soul
such, even at the hands of science. In order, then, And loved in misery,
to avoid any contradiction with established beliefs But had great pleasure with a lad
and aims, the sexual activity of children is over- That I loved bodily.
—
looked no small achievement by ihfe way while — Flinging from his arms I laughed
science contents itself wdth otherwise explaining it
To think his passion such
away. The little child is supposed to be pure and
innocent; he who says otherwise shall be con-
He fancied that I gave a soul
Did but our bodies touch.
demned as a hardened blasphemer against
humanity’s tendcrest and most sacred feelings.
And laughed upon his breast to think
Beast gave beast as much.
The children alone take no part in this conven-
tion; they assert their animal nature naively I gave what other women gave

enough and demonstrate persistently that they That stepped out of their clothes,
have yet to learn their purity. Strange to say, those But when this soul, its body off.
who deny sexuality in children arc the last to re- Naked to naked goes,
lax educative measures against it; they follow up He it has found shall find therein
>vith the greatest severity every manifestation of What none other knows,
the childish tricks the existence of which they deny.
Moreover, it is theoretically of great interest that
And give his own and take his own
the time of life which most flagrantly contradicts
And rule in his own right;
the prejudice about asexual childhood, the years And though it loved in misery
of infancy up to five or six, is precisely the period
Close and cling so tight,
which is by oblivion in most people’s mem-
veiled There’s not a bird of day that dare
ories; an oblivion which can only be dispelled Extinguish that delight.
completely by analysis but which even before this Yeats, A Last Confession
 —

3.4 I
Friendship

Though friendship is exemplified and ex- It is true friendship thus conceived that
tolled in passages taken from the poets, bi- almost all the other writers have in mind
ographers, and historians, the analysis of it when they discuss the subject or describe ex-
isdrawn mainly from the pages of philoso- amples of it. It is also friendship thus con-
phers, theologians, and essayists especially — ceived that is identified with a kind of love

Plato, Aristotle, and Cicero, Augustine and that is distinct from erotic or sexual love,
Aquinas, and Montaigne. whether between men and women or be-
The most complete analysis is, perhaps, to tween persons of the same sex. How the love
be found in Aristotle’s Ethics. He devotes two that is friendship is affected by the admix-
whole books of that work to the subject, ture of sexual love or by the absence of it is

from which there are many quotations here. the obverse of a question raised earlier
His differentiation of the types of friendship how is sexual or erotic love affected by the
sharply separates associations based on mu- admixture of friendship or the absence of it?

tual pleasure or reciprocal utility from that However these questions are answered,
relationship in which each of the persons is the reader will find that the difference be-
concerned with the good of the other. Only tween heterosexual and homosexual rela-

this, in his judgment, is true or genuine tionships enters into the consideration of the
friendship; the others are counterfeits of it. love that is friendship as well as into the
True friendship, in other words, always in- consideration of sexual or erotic love. Can
volves the dominance of benevolent impul- persons of the opposite sex be friends as
ses, tending toward the benefit of the be- readily and as enduringly as persons of the
loved, whereas the counterfeits of friendship same gender? Are there fewer obstacles to
spring primarily or purely from acquisitive genuine friendship among persons of the
desire —seeking something for one’s self. same sex?

1 Saul and Jonathan were lovely and pleasant in but woe to him that is alone when he fallcth; for
their lives, and in their death they were not divid- he hath not another to help him up.
ed: they were s^vifter than eagles, they were Again, if two lie together, then they have heat:
stronger than lions. but how can one be warm alone?
Ye daughters of Israel, weep over Saul, who And if one prevail against him, Uvo shall with-
clothed you in scarlet, with other delights, who stand him; and a threefold cord is not quickly
put on ornaments of gold upon your apparel. broken.
How are the mighty fallen in the midst of the Ecclesiastes 4:9-12
battle! O
Jonathan, thou wast slain in thine high
places. 3 Diomedes. When two go together, one of them at
I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan: least looks forward
very pleasant hast thou been unto me; thy love to to see what is best; a man by himself, though he
me was wonderful, passing the love of women. be careful,
II Samuel 1:2S~26 still has less mind in him than two, and his wits

have less weight.

2 Two are better than one; because they have a Homer, Iliad, X, 224
good reward for their labour.
For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: 4 Darius. There is nothing in all the wwld so pre-

236
 3.4. Friendship 237

cious as a friend ^vho is at once \visc and true, posed is it And in poverty and in other
to risk.
Herodotus, Histoiy, V, 24 misfortunes men
think friends are the only refuge.
It helps the young, too, to keep from error; it aids

5 Creon. To throw away older people by ministering to their needs and

an honest friend is, as it were, to throw supplementing the activities that arc failing from
your life away, which a man loves the best. 12 weakness; tliosc in the prime of life it stimulates to
Sophocles, Ordipus the King, 611 noble actions ... for with friends men are more
able both to think and to act.

6 The Nurse. I have learned much Aristotle, Ethics, 1155*5

from my long life. The mixing bowl of friendship,
the love ofone for the other, must be tempered. There are therefore three kinds of friendship,
Love must not touch the marrow of the soul. equal in number to the things that are lovable; for
Our affections must be breakable chains that we with respect to each there is a mutual and recog-
can cast them off or tighten them. nized love, and those who love each other wish
Euripides, Hippolytus, 251 well to each other in that respect in which they
love one another. Now those who love each other
7 Hecuba. Real friendship is shown in times of for their utility do not love each other for them-
selves but in virtue of some good which they get
prosperity is full of friends. from each other. So too with those who love for
Euripides, Hecuba, 1227 the sake of pleasure; it is not for their character
that men love ready-witted people, but because
8 Menelaus. Friends — and I mean real friends — re- they find them pleasant. Therefore those who love
serve nothing: for the sake of utility love for the sake of what is

The property of one belongs to the other. good for themselves, and those who love for the sake
Euripides, Andromache, 376 of pleasuredo so for the sake of what is pleasant to
and not in so far as the other is the per-
themselves,
9 Pericles. The doer of the favour is the firmer friend son loved but in so far as he is useful or pleasant.
of the t\vo, inorder by continued kindness to keep And thus these friendships arc only incidental; for
the recipient in his debt; while the debtor feels less it is not as being the man he is that the loved
keenly from the very consciousness that the return person is loved, but as providing some good or
he makes will be a payment, not a free gift. pleasure. Such friendships, then, arc easily dis-
Thucydides, Peloponnesian War, II, 40 solved, if the panics do not remain like them-
selves; for the one party is no longer pleasant or
if

10 Soaates. All people have their fancies; some desire useful the other ceases to love him, . . .

horses, and others dogs; and some arc fond of Perfect friendship is the friendship of men who
gold, and others of honour. Now, I have no vio- are good, and alike in virtue; for these wish well
lent desire of any of these things; but I have a alike to each other qua good, and they arc good in
passion for friends; and I would rather have a themselves. Now who
wish well to their
those
good friend than the best cock or quail in the friends for their sake are most truly friends; for
world: I would even go further, and say the best they do this by reason of their own nature and not
horse or dog. Yea, by the dog of Egypt, I should incidentally; therefore their friendship lasts as
greatly prefer a real friend to all the gold of Da- long as they arc good —and goodness
is an endur-

rius, or even to Darius himself: I am such a lover
of friends as that. And when I sec
at your early age, so easily possessed of this trea-
sure, and so soon, he of you, and you of him, I
amazed and delighted, seeing that I myself,
though I am now advanced in years, am so
from having made a similar acquisition, that I do
not even know in what way a friend is acquired.
11 Without friends no one would choose to live,
though he had all other goods; even rich men and
those in possession of office and of dominating
power arc thought to need friends most of all; for
what is the use of such prosperity without the op-
portunity of beneficence,
which is exercised chief-
ly and most laudable form towards friends?
in its
Or how can prosperity be guarded and preserved
without friends? The greater
ing thing. And each
good without qualification
is
you and Lysis, and to his friend, for the good arc both good with-
out qualification and useful to each other. So too
am they arc pleasant; for the good arc pleasant both
al- without qualification and to each other, since to
far each his own activities and others like them arc
pleasurable, and the actions of the good are the
same or like. And such a friendship is as might be
Plato, Lysis, 21 IB expected permanent, since there meet in it all the
qualities that friends should have. For all friend-
ship is for the sake of good or of pleasure good or —
pleasure either in the abstract or such as will be
enjoyed by him who has the friendly feeling and —
is based on a certain resemblance; and to a friend-
ship of good men all the qualities we have named
belong in virtue of the nature of the friends them-
selves; for in the case of this kind of friendship the
other qualities also arc alike in both friends, and
it is, the more ex- that which is good without qualification is also
 —
238 Chapter 3. Love

without qualification pleasant, and these are the characteristic of friendship.

most lovable qualities. Love and friendship there- Aristotle, EthicSi 1 158^12
fore are found most and in their best form be-
tween such men. 15 If, then, being is in itself desirable for the su-
But it is natural that such friendships should be premely happy man (since it is by its nature good
infrequent; for such men are rare. Further, such and pleasant), and that of his friend isvery much
friendship requires time and familiarity; as the the same, a friend will be one of the things that
proverb says, men cannot know each other till are desirable. Now that which is desirable for him
they have ‘eaten salt together’; nor can they ad- he must have, or he will be deficient in this re-
mit each other to friendship or be friends till each spect. The man who is to be happy wall therefore
has been found lovable and been trusted by each. need virtuous friends.
Those who quickly show the marks of friendship Aristotle, 1170^14
to each other wish to be friends, but are not
friends unless they both are lovable and know the 16 Friendship is a partnership, and as a man is to
fact; for a wish for friendship may arise quickly, himself, so he to his friend; now in his own case
is
but friendship does not. the consciousness of his being is desirable, and so
Aristotle, IISOT therefore is the consciousness of his friend’s being,
and the activity of this consciousness is produced
13 Be^veen sour and elderly people friendship arises when they live together, so that it is natural that
inasmuch as they are less good-tem-
less readily, they aim at this. And whatever existence means
pered and enjoy companionship less; for these are for each class of men, whatever it is forwhose sake
thought to be the greatest marks of friendship and they value life, in that they wish to occupy them-
most productive of it. This is why, while young selves with their friends; and so some drink to-
men become friends quickly, old men do not; it is gether, others dice together, others join in athletic
because men do not become friends with those in exercises and hunting, or in the study of philoso-
whom they do not delight; and similarly sour peo- phy, each class spending their days together in
ple do not quickly make friends either. But such whatever they love most in life; for since they wish
men may bear goodwill to each other; for they to live with their friends, they do and share in
wish one another well and aid one another in those things which give them the sense of living
need; but they are hardly fnmds because they do together. Thus the friendship of bad men turns
not spend their days together nor delight in each out an evil thing (for because of their instability
other, and these are thought the greatest marks of they unite in bad pursuits, and besides they be-
friendship, come evil by becoming like each other), while the
Aristotle, 1158^^1 friendship of goodmen is good, being augmented
by their companionship; and they are thought to
14 There is another kind of friendship, viz. that become better too by their activities and by im-
which involves an inequality between the parties, proving each other; for from each other they take
for example that of father to son and in general of the mould of the characteristics they approve
elder to younger, that of man to wife and in gen- whence the saying ‘noble deeds from noble men’.
eral that of ruler to subject. And these friendships Aristotle, EtAfcr, 1171^33
differ also from each other; for it is not the same
that exists between parents and children and be- 17 We may describe friendly feeling towards any one
tween rulers and subjects, nor is even that of fa- as wishing for him what you believe to be good
ther to son the same as that of son to father, nor things, not for your own sake but for his, and
that of husband to wife the same as that of wife to being inclined, so far as you can, to bring these
husband. For the virtue and the function of each things about. A friend is one who feels thus and
of these is different, and so are the reasons for excites these feelings in return: those think who
which they love; the love and the friendship are they feel thus towards each other think themselves
therefore different also. Each party, then, neither friends. This being assumed, it follows that your
gets the same from the other, nor ought to seek it; friend is the sort of man who shares your pleasure
but when children render to parents what they in whatgood and your pain in what is unpleas-
is

ought to render to those who brought them into ant, for your sake and for no other reason. This
the world, and parents render what they should to pleasure and pain of his will be the token of his
their children, the friendship of such persons will good wishes for you, since we all feel glad at get-
be abiding and excellent. In all friendships imply- ting what we wish for, and pained at getting what
ing inequality the love also should be proportion- we do not. Those, then, are friends to whom the
al, that is, the better should be more loved than he same things are good and evil.
loves, and so should the more and similarly
useful, Aristotle, Rhetoric, 1 380^35
in each of the other cases; for when the love is in
proportion to the merit of the parties, then in a 18 Kindness —under the influence of which a man is
sense arises equality, which is certainly held to be said to ‘be kind’ —may be defined as helpfulness
 3 A, Friendship 239
21

towards some one in need, not in return for any- Laelius. True friendship is very difficult to find
thing, nor for the advantage of the helper himself, among who engage in politics and the con-
those
but for that of the person helped. Kindness is test for office. Where can you find the man to

great if shown to one who is in great need, or who prefer his friend’s advancement to his own? And
needs what important and hard to get, or who
is to say nothing of that, think how grievous and
needs it at an important and difficult crisis; or if almost intolerable it is to most men to share politi-
the helper is the only, the first, or the chief person cal disaster. You will scarcely find any one who
to give the help. Natural cravings constitute such can bring himself to do that. And though what
needs; and in particular cravings, accompanied —
Ennius says is quite true “the hour of need
by pain, for what is not being attained. The appe- —
shows the friend indeed” yet it is in these two
titesare cravings of this kind; sexual desire, for ways that most people betray their untrustworthi-
instance, and those which arise during bodily in- ness and inconstancy, by looking down on friends
juriesand in dangers; for appetite is active both in when they are themselves prosperous, or deserting
danger and in pain. Hence those who stand by us them in A man, then, who has
their distress.
in poverty or in banishment, even if they do not shown a unshaken, and unvarying friend-
firm,
help us much, arc yet really kind to us, because ship in both these contingencies we must reckon
our need is great and the occasion pressing. as one of a class the rarest in the world, and all
Aristotle, Rhetoric, 1385® 17 but superhuman.
Cicero, Friendship, XVII
19 Now friendship may
be thus defined: a complete
accord on all subjects human and divine, joined with mutu-
al good will and affection. And with the exception of 22^hihking of departed friends is to me something
wisdom, I am inclined to think nothing better sweet and mellow. For when I had them with me
than this has been given to man by the immortal it was with the feeling that 1 was going to lose

gods. There are people who give the palm to rich- them, and now that I have lost them I keep the
es or to good health, or to power and office, many feeling that I have them with me still.
even to sensual pleasures. This last is the ideal of Seneca, Letters

brute beasts; and of the others we may say that to Lucilius, 63

they are frail and uncertain, and depend less on
our own prudence than on the caprice of fortune. 23 Greater love hath no man than this, that a man
Then there arc those who find the “chief good” in lay down his life for his friends.

virtue. Well, that is a noble doctrine. But the very John 15:13
virtue they talk of is the parent and preserver of
friendship, and without it friendship cannot possi- 24 Did you never see little dogs caressing and playing
bly exist. with one another, so that you might say there is
Cicero, Friendship, VI nothing more friendly? but, that you may know
what friendship is, throw a bit of flesh among
20 Laelius. And great and numerous as are the bless- them, and you will learn,
ings of friendship, this certainly is the sovereign Epictetus, Discourses, II, 22
one, that it gives us bright hopes for the future
and weakness and despair. In the face of a
forbids
25 During the period in which I first began to teach
true friend a man sees as it were a second self. So
that where his friend is he is; if his friend be rich,
in the town of my had found a very dear
birth, I

friend, who was pursuing similar studies. He was

he is not poor; though he be weak, his friend’s
strength is his; and in his friend’s life he enjoys a
second life after his own is finished. This last is
perhaps the most difficult to conceive. But such is
the effect of the respect, the loving remembrance,
and the regret of friends which follow us to the
grave. While they take the sting out of death, they
about my own age, and was now coming, as I was,
to the very flowering-time of young manhood. He
had indeed grown up with me as a child and we
had gone to school together and played together.
Neither in those earlier days nor indeed in the
later time of which I now speak was he a friend in

add a glorj' to the life of the survivors. Nay, if you the truest meaning of friendship: for there is no
eliminate from nature the tie of affection, there true friendship unless You weld it between souls
will be an end of house and city, nor will so much that cleave together through that charity which is

as the cultivation of the soil be left. If you don’t shed in our hearts by the Holy Ghost who is given
sec the virtue of friendship and harmony, you to us.

may learn it by observing the effects of quarrels Augustine, Confessions, IV, 4

and feuds. Was any family ever so well estab-
lished, any state so firmly settled, as to be beyond 26 All kinds of things rejoiced my soul in their [my
the reach of utter destruction from animosities friends’] company — to talk and laugh and do each
and factions? This may teach you the immense other kindnesses; read pleasant books together,
advantage of friendship. pass from lightest jesting 'to talk of the deepest
Cicero, Friendship, VII things and back again; differ without rancour, as
 240 Chapter 3. Love

a man might differ with himself, and when most them friendliness.
rarely dissension arose find onr normal agreement Aquinas, Summa Theohgica, II-II, 25, 6
all the sweeter forteach each other or learn
it;

from each other; be impatient for the return of 31 Because the friendship of comrades originates
the absent, and welcome them with joy on their through their own choice, love of this kind takes
home-coming; these and such like things, pro- precedence of the love of kindred in matters
ceeding from our hearts as we gave affection and where we arc free to do as we choose, for instance
received it back, and shown by face, by voice, by in matters of action. Yet the friendship of kindred
the eyes, and a thousand other pleasing ways, kin- is more stable, since it is more natural, and pre-
dled a flame which fused our very souls and of ponderates over others in matters touching na-
many made us one. This is what men value in ture. Consequently we are more bound to them in
friends. the providing of necessaries.
Augustine, Confessions^ IV, 8-9 Aquinas, Summa TTieoiogicOy II-II, 26, 8

27 Is not the unfeigned confidence and mutual love
of true and good friends our one solace
society, filled as it is with misunderstandings and
calamities? And yet the more friends
and the more widely they are scattered, the more
numerous are our fears that some portion of the
vast masses of the disasters of life may light upon
them. For we are not only anxious lest they suffer
from famine, war, disease, captivity, or the incon-
ceivable horrors of slavery, but we are also affect-
ed with the much more painful dread that their
friendship may be changed into perfidy, malice,
and injustice. And when these contingencies actu-
ally occur —as they do the more frequently the
more friends we have and the more widely they
arc scattered — and when they come to our knowl-
edge, who but the man who
has experienced
can tell with what pangs the heart is torn?
Augustine, City of Cody
28 The happy man needs friends , . . not, indeed, to
make use of them, since he suffices
delight in them, since he possesses perfect delight
in the operation of virtue, but for the purpose of a
good operation, namely, that he may do good to
them, that he may delight in seeing them do good,
and again that he may be helped by them in his
good work,
Aquinas, Summa TheologicCy I-II, 4, 8
29 The movement of love has a twofold tendency:
towards the good which a man wishes to someone,
whether for himself or for another; and towards
that to which he wishes some good. Accordingly,
man has love of concupiscence towards the good
that he wishes to another, and love of friendship
towards him to whom he wishes good.
Aquinas, Summa Theologicay I-II, 26, 4
30 When our friends fall into sin, we ought not
deny them the benefits of friendship so long as
there is hope of their mending their ways, and we
ought to help them more readily to regain virtue
than to recover money, had they lost it, since vir-
tue is more akin than money to friendship. When,
however, they fall into very great wickedness, and
become incurable, we ought no longer to show
32 Pandar. And I will gladly share with you your
in human pain.
turn out I can no comfort bring;
If it
we have, For his a friend’s right, please let me explain.
To share in woful as in joyful things,
Chaucer, Troilus and Cressidoy I, 85
33 This perfect friendship I speak of is indivisible:
each one gives himself so wholly to his friend that
he has nothing left to distribute elsewhere; on the
contrary, he is sorry that he is not double, triple,
or quadruple, and that he has not several souls
and several wills, to confer them all on this one
object. Common friendships can be divided up:
one may love in one man his beauty, in another
his easygoing ways, in another liberality, in one
it paternal love, in another brotherly love, and so
forth; but this friendship that possesses the soul
XIX, 8 and it with absolute sovereignty cannot pos-
rules
sibly be double. If two called for help at the same
time, which one would you run to? If they de-
himself, nor to manded conflicting services of you, how would
you arrange it? If one confided to your silence a
thing that would be useful for the other to know,
how would you extricate yourself? A single domi-
nant friendship dissolves all other obligations. The
secret I have sworn to reveal to no other man, I
can impart without perjury to the one who is not
another man: he is myself. It is a great enough
miracle to be doubled, and those who talk of tri-
pling themselves do not realize the loftiness of the
thing: nothing is extreme that can be matched.
And he who supposes that of two men I love one
just as much as the other, and that they love each
other and me just as much as I love them, multi-
plies into a fraternity the most singular and uni-
fied of all things, of which even a single one is the
rarest thing in the world to find.
Montaigne, EssaySy I, 28, Of Friendship
to
34 We need very strong ears to hear ourselves judged
frankly; and because there are fe\v who can en-
dure frank criticism without being stung by it,
those who venture to criticize us perform a re-
markable act of friendship; for to undertake to
wound and offend a man for his own good is to
have a healthy love for him, I find it a rough task
 242 I
Chapter 3. Love

Human founded on mutual deceit; few’

society is
friendships w’ould endure if each knew what his
friend said of him in his absence, although he
then spoke in sincerity and without passion.
Man is,then, only disguise, falsehood, and hy«
both in himself and in regard to others.
pocris)’,
He docs not wish any one to tell him the truth; he
that name, who had been quartered at Lichfield
as an officer of the army, and had at this time a
house in London, where Johnson was frequently
entertained, and had an opportimity of meeting
genteel company. Not very long before his death,
he mentioned this, among other particulars of his
life, w’hich he w'as kindly commimicating to me;

avoids telling it to others, and all these disposi- and he described this early friend, “Harr)* Her-
tions, so removed from justice and reason, have a vey,” thus: “He w'as a \'icious man, but very kind
natural root in his heart. I set it dow*n as a fact to me. If you call a dog Herz^', I shall love him.”
that if all men knew' w’hat each said of the other, Boswell, Life ofJohnson (1737)
there w’ould not be four friends in the wurld.
Pascal, Pensees, II, lOO-lOI 49 I have often thought, that as longc\’ity is generally
desired, and I believe, generally expected, it
43 Alc€ste. The more we love our friends, the less we w'ould be w'isc to be continually adding to the
flatter them; it is by excusing nothing that pure number of our friends, that the loss of some may
love show’s itself. be supplied by others. Friendship, “the wine of
Moliere, Le Misanthrvpey II, v life,” should like a well-stocked cellar, be thus
continually rcncwxd; and it is consolatory to
44 In our friends,
all distresses of think, that although we can seldom add what will
We first consult our pri\’ate ends; equal the generous first-growths of our youth, yet
While nature, kindly bent to case us, friendship becomes insensibly old in much less
Points out some circumstance to please us, time than commonly imagined, and not many
is

S\Nift, On the Dtath of Dr, Sivifl, 7 years are required to make it very’ mellow and
pleasant. Warmth will, no doubt, make a consider-
45 1 hope my friends will pardon me when I declare, able dUferencc. Men of affectionate temper and
Iknow' none of them without a fault; and I should bright fancy’ w’ill coalesce a great deal sooner than
be sorr>’ if I could imagine I had any friend w’ho those who are cold and dull.
could not see mine. Forgi\’eness of this kind we The proposition which I have now’ endeavoured
give and demand in turn. It is an exercise of to illustrate was, at a subsequent period of his life,

friendship,and perhaps none of the least pleasant the opinion of Johnson himself. He said to Sir
And this forgiveness w'e must bestow', \rithout de- Joshua Reynolds, “If a man does not make ne>v
sire of amendment. There is, perhaps, no surer acquaintance as he advances through life, he w’ill
mark of folly, than an attempt to correct the natu- soon find himself left alone. A man. Sir, should
ral infirmities of those w’c love. keep his friendship in constant repair.'**

Fielding, Tom JoneSy 11, 7 Boswell, Life of Johnson (1755)

46 The only w'ay when friends quarrel is to see it out 50 A literary' lady of large fortune was mentioned, as
fairly in a friendly manner, as a man may call it, one who did good to many', but by no means “by
cither with a or sword, or pistol, according as
fist, stealth,” and instead of “blushing to find it fame,”
they like, and then let it be all over; for my ow'n acted evidently' from \wn\ty~ Johnson. “I ha\’e seen
part, d —
n me if ever I love my friend better than no beings w’ho do as much good from benevo-
when I am fighting w'ith him! To bear malice is lence, as she does, from w'hatever motive. If there
more Ukc a Frenchman than an Englishman. are such under the earth, or in the clouds, I wTsh
Fielding, Tom JoneSy IX, 4 they' w’ould come up, or come dow’n. WTiat Soame
Jeny’ns say’s upon this subject is not to be minded;
47 Friendship is the marriage of the soul; and this he is a wnt. No, Sir; to act from pure bencN'olencc
marriage is subject to divorce. It is a tacit contract is not possible for finite beings. Human benevo-
between t\s’0 sensitive and rirtuous persons, I say lence is mingled w’ith vanity, interest, or some
“sensitive,’* because a monk, a recluse can be not other motive.”
w-icked and live without knowing w’hat friendship Bosw'ell, Life of Johnson (Apr. 1776)
is. I say “rirtuous,” because the w'icked have only

accomplices; voluptuaries have companions in de-
bauch, self-seekers have partners, politicians get
partisans; the generality of idle men have attach-
ments; princes have courtiers; rirtuous men alone
have friends,
Voltaire, Philosophiccl Dictionaiy: Friendship
48 [Johnson] was w’cll acquainted w’ith Mr. Hear)'
Hcrvc)’, one of the branches of the noble family of
51 On Wednesday, May 19, I sat a part of the eve-
ning W’ith him [Johnson], by ourselves. I observed,
that the death of our friends might be a consola-
tion against the fear of our own dissolution, be-
cause we might have more friends in the other
world than in this. He perhaps felt this as a reflec-
tion upon his apprehension as to death; and said,
W’ith heat, “How’ can a man know' where his de-
parted friends arc, or whether they will be his
 244 ]
Chapter 3. Love

men to share property and privileges with equal 63 We have to conclude that all the feelings of sym-
consideration for all. Everj^one will think his share pathy, friendship, trust and so forth which we ex-
too small and they will be always envying, com- pend in life are genetically connected with sexual-
plaining and attacking one another. You ask ity and have developed out of purely sexual

when it will come to pass; it will come to pass, but desires by an enfeebling of their sexual aim, how-
first we have to go through the period of isolation. ever pure and non-sensual they may appear in the
. . The isolation that prevails everywhere, above
. forms they take on to our conscious self-percep-
all in —
our age it has not fully developed, it has tion. To begin with we knew none but sexual ob-
not reached its limit yet. For everyone strives to jects; psycho-analysis show's us that those persons
keep his individuality as apart as possible, wishes whom in real life we merely
respect or arc fond of
to secure the greatest possible fullness of life for may be sexual objects to us in our unconscious
himself; but meantime all his efforts result not in minds still.

attaining fullness of but self-destruction, for

life Freud, Dynamics of the Transference
instead of self-realisation he ends by arriving at
complete solitude. All mankind in our age have
split up into units, they all keep apart, each in his 64 A friend’s only gift is himself, and friendship is not
own groove; each one holds aloof, hides himself friendship, it is not a form of free or liberal soci-
and hides what he has, from the rest, and he ends ety, does not terminate in an ideal possession,
if it

by being repelled by others and repelling them.
He heaps up riches by himself and thinks, *How
strong I am now and how secure,* and in his mad-
ness he docs not understand that the more he
heaps up, the more he sinks into self-destructive
impotence. For he is accustomed to rely upon
in an object loved for its own sake. Such objects
can be ideas only, not forces, for forces are subter-
ranean and instrumental things, having only such
value as they borrow from their ulterior effects
and manifestations. To praise the utility of friend-
ship, as the ancients so often did, and to regard it

himself alone and to cut himself off from the as a political institution justified, like victory or
whole; he has trained himself not to believe in the government, by its material results, is to lose one’s
help of others, in men and in humanity, and only moral bearings. The value of victory
or good gov-
trembles for fear he should lose his money and the ernment is rather to be found in the fact that,
privileges that he has won for himself. Everywhere among other things, it might render friendship
in these days men have, in their mockery, ceased p>ossib]e. We are not to look now for w'hat makes
62 to understand that the true security is to be found friendship useful, but for whatever may be found
in social solidarity rather than in isolated individ- in friendship that may lend utility to life.

ual effort. But this terrible individualism must in- Santayana, Life of Reason, II, 6
evitably have an end, and all will suddenly under-
stand how unnaturally they are separated from
one another. It will be the spirit of the time, and 65 Friendship may indeed come to exist without sen-
people will marvel that they have sat so long in suous liking or comradeship to pave the way; but
darkness without seeing the light. And then the unless intellectual sympathy and moral apprecia-
sign of the Son of Man will be seen in the heavens. tion are powerful enough to react on natural in-
. . But, until then, we must keep the banner
. stinct and to produce in the end the personal af-
flying. Sometimes even if he has to do it alone, fection which at first was wanting, friendship does
and his conduct seems to be crazy, a man must set not arise. Recognition given to a man’s talent or
an example, and so draw men*s souls out of their virtue is not properly friendship. Friends must de-
solitude, and spur them to some act of brotherly sire to live as much as possible together and to
love, that the great idea may not die. share their work, thoughts, and pleasures. Good-
Dostoevsky, Brothers Karamazov^ Ft. II, VI, 2 fellowship and sensuous affinity are indispensable
to give spiritual communion a personal accent;
The holy passion of Friendship is of so sweet and otherwise men would be indifferent vehicles for
steady and loyal and enduring a nature that it such thoughts and powers as emanated from
will last through a whole lifetime, if not asked to them, and attention would not be in any way ar-
lend money. rested or refracted by the human medium
Mark Twain, PudtLnhead Wilsords through which it beheld the good.
Calendar, VIII Santayana, Life of Reason, II, 6
 3.5 Charily and Mercy

The main texts quoted in this section lake to obscure more important aspects of it, in-

their departure from the message of the Gos- volves care or concern for the relief of the
pels that God is love and from the precepts needy or suffering. We have, therefore, in-
of charity enunciated by Jesus Christ — that cluded passages that praise or recommend
one should love God with all one's heart and almsgiving. We have also included texts that
all and one’s neighbor as one’s
one’s soul, extol
4 mercy and recommend forgiveness to
self. The quotations from Christian theolo- temper strict justice. These too reflect as-
gians, apologists, and poets con.siitutc an ex- pccl.s of charity in the theological or reli-

tended commentary' on the love that is an gious sense, whether Jewish or Christian.
obligation for those who follow the teachings But we have not included here passages that
of Christ. Augustine and Aquinas, particu- dwell on the benevolent impulses at the
larly, show how fundamental and far-reach- heart
5 of friendship when pagan or later
ing the precepts of charily arc, and explain writers who treat such love approach it en-
why, of the three theological virtues — faith, tirely from a secular and not a religious
hope, and charity — the greatest is charity. point of view.
One impulse of charity, loo often allowed

1 Thou shall love thy neighbour as ihj-self. Take heed that yedo not your alms l>efore men,
iMriticin !9:lfl to l>c seen of them: otherwise ye have no reward of
your Father whiclt is in heaven.
2 The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger,
Tlicrcforc when thou
docst thine alms, do not
and plenteous in mcrc>‘.
sound a tnjmpct before thee, as the hypocrites do
He always chide: neither will he keep
will not
in the s^-nagogurs and in the streets, that ihc>'
hisanger for c\*cr.
may have gIor>' of men. Verily I say unto you,
He hath not dealt with us after our sins; nor
llicy luavc their reward.
rewarded us according to our iniquities.
Hut when thou docst alms, let not thy left hand
For as the heaven h high above tlic earth, so
know what thy right hand docth:
great mercy tow-ard them that fear him.
is his
lliat thine alnrs may be in secret; and thy Fa-
As far as the cast is from the west, so far hath he
ther whiclj secfh in .secret him.sclf shall reward
removed our transgressions from us.
thee openly.
Like as a father piticth his children, so the I/>rd
Matlhnv 6:1-4
piticth them that fear him.
For he knoweth our frame; he rcmcmbcrcth
that we arc dust.
'Ilicrcforcis the kingdom of heaven likened unto
As for man,
his days arc as grass: as a flower of
the field, sohe flourishcth. a certain king, which would take account of his
For the ss'ind passeth over it, and it is gone; and sers'ants.

the place thereof shall know it no more. And when he had begun to reckon, one was
But the mercy of the Lord brought unto him, which owed him ten thousand
is from everlasting to
talents.
everlasting upon them that fear him, and his righ-
teousness unto children’s children. But forasmuch as he had not to pay. his lord
commanded him to be sold, and his wife, and
Psalm 103:8-17
children, and all that he had, and payment to be
3 If thineenemy be hungry, give him bread to cat; made.
and ifhe be thirsty, give him water to drink: llic scrN’anl therefore fell down, and wor-
For ihou shah heap coals of fire upon his head, shipped him, saying, Lord, have patience with
and the Lord shall reward thee. me, and I will pay thee all.

Proverbs 25:21-22 Then the lord of that servant was moved with

245
 246 Chapters. Love

compassion, and loosed him, and forgave him the And the second is like, namely this, Thou shah
debt. love thy neighbour as thyself. There is none other
But the same ser\'ant went out, and found one commandment greater than these.
of his fellow'servants, which owed him an hundred Mark 12:28-31
pence: and he laid hands on him, and took him
by the throat, saying, Pay me that thou owest. 8 And, behold, a certain la\N7 er stood up, and
And his fellowservant fell down at his feet, and tempted him, saying. Master, what shall I do to
besought him, saying. Have patience with me, inherit eternal life?
and pay thee all.
I will He said unto him. What is written in the law?
And he would not; but went and cast him into how readest thou?
prison, till he should pay the debt. And he answering said, Thou shaft love the
So when his fellowservants saw what was done, Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy
they were very sorry, and came and told unto soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy
their lord all that was done. mind; and thy neighbour as thyself.
Then his lord, after that he had called him, said And he said unto him. Thou hast answered
unto him, O thou wicked servant, I forgave thee right; this do, and thou shah live.
all that debt, because thou desiredst me: But he, wiling to justify himself, said unto Je-
Shouldest not thou also have had compassion And who is my neighbour?
sus,
on thy fellowservant, even as I had pity on thee? And Jesus answering said, A certain man went
And his lord was wroth, and delivered him to down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among
the tormentors, till he should pay all that was due thieves, which stripped him of his raiment, and
unto him. wounded him, and departed, leaving him half
So likewise shall my heavenly Father do also dead.
unto you, if ye from your hearts forgive not every And by chance there came down a certain
one his brother their trespasses. priest that way: and when he saw him, he passed
Matthew 18:23-35 by on the other side.
And when he was at the
likewise a Levite,
place, came and looked on him, and passed by on
6 Then shall the King say unto them on his right
the other side.
hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the
But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came
kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of
where he was; and when he saw him, he had com-
the world:
passion on him,
For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I
And went to him, and bound up his wounds,
was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a strang-
pouring in oil and wine, and set him on his own
er, and ye took me in:
beast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of
Naked, and ye clothed me; I was sick, and ye
him.
visited me; 1 was in prison, and ye came unto me.
And on the morrow when he departed, he took
Then shall the righteous answer him, saying,
out two pence, and gave them to the host, and
Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed
said unto him. Take care of him; and whatsoever
thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
thou spendest more, when I come again, I will
When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in?
repay thee.
or naked, and clothed thee?
Which now of these three, thinkest thou, was
Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and
neighbour unto him that fell among the thieves?
came unto thee?
And he said. He that shewed mercy on him.
And the King shall answer and say unto them.
Then said Jesus unto him. Go, and do thou like-
Verily I say unto you. Inasmuch as ye have done
wise.
itunto one of the least of these my brethren, ye
Luke 10:25-37
have done it unto me.
Matthew 25:34-40
9 Jesus went unto the mount of Olives.
And early in the morning he came again into
7 And one of the scribes came, and having heard the temple, and all the people came unto him;
them reasoning together, and perceiving that he and he sat down, and taught them.
had answered them well, asked him, Which is the And the scribes and Pharisees brought unto
first commandment of all? him a woman taken in adultery; and when they
And Jesus answered him, The first of all the had set her in the midst.
commandments is, Hear, O Israel; The Lord our They say unto him, Master, this woman was
God is one Lord: taken in adultery, in the very act.
And thou shah love the Lord thy God with all Now Moses in the law commanded us, that
thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy such should be stoned: but what sayest thou?
mind, and with all thy strength: this is the first This they said, tempting him, that they might
commandment. have to accuse him. But Jesus stooped down, and
 —
3.5. Charity and Mercy 247

with his finger wrote on the ground, as though he 13 Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of

heard them not. God; and every one that loveth is born of God,
So when they continued asking him, he lifted and knoweth God.
up himself, and said unto them, He that is with- He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is
out sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her. love.
And again he stooped down, and wrote on the I John 4:7-8
ground.
And they which heard it, being convicted by
14 Kindness or humanity has a larger field than bare
theirown conscience, went out one by one, begin-
law and justice we can-
justice to exercise itself in;
ning at the eldest, even unto the last: and Jesus
not, in the nature of things, employ on others than
was left alone, and the woman standing in the
men; but we may extend our goodness and chari-
midst.
ty even to irrational creatures; and such acts flow
When Jesus had lifted up himself, and saw none
from a gentle nature, as water from an abundant
but the woman, he said unto her. Woman, where
spring. It is doubtless the part of a kind-natured
are those thine accusers? hath no man condemned
man to keep even worn-out horses and dogs, and
thee?
not only take care of them when they are foals
She said, No man, Lord. And Jesus said unto
and whelps, but also when they are grown old.
her. Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no
Plutarch, Marcus Cato
more.
John 8:1-11
15 [The] divine Master inculcates two precepts —the
10 It is more blessed to give than to receive. love of God and the love of our neighbour —and
Acts 20:35 as in these precepts a man finds three things he
has to love—God, himself, and his neighbour
11 Though I speak with the tongues of men and of
and that he who loves God loves himself thereby,
angels, and have not charity, I am become as
it follows that he must endeavour to get his neigh-
sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.
bour to love God, since he is ordered to love his
And though I have the gift of prophecy, and neighbour as himself. He ought to make this en-
understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and
deavour in behalf of his wife, his children, his
though I have all faith, so that I could remove
household, all within his reach, even as he would
mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.
wish his neighbour to do the same for him if he
And though bestow all my goods to feed the
I
needed it; and consequently he will be at peace,
poor, and though I give my body to be burned,
or in well-ordered concord, with all men, as far as
and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.
in him lies.
Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity en-
Augustine, City of God^ XIX, 14
victh not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed
up.
Doth not behave itself unseemly, secketh not 16 We are commanded one another: but it is
to love

12 her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; a question whether man be loved by man for
is to

Rejoiccth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the his own sake, or for the sake of something else. If it
is for his own sake, we enjoy him; if it is for the
truth;
Bearcth all things, believeth all things, hopeth
sake of something else, we use him. It seems to me,
all things, endureth all things. then, that he is to be loved for the sake of some-
Charity never faileth: but whether there be thing else. For if a thing is to be loved for its own
prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be sake, then in the enjoyment of it consists a happy

tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowl- life, the hope of which at least, if not yet the reali-

edge, it shall vanish away. ty, is our comfort in the present time. But a curse

For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. is pronounced on him who places his hope in

But when that which is perfect is come, then man.

that which is in part shall be done away. Augustine, Christian Doctrine, I, 22
When I was a child, I spake as a child, I under-
stood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I
1 7 But if they shall so love God with all their heart,
became a man, I put away childish things.
and mind, and all their soul, that still all
all their
For now we see through a glass, darkly; but
the heart, and all the mind, and all the soul shall
then face to face: now I know in part; but then
not suffice for the worthiness of this love; doubt-
shall I know even as also I am known.
less they will so rejoice with all their heart, and all
And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these
their mind, and all their soul, that all the heart,
three; but the greatest of these is charity.
and allthe mind, and all the soul shall not suffice
1 Corinthians 13:1-13
for the fulness of their joy.
Charity shall cover the multitude of sins. Anselm of Canterbury,

/ PeUr 4:8 Proslogium, XXV

 248 Chapters. Love

18 Charity signifies not only the love of God but also require the endurance of its act, so that when a
a certain friendship with Him; and this implies, contrary act supci-s'enes, the acquired habit is not
besides love, a certain mutual return of love, to- at once done aw'ay. But charity, being an infused
gether with mutual commum'on. . . . Now this habit, depends on the action of God ^\^lo infuses
fellowship of man
with God, which consists in a it, Who stands in relation to the infusion and pres-
certain familiar intercourse with Him, is begun ervation of charity, as the sun does to the diffusion
here, in this life, by grace, but will be perfected in of light in the air. Consequently, just as the
. . ,

the future life, by glory; each of which things w'C light would cease at once
in the air, w’erc an ob-
hold by faith and hope. Therefore just as friend- being lit up by the sun, even so
stacle placed to its
ship with a person would be impossible if one dis- charity ceases at once to be in the soul through
believed in, or despaired of, the poaibility of his the placing of an obstacle to the outpouring of
fellow'ship or familiar intercourse, so too, friend- charity by God into the soul.
ship with God, w'hich is charity, is impossible Now it is evident that through every mortal sin
without faith, so as to believe in this fellowship which is contrary to God’s commandments, an ob-
and intercourse with God, and to hope to attain to stacle is placed to the outpouring of charity, since
this fellowhip.Therefore charity is altogether im- from the very fact that a man chooses to prefer sin
possible without faith and hope. to God’s friendship, which requires that w'e should
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I—II, 65, 5 follow His w'ill, it follows that the habit of charity
is lost at once through one mortal sin.

19 Since good, in human acts, depends on their being Aquinas, Summa Theologica, II-II, 24, 12
regulated by the due rule, it is necessary that hu-
man virtue, which is a principle of good acts, con- may
21 Love of one’s enemies be understood in three
sist human acts. Now the
in attaining the rule of
w'ays. First, as though we our enemies
w’ere to love
rule of human acts is twofold .... namely, hu-
as enemies; this is perverse, and contrary to chari-
man reason and God. Yet God is the first rule, by implies love of that w’hich
ty, since it is evil in
which even human reason must be regulated.
another.
Consequently the theological virtues which consist
Secondly love of one’s enemies may mean that
in attaining this first rule, since their object is
we love them as to their nature, but in a universal
God, are more excellent than the moral, or the
w'ay, and in this sense charity requires that w-e
intellectual virtues, which consist in attaining hu-
should love our enemies, namely, that in loving
man reason: and it follo\vs that among the theo-
God and our neighbour, w'e should not exclude
logical virtues themselves, the first place belongs
our enemies from the love given to our neighbour
to that which attains God most.
in general.
Now that which is of itself always ranks before
Thirdly love of one’s enemies may be consid-
that which is by another. But faith and hope at-
ered as specially directed to them, namely, that
tain God indeed in so far as we derive from Him
we should have a special movement of love to-
the knowledge of truth or the acquisition of good;
w'ards our enemies. Charity does not require this
but charity attains God Himself that it may rest
absolutely, because it does not require that we
in Him, but not that something may accrue to us
should have a special movement of love to every
from Him. Hence charity is more excellent than
individual man, since this would be impossible.
faith or hope, and, consequently, than all the
Nevertheless charity does require this, in respect
other virtues, just as prudence, which by itself at-
of our being prepared in mind, namely that we
tains reason, is more excellent than the other mor-
should be ready to love our enemies individually,
al virtues, which attain reason in so far as it ap-
if the necessity w'ere to occur.
points the mean in human operations of passions.
That man should actually do so, and love his
Aquinas, Summa Theologicoj II-II, 23, 6
enemy for God’s sake, w'ithout it being necessary'
for him to do so, belongs to the perfection of chari-
20 Charity . . . consists in man’s loving God above ty-
all things, and subjecting himself to Him entirely,
by referring all that is his to God. It is therefore of
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, II-II, 25, 8
the very notion of charity that man should so love
God as to wish to submit to Him in all things, and 22 “1 am more fasting from being satisfied,” said I,

always to follow' the rule of His commandments; “than if I had kept silent at first, and more
for whatever is contrary to His commandments is perplexity Iamass in my mind.
manifestly contrary to charity, and therefore by How can it be that a good when shared, shall
its very nature is capable of destroying charity. make the greater number of possessors richer in
If indeed charity were an acquired habit de- it, than if it is possessed by a few?”
pendent on the power of its subject, it w'ould not And he me: “Because thou dost again
[Virgil] to
necessarily be removed by one mortal sin, for act fixthy mind merely on things of earth, thou
isdirectly contrary', not to habit but to act. Now drawest darkness from true light.
the endurance of a habit in its subject does not That infinite and ineffable Good, that is on high,
 6

3.5. Charity and Mercy 249

spcedcth so to love as a ray of light comes to a Become them with one half so good a grace
bright body. As mercy does.
As much of ardour as it finds, so much of itself Shakespeare, Measure for Measure, II, ii, 58
doth it give, so that how far soever love extends,
eternal goodness giveth increase upon it; 27 Angelo. Your brother is a forfeit of the law.
and the more people on high who comprehend And you but waste your words.
each other, the more there are to love well, and Isabella. Alas, alas!
the more love is there, and like a mirror one Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once;
giveth back to the other.” And He that might the vantage best have took
Dante, Purgatorio^ XV, 58 Found out the remedy. How would you be,
If He, which is the top of judgement, should
happy dawn But judge you as you are? O, think on that;
23 Ye youth, so at the of life.

In whom love springs as native to your days.

And mercy then will breathe within your lips.
Like man new made,
Estrange you from the world and its vain strife.
And let your hearts their eyes to him upraise
Ang. Be you content, fair maid;
It is the law, not I, condemn your brother.
Who made you in his image! Give him praise,
And think this world is but a passing show,
Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son,
It should be thus with him. He must die tomor-
Fading like blooms that all too briefly blow.
row.
And love ye him who on the cross did buy Isab. To-morrow! O, that’s sudden! Spare him,
Our souls from timeless death to live for aye, spare him!
Who died and rose and reigns in heaven high! He’s not prepared for death. Even for our kitchens
Your deepest love his love will ne’er betray, We kill the fowl of season. Shall we serve Heaven
Your faith on him I bid you safely lay; With less respect than we do minister
And since his love is best beyond compare, To our gross selves?
Love of the world deny with all its care. Shakespeare, Measure for Measure, II, ii, 71
Chaucer, Troilus and Cressida^ V, 263-264
28 Cry’d Don Quixote, Is it for a Knight-Errant when
24 The men, which fondly here admyre
hearts of he meets with People laden with Chains, and un-
Faire seeming shewes, and feed on vaine delight, der Oppression, to examine whether they are in
Transported with celestiall desyre those Circumstances for their Crimes, or only
Of those faire formes, may lift themselves up hyer. thro’ Misfortune? We are only to relieve the Af-
And learne to love with zealous humble dewty flicted, to look on their Distress, and not on their
Th’ Eternall Fountaine of that heavenly Beauty. Crimes.
Spenser, Hymne of Heavenly Beauixe, 1 Cervantes, Don Quixote, I, 30

29 To is not an
forgive sin though the
act of injustice,
26 Pojiia. The quality of mercy is not strain’d,
25
punishment have been threatened. Even amongst
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
men, though the promise of good bind the promis-
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;
er; yet threats, that is to say, promises of evil, bind
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
them not; much less shall they bind God, who is
’Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes
infinitely more merciful than men.
The throned monarch better than his crown;
Hobbes, Leviathan, III, 38
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty.
30 The infinite distance between body and mind is a
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
symbol of the infinitely more infinite distance be-
But mercy is above this sceptred sway;
tween mind and charity; for charity is supernat-
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
ural.
an attribute to God himself;
It is
Pascal, Pensees, XII, 793
And earthly power doth then show likest God’s
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, 31 He who according to the guidance of reason
lives
Though justice be thy plea, consider this, strives as much
as possible to repay the hatred,
That, in the course of justice, none of us anger, or contempt of others towards himself with
Should sec salvation: we do pray for mercy; love or generosity.
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render All affects of hatred are evil, and, therefore, the
The deeds of mercy. man who lives according to the guidance of rea-
Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, IV, i, 184 son will strive as much as possible to keep himself
from being agitated by the affects of hatred, and,
Isabella. Well, believe this, consequently, will strive to keep others from being
No ceremony that to great ones ’longs, subject to the same affects. But hatred is increased
Not the king’s crown, nor the deputed s\vord, by reciprocal hatred, and, on the other hand, can
The marshal’s truncheon, nor the judge’s robe. be extinguished by love, so that hatred passes into
 250 Chapter 3. Love

love. Therefore he who lives according to the the sash, and opening his hand as he spoke, to let

guidance of reason will strive to repay the hatred it escape; — go, poor devil, get thee gone,
This world surely
why
of another, etc., with love, that is to say, with gen- should I hurt thee? is wide
erosity. . . . enough to hold both thee and me.
He who wishes to avenge injuries by hating in Sterne, Tristram Shandy, 11, 12
return does indeed live miserably. But he who, on
the contrary, strives to drive out hatred by love, 37 “ —She had since she me,
that, told stray’d as far
fights joyfully and confidently, with equal case re- as Rome, and walk’d round once—and St. Peter’s
sisting one man or a number ofmen, and needing return’d back — that she found her way alone
scarcely any assistance from Those whom
fortune. across the Apennines—had over travell’d all
he conquers yield gladly, not from defect of Lombardy without money,—and through the
strength, but from an increase of it. flintyroads Savoy without shoes—how she had
of
Spinoza, Ethics^ IV, Prop. 46 borne and how she had got supported, she
it,

could not —but God tempers the wind,

tell said
32 The intellectual love of the mind towards God is Maria, to the shorn lamb.”
the very love with which He loves Himself, not in Sterne, Sentimental Joum^: “Maria”
so far as He is infinite, but in so far as He can be
manifested through the essence of the human 38 He who Ox
to wrath has mov’d
the
mind, considered under the form of eternity; that by Woman lov’d.
Shall never be
is to say, the intellectual love of the mind towards The wanton Boy that kills the Fly
God is part of the infinite love with which Ckx! Shall feel the Spider’s enmity.
loves Himself. . . .
He who torments the Chafer’s sprite
Hence it follows that God, in so far as He loves Weaves a Bower in endless Night.
Himself, loves men, and consequently that the The Catterpillcr on the Leaf
love of God towards men and the intellectual love Repeats to thee thy Mother’s grief.
of the mind towards God are one and the same Kill not the Moth nor Butterfly
thing. For the Last Judgment draweth nigh.
Spinoza, Ethics, V, Prop. 36, Corol. Blake, Auguries of Innocence, 39

33 “Those,” he [Capt. Blifil] said, “came nearer to 39 Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore
the Scripture meaning, who understood by it Of nicely-calculated less or more.
[charity] candour, or the forming of a benevolent Wordsworth, Ecclesiastical Sonnets, III, 43
opinion of our brethren, and passing a favourable
judgment on their actions; a virtue much higher, 40 No love and no expression of love may, in the
and more extensive in its nature, than a pitiful merely human and worldly sense, be deprived of a
distribution of alms, which, though we would nev- relationship to God. Love is a passionate emotion,
er so much prejudice, or even ruin our families, but in emotion, even before he enters into a
this
could never reach many; whereas charity, in the relation with the object of his love, the man must
other and truer sense, might be extended to all first enter into a relationship with God, and there-
mankind.” by realize the claim that love is the fulfillment of
Fielding, Tom Jones, II, 3 the law. Love is a relation to another man or to
other men, but it is by no means and dares by no
34 Thwackum was for doing justice, and leaving means be a matrimonial, a friendly, a merely hu-
mercy to heaven. man agreement, however steadfast and tender the
Fielding, Tom Jones, III, 10 connection between man and man. Everyone in-
dividually before he in love enters into a relation
35 It is in endeavouring to instruct mankind that we with the beloved, with the friend, the loved ones,
are best able to practise that general virtue which the contemporaries, has first to enter into a rela-
comprehends the love of all. tion with God and with God’s demands. As soon
Montesquieu, Spirit of Laws, Pref. as one leaves out the God-relationship the ques-
tions at issue become merely human determina-
36 My uncle Toby had scarce a heart to retaliate tions of what they wish to understand by loving;
upon a fly. what they will require of one another; and their
Go—says he, one day at dinner, to an mutual judgment because of this becomes the
over-grown one which had buzzed about his nose, highest judgment. Not only the one who listens
and tormented him cruelly all dinner-time, and — absolutely to the call of God will not belong to a
which after infinite attempts, he had caught at woman, in order not to be delayed through wish-
last, as it flew by him; —
Pll not hurt thee, says my ing to please her; but also the one who in love
uncle Toby, rising from his chair, and going belongs to a woman, will first and foremost belong
across the room, with the fly in his hand, FU not — to God; he will not seek first to please his wife, but
hurt a hair of thy head: Go, says he, lifting up— will first endeavor to make his love pleasing unto
 3.5. Charity and Mercy 251

God. Hcncc it is not the wife who will tench her
husband how he ought to love her, or the husband
the wife, or the friend the friend, or the contempo-
rary' the con tern pornrj', but it is God who will
teach every' individual how he ought to love, even
if his lov-c still only lays hold on the law referred to
when the apostle say's, “Love is the fulfillment of
makes it quite natural that the one
the law.” litis
who has only a worldly, or a merely human con-
ception about what love is. must come to regard
Merciful, a saint, that when a hungry', frozen beg-
gar came to him, he took him into his l)cd, held
him in his arms, and began breathing into his
mouth, whicJi wa.s putrid and loathsome from
some awful disease. 1 am convinced that he did
that from ‘self-laceration,’ from the self-laceration
of falsity, for the sake of the charity imposed by
duty, as a penance laid on him. For anyone to
love a man, he must be hidden, for as soon as he
.sIjovv's his face, Jove is gone.”

that as self-love and unkindness which, under- “Father Zossima has talked of that more than
stood in the Christian sense, is precisely love. once,” obser\’cd Alyosha; “he, too, said that the
When, on the other hand, the G^-relationship face of a man often hinders many people not
determines what love is between man and man, practised in love, from loving him. But yet there’s
then kept from pausing in any sclf-dccep-
lov’C is a great deal of love in mankind, and almost
tion or illusion, while certainly the demand for Christ -like love. I know that myself, Ivan,”
self-abnegation and sacrifice is again made more Dostoevsky, Brothers Kararnasor, Pi. 11, V, 4
infinite. The love which docs not lead to God, the
love which docs not have this as its sole goal, to 43 FrtiAer Zojsima, And can it l>c a dream, that in the
lead the lovers to love God, stops at the purely end man will find his joy only in deeds of light
human judgment as to what love and wliat love’s and mercy, and not in cruel pleasures as now, in
sacrifice and submission arc; it stops and thereby gluttony, fornication, ostentation, lx)a5ting and
escapes the possibility of the last and most terri- enrious rivalry' of one with the other? I firmly bc-
fying horror of the collision: that in the love rela- lics’c that it is not and that the time is at hand.

tionship there arc infinite differences in the idea People laugh and ask; “When will that time come
of what love is. and docs it look like coming?” I believe that with
Kierkegaard, Works oj Ijote, I, 3A Christ’s help we shall accomplish this great thing.
And how many ideas there have been
on earth in
41 With malice toward none; with charily for all; the history of man
which were unthinkable ten
with firmness in the right as God gives us to sec ye.ars before they appeared! Yet when their des-
the right. Jet us strive on to finish the work we are tined hour had come, they came forth and spread
in; to bind up the nation’s wounds; to care for over the whole earth. So it will be with us, and our
him who sliall have borne the battle, and for his people w'ill shine forth in the world, and all men
widow, and his —
orphan to do all which may will say: stone which the builders rejected
achics'c and cJicrish a just and a lasting peace, has become the cornerstone of the building.”
among ourselves and with all nations. Dostoevsky, Brokers Karamasor, Pt. II, VI, 3
Lincoln, Seermd Inaugural Address
44 Do not do unto others as you would that they
42 “I must make y'ou one confession,” Iv'an began. “I should do unto you. llicir tastes may not l>c the
could never understand how one can love one’s same.
neighbours. It’s just one’s neighbours, to my mind, Shaw, A fan and Superman^
that one can’t love, though one might love those Ma.xims for Revolutionists
at a distance. I once read somc^vhcrc of John the
 3.6 I
Love of Country
PATRIOTISM

Unlike the diverse loves treated in the three For the most part, the writers here quoted
preceding sections, patriotism, or love of praise patriotism as something desirable and
one’s country, is not a distinct type of love. even virtuous, while others raise doubts
Itcan probably be most closely aligned with about its value or condemn an uncritical or
the kind of love that is true friendship, the blind patriotism. Dr. Johnson may have
dominantly benevolent tendency which gone too far in that direction when he said
would impel a man to lay down his life for that patriotism is the last refuge of a scoun-
his friend. So, it is often said, the patriot too drel, but that helps to preserve a balance
would, if necessary, lay down his life for his against the other extreme which attaches no
country. qualifications to its praise of patriotism.

1 Go tcU the Spartans, thou who passest by, tion which had not gone over to the Medes; and
That here obedient to their la\« we lie. so, next to the gods, repulsed the invader.
Simonides, Epigram on Thtrmopylat Even the terrible oracles which reached them
from Delphi, and struck fear into their hearts,
2 Had the Athenians, from fear of the approaching failed to persuade them to fly from Greece. They
danger, quitted their country, or had they without had the courage to remain faithful to their land,
quitting it submitted to the power of Xerxes, there and await the conaing of the foe.
would certainly have been no attempt to resist the Herodotus, History, VII, 139
Persians by sea; in which case the course of events
by land would have been the following. Though 3 Cassandra, The Trojans have that glory which is

the Peloponnesians might have carried ever so loveliest:

many brcastw'orks across the Isthmus, yet their al- they died for their own country.
lieswould have fallen off from the Lacedaemoni- Euripides, Trojan Women, 386
ans, not by voluntary desertion, but because town
after town must have been taken by the fleet of 4 Pericles, There is justice in the claim that steadfast-
the barbarians; and so the Lacedxmonians would ness in his country's batdes should be as a cloak to
at last have stood alone, and, standing alone, cover a man’s other im{>erfcctions; since the good
would have displayed prodigies of valour and died action has blotted out the bad, and his merit as a
nobly. Either they would have done thus, or else, citizen more than outweighed his demerits as an
before it came to that extremity, seeing one Greek individual.
state after another embrace the cause of the Thuc>'dides, Peloponnesian War, II, 42
Medes, they would have come to terms uath King
—
Xerxes and thus, either way Greece would have 5 Pericles, Your country' has a right
your ser\'ices
to
been brought under Persia. For I cannot under- These are
in sustaining the glories of her position.
stand of what possible use the walls across the a common source of pride to you all, and you
Isthmus could have been, if the king had had the cannot decline the burdens of empire and still c.x-
mastery of the sea. If then a man should now say pect to share its honours.

that the Athenians were the saviours of Greece, he Thucydides, Peloponnesian War, 11, 63
would not exceed the truth. For they truly held
the scales; and whichever side they espoused must 6 Alcibiades. I hope that none of you \rill think any
have carried the day. They too it was who, when the worse of me if, after having hitherto passed as
they had determined to maintain the freedom of a lover of my country, I now actively join its worst
Greece, roused up that portion of the Greek na- enemies in attacking it, or will suspect what I say

252
 3,6. Love of Counir}’ 253

as the fruit of an outlaw’s enthusiasm. I am an supreme commander of all other cities together.
outlaw from the iniquity of those who drove me Plutarch, Sertorius
forth, not, be guided by me, from your
if you will
semee; my worst enemies arc not you who only 11 A wise prince ought to adopt such a course that
harmed your foes, but they who forced their always in every sort and kind of
his citizens will
/fiends to become enemies; and love of country' is circumstance have need of the state and of him,
what I do not feel when I amwronged, but what and then he will always find them faithful.
I felt when secure in my Indeed
rights as a citizen. Machiavclli, Prince^ IX
I do not consider that I am now attacking a coun-
tr>* that is still mine; J am rather tr)'ing to recover 12 Not because Socrates said it, but because it is real-
one that is mine no longer; and the true lover of ly my feeling, and perhaps excessively so, I consid-
his country' is not he who consents to lose it unjust- er all men my compatriots, and embrace a Pole as
ly rather than attack it, but he who longs for it so I do a Frenchman, setting this national bond after
much that he will go all lengths to recover it. the universal and common one. I am scarcely in-
Thucydides, Prioponnrsian ITar, VI, 92 fatuated with the sweetness of my native air.
Brand-new acquaintances that arc wholly of my
7 The good man should be a lover of self (for he will own choice seem to me to be well worth those
both himself profit by doing noble acts, and will other common chance acquaintances of the
benefit his fellou-s), but the wicked man should neighborhood. Friendships purely of our own ac-
not; for he will hurt both himself and his neigh- quisition usually surpass those to which commu-
bours, following as he docs evil passions. For the nity of climate or of blood binds us. Nature has
wicked man, what he docs clashes with what he put us into the world free and unfettered; we im-
ought to do, but what the good man ought to do prison ourselves in certain narrow districts, like
he docs; for resison in each of its possessors chooses the kings of Persia, who bound themselves never
what is best for itself, and the good man obeys his to drink any other water than that of the river
reason. It is true of the good man too that he docs Choaspes, stupidly gave up their right to use any
many acts for the sake of his friends and his coun- other waters, and dried up all the rest of the world
try', and if necessary' dies for them; for he will as far a.s they were concerned.
throw away both wealth and honours and in gen- What Socrates did near the end of his life, in
eral the goods that are objects of competition, considering a sentence of exile against him worse
gaining for himself nobility; since he would prefer than a sentence of death, I shall never, I think, be
a short period of intense pleasure to a long one of so broken or so strictly attached to my own coun-
mild enjoyment, a twelvemonth of noble life to try as to do.These divine lives have quite a few
many years of humdrum existence, and one great aspects that I embrace more by esteem than by
and noble action to many' trivial ones. Now those affection. And there arc also some so lofty and
who die for others doubtless attain this result; it is extraordinary that I cannot embrace them even
therefore a great prize that they choose for them- by esteem, inasmuch as I cannot understand
selves. them. That was a vciy’ fastidious attitude for a
Aristotle, 1169^12 man who considered the world his city.

Montaigne, Essayst III, 9, Of Vanity

8 Good ’tis and fine, for fatherland to die!
Death tracks him too >vho shirks; nor will He fail 13 Gaunt. This royal throne of kings, this sccptcr’d
To coward loins that
smite the quail, isle,
The coward limbs that fly! This earth of majesty, this scat of Mars,
Horace, III, 2 This other Eden, dcmi-paradisc,
Tin's fortress built by Nature for herself
9 By what sv,cct charm I know not the native land Against infection and the hand of war,
draws all men nor allows them to forget her. This happy breed of men, this little world.
Ovid, Epistulae Ex Ponto, I, 3 This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which scr^'cs it in the office of a wall
10 [Sertorius] was a sincere lover of his country, and Or as a moat defensive to a house.
had a great desire to return home; but in his ad- Against the envy of less happier lands,
verse fortune he showed undaunted courage, and This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this En-
behaved himself towards his enemies in a manner gland.
free from and mean-spiritedness; and
all dejection Shakespeare, Richard //, II, i, 40
when he was in his prosperity, and in the height of
his victories, he sent word to Mctellus and Pom- 14 There is an honour which may be ranked
. . .

pey that he was ready to lay down his arms and amongst the greatest, which happencth rarely;
livea private life if he were allowed to return that is, of such as sacrifice themselves to death or
home, declaring that he had rather live as the danger for the good of their country.
meanest citizen in Rome than, exiled from it, be Bacon, Of Honour and Reputation
 254 I
Chapter 3, Love

15 What I distinguish by the name of virtue, in a re- 20 Patriotism having become one of our topicks,
public, the love of one’s country, that is, the love
is Johnson suddenly uttered, in a strong determined
of equality. It is not a moral, nor a Christian, but tone, an apophthegm, at which many will start:
a political virtue; and it is the spring which sets the "Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel.” But
republican government in motion, as honour is let it be considered, that he did not mean a real

the spring which gives motion to monarchy. and generous love of our country, but that pre-
Montesquieu, Spirit of Laws, Advertisement tended patriotism which so many, in all ages and
countries, have made a cloak for self-interest. I
16 Do we wdsh men be virtuous? Then let us begin
to maintained, that certainly all patriots were not
by making them love their country: but how can scoundrels. Being urged, (not by Johnson,) to
they love it, if their country be nothing more to name one exception, I mentioned an eminent per-
them than to strangers, and afford them nothing son,w’hom we all greatly admired. yoAnion. "Sir, I
but what it can refuse nobody? do not say that he is not honest; but wc have no
Rousseau, Political Economy reason to conclude from his political conduct that
he is honest. Were he to accept of a place from
17 If children are brought up in common in the bo-
this ministry, he would lose that character of firm-
som of equality; if they are imbued with the laws which he has, and might be turned out of his
ness
of the State and the precepts of the general will; if
place in a year.”
they are taught to respect these above all things; if
Boswell, Life ofJohnson
they arc surrounded by examples and objects (Apr, 7, 1775)
which constantly remind them of the tender
mother who nourishes them, of the love she bears
them, of the inestimable benefits they receive 21 The more the operations of the national authority
from her, and of the return they owe her, we can- are intermingled in the ordinary exercise of gov-
not doubt that they will learn to cherish one an- ernment, the more the citizens arc accustomed to
other mutually as brothers, to wll nothing con- meet with it in the common occurrences of their
trary to the will of society, to substitute the actions political life, the more it is familiarised to their
of men and and vain bab-
citizens for the futile sight and to their feelings, the further it enters
bling of sophists, and become in time defenders
to into those objects which touch the most sensible
and fathers of the country of which they will have chords and put in motion the most active springs
been so long the children. of the human heart, the greater iirill be the proba-
Rousseau, Political Economy bility that it w'ill conciliate the respect and attach-
ment of the copimunity. Man is very' much a crea-
18 As soon as any man says of the affairs of the State ture of habit. A thing that rarely strikes his senses
What does it matter to me? the State may be given up will generally have hut little influence upon his
for lost. mind. A government continually at a distance
Rousseau, Social Contract, III, 15 and out of sight can hardly be expected to interest
the sensations of the people.
19 The [religion of the State] is good in that it unites
Hamilton, Federalist 27
the divine cult with love of the law's, and, making
country the object of the citizens’ adoration,
teaches them that service done to the State is ser- 22 Patriotism is often understood to mean only a
vice done to its tutelary god. It is a form of theo- readiness for exceptional sacrifices and actions.
cracy, in which there can be no pontiff save the Essentially, how’ever, it is the sentiment which, in
prince, and no priests save the magistrates. To die the relationships of our daily life and under ordi-
for one’s country then becomes martyrdom; viola- nary conditions, habitually recognizes that the
tion of its laws, impiety; and to subject one who is conrmiunity is one’s substantive groundwork and

guilty to public execration is to condemn him to end. It isout of this consciousness, which during
the anger of the gods: Sacer estod. life’s daily round stands the test in all circum-

On the other hand, it is bad in that, being stances, that there subsequently also arises the
founded on and lies error, it deceives men, makes readiness for extraordinary exertions. But since
them credulous and superstitious, and drowns the men would often rather be magnanimous than
empty ceremonial. It is
true cult of the Dmnity' in law-abiding, they readily persuade themselves
bad, again, when it becomes ty'rannous and exclu- that they posess this exceptional patriotism in or-
sive, and makes a people bloodthirsty and intoler- der to be sparing in the expression of a genuine
ant, so that it breathes fire and slaughter, and patriotic sentiment or to excuse their lack of it. If
regards as a sacred act the killing of every’ one again this genuine patriotism is looked upon as
who docs not believe in its gods. The result is to that which may begin of itself and arise from sub-
place such a people in a natural state of war with jective ideasand thoughts, it is being confused
all others, so that its security is deeply endan- with opinion, because so regarded patriotism is
gered. deprwed of its true ground, objective reality.
Rousseau, Social Contract, IV, 8 Hegel, Philosophy of Right, 268
 3,6. Love of Countr^^ 255

23 Theirs not to make reply, conquered and the inhabitants were fleeing to dis-
Theirs not to reason why, tant provinces, and one levy after another was
Theirs but to do and die. being raised for the defense of the fatherland, all
Into the valley of Death Russians from the greatest to the least were solely
Rode the six hundred. engaged in sacrificing themselves, saving their fa-
Tennyson, The Charge of the Li^ht Bri^^ade therland, or weeping over its downfall. The talcs
and descriptions of that time without c.xccption
24 Ithas been said of old, that in a despotism there is speak only of the self-sacrifice, patriotic devotion,
at most but one patriot, the despot himself; and despair, grief, and the heroism of the Russians.
the saying rests on a just appreciation of the ef- But it was not really so. It appears so to us because
fects of absolute subjection, even to a good and we see only the general historic interest of that
wise master. time and do not see all the personal human inter-
Mill, Representative Government, III ests that people had. Yet in reality those personal
interests of the moment so much transcend the
25 [The] feeling of nationality may have been gener- general interests that they always prevent the
ated by various causes. Sometimes it is the effect public interest from being felt or even noticed.
of identity of race and descent. Community of Most of the people at that time paid no attention
language, and community of religion, greatly con- to the general progress of events but were guided
tribute to it. Geographical limits are one of its only by their private interests, and they were the
causes. But the strongest of all is identity of politi- very' people whose activities at that period were
cal antecedents; the possession of a national histo- most useful.
and consequent community of recollections; Tl)osc who tried to understand the general
collective pride and humiliation, pleasure and re- course of events and to take part in it by self-

gret, connected with the same incidents in the sacrifice and heroism were the most useless mem-
past. bers of society, they saw cvciy'thing upside down,
Mill, Representative Government, XVI and all they did for the common good turned out
to be useless and foolish.
26 It is natural for us who were not living in those Tolstoy, War and Peace, XII, 4
dajTj to imagine that when half Russia had Ixcn
 Chapter 4

EMOTION

Chapter 4 is divided into eleven sections: 4,1 determine the individual’s behavior. But we
The Passions: The Range of the Emotions, 4.2 also use the words “fear” and “anger” to
Fear, 4.3 Anger, 4.4 Desire, 4.5 Hope and De- name much less violent upheavals — ^persis-

spair, 4.6 Joy and Sorronv, 4.7 Pleasure and tent feelings, moods, or sentiments that un-
Pain, 4.8 Pity and Env'y, 4.9 Greed and Ava- derlie and color an individual’s attitudes or
rice, 4.10 Jealousy, and 4.11 Pride and Humiu responses toward certain aspects of his envi-
ity. ronment. The same holds for desire, hope
The section titles immediately tell the and despair, and joy and sorrow. All of these
reader what to expect here. He is ac- are emotions or passions in the sense just in-
quainted in his own experience with most of dicated — relatively persistent states of feel-
the feelings, dispositions, sentiments, moods, ing, determinative of attitude or conduct,
or states of mind and body that are named; involving bodily changes that are milder
those he has not experienced himself, he has than the violent seizures of fear and anger in
met with in the behavior of others — in fact their most intense occurrence.
or fiction. Yet they are not all emotions or In the discussion of these matters, “pas-
passions in the strict sense in which these sion” is the older, “emotion” the newer
terms have come to mean a state of feeling term. In assembling the passages quoted in
that arises from profound bodily changes, of this chapter, we have treated them as synon-
relatively short duration, so intense that for ymous. Still another traditional term that
a short time the individual is completely has similar meaning is “affect.”
dominated by it. In fact, only fear and anger The study of emotion now falls within the
exemplify this very strict conception of emo- province of psychology, and has for a centu-
tion or passion involving widespread physio- ry or more; but earlier than that the analy-
logical changes that run a brief course dur- sis and classification of the passions was
ing which they completely control and mainly the work of moral and political phi-

256
 Chapter 4. Emotion \
25 7

losophers, or even of those concerned with In contrast, the subjects treated in Sec-
oratory. In fact, the first comprehensive ac- tions 4.8 through 4.11 do, for the most part,

count of the passions appears in Aristotle’s elicit approbation or censure from those
Rhetoricy although the subject is also consid- who discuss them. For example, such words
ered in his Ethics in connection with his as “envy,” “greed,” “avarice,” and “jeal-
analysis of such virtues as courage and tem- ousy,” usually connote excessive or inordi-
perance. nate tendencies or dispositions — desire or

Section 4.1 sets the stage for all the sec- other passions out of control. While this does
tions to follow: its quotations, drawn from a not hold to the same extent for “pity,” it,

wide variety of contexts, deal with emotion too, is frequently used in a pejorative sense.
or passion in general, and with the enumer- And while the terms “pride” and “humili-
ation and classification of specific passions ty” almost always connote attitudes or dis-

or emotions, or even milder feelings or senti- positions that are considered admirable or

ments. It will be noted that, in such enumer- reprehensible, sometimes pride is con-
ations and classifications, some of the pas- demned and humility praised, and some-
sions are paired opposites, such as joy and times the reverse.
sorrow, orhope and despair, and some stand One pair of feelings —love and hate, usu-
alone and do not have opposites, such as ally included in enumerations of the pas-
fear and anger. It will also be noted that sions —are not given a special section in this
different principles areemployed in classify- chapter because Chapter 3 deals with them.
ing the passions; sometimes they are divided However, an emotion closely connected with
into the irascible and the concupiscible;
— —
love and hate jealousy is treated here in
sometimes into the pleasant and the un- Section 4.10.
pleasant; sometimes into the violent and the
mild. In ordering the sections of this chap-
A whole chapter might have been devot-
ed to pleasure and pain, so extensive and so
ter, we have adopted still another principle.
varied the discussion of these subjects.
We have put first, in Sections 4.2 through
is

emotions, passions, or feelings that, from

While the main treatment of them will be
4.7,
found in Section 4.7, the reader will also
the point of view of most moralists and of
men generally, are in themselves neither
find reference to them in other sections, for
almost all the other passions or emotions are
good nor bad. Thus, for example, what we
do about fear or anger, pleasure or pain, joy tinged with pleasure or pain, or at least with

and sorrow, and desire —how we control the affective tone of the pleasant or the un-

or give into them —may be the

such feelings pleasant. They also appear, in connection

subject ofmoral approval or disapproval, with desire, under the guise of satisfaction
but not the feelings themselves. Neverthe- and dissatisfaction. When our desires are
less,hope and despair, included in this
satisfied, we are pleased; when they are un-

group, are not always treated merely as feel-

satisfied, we are displeased or pained.

ingswithout moral coloration; hope is also On the psychological plane, the matters
regarded as a theological virtue, and despair treated in this chapter have a bearing on
as its opposite —one of the mortal sins. This matters treated in Chapter 5 on Mind, espe-
is also true of anger. Nevertheless, in the cially Section 5.7on Will: Free Choice, and
main, the subjects treated in Sections 4.2 even, to some on Mad-
extent. Section 5.6
through 4.7 are approached as phenomena ness. On the plane of moral philosophy, the
to be examined rather than as dispositions connection is with subjects covered in Chap-
to be praised or censured. ter 9 on Ethics, especially Section 9.10 on
 258 I
Chapter 4. Emotion

Virtue AND Vice, Section 9.11 on Courage and These remarks about the subject matter of
Cowardice, and Section 9.12 on Temperance Chapter 4 as a whole make it unnecessar)^ to
AND Intemperance. append forewords to each of its sections.

4.1 The Passions

THE RANGE OF THE EMOTIONS

1 Since things that are found in the soul are of three spots dw'cll soothing jo)*s; therefore here
is the un-
4
—
kinds ^passions, faculties, states of character, vir- derstanding or mind. All the rest of the soul
tue must be one of these. By passions I mean a{>- disseminated through the whole body obe>’s and
pctite, anger, fear, confidence, joy, friendly moves at the will and inclination of the mind. It
feeling, hatred, longing, emulation, pity, and in by itself alone know"s for itself, rejoices for itself, at
general the feelings that are accompanied by times when the impression docs not move either
pleasure or pain; by faculties the things in virtue soul or body together vrith it. And as when some
of which we arc said to be capable of feeling these, part of us, the head or the eye, suffers from an
for example, of becoming angry or being pained attack of pain, w’e do not feel the anguish at the
or feeling pity; by states of character the things in same time over the w'hole body, thus the mind
virtue of which we stand well or badly uith refer- sometimes suffers pain by itself or is inspirited
ence to the passions, for example, with reference with joy, when all the rest of the soul throughout
to anger w’e stand badly if we feci it violently or the limbs and frame is stirred by no nov'cl sensa-
too weakly, and well if we feel it moderately; and tion. But when the mind is excited by some more
similarly with reference to the other passions. vehement apprehension, w^e see the whole soul feel
Now* neither the virtues nor the vices are pas- in unison through all the limbs, s\veats and pale-
sions, because w'e are not called good or bad on the ness spread over the whole body, the tongue falter,
ground of our passions, but are so called on the the voice die away, a mist cover the eyes, the ears
ground of our virtues and our rices, and because ring, the limbs sink under one; in short we often
we are neither praised nor blamed for our pas- see men drop dowm from terror of mind; so that
sions (for the man who feels fear or anger is not anybody may easily perceive from this that the
praised, nor is the man who simply feels anger soul is closely united vrith the mind, and, when it
blamed, but the man who feels it in a certain has been smitten by the influence of the mind,
way), but for our virtues and our vices we are forthwith pushes and strikes the body.
praised or blamed. Lucretius, Nature of Things, III
Aristotle, Ethics,
Ev'cry disturbance is the disruption of a mind

2 The emotions are all those feelings that so change cither devoid of or contemptuous of reason, or di-
men as to affect their judgements, and that are sobedient to reason. Such a disruption is prov’oked
also attended by pain or pleasure. Such are anger, in two ways, either by an idea of good or by an
pity, fear and the like, with their opposites. idea of evdl. So we end up vrith four ty'pes of men-
Aristotle, Phetoric, 1378^20 tal disruption. Two of them proceed from an idea
of good. One of these is exultant pleasure, in other
3 Now I assert mind and the soul are kept
that the words, extreme joy brought on by the presence of
together in close union and make up a single na- some great good. The counterpart of this is an
ture, but that the directing principle which w'c excessive longing for some great good. Such a
callmind and understanding, is head so
the to longing contraty to reason, and it may rightly
is

speak and reigns paramount in the whole body. It be called desire or lust. These tivo instances, exul-
has a fixed seat in the middle region of the breast: tant pleasure and lust deriving from some idea of
here throb fear and apprehension, about these a good, both disrupt the soul. So do their two op-
 1

4J. The Passions 259

positcs, fear and distress, also cause such disrup- pelled, so it is changed and turned into these dif-
tionsbecause of the idea of evil. Fear is the imag- ferent affections.
ining of a threatened evil, and distress is occa- Augustine, City of God, XIV, 6
sioned by the presence of a serious evil. Distress is
7 The sensitive appetite is one generic power, and is
really the strong awareness of an evil real enough
called sensuality; but it is divided into two powers,
to cause genuine anguish. Thus the man who feels
pain is convinced that he is meant to feel pain.
which are species of the sensitive appetite the —
irascible and the concupiscible. Therefore ,
With all our power we must strive to resist these
. .

. . there must be two appetitive powers in the

.
disturbances, loosed as they are by folly coupled
with a kind of evil spirit over the life of mankind,
sensitive part —
one through which the soul is in-
clined absolutely to seek what is suitable accord-
if we want to pass our days in peace and quiet.
ing to the senses, and to fly from what is hurtful,
Cicero, Disputations, III, 1
and this is called the concupiscible; and another
by which an animal resists these attacks that hin-
5 In our ethics, we do not so much inquire whether der what is suitable and inflict harm, and this is
a pious soul is angry, as why he is angry; not called the irascible. . . ,

whether he is sad, but what is the cause of his Now' these two are not to be reduced to one
sadness; not whether he fears, but what he fears. principle, for sometimes the soul busies itself with
For I am not aware that any right thinking person unpleasant things against the inclination of the
w'ould find fault with anger at a wrongdoer which concupiscible appetite in order that, following the
seeks his amendment, or with sadness which in- impulse of the irascible appetite, it may fight
tends relief to the suffering, or with fear lest one in against obstacles. Hence also the passions of the
danger be destroyed. The Stoics, indeed, are ac- irascible appetite seem to go against the passions
customed to condemn compassion. But how much of the concupiscible appetite, since concupiscence,
more honourable had it been in that Stoic we on being roused, diminishes anger, and anger
have been telling of had he been disturbed by being roused, diminishes concupiscence in many
compassion prompting him to relieve a fellow- cases. This is clear also from the fact that the iras-
creature than to be disturbed by the fear of ship- cible is, as it were, the champion and defender of
wreck! However, it may justly be asked,
. . . the concupiscible, when it rises up against what
whether our subjection to these affections, even hinders the acquisition of the suitable things
while we follow virtue, is a part of the infirmity of which the concupiscible desires, or against what
this life? For the holy angels feel no anger while inflicts harm, from which the concupiscible flies.

they punish those whom the eternal law of God And for this reason all the passions of the irascible
consigns to punishment, no fellow-feeling with appetite rise from the p 2issions of the concupisci-
misery while they relieve the miserable, no fear ble appetite and terminate in them; for instance,
while they aid those who are in danger; and yet anger rises from sadness, and having wrought ven-
ordinary language ascribes to them also these geance, terminates in joy.
mental emotions, because, though they have none Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 81, 2
ofour weakness, their acts resemble the actions to
which these emotions move us. 8 All the irascible passions imply movement to-
wards something. Now this movement in the iras-
Augustine, City of God, IX, 5
cible part towards something may be due to two
causes; one is the mere aptitude or proportion to
6 The character of the human will is of moment; the end, and this pertains to love or hatred; the
because, wrong, these motions of the soul
if it is other is the presence of good or evil, and this per-
will be wrong, but if it is right, they will be not tains to sadness or joy. . . .

merely blameless, but even praisew’orthy. For the
will is in them all; yea, none of them is anything
else than will. For what arc desire and joy but a
volition of consent to the things we wish? And
what are fear and sadness but a volition of aver-
sion from the things which we do not wish? But
when consent takes the form of seeking to possess
the things we wish, this is called desire; and when
consent takes the form of enjoying the things we
wh, this is called joy. In like manner, when we
turn with aversion from that which we do not
wsh to happen, termed fear; and
this volition
Since then in the order of generation or se-
quence, proportion or aptitude to the end pre-
cedes the achievement of the end, it follows that,
of all the irascible passions, anger is the last in the
order of generation. And among the other pas-
sions of the irascible part which imply a move-
ment arising from Jove of good or hatred of evil,
those whose object is good, namely, hope and de-
spair, must naturally precede those whose object is
evil, namely, daring and fear. ... In like manner
fear, through being a movement from evil, pre-
is cedes daring. . . .

when we turn away from that which has hap- And if Vr'c wish to know the order of all the
pened against our will, this act of will is called passions in the way of generation, love and hatred
sorrow'. And generally in respect of all that we arc first; desire and aversion, second; hope and
seek or shun, as a man’s wall is attracted or re- despair, third; fear and daring, fourth; anger,
 260 Chapter 4, Emotion

fifth; sixth joy and sadness, which follow

and last, Like Jobn-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause,

9 from
all yet so that love precedes
the passions . . .
And can nothing; no, not for a king.
hatred; desire precedes aversion; hope precedes Upon whose property and most dear life

despair; fear precedes daring; and joy precedes A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward?
sadness. Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across?
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I—II, 25, 3 Plucks olf beard, and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i* the
Joy relates to present good, sadness relates to pre- throatj
sent evil, hope regards future good, and fear, fu- As deep as to the lungs? who does me this?
ture evil. As to the other passions that concern Ha!
good or evil, all culminate
present or future, they ’Swounds, I should take it: for it cannot be
in these four. For have some said that
this reason But I am pigeon-liver’d and lack gall
these four are the principal passions, because they To mak^ oppression bitter, or ere this
are general passions. And this is true, provided I should have fatted all the region kites
that by hope and fear we understand the common With this slave’s offal. Bloody, bawdy, villain!
tendency of the appetite to desire or aversion for Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless vil-

something. lain!
Aquinas, «Summa Thtologica, I-II, 25, 4 O, veng^-ance!
Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave,
10 All passions that allow themselves to be savored
That I, the son of a dear father murder’d
and digested are only mediocre.
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,
Montaigne, Essays, I, 2, Of Sadness Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words,
And fall a-cursing, like a very drab,
1 1 Ambition can teach men and temperance,
valor,
A scullion!
and liberality, and even Greed can im-
justice.
Fie upori’t! foh!
p\ant in tVxe heart oi. a shop apprentice, brought
Shakespeare, Hamlet, II, ii, 576
up in obscurity and idleness, the confidence to
cast himself far from hearth and home, in a frail
13 Hamlet Blest are those
boat at the mercy of the waves and angry Nep-
Whose blood and judgement are so well commin-
tune; it also teaches discretion and wisdom. Venus
gled,
herself supplies resolution and boldness to boys
That th^y are not a pipe for fortune’s finger
still subject to discipline and the rod, and arms

the tender hearts of virgins who are still in their

To sound what stop she please. Give me that man
That is not passion’s slave, and I will wear him
mothers’ laps. . . .

In my heart’s core, ay, in my heart of heart.

In view of this, a sound intellect will refuse to
Shakespeare, Hamlet, III, ii, 73
Judge men simply by their outward actions; we
must probe the inside and discover what springs
14 1 note that we do not observe the existence of
•
set men in motion. But since this is an arduous
.

and hazardous undertaking, I wish fewer people any subject which more immediately acts upon
would meddle with it. our soul than the body to which it is joined, and
that we must consequently consider that what in
Montaigne, Essays, II, 1 Of the
the soul is a passion is in the body commonly
,

Inconsistency
speaking an action; so that there is no better
12 Hamlet O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I! means of arriving at a knowledge of our passions
Is it not monstrous that this player here, than to examine the difference which exists be-
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion. tween soul and body in order to know to which of
Could force his soul so to his own conceit the two we must attribute each one of the func-
That from her working all his visage wann’d, tions which are within us.
Tears in his eyes, distraction in’s aspect, Descartes, Passions of the Soul, II
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing! 15 The number of [passions] which are simple and
For Hecuba! primitive is not very large. For, in making a re-
What’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, view of all those which I have enumerated, we
That he should weep for her? What would he do. may easily notice that there are but six which arc
Had he the motive and the cue for passion such, that is, wonder, love, hatred, desire, joy and
That I have? He would drown the stage with tears sadness; and that all the others are composed of
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech. some of these six, or are species of them.
Make mad and appal the free.
the guilty Descartes, Passions of the Soul, LXIX
Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed
The very faculties of eyes and ears. 16 Whoever has lived in such a way that his con-
Yet I, science cannot reproach him for ever having
A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak, failed to perform those things which he has judged
 LI. Uf Passions j
2fil

to be the be5 t (whicli U wh.n 1 here cnil following reasoning, save that reasoning is in general words,
after virtue) rccrivcs from ihi? n satisfaction which but delll>eration for the most part is of particulars.

isso poNstrful in rendering him happy that the TTr langttagr of desire, and aversion, is mfemtive;
most violent efforts of the passions ncser have suf- as, Do this, forhear that; which when the party is
iidcni jx>wcr to disturb the tranquillity of his soul, ol)1igcil is command; oiherw'ise
to do, or farl>ear,
Descartes* f\iwoni p/ the S^nJ, CXl.Vfll pray a; or else couTxiei 'Hjclanguage of vainglory*, of
indignation, pity and revengeful nr ss, eftaUve: but

17 The may have pleasures of its own* hut as to

soul of the desire to know, there is a preulinr expres-

those which arc a^mmon to it and tltr bosly, they sion called as, R'A^r ir it, when shall it,

depend entirely on the passions, so that the men hoiv IS tt do^r, and st hs sv^ Other language of the

svhom they can most ntovc are capable of partal- passions I find none: for cursing, .swearing, revil-
ing most of enjoyment in this life. It is true tltat ing, and the like do not signify a.s .j>rrch, hut as

such men may also find most biiternrss when they the actions of a longue accustomed,
do not know' how to employ them svell, or fortune Hobljes, I^tathan, I, (i

is contra r)' to them. Rut tlte principal uv of pru-

dence of scIf-conifiM is (h.i{ it teaches »s to f)e mas. 21 'Hte mind is subject fo passions in proportion to
lers of our pa!E.sions, and to so control and guide the numl)er of inaderptate ideas which it has, and
them that the evils which iljcy came ate quite ... it acts in projvution to the numlKrr of adc-
bearable, and that w'e even derive Joy from them qu.*tir ideas whtcl* it has.
all, Spino/a, Ethia, 111, Prop. 1, Oirol.
Descartes, Annmj cf iht Sth!, CC^iXII
22 Of Joy, sorrow, and desire, and consequently of
18 Ry knowing each man’s ruling p.w.ion, wt arc ever)’ effort svhirh either, like s'acdlatton of mind,
sure of pleasing him; and yet each has his fancirt, is cornpf>undrrl of ihev, or, like love, hatrcrl,
opposed to his true good, in the srry ide.^ svhich hoj)e, and fear, is derived from ilient, there .arc

he has of the gexxi. It is a singularly pujrling fart. just as many kinds as there are kinds of objects by
Rascal, Pr*iu'ti, 11, lOG which we are affected.
Spino.’A, fCthi^x, in. Prop. 30
19 There is internal war in m.an between reason and
the passions. 23 En:y an<l esfer, by pain and
not Ij^ing f'ausrri
he had only reason without pavions
If , . . plrasiirr simply in thrmselvrs, but h.aving tnthem
If he had only passions without rra?/?n . . . U)mf mixed consitlrmtirms of ourselves and
But having both, he cannot l>e s%ithout strife, othen, are not therefore to l>r found in all men,
being unable to be at peace ssaTli the one witlinut lyxauvr thov other p.irt5, of valuing their merits.
being at war with the other. Thus he is abvA)T Of intending revenge, is wanting in them. Rut all
divided against and opposed to himself. the rest |of the pavsions], terminating purely in
'Fhis internal war of reason against the p.asr.tmn pain and pleasure, are, 1 think, to l>e found in all
has made a division of those who would have men. Por we love, desire, rrjoire, and hope, only
peace into sects. The first would renounce itt respect of pleasure; wt liaie, fear, and grieve,
their passions and become gwb; the others would only in respect of pain ultimately. In tine, all
renounce reason and l>ecorne brute beasts. Rut these passions are rnmrd by things, only as they
neither can do so, and reason still remaias, to con- appear to l>e tlic causes of pleasure and pain, or Co
demn the vileness and injustice of the passions have pleasure or pa ir» some svay or or her annexerl
and to trouble the repose of those who abaiulon to them.
themselves to them; and the passions keep aUva)Tt l/x:kc, Ccncrminti Human VndeTstatidin^,
alive in those who would renounce them. Rk. If. XX. H
Pascal. Pensm, VI, 412-113
24 Mo<les of Self-love the Pavsions we may call;
20 The forms of speech by which the passions are *Tis real good, or seeming, moves them all;
expressed arc partly the same and partly different Rut since not every good we can divide.
from those by which we repress our ihotr ghts. And And Reason bids us for our own provide;
first generally all passions may l>c expressed nd;fa* P.sssions, tho’ selfish, if their means l)e fair,
livelj; as, I tote, I fear, / joy, / dehberate, / will, / List under Reason, and deserve her care;
command: but some of them have particular expres- T'hose, that imparted, court a nobler aim,
sions by themselves, whicli ntNcrthclesa are not af- Rxalt their kind, and take tome Virtue’s name.
firmations, unless it be when they serve to make Pope, Essay cn Man, Kpistlc 11, 93
other inferences besides that of the passion they
proceed from. Dclil>cration is expressed juff/anmer- 23 Strength of mind is Kxcrcise, not Rest:
fr; which is a speech proper to
signify suppositions, Titc rising tempeat puts in act the soul.
with their consequences; as, If this he done, then this Parts it may ravage, but prcscrs’cs the whole.
will follow; and diffen not from the language of On life’s vast ocean diversely we sail,
 262 Chapter 4. Emotion

Reason the card, but Passion is tlic gale. of virtue that a man should collect himself; but this
Pope, Essay on Man^ Epistle 11, 104 weakness in the life of one’s understanding, joined
with the strength of a mental excitement, is only a
26 On diK’rcnt senses diff’rcnt objects strike; lack of virtue {Untugend), and as it were a weak and

Hence diff’rcnt Passions more or less inflame, childish thing, which may very well consist with
As strong or weak, the organs of the frame; the best w'ill, and has further this one good thing
And hence one master Passion in the breast, in it, that this storm soon subsides. A propensity to
Like Aaron’s serpent, swaIIo\%^ up the rest. emotion (for example, resentment) is therefore not

As Man, perhaps, the moment of his breath, so closely related to vice as passion is. Passion, on
Receives the lurking principle of death; the other hand, the sensible appetite grown into a
is

The young disease, that must subdue at length, permanent inclination (for example, hatred in con-
Grows with his growth, and strengthens with his trast to resentment). The calmness with which one
strength: indulges it room
for reflection and allow's
leaves
So, cast and mingled w’ith his very’ frame, the mind frame principles thereon for itself;
to
30 and thus when the inclination falls upon what
The Mind’s disease, its niliing Passion came.
Pope, Essay on Man, Epistle II, 128 contradicts the law, to brood on it, to allow’ it to
root itself deeply, and thereby to take up c\’il (as
27 Nothing can oppose or retard the impulse of pas- of set purpose) into one’s maxim; and this is then
sion, but a contrary impulse; and if this contrary specifically evil, that is, it is a true vice,

impulse ever arises from reason, that latter faculty Kant, Introduction to the Metaphymal
must have an original influence on the will, and Elements of Ethics, XVI
must be able to cause, as w'cll as hinder any act of
volition. But if reason has no original influence, TTic lower animals, like man, manifestly feel plea-
'tis impossible it can withstand any principle, sure and pain, happiness and misery’. Happiness i
which has such an efficacy’, or ever keep the mind never better exhibited than by young anima'
in suspcnce a moment. Thus it appears, that the such as puppies, kittens, lambs, &c., when playing
principle, which opposes our passion, cannot be together, likeour ow-n children. Even insects play
the same with reason, and is only call’d so in an together, as has been described by that excellent
improper sense. We speak not strictly and philo- obscrs’cr, P. Huber, who saw’ ants chasing and
sophically when combat of passion
w’c talk of the pretending to bite each other, like so many pup-
and of reason. Reasonand ought only to be the
is, pies.
slave of the passions, and can never pretend to The fact that the lower animals arc excited by
any other office than to scrv'c and obey’ them. As the same emotions as ourselves is so well estab-
this opinion may appear somewhat extraordinary', lished, that be necessary to weary the
it will not
it may not be improper to confirm it by some reader by many’ details. Terror acts in the same
other considerations. manner on them as on us, causing the muscles to
Hume, Trfalise of Human Nature, tremble, the hcan to palpitate, the sphincters to
Bk. II, 111,3 be relaxed, and the hair to stand on end. Suspi-
cion, the offspring of fear, is eminently character-
28 Reason is the discovery' of truth or falshood.Truth istic of most wild animals. It is, I think, impossible
or falshood consists in an agreement or dis- to read the account given by Sir E. Tcnncnt, of
agreement either to the real relations of ideas, or to the behaviour of the female elephants, used as de-
real existence and matter of fact. Whatever, there- coys, without admitting that they intentionally
fore, is not susceptible of this agreement or dis- practise deceit, and well know what they arc
agreement, is incapable of being true or false, and about. Courage and timidity arc extremely varia-
can never be an object of our reason. Now *iis ble qualities in the individuals of the same species,
evident our passions, volitions, and actions, arc as is plainly seen in our dogs. Some dogs and hors-
not susceptible of any such agreement or dis- es are ill-tempered, and easily turn sulky; others
agreement; being original facts and realities, com- arc good-tempered; and these qualities arc cer-
plcat in themselves, and implying no reference to tainly inherited. Every’ one knows how liable ani-
other passions, volitions, and actions. ’Tis impossi- mals arc to furious rage, and how’ plainly they
ble, therefore, they can be pronounced either true shew it. Many, and probably true, anecdotes have
or false, and be either contrary or conformable to been published on the long-delayed and artful re-
reason. venge of various animals. , . .

Hume, Treatise of Human Nature, Bk. Ill, I, 1 The love of a dog for his master is notorious; as
an old writer quaintly says, “A dog is the only
29 Emotions and passions arc essentially distinct; the thing on this earth that luvs you more than he
former belong to feeling insofar as this coming be- Ins’S himself."
fore reflection makes it more difficult or even im- In the agony of death a dog has been know'n to
possible, Hence emotion is called hasty (animus caress his master, and every* one has heard of the
praeceps). And reason declares through the notion dog suffering under vivisection, who licked the
 4,L The Passions 263

hand man, unless the opera-

of the operator; this excites an instinct excites an emotion as well. Emotions,
tion was by an increase of our
fully justified however, fall short of instincts, in that the emo-
knowledge, or unless he had a heart of stone, must tional reaction usually terminates in the subject’s
have remorse to the last hour of his life.
felt . . , own body, whilst the instinctive reaction is apt to
Most of the more complex emotions are com- go farther and enter into practical relations with
mon to the higher animals and ourselves. Every the exciting object.
one has seen how jealous a dog is of his master’s William James, Psychology, XXV
affection, if lavished on any other creature; and I
have observed the same fact with monkeys. This 32 Our natural way of thinking about these coarser
shews that animals not only love, but have desire emotions is that the mental perception of some
to be loved. Animals manifestly feel emulation. fact excites the mental affection called the emo-
They love approbation or praise; and a dog car- tion, and that this latter state of mind gives rise to
rying a basket for his master exhibits in a high the bodily expression. My theory, on the contrary,
degree self-complacency or pride. There can, I is that the bodily changes follow directly the perception of
think, be no doubt that a dog feels shame, as dis- the exciting fact, and that our feeling of the same changes
tinct from fear, and something very like modesty as th^ occur is the emotion. Common-sense says, we
when begging too often for food. A great dog lose our fortune, are sorry and weep; we meet a
scorns the snarling of a little dog, and this may be bear, are frightened and run; we are insulted by a
called magnanimity. Several observers have stat- rival, arc angry and strike. The hypothesis here to
ed that monkeys certainly dislike being laughed be defended says that this order of sequence is
at; and they sometimes invent imaginary offences. incorrect, that the one mental state is not immedi-
In the Zoological Gardens I saw a baboon who ately induced by the other, that the bodily mani-
always got into a furious rage when his keeper festations must first be interposed betw'cen, and
took out a letter or book and read it aloud to him; that the more rational statement is that we feel
and his rage %vras so violent that, as I witnessed on sorry because we angry because we strike,
cry,
one occasion, he bit his own leg till the blood afraid because wetremble, and not that we cry,
flowed. Dogs shew what may be fairly called a strike, or tremble, because we are sorry, angry, or
sense of humour, as distinct from mere play; if a fearful, as the case may be. Without the bodily
bit of stick or other such object be thrown to one, states following on the perception, the latter
he will often carry it away for a short distance; would be purely cognitive in form, pale, colorless,
destitute of emotional warmth. We might then see
31 and then squatting down with it on the ground

close before him, will wait until his master comes
quite close to take it away. The dog will then seize
it and rush away in triumph, repeating the same
manoeuvre, and evidently enjoying the practical
joke.
We will now turn to the more intellectual emo-
tions and which arc very important, as
faculties,
forming the basis for the development of the high-
er mental powers. Animals manifestly enjoy ex-
citement, and suffer from ennui, as may be seen
with dogs, and, according to Rengger, with
key's, All animals feel Wondefy and many
Cunoxity. They sometimes suffer from this latter
quality'.
Darwin, Descent of
In speaking of the instinctsit has been impossible
to keep them separate from the emotional excite-
ments which go with them. Objects of rage, love,
fear, etc., not only prompt a man to outward
deeds, but provoke characteristic alterations in his
attitudeand v'isage, and affect his breathing, cir-
culation,and other organic functions in specific
ways. \Vhcn the out^^'ard deeds arc inhibited,
these latter emotional remain,
c-xpressions still
and we read the anger in the face, though the
blow may not be struck, and the fear betrays itself
m voice and color, though one may suppress all
other sign, Instinctive reactions and emotional expressions
thus shade imperceptibly into
each other. Every object that
the bear, and judge it best to run, receive the in-
sult and deem it right to strike, but we should not
actually feel afraid or angry.
William James, Psychology, XXV
33 If one should seek to name each particular [emo-
tion] of which the human heart is the seat, it is
plain that the limit to their number would He in
the introspective vocabulary of the seeker, each
race of men having found names for some shade
mon- of feeling which other races have left undiscrimi-
exhibit nated. If then we should seek to break the emo-
tions, thus enumerated, into groups, according to
their affinities, it is again plain that all sorts of
Man, I, 3 groupings would be possible, according as we
chose this character or that as a basis, and that all
groupings would be equally real and true. The
only question would be, does this grouping or that
suit our purpose best? The reader may then class
the emotions as he will, as sad or joyous, sthenic or
asthenic, natural or acquired, inspired by animate
or inanimate things, formal or material, sensuous
or ideal, direct or reflective, egoistic or non-egois-
tic, retrospective, prospective or immediate, or-
ganismally or environmentally initiated, or what
more besides. All these are divisions which have
been actually proposed. Each of them has its mer-
its, and each one brings together some emotions
which the others keep apart.
William James, Psychology, XXV
 7

264 I
Chaper 4, Emotion

34 I think we shall gain a great deal by following the stinct. The ego represents what we call reason and
suggestion of a writer who, from personal motives, sanity, in contrast to the id w*hich contains the
vainly insists that he has nothing to do with the passions. . . .
rigouis of pure science. I am speaking of Georg The functional importance of the ego is mani-
Groddeck, who is never tired of pointing out that fested in the fact that normally control over the
the conduct through life of what we call our ego is approaches to motility devolves upon it. Thus in
essentially passive, and that, as he expresses it, we its relation to the id it is like a man on horseback,
are “lived” by unknown and uncontrollable who has to hold in check the superior strength of
forces. the horse; uith this difference, that the rider seeks
Freud, Ego and Id, II to do so Nsdlh his oum strength while the ego uses
borrowed forces. The illustration may be carried
35 The ego has the task of bringing the influence of further. Often a rider, if he
not to be parted is

the external world to bear upon the id and its from his horse, is obliged to guide it where it
tendencies, and endeavours to substitute the re* wants to go; so in the same way the ego constantly
ality-principlc for the pleasure-prindplc which carries into action the wishes of the id as if they
reigns supreme in the id. In the ego, perception were its o\v*n.

plays the part which in the id devolves upon in- Freud, Ego and Id^ II

4.2 Fear

1 The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom 5 Nicias. I do not call animals or any other things
shall I fear? the Lord is the strength of my life; of which have no fear of dangers, because they arc
whom shall I be afraid? ignorant of them, courageous, but only fearless
Psalm 27:1 and senseless. Do you [Laches] imagine that I
should call little children courageous, which fear
2 Chorus. There are times when fear is good. no dangers because they know' none? There is a
It must keep its watchful place difference, to my way of thinking, between fear-
at the heart’s controls. There is lessness and courage.
advantage Plato, Laches, 197A
in the wisdom won from pain.
Should the city', should the man 6 In my opinion the terrible and the hope-
Socrates.
rear a heart that nowhere goes fulare the things which do or do not create fear,
in fear, how shall such a one and fear is not of the present, nor of the past, but
any more respect the right? is of future and expected evil.

Aeschylus, Eumenides, 51 Plato, Laches, 198A

3 Xerxes. Fear not all things alike, nor count up ev- 7 Fear may be defined as a pain or disturbance due
ery risk. For if in each matter that comes before us to a mental picture of some destructive or painful
thou wilt look to all possible ch 2inces, never wilt evil in the future. Of destructive or painful crils
thou achieve anything. Far better is it to have a only; for there are some
evils, for example,
stout heart always, and suffer one’s share of evils, wickedness or stupidity', the prospect of which
than to be ever fearing w'hat may happen, and does not frighten us: I mean only such as amount
never incur a mischance. to great pains or losses. And even these only if
Herodotus, Histoiy, VII, 50 they appear not remote but so near as to be immi-
nent: w'e do not fear things that are a very long
4 Peloponnesian Commanders. A faint heart will make w'ay off: for instance, wc all know we shall die, but
all art powerless in the face of danger. For fear we are not troubled thereby, because death is not
takes a%vay presence of mind, and without valour dcKc at hand. From this definition it will follow
art is useless. that fear is caused by whatever w*e feel has great
Thucydides, Peloponnesian IVar, 11, 87 pow'er of destroying us, or of harming us in w'ay?
 42, Fear 265

that tend to cause us great pain. That they, or he, these omens would avert.
Aristotle, Rhetoric^ 1382^21 Release our fears, and better signs impart.
Clear’d, as I thought, and fully fix’d at length

8 Of those we have wronged, and of our enemies or To learn the cause, I tugged with all my strength:
rivals, it isnot the passionate and outspoken I bent my knees against the ground; once more

whom we have to fear, but the quiet, dissembling, The violated myrtle ran with gore.
unscrupulous; since we never know when they are Scarce dare I tell the sequel: from the womb
upon us, we can never be sure they are at a safe Of wounded earth, and caverns of the tomb,
distance. A groan, as of a troubled ghost, renew’d
Aristotle, RhetoriCj 1382^19 My fright, and then these dreadful words ensued:
‘Why dost thou thus my buried body rend?
9 If fear is associated with the expectation that O spare the corpse of thy unhappy friend!
something destructive will happen to us, plainly Spare to i>ollute thy pious hands with blood:
nobody will be afraid who believes nothing can The tears distil not from the wounded wood;
happen to him; we shall not fear things that we But ev’ry drop this living tree contains
believe cannot happen to us, nor people who we Is kindred blood, and ran in Trojan veins.

believe cannot inflict them upon us; nor shall we O fly from this unhospitable shore.

be afraid at times when we think ourselves safe Warn’d by my fate; for I am Polydore!
from them. It follows therefore that fear is felt by Here loads of lances, in my blood embnied,
those who
believe something to be likely to hap- Again shoot upward, by my blood renew’d.’
pen them, at the hands of particular persons, in
to “My falt’ring tongue and shiv’ring limbs de-
a particular form, and at a particular time. Peo- clare
ple do not believe this when they are, or think My horror, and in bristles rose my hair.
and are
they are, in the midst of great prosperity, Virgil, Aeneid, III
in consequence insolent, contemptuous, and reck-
less —the kind of character produced by wealth, 13 To be feared is to fear: no one has been able to
physical strength, abundance of friends, power: strike terror into others and at the same time en-
nor yet when they feel they have experienced ev- joy peace of mind himself.
ery kind of horror already and have grown callous Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 105
about the future, like men who are being flogged
—
and are already nearly dead if they are to feel 14 There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth
the anguish of uncertainty, there must be some out fear: because fear hath torment. He that fear-
faint expectation of escape. eth is not made perfect in love.
AThtot\G^ RkdoriCj 1382^29 I John 4:18

10 Even as children are flurried and dread all things 15 It is irrational and poor-spirited not to seek conve-
in the thick darkness, thus we in the daylight fear niences for fear of losing them, for upon the same
at times things not a whit more to be dreaded account we should not allow ourselves to like
than what children shudder at in the dark and wealth, glory, or wisdom, since we may fear to be
fancy sure to be. This terror therefore and dark- deprived of all these; nay, even virtue itself, than
ness of mind must be dispelled not by the rays of which there no greater nor more desirable pos-
is
the sun and glittering shafts of day, but by the session. ...weakness that brings men, un-
It is
aspect and law of nature. armed against fortune by reason, into these end-
Lucretius, Nature of Tilings^ VI less pains and terrors; and they indeed have not
even the present enjoyment of what they dote
11 If one were successful in getting rid of all fear, upon, the possibility of the future loss causing
then we would also be rid of that judicious man- them continual pangs, tremors, and distresses. We
ner of living that is most highly evidenced in those must not provide against the loss of wealth by
who fear the laws, magistrates, poverty, disgrace, poverty, or of friends by refusing all acquaintance,
and pain. or of children by having none, but by morality
Cicero, Disputations, IV, 20 and reason.
Plutarch, Solon
12 Aeneas. Mute and amazM, my hair with terror
stood; 16 The strangeness of things often makes them seem
Fear shrunk my sinews, and congeal’d my blood. formidable when they are not so; and ... by our
Mann’d once again, another plant I try: better acquaintance, even things which are really
That other gush’d with the same sanguine dye. terrible lose much of their frightfulness.
Then, fearing guilt for some offense unknown, Plutarch, Cains Marius
^ith pray’rs and vows and Dryads I atone,
With all the sisters of the woods, and most 17 We are ... in the condition of deer; when they
The God of Arms, who rules the Thracian coast, flee from the huntsmen’s feathers in fright, whith-
 266 Chaper 4. Emotion

er do they turn and in what do they seek refuge as manity, so that too much confidence may not
safe? turn to the nets, and thus they perish
They make him incautious and too much distrust ren-
by confounding things which are objects of fear der him intolerable.
with things that they ought not to fear. Thus we Upon this a question arises: whether it be better
what cases do we fear? In things which
also act: in to be loved than feared or feared than loved? It
are independent of the will. In what cases, on the may be answered that one should wish to be both,
contrary, do we behave with confidence, as if but, because it is difficult to unite them in one
there were no danger? In things dependent on the person, it is much safer to be feared than loved,
will.To be deceived then, or to act rashly, or when, of the two, either must be dispensed with.
shamelessly or with base desire to seek something, Because this is to be asserted in general of men,
does not concern us at all, if we only hit the mark that they are ungrateful, fickle, false, cowardly,
in things which are independent of our will. But covetous, and as long as you succeed they are
where there is death, or exile or pain or infamy, yours entirely; they will offer you their blood,
there we attempt to run away, there we are struck property, life, and children, as is said above, when
with terror. Therefore, as we may expect it to ,
the need is far distant; but when approaches
it

happen with those who err in the greatest matters, they turn against you. And that prince who, rely-
wc convert natural confidence into audacity, des- ing entirely on their promises, has neglected other
peration, rashness, shamelessness; and we convert precautions, is ruined; because friendships that
natural caution and modesty into cowardice and are obtained by payments, and not by greatness
meanness, which arc full of fear and confusion. or nobility of mind, may indeed be earned, but
For if a man should transfer caution to those they arc not secured, and in time of need cannot
things in which the will may be exercised and the be relied upon; and men have less scruple in of-
acts of the will, he will immediately, by willing to fending one who isbeloved than one who is
be cautious, have also the power of avoiding what feared, for love is preserved by the link of obliga-
he chooses: but if he transfer it to the things which tion which, owing
to the baseness of men, is bro-
are not in his power and will, and attempt to ken at every opportunity for their advantage; but
avoid the things which arc in the power of others, fear preserves you by a dread of punishment
he will of necessity fear, he will be unstable, he which never fails.
will be disturbed. For death or pain is not formi- Nevertheless a prince ought to inspire fear in
dable, but the fear of pain or death. such a way that, if he does not win love, he avoids
Epictetus, DiscouTseSy 11, 1 hatred; because he can endure very well being
feared whilst he is not hated, which will always be
18 In this abode of weakness, and in these wicked as long as he abstains from the property of his
days, . . . anjdety has also its use, stimulating us citizens and subjects and from their women.
to seek with keener longing for that security where Machiavelli, Princty XVII
peace is complete and unassailable.
Augustine, City of Gody XIX, 10
21 The thing I fear most is fear. Those who have
. . .

been well drubbed in some battle, and who are

19 Fear is twofold . . one is filial fear, by which a
.

son fears to offend his father or to be separated

still all wounded and bloody
—
you can perfectly
well bring them back to the charge the next day.
from him; the other is servile fear, by which one But those who have conceived a healthy fear of
fears punishment. Now filial fear must increase
when charity increases, even as an effect increases
—
the enemy you would never get them to look
him in the face. Those who arc in pressing fear of
with the increase of its cause. For the more one losing their property, of being exiled, of being sub-
loves a man, the more one fears to offend him and jugated, live in constant anguish, losing even the
to be separated from him. On the other hand ser- capacity to drink, eat, and rest; whereas the poor,
out
vile fear, as regards its servility, is entirely cast
the exiles, and the slaves often live as joyfully as
when charity comes, although the fear of punish- other men. And so many people who, unable to
ment remains as to its substance. This fear . . .
endure the pangs of fear, have hanged themselves,
decreases as charity increases, chiefly as regards
drowned themselves, or leaped to their death,
its act, since the more a man
loves God, the less he
have taught us well that fear is even more unwel-
fears punishment; because he thinks less of
first,
come and unbearable than death itself.
his own good, to which punishment is opposed;
secondly, because, the faster he clings, the more
Montaigne, EssaySy I, 18, Of Fear
confident he is of the reward, and consequently,
the less fearful of punishment. 22 Fear sometimes arises from want of judgment as
Aquinas, Summa Theologicoy II-II, 19, 10 well as from want of courage. All the dangers I
have seen, I have seen with open eyes, with my
20 [The prince] ought to be slow to believe and to sight free, sound, and entire; besides, it takes cour-
act, nor should he himself show fear, but proceed age to be afraid.
in a temperate manner with prudence and hu- Montaigne, Essays, III, 6, Of Coaches
 —
4.2, Fear 1
267

23 He who fears he will suffer, already suffers from 29 Fear is in almost all cases a wretched instrument
his fear. of government, and ought in particular never to
Montaigne, Essays, III, 13, Of Experience be employed against any order of men who have
the smallest pretensions to independency. To at-
tempt to terrify them serves only to irritate their
24 As to the significance of fear or terror, I do not sec
bad humour, and to confirm them in an opposi-
that it can ever be praiseworthy or useful; it like-
tion which more gentle usage perhaps might easi-
wise is not a special passion, but merely an excess
astonishment and fear, which is al- ly induce them either to soften, or to lay aside
of cowardice,
altogether.
ways vicious, just as bravery is an excess of cour-
age which is always good, provided that the end Adam Smith, Wealth of Nations, V, 1

proposed is good; and because the principal cause

of fear is surprise, there is nothing better for get- 30 Fear has been the original parent of superstition,
ting rid of it than to use premeditation and to and every new calamity urges trembling mortals
prepare oneself for all eventualities, the fear of to deprecate the wrath of their invisible enemies.
which may cause it. Gibbon, Decline and Fall of the Roman
Descartes, Passions of the Soul, CLXXVI Empire, XI

25 Being assured that there be causes of all things 31 And now this spell was snapt: once more

that have arrived hitherto, or shall arrive hereaf- Iviewed the ocean green.
impossible for a man, who continually
ter, it is And looked far forth, yet little saw
endeavoureth to secure himself against the evil he Of what had else been seen
fears, and procure the good he desireth, not to be Like One, that on a lonesome road
in a perpetual soficitude of the time to come; so
Doth walk in fear and dread,
that every man, especially those that are
And having once turned round walks on,
overprovident, are in an estate like to that of Pro-
And turns no more his head;
metheus. For as Prometheus (which, interpreted,
Because he knows, a frightful fiend
is the prudent man) was bound to the hill Caucasus,
Doth close behind him tread.
a place of large prospect, where an eagle, feeding
Coleridge, The Rime of the
on his liver, devoured in the day as much as was
Ancient Mariner, 442
repaired in the night: so that man, which looks
too far before him in the care of future time, hath
32 They [the Norsemen] understood in their heart
his heart all the day long gnawed on by fear of
that it was indispensable to be brave; that Odin
death, poverty, or other calamity; and has no re-
would have no favour for them, but despise and
pose, nor pause of his anxiety, but in sleep.
thrust them out, if they were not brave. Consider
Hobbes, Leviathan, I, 12
too whether there is not something in this! It is an
everlasting duty, valid in our day as in that, the
26 True fear comes from faith; false fear comes from
duty of being brave. Valour is still value. The first
doubt. True fear is joined to hope, because it is
duty for a man is still that of subduing Fear. We
born of faith, and because men hope in the God in
must get rid of Fear; we cannot act at all till then.
whom they believe. False fear is joined to despair,
A man’s acts are slavish, not true but specious; his
because men fear the God in whom they have no
very thoughts are false, he thinks too as a slave
belief. The former fear to lose Him; the latter fear
and coward, till he have got Fear under his feet.
to find Him.
Carlyle, The Hero as Divinity
Pascal, Pensees, IV, 262
33 In civilized life ... it has at last become possible
27 Fear was given us as a monitor to quicken our
for large numbers from the cra-
of people to pass
industry, and keep us upon our guard against the
dle to the grave without ever having had a pang
approaches of evil; and therefore to have no ap-
of genuine fear. Many of us need an attack of
prehension of mischief at hand, not to make a just
mental disease to teach us the meaning of the
^timate of the danger, but heedlessly to run into
word. Hence the possibility of so much blindly
it, be the hazard what
it will, without considering
optimistic philosophy and religion.
of what use or consequence it may be, is not the
resolution of
William James, Psychology, XXIV
a rational creature, but brutish fury.
Locke, Some Thoughts Concering 34 Napoleon. There is only one universal passion: fear.
Education, 115 Of all the thousand qualities a man may have, the
only one you will find as certainly in the youngest
28 There no passion so distressing as fear, which
is
drummer boy in my army as in me, is fear. It is
gives us
great pain and makes us appear fear that makes men fight; it is indifference that
contemptible in our own eyes to the last degree.
makes them run away: fear is the mainspring of
Boswell, London Journal (Nov. 18, 1762) war. Fear! I know fear well, better than you, bet-
 268 I
Chapter 4, Emotion

ter than any woman- I once saw a raiment of pounding that mob to death with cannon balk.*
good Sv^Tss soldiers massacred by a mob in Paris \Vcll, what of that? Hasfear en-er held a
because I v^-as afraid to interfere: I felt myself a back from anything he really \'k*anted—or a wtfm-
coviiard to the tips of my toes as I looked on at it. an cither?
Sc%*en months ago I revenged my shame by Shaw, The A far: of

4.3 j
Anger

1 He that is slcrw to anger is bener than the mighty; abuse, ^vhich shall relate to aU cases; Xo one —
and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a shall speak evil of another; and when a man dis-
city. putes with another he shall teach and learn of the
Frtxerbs 16:32 disputant and the company, but he shall abstain
from c^il-speaking; for out of the imprecations
2 Oedipus. And as I joume\'ed I came to the place which men utter against one another, and the
where, as you say, this king met with his death. feminine habit of casting aspersions on one anoth-
Jocasta, I will tell you the whole truih- er, and using foul names, out of words light as air,

\Vhen was near the branching of the crossroads,

I in very deed the greatest enmities and hatreds
going on foot, I was encountered by spring up. For the speaker gratifies his anger,
a herald and a carriage \s’ith a man in it, which is an ungracious clement of his nature; and
just as you tell me. He that led the \s'ay nursing up his wTath b>* the entertainment of evil
and the old man himself ^^'antcd to thrust me thoughts, and exacerbating that part of his soul
out of the road by force. I became angry w'hich was formerly civilized by education, he
and struck the coachman who ^^^s pushing me. lives in a state of sa\-ageness and moroseness, and

WTien the old man saw this he isa-tched his mo- jjaj’S a bitter penalty* for his anger. And in such
ment, cases almostaU men take to saj-ing something ri-
and as I me from the carriage,
passed he struck diculous about their opponent, and there is no
full on the head two pointed goad.
\rith his man who is in the habit of laughing at another
But he was paid in full and presently w*ho does not miss \-irtue and earnestness altogeth-
my stick had struck him baclns-ards from the car er, or lose the better half of greatness.
and he rolled out of it. And then I killed them Plato, Lc-jcs, XI, 934B
all.

Sophocles, Oedipus the King^ 799 5 The man who is angity at the right things and

with the right people, and, further, as he ought,

3 SjTcaiscu gerunds end Gjhpipus. The fortune of our
greatest enemies [the Athenians] having . . . be-
trayed itself, and their disorder being what I ha\'e
described, let us engage in anger, conrinced that,
as bens'cen adversaries, nothing is more legitimate
than to claim to sate the whole urath of one’s soul
in punishing the aggressor, and nothing more
sweet, as the proverb has it, than the vengeance
upon an enemy, which it 'will now be ours to take.
That enemies thev' are and mortal enemies you all
kncr.%’, since the\’ came here to enslave our coim-
try, and if successful had in reserv’C for our men all
that is most dreadful, and for our children and
wives all that is most dishonourable.
Thuej'dides, PelopKmnesiun Bcr, \TI, 68
4 Aihenisji Strenger. Let this, then, be the la>v about
w'hen he ought, and as long as he ought, is
praised. This will be the good-tempered man,
then, since good temper is praised. For the good-
tempered man tends to be unperturbed and not to
be led by passion, but to be angr)* in the manner,
at the things, and for the length of time, that the
rule dictates.
Aristotle, Ethics, 1 125^32
6 Anger seems to listen to argument to some e,xtcnt,
but to mishear it, as do hasty- servants w-ho run out
before thej- have heard the whole of what one
sa)*s, and then muddle the order, or as dogs bark if
there is but a knock at the door, before looking to
see if it is a friend: so anger b>’ reason of the
warmth and hastiness of its nature, though it
hears, does not hear an order, and springs to take
 43, Anger 269

revenge. For argument or imagination informs us Above the brims they force their fiery way;
that we hdvc been insulted or slighted, and anger, Black vapors climb aloft, and cloud the day.
reasoning as it were that anything like this must Virgil, Aeneid, VII
be fought against, boils up straightway,
Aristotle, Ethics, 1 149^25 1 1 He who will not curb his passion, will wish that
undone which his grief and resentment suggested,
7 Anger may be defined as an impulse, accompa- while he violently plies his revenge with unsated
nied by pain, to a conspicuous revenge for a con- rancour. Rage is a short madness. Rule your pas-
spicuous slight directed without justification to- sion, w'hich commands, if it do not obey; do you
wards what concerns oneself or towards what restrain it with a bridle, and with fetters.

concerns one’s friends. a proper definition

If this is Horace, Epistles, I, 2
of anger, it must alwap be felt towards some par-
ticular individual and not ‘man’ in general.
. . . 12 Hesitation is the best cure for anger. Seek this

It must be felt because the other has done or in- concession from anger right away, not to gain its
tended to do something to him or one of his pardon, but that it may evidence some discrimi-
friends. It must alwa^’s be attended by a certain nation. The first blow's of anger arc heavy, but if it

pleasure — that which from the expectation

arises wails, it will think again. Do not try to destroy it

of revenge. For since nobody aims at what he immediately. Attacked piecemeal, it will be en-
thinks he cannot attain, the angr>' man is aiming tirely overcome.
at what he can attain, and the belief that you will Seneca, On Anger, II, 29
attain your aim is pleasant. It is also attend-
. . .

ed by a certain pleasure because the thoughts
dwell upon the act of vengeance, and the images
then called up cause pleasure, like the images
called up in dreams.
Aristotle, Rhetoric, 1378*31
8 Enmity is anger waiting for a chance for revenge.
Cicero, Disputations, IV, 9
9 She [Armata] flew to rage; for now the snake
possess’d
Her vital parts, and poison’d all her breast;
She raves, she runs with a distracted pace.
And fills with horrid howls the public place.
And, as young striplings whip the top for sport,
On the smooth pavement of an empty court;
The wooden engine flics and whirls about,
Admir’d, uith clamors, of the beardless rout;
They lash aloud; each other they provoke,
And lend their little souls at cv’ry stroke:
Thus fares the queen; and thus her fury' blows
Amidst the crowd, and kindles as she goes.
13 Marcius alone, himself, was neither stunned nor
humiliated. In mien, carriage, and countenance
he bore the appearance of entire composure, and,
while all his friends were full of distress, seemed
the only man that w'as not touched w'ith his mis-
fortune. Not that either reflection taught him, or
gentleness of temper made it natural for him, to
submit; he was w'holly possessed, on the contrary,
with a profound and decpscatcd fury, which pass-
es with many for no pain at all. And pain, it is
true, transmuted, so to say, by its ow'n fiery heat
into anger, loses every* appearance of depression
and feebleness; the angry man makes a show of
energy, as the man in a high fever docs of natural
heat, while, in fact, all this action of soul is but
mere diseased palpitation, distension, and inflam-
ation.
Plutarch, Conolanus
14 If any have offended against thee, consider first:
What is my relation to men, and that we arc
made for one another. . . .

Nor yet content, she strains her malice more, Second, consider w-hat kind of men they arc
And adds new ills to those contriv’d before: . .and particularly, under what compulsions in
.

She flics the town, and, mixing with a throng respect of opinions they arc; and as to their acts,
Of madding matrons, bears the bride along, consider w’ith what pride they do what they do.
Wand’ring thro’ woods and wilds, and devious Third, that if men do rightly what they do, we
ways.
ought not to be displeased; but if they do not
And with these arts the Trojan match delays. right, it is plain that they do so involuntarily and
Virgil, /Iwrid,, VII in ignorance. . . .

Fourth, consider that thou akso docst many

10 Aghast he [Tumus] wak’d; and, starting from his things wrong, and that thou art a man like others;
bed, and even if thou dost abstain from certain faults,

Cold sweat, in clammy drops, his limbs o’ersp- still thou hast the disposition to commit them,
rcad. though citlicr through cowardice, or concern
“Arms! arms!” he cries: “my sword and shield about reputation, or some such mean motive, thou
prepare!” dost abstain from such faults.
He breathes defiance, blood, and mortal war. Fifth, consider tliat thou dost not even under-
So, when with crackling flames a caldron fries, stand whetJjcr men arc doing wrong or not, for
The bubbling waters from the bottom rise: many things arc done with a certain reference to
 270 I
Chapter 4. Emotion

circumstances. And in short, a man must learn a The kind Master said: *‘Son, now see the souls of
great deal to enable him to pass a correct judge- those whom anger overcame; and also I would
ment on another man’s acts. have thee to believe for certain,

Sixth, consider when thou art much vexed or that there are people underneath the w^atcr, who
grieved, that man’s life is only a moment, and sob, and make it bubble at the surface; as thy
after a short time we are all laid out dead. eye may tell thee, whichever way it turns.
Seventh, that not men’s acts which disturb
it is Fixed in the slime, they say: ‘Sullen W'cre we in
us, for those acts have their foundation in men’s the sweet air, that is gladdened by the Sun, car-
ruling principles, but it is our own opinions which rying lazy smoke within our hearts;
disturb us. . . . now lie we sullen here in the black mire.’ This
Eighth, considerhow much more pain is hymn they gurgle in their throats, for they can-
brought on us by the anger and vexation caused not speak it in full words.”
by such acts than by the acts themselves. . . . Dante, Inferno, VII, 100
Ninth, consider that a good disposition is invin-
cible, if it be genuine, and not an affected smile 18 When I am angryI can write, pray, and preach
and acting a part- For what will the most violent well, for then my
whole temperament is quick-
man do to thee, if thou continuest to be of a kind ened, my understanding sharpened, and all mun-
disposition towards him, and if, as opportunity of- dane vexations and temptations depart.
fers, thou gently admonishest him and calmly cor-
Luther, Table Talk, H319
rcctcst his errors at the very time when he is trying
to do thee harm. . . .

19 Aristotle says that anger sometimes serves as a

Remember these nine rules, as if thou hadst re- weapon for virtue and valor. That is quite likely;
ceived them as a gift from the Muses, and begin at
yet^usc who deny it answer humorously that it is
last to be a man while thou lives.
a weapon whose use is novel. For we move other
Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, XI, 18
weapons, this one moves us; our hand does not
guide it, it guides our hand; it holds us, we do not
15 Anger does not arise except on account of some hold it.
pain inflicted, and unless there be the desire and
Montaigne, Essaj^s, II, 31, Of Anger
hope of revenge. ... If the person who inflicted
the injury excel very much, anger does not ensue,
20 Norfolk- Stay, my lord.
but only sorrow.
Aquinas, Summa
And let your reason with your choler question
Theologtca, I-II, 46, 1
What *tis you go about. To climb steep hills
Requires slow pace at first. Anger is like
16 Unmerited contempt more than anything else is a
provocative of anger. Consequently deficiency of
A full hot horse, who being allow’d his way,
Self-mettle tires him.
littleness in the person with whom we are angry
tends to increase our anger, insofar as
Shakespeare, Hen^ VIII, I, i, 129
it adds to
the unmeritedness of being despised. For just as
the higher a man’s position is, the more unde- 21 To se^k to extinguish anger utterly is but a brav-
servedly he despised, so the lower the ery of the Stoics.
is it is less
reason he has for despising. Thus a nobleman is
Bacon, Of Anger
angry if he be insulted by a peasant; a wise man,
if by a fool; a master, if by a servant. 22 Anger is a species of hatred or aversion which
. . ,

Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I-II, 47, 4 we have towards those who have done some evil to
or have tried to injure not any chance person but
17 We crossed the circle, to the other bank, near a more particularly ourselves. Thus it has the same
fount, that boils and pours down through a content as indignation, and all the more so in that
cleft,which it has formed. it is founded on an action which affects us, and for

The water was darker far than perse; and we, ac- which we desire to avenge ourselves, for this desire

companying the dusky waves, entered down by almost always accompanies it; and it is directly
a strange path. opposed to gratitude, as indignation is to favour.
This dreary streamlet makes a Marsh, that is But it is incomparably more violent than these
named Styx, when it has descended to the foot three other passions, because the desire to repel
of the grey malignant shores. harmful things and to revenge oneself, is the most
And I, who stood intent on looking, saw muddy persistent of all desires.

people in that bog, all naked and with a look of Descartes, Passions of the Sml, CXCIX
anger.
They were smiting each other, not with hands 23 We can distinguish two kinds of anger: the one
only, but with head, and with chest, and with which is very hasty and manifests itself very much
feet; maiming one another with their teeth, on the surface, but which yet has Uttlc effect and
piece by piece. can be easily appeased; the other which does not
 4,4, Desire
|
271

show itself so much to begin with, but which all away by this kind of anger; for the injuries appear
the more powerfully gnaws the heart and has so much the greater as pride causes us to esteem
more dangerous effects. Those who have much ourselves more, and likewise the more esteem the
goodness and much love arc most subject to the good things which they remove; which last we
first, for it docs not proceed from a profound ha- value so much the more, as our soul is the more
tred, but from an instant aversion, which surprises feeble and base, because they depend on others.
them, because, being impelled to imagine that all Descartes, Passions of the Soul, CCI-CCII
things should go in the way which they judge to
be tet, so soon as it happens otherwise, they won- 24 Betty. They arc gone, sir, in great anger.
der and frequently arc displeased, even although Petulant. Enough, let ’em trundle. Anger helps
the matter docs not affect them personally, be- complexion, saves paint.
cause, having much affection, they interest them- Congreve, Way of the World, I, ix

selves for those whom they love in the same way

as for themselves. . . . 25 I was angry with my friend:
The other kind of anger in which hatred and I told my my wrath did end.
wrath,
sadness predominate, is not so apparent at first if I was angr)' with my foe:
itbe not perhaps that it causes the face to grow I told it not, my uTath did grow.
pale; but its strength is little by little increased by Blake, A Poison Tree
the agitation of an ardent desire to avenge oneself
excited in the blood, which, being mingled with 26 If you strike a child, take care that you strike it in

the bile which is sent towards the heart from the anger, even at the risk of maiming it for fife, A
lower part of the liver and spleen, excites there a blow in cold blood neither can nor should be for-
xtry keenand ardent heat. And as it is the most given.
who have most gratitude, it is those
generous souls Shaw, Man and Superman, Maxims for
who have most pride, and who arc most base and Revolutionists
infirm, who most allow themselves to be carried

4.4 Desire

I Socrates.In every one of us there arc Uvo guiding
and ruling principles which lead us whither they
will; one is the natural desire of pleasure, the
other is an acquired opinion which aspires after
the best; and these two arc sometimes in harmony
and then again at war, and sometimes the one,
sometimes the other conquers. When opinion by
the help of reason leads us to the best, the con-
quering principle is called temperance; but when
desire, whichdevoid of reason, rules in us and
is
drags us to pleasure, that power of misrule is
called excess. Now excess has many names, and
roany members, and many forms, and any of
^esc forms when very marked gives a name, nei-
ther honourable nor creditable, to the bearer of
the name. The desire of eating, for example,
which gets the better of the higher reason and the
other desires, is called gluttony, and he who is
possessed by it is called a glutton; the tyrannical
desire of drink, which inclines the possessor of the
desire to drink, hiis a name which is only too ob-
and there can be as little doubt by what
vious,
name any other appetite of the same family would
—
be called; it will be the name of that which hap-
pens to be dominant. And now I think that you
will perceive the drift of my discourse; but as ev-
ery spoken word is in a manner plainer than the
unspoken, I had better say further that the irra-
tional desire which overcomes the tendency of
opinion towards right, and is led away to the en-
joyment of beauty, and especially of personal
beauty, by the desires which arc her own kin-
 —
272 Chapter 4. Emotion

—
dred that supreme desire, I say, which by lead- self, nor, as I should imagine, in any one else?
the force of passion is rein-
2 ing conquers and by Plato, Republic^ IV, 439A
forced, from this very force, receiving a name, is
called love.
3 Athenian Stranger. The class of men is small—they
Plato, Phatdms, 237B
must have been rarely gifted by nature, and
—
trained by education who, when assailed by
SocraUs. Might a man be thirsty, and yet unwilling w'ants and desires, are able to hold out and ob-
to drink? serve moderation, and when they might make a
Yes, he [Glaucon] said, it constantly happens. great deal of money are sober in their wishes, and
And in such a case what is one to say? Would prefer a moderate to a large gain. But the mass of
you not say that there was something in the soul mankind are the very opposite; their desires are
bidding a man to drink, and something else for- unbounded, and when they might gain in moder-
bidding him, which is other and stronger than the ation they prefer gains without limit.
principle which bids him?
should say so.
Plato, Laws, XI, 9I8B
I
And the forbidding principle is derived from
reason, and thatwhich bids and attracts proceeds 4 These two at all events appear to be sources of
from passion and disease? movement: appetite and mind (if one may ven-
Clearly. ture to regard imagination as a kind of thinking;
Then we may fairly assume that they are two, for many men follow their imaginations contrary
and that they differ from one another; the one toknowledge, and in all animals other than man
with which a man reasons, we may call the ratio- there is no thinking or calculation but only imagi-
nal principle of the soul, the other, with which he nation).
loves and hungers and thirsts and feels the flulter- Both of these then are capable of originating
ings of' any other desire, may be termed the irra- localmovement, mind and appetite: (i) mind,
tional or appetitive, the ally of sundry pleasures that which calculates means to an end, i.c.
is,

and satisfactions? mind practical (it differs from mind speculative in

Yes, he said, we may fairly assume them to be the character of its end); while (2 ) appetite is in
different. every form of it relative to an end: for that which
Then let us finally determine that there arc two is the object of appetite is the stimulant of mind
principles existing in the soul. And what of pas- practical; and that which is last in the process of
sion, or spirit? Is it a third, or akin to one of the thinking is the beginning of the action. It follows

preceding? that there is a justification for regarding these two

1 should be inclined to say —
akin to desire. as the sources of movement, i.e. appetite and
Well, I said, there is a story which I remember practical thought; for the object of appetite starts
to have heard, and in which I put faith. The stor>' a movement and as a result of that thought gives
is, coming up
that Leontius, the son of Aglaion, rise tomovement, the object of appetite being to it
one day from the Piraeus, under the north wall on a source of stimulation. So too when imagination
the outside, observed some dead bodies lying on originates movement, it necessarily involves appe-
the ground at the place of execution. He felt a tite.

desire to see them, and also a dread and ab- That which moves therefore is a single faculty
horrence of them; for a time he struggled and cov- and the faculty of appetite; for if there had been
ered his eyes, but at length the desire got the bet- —
two sources of movement mind and appetite
ter of him; and forcing them open, he ran up to they would have produced movement in virtue of
the dead bodies, saying, Look, ye wretches, take some common character. As it is, mind is never
your fill of the fair sight. found producing movement without appetite (for
I have heard the story myself, he said. wish is a form of appetite; and when movement is
The moral of the tale is, that anger at times produced according to calculation it is also ac-
goes to war with desire, as though they were two cording to wish), but appetite can originate move-
distinct things. ment contrary to calculation, for desire is a form
Yes; that is the meaning, he said. of appetite.
And are there not many other cases in which
Aristotle, On the Soul, 433*8
we observe that when a man’s desires violently
prevail over his reason, he reviles himself, and is
angry at the violence within him, and that in this 5 The primary objects of desire and of thought are
the same. For the apparent good is the object of
struggle, which is like the 5 truggle of factions in a
State, his spirit is on the $ide of his reason but — appetite, and the real good is the primary object
of rational wish. But desire is consequent on opin-
for the passionate or spirited element to take part
ion rather than opinion on desire; for the thinking
with the desires when reason decides that she
should not be opposed, is a sort of thing which I is the starting-point.

believe that you never observed occurring in your- Aristotle, Metaphysics, 1072^27

6 The avarice of mankind is insatiable; at one time
two obols was pay enough; but now, when this
sum has become customary, men always want
more and more without end; for it is of the nature
of desire not to be satisfied, and most men live
only for the gratification of it.
Aristotle, Politics,
7 That which all desire is good, as we have said; and
so, the more a thing is desired, the better it is.
Aristotle, Rhetoric, 1365^1
8 Whilst what we crave is wanting, it seems to tran-
scend all the rest; then, when it has been gotten,
we crave something else, and ever does the same
thirst of life possess us, cis we gape for
mouthed.
Lucretius, Nature of Things, III
9 To you everything appears small that you possess:
to me all that I have appears great. Your desire is
insatiable: mine is satisfied. To (children) who
put their hand into a narrow-necked earthen ves-
sel and bring out figs and nuts, this happens; if
they fill the hand, they cannot take it out, and
then they cry. Drop a few of them and you will
draw things out. And do you part with your de-
sires; do not desire many things and you will have
what you want.
Epictetus, Discourses, III, 9
10 There is no profit from the things which are val-
ued and eagerly sought to those who have ob-
tained them; and to those who have not yet ob-
tained them there is an imagination that when
these things are come, all that is good will come
with them; then, when they are come, the feverish
feeling is the same, the tossing to and fro is the
same, the satiety, the desire of things which are
not present; for freedom is acquired not by the
full possession of the things which are desired, but
by removing the desire.
Epictetus, Discourses, IV,
1 1 Remember you must behave as at a banquet.
that
Is anything brought round to you? Put out your
hand and take a moderate share. Does it pass by
you? Do not stop it. Is it not yet come? Do not
yearn in desire toward it, but wait till it reaches
you. So with regard to children, wife, office, rich-
es; and you will some time or other be worthy
to
feastwith the gods. And if you do not so much as
take the things which are set before you, but are
able even to forego them, then you will not only
be worthy to feast with the gods, but to rule with
them
also.
Epictetus, Encheiridion,
12 Theophrastus, in his
comparison of bad
— —
4 A. Desire 273
such a comparison as one would make in accor-
dance with the common notions of mankind
says, like a true philosopher, that the offences
which are committed through desire are more
blameable than those which are committed
through anger. For he who is excited by anger
1267M2 seems to turn away from reason with a certain
pain and unconscious contraction; but he who of-
fends through desire, being overpowered by plea-
sure, seems to be in a manner more intemperate
and more womanish in his offences. Rightly then,
and in a way worthy of philosophy, he said that
the offence which is committed with pleasure is
more blameable than that which is committed
with pain; and on the whole the one is more like a
person who hsis been first wronged and through
it open- pain is compelled to be angry; but the other is
moved by his own impulse to do wrong, being car-
ried towards doing something by desire.
Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, II, 10
13 All things in their own way are inclined by appe-
tite towards good, but in different ways. Some are
inclined to good by their natural inclination,
without knowledge, as plants and inanimate bod-
ies. Such inclination towards good is called a nat-
ural appetite. Others, again, are inclined towards
good, but with some knowledge: not that they
know the aspect of goodness, but that they know
some particular good; as the sense, which knows
the sweet, the white, and so on. The inclination
which follows this knowledge is called a sensitive
appetite. Other things, again, have an inclination
towards good, but with a knowledge whereby they
know the aspect of good itself; this is proper to the
intellect. This is most perfectly inclined towards
good; not, indeed, as if it were merely guided by
another towards good, like things devoid of
knowledge, nor towards some particular good
only, as things which have only sensitive knowl-
edge, but as inclined towards good universal in
itself. Such inclination is termed will.
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 59, 1
1
14 Between two foods, distant and appetising in like
measure, death by starvation would ensue ere a
free man put either to his teeth.
So would a lamb stand still between two cravings
of fierce wolves, in equipoise of dread; so would
a dog stand still between two hinds.
Dante, Paradiso, IV, 1
15 Desires are either natural and necessary, like eat-
ing and drinking; or natural and not necessary,
like intercourse with females; or neither natural
nor necessary. Of this last type are nearly all those
of men; they are all superfluous and artificial. For
XV it is marvelous how little Nature needs to be con-
tent, how little she has left us to desire. The dress-
acts ings of our cooking have nothing to do with her
 274 I
Chapter 4, Emotion

ordaining. The Stoics say that a man could stay To keep obliged faith unforfeited!
alive on one olive a day. The delicac)' of our wines Gratiano. TTiat ever holds: w'ho riseth from a
isno part of her teaching, nor the embellishments feast

that we add to our amorous appetites. . . . With that keen appetite that he sits dowm?
These extraneous desires, which ignorance of Where is the horse that doth untread again
the good and a false opinion have insinuated into His tedious measures with the unbated fire

us, arc in such great number that they drive out That he did pace them first? All things that arc,
almost all the natural ones; neither more nor less Arc with more spirit chased than enjoy’d.
than if there were such a great number of foreign- How like a younker or a prodigal
ers in a city that they put out the natural inhabit- The scarfed bark puts from her native bay,
ants, or extinguished their ancient authority and Hugg’d and embraced by the strumpet wind!
power, completely usurping it and taking posses- How like the prodigal doth she return,
sion of it. With ovcr-w'cathcr’d ribs and ragged sails,
Montaigne, Essays, II, 12, Lean, rent and beggar’d by the strumpet wind!
Apology' for Raymond Sebond Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, II, vi, 5

19 Troilus. Thisthe monstruosity* in love, lady, that

is
16 That passion which they say is produced by idle-
the will is infinite and the execution confined,
ness in the hearts of young men, although it that the desire is boundless and the act a slave to
makes its way with leisure and a measured step, limit.
vcr>' evidently show’s, to those who have tried to Shakespeare, Troilus and Cressida, III, ii, 87
oppose its power of that conversion
strength, the
and alteration that our judgment suffers. 20 The passion of desire is an agitation of the soul
I attempted at one time to keep tny'seU tensed caused by the spirits which dispose it to wash for
to withstand it and beat it down: for I am so far the future the things which it represents to itself as
from being one of those who invite vices, that I do agreeable. Thus we do not only desire the pres-
not even follow ilicm, unless they drag me away. I ence of the absent good, but also the conscn’ation
would feel it come to life, grow*, and increase in of the present,and further, the absence of evil,
spite of my resistance, and finally seize me, alive both of that which w-e already have, and of that
and w’atching, and possess me, to such an extent which we believe we might experience in time to
that, as from drunkenness, the picture of things come,
began to seem to me other than usual. I would see Descartes, Passions of the Soul, LXXXVl
the ad\'antagcs of the object of my desire visibly
expanding and growling, and increasing and 21 That which men desire they are also said to love,
swelling from the breath of my imagination; the and to hate those things for which they have aver-
difficulties of my undertaking growang easy' and sion. So that desire and lov’c arc the same thing;
smootli, my and my conscience w'ithdraw-
reason sav*e that by desire, we al way’s signify the absence
ing. But, this fire having vanished
all in an instant by lore, most commonly the presence
of the object;
like a flash of lightning, I would sec my soul re- of the same. So also by’ aversion, wc signify the ab-
gain anollicr kind of sight, another state, and an- sence; and by hate, the presence of the object.
other judgment; the difficulties of the retreat Hobbes, Leviathan, I, 6
would seem to me great and invincible, and the
same things would appear in a light and aspect 22 Continual success in obtaining those things which
very’ different from that in w'hich the heat of de- a man from time to time desircth, that is to say,
sire had presented them to me. continual prospering, is that men call feVtdfy; I

Montaigne, Essays, 11, 12,

mean the felicity’ of this life. For there is no such
thing as perpetual tranquillity of mind, while wc
Apology’ for Raymond Sebond
live here; because life itself is but motion, and can
never be w’ithout desire, nor vrithout fear, no more
17 It is an amusing conception to imagine a mind
than without sense,
exactly balanced between two equal desires. For it
Hobbes, Leviathan, I, 6
is indubitable that it will never decide, since incli-
naiion and choice imply inequality in s'alue; and
23 Elmira, The declaration is extremely’ gallant, but,
if W’c w’ere placed between the bottle and the ham
to say the truth, a good deal surprising. Mc-
it is
with an equal appetite for drinking and for eat-
thinks you ought to have fortified your mind bet-
ing, there w'ould doubtless be no solution but to
ter, and to have reasoned a little upon a design of
die of thirst and of hunger.
this nature. A devotee as you are, whom every one
Montaigne, II, 14, How Our Mind speaks of as
Tartuffe. Ah! being a devotee does not make me
18 Salanno, O, ten times faster Venus’ pigeons fly the less a man; and w’hcn one comes to view your
To seal love’s bonds new-made, than they are celestial charms, the heart surrenders, and reasons
w’ont no more. I know, that such language from me.
 4 A. Desire 275

seems somewhat strange; but, madam, after all, I ture, seems to have no limit or certain boundary'.
am not an angel, and should you condemn the Adam Smith, Wealth of Nations, I, 11
declaration I make, you must lay the blame upon
your attractive charms. 30 The desire of a man woman is not directed
for a
Moliere, Tartuffe, III, iii at her because she human being, but because
is a
she is a woman. That she is a human being is of
24 We do not desire a thing because we adjudge it to no concern to him.
be good, but, on the contrary, we call it good be- Kant, Lecture at Kdnigsberg (1775)
cause we desire it, and consequently everything to
which we are averse we call evil. Each person, 31 Sooner murder an infant in its cradle than nurse
therefore,according to his affect judges or esti- unacted desires.
mates what is good and what is evil, what is better Blake, Marriage of Heaven and Hell, 10
and what is worse, and what is the best and what
is Thus the covetous man thinks plenty
the worst. 32 The evening arrived; the boys took their places.
of money to be the best thing and poverty the The master, in his cook’s uniform, stationed him-
worst The ambitious man desires nothing like selfat the copper; his pauper assistants ranged
glory, and on the other hand dreads nothing like themselves behind him; the gruel was served out;
shame. To the envious person, again, nothing is and a long grace was said over the short com-
more pleasant than the misfortune of another, mons. The gruel disappeared; the boys whispered
and nothing more disagreeable than the prosperi- each other, and winked at Oliver, while his ne.xt
ty of another. And so each person according to his neighbors nudged him. Child as he was, he was
affect judges a thing to be good or evil, useful or desperate with hunger, and reckless with misery.
useless. He rose from the table; and advancing to the
Spinoza, Ethics, III, Prop. 39, Schol. master, basin and spoon in hand, said: somewhat
alarmed at his own temerity:
25 Desire is the essence itself of man insofar as it is “Please, sir, I want some more.”
conceived as determined to any action by any one The master was a fat, healthy man; but he
of his affections. turned very pale. He gazed in stupefied astonish-
Spinoza, Ethics, III, Prop. 59, Def. 1 ment on the small rebel for some seconds, and
then clung for support to the copper. The assis-
26 That desire is a state of uneasiness, every one who tants were paralysed with wonder; the boys with
reflects on himself will quickly find. Who is there fear.
that has not felt in desire what the wise man says “What!” said the master at length, in a faint
of hope, (which not much different from it),
is voice.
that it being “deferred makes the heart sick”; and “Please, sir,” replied Oliver, “I want some
that still proportionable to the greatness of the more,”
desire, which sometimes raises the uneasiness to The master aimed a blow at Oliver’s head with
that pitch, that it makes people cry out, “Give me the ladle; pinioned him in his arms; and shrieked
children,” give me the thing desired, “or I die.” aloud for the beadle.
Life itself, and all its enjoyments, is a burden can- Dickens, Oliver Twist, II
not be borne under the lasting and unremoved
pressure of such an uneasiness. 33 Ah, Love! could you and I with Him conspire
Locke, Concerning Human To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Understanding, Bk. 11, XXI, 32 Would not we shatter it to bits and then —
Remold it nearer to the Heart’s Desire!
27 The Stoical Scheme of supplying our Wants, by FitzGerald, Rubaiyat, XCIX
lopping off our Desires, is like cutting off our Feet
when we want Shoes. 34 Mendoza. There are two tragedies in life. One is to
Swift, Thoughts on Various Subjects lose your heart’s desire. The other is to gain it.
Shaw, Man and Superman, IV
28 Eveiy^ desire is a viper in the bosom, who, while he

was chill, was harmless; but when warmth gave 35 Lady. Havent you noticed that people always ex-
him strength, exerted it in poison. aggerate the value of the things they havent got?
Johnson, Letter to James Boswell (Dec, 8, 1763) The poor think they need nothing but riches to be
quite happy and good. Everybody worships truth,
29 The desire of food is limited in every man by the purity, unselfishness, for the same reason: because
nanow capacity of the human stomach; but the they have no experience of them. Oh, if they only
dcarc of the conveniences and ornaments of knew!
building, dress, equipage, and household furni- Shaw, The ALan of Destiny
 4.5 I
Hope and Despair

1 And Job spake, and said, 4 OdysseW. Then Sisyphos in torment I beheld
Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the being roustabout to a tremendous boulder.
night in which it was said, There is a man child Leaning with both arms braced and legs driving,
conceived. he heaved it toward a height, and almost over,
Let that day be darkness; let not God regard it but then a Power spun him round and sent
from above, neither let the light shine upon it. the cruel boulder bounding again to the plain.
Let darkness and the shadow of death stain it; Whereon the man bent down again to toil,
let a cloud dwell upon it; let the blackness of the dripping sweat, and the dust rose overhead.
day terrify it. Homer, Odjssgf, XI, 594
As darkness seize upon it; let
for that night, let
it not be joined unto the days of the year, let it not
5 Atkoiians. Hope, danger’s comforter, may be in-
come into the number of the months. dulged in by those who have abundant resources,
Lo, let that night be solitary, let no joyful voice
ifnot without loss at all events without ruin; but
come therein.
itsnature is to be extravagant, and those who go
*
Let them curse it that curse the day, who arc so far as to put their all upon the venture see it in
ready to raise up their mourning. its true colours only when they are ruined.
Let the stars of the twilight thereof be dark; let
Thucydides, Peloponnesian Wary V, 103
it look for light, but have none; neither let it see

the dawning o\ the day'.

Because it shut not up the doors of my mother’s 6 AeneaS- “Endure, and conquer! Jove will soon dis-

womb, nor hid sorrow from mine eyes. pose

Why died I not from the womb? why did I not To future good our past and present woes.
give up the ghost when came out of the belly?
I With me, the rocks of Scylla you have tried;
Why did the knees prevent me? or why the Th’ inhuman Cyclops and his den defied.

breasts that should suck?

I What greater ills hereafter can you bear?

For now should I have lain still and been quiet, Resume your courage and dismiss your care,

I should have slept: then had I been at rest, An hour will come, with pleasure to relate

With kings and counsellors of the earth, which Your sorrows past, as benefits of Fate.

built desolate places for themselves; Thro’ various hazards and events, we move
Orwith princes that had gold, who filled their To Latium and the realms foredoom’d by Jove.
houses with silver: Call’d to the seat (the promise of the skies)
Or as an hidden untimely birth I had not been; Where Trojan kingdoms once again may rise,
as infants which never saw light. Endure the hardships of your present state;
Live, and reserve yourselves for better fate,”
Job 3:2-16 These words he spoke, but spoke not from his
heart;
2 My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle, and His outward smiles conceal’d his inward smart.
are spent without hope. Virgil, Aenetd, I

7 And he left them, and went out of the city into

My God, myGod, why hast thou forsaken me? Bethany; and he lodged there.
why art thou so far from helping me, and from the Now in the morning as he returned into the
words of my roaring? city, he hungered.

O my God, I cry in the daytime, but thou hear-
est not; and in the night season, and am not silent.
But thou art holy, O thou that inhabitest the
praises of Israel.
Our fathers trusted in thee: they trusted,
thou didst deliver them.
They cried unto thee, and were delivered: they
trusted in thee, and were not confounded.
But I am a worm, and no man; a reproach of
men, and despised of the people.
Psaim 22:1-6
And when he saw a fig tree in the way, he came
to it, and found nothing thereon, but leaves only,
and said unto it. Let no fruit grow on thee hence-
forward for ever. And presently the fig tree with-
and ered away.
And when the disciples saw it, they marvelled,
saying, How soon is the fig tree withered away!
Matthew 21:17-20
8 And about the ninth hour Jesus cried wdth a loud
voice, saying, Eli, Eli, la-ma sa-bach-tha-nT? that

276
 4.5, Hope and Despair 277

9 My God, my God, why hast thou forsak- quently a sin which, first and of its very nature,
is to say,
en me? includes turning aw'ay from God, is most grievous
Matthew 27:46 among mortal sins.
Now unbelief, despair and hatred of God are
For we are saved by hope: but hope that is seen is opposed to the theological virtues; and among
not hope: for what a man sccth, why doth he yet them, if we compare hatred of God and unbelief
hope for? to despair, we shall find that, in themselves, that

But if we hope for that we see not, then do we is, in respect of their proper species, they are more
with patience wait for it. . . .
grievous. For unbelief is due to a man not believ-
What shall we then say to these things? If God ing God’s own truth, while the hatred of God
be for us, who can be against us? arises from man’s will being opposed to God’s
He that spared not his own Son, but delivered goodness itself; but despair consists in a man ceas-
him up for us all, how shall he not w'ith him also ing to hope for a share of God’s goodness. Hence it
freely give us all things? . . . is clear that unbelief and hatred of God are

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? against God as He is in Himself, while despair is
shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or against Him according as His good is shared in by
famine, or nakedness, or peril, or s^vo^d? us.Therefore strictly speaking it is a more griev-
12
As it is written, For thy sake w'c are killed all ous sin to disbelieve God’s truth or to hate God
the day long; we are accounted as sheep for the than not to hope to receive glory from Him.
10
slaughter. If, however, despair be compared to the other

Nay, in all these things we are more than con- two sins from man’s point of view, then despair is
querors through him that loved us. more dangerous, since hope Nvithdraws us from
For I am
persuaded, that neither death, nor evils and induces us to seek for good things, so that

life, nor artgels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor when hope is given up, men rush headlong into
things present, nor things to come. sin, and are drawn aw'ay from good works.

Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, Aquinas, Summa Theologica, II-II, 20, 3
shall be able to separate us from the love of God,
which is in Christ Jesus our Lord. The good Master to me: “Thou askest not what
Romans 8:24-39 spirits arc these thou seest? I wish thee to know,
before thou goest farther,
The spedes of a passion is taken from the object. that they sinned not; and though they have merit,
Now, in the object of hope, we may note four con- it suffices not: for they had not Baptism, which
ditions. First, that it is something good, since, is the portal of the faith that thou believest;
properly speaking, hope regards only the good; in and seeing they were before Christianity, they
this respect, hope differs from fear, which regards w'orshipped not God aright; and of these am I
evil. Secondly, that it is future, for hope docs not myself.
11
regard that which is present and already pos- For such defects, and for no other fault, are we
sessed. In this respect, hope differs from joy which lost; and only in so far afflicted, that without
regards a present good. Thirdly, that it must be hope we live in desire.”
something arduous and difficult to obtain, for we Great sadness took me at the heart on hearing
do not speak of any one hoping for trifles, which this; because I knew men of much worth, who
are in one’s power to have at any time; in this in that Limbo were suspense.
respect, hope differs from desire or cupidity, IV, 31
Dante, Inferno,
which regards the future good absolutely. There-
fore it belongs to the concupiscible, while hope
^^x'TIopie,” said I, “is a certain expectation of future
belongs to the irascible part. Fourthly, that this
difficult thing is something possible to obtain, for
glory, the product of divine grace and precedent
merit.”
one docs not hope for that which one cannot get
at all; and, in this respect, hope differs from de- Dante, Paradiso, XXV, 67
spair. It is therefore evident that hope differs from
desire, asthe irascible passions differ from the 14 May heaven bring relief for all this sorrow!
concupiscible. For this reason, moreover, hope There’s ground for hope, for such is heaven’s way;
presupposes desire, just as all the irascible passions For I have seen on many a misty morrow
presuppose the passions of the concupiscible part. Following oft a merry summer’s day,
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I-II, 40, 1
And after winter, comes along the May.
’Tis known, and vouched for by authorities,
Every mortal sin takes its principal malice and That storms are presages of victories.
gravity from the fact of its turning away from Chaucer, Troilus and Cressida, III, 152
God, for if it w’ere possible to turn to a changeable
good, even inordinately, without turning away Now enters despair,
15 which is despair of the mercy
from God, it would not be a mortal sin. Conse- of God, and comes sometimes of too extravagant
 278 Chapter 4, Emotion

sorrows and sometimes of too great fear: for the Does arbitrate th’event, my nature is

much sin that

victim imagines that he has done so That I encline to hope, rather then fear,
itwill avail him not to repent and forgo sin; be- And gladly banish squint suspicion.
cause of which fear he abandons his heart to every Milton, Comuf, 410
kind of sin, as Saint Augustine says. This damna-
ble sin, if it be indulged to the end, is called sin-
21 Satan. Me miscrablcl which way shall I file
ning in the Holy Ghost. This horrible sin is so and
Infinite wrauth, infinite despaire?
dangerous that, as for him that is so desperate, my am
Which way I flie is Hell; self Hell;
there is no felony or sin that he hesitates to do; as
And in the lowestdeep a lower deep
was well showed by Judas. Certainly, then, above Still threatning to devour me opens wide.
all other sins, this sin is most displeasing to Christ,
To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heav’n.
and most hateful.
Milton, Paradise Lost, IV, 73
Chaucer, Canterhuiy Talcs: Parson’s Talc

22 Samson. Promise was that I

16 Everything that is done in the world is done by Should Israel from yoke deliver;
Philistian
hope. No husbandman would sow one grain of Ask for this great Deliverer now, and find him
com if he hoped not it would grow up and become Eyeless in Gaza at the Mill with slaves,
seed; no bachelor would marry a wife if he hoped
Himself in bonds under Philistian yoke.
not to have children; no merchant or tradesman
Milton, Samson Agonistes, 38
would set himself to work if he did not hope to
reap benefit thereby.
Luther, Table Talk, H298
23 Samson. O
loss of sight, of thee I most complain!
Blind among enemies, O
worse then chains,
Dungeon, or beggery, or decrepit age!
17 Richmond. True hope is swift and flies with Light the prime work of God to me is extinct,
swallow’s wings; And all her various objects of delight
Kings it makes gods and meaner creatures kings. Annull’d, which might in part my grief have
Shakespeare, Richard III, V, ii, 23 cas’d,
Inferiour to the vilestnow become
18 Hope a disposition of the soul to persuade itself
is Of man or worm; the vilest here excel me,
that what it desires will come to pass: and this is They creep, yet see, I dark in light expos’d
caused by a particular movement of the spirits, To daily fraud, contempt, abuse and wrong,
i.c. by that of joy and that of desire mingled to- Within doors, or without, still as a fool.
gether; and fear is another disposition of the soul In power of others, never in my own;
which persuades it that the thing hoped for will Scarce half I seem to live, dead more then half.

not come to pass; and it must be observed that, O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon,
although these two passions are contrary, we can Irrecoverably dark, total Eclipse
nevertheless have them both at the same time, Without all hope of day!
that is to say,when we represent to ourselves dif- Milton, Samson Agonistes, 67
ferent reasons at the same time, some of which
cause us to judge that the accomplishment of de- 24 Despair sorrow arising from the idea of a past or
is
sire is easy, while the others make it seem difficult. future object from which cause for doubting is re-
Descartes, Passions of the Soul, CLXV moved. Confidence, therefore, springs from hope
and despair from fear, whenever the reason for
19 When I and the wretchedness of
see the blindness doubting the issue is taken away; a case which
man, when regard the whole silent universe and
I
occurs either because we imagine a thing past or
man without light, left to himself and, as it were, future to be present and contemplate it as present,

lost in this corner of the universe, without know- or because we imagine other things which exclude
ing who has put him there, what he has come to the existence of those which made us to doubt.
do, what will become of him at death, and inca- Spinoza, Ethics, III, Prop. 59, Dcf. 15
pable of knowledge, I become terrified, like a
all

man who should be carried in his sleep to a dread- 25 Hope is that pleasure in the mind, which every one
ful desert island and should awake without know- finds in httr^f, upon the thought ofa probable
ing where he is and without means of escape. And future enjoyment of a thing which is apt to delight
thereupon I wonder how people in a condition so him.
wretched do not fall into despair. Locke, Concerning Human
Pascal, Pensees, XI, 693 Understanding, Bk. II, XX, 9

20 Elder Brother. Where an equall poise of hope and 26 Despair is the thought of the unattainableness of
fear any good, which works differently in men’s minds,
 •/J*. Hope and Despair 279

sometimes producing uneasiness or pain, some- Is it Love? Hate? that twine us with their fire,
Is it

times rest and indolcnc)’. In alternating joy and pain enlace us.
Locke, Concerning Hitman So that again toward earth we turn our gazing,
Understanding, Bk. II, XX, 11 Baffled, to hide in youth’s fond veils our faces.

Goethe, Faust, II, 1, 4695

27 Hope springs eternal in the human breast:
Man never Is, but always To be blest: 32 Hopes, what arc they? Beads of morning —
The soul, uncas)’ and confined from home. Strung on slender blades of grass;
Rests and expatiates in a life to come. Or a spider’s web adorning
Pope, Essay on Man, Epistle I, 95 In a strait and treacherous pass.
^Vords^vorth. Inscription Supposed to be

28 I have many years ago magnified in my own Found in and Near a Hermtt*s Cell

mind, and repeated to you, a ninth beatitude,

added to the eighth in the Scripture; “Blessed is 33 The concept of the sickness unto death must be
he who expects nothing, for he shall never be dis- understood ... in a peculiar sense. Literally it
appointed.” means a sickness the end and outcome of which is
Pope, Letter to John Gay (Oct. 16, 1727) death. Titus one speaks of a mortal sickness as
synonymous with a sickness unto death. In this
sense despair cannot be called the sickness unto
29 It is ncccssar>' to hope, though hope should always
death. But in the Christian understanding of it
be deluded; for hope itself is happiness, and its
however frequent, arc yet death itself is a transition unto life. In view of this,
frustrations, less dread-
there is from the Christian standpoint no earthly,
ful than its extinction.
bodily sickness unto death. For death is doubtless
Johnson, Idier No. 58
the last phase of the sickness, but death is not the
last thing. If in the strictest sense we are to speak
30 Hope a species of happiness, and, perhaps,
is itself
of a sickness unto death, it must be one in which
the chief happiness which this world affords: but, the last thing is death, and death the last thing.
like all other pleasures immoderately enjoyed, the And this precisely is despair.
excesses of hope must be expiated by pain; and Yet in another and still more definite sense de-
cxpcctauons improperly indulged, must end in spair is the sickness unto death. It is indeed vcr>'
disappointment. If it be asked, what is the im- far from being true that, literally understood, one
proper expectation which it is dangerous to in- dies of this sickness, or that this sickness ends with
dulge, c.xpericncc will quickly answer, that it is bodily death. On the contrary, the torment of de-
such expectation as is dictated not by reason, but spair is precisely this, not to be able to die. So it
by desire; c.xpectation raised, not by the common has much in common with the situation of the
occurrences of life, but by the w’ants of the expec- moribund when he lies and struggles with death,
tant; an expectation that requires the common and cannot die. So to be .sick unto death is, not to
course of things to be changed, and the general
rules of action to be broken.
be able to die — yet not as though there were hope
of life; no, the hopeIcssnc.ss in this ease is that even
Johnson, Letter (June 8, 1762) llie last hope, death, is not available. When death
is the greatest danger, one hopes for life; but w’hcn
31 Faust. Look up! —^Thc peaks, gigantic and super- one becomes acquainted with an even more
nal, dreadful danger, one hopes for death. So w'hen the
Proclaim the hour most solemn now is nearing. danger is so great that death has become one’s
Thc>' early may enjoy the light eternal hope, despair is the disconsolatcncss of not being
That later to us here below is wended. able to die.
Now on the alpine meadows, sloping, vernal, It is in this last sense that despair is the sickness
A clear and lavish glory has descended unto death, this agonizing contradiction, this sick-
And step by step fulfils its journey’s ending. ness in the self, everlastingly to die, to die and yet
The sun steps forth! —Alas, already blinded, not to die, to die the death. For dying means that
1 turn away, the pain my xnsion rending. it is all over, but dying the death means to live to

Thus is it c\'cr when a hope long yearning
Has made a wish its own, supreme, transcending.
And finds Fulfilment’s portals outward turning;
From those eternal deeps bursts ever higher
Too great a flame, we stand, with wonder burn-
ing.
To kindle life’s fair torch we did aspire
And seas of flame— and what a flame! embrace
us!
experience death; and if for a single instant this
experience is possible, it is tantamount to experi-
encing it forever. If one might die of despair as
one dies of a sickness, then the eternal in him, the
self, must be capable of dying in the same sense
that the body dies of sickness. But this is an impos-
sibility; the dying of despair transforms itself con-
— stantly into a living.
Kierkegaard, The Sickness Unto Death, I, I, C
 —
280 Chapter 4, Emotion

34 Ida. Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean. In me or, most weary, cry 1 can no more. I can;
Tears from the depth of some divine despair Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes. not to be.
In looking on the happy autumn*fields, G. M. Hopkins, Carrion Comfort
And thinking of the days that are no more. . . .

Dear as remember’d kisses after death, 38 Zeus did not wish man, however much he might
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign’d be tormented by the other evils, to fling away his
On lips that arc for others; deep as love. life, but to go on letting himself be tormented

Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; again and again. Therefore he gives man hope,
O Death in Life, the days that arc no more! in reality it is the worst of all evils, because it

Tennyson, The Princess, IV, 21 prolongs the torments of man.

Nietzsche, Human, All-Too-Human, 71
S') The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.
What is called resignation is confirmed despera- 39 As for despair, the term has a very simple mean-
tion. From the desperate city you go into the des- ing. It means that we shall confine ourselves to
perate country, and have to console yourself with reckoning only with what depends upon our will,
the bravery of minks and muskrats. A stereotyped or on the ensemble of probabilities which make
but unconscious despair is concealed even under our action possible. When we want something, we
what arc called the games and amusements of always have to reckon with probabilities. I may be
mankind. There is no play in them, for this comes counting on the arrival of a friend. The friend is
after work. But it is a characteristic of wisdom not coming by rail or streetcar; this supposes that the
to do desperate things. train will arrive on schedule, or that the streetcar
Thorcau, Walden: Economy will not jump the track. I am left in the realm of
possibility; but possibilities arc to be reckoned

36 The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon with only to the point where my action comports
—
Turns Ashes or it prospers; and anon. 4
with the ensemble of these possibilities, and no
Like Snow upon the Desert’s dusty Face, further. The moment the possibilities I am consid-

Lighting a little hour or two is gone. — ering are not rigorously involved by my action, I
FitzGerald, Rubaiyat, XVI ought to disengage m)'sclf from them, because no
God, no scheme, can adapt the world and its pos-
sibilities to my will. When Descartes said, “Con-
37 Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort. Despair, not feast
on thee;
quer yourself rather than the world,” he meant
Not unUvist —slack they may be —these last
essentially the same thing.

strands of man Sartre, Existentialism

4.6 I
Joy and Sorrow
1 And if ye take this also from me, and mischief ness of the countenance the heart is made better.
befall him, ye shall bring down my gray hairs The heart of the wise is in the house of mourn-
wdth sorrow’ to the grave. ing; but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth.
Genesis 44:29 It is better to hear the rebuke of the wise, than

for a man to hear the song of fools.

2 Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh For as the crackling of thorns under a pot, so is

in the morning. the laughter of the fool: this also is vanity.

Psalm 30:5 Ecclesiastes 7:2-6

3 It is better to go to the house of mourning, than to Achilleus. There is not

go to the house of feasting: for that is the end of any advantage to be won from grim lamentation.
all men; and the living will lay it to his heart. Such is the w’ay the gods spun life for unfortunate
Sorrow is better than laughter: for by the sad- mortals,
 4£, Joy and Sorrow 281

that we live in unhappiness, but the gods them- For while, expecting there the queen, he rais’d
selves have no sorrows. His wond’ring eyes, and round the temple gaz’d.
Homer, Iliad, XXIV, 523 Admir’d the fortune of the rising town.
The striving artists, and their arts’ renown;
and went back into the
He saw, in order painted on the wall,
5 So spoke great Achilleus
Whatever did unhappy Troy befall:
shelter
down on the elaborate couch from which
The wars that fame around the world had blown,
and sat
All to the life, and ev’ry leader known.
he had risen,
There Agamemnon, Priam here, he spies,
against the inward wall, and now spoke his word
Priam:
And fierce Achilles, who both kings defies.
to
*Your son is given back to you, aged sir, as you
He stopp’d, and weeping said: “O friend! ev’n
here
asked it.
The monuments of Trojan woes appear!
He lies on a bier. When dawn shows you yourself
Our known disasters fill ev’n foreign lands:
him
shall sec
Sec there, where old unhappy Priam stands!
as you take him away. Now you and I must re-
Ev’n the mute walls relate the warrior’s fame,
member our supper.
For even Niobe, she of the lovely tresses, remem- And Trojan griefs the Tyrians’ pity claim.”
Virgil, Aenetd, I
bered
to cat, whose twelve children were destroyed in
her palace, 12 No pleasure is unalloyed: some trouble ever in-
six daughters, and six sons in the pride of their trudes upon our happiness.
youth, whom Apollo 0\'id, Metarnorphoses, VII
killed with arrows from his silver bow, being an-
gered 13 So much more docs joy without discretion trans-
with Niobe. . . . port and agitate the mind than cither fear or sor-
But she remembered to cat when she was worn row.
out \vith weeping.* Plutarch, Aratus
Homer, Iliad, XXIV, 596
14 1 must die. Must I then die lamenting? I must be
6 Oedipus. Who will be kind to Oedipus this evening put in chains. Must I then also lament? I must go
And give the wanderer charity? into exile. Docs any man then hinder me from
going with smiles and cheerfulness and content-
Though he ask little and receive still less,
ment?
It is sufficient:
Epictetus, Discourses, I, 1
Suffering and time,
Vast time, have been instructors in contentment,
15 Imagine every man who is grieved at anything or
Sophocles, Oedipus at Colonus, 3 discontented to be like a pig which is sacrificed
and kicks and screams.
7 Attendant. There’s nothing like the sight Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, X, 28
Of an old enemy down on his luck.

Euripides, Heracleidae, 939 16 Every soul wretched that is bound in affection

is

of mortal things:it is tormented to lose them, and

8 Iphigenia. The unfortunate, having once known in their loss becomes aware of the wretched-
prosperity themselves, bear no kind feelings to- ness which in reality it had even before it lost
wards their luckier neighbours. them.
Euripides, Iphigenia Augustine, Confessions, IV, 6
in Tauris, 353

9 Pericles. Grief is felt not so much for the want of

17 Wherever the soul of man turns, unless towards

what we have never known, as for the loss God, it cleaves to sorrow.
of that
to which we have been long accustomed. Augustine, Confessions, IV, 10

Thucydides, Peloponnesian JVar, 11, 44

18 What is it in the soul . . . that makes it delight

10 It
more have found or regained the things it loves
to
is difficult to convince a mourner that he
than if it had always had them? Creatures other
grieves by his own choice and because he thinks
than man bear the same witness, and all things
he must.
are filled with testimonies acclaiming that it is so.
Cicero, Disputations, III, 33 The he
victorious general has his triumph; but
would not have been victorious if he had not
11 What first -/Eneas in this place beheld, fought; and the greater danger there was in the
Reviv’d his courage, and his fear expell’d. battle, the greater rejoicing in the triumph. The
 23

282 I
Chapter 4. Emotion

storm tosses the sailors and threatens to wreck the their sorrow is assuaged.
ship; all are pale with the threat of death. But the Aquinas, Summa Theotogtea, I-II, 38,

sky grows clear, the sea calm, and now they are as
wild with exultation as before with fear. A friend 22 Immoderate sorrow is a disease of the mind, but
is sick and his pulse threatens danger; all who moderate sorrow is the mark of a well disposed
want him well feel as if they shared his sickness. soul according to the present state of life.

He begins to recover, though he cannot yet walk Aquinas, Summa TTieologica, I-II, 59,

as strongly as of old; and there is more joy than

there was before, when he was still well and could 23 Pandar. For as all joys on earth are short and brief,

walk properly. So time will bring for sorrow its relief.

Augustine, Confessions, VIII, 3
Because if Fortune’s wheel should cease to turn,
Then Fortune she at once no more would be;
19 The pleasures of this life for which I should weep
And since in no fixed place she may sojourn,
are in conflict with the sorrows of this life in
It may chance, by mere mutability,
which should rejoice, and I know not on which
I
Such good luck she hath now in store for thee,
side stands the victory. Woe is me, Lord, have pity
And such a boon to thee she soon will bring.
on me! For I have likewise sorrows which are evil
That for the joy of it, thy heart shall sing.
and these arc in conflict with Joys that arc good,
Chaucer, Troilus and Cressida, I, 121-122
and I know not on which side stands the victory.
Woe is me, Lord have mercy upon me! ... Is not
24 Pandar. For that same ground that bears the use-
the life of man on earth a trial? Who would
less weed,
choose trouble and difficulty? Thou dost com-
Bears also wholesome herbs, and quite as oft;
mand us to endure them, not to love them. No one
And where the rough and stinging nettles breed,
loves what he endures, though he may love to en-
Waxes the rose, so sweet and smooth and soft;
dure. For though he rejoices at his endurance, yet
And next the valley, lifts the hill aloft,
he would rather that there were nothing to en-
And after night, then comes the glad tomorrow.
dure. In adversity I desire prosperity, in prosperi-
And so is joy the after end of sorrow,
ty I fear adversity. Yet what middle place is there
Chaucer, Troilus and Cressida, I, 136
between the two, where man’s life may be other
than trial? There is woe and woe again in the
prosperity of this world, woe from the fear of ad-
25 “O God,” she cried, “these blessings temporal,
Which scholars falsely call felicity,
versity, woe from the corruption of joy! There is
With bitterness are mingled and with gall!
woe in the adversity of this world, and a second
God only knows what anguish then hath he
woe and a third, from the longing for prosperity,
and because adversity itself is hard, and for fear
Who sees his empty joys before him flee!
For either joys arrive inopportune.
that endurance may break! Is not man’s life upon
earth trial without intermission?
Or else they flit and vanish all too soon!

Augustine, Confessions, X, 28 “O fickle fate! O worldly joy unstable!

Of men thou makest but a sport and play!
20 Sadness may be considered in two ways; as ex- All know that they to hold their joy arc able,
isting actually, and as existing in the memory, —
Or know it not there is no other way.
and in both ways sadness can cause pleasure. Be- Now if one knows it not, how may he say
cause sadness, as actually existing, causes plea- That he of perfect joy perceives the spark,
sure, since it brings to mind that which is loved, If ignorance still leaves him in the dark?
the absence of which causes sadness; and yet the
mere thought of it gives pleasure. —The recollec-
“But if he knou's that joy
Since joy in every worldly thing must flee,
is transitory,

tion of sadness becomes a cause of pleasure on

This troubling thought diminishes the glory
account of the subsequent deliverance, because
Of earthly joy, and so in such degree,
absence of evil is looked upon as something good;
Imperfect must be his felicity;
hence according as a man thinks that he has been
joy he fears a jot or tittle.
If loss of
delivered from that which caused him sorrow and
This proves that earthly Joy is worth but little.
pain, so much reason has he to rejoice.
Aquinas, Summa TTieologica, I-II, 32, 4 “And so this problem I must thus decide.
That verily, foraught that I can see.
21 A hurtful thing hurts yet more if we keep it shut No perfect joy can in this world abide.”
up, because the soul is more intent on it; but if it Chaucer, Troilus and Cressida, III, 117-120
be allowed to escape, the soul’s intention is dis-
persed as it were on outward things, so that the 26 O true it is, before they can be cured,
inward sorrow is lessened. This is why when men, Whether of fever or other great disease,
burdened with sorrow, make outward show of The sick must drink, for all they have endured.
their sorrow, by tears or groans or even by words. Full bitter drink, and for their better ease,
 *//j. Joy and Sorrow 203

oft partake of ihint:^ that do not plca^r. up and down with me,
Lies in his Ix-d, svalks
All this to Troilus may be applied, Puts on Ids pretty looks, repeats his words,
Who after pain it plad and satitfied. Remend)ers me of all his gracious parts,
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form;
And s>vcctnei« now seemed more tlian ever sweet.
I'hen, have f reason to Ik fond of grief?
For all the bitterness that \Nxni before;
Shakes[>rare, Ktngjohn, III, iv, 90
And now the lime goes by on wingctl feet,

In joy so great, it never could lx* more,

32 CYcii/r. Silence is the perfcctest herald of joy; I
Or better pay for all the griefs they bore. were but little happy, if 1 couhl say hwv much.
And here 1 beg that lovers all will heed
ShakesjKrarc, Much Ad^ Ahnt
This good example at their time of neetl!
AVMrnc. II, i, 317
Chaucer, Trahis Crnu'/.r, III, 17*1-170

33 Benedick Fvery one can master a grief but he that

27 And to be glad they often her l>e^oughl,
has it.
AVhich to her grief such mitigation brought
Shakespeare, Muck Ado About
/Vs for a splitting headache one might feel
jVefArn^. Ill, ii, 29
If one ts*crc kindly rubbed upon the heel.
Chaucer, 7fri/«i nni I\\ lO-l
34 King. H'is ss^cet and rommetuhshlc in your nature,
liamlrt.
28 Good friends, my readers, who peruse this Ixxik.
To give these mourning duties to your f.tthcr
Be not offended, tvhibt on it you lo<A; But, you must know, your failirr lf»st a father;
Denude yourselves of all depraved affection, 'Hnir father Imt, lost hit, and the survisor I>ou«d
For it contains no badne^a nor infection:
In filial obligation for some term
Tis true that it brings forth to you no birth To do ol>*^quious sorrow': but to per^cver
Of any value, but in point of mirth; In obstinate condolrmcnt is a rmirsc
Thinking therefore how sorrow might your mind Of impious 5tubl>ornnrv,; "tis unmanly grief;
Consume, 1 could no npter subject find; It shows a SHill fn<wt mcorrrrt to hcasrn,
One inch of joy mrmounts of grief a span;
A heart unfortified, a mind impatient.
Because to laugh is proper to the man.
An understanding timpic and imschool’d;
Rabelais. I,
For what we k^os^• must Ik and is .as common
To the Readers /\s any the most sailgar thing to .sense.
Why should we in our peevish opposition
29 Metrodorus used to say that in sadnens there is Take it to heart? Fie! 'tis a bull to licaven,
some alloy of pleasure. I do not know whether he A f.ault against the de.id, a fault to n.ature,
meant something else, but for my part 1 indeed To rrx'xsn most nbssjrd; whcee common theme
imagine that there is design, cortseni, and pleasure h death ol fathers, and who still hath cried.
in feeding ones melancholy; I mean beyond the From the first cor^e till he that dictI-to*day,
ambition that can also Ik* involved. 'ITrerc is some "*nds must br fto."
shadow of daintinc3Ls and luxury that smiles on us Shakcs|>earr, Uarnlet, I, ii, 87
and flatters us in the ver>* lap of melancholy.
Montaigne, lusays, II, 20, We Ta.stc 33 Ktnr. When sorrow*? come, they come not single
Nothing Pure spies,
But in battalions,
30 Rickard. I cannot wrep; for my l>o<ly’s moisture
all Sh.akrspearc, Jhnlek IV, v. 78
Scarce screes to quench my fumacc-burning
heart: 36 Rost. IkI not your cars despise my tongue for ever,
Nor can my tongue unload nty heanS great Whicli shall pos.sra.s tlicm with the heaviest sound
burthen; lliat ever yet they heard.
For selfsame wind iliai i should speak withal Macduff Hum! I guevs at it.
Is kindling coals that (ires all my breast. Ross, Your castle is surprised; your wife and
And burns me up with flamc-s that tears would balK?
quench. Savagely slaughter’d. To relate the manner
To weep is to make less the depth of grief:
Were, on the quarry of these murder’d deer.
Tears then for babes; blows and rcs'cngc for me. To add the death of you.
Shakespeare, /// 17, 11, t, 8*1 Malcolm. Merciful heaven!
What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows;
31 Pandulph. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. Give sorrow' words. 'Hie grief that does not speak
Constance, He talks to me that never liad a son. Whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break.
King Philip. You arc as fond of grief as of your Macd, My children too?
child. Ross. VVife, children, scrv*3nts, all
Const, Grief fills the room up of my absent child. Tliat could be found.
 284 Chapter 4. Emotion

Meed. And I must be from thence! And Laughter holding both his sides.

My wife kill’d too? Com, and trip it as ye go

Ross. I have said« On the light fantastick toe,

Mai Be comforted. And in thy right hand lead with thee,
Let’s us medicines of our great revenge
make The Mountain Nymph, s\veet Liberty;
To cure deadly grief.
this And if I give thee honour due.
Macd. He has no children. All my pretty ones? Mirth, adnut me of thy cruc
Did you say all? O
hell-kite! All? To live with her, and live \vith thee.

What, all my' pretty chickens and their dam In unreproved pleasures free;
At one fell sw’oop? To hear the Lark begin his flight,
Mai Dispute it like a man. And singing startle the dull night.

39 From
Macd. I shall do so; his watch-towTC in the sHcs,
But I must also feel it as a man. Till the dappled dawn doth rise;
I cannot but remember such things were. Then to com in spight of sorrow’.
That were most precious to me. And at my window bid good morrow.
Shakespeare, Macbeth, IV, iii, 201 Through the Sweet-Briar, or the Vine,
Or the twisted Eglantine.
37 Howe\’cr full of sadness a man may be, he is hap- Milton, VAlUgro, 1

py for the time, you can prevail upon him to

if

enter into some amusement; and however happy Hence vain deluding joyes,
a man may be, he ^11 soon be discontented and The brood of folly without father bred,
wTctched, if he be not diverted and occupied by How little you bested,
some passion or pursuit which prevents weariness Or fill the fixed mind with all your toyes;
from overcoming him. Without amusement there Dw'cll in som idle brain.
is no joy; with amusement there is no sadness. And bond with gaudy shapes possess.
fancies
Pascal, II, 139 As thick and numberless
As the gay motes that people the Sun Beams,
38 Hence loathed Melancholy Or Ukest hovering dreams
Of Cerberus, and blackest midnight bom, The fickle Pensioners of Morpheus train.
In Stygian Cave forlorn But hail thou Goddes, sage and holy’.

’Mongst horrid shapes, and shreiks, and sights Hail divinest Melancholy’,
unholy, Whose Saintly visage is too bright
Find out som uncouth cell. To hit the Sense of human sight;
Where brooding darknes spreads his jealous And therfore to our weaker view.
wings, Ore laid with black staid Wisdoms hue.
And the night-Raven sings; Black, but such as in esteem.
There under Ebon shades, and low-brow’d Prince Memnons sister might beseem.
Rocks, Or that Starr’d Ethiope Queen that strove
As ragged as thy Locks, To set her beauties praise above
In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. The Sea Nymphs, and their powers offended.
But com thou Goddes fair and free, Yet thou art higher far descended.
In heav’n yclcap’d Euphroyyne, Thee bright-hair’d Vesta long of yore.
And by men, heart-easing Mirth, To solitary Saturn bore;
Whom lovely Venus at a birth His daughter she (in Satums raign,
With tw'o sister Graces more Such mixture W’as not held a stain)
To Ivy'-cro\med Bacchus bore; Oft in glimmering Bowtcs, and glades
Or whether (as som Sager sing) He met her, and in secret shades
The frolick Wind that breathes the Spring, Of woody Ida*s inmost grove,
Zephir \rith Aurora playing. \Vhile yet there w’as no fear of Jove.
As he met her once a Maying, Com pensive Nun, devout and pure.
There on Beds of Violets blew. Sober, stedfast, and demure,
And fresh-blown Roses washt in dew, All in a robe of darkest grain,
Fill’dher with thee a daughter fair, Flowring w’ith majestick train.
So bucksom, blith, and debonair. And sable stole of Cipres Law’n,
Haste thee nymph, and bring with thee Ov’cr thy decent shoulders dra\vn.
Jestand youthful Jollity', Com, but keep thy wonted state,
Quips and Cranks, and ^vanton Wiles, With eev’n step, and musing gate,
Nods, and Becks, and Wreathed Smiles, And looks commercing wth the skies,
Such as hang on Hebe*s cheek, Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes:
And love to live in dimple sleek; There held in holy passion still,

Sport that wrinded Care derides, Forget thy self to Marble, till
 4,6. Joy and Sorrow 285

With a sad Leaden downward cast, 44 The subject of grief for the loss of relations and
Thou fix them on the earth as fast. friends being introduced, I observed that it was
And joyn with thee calm Peace, and Quiet, strange to consider how soon it in general wears
Sparc Fast, that oft with gods doth diet. away. Dr. Taylor mentioned a gentleman of the
And hears the Muses in a ring, neighbourhood as the only instance he had ever
Ay round about Joves Altar sing. known of a person who had endeavoured to retain
And addc to these retired Lcasure, grief. He told Dr. Taylor, that after his Lady’s

That in trim Gardens takes his pleasure; death, which affected him deeply, he resolved that
But first, and chiefest, with thee bring. the grief, which he cherished with a kind of sacred
Him that yon soars on golden wing, fondness, should be lasting; but that he found he
Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, could not keep it \ong. Johnson. “All grief for what
The Cherub Contemplation, cannot in the course of nature be helped, soon
And the mute Silence hist along, w'cars away; in some sooner, indeed, in some lat-
’Less Philomel will daign a Song, er; but it never continues very long, unless where

In her sweetest, saddest plight. there is madness. ... If, indeed, the cause of our
Smoothing the rugged brow of night. grief is occasioned by our own misconduct, if grief
While Cynthia checks her Dragon yoke. is mingled with remorse of conscience, it should be

Gently o*re th’accustom’d Oke; lasting.”

Sweet Brrd that shunn’st the noise of folly, Bosw'cll, Life of Johnson (Sept. 14, 1777)
Most musicall, most melancholy!
Milton, // Paiseroso, 1
45 Excess of sorrow laughs. Excess of joy weeps.

40 Bring the rathe Primrose tliai forsaken dies. Blake, Marriage of Heaven and Hell, 8
The tufted Crow-toe, and pale Gcssaminc,
The white Pink, and the Pansie freakt with jeat, 46 A truth that’s told with bad intent
The glowing Violet. Beats all the lies you can invent.
The Musk-rose, and the well attir'd Woodbine. It is right it should be so;
With Cow'slips wan that hang the pensive hed. Man was made for joy and woe;
And every flower that sad embroidery wears: And when this we rightly know.
Bid Amaranthus beauty shed,
all his Thro* the world we safely go.
And Daffadillics fill their cups with tears, Joy and woe arc woven fine,
To strew the Laureat Herse where Lycid lies. . . . A clothing for the soul divine.
Look homeward Angel now, and melt with ruth. Blake, Auguries of Innocence, 53
And, O ye Dolphins, waft the haplcs youth.
Milton, Lycidas, M2 47 On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;
41 The which springs from joy, other things
desire
No sleep till mom, when Youth and Pleasure
being equal, is stronger than that which springs meet
from sorrow'.
To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet

Spinoza, Ethics, IV, Prop. 18

But hark! —
that heavy' sound breaks in once more
As if the clouds its echo would repeat.
42 Jcy isa delight of the mind, from the consideration Byron, Childe Harold^s Pilgrimage, III, 22
of the present or assured approaching possession
of a good; and we arc then possessed of any good, 48 Jcy and sorrow arc not ideas of the mind but affec-
when we have it so in our power that we can use tions of the will, and so they do not lie in the
it when we please. Thus a man almost starved has domain of memory. We cannot recall our joys and
joy at the arrival of relief, even before he has the sorrows; by which I mean that we cannot renew
pleasure of using it: and a father, in whom the them. We can recall only the ideas that accompa-
very w*cll-bcing of his children causes delight, is nied them; and, in particular, the things we were
always, as long as his children arc in such a state, led to say; and these form a gauge of our feelings
in the possession of thatgood; for he needs but to at the time. Hence our memory of joys and sor-
reflect on have that pleasure.
it, to rows is always imperfect, and they become a mat-
.^orrou; is uneasiness in the mind, upon the ter of indifference to us as soon as they are over.
thought of a good lost, which might have been This explains the vanity of the attempt, which we
enjoyed longer; or the sense of a present evil. sometimes make, to revive the pleasures and the
Locke, Concerning Human Understanding, pains of the past. Pleasure and pain arc essentially
Bk. II, XX, 7-8 an affair of the will;and the will, as such, is not
possessed of memory, which is a function of the
43 Remorse goes to sleep when our fortunes are pros^ intellect; and this in its turn gives out and takes in
perous, and makes itself felt more keenly in adver- nothing but thoughts and ideas, which are not
sity.
here in question.
Rousseau, Confessions, II It is a curious fact that in bad days we can very
 286 I
Chapter 4. Emotion

vividly recall the good lime that is now no more; that sorrow you will l>c happy. This is my last

but that in good days we liavc only a vcr>' cold message to you: in sorrosv seek happiness.
and imperfect mcmor>' of the bad. Dostocv.sky, Brothers Karamazov, Pt. I, H, 7
Schopenhauer, Futthtr Ps}cholo(^tca(
OhifTt'Ottoni
52 'Phe spiritual haughtiness and nausea of every

•J9 Such was the deck where now lay the Handsome
man who profoundly it almost de-
h,as .suffered —
termines the order of rank how profoundly human
complexion no
Sailor. Through the rosetan of
pallor could have shown. It would have taken
his
beings —
can suffer his shuddering certainly,
which penneates and colors him through and
day.s of sequestration from the winds and the .sun
through, (hat by virtue of his suffering he kr.ows
to have brought a!>out the effaccnjcnt of that. Hut
more than the cleverestand wisest could possibly
the skeleton in the chccklx>nc at the point of its
know, and that he kno\s-s his way and has once
angle was just beginning delicately to be defined
been “at home” in many distant, terrifying worlds
under the warm*tinted skin. In fersdd hearts self-
contained, some brief experiences devour our hu-
of wliich know nothing” — this spiritual and
silent haughtincjvs of the sufferer, this pride of the
man tissue as secret fire in a ship's hold consumes
elect of knowledge, of the “initiated,” of the al-
cotton in the bale.
most sacrificed, finds all kinds of disguises neces-
Melville, miy ihdd sary to protect itself against contact with obtrusive
and pitying hands and allogcihcr against cv-
30 “ItRachel of old.” said tlic elder {rather Zoisi-
is
cryuhing that is not its equal in suffering. Pro-
“wTcping for her children, and will not be
inaj,
found suffering makes noble; it separates.
comforted because they arc not. S\ich is the lot set
Nietzsebe, Dnrnd Good and Eril, IX, 270
on earth for you mothers. He not comforted. Con-
51 solation is not svhat you need. Weep and be not

consoled, but weep. Only even- time that you 53 I'he s|>ecial kind of boredom from which modem
weep l>e sure to remember that your little s<in is urban populations suffer is intimately bound up
one of the angels of CckI, that he looks down from with their separation from the life of Eanh. It
there at you aitd secs you, and rejoices at your makes life hot and dusty and thirsty, like a pil-
tears, and points at them to the Ixird God; and a grimage in the desert. Among those who arc rich
long while yet will yovi keep that great mother’s enough to choose their way of life, the particular
grief. But it will turn in the end into quiet joy, and brand of unendurable boredom from which they
yovir bitter tears will be only tears of tender sor- suffer is due, paradoxical as this may seem, to

row that purifies tlic heart and delivers it from their fear ofIwrcdom. In (lying from the fructify-
sin.” ing kind of Iwrcdom, they (all a prey to the other
Dostoevsky, Bmkni Karnmazoi', Pt. I, II, 3 far worse kind, A happy life must be to a great
extent a quiet life, for it is only in an atmosphere
Father Zosimn. Tins is not your place for the time. of quiet that true joy can live.

I you for great sersnee in the world. Yours

bless Russell, The Conijiifst of Uapfinen, 1, 4
will be a long pilgrimage. And you svill have to
take a wife, too. You will have to bear alt l>eforc 34 Too long a sacrifice
you come back. There will much to do. Hut I Can make a stone of the heart.
don’t doubt of you, and so 1 send you forth. Christ O when may it suffice?
IS with you. Do not abandon Him and He will not Yeats, Easter 1916
abandon you. You will .see great .sorrosv, and in
 f

4.7 Pleasure and Pain

1 A man hath no better thing under the sun, than 10 Since no one nature or state either is or is thought

to eat, and to drink, and to be merry: for that the best for all, pursue the same
neither do all
shall abide with him of his labour the days of his pleasure; yet all pursue pleasure. And perhaps
life, which God giveth him under the sun. they actually pursue not the pleasure they think
Ecclesiastes 8:15 they pursue nor that which they would say they
pursue, but the same pleasure; for all things have
2 Odysseus. There is no boon in life more sweet, I say, by nature something divine in them.
than when a summer joy holds all the realm, Aristotle, 1153^28
and banqueters sit listening to a harper
in a great hall, by rows of tables heaped The
1 1 pleasures of creatures different in kind differ
with bread and roast meat, while a steward goes
in kind, and it is plausible to suppose that those of
to dipup wine and brim your cups again. a single species do not differ. But they vary to no
Here is the flower of life, it seems to me! small extent, in the case of men at least; the same
Homer, Odyss^, IX, 5 things delight some people and pain others, and
are painful and odious to some, and pleasant to
3 Herald. Who, except the gods, and liked by others. This happens, too, in the case
can live time through forever without any pain? of sweet things; the same things do not seem sweet
Aeschylus, Agamemnon^ 553 to a man in a fever and a healthy man nor hot —
to a weak man and one in good condition. The
4 Chorus. For sufferers it is sweet to know before- same happens in other cases. But in all such mat-
hand clearly the pain that still remains for them. ters that which appears to the good man is
Aeschylus, Prometheus Bounds 698 thought to be really so. If this is correct, as it
seems to be, and virtue and the good man as such
5 Phaedrus. Bodily pleasures . . . almost always have are the measure of each thing, those also will be
previous pain as a condition of them, and there- pleasures which appear so to him, and those
fore are rightly called slavish, things pleasant which he enjoys. If the things he
12
Plato, Phaedrus 25 8B finds tiresome seem pleasant to some one, that is

nothing surprising; for men may be ruined and

6 Socrates. How singular is the thing called pleasure, spoilt in many ways; but the things are not pleas-
and how curiously related to pain, which might ant, but only pleasant to these people and to peo-
be thought to be the opposite of it; for they are ple in this condition. Those which are admittedly
never present to a man at the same instant, and disgraceful plainly should not be said to be plea-
yet he who pursues either is generally compelled sures, except to a perverted taste; but of those that
to take the other; their bodies are two, but they are thought to be good what kind of pleasure or
are joined by a single head. what pleasure should be said to be that proper to
Plato, Phaedo, GOA man? not plain from the corresponding activ-
Is it
ities? The
pleasures follow these. Whether, then,
7 Glaucon. Pleasure deprives a man of the use of his the perfect and supremely happy man has one or
faculties quite as much as pain. more activities, the pleasures that perfect these
will be said in the strict sense to be ple 2isures prop-
Plato, Republic, III, 402B
er to man, and the rest will be so in a secondary

8 Socrates. He whose towards

desires are drawn and fractional way, as are the activities.
knowledge in every form will be absorbed in the Aristotle, 1176^8
pleasures of the soul, and will hardly feel bodily
pleasure. Such an one is sure to be temperate
. . . It is always the first sign of love, that besides en-
and the reverse of covetous; for the motives which joying some one’s presence, we remember him
make another man desirous of having and spend- when he is gone, and feel pain as well as pleasure,
ing, have no place in his character. because he is there no longer. Similarly there is an
Plato, Republic, VI, 485B element of pleasure even in mourning and lamen-
tation for the departed. There is grief, indeed, at
9 Athenian Stranger. The true life should neither seek his loss, but pleasure in remembering him and as
for pleasures, nor, on the other hand, entirely it were seeing him before us in his deeds and in his

avoid pains, but should embrace the middle state. life.

Plato, Laws, VII, 792B Aristotle, Rhetoric, 1370^22

287
 288 j
Chapter 4. Emotion

13 We must consider that of desires some arc natural, and effort leave the baser appetites no time or
others vain, and some are necessary
of the natural place, and make active and heroic men forget
and others merely natural; and of the necessary them.
some arc necessary for happiness, others for the Plutarch, Cimon and Lucullus Compared
repose of the body, and others for very life. The
right understanding of these facts enables us to 19 Ifyou arc dazzled by the semblance of any prom-
refer all choice and avoidance to the health of the ised pleasure,guard yourself against being bewil-
body and the freedom from disturbance,
soul’s dered by it; but let the affair wait your leisure,
since this is the aim of the
life of blessedness. For it and procure yourself some delay. Then bring to
is to obtain this end that we always act, namely, your mind both points of lime that in which you —
to avoid pain and fear. And when this is once shall enjoy the pleasure, and that in which you
secured for us, all the tempest of the soul is dis- will repent and reproach yourself, after you have
persed, since the living creature has not to wander —
enjoyed it and set before you, in opposition to
as though in search of something that is missing, these, how you will rejoice and applaud yourself if
and to look for some other thing by which he can you abstain. And even though it should appear to
fulfil the good of the soul and the good of the you a seasonable gratification, lake heed that its
body. For then that we have need of pleasure,
it is enticements and allurements and seductions may
when we pain owing to the absence of plea-
feel not subdue you, but set in opposition to this how
sure; but when we do not feel pain, v.'c no longer much belter it is to be conscious of having gained
need pleasure. And for this cause we call pleasure so great a victory.
the beginning and end of the blessed life. For we Epictetus, Sneheiridion, XXXIV
recognize pleasure as the first good innate in us,
and from pleasure we begin every act of choice 20 The pleasure demanded for the Sage’s life cannot
and avoidance, and to pleasure we return again, be in the enjoyments of the licentious or in any
using the feeling as the standard by which we gratifications of the body —there is no place for
judge every' good. these, and they happiness nor in any vio-
stifle —
Epicurus, Letter to Menoeceus lent emotions —
what could so move the Sage? it —
can be only such pleasure as there must be where
HO miserable minds of men! O blinded breasts! in Good is, pleasure that docs not rise from move-
what darkness of life and in how great dangers is ment and is not a thing of process, for all that is
passed this term of life whatever its duration! not good is immediately present to the Sage and the
choose to sec that nature craves for herself no Sage is present to himself: his pleasure, his con-
more than this, that pain hold aloof from the tentment, stands, immovable.
body, and she in mind enjoy a feeling of pleasure Plotinus, First Ennead, IV, 12
exempt from care and fear? Therefore we see that
for the body’s nature few things arc needed at all, 21 In old age [the Sage] will desire neither pains
. , .

such and such only as lake away pain. nor pleasures to hamper him; he will desire noth-
Lucretius, Nature of Things, II ing of this world, pleasant or painful; his one de-
sire will be to know nothing of the body. If he
15 If someone maintains that pain is the greatest evil, should meet with pain he will pit against it the
what part can courage play in his philosophy? powers he holds to meet it; but pleasure and
Courage is nothing less than indifference to hard- health and ease of life will not mean any increase
ship and pain. of happiness to him nor will their contraries de-
Cicero, De Officiis, III, 33 stroy or lessen it.

Plotinus, First Ennead, IV, 14

16 The best thing we can say about pleasure is to
admit that it may add some spice to life. But it 22 Men procure the actual pleasures of human life
certainly adds nothing really suitable. —
by w'ay of pain I mean not only the pain that
Cicero, De Officiis, III, 33 comes upon us unlocked for and beyond our will,
but unpleasantness planned and willingly accept-
17 Even when they’re over, pleasures of a depraved ed. There is no pleasure in eating or drinking,
nature arc apt to carry feelings of dissatisfaction, unless the discomfort of hunger and thirst come
in the same way as a criminal’s anxiety doesn’t before. Drunkards eat salt)' things to develop a
end with the commission of the crime, even if it’s thirst so great as to be painful, and pleasure arises
undetected at the time. Such pleasures are insub- when the liquor quenches the pain of the thirst.
and unreliable; even if they don’t do one
stantial And it is the custom that promised brides do not
any harm, they’re fleeting in character. Look give themselves at once lest the husband should
around for some enduring good instead. hold the gift cheap unless delay had set him crav-
Seneca, Letters to LuciUus, 27 ing.
We see this in base and dishonourable pleasure,
18 The better pleasures gained in successful action but also in the pleasure that is licit and permitted,
 4,7, Pleasure and Pain \
289

and again in the purest and most honourable junction, that to which it is joined, and the union
friendship, \Vc have seen it in the ease of him who itself. For spiritual good is both greater and more
had been dead and was brought back to life, who loved than bodily good; a sign of this is that men
had been lost and was found. Universally the abstain from even the greatest bodily pleasures,
greater joy is heralded by greater pain. rather than suffer loss of honour which is an intel-

Augustine, Conpssions, VIII, 3 lectual Likewise the intellectual part is

good.
much more noble and more knowing than the
23 Philosophy. All pleasures have this way: those who sensitive part. Also the conjunction is more inti-

enjoy them they drive on with stings. Pleasure, mate, more perfect and more firm. More intimate,
like the svingcd bee, scatters its honey s\vcei, then because the senses stop at the outward accidents
flics away, and with a clinging sting it strikes the of a thing, while tlic intellect penetrates to the
hearts it touches. essence; for the object of the intellect is what a
Boethius, Consolation of Philosophy, III thing is. More perfect, because the conjunction of
the sensible to the sense implies movement, which
24 Although the name of more appropriate
passion is is an imperfect act; thus sensible pleasures arc not

to those passions which have a corruptive and evil wholly together at once, but some part of them is
tendency, such as bodily ailments, and sadness passing away, while some other part is looked for-
and fear in the soul, yet some passions arc ordered ward to as yet to be realized, as is manifest in
to something good. . . . And in this sense pleasure pleasures of the table and in sexual pleasures. But
is called a passion. intelligible things arc without movement; hence
Aquinas, Summa Theologicc, I-II, 31,1 pleasures of this kind arc realized all at once.
They arc more firm, because the objects of bodily
25 We take pleasure both in those things which we pleasures arc corruptible and soon pass away; but

when we and spiritual goods arc incorruptible.

desire naturally, get them, in those
things which we desire as a result of reason. But On the other hand, in relation to us, bodily
we do not speak of joy except when pleasure fol-
pleasures arc more vehement, for three reasons.
lows reason; and so we do not ascribe joy to irra- First, because sensible things arc more known to
27 us than intelligible things. Secondly, because sen-
tional animals,but only pleasure.
Nowwhatever we desire naturally can also be sible pleasures, through being passions of the sen-
sitive apj>ctitc, arc accompanied by some altera-
the object of reasoned desire and pleasure, and
consequently whatev’cr can be the object of plea- tion in the body; but this docs not occur in

sure, can also be the object of joy in rational spiritual pleasures unless by reason of a certain

beings. And yet cvcry‘thing is not alwap the ob- reaction of the superior appetite on the lower.

ject of joy, since sometimes one feels a certain Thirdly, because bodily pleasures arc sought as
pleasure in the body without rejoicing in it ac- remedies for bodily defects or troubles, from
cording to reason. And accordingly pleasure ex- which various griefs arise. And so bodily plea-
tends to more things than docs joy. because they come after griefs of this kind,
sures,

Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I-II, 31, 3

arc the more, and consequently arc more wel-
felt

come than spiritual pleasures, which have no con-

26 ... we compare trary griefs-
If intellectual pleasures with
sensible pleasures according as we delight in the Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I-II, 31, 5
very actions, for instance in sensitive and in intel-
lectual knowledge, without doubt intellectual Doing good to another may give pleasure in three
pleasures arc much greater than sensible plea- which is the
w'ays. First, in relation to the effect,
sures.For man takes much more delight in know- good conferred on another. In this respect, since
ing something, by understanding it, than in know- through being united to others by love we look
ing something by perceiving it with his sense; both upon their good as being our owm, we take plea-
because intellectual knowledge is more perfect sure in the good we do to others, especially to our
and because it is better known, since the intellect friends, as in our own good. Secondly, in consider-
reflects on its own act more than sense docs. ation of the end; as when a man, from doing good
Moreover intellectual knowledge is more loved; to another, hopes to get some good for himself,
for there is no one who would not forfeit his bodily either from God or from man; for hope is a cause
sight rather than his intellectual vision in the way of pleasure. Thirdly, in consideration of the prin-
beasts or fools arc without the latter, as Augustine ciple; and thus, doing good to another can give
says in the Cify of God. pleasure in respect of a three-fold principle. One
however, intellectual spiritual pleasures be
If, is thepower of doing good; and in this regard
compared with sensible bodily pleasures, then, in doing good to another becomes pleasant in so far
themselves and absolutely speaking, spiritual as it arouses in man an imagination of abundant
pleasures are greater. And
appears from the
this good existing in him, of which he is able to give
consideration of the three things needed for plea- others a share. Therefore men take pleasure in
sure; namely, the good which is brought into con- their children, and in their own works, as being
 290 Chapter 4, Emotion

things on which they bestow a share of their own reason, we derive pleasure even from pains de-
good. Another principle is a man’s habitual incH* picted on the stage, in so far as, in witnessing
nation to do good, by reason of which doing good them, we perceive ourselves to conceive a certain
becomes connatural to him, for which reason the love for those who arc there represented,
liberal man takes pleasure in giving to others. The Aquinas, Summa Theologica^ I-II, 35, 3
third principle is the motive; for instance when a
man is moved by one whom he loves to do good to 31 The greatest of all pleasures consists in the con-
someone. For whatever we do or suffer for a friend templation of truth.
is pleasant, because love is the principle cause of Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I-II, 38, 4

pleasure.
32 Every animal, as soon as it is bom, whether ra-
Aquinas, .Jumma Theological I-II, 32, 6
tional or brute, loves itself and fears and flees
those things which arc counter to it, and hates
28 Bodily pleasures hinder the use of reason in three
them. . . .

ways. First, by distracting the reason ... we at*

I from the beginning it loves it-
say, then, that
tend much to that which pleases us. Now when
although without discrimination. Then it
self,
the attention is firmly fixed on one thing, it is
comes to distinguish the things which arc most
either weakened in respect of other things, or it is
pleasant, and Jess and more detestable, and fol-
entirely withdrawn from them; and thus if the
lows and flees in greater and
degree according less
bodily pleasure be great, either it entirely hinders
as its consciousness distinguishes not only in other
the use of reason, by concentrating the mind’s at-
things which it loves secondarily, but just in itself
tention on itself, or else it hinders it considerably.
which it loves primarily. And recognising in itself
Secondly, by being contrary to reason. Because
divers parts, it most which arc
loves those in itself
some pleasures, especially those that arc in excess,
most noble. And since the mind is a more noble
arc contrary to the order of reason, and in this
part of man than the body, it loves that more; and
sense the Philosopher sa^’s that bodily pleasures
thus, loving itself primarily and other things for its
destroy the estimate of prudence, but not the spec-
own sake, and loving the better part of itself bet-
ulative estimate, to which they arc not opposed,
ter, it is clear that it loves the mind better than
for instance that the three angles of a triangle arc
the body or aught which mind it ought by
else;
together equal to two right angles. In the first
nature to love more than aught else. Wherefore if
sense, however, they hinder both estimates. Third-
the mind always delights in the exercise of the
ly, by fettering the reason, in so far as bodily plea-
thing it (which is the fruition of love), exer-
loves
sure is followed by a certain alteration in the
cise in that thing which it loves most is the most
body, greater even than in the other passions, in
delightful. The exercise of our mind then is most
proportion as the appetite is more vehemently af-
delightful to us; and that which is most delightful
fected towards a present than towards an absent
to us constitutes our felicity’ and our blessedness,
thing. Now such bodily disturbances hinder the
beyond which there is no delight, nor any equal to
use of reason, as may be seen in the ease of drunk-
it,as may be seen by whoso well considers the
ards, in whom the use of reason is fettered or hin-
preceding argument.
dered.
Dante, Coniivioj IV, 22
Aquinas, Summa Theologica^ 33, 3

33 TTiis should console us, that in the course of na-

29 Now the greatest good of everything is its last end. ture, if the pain is violent, it is short; if it is long, it
And the end ... is twofold: namely, the thing
is light. You will not feel it very long, if you
, . .

and the use of that thing; thus the miser’s

itself,
feel it too much; it will put an end to itself, or to
end is citlier money, or the possession of money. you; both come to the same thing. If you cannot
Accordingly, man’s last end may be said to be
bear it, it will bear you off.
either God Who is the Supreme Good absolutely; Montaigne, Essays^ I, 14, That
or the enjoyment of God, which denotes a certain
the Taste of Good
pleasure in the last end. And in this sense a cer-
tain pleasure of man may be said to be the great- 34 But to speak in good earnest, isn’t man a misera-
est among human goods, ble animal? Hardly is it in his power, by his natu-
Aquinas, Sxtmma Theologica, I-II, 34, 3 ral condition, to taste a single pleasure pure and
entire, and still he is at pains to curtail that plea-
30 Pain itself can be pleasurable accidentally in so sure by his reason.
far as it is accompanied by wonder, as in stage- Montaigne, Essays, I, 30, Of Moderation
plays; or in so far as it recalls a beloved object to
one’s memory', and makes one feel one’s love for 35 If we got our headache before getting drunk, we
the thing, whose absence gives us pain. Conse- should take care not to drink too much; but plea-
quently, since love is pleasant, both pain and sure, to deceive us, \valks ahead and hides her
whatever else results from love, in so far as they sequel from us.
remind us of our love, arc pleasant. And, for this Montaigne, Essays, I, 39, Of Solitude
 4.7, Pleasure and Pain 291

36 When imagine man besieged by desirable de-

I 44 Pleasure ... or delight is the appearance or sense
lights — us put the case that all his members
let of good; and molestation or displeasure, the ap-
should be forever seized with a pleasure like that pearance or sense of evil. And consequently all

of generation at its most excessive point I feel
him sink under the weight of his delight, and I see
him wholly incapable of supporting a pleasure so
pure, so constant, and so universal. In truth, he
flees it when he is in it, and naturally hastens to
escape it, as from a place where he cannot stand
firm, where he is afraid of sinking.
Montaigne, Essays^ II, 20,
Nothing Pure
— appetite, desire, and love is accompanied with
some delight more or less; and all hatred and
aversion with more or less displeasure and offence.
Of pleasures, or delights, some arise from the
sense of an object present; and those may be
called pleasures of sense (the word sensual, as it is
used by those only that condemn them, having no
We Taste place till there be laws). Of this kind are all oner-
ations and exonerations of the body; sls also all
that is pleasant, in the sight, hearing, smell, taste,

37 Intemperance is the plague of sensual pleasure; or touch. Others arise from the expectation that
and temperance is not its scourge, it is its season- proceeds from foresight of the end or consequence
ing. of things,whether those things in the sense please
Montaigne, Essays^ III, 13, Of Experience or displease:and these are pleasures of the mind of
him that draweth those consequences, and are
generally called joy. In the like manner, displea-
38 Romeo. He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
sures are some in the sense, and called pain; others,
Shakespeare, Romeo and Julietj II, ii, 1
in the expectation of consequences, and are called
grief
39 Juliet. Parting is such s\veet sorrow.
Hobbes, Leviathan, I, 6
Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, II, ii, 185

40 Bolingbroke. O, who can hold a fire in his hand 45 The principles of pleasure are not firm and stable.
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? They are different in all men, and they vary to
such an extent in each individual that there is no
Or hungry edge of appetite
cloy the
By bare imagination of a feast?
man who differs more from another man than
Or wallow naked in December snow from himself at different times. A man has other
pleasures than a woman has; a rich man and a
By thinking on fantastic summer^s heat?
poor man have different pleasures; a prince, a
O, no! the apprehension of the good
warrior, a merchant, a citizen, a peasant, the old,
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse:
the young, the well, the sick, all vary in this re-
Fell sorrow’s tooth doth never rankle more
Than when he spect; the slightest accidents change them.
bites, but lanceth not the sore.
Shakespeare, Rickard 294 Pascal, Geometrical Demonstration
//, I, iii,

41 Leonato, There was never yet philosopher 46 Raphael. Sense of pleasure we may well
That could endure the toothache patiently. Sparc out of life perhaps, and not repine,
However they have writ the style of gods But live content, which is the calmest life:
And made a push at chance and sufferance. But pain is perfet miserie, the worst
Shakespeare, Much Ado About Of evils, and excessive, overturnes

V, All patience.
Nothing, i, 35
Milton, Paradise Lost, VI, 459
42 The pleasure and delight of knowledge and learn-
ing, it far surpasseth all other in nature. For, shall 47 The pleasures of sense are really intellectual plea-
the pleasures of the affections so exceed the plea- sures confusedly known. Music charms us, al-
sure of the sense, as much as the obtaining of de- though beauty consists only in the harmonies
its
sire or victory exceedeth a song or a dinner? smd [convenances] of numbers and in the counting (of
must not of consequence the pleasures of the intel- which we are unconscious but which nevertheless
lect or understanding exceed the pleasures of the the soul does make) of the beats or vibrations of
affections? We see in all other pleasures there is sounding bodies, which beats or vibrations come
satiety,and after they be used, their verdure de- together at definite intervals. The pleasure which
parteth; which showeth well they be but deceits of sight finds in good proportions same na-
is of the
pleasure, and not pleasures: and that it was the ture; and the pleasures caused by the other senses
novelty which pleased, and not the quality. will be found to amount to much the same thing,
Bacon, Advancement of Learning, Bk. I, VIII, 5 although we may not be able to explain it so dis-
tinctly.
43 The deceiving of the senses is one of the pleasures Leibniz, Principles of Nature and of Grace, 17
of the senses.

Bacon, Advancement of Learning, Bk. II, X, 13 48 Attention and repetition help much to the fixing
 292 I
Chapter 4. Emotion

any ideas in the memory'. But those %vhich natu- 51 The senses have not only that adv'antage over
rally at first make the deepest and most lasting conscience, which things necessary' must always
impressions, are those which arc accompanied have over things chosen, but they have likcu'isc a
with pleasure or pain. The great business of the kind of prescription in their favour. Wc feared
senses being, to make us take notice of what hurts pain much earlier than we apprehended guilt,
or advantages the body', it is vWscly ordered by' and were delighted w'ith the sensations of pleasure
nature, as has been shoNvn, that pain should ac- before wc had capacities to be charmed with the
company the reception of several ideas; w'hich, beauty of rectitude.
supplying the place of consideration and reason- Johnson, HamhlerKo. 7
ing in children, and acting quicker than consider-
52 The armies of pain send their arrows against us on
ation in grown men, makes both the old and
every side, the choice only between those which
is
young av-oid painful objects with that haste which
arc more or less sharp, or tinged w'ith poison of
is necessary for their preservation; and in both
greater or less malignity; and the strongest ar-
settles in the memory' a caution for the future.
mour which reason can supply w'ill only blunt
Locke, Concerning Human Understandings
their points, but cannot repel them.
Bk. II, X, 3
The great remedy which heaven has put in our
49 Amongst the simple ideas which we receive both hands is patience, by which, though wc cannot
from sensation and reflection, pain and pleasure arc lessen the torments of the body, wc can in a great

two very considerable ones. For as in the body measure prc«T\’c the peace of the mind, and shall
there is sensation barely in itself, or accompanied suffer only the natural and genuine force of an
with pain or pleasure, so the thought or j>crccp- cril w-ithout heightening its acrimony or prolong-

lion of the mind is simply so, or else accompanied ing its effects.

also with pleasure or pain, delight or trouble, call Johnson, Rambler No. 32
it how y'ou please. These, like other simple ideas,
53 Johnson. “WTicn we talk of pleasure, wc mean sen-
cannot be described, nor tlicir names defined; the
sual pleasure. WTicn a man say's, he had pleasure
way' of knowing them is, as of the simple ideas of
with a woman, he does not mean conversation,
the senses, only by' c.xpericncc. For, to define them
but something of a very’ different nature. Philoso-
by the presence of good or evil, is no othcrw'ise to
phers tell you, that pleasure is contrai^' to happi-
make them known to us than by making us reflect
ness. men prefer animal pleasure. So there
Gross
on what wc feel in ourselves, upon the several and
arc men who have preferred liring among sav-
various operations of good and cril upon our
ages. Now what a uTctch must he be, who is con-
minds, as they arc differently applied to or consid-
tent with such conversation as can be had among
ered by us. . . .

savages! You may remember an officer at Fort

Things then arc good or evil, only in reference
Augustus, who had serv ed in America, told us of a
to pleasure or pain. ... By pleasure and pain, 1
must be understood to mean of body or mind, as
w'oman whom
they’ were obliged to bind, in order
to gel her back from savage life.” Boswell. “She
they' arc commonly distinguished; though in truth
must have been an animal, a hcwsl.*^ Johnson. “Sir,
they be only different constitutions of the mind,
she was a speaking cat.”
sometimes occasioned by' disorder in the body',
Bosu’cll, Life ofJohnson
sometimes by thoughts of the mind. . . .

(Apr. 7, 1778)
Pleasure and pain and that which causes
—
them, ^good and evil, are the hinges on which
54 The universal communicability of a pleasure in-
our passions turn. And if we reflect on ourselves,
volves in its very' concept that the pleasure is not
and observe ho\v these, under v'arious consider-
one of enjoy'ment arising out of mere sensation,
ations, operate in us; what modifications or tem-
but must be one of reflection.
pers of mind, what internal sensations (if I may so
Kant, Critique of Aesthetic Judgement, 44
call them) they produce in us wc may thence form
to ourselves the ideas of our passions.
55 Epicurus was not wide of the mark when he said
Locke, Concerning Human Understandings
that at bottom all gratification is bodily sensation,
Bk. U, XX, 1-3
and only misunderstood himself in ranking intel-
50 Men may and should correct their palates, and lectual and even practical delight under the head
give relish towhat cither has, or they' suppose has of gratification.
none. The relish of the mind is as various as that Kant, Critique of Aesthetic Judgement, 54
of the body, and like that too may' be altered; and
it is a mistake to think that men cannot change 56 The value of life for us, measured simply by ivhat
the displeasingness or indUfcrcncy that is in ac- we enjqp (by the natural end of the sum of all our
tions into pleasure and desire, if they will do but indinations, that is by happiness), is easy' to de-
what is in their power. dde. It is less than nothing. For who would enter
Locke, Concerning Human Understanding, life afresh under the same conditions? Who would

Bk. II, XXI, 71 even do so according to a new, sclf-dcvised plan

 4.7, Pleasure and Pain 293

(which should, however, follow the course of na- 63 I and insensibly,

discovered, though unconsciously
ture), if it also were ‘merely directed to enjoyment? and reasoning was a
that the pleasure of observing
Kant, Critique of Teleological much higher one than that of skill and sport.
Judgement, 83, fn. 1 Darwin, Autobiography

57 The superiority of intellectual to sensual pleasures
consists rather in their filling up more lime, in
their having a larger range, and in their being Jess
liable to satiety, than in their being more real and
essential.
Malthus,
58 In the pursuit of every enjoyment, whether sensu-
al or intellectual, reason, that faculty w'liich en-
ables us to calculate consequences, is the proper
64 Men high aspirations as they lose their
lose their
intellectual tastes, because they have not time or
opportunity for indulging them; and they addict
themselves to inferior pleasures, not because they
deliberately prefer them, but because they arc
Population, XI either the only ones to which they have access, or
the only ones which they arc any longer capable
of enjoying. It may be questioned whether any
one who has remained equally susceptible to both
classes of pleasures, c\’cr knowingly and calmly

corrective and guide. It is probable, therefore, preferred the lower; though many, in all ages,
that improved reason will always tend to prevent have broken down in an ineffectual attempt to
the abuse of sensual pleasures, though it by no combine both.
means follows that it will extinguish them. Mill, Utilitarianism, II

Malthus, Population, XI
65 Now to decide whether this is really so; whether
mankind do desire nothing for itself but that
59 Emma. One half of the world cannot understand
which is a pleasure to them, or of which the ab-
the pleasures of the other.
sence is a pain; we have evidently arrived at a
Jane Austen, Emma, IX
question of fact and experience, dependent, like
all similar questions, upon evidence. It can only
60 And the small ripple spilt upon the beach
be determined by practised self-consciousness and
Scarcely overpass’d the cream of your cham-
self-obscn-'ation, assisted by observation of others.
pagne.
1 believe that these sources of evidence, impartial-
When o’er the brim the sparkling bumpers reach,
ly consulted, will declare that desiring a thing and
That spring-dew of the spirit! the heart’s rajnl
finding it pleasant, aversion to it and thinking of
Few things surpass old wine; and they may
it phenomena entirely inseparable,
as painful, arc
preach
or ratlicr same phenomenon; in
parts of the
Who please,— the more because they preach in
strictness of language, two different modes of
62 vain,
naming the same psychological fact: that to think
Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter,
of an object as desirable (unless for the sake of its
Sermons and soda-water the day after.
consequences), and to think of it as pleasant, are
Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; one and the same thing; and that to desire any-
The best of life is but intoxication: thing, except in proportion as the idea of it is

Glory, the grape, love, gold, in these arc sunk pleasant, is a physical and metaphysical impossi-
The hopes of all men, and of every nation; bility.
Without their sap, how branchless were the trunk Mill, Utilitarianism, IV
Of life’s strange tree, so fruitful on occasion:
But to return, —Get ver^' drunk; and when 66 It is at the same time indubitable that the replace-
You wake with headache, you shall see what then. by the reality-prin-
ment of the pleasure-principle
Byron, /)on Juan, 11, 178-179 ciplecan account only for a small part, and that
not the most intense, of painful experiences. An-
bl You will find, other and no less regular source of “pain” pro-
Though sages may pour out their wisdom’s trea- ceeds from the conflicts and dissociations in the
sure, psychic apparatus during the development of the
There is no sterner moralist than Pleasure. ego towards a more highly co-ordinated organiza-
Byron, Don Juan, III, 65 tion. Nearly all the energy with which the appa-
ratus charged, comes from the inborn instincts,
is
To enjoy bodily warmth, some small part of you but not all of these are allowed to develop to the
must be is no quality in this world
cold, for there same stage. On the way, it over and again hap-
that is not what it is merely by contrast. Nothing pens that particular instincts, or portions of them,
exists in itself. If you flatter yourself that you arc prove irreconcilable in their aims or demands
all over comfortable, and have been so a long
with others which can be welded into the compre-
time, then you cannot be said to be comfortable hensive unity of the ego. They are, thereupon,
any more. split off from this unity by the process of repres-
Melville, Moby Dick, XI sion, retained on lower stages of psychic dcvcl-
 294 I
Chapter 4. Emotion

opment, and for the time being cut off from all yet fully understood, or are not yet capable of
possibility of gratification. If they then succeed, as clear presentation, but it is certain that all neurot-
so easily happens with the repressed sex-impulses, ic “pain” is of this kind, is pleasure which cannot
in fighting their way through —
along circuitous be experienced as such.
routes — to a direct or a substitutive gratification, Freud, Bg^ond the Pleasure Principle^ I
this success,which might otherwise have brought
pleasure, is experienced by the ego as “pain.” In 67 The feeling of happiness produced by indulgence
consequence of the old conflict which ended in of a wild, untamed craving is incomparably more
repression, the pleasure-principle has been violat- intense than is the satisfying of a curbed desire.
ed anew, just at the moment when certain impul- The irresistibility of perverted impulses, perhaps
ses were at work on the achievement of fresh plea- the charm of forbidden things generally, may in
sure in pursuance of the principle. The details of this way be explained economically.
the process by which repression changes a possi- Freud, Civilization and Its Discontents, 11
bility of pleasure into a source of “pain” are not

4,8 Pity and Envy

1 Now Israel loved Joseph more than all his chil- And they said one to another. Behold, this
dren, because he was the son of his old age; and dreamer cometh.
he made him a coat of many colours. Come now and let us slay him, and
therefore,
And when his brethren saw that their father cast him into someand we will say. Some evil
pit,
loved him more than all his brethren, they hated beast hath devoured him: and we shall see what
him, and could not speak peaceably unto him. will become of his dreams.
And Joseph dreamed a dream, and he told it And Reuben heard it, and he delivered him out
his brethren: and they hated him yet the more. of their hands; and said. Let us not kill him.
And he said unto them, Hear, I pray you, this And Reuben said unto them, Shed no blood,
dream which have dreamed:
I but cast him into this pit that is in the wilderness,
For, behold,we were binding sheaves in the and lay no hand upon him; that he might rid him
field, and, lo, my sheaf arose, and also stood up- out of their hands, to deliver him to his father
right; and, behold, your sheaves stood round again.
about, and made obeisance to my sheaf. And it came to pass when Joseph was come
And his brethren said to him, Shalt thou indeed unto his brethren, that they stript Joseph out of
reign over us? or shalt thou indeed have dominion his coat, his coat of many colours that was on
over us? And they hated him yet the more for his him;
dreams, and for his words. And they took him, and cast him into a pit: and
And he dreamed yet another dream, and told it the pit was empty, there was no water in it.
his brethren, and said, Behold, I have dreamed a And down to eat bread; and they lifted
they sat
dream more; and, behold, the sun and the moon up and looked, and, behold, a company
their e^es
and the eleven stars made obeisance to me. of Ish-mee-Iites came from GH-e-ad with their
And he told it to his father, and to his brethren: camels bearing spicer)' and balm and myrrh,
and his father rebuked him, and said unto him. going to carry it down to Egypt.
What is this dream that thou hast dreamed? Shall And Judah said unto his brethren, W^at profit
I and thy mother and thy brethren indeed come we slay our brother, and conceal his blood?
is it if

to bow do>NTi ourselves to thee to the earth? Come, and let us sell him to the Ish-m^-IItcs,
And his brethren envied him; but his father ob- and let not our hand be upon him; for he is our
ser\'ed the saying. . . , brother and our flesh. And his brethren were con-
And when they saw him afar off, even before he tent.
came near unto them, they conspired against him Then there passed by Midianites merchant-
to slay him. men; and they drew and lifted up Joseph out of
 4.S. Pity and Envy j
295

the pit, and sold Joseph to the Ish-mee-lltes for also believe in the goodness of at least some peo-
twenty pieces of silver: and they brought Joseph ple; if you think nobody good, you will believe
into Egypt. that everybody deserves evil fortune. And, gener-
Genesis 37:3-28 ally, we feel pity whenever we are in the condition
of remembering that similar misfortunes have
2 Agamemnon. In few men is it part of nature to re- happened to us or ours, or expecting them to hap-
spect pen in future.
a friend’s prosperity without begrudging him, Aristotle, Rhetoric, 1385^13
as envy’s wicked poison settling to the heart
piles up the pain in one sick with unhappiness, 6 Envy pain at the sight of such good fortune as
is

who, staggered under sufferings that are all his consists of thegood things already mentioned; we
own, feel it towards our equals; not with the idea of
winces again to the vision of a neighbor’s bliss. getting something for ourselves, but because the
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, 832 other people have it. We shall feel it if we have, or
think we have, equals; and by ‘equals’ I mean
3 Periander. How much better a thing it is to be en- equals in birth, relationship, age, disposition, dis-
vied than pitied. tinction, or wealth. We
feci envy also if we fall but

Herodotus, Histoiy, III, 52 a little short of having everything; which is why

people in high place and prosperity feel it they —
4 Pericles. Men can endure to hear others praised think every one else is taking what belongs to
only so long as they can severally persuade them- themselves. Also if we are exceptionally distin-
selves of their own ability to equal the actions re- guished for some particular thing, and especially
counted: when this point is passed, envy comes in if that thing is wisdom or good fortune. Ambitious

and with it incredulity. men are more envious than those who are not. So
Thucydides, Peloponnesian IVar, 11, 35 also those who
profess wisdom; they are ambi-
tious — be
thought wise. Indeed, generally,
to
5 Pity may be defined as a feeling of pain caused by those who aim at a reputation for anything are
the sight of some evil, destructive or painful, envious on this particular point. And small-mind-
which befalls one who does not deserve it, and ed men are envious, for everything seems great to
which we might expect to befall ourselves or some them.
friend of ours, and moreover to befall us soon. In Aristotle, Rhetoric, 1387^22
order to feel pity, we must obviously be capable of
supposing that some evil may happen to us or 7 We envy those who are near us in time, place,
some friend of ours. . . . It is therefore not felt by age, or reputation. Also our fellow-competi-
. . .

those completely ruined, who

suppose that no fur- tors, who are indeed the people just mentioned
ther evil can befall them, since the worst has be- we do not compete with men who lived a hundred
fallen them already; nor by those who imagine centuries ago, or those not yet bom, or the dead,
themselves immensely fortunate their feeling is — or those who dwell near the Pillars of Hercules, or
rather presumptuous insolence, for when they those whom, in our opinion or that of others, we
think they possess all the good things of life, it is take to be far below us or far above us. So too we
clear that the impossibility of evil befalling them compete with those who follow the same ends as
will be included, this being one of the good things ourselves: we compete with our rivals in sport or
in question.Those who think evil may befall them and generally with those who are after the
in love,
are such as have already had it befall them and same things; and it is therefore these whom we are
have safely escaped from it; elderly men, owing to bound to envy beyond all others. We also . . .

their good sense and their experience; weak men, envy those whose possession of or success in a
especially men inclined to cowardice; and also thing is a reproach to us; these are our neighbours
educated people, since these can take long views. and equals; for it is clear that it is our own fault
Also those who have parents living, or children, or we have missed the good thing in question; this
wives; for these are our own, and the evils men- annoys us, and excites envy in us. We also envy
tioned above may easily befall them. And those those who have what we ought to have, or have
who moved by any courageous emo-
are neither got what we did have once. Hence old men envy
tion such as anger or confidence (these emotions younger men, and those who have spent much
take no account of the future), nor by a disposi- envy those who have spent little on the same
tion to presumptuous insolence (insolent men, too, thing. And men who have not got a thing, or not
take no account of the possibility that something got it yet, envy those who have got it quickly. We
evil will happen to them), nor yet by great fear can also see what
and what persons give
things
(panic-stricken people do not feel pity, because pleasure to envious people, and in what states of
they are taken up \vith what is happening to mind they feel it: the states of mind in which they
themselves); only those feel pity who are between feel pain arc those under which they will feel
these two extremes. In order to feel pity we must pleasure in the contrary things. If therefore we
 —
296 I
Chapter 4. Emotion

ourselves with whom the decision rests are put dying. I have seen it get some people’s goat to be
into an envious mind, and those for whom
state of told that their color was good and their pulse
our pity, or the award of something desirable, is even; I have seen them restrain their laughter be-
claimed arc such as have been described, it is ob- cause it betrayed their recovery, and hate health
vious that they will win no pity from us. because it was not pitiable. What is more, they
Aristotle, 1388^6 were not women.
Montaigne, Essays, III, 9, Of Vanity
8 Emulation is pain caused by seeing the presence,
in persons whose nature is like our own, of good 16 Caesar. Let me have men about me that are fat;
things that are highly valued and are possible for Sleek-headed men and such as sleep o’nights:
ourselves to acquire; but it is felt not because Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look;
others have these goods, but because we have not He thinks too much; such men are dangerous;
got them ourselves. It is therefore a good feeling Antony. Fear him not, Csesar; he’s not danger-
felt by good persons, whereas envy is a bad feeling ous;
felt by bad persons. He is a noble Roman and well given.
Aristotle, Rhetoric, 1388*30 Would he were fatter! But 1 fear him
Caes. not:
Yet if my name were liable to fear,
9 The envious person wastes at the thriving condi- I do not know the man I should avoid

tion of another; Sicilian tyrants never invented a So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much;
greater torment than envy. He is a great observer and he looks
Horace, Epistles, I, 2 Quite through the deeds of men; he loves no
plays,
10 When you hear the name of someone who heis As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music;
become famous on account of a particular merit Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort
or achievement, you yap like puppies when they As if he mock’d himself and scorn’d his spirit
encounter strangers. That could be moved to smile at anything.
Seneca, On the Happy Life, XIX Such men as he be never at heart’s ease
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves,
11 Folly has habituated us to live with a view to And therefore are they very dangerous.
others rather than to ourselves, and our nature I rather tell thee what is to be fear’d

holds so much envy and malice that our pleasure Than what I fear; for always I am Caesar.
in our own advantages is not so great as our dis- Shakespeare, Caesar, I, ii, J92
tress at others.
Plutarch, Contentment 1 7 Othello. Ay, let her rot, and perish, and be damned
to-night; for she shall not live. No, my heart is
12 When a man
has done thee any wrong, immedi- turned to stone; I strike it, and it hurts my hand.
ately consider with what opinion about good or O, the world hath not a sweeter creature! She
evil he has done wrong. For when thou hast seen might lie by an emperor’s side and command him
this, thou wilt pity him, and wilt neither wonder tasks.
nor be angry, logo. Nay, that’s not your way.
Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, VII, 26 Oih. Hang do but say what she is; so
her! I

delicate with her needle; an admirable musician:

13 The proud are without pity, because they despise O! she will sing the savageness out of a bear. Of so
others,and think them wicked, so that they ac- high and plenteous wit and invention
count them as suffering deservedly whatever they Jago. She’s the worse for all this.

suffer. Otk. O, a thousand thousand times. And then,

Aquinas, Summa Theologica, II-II, 30, 2 of so gentle a condition!
logo. Ay, too gentle.
14 Falcon. That pity wells up soon in gentle heart, Oth. Nay, that’s certain; but yet the pity of it,

Feeling its likeness in all pains that smart. lago! O lago, the pity of it, lago!
Isproved, and day by day, as men may see, Shakespeare, Othello, IV, i, 191
As well by deeds as by authority;
For gentle heart can spy out gentleness. 18 Macbeth. This Duncan
Chaucer, Canterbuiy Tales: Squire^s Tale Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been
So clear in his great office, that his virtues
15 He who a man not
asks for pity without reason is Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against
to be pitied when there is reason. To be always The deep damnation of his taking-off;
lamenting for ourselves is the way never to be la- And pity, like a naked new-born babe,
mented; by continually putting on a pitiful act, Striding the blast, or heaven’s cherubim, horsed
we become pitiable to no one. He who acts dead Upon the sightless couriers of the air.
when still alive is subject to be thought alive when Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,
 4.8, Pity and Envy |
297

That tears shall drown the wind, erything follows from the necessity* of the divine
ShakcspcsiTCy Macdeth, I, vii, 16 nature, and comes to pass according to the eternal
law’s and rules of nature, w*ill in truth discover

19 Envy keeps no holidays. nothing w*hich is worthy of hatred, laughter, or

Nothing but death can reconcile env^^ to virtue. contempt, nor will he pity* any one, but, so far as
Bzicou^dvajjcrmtnl of Learning, human virtue is able, he w*ill endeavour to do well,
Bk. VI, III, 16 as we say, and to rejoice. We must add also, that a
man who is easily touched by the affect of pity,
20 Deformed persons, and eunuchs, and old men, and is moved by the misery* or tears of another,
and bastards, arc envious. For he that cannot pos- often does something of which he afterward re-
sibly mend his outi case, will do what he can to pents, both because from an affect we do nothing
impair another’s. w’hich we certainly know to be good, and also be-
Bacon, Of Envy cause we are so easily deceived by false tears. But
this I say expressly of theman w*ho lives according
21 The consideration of the present good excites joy to the guidance of reason. For he who is moved
in us, and that of evil, sadness, when it is a good or neither by reason nor pity to be of any service to
an evil which is represented as belonging to us. others is properly called inhuman; for he seems to

. But when it is represented to us as pertaining

. .
be unlike a man.
to othermen, we may esteem them either as wor- Spinoza, Ethics, IV, Prop. 50, CoroL; SchoJ.
thy or unworthy of it; and when we esteem them
worthy, that does not excite in us any other pas- 25 It is a secret well known to great men, that, by

sion but joy, inasmuch as it is some satisfaction to conferring an obligation, they do not always pro-
us to see that things happen as they should. There cure a friend, but are certain of creating many
is only this difference, that the joy that comes enemies.
from what is good is serious, while what comes Fielding, Tom Jones, I, 9
from evil is accompanied by laughter and mock-
ery. But if we esteem them unworthy of it, the 26 It is good proverb which says that “it is better to

good excites envy and the evil pity, which are spe- be envious than to have pity." Let us be envious,
cies of sadness. therefore, as hard as we can.
Descartes, Passions of the Soul, LXI-LXII Voltaire, Philosophical Dictionary: Envy

22 Pity is a species of sadness, mingled with love or 27 Most of the misery which the defamation of
good-will towards those whom we see suffering blameless actions, or the obstruction of honest en-
some evil of ^vhich we consider them undeserving. deavours brings upon the w'orld, is inflicted by
It is thus contrary to envy by reason of its object, men that propose no advantage to themselves but
and to scorn because it considers its objects in an- the satisfaction of poisoning the banquet which
other way. . . . Those who feel themselves very they cannot taste, and blasting the harvest which
feeble and subject to the adversities of fortune ap- they have no right to reap.
pear to be more disposed to this passion than Johnson, Rambler No. 183
others, because they represent the evil of others as
possibly occurring to themselves; and then they 28 Johnson. Pity is not natural to man. Children are
arc moved more by the love that they bear
to pity' always cruel. Savages are alw*ays cruel. Pity is ac-
to themselves than by that which they bear to quired and improved by the cultivation of reason.
others. Boswell, Life of Johnson (July 20, 1763)
Descartes, Passions of the Soul,
CLXXXV-GLXXXVI 29 Johnson. If a madman
were to come into this room
with a stick hand, no doubt we should pity
in his
23 Pity is imagination or fiction of future calamity to the state of his mind; but our primary consider-
ourselves, proceeding from the sense of another ation would be to take care of ourselves. We
man’s But when it lighteth on such as
calamity*. should knock him dow*n first, and pity him af-
we think have not descr\’ed the same, the compas- terwards.
sion is greater, because there then appeareth more Boswell, Life of Johnson (Apr. 3, 1776)
probability' that the same may happen to us; for
the c\*il that happeneth to an innocent man may 30 Once, when midnight smote the air,
happen to every man. Eunuchs ran through Hell and met
Hobbes, Human Nature, IX On every crowded street to stare
Upon great Juan riding by:
24 A man who lives according to the dictates of rea- Even like these to rail and s^vcat
son endeavours as much as possible to prevent Staring upon his sinewy thigh,
himself from being touched by pity*. Yeats, On Those That Hated *The
The man who has properly understood that ev- Playboy of the IVestem World,* 1907
 -

298 Chapter 4, Emotion

31 True pity consists not so much in fearing suffering ting some great injustice and it were necessary to
as in desiring it. The a faint one and we
desire is get rid of all suspicion of complicity with her.
should hardly wish to see it realized; yet we form Bergson, Time and Free Will^ \

it in spite of ourselves, as if Nature were commit-

4.9 Greed and Avarice

1 He that loveth silver shall not be satisfied with 4 Here saw I too many more than elsewhere, both
silver; nor he that loveth abundance with in- on the one and on the other, with loud
side
crease: this is also vanity. bowlings, rolling weights by force of chests;
Ecclesiastes 5:10 they smote against each other, and then each
wheeled round just there, rolling aback, shout-
ing “Why boldest thou?” and “Why throwest
2 He who be covetous, will also be anxious: but
will
thou away?”
he that a state of anxiety, will never in my
lives in
estimation be free.
Thus they returned along the gloomy circle, on
either hand, to the opposite point, [again]
Horace, Epistles^ I, 16
shouting [at each other] their reproachful mea-
sure.
3 And he said unto them. Take heed, and beware of Then every one, when he had reached it, turned
covetousness: for a man’s life consisteth not in the through his half-circle towards the other joust.
abundance of the things which he possesseth. . . .
And I, who felt my heart as it were stung,
Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for said: “My Master, now shew me what people
your life, what ye shall eat; neither for the body, these are; and whether all those tonsured on
what ye shall put on. our left were of the clergy.”
The life is more than meat, and the body is And he to me: “In their first life, all were so
more than raiment. . . .
squint-eyed in mind, that they made no ex-
Consider the lilies how they grow: they toil not, penditure in it with moderation.
they spin not; and yet I say unto you, that Solo- Most clearly do their voices bark out this, when
mon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of they come to the two points of the circle, where
these. contrary guilt divides them.
If then God
so clothe the grass, which is to day These were Priests, that have not hairy covering
and tomorrow is cast into the oven;
in the field, on their heads, and Popes and Cardinals, in
how much more will he clothe you, O ye of little whom avarice docs its utmost.”
faith? And I: “Master, among this set, I surely ought to
And seek not ye what ye
shall eat, or what ye recognise some that were defiled by these evils.”
shall drink, neither be ye of doubtful mind. And he me; “Vain thoughts combinest thou;
to
For all these things do the nations of the world their undiscerning life, which made them sor-
seek after: and your Father knoweth that ye have did, now makes them too obscure for any recog-
need of these things. nition.
But rather seek ye the kingdom of God; and all To all eternity they shall continue butting one an-
these things shall be added unto you. other; these shall arise from their graves with
Fear not, little flock; for it is your Father’s good closed fists; and these with hair shorn off.
pleasure to give you the kingdom. Ill-giving, and ill-keeping, has deprived them of
Sell that ye have, and give alms; provide your- the bright world, and put them to this conflict;
selves bags which wax not old, a treasure in the what a conflict it is, I adorn no words to tell.”
heavens that failelh not, where no thief approach Dante, Inferno^ VII, 25
eth, neither moth corrupteth.
For where your treasure is, there will your heart
be also. 5 I stand up like a scholar in pulpit.
Luke 12:15-34 And when the ignorant people all do sit,
 —
4.9, Greed and Avarice 299

I preach, as you have heard me say before. Shy. Thou stickest a dagger in me: I shall never
And tell a hundred false japes, less or more. see my gold again: fourscore ducats at a sitting!
I am at pains, then, to stretch forth my neck, fourscore ducats!
And cast and west upon the folk I beck. Tub. There came divers of Antonio’s creditors in
As docs a dove that’s sitting on a bam. my company to Venice, that swear he cannot
With hands and swift tongue, then, do I so yam choose but break.
9
That it’s a joy to see my busyness. Shy. I am very glad of it: I’ll plague him; I’ll

Of avarice and of all such wickedness torture him: I am glad of it.

Is all my preaching, thus to make them free Tub. One of them showed me a ring that he had
With offered pence, the which pence come to me. of your daughter for a monkey.
For my intent is only pence to win, Sky. Out upon her! Thou torturest me. Tubal:
And not at all for punishment of sin. it was my turquoise; I had it of Leah when I was

Chaucer, CanUrbury Tales: a bachelor: I would not have given it for a wil-
Pardoner’s Tale, Prologue derness of monkeys.
Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice^ III, i, 85
6 Ipreach no sermon, save for covetousness.
For that my theme is yet, and ever was, Brutus. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself
*Rad\x malontm est cupiditas.* Are much condemn’d to have an itching palm.
Thus can 1 preach against that self-same vice Shakespeare, Julius Caesar^ IV, iii, 9
Which I indulge, and that is avarice.
Chaucer, Canterbuiy Tales:
10 It almost always happens that the man who grows
Pardoner’s Tale, Prologue rich changes his notions of poverty, states his
wants by some new measure, and from Hying the
7 The wish to acquire is in truth very natural and enemy that pursued him bends his endeavours to
common, and men always do so when they can, overtake those whom he sees before him. The
and for this they will be praised not blamed; but power of gratifying his appetites increases their
when they cannot do so, yetwish to do so by any demands; a thousand wishes crowd in upon him,
means, then there is folly and blame. importunate to be satisfied, and vanity and ambi-
Machiavclli, Prince^ III tion open prospects to desire, which still grow
wider as they are more contemplated.
8 Shylock. How now. Tubal! what ne\vs from Genoa? Johnson, Rambler IVo. 38
hast thou found my daughter?
Tubal. I often came where I did hear of her, but 1 1 Many there are who openly and almost professed-
cannot find her.
ly regulate all their conduct by their love of mon-
Shy. Why, there, there, there, there! a diamond ey, who have no
reason for action or forbearance,
gone, cost me two
thousand ducats in Frankfort! for refusal, than that they hope to
compliance or
The curse never fell upon our nation till now; I gain more by one than by the other. These are
never felt it till now: two thousand ducats in that;
indeed the meanest and cruellest of human
and other precious, precious jewels. I would my
beings, a race with whom, as with some pestifer-
daughter were dead at my foot, and the jewels in
ous animals, the whole creation seems to be at
her ear! would she were hearsed at my foot, and
war, but who, however detested or scorned, long
the ducats in her coffin! No news of them? Why,
continue to add heap to heap, and when they
so: and I know not what’s spent in the search:
have reduced one to beggary are still permitted to
why, thou loss upon loss! the thief gone with so
fasten on another.
much, and so much to find the thief; and no satis-
Johnson, Rambler No. 175
faction, no revenge: nor no ill luck stirring but
what lights on my shoulders; no sighs but of my
breathing; no tears but of my shedding. 12 Johnson. No man was born a miser, because no
Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too: Antonio, man was born to possession. Every man is born
as I heard in Genoa cupidus —desirous of getting; but not avarus —de-
sirous of keeping.
Shy.What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck?
Tub. Hath an argosy cast away, coming from Boswell, Life of Johnson (Apr. 25, 1778)
Tripolis.
Shy. I thank God, I thank God. Is’t true, is’t
13 All for ourselves and nothing for other people,
true? seems, in every age of the world, to have been the
Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that es- vile maxim of the masters of mankind.
caped the wreck. Adam Smith, Wealth of Nations, III, 4
Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal: good new’s, good
nc\N’s! ha, ha!
where? in Genoa? 14 Avarice is an insatiate and universal passion;
Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, since the enjoyment of almost every object that
in one night fourscore ducats. can afford pleasure to the different tastes and tern-
 3

300 Chapter 4. Emotion

pers of mankind may be procured by the posses- very principle of its own life.

sion of wealth. Marx, Capital, Vol. 1, 1,

Gibbon, Decline and Fall of the

Roman Empire, XXXI 18 Capital has not invented surplus labour. Wherev-
er a part of society possesses the monopoly of the
15 Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grind- means of production, the labourer, free or not
stone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, free, must add to the working time necessary for
scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner! Hard his own maintenance an extra working time in
and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever order to produce the means of subsistence for the
struck out generous fire; secret, and self-con- owners of the means of production, whether this
tained, and solitary as an oyster. proprietor be the Athenian [nobleman], Etruscan
Dickens, A Chrhtmas Carol, I theocrat, [Roman citizen], Norman baron, Ameri-
can slave owner, Wallachian boyard, modern
16 With the very earliest development of the circula- landlord or capitalist. It is, however, clear that in
tion of commodities, there is also developed the any given economic formation of society, where
necessity, and the passionate desire, to hold fast not the exchange value but the use-value of the
the product of the first metamorphosis. This prod- product predominates, surplus labour will be lim-
uct is the transformed shape of the commodity, or ited by a given set of wants which may be greater
its gold chrysalis. Commodities are thus sold not or less, and that here no boundless thirst for sur-
for the purpose of buying others, but in order to plus labour arises from the nature of the produc-
replace their commodity form by their money tion itself. Hence, in antiquity overwork becomes
form. From being the mere means of effecting the horrible only when the object is to obtain ex-
circulation of commodities, this change of form change value in its specific independent money
becomes the end and aim. The changed form of form; in the production of gold and silver. Com-
the commodity is thus prevented from functioning pulsory working to death is here the recognized
as its unconditionally alienable form, or as its form of overwork. Only read Diodorus Siculus.
merely transient money form. The money be- Still,these are exceptions in antiquity. But as soon
comes petrified into a hoard, and the seller be- as people, whose production still moves within the
comes a hoarder of money. lower forms of slave-labour, corvee-labour, etc.,
Marx, Capital, Vol. I, I, 3 are drawn into the whirlpool of an international
market dominated by the capitalistic mode of pro-
17 With the possibility of holding and storing up ex- duction, the sale of their products for export be-
change value in the shape of a particular com- coming their principal interest, the civilized hor-
modity arises also the greed for gold. Along with rors of overwork are grafted on the barbaric
the extension of circulation, increases the power of horrors of slavery, serfdom, etc. Hence, the negro
money, that absolutely social form of wealth ever labour in the Southern States of the American
ready for use. “Gold is a wonderful thing! Who- Union preserved something of a patriarchal char-
ever possesses it is lord of all he wants. By means acter, so long as productionwas chiefly directed to
of gold one can even get souls into Paradise.” (Co- immediate But in proportion,
local consumption.

lumbus in his letter from Jamaica, 1503.) Since as the export of cotton became of vital interest to
gold does not disclose what has been transformed these states, the overworking of the negro and
into it, everything, commodity or not, is convert- sometimes the using up of his life in seven years’ of
ible into gold. Everything becomes saleable and labour became a factor in a calculated and calcu-
buyable. Circulation becomes the great social re- lating system. It was no longer a question of ob-
tort into which everything is thrown, to come out taining from him a certain quantity of useful
again as crystallized gold. Not even are the bones products. It was now a question of production of
of Saints, and still less are more delicate res sacro- surplus labour itself.

hominum able to withstand

sanctae extra commercium Marx, Capital, Vol. I, III, tO
thisalchemy. Just as every qualitative difference
between commodities is extinguished in money, so 19 It is self-evidentthat the labourer is nothing else,
money, on its side, like the radical leveller that it his whole through, but labour power, that,
life

is, does away with all distinctions. But money it-
self is a commodity, an external object, capable of
becoming the private property of any individual.
Thus social power becomes the private power of
private persons. The ancients therefore
nounced money as subversive of the economic and
moral order of things. Modern society, which,
soon after its birth, pulled Plutus by the hair of his
head from the bowels of the earth, greets gold as
its Holy Grail, as the glittering incarnation of the
therefore, all his disposable time is by nature and
law labour time, to be devoted to the self-expan-
sion of capital. Time for education, for intellectu-
al development, for the fulfilling of social func-
de- tions and for social intercourse, for the free play of
his bodily and mental activity, even the rest time
of Sunday (and that in a country of Sabbatari-
ans !)^moonshine! But in its blind unrestrainable
passion, its werewolf hunger for surplus labour,
capital oversteps not only the moral, but even the
 —
4J0. Jealoii^> |
301

merely ph)'sical maximum bounds of the working eased, compulsoi*)', and painful it may be, which
day. It usurps the time for growth, development, is determine the limits of the labourers^ period
to
and healthy maintenance of the body. It steals the of repose. Capital cares nothing for the length of

time required for the consumption of fresh air and life of labour power. All that concerns it is simply

sunlight. It higglesover a meal time, incorporate and solely the maximum of labour power that can
ing it where possible with the process of produc- be rendered fluent in a working day. It attains
tion itself, so that food is given to the labourer as this end by shortening the extent of the labourer’s

to a mere means of production, as coal is supplied life, as a greedy farmer snatches increased pro-

to the boiler, grease and oil to the machiner)'. It duce from the soil by robbing it of its fertility.
reduces the sound sleep needed for the restoration, Marx, Capital^ Vol. I, III, 10
reparation, refreshment of the bodily powers to
just so many hours of torpor as the revival of an 20 From its first day to this, sheer greed was the driv-
organism, absolutely exhausted, renders essential. ing spirit of civilization; wealth and again wealth
It is not the normal maintenance of the labour and once more wealth, wealth, not of society, but
power which is to determine the limits of the of the single scurvy individual —here was its one
working day; it is the greatest possible daily ex- and final aim.
penditure of labour power, no matter how dis- Engels, Origin of the Family, IX

4.10 \
Jealousy

1 Jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are Thank God, and all your grieving and your
coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame. plaint,

Song of Solomon 8:6 I call it an illusive lover’s taint

From love’s excess, and from anxiety.”
2 With ambitious natures, otherwise not ill quali- Chaucer, Troilus and Cressida, III, 147-149
fied for command, the feeling of jealousy of those
near them in reputation continually stands in the 4 Whatever justice there may be in jealousy, it still
way of the performance of noble actions; they remains to be seen whether its agitation is really
make those their rivals in virtue, whom" they useful. Is there someone who thinks to shackle
ought to use as their helpers to it. women by his ingenuity? What occasion will
. . .

Plutarch, Lysander not be enough for them in so knowing an age?

Curiosity is vicious in all things, but here it is
3 Cressida. “Another shame is this, that folk abuse pernicious. It is folly to want to be enlightened
True love and say, ‘Yea, jealousy is love!’
about a disease for which there is no medicine
A bushel of venom such folk will excuse
that does not make it worse and aggravate it; the
If but a grain of love therein they shove. shame of which is increased and made public
But God knows this, who lives and reigns above, principally by jealousy; revenge for which wounds
If it be Hkcr love or liker hate, our children more than it cures us. You dry up
And by its name we should it designate. and die in quest of a proof so obscure,
Montaigne, Essays, III, 5, On Some
“Some sorts of jealousy*, I will confess,
Verses of Virgil
Are more excusable than other kinds,
As when there’s cause, or when folk long repress
Some harsh fantastic notion in their minds, 5 logo, O, beware, my lord, of jealousy;

VNTiich in expression no free outlet finds, It is mock

the green-eyed monster which doth
And on itself it thus doth grow and feed; The meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss
For such repression Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger;
is a gentle deed.
But, O, what damned minutes tells he o’er
“And some arc filled with fury and despite Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves!
So full that it surpasses all restraint Othello. O misery!
But, sweetheart, you are not in such plight, Jago. Poor and content is rich and rich enough,
 — — —— —
302 Chapter 4, Emotion

But riches {ineless is as poor as winter Than answer my ^vaked wrath!

To him that ever fears he shall be poor. lago. Is’t come to this?
Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend Oth. Make me to sce’t; or, at the least, so prove
From jealous^'! it

0th. Why, why is this? That the probation bear no hinge nor loop
Think’st thou I’d make a life of jealousy, To hang a doubt on; or woe upon thy life!
To follow still the changes of the moon lago. My noble lord
With fresh suspicions? No; to be once in doubt thou dost slander her and torture me,
Oth. If
Is once to be resolved. Exchange me for a goat, Never pray more; abandon all remorse;
When I shall turn the business of my sou! On horror’s head horrors accumulate;
6 To such exsufflicate and blown surmises, Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amazed;
Matching thy inference. Tis not to make me jeal- For nothing canst thou to damnation add
ous Greater than that.
To say my wife is fair, company,
feeds well, loves Shakespeare, Othelloy III, hi, 330
and dances well;
Is free of speech, sings, plays,
Where virtue is, these are more virtuous. 7 Desdemona. Alas the day! I never gave him cause.
Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw But jealous souls \sill not be answer’d so;
Emilia.
The smallest fear or doubt of her revolt; They arc not ever jealous for the cause,
For she had eyes, and chose me. No, lago; But jealous for they are jealous, ’Tis a monster
ril see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove; Begot upon itself, born on itself.
And on the proof, there is no more but this Shakespeare, Othello, III, iv, 158
Away at once with love or jealousy!
Shakespeare, Othelloy III, iii, 165 8 Leontes. Ha’ not you seen, Camillo
But doubt, you have, or your eyeglass
that’s past
/ago. Not poppy, nor mandragora, Is thicker than a cuckold’s horn or heard—
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, For to a vision so apparent rumour
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep —
Cannot be mute or thought for cogitation —
Which thou owedst yesterday. Resides not in that man that docs not think
Othello. Ha! ha! false to me? My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess.
lago. Why, how now, more of that.
general! no Or else be impudently negative,
Olh. Avaunt! be gone! thou hast set me on the To have nor eyes nor cars nor thought, then say
rack. My wife’s a hobby-horse, deserves a name
I swear ’tis better to be much abused As rank as any flax-wench that puts to
Than but to know ’t a little. Before her troth-plight; say’t and justify’!.
lago. How now, my lord! Camillo. I would not be a stander-by to hear
Oth. What sense had I of her stol’n hours of lust? My sovereign mistress clouded so, without
I saw’t not, thought it not, it harm’d not me. My present vengeance taken. ’Shrew my heart,
I slept the next night well, was free and merry; You never spoke what did become you less
I found not Cassio’s kisses on her lips. Than this; which to reiterate were sin
He that is robb’d, not wanting what is stol’n, As deep as that, though true.
Let him not know ’t, and he’s not robb’d at all. Leon. Is whispering nothing?
lago, I am sorry to hear this. Isleaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses?
Oth. I had been happy, if the general camp, Kissing with inside lip? stopping the career
Pioners and all, had tasted her s\veet body, —
Of laughter with a sigh? a note infallible
So I had nothing known. O, now, for ever Of breaking honesty —horsing foot on foot?
Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content! Skulking in corners? wshing clocks more swift?
Farewell the plumed and the big wars,
troop, Hours, minutes? noon, midnight? and all eyes
That make ambition O, farewell!
virtue! Blind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only,
Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, That would unseen be wicked? Is this nothing?
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, Why, then the world and all that’s in’t is nothing;
The royal banner, and all quality, The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing;
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war! My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these noth-
And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats inp,
The immortal Jove’s dread clamours counterfeit, If this be nothing.

Farewell! Othello’s occupation’s gone! Cam. Good my lord, be cured

lago. Is’t possible, my lord? Of this diseased opinion, and betimes;
Oth. Villain, be sure thou prove my love a For ’tis most dangerous.
whore, Leon. Say it be, ’tis true.
Be sure of it; give me the ocular proof; Cam. No, no, my lord.
Or, by the worth of man’s eternal soul. Leon. It is; you lie, you lie,

Thou hadst been better have been born a dog Shakespeare, Winters Tale, I, ii, 267
 — — ——
4.1 1 , Pride and Humility 303
9

JcaIous>' is a species of fear which is related to the verykisses and embraces he has seen, if only he

desire we have to preserv'e to ourselves the posses- can somehow be convinced that it has all been
sion of some thing; and it docs not so much pro- “for the last time,” and that his rival will vanish
ceed from the strength of the reasons that suggest from that day forward, will depart to the ends of
the possibility of our losing that good, as from the the earth, or that he himself will carry her away
high estimation in which we hold it, and which is somewhere, where that dreaded rival will not get
the cause of our examining even the minutest sub- near her. Of course the reconciliation is only for
jects of suspicion, and taking them to be very con- an hour. For, even if the rival did disappear next
siderable reasons for anxiety. day, he would invent another one and would be
Descartes, Passions of the Souly CLXVII jealous of him. And one might wonder what there
was in a love that had to be so watched over, what
10 It is, indeed, very possible for Jealous persons to a love could be worth that needed such strenuous
kill the objects of their jealousy, but not to hate guarding. But that the jealous will never under-
them. stand. And yet among them are men of noble
Fielding, Tom Jones, VII, 4 hearts. It remarkable, too, that those very men
is

of noble hearts, standing hidden in some cup-

11 It is hard to imagine what some jealous men can board, listening and spying, never feel the stings of
1
make up their mind to and overlook, and what conscience at that moment, anyway, though they
they can forgive! The jealous are the readiest of understand clearly enough with their “noble
2 all to forgive, and all women know it. The jealous hearts” the shameful depths to which they have
man can forgive extraordinarily quickly (though, voluntarily sunk.
of course, after a violent scene), and he is able to Dostoevsky, Brothers Karamazov,
forgive infidelity almost conclusively proved, the Ft. Ill, VIII, 3

4.11 Pride and Humility

Pride gocth before destruction, and an haughty On most untoward disasters sent by Heaven.
spirit before a fall. Ajax, even when he first set out from home,
Proverbs 16:18 Proved himself foolish, when his father gave him
His good advice at parting. ‘Child,’ he said,
Chorus. The curse on great daring ‘Resolve to win, but always with God’s help.’
shines clear;it wrings atonement But Ajax answered with a senseless boast:
from those high hearts that drive to evil, ‘Father, with God’s help even a worthless man
from houses blossoming to pride Could triumph. I propose, without that help,
and peril. To win my prize of fame.’
Aeschylus, Agamemnon, 374 Sophocles, Ajaxy 758

3 Creon. These rigid spirits are the first to fall.

6 Hecuba. We boast, are proud, we plume our confi-
The strongest iron, hardened in the fire,
dence
most often ends in scraps and shatlerings.
the rich man in his insolence of wealth,
Sophocles, Antigone, 473 the public man’s conceit of office or success
and we are nothing; our ambition, greatness,
4 Athena. The gods pride,
Love men of steady sense and hate the proud. all vanity.
Sophocles, 132
Euripides, Hecuba, 623

5 Messenger. Wherever men forget their mere man’s

nature, 7 Electro. There is no form of anguish wdth a name
Thinking a thought too high, they have no use no suffering, no fate, no fall
Of their huge bulk and boldness, but they fall inflicted by heaven, however terrible
 1

304 Chapter 4, Emotion

whose tortures human nature could not bear and above all the great things, he will be con-

or might not have to bear. cerned with one thing in particular. Desert Is rela-
I think of Tantalus, tive to external goods; and the greatest of these,
born —or so they say —the son of Zeus himself we should say, is that which we render to the gods,

and blessed by birth and luck as few men are: and which people of position most aim at, and
happy Tantalus. . . . which is the prize appointed for the noblest deeds;
I do not mock his fall, and this is honour; that is surely the greatest of
and yet that same Tantalus now writhes and external goods. Honours and dishonours, there-
trembles fore, are the objects with respect to which the
in terror of the rock that overhangs his head, proud man is as he should be. And even apart
though even as a man he sat as honored equal from argument it is with honour that proud men
at the table of the gods, but could not hold his appear to be concerned; for it is honour that they
tongue, chiefly claim, but in accordance with their de-
being sick with pride. serts, The unduly humble man falls short both in

Euripides, Orestes, 1 comparison with his own merits and in compari-

8 Syracusan generals and Gylippus. When men are once
checked in what they consider their special excel-
lence, their whole opinion of themselves suffers
more than if they had not at first believed in their
superiority, the unexpected shock to their pride
causing them to give way more than their real
strength warrants.
Thucydides, Peloponnesian War, VII, 66
9 Socrates. The
three kinds of vain conceit the
son with the proud man^s claims. The vain man
goes to excess in comparison with his own merits,
but does not exceed the proud man’s claims.
Now the proud man, since he deserves most,
must be good in the highest degree; for the better
man always deserves more, and the best man
most. Therefore the truly proud man must be
good. And greatness in every virtue would seem to
be characteristic of a proud man. And it would be
most unbecoming for a proud man to fly from
. . .

danger, swinging his arms by his sides, or to wrong

vain conceit of beauty, of wisdom, and of wealth,
another; for to what end should he do disgraceful
are ridiculous if they are weak, and detestable
acts, he to whom nothing is great? If we consider
when they are powerful. him point by point we shall see the utter absurdity
Plato, Phiiebus, 49B
of a proud man who is not good. Nor, again,

10 Pride seems even from its name to be concerned

would he be worthy of honour if he were bad; for
with great things; what sort of great things, is the honour is the prize of virtue, and it is to the good
first question we must try to answer. It makes no
that it is rendered. Pride, then, seems to be a sort

difference whether wc consider the state of char- ofcrown of the virtues; for it makes them greater,
acter or the man characterized by it. Now the and it is not found without them. Therefore it is
man is thought to be proud who thinks himself hard to be truly proud; for it is impossible without
worthy of great things, being worthy of them; for nobility and goodness of character.

he who does so beyond his deserts is a fool, but no Aristotle, Ethics, 1 1 23*34
virtuous man is foolish or silly. The proud man,
then, is the man we have described. For he who is 1 A slow step is thought proper to the proud man, a
worthy of little and thinks himself worthy of little deep voice, and a level utterance; for the man
is temperate, but not proud; for pride implies who not likely to be
takes few things seriously is

greatness, as beauty implies a good-sized body, hurried, nor the man who thinks nothing great to
and little people may beneat and well-propor- be excited, while a shrill voice and a rapid gait
tioned but cannot be beautiful. On the other are the results of hurry and excitement.
hand, he who thinks himself worthy of great Such, then, is the proud man; the man who
things, being unworthy of them, is vain; though falls is unduly humble, and the man
short of him
not every one who thinks himself worthy of more who him is vain. Now even these arc
goes beyond
than he really is worthy of is vain. The man who not thought to be bad (for they are not malicious),
thinks himself worthy of less than he is really wor- but only mistaken. For the unduly humble man,
thy of is unduly humble, whether his deserts be being worthy of good things, robs himself of what
great or moderate, or his deserts be small but his he deserves, and seems to have something bad
claims yet smaller. And the man whose deserts are about him from the fact that he does not think
great would seem most unduly humble; for what himself worthy of good things, and seems also not
would he have done if they had been less? The to know
himself; else he would have desired the
proud man, then, is an extreme in respect of the things he was worthy of, since these were good.
greatness of his claims, but a mean in respect of . .Vain people, on the other hand, are fools and
.

the rightness of them; for he claims what is in ignorant of themselves, and that manifestly; for,
accordance with his merits, while the others go to not being worthy of them, they attempt honour-
excess or fall short. able undertakings, and then are found out; and
If, then, he deserves and claims great things, they adorn themselves with clothing and outward
 •/.//. Pride and Humility 305
17

show and such thini;5, and wiMi their strokes of Ajax. Why man l>c proud? How' doth
.should a
gootf fortune to be made public, and speak nlwut pride grow? know' not svhat pride is.
I

them as if they would be honoured for (hem. Af^amrmnm, Vour mind is the dearer, Ajax, and
Aristotle, 1125*13 your virtues the fairer. He that is proud cats up
himself; pride is his owm glass, his own trumpet,
12 We liear figs or an olive
do not expect a vine to his own and whatever praises itself but
chronicle;

grapes, but comes to ourselves, if we do

when It
in the deed, devours the deed in the praise.
Ajax. 1 do hate a proud man, as I hate the en-
not passcss the combined advantages of million-
aire and scholar and general and philosopher, of
gendering of toads.
Nestor. [Aside.] Vet he loves himself. Is’t not
the flatterer and the plain speaker, of the frugal
and the extravagant, we calumniate ourselves and strange?

arc irked wdth ourselves and despise ourselves as Shakespeare, 7 Vdi/ui and Cresuda, 11, iii, IGl

leading a drab and curtailed life.

Plutarch, Co*i{mtrftm{ in Fool. Ill ere was never yet fair woman but she
made mouths in a gla.ss.
Shakes jKarc, l^ar, III, it, 35
13 Consider what men arc when the)* arc eating,
sleeping, generating, casing themselves and so
forth. Then what kind of men they arc when they 19 All those who form a good opinion of themselves

arc imperious and arrogant, or angry and scold- for some other reason, whatever it may be. have
ing from their clcs^atcd place. But a short time ago
not a true generosity, but merely a pride which h
to how many they were slaves and for what alwa\‘3 vTry vicious, although it is all the mote so,

things; and after a little time consider in what a the more the cause for which we ciiccm ourselves

condition the)' will be. is unjust. And the most unjust cause of all is when
we arc proud w'ithout any reason, that is to say,
Marcus Aurelius, X, 19
w'iihout our thinking so far as this goes that there
is in us any merit for which wt ought to be es-
14 The pride which is prosid of its want of pride is
teemed, simply taking tlie view that merit is not
the most intolerable of all.
taken into consideration at all, and that as glor)' is
Marcus Aurelius, XU. 27 regarded ns nothing but usurpation, (hose who as-
cribe most of it to themselves really possess the
15 “Your might,” said she (Cecilia), “is scarce a tiling greatest amount of it. lliis vice is so unreasonable
to dread; and absurd, that I should scarcely have believed
For pov.Tr of ever)* mortal man but is that there were men who could allow ihcmscbcs
Like to a bladder full of wind, >*ss’is. to gisT w’ay to it. if no one were ever unjustly
For with a needle’s point, when it is blown, praised; Vnu flattery is e\cr)"w'hcrc so common
Prick it, and all the pride of it comes down.” that there is no man to defective that he docs not
Chaucer, CcrJnhtjy Tela: Second often sec himself esteemed for things that do not
Nun’s Talc merit any praise, or even that merit blame; and
this give occasion to the most ignorant and stupid
16 I hold that a man should l>e cautious in making to fall into this species of pride,
an estimate of himself, and equally conscientious Descartes, Passions of the Soul, CLVII
in testifyingalwui himself whether he rates him- —
self high or low makes no difference. If 1 seemed 20 Tlic whose violence or continuance mak-
p.nssion
to m)*sclf good and wise or nearly so, I would cth madness is either great vainglory, which is
shout it out at the lop of rny voice. To say less of commonly called fnde and self-conceit, or great de-
yourself than is true is stupidity, not modesty. To jection of mind.
pay yourself less than you arc worth is cow'ardlcc Pride subject cth a man to anger, the c.xccss
and pusillanimity, according to Aristotle. No vir- whereof is the madness called rn^r, and fury. And
tue is helped by falsehood, and truth is nc\*cr sub- thus it comes to pas.s that excessive desire of re-
ject to error. To say more of yourself than is true is venge, when it Incomes habitual, hurteth the or-
not alwaj-s prcstimption; it too is often stupidity. gans, and becomes rage: that excessive love, with
To be immoderately pleased with what you arc, jealousy, becomes also rage: excessive opinion of a
to fall therefore into an undisceming self-love, Is man’s own self, for dcvinc inspiration, for wisdom,
in my
opinion the substance of this vice. The su- learning, form, and the like, l>ccomcs distraction
preme remedy to cure it is to do just the opposite and giddiness: the same, joined with cn\7 rage: ,

of what those people prescribe who, by prohib- vehement opinion of the truth of anything, con-
iting talking about oneself, even more strongly tradicted by others, rage.
prohibit thinking about oneself. The pride lies in Hobbes, [.tfviathan, 1, 8
the thought; the tongue can have only a very
slight share in it. 21 1 thank God, amongst those millions of Vices I do
Montaigne, £wq>j, 11, 6, Of Practice inherit and hold from Adam, 1 have escaped one,
 306 I
Chapter 4. Emotion

and that a mortal enemy to Charity, the first and luted.For even in childhood, even in little chil-
father-sin, not onely of man, but of the devil. first of all show itself; it is a hasty,
dren, pride will
Pride. an early appearance of the sin of the soul.
Sir Thomas Browne, Religio Medici, II, 8 Bunyan, Life and Death of Mr. Badman

22 Vanity anchored in the heart of man that a

is so 28 My reconcilement to the Yahoo-kind in general
soldier, a a cook, a porter brags
soldier’s servant, might not be so difficult, if they would be content
and wishes to have his admirers. Even philoso- with those vices and follies only which nature
phers wish for them. Those who write against it hath entitled them to. I am not in the least pro-
want to have the glory of having written well; and voked at the sight of a lawyer, a pickpocket, a
those who read it desire the glory of having read colonel, a fool, a lord, a gamester, a politician, a
it. I who write this have perhaps this desire, and whoremonger, a physician, an evidence, a suborn-
perhaps those who will read it. er, an attorney, a tray tor, or the like; this is all
Pascal, Pensees, II, 150 according to the due course of things: but, when I
behold a lump of deformity, and diseases both in
23 He who will know fully the vanity of man has body and mind, smitten with pride, it immediately
only to consider the causes and effects of love. The breaks all the measures of my patience; neither
cause is sije ne sais quoi, and the effects are dread- shall I be ever able to comprehend how such an
ful. This je ne sais quoi, so small an object that we animal and such a vice could tally together. The
cannot recognise it, agitates a whole country, wise and virtuous Houyhnhnms, who abound in
princes, armies, the entire world. all excellencies that can adorn a rational creature,

Cleopatra’s nose; had it been shorter, the whole have no name for this vice in their language,
aspect of the world would have been altered. which hath no terms to express any thing that is
Pascal, Pensees, II, 162 evil, except those whereby they describe the de-
testable qualities of their Yahoos; among which
24 Contradiction.—-Pride counterbalancing all miser- they were not able to distinguish this of pride, for
ies. Man either hides his miseries, or, if he disclose want of thoroughly understanding human nature,
them, knowing them.
glories in as sheweth it self in other countries, where that
it

Pride counterbalances and takes away all mis-
eries. Here is a strange monster and a very plain
aberration. He is fallen from his place and is anx-
iously seeking it. This is what all men do. Let us
see who will have found it.
Pascal, Pensees, VI, 405-406
25 When a man thinks too much of himself, this
imagination is called pride, and is a kind of deliri-
um, because he dreams with his eyes open, that he
is able to do all those things to which he attains in
imagination alone, regarding them therefore as
realities, and rejoicing in them so long as he can-
not imagine anything to exclude their existence
and power of action. Pride, therefore, is
limit his
that joy which arises from a man’s thinking too
much of himself.
Spinoza, Ethics, III,
26 Then I saw in my dream, that when they were got
out of the wilderness, they presently saw a town
before them, and the name of that town is Vanity;
and at the town there is a fair kept, called Vani-
animal presides. But I, who had more experience,
could plainly observe some rudiments of it among
the wild Yahoos.
But the Houyhnhnms, who live under the gov-
ernment of reason, are no more proud of the good
qualities they possess, than I should be for not
wanting a leg or an arm, which no man in his wits
would boast of, although he must be miserable
without them. I dwell the longer upon this subject
from the desire I have to make the society of an
English Yahoo by any means not insupportable;
and therefore, I here intreat those who have any
tincture of this absurd vice, that they will not pre-
sume to appear in my sight.
Swift, Gulliver’s Travels, IV, 12
29 To be vain, is rather a Mark of Humility than
Prop. 26, Schol. Pride. Vain Men delight in telling what Honours
have been done them, what great Company they
have kept, and the like; by which they plainly
confess, that these Honours were more than their
Due, and such as their Friends would not believe
if they had not been told: Whereas a Man truly

ty Fair; kept all the year long; it beareth the

it is proud, thinly the greatest Honours below his
name Vanity Fair because the town where it is
of Merit, and consequently scorns to boast. I there-
kept is lighter than vanity; and also because all fore deliver it as a Maxim, that whoever desires
that is there sold, or that cometh thither, is vanity. the Character of a proud Man, ought to conceal
. . This fair is no new-erected business, but a
. his Vanity.
thing of ancient standing. Swift, Thoughts on Various Subjects
Bunyan, Pilgrim*s Progress, I
30 Of all the causes which conspire to blind
27 Pride is a sin that sticks close to nature, and is one Man’s erring judgement, and misguide the mind,
of the first follies wherein it shows itself to be pol- What the weak head with strongest bias rules.
 4J I , Pride and Humility |
307

Is pride, the nc\'cr-failing vice of fools. 34 With the greater part of rich people, the chief en-
Pope, Essay on CriUnsTn, II, 201 joyment of riches consists in the parade of riches,
which in their eye is never so complete as when
31 V'anity advantageous lo a government as
is as they appear to possess those decisive marks of
pride is To be convinced of this v-x
dangerous. opulence which nobody can possess but them-
selves. In their eyes the merit of an object which is
need only represent, on the one hand, the num-
berless benefits which result from vanity, as indus- in any degree either useful or beautiful is greatly

try', the arts, fashions, politeness, and taste; on the

enhanced by its scarcity, or by the great labour
other, the infinite evils which spring from the which it requires to collect any considerable
pride of certain nations, as laziness, poverty, a to- quantity of it, a labour which nobody can afford
tal neglect of everything — in fine, the destruction to pay but themselves. Such objects they are will-

of the nations which have happened to fall under ing to purchase at a higher price than things
their government, as well as of their oum. Laziness much more beautiful and useful, but more com-
is the effect of pride; labour, a consequence of
mon.
vanity. Adam Smith, l^ealth of Nations, 1,11
Montesquieu, Spirit of Laws, XIX, 9
35 The virtues arc economists, but some of the vices
arc also. Thus, next to humility, I have noticed
32 Johnson. He that stands to contemplate the crouds
that pride is a pretty good husband. A good pride
that fill a populous city, will see
the streets of
is, as I worth from five hundred to fif-
reckon it,
many passengers air and motion it will be
whose
teen hundred a year. Pride is handsome, economi-
difficult to behold without contempt and laugh-
cal; pride eradicates so many vices, letting none
ter; but if he examine w'hat arc the appearances
subsist but itself, that it seems as if it were a great
that thus powerfully excite his risibility, he will
gain to exchange vanity for pride. Pride can go
find among them neither poverty nor disease, nor
without domestics, without fine clothes, can live in
any involuntary or painful defect. The disposition
a house with two rooms, can cat potato, purslain,
to derision and insult, is awakened by the softness
beans, lyed com, can work on the soil, can travel
of foppery', the sw'cll of insolence, the liveliness of
afoot, can talk with poor men, or sit silent well
lc\‘ity, or the solemnity of grandeur; by the
contented in fine saloons. But vanity costs money,
sprightly trip, the stately stalk, the formal strut,
labor, horses, men, women, health and peace, and
and the mien; by gestures intended to catch
lofty
is still last; a long w’ay leading no-
nothing at
the eye, and by looks elaborately formed as evi-
where. Only one drawback; proud people are in-
dences of importance.
tolerably selfish, and the vain are gentle and giv-
Bos%vcll, Life ofJohnson (!750)
ing.
Emerson, IVeaitk
any man dies in publick, but wth
33 Johnson. Scarce
apparent resolution; from that desire of praise 36 If one has no vanity in this life of ours, there is no
which never quits us. sufficient reason for living.
Boswell, Life of Johnson (Sept. IS, 1777) Tolstoy, The Krmlzer Sonata, XXIII
 Chapter 5

MIND

Chapter 5 is divided into seven sections: 5.1 The remaining three sections are includ-
Intelligence and Understanding, 5.2 The Sen- ed in this chapter each for a special reason.
ses AND Sense Perception, 5.3 Memory, 5.4 Dreaming involves memory and imagina-
Imagination, 5.5 Dreams, 5.6 Madness, and tion and is a specifically mental phenome-
5.7 Will: Free Choice. non, even though it does not, in a strict

We are employing the term ‘‘mind,” as sense, contribute to thought or knowledge,

indeed it is often used, to cover a wide varie- and involves emotions and desires as well as
ty of human powers and Under- functions. cognitive processes. As included here, mad-
standing, sense perception, memory, and ness covers all forms of mental disorder, not
imagination all contribute in one way or an- merely aberrations of thought or fancy.
other to the processes of thinking, problem- Though will, like emotion and desire, is not

solving, learning, and knowing. In the a cognitive power, it is usually distinguished

sphere of human thought and in man^s ac- from emotion and desire by its close relation
quirement of knowledge, each not only to intellect or reason. This is especially true
makes a distinctive contribution, but all for those authors who affirm the will’s free-
work together in an integrated fashion. dom in its acts of choice. That is why the
Hence the reader should bear in mind that discussion of volition, and particularly of
the contents of the first four sections are free will or free choice, is included here.
closely related and, to some extent, overlap- Other discussions of freedom will be found
ping. He should also be aware that many in Chapter 13 on Liberty and Equality, and
points discussed in these sections recur, in Chapter 9 on Ethics, Section 9.4 on Mor-
either explicitly or by implication, in Chap- al Freedom. Some matters discussed in this

ter 6 on Knowledge, especially Section 6.7 chapter, are more Chap-

fully considered in
on Reasoning, Demonstration, and Disputa- ter 4 on Emotion, especially Section 4.1 on
tion. The Passions: The Range of the Emotions.

308
 5.1 I
Intelligence and Understanding

There are a large numlier of nainr,s for the sense, memory, and imagination, we have
human power that is the
faculty, ability, or restrictcrl the materials included in this sec-
subject of tlti$ section. Sometimes it is simply tion to discuvMons of mind as thepower of
called *‘mind/* sometimes **intclleci,'’ some- thougitt, judgment, insight, and reasoning,
times '‘reason,*’ sometimes “wit,” '^I'he two 'rhe reader will find related matters treated
names in the title of this section arc a!<o \u Section r>.7 on Ri.ssumnc, Dr s!ONviKAtif)N,
used. Each of these words has a somewhat and DivnnA'nr'S’.
different connotation; certain authors arc at 'Hie (jtiotations collected here deal with
pains to distinguish reason frotn it ruler- qite.stions alxjui the relation of mind and
standing, or intellect from iniclligetuc; hut bfuly; alK)ut the immateriality or s[)iriiuality
all of these words liavc this common thre^ad of mind or intellect; alu)ut the <liffcreni acts
of meaning: they designate the power or of the intellect and how they arc related;
abilityby which men solve problems, make al>out the role of reason or ititclligencc in
judgments, engage in reasoning or in delib- the sj)herc of action as well as irt the spitcrc
eration.and make practical decisions. of thouglti; al>oui wit, sagacity, and cunning
Some, modern writers use “tnitul” nr “un- as aspects of intelligence; and about htiman
derstanding” more broadly to include matfs s|K:rcb as indicative and expressive of the
sensitive abilities as well — his |xm’crs of power atu! priKresses of human ratinmtitiy.
sense perception, memory*, and imagination. In this last connection, the reader is referred
However, since Sections 5.2, 5).5, and 5.*l are to related rnatriial in Section 7.1 on '1*10

specifically devoted to the consideration of Natukcoi Lssr.us*a.

1 For a.5 he thinVcih in hii lirart, wi u hr. place sou would admit ib-at the)* Iw^ih exist?

Pn^tTh 23:7 7>ysfi. Yrt

Se And that either of thrm is different from
2 Ttic c.trthy ulx^rn.iclr vrltjhrth d<nsn tJir mind the other, and the s.'inir with itself?
that mu«ah upon many thiturt. 7>.fiU!, (.>rt.xinly.

tlW-1 9;!5 .SV And th.-u lK>th arr two and e.nch of them
one?
3 Socrctfs. Tel! me, then, arc not tlir oyjtami throtiRh 7y.r^t: Yen.
Vihich you perceive warm and h.nrd and and You c.nn further olner\T whctlicr they arc
n^'cet, organs of the Ixxiy? like or unlike one another?
Hifceiriui. Of the Ixxty, rcrtainly. I dare say.

See. And you would admit that what you per- Ste. Hut through wh.at do you perceive all tliis

cci\*c througli one faculty you cannot perceive alxnit them? for neither through hr.tring nor yet
through another; the objects of hearing, for exatn- through teeing can you apprehend that whicli
pie, cannot Ixr |>erceivcd through sight, or the ob* then’ haw in common. Ix*i me give you an illus-
jeets of sight through hearing? tration of the j>oint at i'^nue:— If there were any
Thfaei. Of course not, meaning in asking uhctlier sounds and colours
Soc. you have any thought about both of
If arc saline or not, you would be able to tell me
them, this common perception cannot come to what f.iculiy would comidcr the question. It
you, either through the one or the other organ? would not lx- sight or hearing, but some other,
Thfari. It cannot. Thfaei Certainly; the faculty of taste.
Soc. How about sounds and colon n: in the first Soc. Very' goo<l; and now tell me what is the

309
 310 Chapter 5, Mind

power which discerns, not only in sensible objects, call the soul ‘the place of forms’, though (1) this
but in all things, universal notions, such as those description holds only of the intellective soul, and
which arc called being and not-being, and those (2) even this is the forms only potentially, not ac-
others about which we were just asking —
what or- tually, . . .

gans will you assign for the perception of these Once the mind has become each set of its possi-
notions? ble objects, as a man of science has, when this
Theaet arc thinking of being and not-
You phrase is who is actually a man of
used of one
being, likeness and unlikeness, sameness and dif- science (this happens when he is now able to exer-
ference, and also of unity and other numbers cise the power on his own initiative), its condition
which arc applied to objects of sense; and you one of potentiality, but in a different sense
is still

mean to ask, through what bodily organ the soul from the potentiality which preceded the acquisi-
perceives odd and even numbers and other arith- tion of knowledge by learning or discovery: the
metical conceptions. mind too is then able to think itself.
Soc. You follow me excellently, Thcaetetus; that Aristotle, On the Soul, 429*13
is precisely what I am asking.
Theaet. Indeed, Socrates, I cannot answer; my 6 Mind is in a sense potentially whatever is think-
only notion is, that these, unlike objects of sense, able, though actually it is nothing until it has
have no separate organ, but that the mind, by a thought. What it thinks must be in it just as char-
power of her own, contemplates the universals in acters may be said to be on a writing-tablet on
all things. which as yet nothing actually stands written: this
Plato, Theaetetus^ 184B is exactly what happens with mind.

Mind is itself thinkable in exactly the same way

4 Quick wit is a faculty of hitting upon the middle as its objects are. For (a) in the case of objects
term instantaneously. It would be exemplified by which involve no matter, what thinks and what is
a man who saw that the moon has her bright side thought are identical; for speculative knowledge
always turned towards the sun, and quickly and its object are identical, . . .

grasped the cause of this, namely that she borrows Since in every class of things, as in nature as a
her light from him; or observed somebody in con- whole, we find two factors involved, (1) a matter
versation with a man of wealth and divined that which is potentially all the particulars included in
he was borrowing money, or that the friendship of the class, (2) a cause which is productive in the
these people sprang from a common enmity. In all sense that makes them all (the latter standing to
it

these instances he has seen the major and minor the former, as e.g, an art to its material), these
terms and then grasped the causes, the middle distinct elements must likewise be found within
terms. the soul.
Aristotle, Posterior Analytics, 89^10 And in factmind as we have described it is
what it is by virtue of becoming all things, while
5 If thinking is must be either a
like perceiving, it there is another which is what it is by virtue of
process in which the soul acted upon by what is
is making all things: this is a sort of positive state
capable of being thought, or a process different like light; for in a sense light makes potential col-
from but analogous to that. The thinking part of ours into actual colours.
the soul must therefore be, while impassible, capa- Mind in this sense of it is separable, impassible,
ble of receiving the form of an object; that is, must unmixed, since it is in its essential nature activity
be potentially identical in character with its ob- (for always the active is superior to the passive
ject without ^ing the object. Mind must be relat- factor, the originating force to the matter which it
ed to what is thinkable, as sense is to what is sensi- forms).
ble. Actual knowledge is identical with its object: in
Therefore, since everything a possible object
is the individual, potential knowledge is in time
of thought, mind in order, as Anaxagoras says, to prior to actual knowledge, but in the universe as a
dominate, that is, to know, must be pure from all whole it is not prior even in time. Mind is not at
admixture; for the coprescnce of what is alien to one time knowing and at another not. When
its nature is a hindrance tmd a block: it follows mind is set free from its present conditions it ap-
that it too, like the sensitive part, can have no pears as just what it is and nothing more: this
nature of its own, other than that of having a cer- alone is immortal and eternal (we do not, howev-
tain capacity. Thus that in the soul which is er, remember its former activity because, while
called mind (by mind I mean that whereby the mind in this sense is impassible, mind as passive is
soul thinks and judges) is, before it thinks, not destructible), and wthout it nothing thinks.

actually any real thing. For this reason it cannot Aristotle, On the Soul, 429^30
reasonably be regarded as blended with the body:
if so, it would acquire some quality, e.g. warmth 7 The nature of the mind and soul is bodily; for
or cold, or even have an organ like the sensitive when it is seen to push the limbs, rouse the body
faculty: as it is, it has none. It was a good idea to from sleep, and alter the countenance and guide
 5,1. Melligcnce and Understanding 311

and turn about the whole man, and when we To the cushions and loves and feasts of Sardana-
see thatnone of these effects can take place with- pallus.
out touch nor touch without body, must we not Juvenal, Satire X
admit that the mind and the soul arc of a bodily
nature? . . .
1 1 Indeed, for the pow'cr of seeing and hearing, and
I will now go on to explain in my verses of what indeed for life itself, and for the things which con-
kind of body the mind consists and out of what it tribute to support it, for the fruits which arc dr)’,
isformed. First of all I say that it is extremely fine and for w'inc and oil give thanks to God: but re-
and formed of exceedingly minute bodies. That member that he has given you something else bet-
this is so you may, if you please to attend, clearly ter than all these, I mean the power of using
perceive from what nothing that is seen
follow's: them, proving them and estimating the value of
takes place w'ith a velocity equal to that of the each. For what is that which gives information
mind when it starts some suggestion and actually about each of these powers, what each of them is
sets it agoing; the mind therefore is stirred with w’orth? Is it each faculty itself? Did you ever hear
greater rapidity than any of the things whose na- the faculty of vision saying anything about itself?
ture stands out visible to sight. But that which is or the faculty of hearing? or w’heat, or barley, or a
so passing nimble, must consist of seeds exceeding- horse or a dog? No; but they arc appointed as
ly round and exceedingly minute, in order to be ministers and slaves to serve the faculty w'hich has
stirred and set in motion by a small moving pow- the pow’cf of making use of the appearances of
er. The follow'ing fact too likeuisc demon-
,
things. And if you inquire what is the value of
how fine the texture is of which its nature is
strates each thing, of whom do you inquire? who answers
composed, and how small the room is in which it you? How then can any other faculty be more
can be contained, could it only be collected into powerful than this, which uses the rest as ministers
one mass: soon as the untroubled sleep of death and itself proves each and pronounces about
has gotten hold of a man and the nature of the them? for which of them know-s what itself is, and
mind and soul has withdrawn, you can perceive what is its own value? which of them know’s when
then no diminution of the entire body either in it ought to employ itself and when not? w'hat fa-
appearance or weight: death makes all good save culty is it which opens and closes the eyes, and
the vital sense andwhole soul
heat. Therefore the turns them away from objects to which it ought
must and be inwoven
consist of very small seeds not to apply them and docs apply them to other
through veins and flesh and sinews; inasmuch as, objects? No; but it is the faculty of the will.
after it has all withdrawn from the whole body,
Epictetus, Discourses, II, 23
the exterior contour of the limbs preserves itself
entireand not a tittle of the weight is lost. Just in
12 It must necessarily be allow’cd that the principle
the same w'ay when the flavour of wine is gone or
of intellectual operationwhich we call the soul is
w'hcn the delicious aroma of a perfume has been
a principle both incorporeal and subsistent. For it
dispersed into the air or when the savour has left
is clear that by means of the intellect man can
some body, yet the thing itself docs not therefore
know tlic natures of all corporeal things. Now
look smaller.
whatever knows certain things cannot have any of
Lucretius, Nature of Things^ III
them in its own nature because that which is in it
naturally w-ould impede the knowledge of any-
8 In so far as the mind is stronger than the body, so thing else. Thus w’c observe that a sick man’s
arc the contracted by the mind more severe
ills
tongue being vitiated by a feverish and bitter
than those contracted by the body.
humour, cannot perceive anything sweet, and cv-
Cicero, Philippics, XI, 4 cry’thing seems bitter to it. Therefore, if the intel-
lectual principle contained the nature of any body
9 Which of you by taking thought can add one cu- it w’ould be unable to know all bodies. Now' every
bit unto his stature?
body has some determinate nature. Therefore it is
Matthew 6:27 impossible for the intellectual principle to be a
body. It is likewise impossible for it to understand
But still, just for the sake of asking. by means of a bodily organ, since the determinate
For the sake of something to give to the chapels, nature of that bodily organ w'ould prc\’cnt the
ritual entrails. knowledge of all bodies; as when a certain deter-
The meat of a little white pig, pray
consecrated minate colour is not only in the pupil of the eye,
one thing,
for but also in a glass vase, the liquid in the vase
Pray for a healthy mind in a healthy body, a spir- seems to be of that same colour.
it
Therefore the intellectual principle which we
Unafraid of death, but reconciled to it, and able call the mind or the intellect has an operation per
To bear up, to endure whatever troubles afflict it. se apart from the body. Now only that which sub-
Free from hate and desire, preferring Hercules* sists can have an operation per se. For nothing can
labors operate except a being in act; hence a thing oper-
 312 Chapter 5. Mind

atcs according as it is. For this reason we do not others; the first is the most excellent, the second »
say that heat imparts heat, but that what is hot good, the third is useless.

gives heat. We must conclude, therefore, that the Machiavclli, Princtf XXII
human soul, which is called the intellect or the
mind, is something incorporeal and subsistent. 16 Heavy thoughts bring on physical maladies; when
Aquinas, Summa Theohgica, I, 75, 2 the soul is oppressed, so is the body.
Luther, Table Talk, H645
13 The because it can comprehend
intellectual soul,
universal, has a power extending to the infinite; 1 7 Whenever ... we meet with heathen writers, let
therefore it cannot be limited by nature cither to us learn from that light of truth which is admira-
certain fixed natural judgments, or to certain bly displayed in their w'orks, that the human
fixed means whether of defence or of clothing, as mind, fallen as and corrupted from its integ-
it is,

is the case with other animals, the souls of which rity, is yet invested and adorned by God with ex-
have knowledge and power in regard to fixed par- cellent talents.
ticular things. Instead of all these, man has by Galvin, Institutes of the Chmtian
nature his reason and his hands, which arc the Religion, II, 2
organs of organs, since by their means man can
make for himself instruments of an infinite varie- 18 Meditation is a powerful and full study for any-
ty, and for any number of purposes. one who knows how to examine and exercise him-
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 76, 5 self vigorously: I would rather fashion my mind
than furnish it. TTicrc is no occupation that is
14 To say that a thing is understood more by one either weaker or stronger, according to the mind
than by another may be taken in two senses. First, involved, than entertaining one’s owm thoughts.
so that the word more be taken as determining the The greatest minds make it their profession, to

act of understanding as regards the thing under- whom living ts thinking (Cicero]. Thus nature has
stood; and thus, one cannot understand the same favored it with this privilege, that there is nothing
thing more than another, because to understand it we can do so long, and no action to which we can
otherNvisc than as it is, cither better or worse, devote ourselves more commonly and easily. It is
would entail being deceived, and such a one tlie occupation of the gods, sa)'s Aristotle, from

would not understand it. In another sense the

. . . which springs their happiness and ours.
word more can be taken as determining tlic act of Montaigne, Essays, III, 3,
understanding on the part of him who under- Three Kinds of Asociation
stands; and so one may understand the same
thing better than someone else, through having a 19 Hamlet. What is a man,
greater power of understanding, just as a man If his chief good and market of his time
may see a thing better with his b^ily sight, whose Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more.
power is greater, and whose sight is more perfect. Sure, he that made us wath such large discourse.
The same applies to the intellect in two ways. Looking before and after, gave us not
First, as regards the intellect itself, which is more That capability and god-like reason
perfect. For it is plain that the better the disposi- To fust in us unused.
tion of a body, the better the soul allotted to it,
Shakespeare, Hamlet, IV, iv, 33
w'hich clearly appears in things of different spe-
cies.And the reason for this is that act and form 20 1st Gentleman. But I much marv’cl that your lord-
arc received into matter according to matter’s ca- having
ship,
pacity, Hence because some men have bodies of Rich tire about you, should at these early hours
better disposition, their souls have a greater power
Shake off the golden slumber of repose,
of understanding. Thus it is said that we sec that
’Tis most strange
those who have delicate flesh are of apt mind.
Nature should be so conversant with pain,
Secondly, this occurs in regard to the lower pow-
Being thereto not compclFd.
ers of which the intellect has need in its operation,
Cerimon. I hold it ever
for those in whom the imaginative, cogitative and
Virtue and cunning were endowments greater
remembering powers arc of better disposition arc
Than nobleness and riches. Careless heirs
better disposed to understand.
May and expend;
the two latter darken
Aquinas, Summa Theologiccy I, 85, 7 But immortality attends the former,
Making a man a god. HTis known, I ever
15 There arc three classes of intellects; one which Have studied physic, through w’hich secret art,
comprehends by itself; another which appreciates By turning o’er authorities, I have,
what others comprehend; and a third which nei- Together Nvith my practice, made familiar
ther comprehends by itself nor by the showing of To me and to my aid the blest infusions
 5.L Intelligence and Understanding 313

That dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones; era! resemblances; each of them readily falls into
And can speak of the disturbances
I excess, by catching either at nice distinctions or
That nature works, and of her cures; which doth shadows of resemblance.
give me Bacon, Novum Organum, I, 55
A more content in course of true delight
Than to be thirsty after tottering honour,
25 Examining attentively that which I was, I saw
Or tie my treasure up in silken bags,
that could conceive that I had no body, and that
I
To please the fool and Death.
there was no world nor place where 1 might be;
Shakespeare, Pnides, III, ii, 21
but yet that I could not for all that conceive that
I was not. On
the contrary, I saw from the very
21 The mind of man from the nature of a clear
is far
fact that thought of doubting the truth of other
I
and equal glass, wherein the beams of things things, it very evidently and certainly followed
should reflect according to their true incidence;
that I was; on the other hand if I had only ceased
nay, it is rather like an enchanted glass, full of
from thinking, even if all the rest of what I had
superstition and imposture, if it be not delivered
ever imagined had really existed, I should have no
and reduced. reason for thinking that I had existed. From that I
Bacon, Advancanent of Learning, knew was a substance the whole essence or
that I
Bk. 11, XIV, 9 nature of which is to think, and that for its exis-
tence there is no need of any place, nor docs it
22 Our method, though difficult in its operation, is depend on any material thing; so that this “me,”
easily explained. It consists in determining the de- that is to say, the soul by which I am what I am,
grees of certainty, whilst we, as it were, restore the is entirely distinct from body, and is even more
senses to theirformer rank, but generally reject easy to know than is the latter; and even if body
that operation of the mind which follow-s close w’crc not, the soul would not cease to be what it is.
upon the senses, and open and establish a new
Descartes, Discourse on Method, IV
and certain course for the mind from the first ac-
tual perceptions of the senses themselves. This, no
doubt, was the view’ taken by those who have as- 26 What of thinking? I is an
find here that thought
signed so much to logic; showng clearly thereby attribute that belongs to me; it alone cannot be
that the)* sought some support for the mind, and separated from me. I am, I exist, that is certain.
suspected its naturaland spontaneous mode of ac- But how often? Just when 1 think; for it might
tion. But this is now cmplo)'cd too late as a rem- possibly be the ease if I ceased entirely to think,
edy, when all is clearly lost, and after the mind, that I should likewise cease altogether to exist. I

by the daily habit and intercourse of life, has do not now admit anything which not necessari-is

come prepossessed with corrupted doctrines, and ly true: to speak accurately I am not more than a
filled with the vainest idols. The art of logic, thing which thinks, that is to say a mind or a soul,
therefore, being (as we ha\*c mentioned), too late or an understanding, or a reason, which arc terms
a precaution, and in no way remedying the mat- whose significance was formerly unknown to me. I
ter, more to confirm errors, than to
has tended am, howc\*cr, a real thing and really exist; but
disclose truth. Our only remaining hope and sal- what thing? 1 have an5^ve^cd: a thing which
vation is to begin the whole labor of the mind thinks.
again.
Descartes, Meditations on First Philosophy, II
Bacon, Noewn Organum, Pref.
27 By virtues intellectual arc always understood such
23 The human understanding, from peculiar na-
its
abilities of the mind as men praise, value, and
ture, easily supposes a greater degree of order and
desire should be in themselves; and go commonly
equalit)* in things than it really finds.
under the name of a good wit; though the same
Bacon, Novum Organum^ I, 45 word, wit, be used also to distinguish one certain
ability from the rest.
24 'Hie greatest and, perhaps, most radical distinc- These virtues arc of two sorts; natural and oc-
tion between different men’s dispositions for phi- quired. By natural, I mean not that which a man
losophy and the sciences is this, that some arc hath from his birth: for that is nothing else but
more \*igorous and active in observing the differ- sense; wherein men differ so little one from anoth-
ences of things, others in observing ^cir resem- er, and from brute beasts, as it is not to be reck-
blances; for a steady and acute disp>o$ition can fix oned amongst virtues. But I mean that wit which
its thoughts,
and dwell upon and adhere to a is gotten by use only, and experience, without
point, through all the
refinements of differences, method, culture, or instruction. This natural zvit
but those that arc sublime and discursive recog- consisteth principally in two things: celerity of imag-
nize and compare even
the most delicate and gen- ining (that this, swift succession of one thought to
 314 Chapter 5. Mind

another); and sUady direction some approved

to which we cannot fill. Let us endeavour, then, to
end. On the contrary, a slow imagination maketh think well; this is the principle of morality.
that defect or fault of the mind which is common- Pascal, Pensees, VI, 347
ly called dullness, stupidity, and sometimes by other
names that signify slowness of motion, or difficulty 32 A thinking reed. —
not from space that I must
It is

to be moved. seek my from the government of my

dignity, but
And this difference of quickness is caused by the thought. I shall have no more if I possess worlds.
difference of men’s passions; that love and dislike, By space the universe encompasses and swallows
some one thing, some another: and therefore some me up like an atom; by thought I comprehend the
men’s thoughts run one way, some another, and world.
are held to, and observe differently the things that Pascal, Pensees, VI, 348
pass through their imagination. And whereas in
this succession of men’s thoughts there is nothing 33 The mind is its own place, and in it self
Satan.
to observe in the things they think on, but either Can make a Hcav’n of Hell, a Hell of Hcav’n.
in what they be like one another, or in what they Milton, Paradise Lost, I, 254
be unlike, or what they serve for, or how they
serve to such a purpose; those that observe their 34 Belial. For who would loose,
similitudes, in case they be such as are but rarely Though full of pain, this intellectual being,
observed by others, are said to have a good wit; by Those thoughts that wander through Eternity,
which, in this occasion, is meant a good fancy. But To perish rather, swallowd up and lost
they that observe their differences, and dissimili- In the wide womb of uncreated night,
tudes, which is called distinguishing, and discerning, Devoid of sense and motion?
2indt judgingbetween thing and thing, in case such Milton, Paradise Lost, II, 146
discerning be not easy, are said to have a good
judgement: and particularly in matter of conversa- 35 Man thinks.
tion and business, wherein times, places, and per- Spinoza, Ethics, II, Axiom 2
sons arc to be discerned, this virtue is called discre-
tion.
36 The body cannot determine the mind to thought,
Hobbes, Leviathan, I, 8 neither can the mind determine the body to mo-
tion nor rest, nor to anything else, if there be any-
28 The secret thoughts of a man run over all things thing else. That is to say, that the mind and
. . .

holy, prophane, clean, obscene, grave, and
without shame, or blame; which verbal discourse
cannot do, farther than the judgement shall ap-
prove of the time, place, and persons.
Hobbes, Leviathan,
29 There are then two kinds of intellect: the one able
to penetrate acutely and deeply into the conclu-
sions of given premises, and this is the precise in-
light, the body are one and the same thing, conceived at
one time under the attribute of thought, and at
another under that of extension. For this reason,
the order or concatenation of things is one„wheth-
I, 8 er nature be conceived under this or under that
attribute, and consequently the order of the ac-
tions and passions of our body is coincident in
nature with the order of the actions and passions
of the mind. . . .
Although these things arc so, and no ground for •

tellect; the other able to comprehend a great

doubting remains, I scarcely believe, nevertheless,
number of premises without confusing them, and
that, without a proof derived from experience,
this is the mathematical intellect. The one has
force and exactness, the other comprehension.
men will be induced calmly to weigh what has
been said, so firmly are they persuaded that, solely
Now the one quality can exist without the other;
at the bidding of the mind, the body moves or
the intellect can be strong and narrow, and can
rests, and docs a number of things which depend
, also be comprehensive and weak.
upon the will of the mind alone, and upon the
Pascal, Pensees, I, 2
power of thought.
Spinoza, Ethics, III, Prop. 2; Schol.

30 I can well conceive a man without hands, feet,

37 The more perfect a thing is, the more reality it
head (for it is only experience which teaches us
possesses, . . .

that the head is more necessary than feet). But I

Hence it follows that that part of the mind
cannot conceive man without thought; he would more per-
which abides, whether great or small, is
be a stone or a brute.
fect than the other part. For the part of the mind
Pascal, Pensees, VI, 339 which is eternal is the intellect, through which
alone we are said to act, but that part which, as
31 All our dignity consists ... in thought. By it we we have shown, perishes, is the imagination itself,

must elevate ourselves, and not by space and time through which alone we are said to suffer. There-
 5. L Jntelligf nee and Understanding 315
|

fore that part which abides, wli ether great or nothing to do with external objects, yet it is very'
small, is more perfect than the latter. like it, and might properly enough be called inter-

These arc the things 1 proposed to prove con- nal sense. But as I call the other si:nsatios, so I call
cerning the mind, insofar as it is considered with- this Rr.rLr.vTTioN, the ideas it affords being such only
out relation to the existence of the body, and from as the mind gets by reflecting on its own opera-
these ... it is evident that our mind, insofar as it tioas within itself. By reflection then, in the fol-
understands, an eternal mode of thought, which
is lowing part of this discourse, I would l>c under-
is determined by another ctenfal mode of thought, stood to mean, that notice which tlic mind takes
and this again by another, and so on <id infinitum, of its own operations, and the manner of them, by
so that all taken together form the eternal and reason wiicrcof there conic to be ideas of these
infinite intellect of God. operations in the understanding. These two, I say,
Spinoza, Ethics^ V, Prop. *10 viz. external material things, as the objects of sr.N-
41
ssTiov, and the operations of our own minds with-
38 Dim as the borrow’d beams of moon and stars in, as the objects of kulilikin, arc to me the only
To lonely, wcarys wand ’ring travel en, originals from whence all our ideas take their be-
Is Reason to the soul. ginnings.
Dr>*dcn, Rehgio Ijqxcx, 1 I.>ockc, Concerning Human
Understanding, Bk. U, 1, 4
39 Insofar as the concatenation of their perceptions is

due to the principle of memory' alone, men act Follow a child from and obscrx'c the al-
its birth,
like the lower animals, resembling the empirical terations that lime makes, and you shall find, as
phpicians whose methods arc those of mere prac- llic mind by the senses comes more and more to
tice without thcor)*. Indeed, in three-fourths of be furnished with ideas, it comes to be more and
our actions we arc nothing but empirics. For in- more awake; thinks more, the more it has matter
stance, when we expect lliat there will be daylight to think on. After some time it begins to know the
co-morrmv, we do so empirically, because it has objects which, being most familiar with it, have
alwap so happened until now. It is only the as- made lasting impressions. Thus it comes by de-
tronomer who thinks it on rational grounds. grees to know the persons it daily converses with,
But it is the knowledge of necessary* and eternal and distinguishes them from strangers; which arc
truths that distinguishes us from the mere animals instances and effects of its coining to retain and
and gives us and the sciences, raising as to distinguish the ideas the senses convey to it. And
the knowledge of ourselves and of God. And it is so we may obscrv'c how the mind, by degrees, im-
this in us that is called the rational soul or mind. proves in these; and advances to the exercise of
through the knowledge of necessary’
It is also
those other faculties of enlarging, compounding,
truths,and through their abstract expression, that and abstracting its ideas, and of reasoning about
we rise to acts of reflrxxon, which make us think of them, and reflecting upon all these. . . .

what is called /, and obscrN'C that this or that is In time the mind comes to reflect on its own
within us: and thus, thinking of ourselves, we operations about the ideas got by sensation, and
think of being, of substance, of the simple and the thereby stores itself with a new set of ideas, which
compound, of the immaterial, and of God Him- 1 call ideas of rcncction. Tlicsc arc the impressions
self, conceiving that what is limited in us is in that arc made on our by outward objects
senses
Him without limits. And these acts of reflexion that arc extrinsical to themind; and its own oper-
furnish the chief objects of our reasonings. ations, proceeding from powers intrinsical and
Leibniz. Montidolo^^ 28-30 proper to itself, which, when reflected on by itself,
become also objects of its contemplation — arc, as I
40 The other fountain from which experience fur- have said, the original of all knowledge. Thus the
nisheth the understanding with ideas is, the per- — first capacity of human intellect is, — that the
ception of the operations of our own mind within mind is fitted to receive the impressions made on
us, as employed about the ideas it has got; by outward
it is
it; either through the senses objects, or
which operations, when the soul comes to rcflccl by its own operations when it reflects on them.
on and consider, do furnish the understanding Tliis is the first step a man makes tow'ards the
'vithanother set of ideas, which could not be had discovery of anything, and the groundwork
from things without. And such arc perception, think- whereon to build all those notions w'hich ever he
wg, doubting, behn'ing, reasoning, knowing, willing,
and shall have naturally in this world. All* those sub-
all the different actings of

we
our own minds; w'hich — lime thoughts which tow'cr above the clouds, and
being conscious of, and observing in ourselves, reach as high as heaven itself, take their rise and
do from these receive into our understandings as footing here; in all that great extent w'hcrcin the
distinct ideas as we do from bodies affecting
our mind wanders, in those remote spccualtions it
^ns«. This source of ideas every' man has wholly
may seem to be elevated with, it stirs not one jot
himself; and though it be not sense, as having beyond those ideas winch sense or reflection have
 316 Chapter 5 Mind
.

offered for its contemplation. For ever sep’rate, yet for ever near I

Locke, Concerning Human Remembrance and Reflection how ally’d;

Understanding, Bk. II, I, 22-24 What thin partitions Sense from Thought divide:
And Middle natures, how they long to join,
42 The power of perception isthat which we call the
Yet never pass th’ insuperable line!
Understanding. Perception, which we make the act
Without this just gradation, could they be
of the understanding, is of three sorts: — 1. The
Subjected these to those, or all to thee?
perception of ideas in our minds. The percep-
2.
The pow’rs of all subdu’d by thee alone.
tion of the signification of signs. 3. The percej^tion Is not thy Reason all these pow’rs in one?
of the connexion or repugnancy, agreement or
Pope, Essay on Man, Epistle I, 207
disagreement, that there is between any of our
ideas. AH these are attributed to the under-
46 Love, Hope, and Joy, fair pleasure’s smiling train.
standing, or perceptive power, though it be the
Hate, Fear, and Grief, the family of pain;
two latter only that use allows us to say we under-
These mix’d with art, and to due bounds confin’d,
stand.
Make and maintain the balance of the mind.
Locke, Concerning Human
Pope, Essay on Man, Epistle II, 117
Understanding, Bk. II, XXI, 5

43 The thoughts that come often unsought, and, as it 47 We may mind

divide all the perceptions of the

were, drop into the mind, are the most valuable of

into two which are distinguished
classes or species,

any we have, and therefore should be secured, be- by their different degrees of force and vivacity.
cause they seldom return again. The less forcible and lively are commonly denom-
inated Thoughts or Ideas. The other species want a
Locke, Letter to Samuel Bold (May 16, 1699)
name in our language, and in most others; I sup-
44 Some truths there are so near and obvious to the pose, because it was not requisite for any, but

mind that a man need only open his eyes to see philosophical purposes, to rank them under a gen-
them. Such I take this important one to be, viz.,
eral term or appellation. Let us, therefore, use a

that all the choir of heaven and furniture of the little call them Impressions; employ-
freedom, and
earth, in a word all those bodies which compose ing that word in a sense somewhat different from
the mighty frame of the world, have not any sub- the usual. By the term impression, then, I mean all
sistence without a mind, that their being is to be our more lively perceptions, when we hear, or sec,
perceived or known; that consequently so long as or feel, or love, or hate, or desire, or will. And

they arc not actually perceived by me, or do not impressions are distinguished from ideas, which
exist in my mind or that of any other created spir- are the less lively perceptions, of which we are
it,they must either have no existence at all, or else conscious, when we reflect on any of those sensa-

subsist in the mind of some Eternal Spirit it — tions or movements above mentioned.
being perfectly unintelligible, and involving all Hume, Concerning Human Understanding, 11, 12

the absurdity of abstraction, to attribute to any

single part of them an existence independent of a 48 Nothing, at first view, may seem more unbounded
spirit. To be convinced of which, the reader need than the thought of man, which not only escapes
only reflect, and try to separate in his own all human power and authority, but is not even

thoughts the being of a sensible thing from its being restrained within the limits of nature and reality.
perceived. To form monsters, and join incongruous shapes
Berkeley, Principles of Human Knowledge, 6 and appearances, costs the imagination no more
trouble than to conceive the most natural and fa-
45 Far as Creation’s ample range extends. miliar objects. And while the body is confined to
The scale of sensual, mental pow’rs ascends: one planet, along which it creeps with pain and
Mark how it mounts, to Man’s imperial race. difficulty; the thought can in an instant transport
From the green myriads in the peopled grass: us into the most distant regions of the universe; or
What modes of sight betwixt each wide extreme. even beyond the universe, into the unbounded
The mole’s dim curtain, and the lynx’s beam: chaos, where nature is supposed to lie in total con-
Of smell, the headlong lioness between. fusion. What never was seen, or heard of, may yet
And hound sagacious on the tainted green; be conceived; nor is anything beyond the power of
Of hearing, from the life that fills the flood, thought, except what implies an absolute contra-
To that which warbles thro’ the vernal wood; diction.
The spider’s touch, how exquisitely fine! But though our thought seems to possess this
Feels at each thread, and lives along the line: unbounded liberty, we shall find, upon a nearer
In the nice bee, what sense so subtly true examination, that it is really confined within very
From pois’nous herbs extracts the healing dew: narrow and that all this creative power
limits, of
How Instinct varies in the grov’ling swine, the mind amounts to no more than the faculty of

Compar’d, half-reas’ning elephant, with thine: compounding, transposing, augmenting, or di-

’Twixt that, and Reason, what a nice barrier; minishing the materials afforded us by the senses
 —
5J. Intelligence and Understanding \
317

and experience. When we think of a golden compared to a sphere, the radius of which may be

mountain, we only join two consistent ideas, ^old,
and motmtain^ with which we were formerly ac«
quainted. A virtuous horse we can conceive; be-
cause, from our own feeling, we can conceive vir-
tue; and this we may unite to the fig\irc and shape
found from the cur^'aturc of its surface that is, —
the nature of a priori synthetical propositions
and, consequently, its circumference and extent,
Bc)*ond the sphere of experience there arc no ol>-
jccLs which it can cognize; nay, even questions re-

of a horec, which is an animal familiar to us. In garding such supposititious objects relate only to
short, all the materials of thinking arc derived the subjective principles of a complete determina-
either from our outward or inward sentiment: the tion of the relations which exist between the un-
mixture and composition of these belongs alone to derstanding-conceptions which lie within this
the mind and will. Or, to express m)'self in philo- sphere.
sophical language, all our ideas or more feeble Kant, Critique of Pure Reason,
perceptions arc copies of our impressions or more Transcendental Method
lively ones,
Hume, Ctincrmin^ Human Understanding, 11, 13 54 1 should be inclined ... to consider the world
and this life as the mighty process of God, not for
49 It is the nature of an hypothesis, when once a man the trial, but for the creation and formation of
has concch’cd it, that it assimilates every thing to mind, a process ncccssar)* to awaken inert, chaotic
itself, as proper nourishment; and,from the first matter into spirit, to sublimate the dust of the
moment your begetting it, it generally grov.'s
of earth into soul, to elicit an ethereal spark from the
the stronger by cvcr>' thing you sec, hear, read, or clod of clay.
undentand. Tins is of great use, Mahhus, Population, XVIII
Sterne, Tnstmn Shandy, 11, 19
55 He gave man speech, and speech created thought,
50 A feeble body makes a feeble mind. Wliich is the measure of the uni\Trsc;
Rousseau, Emile, I And Science struck the thrones of earth and
heaven.
51 Such is the delight of mental superiority that none Which shook, but fell not; and the harmonious
on whom nature or study have conferred it would mind
purchase the gifts of fortune by its loss, Poured itself forth in all-prophciic song;
Johnson, Rambler Ha. ISO And music lifted up the listening spirit
Until it walked, exempt from mortal care,
52 Reason ncser has an immediate relation to an ob- Godlike, o’er the clear billovs's of svs’cci sound.
ject; it immediately to the understanding
relates Shelley, Prometheus Unbound, 11, 72
alone. It is only through the understanding that it
can be employed in the field of experience. It docs 56 \V)iai Exile from himself can flee?
not. form conceptions of objects, it merely arranges To zones, though more and more remote.
them and gives to them that unity which the)’ arc Still, still pursues, whcrc-e’cr I be,
capable of possessing when the sphere of their ap- Tlic blight of life — the demon ^llought.
plication has been extended as widely as possible. Byron, Chitde Harold's Pit^rima^e, I, To Inez
Reason avails itself of the conception of the un-
demanding for the sole purpose of producing to- 57 Tlic histor)' of mind is its own act. Mind is only
tality in the different series, Tliis totality the un- what it docs, and its act is make itself the object
to
demanding docs not concern itself with; its only of its own consciousness. In histor)’ its act is to
occupation is the connection of experiences, by gain consciousness of itself as mind, to apprehend
which series of conditions in accordance with con- itself in its interpretation of itself to itself. This
ceptions arc established. Tlic object of reason is, apprehension is its being and its principle, and the
therefore, the understanding and its proper desti- completion of apprehension at one stage is at the
nation. As the
latter brings unity into the diversity same time the rejection of that stage and its tran-
of objectsby means of its conceptions, so the for- To use abstract phraseology,
sition to a higher.
mer brings unity into the diversity of conceptions the mind apprehending this apprehension anew,
by means of ideas; as it sets the final aim of a or in other words returning to itself again out of its
collective unity to the operations of the under- rejection of this lower stage of apprehension, is the
standing, which without this occupies itself wiili a mind of the stage higher than that on which it
distributive unity alone, stood in its earlier apprehension.
Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, The question of the perfectibility and Education
Transcendental Dialectic of the Hitman Race arises here. Those who have
maintained this perfectibility have divined some-
53 Reason not to be considered as an indefinitely
is thing of the nature of mind, something of the fact
extended plane, of the bounds of which we have that it is its nature to have self-knowledge as the
only a general knowledge;
it ought rather to be law of its being, and, since it apprehends that
 318 Chapter 5, Mind

which have a form higher than that which

it is, to the black w'hirlwind; —true effort, in fact, as a cap-
constituted mere being. But to those who reject
its tive struggling to free himself: that is Thought.
this doctrine, mind has remained an empty word, Carlyle, The Hero as Poet
and history a superficial play of casual, so-called
“merely human,” strivings and passions. Even if, 63 One should not think slightingly of the paradoxi-
in connexion with history, they speak of Provi- cal; for theparadox is the source of the thinker’s
dence and the plan of Providence, and so express passion, and the thinker without a paradox is like
a faith in a higher power, their ideas remain emp- a lover without feeling: a paltry mediocrity. But
ty because they expressly declare that for them the highest pitch of every passion is always to will
the plan of Providence is inscrutable and incom- its own downfall; and so it is also the supreme

prehensible. Reason to seek a collision, though

passion of the
Hegel, Philosophy of Rights 343 must in one way or another prove its
this collision
undoing. The supreme paradox of all thought is
58 In the course of this work of the world mind, the attempt to discover something that thought
states, nations, and individuals arise animated by cannot think.
their particular determinate principle which has Kierkegaard, Philosophical Fragments, III
its and actuality in their constitu-
interpretation
tions and in the whole range of their life and con- 64 How can we speak of the action of the mind un-
dition. While their consciousness is limited to der any divisions, as of its knowledge, of its ethics,
these and they are absorbed in their mundane in- of its works, and so forth, since it melts will into
terests, they are all the time the unconscious tools perception, knowledge into act? Each becomes the
and organs of the world mind at work within other. Itself alone is.

them. The shapes which they take pass aw’ay, Emerson, Intellect

while the absolute mind prepares and works out

its transition to its next higher stage. 65 What is the hardest task in the world? To think.
Hegel, Philosophy of Righly 344 Emerson, Intellect

59 Will without freedom is an empty word, while 66 There is one mind common to all individual men.

freedom is actual only as will, as subject. . . , Every man is an inlet to the same and to all of the
Mind is in principle thinking, and man is distin- same. He that is once admitted to the right of
guished from beast in virtue of thinking. But it reason is made a freeman of the whole estate.
must not be imagined that man is half thought What Plato has thought, he may think; what a
and half will, and that he keeps thought in one saint has felt, he may feel; what at any time has

pocket and will in another, for this would be a befallen any man, he can understand. Who hath
foolish idea. The distinction between thought and access to this universal mind is a party to all that
will is only that between the theoretical attitude is or can be done, for this is the only and sovereign
and the practical. These, however, are surely not agent.
two faculties; the will is rather a special way of Emerson, Histoiy
thinking, thinking translating itself into existence,
thinking as the urge to give itself existence. 67 The brain only one condition out of many on
is
Hegel, Philosophy of Right, Additions, Par. 4 which manifestations depend; the
intellectual
others being, chiefly, the organs of the senses and
60 When a hypothesis has once come to birth in the the motor apparatuses, especially those w’hich arc
mind, or gained a footing there, it leads a life so concerned in prehension and in the production of
far comparable with the life of an organism, as articulate speech.
that it assimilates matter from the outer world T. H. Huxley, Relations of Man
only when it is like in kind with it and beneficial; to the Lower Animals
and when, contrarily, such matter is not like in
kind but hurtful, the hypothesis, equally with the 68 The spontaneous process which goes on within the
organism, throws it off, or, if forced to take it, gets mind higher and choicer than that which
itself is
rid of it again entire. is logical; for the latter, being scientific, is com-

Schopenhauer, Some Forms of Literature mon property, and can be taken and made use of
by minds who are personally strangers, in any
61 Great intellectual gifts mean an activity pre-emi- true sense, both to the ideas in question and to
nently nervous in its character, and consequently their development.
a very high degree of susceptibility to pain in ev- Newman, Essay on the Development
ery form. of Christian Doctrine, Pt. II, V, 4
Schopenhauer, Personality
69 The action of thinking may incidentally have
62 Thought, true labour of any kind, highest virtue other results; it may serve to amuse us, for exam-
itself, is it not the daughter of Pain? Born as out of ple, and among diletlanti it is not rare to find those
 -

5J. Intelligence and Understanding 319

who have so perverted thought to the purposes of ing from without brings the elements into colloca-
pleasure that it seems to vex them to think that tions which set new internal forces free to exert

the questions upon which they delight to exercise their effects in turn. And the random irradiations
itmay ever get finally settled; and a positive dis- and resettlements of our ideas, w'hich supervene upon
covery which takes a favorite subject out of the experience, and constitute our free mental play, are

arena of literary debate is met with ill-concealed due entirely to these secondary internal processes,
dislike. which vary enormously from brain to brain, even
C. S. Peirce, How to Make Our Ideas Clear though the brains be exposed to exactly the same
“outer relations,” The higher thought-processes
70 Consciousness . . . does not appear to itself owe their being to causes which correspond far
chopped up in bits. Such words as “chain” or more to the sourings and fermentations of dough,
“train” do not describe it fitly as it presents itself the setting of mortar, or the subsidence of sedi-
in the first instance. It is nothing jointed; it flows. ments in mixtures, than to the manipulations by
A “river” or a “stream” is the metaphor by which which these physical aggregates came to be com-
it is most naturally described. In talking of it hereof pounded.
ter, let us call it the stream of thought, of consciousness, or William James, P^'chology, XXVIII
of subjective life.

William James, P^xhology, IX 73 The causes of our mental structure are doubtless
natural, and connected, like all our other pecu-
71 The mind is at every stage a theatre of simulta- with those of our nervous structure. Our
liarities,

neous possibilities. Consciousness consists in the interests,our tendencies of attention, our motor
comparison of these with each other, the selection impulses, the aesthetic, moral, and theoretic com-
of some, and the suppression of the rest by the binations we delight in, the extent of our power of
reinforcing and inhibiting agency of attention. apprehending schemes of relation, just like the
The and most elaborated mental products
highest elementary relations themselves, time, space, dif-
are filtered from the data chosen by the faculty ference and similarity and the elementary kinds of
next beneath, out of the mass offered by the facul- feeling, have all grown up in ways of which at

ty below that, which mass in turn was sifted from present we can give no account. And the . . .

a still larger amount of yet simpler material, and more sincerely one seeks to trace the actual course
so on. The mind, in short, works on the data it by which as a race we
of p^chogenesis, the steps
receives very much as a sculptor works on his may have come by the peculiar mental attributes
block of stone. In a sense the statue stood there which we possess, the more clearly one perceives
from eternity. But there were a thousand different “the slowly gathering twilight close in utter
ones beside it, and the sculptor alone is to thank night.”
for having extricated this one from the rest. Just so William James, P^chology, XXVIII
the world of each of us, howsoever different our
72
several vic\vs of it may be, all lay embedded in the 74 The man who listens to Reason is lost: Reason
primordial chaos of sensations, which gave the enslaves all whose minds are not strong enough to
mere matter to the thought of all of us indifferently. master her.
We may, if we like, by our reasonings unwind Shaw, Man and Superman,
things back to that black and jointless continuity Maxims for Revolutionists
of space and moving clouds swarming atoms of
which science calls the only real world. But all the 75 Real life is, to most men, a long second-best, a
while the world we feel and live in will be that perpetual compromise between the ideal and the
which our ancestors and we, by slowly cumulative possible; but the world of pure reason knows no
strokes of choice, have extricated out of this, like compromise, no practical limitations, no barrier
sculptors, by simply rejecting certain portions of to the creative activity embodying in splendid ed-
the given stuff. Other sculptors, other statues from ificesthe passionate aspiration after the perfect
the same stone! Other minds, other worlds from from which all great work springs. Remote from
the same monotonous and inexpressive chaos! My human passions, remote even from the pitiful facts
world is but one in a million alike embedded, of Nature, the generations have gradually created
alike real to those who may abstract them. How an ordered cosmos, where pure thought can dwell
different must be the worlds in the consciousness as in its natural home, and where one, at least, of
of ant, cuttle-fish, or crab! our nobler impulses can escape from the dreary
William James, P^'chology, IX exile of the actual w'orld.
Russell, Study of Mathematics
^Vhat happens in the brain after experience has
done utmost is what happens in every material
its 76 The power of reason is thought small in these
tnass which has been fashioned by an outward days, but remain an unrepentant rationalist.
I
force, —in cver)^ pudding or mortar, for example, Reason may be a small force, but is constant, and
'vhich I may make wth my hands. The fashion- works always in one direction, while the forces of
 —
320 I
Chapters. Mind

unreason destroy one another in futile strife. beyond this limit, and yet I can assure you that
Therefore every orgy of unreason in the end the acceptance of unconscious mental processes
strengthens the friends of reason, and shows afresh represents a decisive step towards a new orienta-
that they are the only true friends of humanity. tion in the world and in science.
Russell, Sceptical Essays, IX Freud, General Introduction to
P^'cho-Analysis, I

77 Mental activity, which works its way from the

memory-image to the production of identity of 79 Our best hope for the future is that the intellect
perception via the outer world, merely represents the scientific spirit, reason —should in time estab-
a roundabout way to wish-fulfilment made necessary lish a dictatorship over the human mind. The
by experience. Thinking is indeed nothing but a very nature of reason is a guarantee that it would

substitute for the hallucinatory wish; and if the
dream is called a wish-fulfilment, this becomes
something self-evident, since nothing but a wish
can impel our psychic apparatus to activity. The
dream, which fulfils its wishes by following the
short regressive path, has thereby simply pre-
served for us a specimen of the pnmaiy method of
operation of the psychic apparatus, which has
been abandoned as inappropriate. What once
prevailed in the waking state, when our psychic
not fail to concede to human emotions, and to all
that is determined by them, the position to which
they are entitled. But the common pressure exer-
cised by such a domination of reason would prove
to be the strongest unifying force among men, and
would prepare the way for further unifications.
Whatever, like the ban laid upon thought by reli-
gion, opposes such a development is a danger for
the future of mankind.
Freud, New Tntroductojy Lectures on

life was still young and inefficient, seems to have Psycho-Analysis, XXXV
been banished into our nocturnal life; just as we
still find in the nursery those discarded primitive 80 Demand for the solution of a perplexity is the steadying

weapons of adult humanity, the bow and arrow. and guiding factor in the entire process of reflection

Freud, Interpretation of Dreams, VII, C Where there is no question of a problem to be

solved or a difficulty to be surmounted, the course
78 The first of these displeasing propositions of psy- of suggestions flows on at random; we have the
cho-analysis is this: that mental processes are es- firsttype of thought described. If the stream of
sentially unconscious, and that those which arc suggestions is controlled simply by their emotional
conscious are merely isolated acts and parts of the congniity, their fitting agreeably into a single pic-
whole psychic entity. Now
must ask you to re-
I ture or story, we have the second type. But a ques-
member that, on we are accustomed
the contrary', tion to be answered, an ambiguity to be resolved,
to identify the mental with the conscious. Con- sets up an end and holds the current of ideas to a

sciousness appears to us as positively the charac- definite channel. Every suggested conclusion is
teristic that defines mental life, and we regard tested by its reference to this regulating end, by its

psychology as the study of the content of con- pertinence to the problem in hand. This need of
sciousness. This even appears so evident that any straightening out a perplexity also controls the
contradiction of it seems obvious nonsense to us, kind of inquiry undertaken. A traveler whose end
and yet it is impossible for psycho-analysis to is the most beautiful path will look for other con-

avoid this contradiction, or to accept the identity siderations and will test suggestions occurring to
benveen the conscious and the psychic. The psy- him on another principle than if he washes to dis-
cho-analytical definition of the mind is that it cover the way to a given city. The problem fixes the
comprises processes of the nature of feeling, think- end of thought and the end controls the process of thinking.
ing, and wishing, and it maintains that there are Dew’ey, How We Think, Pt. I, I, 3
such things as unconscious thinking and uncon-
scious wishing. But in doing so psycho-analysis 81 Thinking is stoppage of the immediate manifesta-

has forfeited at the outset the sympathy of the tion ofimpulse until that impulse has been
sober and scientifically minded, and incurred the brought into connection with other possible ten-
suspicion of being a phantastic cult occupied with dencies to action so that a more comprehensive
dark and unfathomable mysteries. You yourselves and coherent plan of activity is formed. Some of
must find it difficult to understand why I should the other tendencies to action lead to use of eye,
stigmatize an abstract proposition, such as “The ear, and hand to observe objective conditions;
psychic is the conscious,” as a prejudice; nor can others result in recall of what has happened in the
you guess yet what evolutionary process could past. Thinking is thus a postponement of immedi-
have led to the denial of the unconscious, if it does ate action, while it effects internal control of im-
indeed exist, nor what advantage could have been pulse through a union of observation and memo-
achieved by this denial. It seems like an empty ry, this union being the heart of reflection.
wrangle over words to argue whether mental life Dewey, Experience and Education, V
is to be regarded as co-extensive with con-
sciousness or whether it may be said to stretch 82 Reason is experimental intelligence, conceived af-
 5.1. Intelligence and Understanding 321

ter the pattern of science, and nsed in the creation tage over the material knowledge of instinct. A
of social arts; has something to do. It liberates
it form, just because it is empty, may be filled at will

man from the bondage of the past, due to igno- with any number of things in turn, even with
rance and accident hardened into custom. It pro- those that are of no use. So that a formal knowl-
jects a better future and assists man in its realiza- edge is not limited to what is practically useful,
tion. And its operation always subject to test in
is although it is in view of practical utility that it has
experience. The plans which are formed, the prin- made its appearance in the world. An intelligent
ciples which man
projects as guides of reconstruc- being bears within himself the means to transcend
tive action, arenot dogmas. They are hypotheses his own nature.
to be worked out in practice, and to be rejected, He transcends himself, however, less than he

corrected and expanded as they fail or succeed in wishes, less also than he imagines himself to do.
giving our present experience the guidance it re- The purely formal character of intelligence de-
quires. We may them programmes of action,
call prives it of the ballast necessary to enable it to

but since they are to be used in making our future on the objects that are of the most pow-
settle itself

acts less blind, more directed, they are flexible. erful interest to speculation. Instinct, on the con-
Intelligence is not something possessed once for trary, has the desired materiality, but it is incapa-
all. constant process of forming, and its
It is in ble of going so far in quest of its object; it does not
retention requires constant alertness in observing speculate. Here we reach the point that most con-
consequences, an open-minded will to learn and cerns our present inquiry. The difference that we
courage in re-adjustment. shall now proceed to denote between instinct and
Dewey, Reconstmeiion in Philosophyy IV intelligence is what the whole of this analysis was
meant to bring out. We formulate it thus: There

83 If we could rid ourselves of all pride, if, to define are things that intelligence alone is able to seek, but which,

we kept what the historic by itself, it will never find. These things instinct alone
our species, strictly to
and the prehistoric periods show us to be the con- could find; but it will never seek them.

stant characteristic of man and of intelligence, we Bergson, Creative Evolution, II

should say not Homo sapiens, but Homo faber. In

short, inUlligence, considered in what seems to be its orig- 85 In the higher reaches of human nature, as much
inal feature, is the faculty of manufacturing artificial ob- as in the lower, rationality depends on distin-
jects, especially tools to make tools, and of indefinitely vary- guishing the excellent; and that distinction can be
ing the manufacture. made, in the last analysis, only by an irrational
Bergson, Creative Evolution, II impulse. As life is a better form given to force, by
which the universal flux is subdued to create and
84 Knowledge and action are . . . only two aspects serve a somewhat permanent interest, so reason is
of one and the same faculty. . . .
a better form given to interest itself, by which it is
If instinct is, above all, the faculty of using an fortified and propagated, and ultimately, perhaps,

organized natural instrument, it must involve in- assured of satisfaction. The substance to which
nate knowledge (potential or unconscious, it is this form is given remains irrational; so that ra-
true), both of this instrument and of the object to tionality, like all excellence, is something second-
which it is applied. Instinct is therefore innate ary and relative, requiring a natural being to pos-
knowledge of a thing. But intelligence is the faculty sessor to impute it. When definite interests are
of constructing unorganized —that is to say artifi- recognised and the values of things are estimated
cial —instruments. If, on its account, nature gives by that standard, action at the same time veering
up endowing the living being with the instru- in harmony with that estimation, then re^ison has
ments that may serve him, it is in order that the been born and a moral world has arisen.
living being may be able to vary his construction Santayana, Life of Reason, I, 1

according to circumstances. The essential function

of intelligence is therefore to see the way out of a 86 Reason, as Hume said with profound truth, is an
difficulty in any circumstances whatever, to find unintelligible instinct. It could not be otherwise if
what ismost suitable, what answers best the ques- reason is to remain something transitive and exis-
tion asked. Hence it bears essentially on the rela- tential; for transition is unintelligible, and yet is
tions between a given situation and the means of the deepest characteristic of existence. Philoso-
utilizing it. What is innate in intellect, therefore, phers, however, having perceived that the func-
ISthe tendency to establish relations, and this ten- tion of thought is to fix static terms and reveal
dency implies the natural knowledge of certain eternal relations, have inadvertently transferred
vci^' general relations, a kind of stuff that the ac- to the living act what is true only of its ideal ob-
tivity of each particular intellect will cut up into ject; and they have expected to find in the pro-
more special relations. Where activity is directed cess, treated psychologically, that luminous de-
toward manufacture, therefore, knowledge neces- ductive clearness which belongs to the ideal world
»rily bears on The however,
relations. But this entirely formal it tends to reveal. intelligible, lies at
knowledge of intelligence has an immense advan- the periphery of experience, the surd at its core;
 322 I
Chapter 5. Mind

and intelligence is but one centrifugal ray darting dialectical lucidity itself; for dialectic gro\N*s co-
from the slime to the stars. Thought must execute gent by fulfilling intent, but intent or meaning is
a metamorphosis; and while this is of course mys- itself vital and inexplicable,
terious, it is one of those familiar mysteries, like Santayana, Life of Reason, I, 3
motion and will, which are more natural than

5.2 I
The Senses and Sense Perception

Whether mind, intellect, or the rational fac- cess. The reader will find these matters dis-

ulty is material or immaterial has long been puted in the quotations below. He will also
debated and is still an issue in dispute. The find the consideration of such questions as
reader will find indications of this controver- the difference between sense-knowledge and
sy in Section 5.1. In contrast, he will find no intellectual knowledge, the relation of per-
disagreement here about the bodily or cor- cepts to concepts, and the distinction be-
poreal character of the senses. tween primary and secondary qualities; or
From the very beginning of Western psy- between such things as size and motion
chology, special sense-organs have been the which are perceptible by two or more senses
recognized seats of man’s power to see, hear, and such things as color which is perceptible
touch, taste, and smell. Modern anatomical by the eye alone, or sound which is percepti-
and physiological investigations have dis- ble only by the ear.
covered additional sense-organs and in- Another problem that is discussed in a
creased our knowledge of such organs as the number of quotations is the problem of the
eye and the ear. In consequence, the tradi- trustworthiness and fallibility of the senses
tional enumeration of the five senses has and of sense perception. Sensory deceptions,
been enlarged to include other modes of sen- illusions, and hallucinations are often cited
sitivity. But while the study of the senses by the skeptic to support his case. On the
thus fails within the sphere of anatomy and other hand, it is said that the senses them-
physiology, the discussion of sensation and selves make no mistakes; the errors attribut-
sense perception deals with questions that ed to the senses are errors of judgment, not
are psychological or philosophical in their of sense perception. For the discussion of re-
basic terms. lated matters, the reader is referred to sever-
For example, all the knowledge we have al sections inChapter 6 on Knowledge, Sec-
of the structure and functioning of the sense- tion 6.2 on Experience, Section 6.4 on Error,
organs does not fully explain how sensation Ignorance, and the Limits of Human Knowi^
takes place; nor does it help us to decide edge, and Section 6.6 on Doubt and Skepti-
which of several competing theories of sense CISM.
perception is the best account of that pro-
 —A

5.2. The Senses and Sense Perception 323

1 Timaeus. Sight in my opinion is the source of the Theael. Certainly not.

3
greatest benefit to us, for had we never seen the Soc. And therefore not in science or knowledge?
stars, and the sun, and the heaven, none of tlic Theael. No.
words which we have spoken about the universe Soc. Then perception, Thcactctus, can never be
would ever have been uttered. But now the sight the same as knowledge or science.
of day and night, and the months and the revolu- Plato, TheaelelitSy 186A
tions of the years, have created number, and have
given us a conception of time, and the power of Scientific knowledge is not possible through the
enquiring about the nature of the universe; and act of perception. Even if perception as a faculty
from this source we have derived philosophy, than is of ‘the such^ and not merely of a ‘this some-

which no greater good ever was or will be given
by the gods to mortal man. This is the greatest
boon of sight: and of the lesser benefits why
should I speak? even the ordinary' man if he were
deprived of them would bewail his loss, but in
vain. Thus much let me say however: God invent-
ed and gave us sight to the end that we might
behold the courses of intelligence in the heaven,
and apply them to the courses of our own intelli-
gence which arc akin to them, the unperturbed to
the perturbed; and that we, learning them and
partaking of the natural truth of reason, might
imitate the absolutely unerring courses of
and regulate our owm vagaries. The same may be
affirmed of speech and hearing: they have been
given by the gods to the same end and for a like
reason. For this is the principal end of speech,
whereto it most contributes.
Plato, Timams, 47
2 Soemta. The simple sensations which reach the
soul through the body arc given at birth to
and animals by nature, but their reflections on the
what*, yet one must at any rate actually perceive
a ‘this somewhat*, and at a definite present place
and time: but that which is commensuratcly uni-
versal and true in all cases one cannot perceive,
since it is not ‘this’ and it is not ‘now’; if it were,
it would not be commcnsurately universal the —
term we apply to what is always and everywhere.
Seeing, therefore, that demonstrations arc com-
mensuratcly universal and univcrsals impercepti-
ble, we clearly cannot obtain scientific knowledge
by the act of perception: nay, it is obvious that
even if it were possible to perceive that a triangle
God has its angles equal to two right angles, we should
still be looking for a demonstration —
we should
not (as some say) possess knowledge of it; for per-
ception must be of a particular, whereas scientific
knowledge involves the recognition of the com-
mensurate universal. So if we were on the moon,
and saw the earth shutting out the sun’s light, we
should not know tlic cause of the eclipse: w'c
should perceive the present fact of the eclipse, but
men not the reasoned fact at all, since the act of per-
ception is not of the commensurate universal, I do

being and use of them arc slowly and hardly deny that by watching the frequent
not, of course,
gained, if they arc ever gained, by education and recurrence of this event we might, after tracking
long experience. the commensurate universal, possess a demonstra-
Theaetdus. Assuredly. tion for the commensurate universal is elicited
Soc. And can a man attain truth who fails of from the several groups of singulars.
attaining being? Tlic commensurate universal is precious be-
Thtati. Impossible. cause it makK clear the cause; so that in the case
Soc. And can he who misses the truth of any- of facts like these which have a cause nthcr than
thing, have a knowledge of that thing? themselves universal knowledge is more precious
Theael. He cannot. than sensc-pcrccpiions and than intuition. (As re-
Soc. Then knowledge docs not
consist in impres- gards primary truths there is of course a different
sions of sense, but in reasoning about them; in account to be given.) Hence it is clear that knowl-
that only, and not in the mere impression, truth edge of things demonstrable cannot be acquired
and being can be attained? by perception, unless the term perception is ap-
Theael. Clearly. plied to the possession of scientific knowledge
Soc.And would you call the two processes by through demonstration. Nevertheless certain
the same name, when there is so great a difference
points do arise with regard to connexions to be
between them? proved which are referred for their explanation to
Theael. That would certainly not be right. a failure in sense-perception: there are cases when
Soc. And what name would you give to seeing, an act of vision would terminate our inquiry, not
hearing, smelling, being cold and being hot? because in seeing we should be knowing, but be-
Theael. I should call all of them perceiving cause we should have elicited the universal from
what other name could be given to them? seeing; if, for example, we saw the pores in the
Soc. Perception would be the collective name of glass and the light passing through, the reason of
them?
the kindling would be clear to us because we
Theael. Certainly. should at the same time see it in each instance
Soc. Which, as we say, has no part in the attain- and intuit that it must be so in all instances.
tnent of truth any more than of being? Aristotle, Posterior AnalylicSy 87^27
 —

4
324 I
Chapter 5. Mind

The following results applying to any and every not, then, admit that the objects of the other sen-
sense may now be formulated. ses also may affect them? Is not the true account
(A) By a ‘sense’ is meant what has the power of this, that all bodies are capable of being affected
receiving into itself the sensible forms of things by smells and sounds, but that some on being act-
without the matter. This must be conceived of as ed upon, having no boundaries of their own, dis-
taking place in the way in which a piece of wax integrate, as in the instance of air, which does be-
takes on the impress of a signet-ring without the come odorous, showing that some effect is
iron or gold; we say that what produces the im- produced on it by what is odorous? But smelling is
pression is a signet of bronze or gold, but its par- more than such an affection by what is odorous
ticular metallic constitution makes no difference: what more? Is not the answer that, while the air
in a similar way the sense is affected by what is owing to the momentary duration of the action
coloured or flavoured or sounding, but it is indif- upon it of what is odorous does itself become per-
ferent what in each case the substance is; what ceptible to the sense of smell, smelling is an observ-
alone matters is what quality it has, i.e. in what ing of the result produced?
ratio its constituents are combined. Aristotle, On the Soul^ 424*16

(B) By ‘an organ of sense’ is meant that in

which ultimately such a power is seated.
The sense and its organ are the same in fact,
but their essence is not the same. What perceives
is, of course, a spatial magnitude, but we must not
admit that either the having the power to perceive
or the sense itself is a magnitude; what they are is
a certain ratio or power in a magnitude. This en-
ables us to explain why objects of sense which pos-
sess one of two opposite sensible qualities in a de-
5 Without touch there can be no other sense, and
the organ of touch cannot consist of earth or of
any other single element.
It is evident, therefore, that the loss of this one
sense alone must bring about the death of an ani-
mal. For as on the one hand nothing which is not
an animal can haye this sense, so on the other it is
the only one which is indispensably necessary to
what is an animal. This explains, further, the fol-

gree largely in excess of the other opposite destroy lowing difference between the other senses and
the organs of sense; if the movement set up by an touch. In the C 2ise of all the others excess of inten-
object is too strong for the organ, the equipoise of sity in the qualities which they apprehend, i.e. ex-

contrary qualities in the organ, which just is its cess of intensity in colour, sound, and smell, de-
sensory power, is disturbed; it is precisely as con- stroys not the animal but only the organs of the
cord and tone are destroyed by too violently sense (except incidentally, as when the sound is
twanging the strings of a lyre. This explains also accompanied by an impact or shock, or where
why plants cannot perceive, in spite of their hav- through the objects of sight or of smell certain
ing a portion of soul in them and obviously being other things are set in motion, which destroy by
affected by tangible objects themselves; for un- contact); flavour also destroys only in so far as it is
doubtedly their temperature can be lowered or at the same time tangible. But excess of intensity
raised. The explanation is that they have no mean in tangible qualities, e.g. heat, cold, or hardness,
of contrary qualities, and so no principle in them destroys the animal itself. As in the case of every
capable of taking on the forms of sensible objects sensible quality excess destroys the organ, so here
without their matter; in the case of plants the af- what is tangible destroys touch, which is the essen-
fection is an affection by form-and-matter togeth- tial mark of life; for has been shown that with-
it

er. The problem might be raised: Can what can- out touch it is impossible for an animal to be.
not smell be said to be affected by smells or what That is why excess in intensity of tangible qual-
cannot see by colours, and so on? It might be said ities destroys not merely the organ, but the animal
that a smell is just what can be smelt, and if it itself, because this is the only sense which it must
produces any effect it can only be so as to make have.
something smell it, and it might be argued that All the other senses are necessary to animals, as
what cannot smell cannot be affected by smells we have said, not for their being, but for their
and further that what can smell can be affected well-being. Such, e.g. is sight, which, since it lives

by it only in so far as it has in it the power to smell
(similarly with the proper objects of all the other
senses). Indeed that this is so is made quite evi-
dent as follows. Light or darkness, sounds and
smells leave bodies quite unaffected; what does af-
fect bodies is not these but the bodies which are
their vehicles, e.g. what splits the trunk of a tree is
not the sound of the thunder but the air which
accompanies thunder. Yes, but, it may be object-
in air or water, or generally in what is pellucid, it
must have in order to see, and taste because of
what is pleasant or painful to it, in order that it
may perceive these qualities in its nutriment and
so may desire to be set in motion, and hearing
that it may have communication made to it, and
a tongue that it may communicate with its fel-
lows.
Aristotle, On the Soul, 435*^2

ed, bodies are affected by what is tangible and by

flavours. If not, by what are things that are with- 6 Since a particular figure felt by the hands in the
out soul affected, i.e, altered in quality? Must we dark is known to be the same which is seen in the
 5 2 The
. .
bright light of day, touch and sight must be excit>
cd by a quite similar cause. Well then if we han-
dle a square thing and it excites our attention in
the dark, in the daylight what square thing will be
able to fall on our sight, except the image of that
thing? Therefore the cause of seeing,
lies in images and no thing can be perceived with-
out them.
Well the idols of things I speak of are borne
along round and are discharged and trans-
all
mitted in all directions; but because we can sec
with the eyes alone, the consequence is that, to
whatever point we turn our sight, there all the
several things meet and strike it with their shape
and colour. And the image gives the power to see
and the means to distinguish how far each thing is
distant from us; for as soon as ever
charged, it pushes before it and impels
which between it and the eyes; and thus that
lies
air all streams through our eyes and brushes so to
7
say the pupils and so passes through. The conse-
quence is that we see how far distant each thing is.
And the greater the quantity of air which is driv-
en on before it and the larger the current which
brushes our eyes, the more distant each different
thing is seen to be. You must know these processes
go on with extreme rapidity, so that at one and
the same moment we see what like a thing is and
how far distant it is. And this must by no means
be deemed strange herein that, while the idols
which strike the eyes cannot be seen one at a time,
the things themselves are seen. For thus when the
wind too beats us with successive strokes and
when piercing cold streams, we are not wont to
feel each single particle of that wind and cold, but
rather the whole result; and then we perceive
blows take effect on our body jnst as if something
or other were beating it and giving us a sensation
of its body outside. Again when we thump a stone
with a finger, we touch merely the outermost col-
our on the surface of the stone, and yet we do not
feel that colour by our touch, but rather we
the very hardness of the stone seated in
depths.
Lucretius, Nature of ThingSy
You will find that from the senses first has pro-
ceeded the knowledge of the true and that the
senses cannot be refuted. For that which
to be able to refute things false by true things
must from the nature of the case be proved to
have the higher certainty. Well then what must
fairly be accounted of higher certainty than sense?
Shall reasonfounded on false sense be able to con-
tradict
them, wholly founded as it is on the senses?
And if they are not true, then all reason as well is
rendered false. Or shall the ears be able to take
the eyes to task, or the touch the
ears? Again shall
the taste call in question this touch,
or the nostrils
refute or the eyes controvert
it? Not so, I guess; for
each apart has its own distinct
office, each its own
Senses and Sense Perception 325
power; and therefore we must perceive what is
soft and cold or hot by one distinct faculty, by
another perceive the different colours of things
and thus see all objects which are conjoined with
colour. Taste too has its faculty apart; smells
it is plain, spring from one source, sounds from another. It
must follow therefore that any one sense cannot
confute any other. No nor can any sense take itself
to task, since equal credit must be assigned to it at
all times. What therefore has at any time ap-
peared true to each sense, is true. And if reason
shall be unable to explain away the cause why
things which close at hand were square, at a dis-
tance looked round, it yet is better, if you are at a
loss for the reason, to state erroneously the causes
of each shape, than from your grasp on
to let slip
it is dis- any side things manifestand ruin the groundwork
all the air of belief and wrench up all the foundations on
which rest life and existence. For not only would
all reason give way, life itself would at once fall to
the ground, unless you choose to trust the senses
and shun precipices and all things else of this sort
that are to be avoided, and to pursue the opposite
things. All that host of words then be sure is quite
unmeaning, which has been drawn out in array
against the senses.
Lucretius, Nature of ThingSj IV
8 When we force these voices forth from
therefore
the depths of our body and discharge them
straight out at the mouth, the pliant tongue deft
fashioner of words gives them articulate utterance
and the structure of the lips does its part in shap-
ing them. Therefore when the distance is not long
between the point from which each several voice
heis started and that at which it arrives, the very
words too must be plainly heard and distin-
guished syllable by syllable; for each voice retains
its structure and retains its shape. But if the space
between be more than is suitable, the words must
be huddled together in passing through much air
feel
and the voice be disorganised in its flight through
its inmost
the same. Therefore it is that you can hear a
sound, yet cannot distinguish what the meaning of
IV the words is: so huddled and hampered is the
voice when it comes.
Lucretius, Nature of Things, IV
is of itself
9 Now mark me, and I will duscuss the way in
which the contact of smell affects the nostrils: and
first there must be many things from which a var-
ied flow of smells streams and rolls on; and we
must suppose that they thus stream and discharge
and disperse themselves among all things alike;
but one smell fits itself better to one creature, an-
other to another on account of their unlike
shapes; and therefore bees are drawn on by the
smell of honey through the air to a very great
distance, and so are vultures by carcases,
Lucretius, Nature of Things, IV
 1

326 1
Chapter 5. Mind

10 All scnsc*pcrccption can occur only through the guished those things which arc conceived by the
mediura of some bodily substance, since in the ab- mind from those which are perceived by the sen-
sence of body the soul is utterly absorbed in the neither taking away from the senses an>thing
ses,

Intellectual Sphere. Sense-perception being the towhich they arc competent, nor attributing to
gripping not of the Intellectual but of the sensible them anything beyond their competent:)’,
alone, the soul, if it is to form any relationship of Augustine, of God, VIII, 7
knowledge, or of impression, with objects of sense,
must be brought in some kind of contact with
14 The intellectual soul ... in the order of nature,
them by means of w'hatcver may bridge the gap.
holds the lowest place among intellectual sub-
The knowledge, then, is realized by means of
stances; for it is not naturally gifted wth the
bodily organs.
knowledge of truth, as the angels arc, but has to
Plotinus, Fourth Ennead, V, 1
gather knowledge from individual things by way
of the senses, But nature never fails in neces-
. . .

1 1 Our fleshly sense is slow’ because it is fleshly sense:

sary things; therefore the intellectual soul had to
and that is the limit of its being. It can do what it
be endowed not only ^v'ith the po^ver of under-
was made to do; but it has no power to hold
standing, but also with the power of feeling. Now
things transient as they run their course from their
the action of the senses is not performed without a
due beginning to their due end. For in Your word,
corporeal instrument. Therefore the intellectual
by which they are created, they hear their law:
soul had to be united to a body which could be an
“From this point: not beyond that.”
adequate organ of sense.
Augustine, Conjessions^ IV, 10
Now all the other senses are based on the sense
of touch. But the organ of touch has to be a medi-
12 Whatever things you perceive by fleshly sense you um between contraries, such as hot and cold, wet
perceive only in part, not knowing the whole of and dry, and the like, of which the sense of touch
w’hich those things are but parts and yet they de- has the perception; thus it is in potency with re-
light you so much. For if fleshly sense had been gard to contraries, and is able to perceive them.
capable of grasping the whole —and had not for
Therefore the more the organ of touch is reduced
your punishment received part only of the whole to an even temperament, the more sensitive will
as its just limit —
you W’ould w’ish that whatever be the touch. But the intellectual soul has the
exists in the present might pass on, that the whole
power of sense in all its completeness, because
might be perceived by you for your delight, \^^lat what belongs to the inferior nature prc-e.xists
w'e speak, you hear by a bodily sense: and certain-
more perfectly in the superior. Therefore the. . .

ly you do not wish the same syllable to go on

body to which the intellectual soul is united
sounding but to pass away that other syllables
should be a mixed body, above all others reduced
may come and you may hear the w’hole speech. It to the most even temperament. For this reason
is alwrays so with all things that go to make up one
among animals man has the best sense of touch.
w'holc: alf that goes to make up the whole docs
And among men, those who have the best sense of
not exist at one moment. If all could be perceived
touch have the best intellect. A sign of this is that
in one act of perception, it would obviously give
we observe those who are refined in body are well en-
more delight than any of the individual parts. dowed in mind, as stated in the book on the Sou!.
Augustine, Confessions, IV, 1
Aquinas, Swnma Theologica, I, 76, 5

13 As which treats of
far as regards the doctrine . . .

rational philosophy, far be it from us to compare 15 The proper sense judges of the proper sensible by
them [the Platonists] with tiiosc who attributed to discerning from other things which come under
it

the bodily senses the faculty of discriminating the same by discerning white
sense; for instance,

truth, and thought, that all w’e learn is to be mea-
sured by their untrustworthy and fallacious rules.
, . . Such . . w’crc the Stoics, who ascribed to
.
the bodily senses that expertness in disputation
from black or green. But neither sight nor taste
can discern white from sweet, because what dis-
cerns between two things must know both. There-
fore the discerning judgment must be assigned to

which they so ardently love, called by them dia- the common sense, to which, as to a common
lectic, asserting that from the senses the mind con- term, all apprehensions of the senses must be re-
ceives the notions of those things which they expli- ferred, and by which, again, all the intentions of

cate by definition. And

hence is developed the
whole plan and connection of their learning and
teaching. I often wonder, with respect to this, how
they can say that none arc beautiful but the uisc;
for by what bodily sense have they perceived that
beauty, by what eyes of the flesh have they seen
the senses arc perceived; as when someone secs
that he secs. For this cannot be done by the prop-
er sense, which only know’s the form of the sensible
by which it is changed, in which change the ac-
tion of sight is completed, and from which change
follow’s another in the common sense which per-

w’idsom’s comeliness of form? Those, however, ceives the act of sdsion.

whom we justly rank before all others, have distin- Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 78, 4
 52, The Senses and Sense Perception |
327

16 Although the operation of the intellect has its ori- judges by appearances judges by something other
gin in the senses, yet, in the thing apprehended than the object.
through the senses, the intellect knot's many And for saying that the impressions of the sen-
thingswhich the senses cannot perceive. ses convey to the soul the quality of the foreign
Aquinas, Summa Theologicoy I, 78, 4 objects by resemblance, how can the soul and un-
derstanding make sure of this resemblance, hav-

17 Our proper and proportionate object is

intellect’s ing of itself no communication with foreign ob-
the nature of a sensible thing. Now a perfect judg- jects? Just as a man who docs not know Socrates,

ment concerning anything cannot be formed, un- seeing his portrait, cannot say that it resembles
less all that pertains to that thing is known; espe- him.
cially if that which is the term and end of Now if anyone should want to judge by appear-
judgment is not known. Now it is clear that a
. . . ances anyway, to judge by all appearances is im-
smith cannot judge perfectly of a knife unless he possible, for they clash with one another by their
knows the work that must be done, and in like contradictions and discrepancies, as we see by ex-
manner the natural philosopher cannot judge per- perience. Shall some selected appearances rule the
fectly of natural things unless he knows sensible others? We shall have to verify this selection by
things. But in the present state of life whatever we another selection, the second by a third; and thus
understand we know by comparison to natural it will never be finished. . . .

sensible things. Consequently it is not possible for Finally, there is no existence that is constant,
our intellect to form a perfect judgment while the either of our being or of that of objects. And we,
senses are suspended, through which sensible and our judgment, and all mortal things go on
things are known to us. flowing and rolling unceasingly. Thus nothing
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 84, 8 certain can be established about one thing by an-
other, both the judging and the judged being in

18 This same deception that the senses convey to our continual change and motion,
understanding they receive in their turn. Our soul Montaigne, Essays, II, 12, Apology for
at times takes a like revenge; they compete in Raymond Sebond
lying and deceiving each other. What we see and
hear when stirred with anger, we do not hear as it 20 The senses . . . are very sufficient to certify and
is. . The object that we love seems to us more
. . report truth, though not always immediately, yet
beautiful than it is and uglier the one that we
. . . by comparison, by help of instrument, and by pro-
loathe. To a man vexed and -afflicted the bright- ducing and urging such things as are too subtile
ness of the day seems darkened and gloomy. Our for the sense to some effect comprehensible by the
senses are not only altered, but often completely sense.
stupefied by the passions of the soul. How many Bacon, Advancement of Learning,
things we see which we do not notice if our mind Bk. II, XIII, 4
is occupied elsewhere! ... It seems as though the

soul draws the powers of the senses inward and 21 Many experiences little by little destroyed all the
occupiw them. Thus both the inside and the out- faith which I had from
rested in my senses; for I
side of man is full of weakness and falsehood. time to time observed that those towers which
Montaigne, Essays, II, 12, Apology for from afar appeared to me to be round, more close-
Raymond Sebond ly observed seemed square, and that colossal stat-
ues raised on the summit of these towers, ap-
19 To judge the appearances that we receive of ob- peared as quite tiny statues when viewed from the
jects, we would need a judicatory instrument; to bottom; and so in an infinitude of other cases I
verify this instrument, we need a demonstration; found error in judgments founded on the external
to verify the demonstration, an instrument: there senses. And not only in those founded on the ex-
we arc in a circle. ternal senses, but even in those founded on the
Since the senses cannot decide our dispute, internal as well; for is there anything more inti-
being themselves full of uncertainty, it must be mate or more internal than pain? And yet I have
reason that docs so. No reason can be established learned from some persons whose arms or legs
without another reason: there we go retreating have been cut off, that they sometimes seemed to
back to infinity. feel pain in the part which had been amputated,
Our conception is not itself applied to foreign which made me think that I could not be quite
objects, but is conccixxd through the mediation of certain that it was a certain member which
the senses;and the senses do not comprehend the * pained me, even although I felt pain in it. And to
foreign object, but only their own impressions. those grounds of doubt I have lately added two
And thus the conception and semblance w’c form others, which are very general; the first is that I
IS not of the object, but only of the impression and never have believed myself to feel anything in
effect made on the sense; which impression and waking moments which I cannot also sometimes
the object arc different things.
Wherefore whoever believe myself to fee! when I sleep, and as I do not
 328 Chapters. Mind

think that these things which I seem to feel in as to be affected by the motions arising in it.

sleep, proceed from objects outside of me, I do not Nothing more than this should be assigned to
see any reason why I should have this belief re- sense, if we wish to distinguish itaccurately from
garding objects which I seem to perceive while the intellect. For though my judgment that there
awake. The other was that being still ignorant, or is a staff situated without me, which judgment re-
rather supposing myself to be ignorant, of the au- sults from the sensation of colour by which I am
thor of my being, I saw nothing to prevent me affected, and likewise my reasoning from the ex-
from having been so constituted by nature that I tension of that colour, its boundaries, and its posi-
might be deceived even in matters which seemed tion relatively to the parts of my brain, to the size,
to me to be most certain. And as to the grounds on the shape, and the distance of the said staff, arc
which I was formerly persuaded of the truth of vulgarly assigned to sense, and are consequently
sensible objects, I had not much trouble in reply- here referred to the third grade of sensation, they
ing to them. For since nature seemed to cause me clearly depend upon the understanding alone.
to lean towards many things from which reason . Magnitude, distance and figure can be per-
. .

repelled me, I did not belcivc that I should trust ceived by reasoning alone, which deduces them
much to the teachings of nature. And although one from another. . . .

the ideas which I receive by the senses do not de- From this it is clear that when we say that the

pend on my will, I did not think that one should certitude obtainable fy the understanding is much greater
for that reason conclude that they proceeded from than that attacking to the senses the meaning of those
things different from myself, since possibly some words is, that those judgments which when wc arc
faculty might be discovered in me though hith- — in full maturity new
observations have led us to
—
erto unknown to me ^which produced them. make, are surer than those we have formed in ear-
But now that I begin to know myself better, and ly infancy and apart from all reflection; and this
to discover more clearly the author of my being, I is certainly true. For it is clear that here there is

do not in truth think that I should rashly admit no question of the first or second grade of sense-
all the matters which the senses seem to teach us, perception, because in them no falsity* can reside.
but, on the other hand, I do not think that I When, therefore, it is alleged that refraction
should doubt them all universally. makes a staff appear broken in the water, it is the
Descartes, Meditations tm First same as if it were said that it appears to us in the
Philosophy, VI same way as it would to an infant who judged
that it was broken, and as it does even to us who,

22 In order rightly to see what amount of certainty

owing to the prejudices to which we from our ear-
liest years have grown accustomed, judge in the
belongs to sense we must distinguish three grades
as falling within it. To the first belongs the imme- same way. Hence, in this instance, it is the
. . .

diate affection of the bodily organ by external ob-

understanding solely which corrects the error of
sense; and no case can ever be adduced in which
jects; and this can be nothing than the motion
else
error results from our trusting the operation of the
of the particles of the sensory organs and the
change of figure and position due to that motion. mind more than sense.
The second comprises the immediate mental re- Descartes, Objections and Replies, VI
sult, due to the mind’s union with the corporeal
organ affected; such are the perceptions of pain, 23 There is no conception in a man’s mind which
of pleasurable stimulation, of thirst, of hunger, of hath not at first, totally or by parts, been begotten
colours, of sound, savour, odour, cold, heat, and upon the organs of sense. TTie rest are derived
the like, which . . . arise from the union and, as it from that original. . . .

were, the intermixture of mind and body. Finally, The cause of sense is the external body, or ob-
the third contains all those judgments which, on ject, which presseth the organ proper to each
the occasion of motions occurring in the corporeal sense, either immediately, as in the taste and
organ, w'e have from our earliest years been accus- touch; or mediately, as in seeing, hearing, and
tomed to pass about things external to us. smelling: which pressure, by the mediation of
For example, when I see a staff, it is not to be nerves and other strings <md membranes of the
thought that intentional species fly off from it and body, continued inwards to heart, the brain and
reach the eye, by merely that rays of light reflect- causeth there a resistance, or counter-pressure, or
ed from the staff excite certain motions in the op- endeavour of the heart to deliver itself: which en-
tic nerve and, but its mediation, in the brain as deavour, because outward, seemeth to be some
well. ... It is in this cerebral motion, which is matter without. And this seeming, or fancy, is that
common to us and to the brutes, that the first which men call sense; and consisteth, as to the eye,
grade of perception consists. But from this the sec- in a light, or colour figured; to the ear, in a sound;
ond grade of perception results; and that merely to the nostril, in an odour; to the tongue and pa-
extends to the perception of the colour or light late, in a savour; and to the rest of the body, in
reflected from the stick, and is due to the fact that heat, cold, hardness, softness, and such other qual-
the mind is so intimately conjoined with the brain ities as we discern by feeling. All which qualities
 52. The Senses and Sense Perception \
329

called smsibU arc in the object that causeth them soul knows the things of which it has percep-
itself

but so many motions of the matter, by

sc\'eral
which it presseth our organs diversely. Neither in
us that arc pressed arc they anything else but di-
verse motions (for motion produceth nothing but
motion). But their appearance to us is fancy, the
same vs'aking that dreaming. And as pressing, rub-
bing, or striking the eye makes us fancy a light,
and pressing the car produceth a din; so do the
bodies also we see, or hear, produce the same by
their strong, though unobserved action. For if
those colours and sounds w'crc in the bodies or
objects that cause them, they could not be scvxrcd
from them, as by glasses and in echoes by reflec-
tion we see they arc: where we know the thing we
see is one place; the appearance, in another.
in
And though at some certain distance the real and
very object seem invested with the fancy it begets
in us; yet still the object is one thing, the image or
fancy is another. So that sense in all eases
ing else but original fancy caused (as
by the pressure that is, by the motion of external
things upon our eyes, cars, and other organs,
thereunto ordained.
Hobbes,
tion, only in so far as it has distinct and height-
ened [or unveiled] perceptions of them; and it has
perfection in proportion to its distinct perceptions.
Each soul knows the infinite, knows all, but con-
fusedly; as when I wralk on the sea-shore and hear
I hear the particu-
the great noise the sea makes,
larsounds which come from the particular w'avcs
and which make up the total sound, but I do not
26 discriminate them from one another. Our con-
fused perceptions arc the result of the impressions
w'hich the whole universe makes upon us.
Leibniz, Principles of Nature
and of Grace, 13
TTic next thing to be considered is, how' bodies
produce ideas in us; and that is manifestly by im-
pulse, the only way which w’c can conceive bodies
to operate in.
is noth-
If then external objects be not united to our
I have said)
minds when thej' produce ideas therein; and j'ct
we perceive these original qualities in such of them
as singly fall under our senses, it is evident that
some motion must be thence continued by our
Leviathan^ I, 1 nerves, or animal spirits, by some parts of our
bodies, to the brains or the scat of sensation, there

24 The homogencal light and raj's which appear red, to produce in our minds the particular ideas w'e
or rather make objects appear so, I call rubrific or have of them. And since the c.xtcnsion, figure,
red-making; those which make objects appear yel- number, and motion of bodies of an obsen'ablc
low, green, blue, and violet, I call yellow-making, bigness, may be perceived at a distance by the

green-making, blue-making, violet-making, and sight, it is evident some singly imperceptible

so of the rest. And if any time
at I speak of light bodies must come from them to the eyes, and
and raj's as coloured or endued
\vith colours, I
thereby convey to the brain some motion; which
would be understood to speak not philosophically produces these ideas which w'C have of them in
and properlj', but grossly, and accordingly to such us.

conceptions as v'ulgar people in seeing all these After the same manner that the ideas of these
experiments would be apt to frame. For the rays, original qualities are produced in us, we may con-
to speak properlj', arc not coloured. In them there ceive that the ideas of secondary qualities are also

isnothing else than a certain power and disposi- produced, viz. by the operation of insensible parti-

up a sensation of this or that colour.

tion to stir cleson our senses. For, it being manifest that there
For as sound in a bell or musical siring, or other are bodies and good store of bodies, each whereof
sounding body, are so small, that we cannot by any of our senses
is nothing but a trembling motion,
and in the air
nothing but that motion propagat- discover either their bulk, figure, or motion, —as is

ed from the object, and in the sensorium ’tis a evident in the particles of the air and water, and
sense of that motion under the form of sound; so others extremely smaller than those; perhaps as
colours in the object arc nothing but a disposition much smaller than the particles of air and water,
to reflect this or that sort of raj's more copiously as the particles of air and w'atcr are smaller than
than the rest; in the raj's thej’ arc nothing but peas or hail-stoncs; — let us suppose at present that
their dispositions to propagate this or that motion the different motions and figures, bulk and num-
into the sensorium, and
sensorium thej' arc
in the
ber, of such particles, affecting the sc\'cral organs
sensations of those motions under the forms of col- of our senses, produce in us those different sensa-
ours. tions W’hich we have from the colours and smells
of bodies; v.g. that a violet, bj' the impulse of such
Newton, Optics, I, 2 insensible particles of matter, of peculiar figures
and bulks, and in different degrees and modifica-
25 \\c might get to know' the
beauty of the universe tions of their motions, causes the ideas of the blue
in each soul, if we could unfold all that
is enfolded colour, and sweet scent be pro-
of that flow'cr to
in and that is perceptibly developed only
it duced no more impossible
in our minds- It being
through time. But as each distinct perception of to conceive that God should annex such ideas to
the soul includes an infinite number of confused such motions, w’ith which they have no similitude,
perceptions, which involve the whole universe, the than that he should annex the idea of pain to the
 330 I
Chapter 5, Mind

motion of a piece of steel dividing our flesh, with of its own framing. The ideas of Sense arc allovsed
which that idea hath no resemblance. to have more reality in them, that is, to be more
What I have said concerning colours and smells strong, orderly, and coherent than the creatures o!
may be understood also of tastes and sounds, and the mind; but this is no argument that they exist
other the like sensible qualities; which, whatever without the mind. They arc also less dependent on
reality we by mistake attribute to them, are in the spirit, or thinking substance which perceives
truth nothing in the objects themselves, but pow- them, in that they are excited by the will of an-
ers to produce various sensations in us; and de- other and more powerful spirit; yet still they arc
pend on those primary qualities, viz, bulk, figure, ideas, and certainly no idea, whether faint or

texture, and motion of parts as I have said. strong, can exist otherwise than in a mind perceiv-
Locke, Concerning Human Understanding, ing it. . . .

Bk, II, VIII, 11-14 do not argue against the existence of any one
I
thing that we can apprehend either by sense or
27 It is for want of reflection that we are apt to think reflexion. That the things I sec with my eyes and

that our senses show us nothing but material touch with my hands do exist, really exist, I make
things. Every act of sensation, when duly consid- not the least question. The only thing whose exis-
ered, gives us an equal view of both parts of na- tence we deny is that which philosophers call Mat-
ture, the corporeal and spiritual. For whilst I ter or corporeal substance. doing of this And in

know, by seeing or hearing, etc., that there is some there is no damage done mankind,
to the rest of

corporeal being without me, the object of that sen- who, I dare say, will never miss it, . If the word . .

sation, I do more certainly know, that there is substance be taken in the vulgar sense for a com- —
some spiritual being within me that sees and bination of sensible qualities, such as extension,
hears. This, 1 must be convinced, cannot be the solidity, weight, and the like ^this we cannot be —
action of bare insensible matter; nor ever could accused of taking away: but if it be taken in a
be, without an immaterial thinking being. —
philosophic sense for the support of accidents or
Locke, Concerning Human Understanding, qualities without the mind then indeed I ac- —
Bk. II, XXIII, 15 knowledge that we take it away, if one may be
said to take away that which never had any exis-

28 I find I can excite ideas in my mind at pleasure,

tence, not even in the imagination. . . . Since
and vary and shift the scene as oft as I think fit. It therefore the objects of sense exist only in the

is no more than willing, and straightway this or

mind, and are withal thoughtless and inactive, I
that idea arises in my fancy; and by the same chose to mark them by the word idea, which im-
power it is obliterated and makes way for another. plies those properties.

This making and unmaking of ideas doth very
properly denominate the mind active. Thus much
is certain and grounded on experience; but when
we think of unthinking agents or of exciting ideas
exclusive of volition, we only amuse ourselves with
words.
But, whatever power I may have over
thoughts, I find the ideas actually perceived by
Sense have not ^ like dependence on my will.
When in broad daylight I open my eyes, it is not
in my power to choose whether I shall see or no,
or to determine what particular objects shall pre-
sent themselves to my view; and so likewise as to
the hearing and other senses; the ideas imprinted
what we can, some one perhaps may
But, say
be apt to he will still believe his senses, and
reply,
never suffer any arguments, how plausible soever,
to prevail over the certainty of them. Be it so;
assert the evidence of sense as high as you please,
we That what I see,
are wiling to do the same.
my own hear, and feel doth exist, that is to say, is per-
ceived by me, I no more doubt than I do of my
own being. But I do not see how the testimony of
sense can be alleged as a proof for the existence of
anything which is not perceived by sense. We arc
not for having any man turn sceptic and disbe-
lieve his senses; on the contrary, we give them all
the stress and assurance imaginable. . . .

on them are not creatures of my \rill. There is Secondly, it will be objected that there is a great
therefore some other Will or Spirit that produces difference betwixt real fire for instance, and the
them. idea of fire, betwixt dreaming or imagining one-
Berkeley, Principles of Human selfburnt, and actually being so: if you suspect it
Knowledge, 28-29 to be only the idea of fire which you see, do but
put your hand into it and you will be convinced
29 The ideas imprinted on the Senses by the Author wth a witness. This and the like may be urged in
of nature are called real things; and those excited in opposition to our tenets. To all which the answer
the imagination being less regular, vivid, and con- is evident from what hath been already said; and

stant, arc more properly termed ideas, or images of I shall only add in this place, that if real fire be
things, which they copy and represent. But then very different from the idea of fire, so also is the
our sensations, be they never so vivid and distinct, real pain that it occasions very different from the
arc nevertheless ideas, that is, they exist in the idea of the same pain, and yet nobody will pre-
mind, or are perceived by it, as truly as the ideas tend that real pain cither is, or can possibly be, in
 5,2. The Smses and Sense Perception \
331

nn unpcrcciving thing, or witliout the mind, any By what argument can it be proved, that the
more than its idea. perceptions of the mind must be caused by exter-
30 Berkeley, Principles of Human nal objects, entirely different from them, though
Knowlediie^ 33-41 resembling them (if that be possible) and could
not arise either from the energy of the mind itself,
or from the suggestion of some invisible and un-
It seems cv'idcnt, that men arc carried, by a natu-
known spirit, or from some other cause still more
ral instinct or prepossession, to repose faith in
unknown to us? It is acknowledged, that, in fact,
their senses; and that, without any reasoning, or
many of these perceptions arise not from anything
even almost before the use of reason, we ahva>*s
external, as in dreams, madness, and other dis-
suppose an external universe, which depends not
though we and
eases. And
nothing can be more inexplicable than
on our perception, but would exist,
the manner, in which l>ody should .so operate
every sensible creature were absent or annihilat-
upon mind as ever to convey an image of itself to
ed. Even the animal creation arc governed by a
a substance, supposed of so different, and even
like opinion, and preserve this belief of external
contrary a nature.
objects, in all their thoughts, designs, and actions.
It is a question of fact, whether the perceptions
seems also cs'ident, that, when men follow
It
of the senses Ik produced by external objects, re-
this blind and powerful instinct of nature, they
sembling them: how shall this question be de-
alwap suppose the vcr>' images, presented by the
senses, to be the external objects, and never enter-
termined? By experience surely; as all other ques-
tions of a like nature. But here experience is, and
tain any suspicion, that the one arc nothing but
representations of the other. This very table which
must be entirely silent. I'hc mind has ncsxr any-
tliing present to it but the perceptions, and cannot
we see while, and which we feel hard, is bclicv'cd
possibly reach any experience of their connexion
to exist,independent of our perception, and to be
with objeci.T. The supposition of such a connexion
something external to our mind, whicli perceives
is, therefore, without any foundation in rca.soning.
it. Our presence bestows not being on it: our ab-

sence docs not annihilate it. It preserves its exis- Hume, Concerning Human Understanding,

tence uniform and entire, independent of the situ- XII, 1 18-1 19

ation of intelligent beings, who perceive or
contemplate it. 31 As wc have no immediate experience of what
But this and primary opinion of all
universal other men feel, wc can form no idea of the man-
men is soon destroyed by the slightest philosophy, ner in which they arc affected, but by conceiving
which teaches us, that nothing can ever be present what wc ourselves should feel in the like situation.
to the mind but an image or perception, and that Tltough our brother is upon the rack, as long as
the senses arc only the inlets, through which these wc ourselves arc at our case, our senses will never
images arc conveyed, without being able to pro- inform us of what he suffers. Thc>‘ never did and
duce any immediate intercourse betweenr the never can carry tis beyond our own person, and it
mind and the object. The table, which we see, is by the imagination only that wc can form any
^

seems to diminish, as wx remove farther from it: conception of what arc his sensations.
but the real table, which exists independent of us, Adam Smith, Theory of Moral Sentiments, I, 1

suffers no alteration: it was, therefore, nothing but

its image, which was present to the mind. These 32 In whatsocs'cr mode, or by \s'hai.socvcr means, our
are the obWous dictates of reason; and no man, knowledge may relate to objects, it is at least quite
who reflects, ever doubted, that the existences, clear that the only manner in which it immedi-
which w'c consider, when we say, this house and that ately relates to them is by means of an intuition.
arc nothing but perceptions in the mind, and
treet To this as the indispensable groundwork, all
fleeting copies or representations of other existenc- thought points. But an intuition can take place
es, which remain uniform and independent. only in so far as the object is given to us. This,
So far, then, arc we necessitated by reasoning
to again, is only possible, to man at least, on condi-
contradict or depart from the primary instincts of tion that the object affect the mind in a certain
nature, and to embrace a new system with regard manner. The capacity for receiving representa-
to the c\'idcncc of our senses. But here philosophy tions (receptivity) through the mode in which wc
finds herself extremely embarrassed, when she arc affected by objects, is called sensibility. By
would justify this new' system, and obviate the ca- means of sensibility, therefore, objects arc given to
vils and objections of the sceptics. She can us, and it alone furnishes us with intuitions; by
no
longer plead the infallible and irresistible instinct the understanding they are thought, and from it
of nature: for that led us to a quite different sy's- arise conceptions. But all thought must directly,
tern, which is acknowledged fallible and even er- or indirectly, by means of certain signs, relate ulti-
roneous. And to justify this pretended philosophi- mately to intuitions; consequently, with us, to sen-
cal system, by a chainand convincing
of clear because in no other way can an object be
sibility,
argument, or even any appearance of argument, given to us.
exceeds the power of all human capacity. The effect of an object upon the faculty of rep-
 332 Chapter 5, Mind

rcsentation, so far as wc are affected by the said 35 O for a life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts)
object, is sensation. That sort of intuition which Keats, Letter to Benjamin Bail^
relates to an object by means of sensation is called (Nov. 22, 1817)
an empirical intuition. The undetermined object
of an empirical intuition is called phenomenon, Tliat 36 Only one absolute certainty is possible to man,
which in the phenomenon corresponds to the sen- namely, that at any given moment the feeling
sation, I term its matter; but that which effects that which he has exists.
the content of the phenomenon can be arranged T. H. Huxley, Letter to J. G. T. Sinclair

under certain relations, I call its form. But that in (July 21, 1890)
which our sensations arc merely arranged, and by
which they arc susceptible of assuming a certain 37 Arc not the sensations wc get from the same ob-
form, cannot be itself sensation. It is, then, the ject, for example, always the same? Docs not the
matter of all phenomena that is given to us a poi^ same piano-key, struck with the same force, make
teriori; the form ready a priori for them in
must lie us hear in the same way? Docs not the same grass
the mind, and consequently can be regarded sepa- give us the same same sky the
feeling of green, the
rately from all sensation. same and do wc not get the same
feeling of blue,
I call all representations pure, in the transcen- olfactory sensation no matter how many times wc
dental meaning of the word, wherein nothing is put our nose to the same flask of cologne? It seems
met with that belongs to sensation. And accord- a piece of metaphysical sophistry to suggest that
ingly we find existing in the mind a priori, the pure wc do not; and yet a close attention to the matter
form of sensuous intuitions in general, in which all shows that there is no proof that the same bodily sensa-
the manifold content of the phenomenal world is lion is ever got by us twice.
arranged and viewed under certain relations. TTiis IVhat is got twice is the same object. Wc hear the
pure form of sensibility I shall call pure intuition. same note over and over again; wc see the same
Thus^ if I take away from our representation of a of green, or smell the same objective per-
body all that the understanding thinks as belong- fume, or experience the same species of paih. The
ing to it, as substance, force, divisibility, etc., and concrete and abstract, physical and ide-
realities,
also whatever belongs to sensation, as impenetra- al,whose permanent existence we believe in, seem
bility, hardness, colour, etc.; yet there is still some- to be constantly coming up again before our
thing left us from this empirical intuition, namely, thought, and lead us, in our carelessness, to sup-
extension and shape. These belong to pure intu- pose that our ’‘ideas” of them arc the same ideas.
ition, which exists a priori in themind, as a mere When we come, some time later, to the chapter on
form of sensibility, and without any real object of Perception, wc shall see how inveterate is our hab-
the senses or any sensation. it of not attending to sensations as subjective facts,
Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, but of simply using them as stepping-stones to
Transcendental Aesthetic pass over to the recognition of the realities whose
presence they reveal. The grass out of the window
33 In general, wc receive impressions only in conse- now looks to me of the same green in the sun as in
quence of motion, and wc might establish it as an the shade, and yet a painter would have to paint
axiom that, without motion, there is no sensation. one part of it dark brown, another part bright

This general principle applies very accurately to yellow, to give its real sensational effect. We take
the sensations of heat and cold: when wc touch a no heed, as a rule, of the different way in which
cold body, the caloric which always tends to be- the same and sound and smell at dif-
things look
come m equilibrio in all bodies, passes from our ferent and under different circum-
distances
hand into the body wc touch, which gives us the stances. The sameness of the things is what wc arc
feeling or sensation of cold. The direct contrary concerned to ascertain; and any sensations that
happens, when we touch a warm body, the caloric assure us of that will probably be considered in a
then passing from the body into our hand pro- rough way to be the same with each other. This is
duces the sensation of heat. If the hand and the what makes off-hand testimony about the subjec-
body touched be of the same temperature, or very tive identity of different sensations well-nigh
nearly so, wc receive no impression, cither of heat worthless as a proof of the fact. The entire history
or cold, because there is no motion or passage of of Sensation is a commentary on our inability to

caloric;and thus no sensation can take place tell whether two sensations received apart are ex-
without some correspondent motion to occasion it. actly alike.
Lavoisier, Elements of Chemistry, I, 1 William James, Psychology, IX

34 The —
eye it cannot choose but see; 3B Nature ... is frugal in her operations, and will
We cannot bid the ear be still; not be at the expense of a particular instinct to
Our bodies feel, where’er they be, give us that knowledge which experience and
Against or with our will. habit will soon produce. Reproduced sights and
Wordsworth, Expostulation and Reply contacts tied together with the present sensation
 53. Memory 333

in the unity ofa thing with a name, these are the pleasant or unpleasant, the lawyer finds it
affairs,

complex objective stuff out of which my actually most expedient to give.

perceived table is made. Infants must go through William James, Pragmatism, VII
a long education of the eye and ear before they
can perceive the realities which adults perceive. 40 The state of becoming conscious is a special psy-
Evfty perception is an acquired perception, chic act, different from and independent of the
William James, P^'chology^ XIX process of becoming fixed or represented, and con-
sciousness appears to us as a sensory organ which
39 A sensation is rather like a client who has given perceives a content proceeding from another
his case to a lawyer and then has passively to lis- source.
ten in the courtroom to whatever account of his Freud, Interpretation of Dreams, IV

5.3 I
Memory
The two most famous metaphors that have related processes of reminiscence, recollec-
been used to say what memory is one, that — tion, and recognition, about the gradual
it is the storehouse of ideas; the other, that it fading away of memories, and forgetfulness
is decaying sense —may give us some grasp and forgetting.
of upon closer examination
the subject, but The quotations collected here touch on all
they are more misleading than instructive. these matters as well as others, and repre-
Something must be experienced or learned sent the fascination of memory not only for
before it can be remembered, and that psychologistsand philosophers, but also for
which is remembered must somehow be re- the poets and the historians, who are con-
tained between the time of acquisition and cerned with our sense of time and our
the time of recall or recollection; but after knowledge of the past. That fascination is,
we have acknowledged these two points, we perhaps, most eloquently expressed in the
are left with many about
difficult questions passages taken from Augustine’s Confessions.
the objects of memory, about the kind of The modern scientific and the psychoana-
knowledge that memory is, about the differ- lytical interest in the subject are represented
ence between immediate memory and mem- here in the quotations from William James
ory after a long interval of time, about the and Sigmund Freud.

1 Cebes added: Your favourite doctrine, Socrates, trine of recollection. I am not very sure at the
that knowledge is simply recollection, if true, also moment that I remember them.
necessarily implies a previous time in which we One excellent proof, said Cebes, is afforded by
have learned that which we now recollect. But questions. you put a question to a person in a
If
Ais would be impossible unless our soul had been right way, he will give a true ans\ver of himself,
m some place before existing in the form of man; but how could he do this unless there were knowl-
here then is another proof of the souPs immortali- edge and right reason already in him? And this is
ty* most clearly shown when he is taken to a diagram
But tell me, Cebes, said Simmias, interposing, or to anything of that sort. . . .

what arguments are urged in favour of this doc- And if we acquired this knowledge before we
 334 Chapter 5. Mind

were born, and were born having the use of it, taken, then w^e forget and do not know.
then we also knew before we were born and at the Plato, Theaetetus, I9IA

instant of birth not only the equal or the greater

or the less, but all other ideas; for we are not 3 Acts of recollection, as they occur in experience,
speaking only of equality, but of beauty, goodness, are due to the fact that one movement has by
justice, holiness, and of all which we stamp with nature anotlicr that succeeds it in regular order.
the name of essence in the dialectical process, If this order be necessary, whenever a subject
both when we ask and when we answer questions. experiences the former of two movements thus
Of all this wc may certainly affirm that we ac- connected, it will [invariably], experience the lat-
quired the knowledge before birth? ter; if, however, the order be not necessary, but

Wc may. customary, only in the majority of cases will the

But if,having acquired, wc have not for-
after subject experience the latter of the two move-
gotten what in each case wc acquired, then we ments. But it is a fact that there are some move-
must always have come into life having knowl- ments, by a single experience of which persons
edge, and shall always continue to know as long as take the impress of custom more deeply than they
life lasts — for knowing is the acquiring and retain- do by experiencing others many times; hence
ing knowledge and not forgetting. Is not forget- upon seeing some things but once we remember
ting, Simmias, just the losing of knowledge? them better than others which we may have seen
2 Quite true, Socrates, frequently.
But if the knowledge which we acquired before Whenever, therefore, we are recollecting, wc
birth was lost by us at birth, and if afterwards by arc experiencing certain of the antecedent move-
the use of the senses we recovered what we previ- ments until finally wc experience the one after
ously knew, will not the process which we call which customarily comes that which we seek. This
learning be a recovering of the knowledge which explains why we hunt up the series, having started
is natural to us, and may not this be rightly in thought either from a present intuition or some
termed recollection? other, and from something either similar, or con-
Very true. trary, to what we seek, or else from that which is
So much is clear —that when we perceive some- contiguous with it. Such is the empirical ground
thing, cither by the help of sight, or hearing, or of the process of recollection.
some other from that perception we are
sense, Aristotle, Memory and Reminiscence, 451^10
able to obtain a notion of some other thing like or
unlike which is associated with it. but has been 4 Many animals have memory, and are capable of
forgotten. Whence, as I was saying, one of two instruction; but no other creature except man can

alternatives follows: —
either wc had this knowl- recall the past at will.

edge at thrth, and continued to know through life; Aristotle, History of Animals, 488^25

or, after birth, those who are said to learn

only remember, and learning is simply recollec-
5 Men of fine genius are readily reminded of things,
but those who receive with most pains and diffi-
tion.
culty, remember best; every new thing they learn,
Plato, Phaedo,12^
being, as it were, burnt and branded in on their
minds.
Socrates. Tell me, then, whether I am right in say- Plutarch, Cato the Younger
ing that you may learn a thing which at one time
you did not know? 6 A memory has to do with something brought into
Theaetetus. Certainly you may. ken from without, something learned or some-
Soc. And another and another? thing experienced; the Memory-Principle, there-
Theaet. Yes. fore, cannot belong to such beings as are immune
Soc. I would have you imagine, then, that there from experience and from time.
exists in the mind of man a block of wax, which is No memory, therefore, can be ascribed to any
men; harder, moister,
of different sizes in different divine being, or to the Authentic-Existent or the
and having more or less of purity in one than an- Intellectual-Principle: these are intangibly im-
other, and in some of an intermediate quality. mune; time does not approach them; they possess
Theaet. I see. eternity centred around Being; they know nothing
Soc. Let us say that this tablet is a gift of Memo- of past and sequent; all Is an unbroken state of
ry, the mother Muses; and that when we
of the identity, not receptive of change.
wish to remember anything which we have seen, Plotinus, Fourth Ennead, III, 25
or heard, or thought in our own minds, we hold
the wax to the perceptions and thoughts, and in 7 Memory, in point of fact, is impeded by the body:
that material receive the impression of them as even as things arc, addition often brings forgetful-
from the seal of a ring; and that we remember ness; with thinning and clearing away, memory
and know what is imprinted as long as the image will often revive. The soul is a stability; the shift-

lasts; but when the image is effaced, or cannot be ing and fleeting thing which body is can be a
 53. A'fcmor}’ 335

cause only of Us forgetting not of its remember- them if I like, and they arc immediately pre-
loo,
ing — I^thc stream may be understood in this sent; and though my tongue is at rest and my
sense — and mcmor>' is a fact of the soul. throat .silent I can sing as I will; nor do the images
Plotinus, Fourth Enneady III, 26 of the colors, although they arc as tmly present,
interfere or interrupt when I call from the store-
power my house some other thing which came in by the car.
8 I shall mount beyond this of nature,
Similarly all other things that were brought in by
still rising by degrees towards Him who made me.
the other senses and stored up in the memory' can
And so I come and vast palaces of
to the fields
memory, where arc stored the innumerable im-
be called up at my pleasure: I disting\ii.sh the
scent of lilies though at
from the scent of violets,
ages of material things brought to it by the senses.
that instant I smell nothing; and I like honey bet-
Further there is stored in the memor)* the
ter than vrine, some smooth thing l)ettcr than
thoughts we think, by adding to or taking from or
rough, though 1 am not tasting or handling but
othenvise modifying the things that sense has
and all other things that have only remembering.
made contact with,
and laid up in mcmor>% .save All this I do inside me. in the huge court of my
been entrusted to
such as forgetfulness has s^vallowcd in its grave.
memory. In my memory* arc sky and earth and
.sea,ready at hand along with all the things that I
When I turn to mcmor>', I ask it to bring forth
have ever been able to perceive in them and have
what I want: and .some things arc produced im-
not forgotten. And in my memory' too I meet my-
mediately, some take longer as if they had to be
brought out from some more secret place of stor-
self —
1 recall myself, what I have done, when and

age; some pour out in a heap, and while we arc

where and in what state of mind I was when I did
actually wanting and looking for something quite it. In my memory arc all the things I remember to
have experienced myself or to have been told by
different, they hurl themselves upon us in masses
as though to say: *‘May it not be we that you
others. From the same store I can weave into the
want?” I brush them from the face of my memory past endless new likcne.sscs of things either experi-

with the hand of my heart, until at last the thing

enced by me or believed on the strength of things
experienced; and from these again I can picture
I vv'ant is brought to light as from some hidden
actions and events and hopes for the future; and
place. Some things arc produced just as they arc
upon them all I can meditate as if they were pre-
required, easily and in right order; and things
sent, ” I shall do this or that," I say to myself in the
that come first give place to those that follow, and
giving place arc stored up again to be produced
vast recess of my mind with its immeasurable
when I w’ant them. Tliis is what happens, when I store of images of things so great: and this or that

say anything by heart. follow's. "O, if only tliis or that could be!" or

In the mcmoiy' all the various things arc kept again, "May God prevent this or that!" Such
distinct and in their right categories, though each
things I say within myself, and when I speak of
came into the memory by its own gate. For exam- them the images of all the things I mention arc to
ple, light and all the colors and shapes of bodies
hand from the same storehouse of memorj*, and if
come in by the eyes, all the kinds of sound by the the images were not there I could not so much as

cars, all scents by the nostrils, all tastes by the speak of the things.
mouth; and by a sense that belongs to the whole Great is this power of memory*, exceedingly
body comes in what is hard and what is soft, what great, O
my God, a spreading limitless room with-
is hot or cold, rough or smooth, heax^ or light, in me.
whether outside the body or inside. All these Augustine, Confmxons^ X, 8
things the vast recesses, the hidden and unsearch-
able caverns, of memory receive and store up, to 9 Now w'hcn hear that there arc three kinds of
1

be available and brought to light when need aris- questions: whether a thing is, what it is, of what

es: yet all enter by their oum various gates to be
stored up in mcmor)'. Nor indeed do the things
themselves enter: only the images of the things
perceived by the senses arc there for thought to
remember them.
And even though we know by which senses they
were brought in and laid up in the memory, who
can tell how these images were formed? Even
when I am in darkness and in silence, 1 can if I
will produce colors in my memory', and distin-
guish black from white and any other colors if I
choose; and sounds do not break in and disturb
the image I am considering that came in through
the eye, since the sounds themselves were already
there and He stored up apart. For
sort it is: I do indeed retain the images of the
sounds of which those words arc composed, and I
know that they pxsscd through the air with a cer-
tain noise and now no longer arc. But the things
themselves which the sounds signified I could not
come at by any bodily sense nor see them at all
save by my mind; and what I stored in my memo-
ly* w'as not their images but the truths themselves.
But how they got into me, it is for them to tell if
they can. For I run my mind over all the door-
ways of my body, but I cannot find any door by
which they could have come in. For my eyes say;
"If they w'crc coloured, we reported them to you";
the nostrils say: “If they had any smell, they w'cnt
I can summon in through us"; the sense of taste says: "Unless
 ^ y

336 I
Chapter 5. Mind

there was any taste in them, there is no use in my
being asked”; the sense of touch says: “If the
thing is not a body, I did not handle it, and if I
did not handle it, I did not report it to you.” Very
well then, whence and how did they get into my
but what it pleases. Indeed there is nothing that
imprints a thing so vividly on our memory as the
desire to forget it: a good way to give our mind
something to guard, and to impress it on her, is to
13 solicit her to lose it.

memory? I do not know. For when I first learned Montaigne, II, 12, Apolog)' for
them I was not trusting some other man’s mind, Raymond Sebond
but recognized them in my own; and I saw them
as true and committed them to my mind as if If souls came from anything but a natural succes-
placing them where could get at them again
I sion,and had been something else outside of the
whenever I desired. Thus they must have been in body, they would have a memory of their first
my mind even before I learned them, though they existence, considering the natural faculties that
were not memory. Then where were th^iy,
in roy arc proper to them, of reflecting, reasoning, and
or how did it come that when I heard them spo- remembering. . . .

ken I recognized them and said: “It is so, it is For to value the condition of our souls as highly
true,” unless they were in my memory already, but as wc want to, we must presuppose them to be
so far back, thrust away
it were in such remote
as wholly knowing when they arc in their natural
they had been drawn forth by
recesses, that unless simplicity and purity. Thus they would have been
some other man’s teaching, I might perhaps never such, being free from the corporeal prison, as
have managed to think of them at all? much before enteringit as we hope they will be

Augustine, Confessions X, 10
10 The memory also contains the innumerable prin-
ciplesand laws of numbers and dimensions; and
none of these have been impressed upon it by any
bodily sense, seeing that they have neither colour
nor sound nor scent nor taste nor feel. I have
heard the sounds of the words by which they arc
expressed when we discuss them, but the sounds
arc not the same as the truths themselves. For the
sounds are of one kind in Greek, quite different in
Latin, but the things themselves arc neither Greek
nor Latin nor of any other language. I have seen
after theyhave gone out of it. And this knowledge
they would have to remember still while in the
body, as Plato said that what wc learned was only
a recollection of what wc had known; a thing
which each man by experience can maintain to
be false. In the first place, because we recollect
only precisely what we are taught, and if memory
were doing its job purely, it would at least suggest
to us some point beyond what we have learned.
Second, what it knew when it was in its purity was
a real knowledge, by its divine intelligence under-
standing things as they are, whereas here it is
made to receive falsehood and vice, if it is in-

the lines drawn by architects, some of them as fine structed about them. In this itcannot use its pow-
as a spider’s web; but the truths are different, they er of reminiscence, this idea and conception never
arc not the images of such things as the eye of my havirfg lodged in it.

body has shown me. To know them is to recognize Montaigne, Essays, 11, 1 2, Apology for
them interiorly without any concept of any kind Raymond Sebond
of body whatsoever. With all my bodily senses I
have perceived the numbers we use in counting; H When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
but the basic numbers by which we count are not I summon up remembrance of things past,
the same as these, nor images of these; but really sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
I
are. Let whoever docs not sec these truths laugh at And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste.
me for talking thus: while he laughs at me I shall Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
be sorry for him. For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night.
Augustine, Confessions^ X, 12 And weep afresh love’s long since cancell’d woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish’d sight.
11 Assuredly, Lord, I toil with this, toil within my- Shakespeare, Sonnet XXX
self: Ihave become to myself a soil laborious and
of heavy sweat. For I am not now considering the 15 I make no more estimation of repeating a great

parts of the heavens, or measuring the distances of number of names or words upon once hearing, or
the stars, or seckmg how the earth is held in the pouring forth of a number of verses or rhymes
space; it is I who remember, I, my mind. not It is ex tempore, or the making of a satirical simile of
remarkable if things that I am not are far from everything, or the turning of everything to a jest,
my knowledge: but what could be closer to me or the falsifying or contradicting of everything by
than myself? Yet the power of memory in me 1 do cavil, or the like (whereof in the faculties of the
not understand, though without memorj^ I could mind there is great copic, and such as by device
not even name myself. and practice may
be exalted to an extreme degree
Augustine, Confessions X, 16 of wonder), than I do of the tricks of tumblers,

funambulocs, baladines; the one being the same

12 For memory sets before us, not what we choose, in the mind that the other is in the body, matters
 53, Memory I
337

of strangeness without worthiness. from the memory of things; and in others there is
16 Bacon, Advancement of Learning, Bk. II, XV, 2 none. Memory, therefore, as is said, follows from
sense; but from repeated recollection of the same

Let the required nature be memory, or that which thing springs exp>criencc (for repeated acts of
excites and assists memory. The constitutive in- memory constitute a single experience). . . .

which manifestly
stances are order or distribution, Wherefore . there is no perfect knowledge
. .

assists memory; topics or common-places in artifi- which can be entitled ours, that is innate; none
cial memory, which may be either places in their but what has been obtained from experience, or
literal sense, as a gate, a comer, a window, and derived in some way from our senses; all knowl-
the like, or familiar persons and marks, or any- edge, at all events, is examined by these, approved
thing else (provided it be arranged in a determi- by them, and finally presents itself to us firmly
nate order), as animals, plants, and words, letters, grounded upon some preexisting knowledge
characters, historical and the like, of
persons, which we possessed: because without memory
which, however, some are more convenient than there is no experience, which is nothing else than
others. All these common-places materially assist reiterated memory; in like manner memory can-
memory, and raise it far above its natural not exist without endurance of the things per-
strength. Verse, too, is recollected and learnt more ceived, and the thing perceived cannot remain

easily than prose. From this group of three in- where it has never been.
stances — order, the common -places of artificial William Harvey, Animal Generationj Intro.

memory, and verses — is constituted one species of

aid for the memory, which may be well termed a 18 Sometimes a man seeks what he hath lost; and
separation from infinity. For when a man strives from that place, and time, wherein he misses it,
to recollect or recall anything to memory, without his mind runs back, from place to place, and time
a preconceived notion or perception of the object to time, to find where and when he had it; that is
of his search, he inquires about, and labors, and to say, to find some certain and limited time and
turns from point to point, as if involved in infinity. place in which to begin a method of seeking.
But ifhe have any preconceived notion, this infin- Again, from thence, his thoughts run over the
ity is separated off, and the range of his memory is same places and times to find what action or other
brought within closer limits. In the three instances occasion might make him lose it. This we call re-
given above, the preconceived notion is clear and membrance, or calling to mind.
determined. In the first, it must be something that Hobbes, Leviathan, I, 3
agrees with order; in the second, an image which
has some relation or agreement with die fixed 19 Time and Education begets experience; Experi-
17
common-places; in the third, words which fall ence begets Memory; Memory begets Judgment
into a verse: and thus infinity is divided off. Other and Fancy: Judgment begets the strength and
instances will offer another species, namely, that structure, and Fancy begets the ornaments of a
whatever brings the intellect into contact with Poem, The Ancients therefore fabled not absurd-
something that strikes the sense (the principal ly, in making memory the mother of the Muses,
point of artificial memory), assists the memory. For memory is the World (though not really, yet
Others again offer another species, namely, what- so as in a looking glass) in which the Judgment
ever excites an impression by any powerful pas- (the severer sister) busieth herself in a grave and
sion, as fear, wonder, shame, delight, assists the rigid examination of all the parts of Nature, and
memory. Other instances will afford another spe- in registring by Letters, their order, causes, uses,
cies; thus those impressions remain most fixed in differences, and resemblances; Whereby the Fan-
the memory which arc taken from the mind when cy, when any work of Art is to be performed, fin-
clear and least occupied by preceding or succeed- deth her materials at hand and prepared for use,
ing notions, such as the things we learn in child- and needs no more than a swift motion over them,
hood, or imagine before sleep, and the first time of that what she wants, and is there to be had, may
any circumstance happening. not lye too long unespied. So that when she seem-
Bacon, Novum Organum, 11, 26 eth to fly from one Indies to the other, and from
Heaven to Earth, and to penetrate into the hard-
The by sense remain in some ani-
things perceived est matter, and obscurest places, into the future
mals; in others they do not remain. Those in and into her seif, and a point of time;
all this in
whom they do not remain, however, have either the voyage is being all she
not very great, her self
no knowledge at all, or at least none beyond the seeks; and her wonderful celerity, consisteth not so
simple perception of the things which do not re- much in motion, as in copious Imagery discreetly
main; others, again, when they perceive, retain a ordered, and perfectly registred in the memory.
certain something in their soul. Now, as there are Hobbes, Answer to Sir Will. D*Avenant*s
many animals of this description, there is already Preface Before Gondibert
a distinction between one animal and another;
and to this extent, that in some there is reason 20 But the iniquity of oblivion blindly scattereth her
 338 Chapter 5. Mind

poppy, and deals with the memory of men with- ideas in the repository of the memory signifies no
out distinction to merit of perpetuity. Who . . . more but this,—that the mind has a power in
knows whether the best of men be known, or many cases to revive perceptions which it has
whether there be not more remarkable persons once had, with this additional perception annexed
21 forgot than any that stand remembered in the to them, that it has had them before. And in this
known account of time? sense that our ideas are said to be in our
it is

Sir Thomas Browne, Um-Burial, V memories, when indeed they are actually no-
where; —but only thereis an ability in the mind

Memory ... is nothingthan a certain

else when it them again, and as it were
will to revive

concatenation of ideas, involving the nature of paint them anew on itself, though some with
things which are outside the human body, a con- more, some with less difficulty; some more lively,
catenation which corresponds in the mind to the and others more obscurely. And thus it is, by the
order and concatenation of the affections of the assistance of this faculty, that we are said to have
human body. I say, firstly, that it is a concatena- all those ideas in our understandings which,
23
tion of those ideas only which involve the nature though we do not actually contemplate, yet we can
of things which are outside the human body, and bring in sight, and make appear again, and be the
not of those ideas which explain the nature of objects of our thoughts, without the help of those

those things, for there arc in truth ideas of the sensible qualities which first imprinted them

affections of the human body, which involve its there.

nature as well as the nature of external bodies. I
say, in the second place, that this concatenation
takes place according to the order and concatena-
tion of the affections of the human body, tltat I
may distinguish it from the concatenation of ideas
which takes place according to the order of the
intellect, and enables the mind to perceive things
through their first causes, and is the same in all
men. Hence wc can clearly understand how it is
that the mind from the thought of one thing at
once turns to the thought of another thing which
22 is not in any way like the first. ... In this man-
ner each person will turn from one thought to
another according to the manner in which the
habit of each has arranged the images of things in
the body, ^i^e soldier, for instance, if he sees the
footsteps of a horse in the sand, will immediately
turn from the thought of a horse to the thought of
a horseman, and so to the ihought of war. The
countryman, on the other hand, from the thought
of a horse will turn to the thought of his plough,
his field, etc.; and thus each person will turn from
one thought to this or that thought, according to
the manner in which he has been accustomed to
connect and bind together the images of things in
his mind.
Spinoza, Ethics, II, Prop. 18, Schol.
Retention is the power to revive again in our
minds those ideas which, after imprinting, have
disappeared, or have been as it were laid aside out
of sight. And thus we do, when we conceive heat
or light, yellow or sweet, — the object being re-
moved. This is memory, which were the
is as
store-house of our ideas. For, the narrow mind of
man not being capable of having many ideas un-
der view and consideration at once, it was neces-
sary to have a repository, to lay up those ideas
which, at another time, it might have use of. But,
our ideas being nothing but actual perceptions in
the mind, which cease to be anything when there
is no perception of them; this laying up of our
Locke, Concerning Human Understanding,
Bk. II, X, 2
The memory of some men, it is true, is very tena-
even to a miracle. But yet there seems to be
cious,
a constant decay of all our ideas, even oi those
which are struck deepest, and in minds the most
retentive; so that if they be not sometimes re-
newed, by repeated exercise of the senses, or re-
flection on those kinds of objects which at first
occasioned them, the print wears out, and at last
there remains nothing to be seen. Thus the ideas,
as well as children, of our youth, often die before
us; and our minds represent to us those tombs to
which we are approaching; where, though the
brass and marble remain, yet the inscriptions are
24 effaced by time, and the imagery moulders away.
The pictures drawn in our minds are laid in fad-
ing colours; and if not sometimes refreshed, vanish
and disappear. How much the constitution of our
bodies and the make of our animal spirits are con-
cerned in this; and whether the temper of the
brain makes this difference, that in some it retains
the characters drawn on it like marble, in others
like freestone, and in others little better than sand,
I shall not here inquire; though it may seem prob-
able that the constitution of the body does some-
times influence the memory, since we oftentimes
find a disease quite strip the mind of all its ideas,
and the flames of a fever in a few days calcine all
those images to dust and confusion, which seemed
to be as lasting as if graved in marble.
Locke, Concerning Human Understanding,
it
Bk. II, X, 5
Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory;
Odors, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the beloved’s bed;
 5J. Memory 339

And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Ail that the will does is to emphasize and linger over those
Love itself shall slumber on. which seem pertinent, and ignore the rest. Through this

Shelley, To — hovering of the attention in the neighborhood of

the desired object, the accumulation of associates

25 Blessed are the forgetful: for they get over their becomes so great that the combined tensions of
stupidities, too. their neural processes break through the bar, and

Nietzsche, B^'ond Good and Evil, VII, 217 the nervous wave pours into the tract which has so
long been awaiting its advent. And as the expec-
tant, sub-conscious itching there, bursts into the
26 Try ... to symbolize what goes on in a man who
is racking his brains to remember a thought which
fulness of vivid feeling, the mind finds an inex-
pressible relief.
occurred to him last week. The associates of the
thought are there, many of them at least, but they William James, P^'chology, XIV
refuse to awaken the thought itself. We cannot
suppose that they do not irradiate at all into its 27 The stream of thought flows on; but most of its

brain-tract, because his mind quivers on the very segments fall into the bottomless abyss of oblivion.
edge of its recovery. Its actual rhythm sounds in Of some, no memory survives the instant of their
his cars; the words seem on the imminent point of passage. Of others, it is confined to a few mo-
following, but fail. What it is that blocks the dis- ments, hours, or days. Others, again, leave ves-
charge and keeps the brain-excitement here from tigeswhich are indestructible, and by means of
passing beyond the nascent into the vivid state which they may be recalled as long as life en-
cannot be guessed. But we see in the philosophy of dures.
desire and pleasure, that such nascent excite- William James, P^'chology, XVI
ments, spontaneously tending to a crescendo, but
inhibited or checked by other causes, may become 28 Memory proper, or secondary memory as it might
potent mental stimuli and determinants of desire. be styled, is the knowledge of a former state of
All questioning, wonder, emotion of curiosity, mind after it has already once dropped from con-
must be referred to cerebral causes of some such sciousness; or rather it is the knowledge of an event, or

form as this. The great difference between the ef- fact, ofwhich meantime we have not been think-
fort to recall things forgotten and the search after ing, with the additional consciousness that we have
the means a given end, is that the latter have
to thought or experienced it before.

not, whilst the former have, already formed a part The clement which such a knowledge in-
first

of our experience. . . . volves would seem to be the revival in the mind of

The forgotten thing is felt by us as a gap in the
midst of certain other things. If it is a thought, we
possess a dim idea of where we were and what ^ve
were about when it occurred to us. We recollect
the general subject to which it relates.
these details refuse to shoot together into
whole, for the lack of the vivid traits of this miss-
ing thought, the relation whereof to each detail
forms now the main interest of the latter. We keep
^
running over the details in our mind, dissatisfied,
craving something more. From each detail there
radiate h'nes of association forming so many tenta-
tive guesses. Many of these are immediately seen
to be irrelevant, are therefore void of interest, and
lapse immediately from consciousness. Others are
^
associated with the other details present, and with
the missing thought as well. When these surge up,
we have a peculiar feeling that we are “warm,” as
the children say when they play hide and seek;
and such associates as these we clutch at and keep
before the attention. Thus we recollect successive-
ly that when we had the thought in question
we were at the dinner-table; then that our friend
J. D. was there; then that the subject talked about
was so and so; finally, that the thought came d
pTopos of a certain anecdote, and then that it had
something to do with a French quotation. Now all
these added associations arise independently
of the
will, by the spontaneous process we know so well.
an image or copy of the original event. And it is
an assumption made by many writers that the re-
vival of an image is all that is needed to constitute
the memory of the original occurrence. But such a
But all revival is obviously not a memory, whatever else it
a solid may be; it is simply a duplicate, a second event,
having absolutely no connection with the first
event except that it happens to resemble it. The
clock strikes to-day; it struck yesterday; and may
strikea million times ere it wears out. The rain
pours through the gutter this week; it did so last
week; and >vill do so in soecula soeculorum. But does
the present clock-stroke become aware of the past
ones, or the present stream recollect the past
stream, because they repeat and resemble them?
Assuredly not. . . . No memory is involved in the
mere fact of recurrence. The successive editions of
a feeling are so many independent events, each
snug in its own skin. Yesterday^s feeling is dead
and buried; and the presence of to-day’s is no rea-
son why it should resuscitate. A farther condition
is required before the present image can be held
to stand for a past original.
Tliat condition is that the fact imaged be ex-
pressly referred to the past, thought as in the past. But
how can we think a thing as in the past, except by
thinking of the past together with the thing, and
of the relation of the two? And how can we think
of the past? In the chapter on Time-perception wc
 340 I
Chapter 5. Mind

have seen that our intuitive or immediate con- modifying it, in adjusting it to other influences, in
sciousness of pastness hardly carries us more than completing it with other values, in deflecting it to
a few seconds backward of the present instant of other purposes. The present moment is constituted
time.Remoter dates are conceived, not perceived; by the influx of the other into that self-identity
31 which is the continued life of the immediate
known symbolically by names, such as “last past
week,” “1850”; or thought of by events which within the immediacy of the present.
happened in them, as the year in which we at- Whitehead, Adventures of Ideas, XI, 12
tended such a school, or met with such a loss. So —
that if we wish to think of a particular past epoch, Memory is the purest example of mirror knowl-
we must think of a name or other symbol, or else edge. When I remember a piece of music or a

of certain concrete events, associated therewithal. my state of mind resembles, though

friend’s face,
Both must thought think the past epoch
of, to with a difference, what it wtis when I heard the
adequately. And to “refer” any special fact to the music or saw the face. If I have sufficient skill, 1
past epoch is to think that fact with the names and , can play the music or paint the face from memo-
events which characterize its date, to think it, in ry,and then compare my playing or painting with
short, with a lot of contiguous associates. the original, or rather with something which 1
But even this would not be memory. Memory have reason to believe closely similar to the origi-
requires more than mere dating of a fact in the nal. But we trust our memory, up to a point, even
past. It must be dated in my past. In other words, does not pass this test. If our friend appears
if it

I must think that I directly experienced its occur- with a black eye, we say, “How did you get that
rence. It must have that “warmth and intimacy” injury?” not “I had forgotten that you had a black
which characteriz[es] all experiences “appro-
. . . eye.” The tests of memory, as we have already
priated” by the thinker as his own. had occasion to notice, are only confirmations; a
William James, Psychology, XVI considerable degree of credibility attaches to a
memory on its own account, particularly if it is

29 In the practical use of our intellect, forgetting is as vivid and recent.

important a function as recollecting. . . . A memory is accurate, not in proportion to the
This peculiar mixture of forgetting with our re- 32 help it gives in handling present and future facts,
membering is but one instance of our mind's selec- but in proportion to its resemblance to a past fact.
tive activity. Selection is the very keel on which When Herbert Spencer, after fifty years, saw
our mental ship is built. And in this case of memo-* again the lady he had loved as a young man,
ry its utility is obvious. If we remembered ev- whom he had imagined still young, it was the very
erything, we should on most occasions be as ill off accuracy of his memory which incapacitated him
as if we remembered nothing. It would take as from handling the present fact. In regard to mem-
long for us to recall a space of time as it took the ory, the definition of “truth,” and therefore of
original time to elapse, and we should never get “knowledge,” lies in the resemblance of present
ahead with our thinking. All recollected times un- imagining to past sensible experience. Capacity
dergo, accordingly, what M. Ribot calls foreshort- for handling present and future facts may be con-
ening; and this foreshortening is due to the omis- firmatory in certain circumstances, but can never
sion of an enormous number of the facts which define what we mean when we say that a certain
filled them. memory is “knowledge.”
William James, P^chology* Russell, Human Knowledge, VI, 1

30 In human experience, the most compelling exam- When had reached in my procedure with [my
I

ple of non -sensuous perception is our knowledge patients]a point at which they declared that they
of our own immediate past. I am not referring to knew nothing more, I would assure them that
our memories of a day past, or of an hour past, or they did know, that they must just tell it out, and
of a minute past. Such memories are blurred and I would venture the assertion that the memory

confused by the intervening occasions of our per- which would emerge at the moment that I laid
sonal existence. But our immediate past is consti- my hand on the patient’s forehead would be the
tuted by that occasion, or by that group of fused right one. In this way I succeeded, without hypno-
occasions, which enters into experience devoid of sis, in learning from the patient
all that was neces-
any perceptible medium intervening between it sary for a construction of the connection between
and the present immediate fact. Roughly speak- the forgotten pathogenic scenes and the symptoms
ing, it is that portion of our past lying between a which they had left behind. This was a trouble-
tenth of a second and half a second ago. It is gone, some and in its length an exhausting proceeding,
and yet it is here. It is our indubitable self, the and did not lend itself to a finished technique. But
foundation of our present existence. Yet the pres- I did not give it up without drawing definite con-
ent occasion while claiming self-identity, while clusions from the data which had gained. I had
I
sharing the very nature of the byegone occasion in substantiated the fact that the forgotten memories
all Its living activities, nevertheless is engaged in were not lost. They were in the possession of the
 5A, Imagination 341

patient, ready to emerge and form associations always active.They represent paths which are al-
with his other mental content, but hindered from ways practicable, whenever a quantum of excita-
becoming conscious, and forced to remain in the tion makes use of them. It is indeed an outstand-
unconscious by sort of a force. The existence
some ing peculiarity of the unconscious processes that
of this force could be assumed with certainty, for they are indestructible. Nothing can be brought to
in attempting to drag up the unconscious memo- an end in the unconscious; nothing is past or for-
ries into the consciousness of the patient, in oppo- gotten. . , . Indeed, the fading of memories and
sition to this force, one got the sensation of his own the weak affect of impressions which are no longer
personal effort striving to overcome it. One could recent, which we are apt to take as self-evident,
get an idea of this force, which maintained the and to explain as a primary effect of time on our
pathological situation, from the resistance of the psychic memory-residues, are in reality secondary
patient. changes brought about by laborious work.
It is idea of resistance that I based my
on this Freud, Interpretation of Dreams, VII, D
theory of the psychic processes of hystericals. It
had been found that in order to cure the patient it 34 The process of repression is not to be regarded as
was necessary that be overcome.
this force should something which takes place once for all, the re-
Now with the mechanism of the cure as a starting sults of which are permanent, as when some living
point, quite a definite theory could be construct- thing has been killed and from that time onward
ed. These same which in the present situa-
forces, is dead; on the contrary, repression demands a
opposed the emergence of the
tion as resistances constant expenditure of energy, and if this were
forgotten ideas into consciousness, must them- discontinued the success of the repression would
selves have caused the forgetting, and repressed be jeopardized, so that a fresh act of repression
from consciousness the pathogenic experiences. I would be necessary. We may imagine that what is
called this hypothetical process repression, and con- repressed exercises a continuous straining in the
sidered that it was proved by the undeniable exis- direction of consciousness, so that the balance has
tence of resistance. to be kept by means of a steady counter-pressure.
Freud, Origin and Development of A constant expenditure of energy, therefore, is en-
P^cho-Analysisy 11 tailed in maintaining a repression, and economi-
cally its abrogation denotes a saving.
33 It is quite true that the unconscious wishes are Freud, Repression

5.4 I
Imagination

Imagination is the faculty of poetry and fic- go beyond the world of things perceived and
tion — of imaginative literature in all its remembered. The fictions or constructions
forms. The poets express their appreciation of the imagination —such as mermaids, cen-
of its resources and of its gifts. Fancy and taurs, unicorns, and golden mountains
fantasy not only create realms that cannot may involve elements derived from sense
be explored by sense; imagination also exer- perception, but they also represent composi-
cisesa magic touch on sensible reality, re- tions that have never been experienced.
shaping and enlivening it in a variety of What mode of being, if any, is possessed by
ways. such objects of imagination? Or, for that
Imagination like memory is thought of by matter, by the imaginary persons who are
the philosophers and psychologists as a resi- the characters in plays and novels?
due or by-product of sense and sense percep- The word “ideas” is used by some writ-
tion, Yet the products of imagination often ers —
Hume, for example — for the images
 342 Chapter 5. Mind

that are derived from sense impressions. dence. Can we conceive things that we can-
Other writers make a sharp distinction be- not imagine? Is there a difference betvv^een
tween images or phantasms the products — the unimaginable and the inconceivable?
of imagination —
and ideas or concepts For the discussion of related matters, the
which are the elements of thought and are reader is referred to Section 6.2 on Experi.

attributed to the mind or intellect rather ENCE, and to Section 16.3 on Poetry and
than to the imagination. When images and Poets; and also to Section 5.1 on Intelli-

ideas or concepts are distinguished, prob- gence AND Understanding,

lems arise concerning their inter-depen-

1 Imagination is from either perceiving or

different as we were saying before, visions appear to us
discursive thinking, though it is not found without even when our eyes are shut. Neither is imagina-
sensation, or judgement without it. That this ac- tion any of the things that are never in error: e.g.
tivity is not the same kind of thinking as judge- kno^vlcdge or intelligence; for imagination may
ment is obvious. For imagining lies within our be false.

own power whenever we \vish (e.g. we can call up
a picture, as in the practice of mnemonics by the
use of mental images), but in forming opinions we
arc not free: we cannot escape the alternative of
falsehood or truth. Further, when we think some-
thing to be fearful or threatening, emotion is im-
mediately produced, and so too with what is en-
couraging; but w'hen we merely imagine we
remain as unaffected as persons who are looking
at a painting of some dreadful or encouraging
scene. Again within the field of judgement itself
we find varieties —knowiedge, opinion, prudence,
and their opposites; of the differencesbetween
these must speak elsewhere.
I ble both for these reasons and because the content
Thinking is different from perceiving and is
held to be in part imagination, in part judgement:
we must therefore first mark off the sphere of
imagination and then speak of judgement. If then
imagination is that in virtue of w’hich an image
arises for us, excluding metaphorical uses of the
term, is it a single faculty or disposition relative to
images, in virtue of which we discriminate
are either in error or not? The faculties in virtue
of which we do this are sense, opinion, science,
intelligence.
remains therefore to see if it is opinion, for
It
opinion may be either true or false.
But opinion involves belief (for without belief in
what we opine we cannot have an opinion), and
in the brutes though we often find imagination we
never find belief. Further, every opinion is accom-
panied by belief, belief by conviction, and convic-
tion by discourse of reason: while there are some
of the brutes in which we find imagination, with-
out discourse of reason. then that imagi-
It is clear
nation cannot, again, be (1) opinion plus sensa-
tion, or (2) opinion mediated by sensation, or (3)
a blend of opinion and sensation; this is impossi-
of the supposed opinion cannot be different from
that of the sensation (I mean that imagination
must be the blending of the perception of white
with the opinion that it is white: it could scarcely
be a blend of the opinion that it is good with the
perception that it is white); to imagine is therefore
(on this view) identical with the thinking of exact-
and ly the as what one in the strictest sense per-
same
ceives. But what we imagine is sometimes false
though our contemporaneous judgement about it
is true; e.g. we imagine the sun to be a foot in

That imagination is not sense is
following considerations: Sense is
or an activity, e.g. sight or seeing: imagination
takes place in the absence of both, as e.g. in
dreams. (2) Again, sense is always present, imagi-
nation not. If actual imagination and actual sen-
sation were the same, imagination
clear from the diameter though we are convinced that it is larger
cither a faculty than the inhabited part of the earth, and the fol-
lowing dilemma presents itself. Either (a) while
the fact has not changed and the observer has nei-
ther forgotten nor lost belief in the true opinion
which he had, that opinion has disappeared, or
would be found {b') if he retains it then his opinion is at once true

in all the brutes: this held not to be the case;

is and false. A true opinion, however, becomes false
e.g. it is not found in ants or bees or grubs. (3) only when the fact alters without being noticed.
Again, sensations are always true, imaginations Imagination is therefore neither any one of the
are for the most part false. (4) Once more, even in states enumerated, nor compounded out of them.
ordinary speech, we do not, w’hen sense functions But since when one thing has been set in mo-
precisely with regard to its object, say that we tion another thing may be moved by it, and imag-
imagine it to be a man, but rather when there is ination is held to be a movement and to be impos-
some failure of accuracy in its exercise. And (5), sible without sensation, i.e. to occur in beings that
 5A, Imagination 343

are percipient and to have for its content what selves to us awake as well as in sleep, what time
can be perceived, and since movement may be we behold strange shapes and idols of the light-
produced by actual sensation and that movement bereaved, which have often startled us in appall-
is necessarily similar in character to the sensation ing wise as we lay relaxed in sleep: this I will
itself, this movement must be (1) necessarily (a) essay, that we may not haply believe that souls
incapable of existing apart from sensation, (6) in- break loose from Acheron or that shades fly about
capable of existing except when we perceive, (2) among the living or that something of us is left
such that in virtue of its possession that in which it behind after death, when the body and the nature
is found may present various phenomena both ac- of the mind destroyed together have taken their
tive and passive, and (3) such that it may be departure into Aeir several first-beginnings.
either true or false. Lucretius, Nature of Things^ IV
The reason of the last characteristic is as fol-
lows. Perception (1) of the special objects of sense 3 In Ac present state of life in which the soul is
is never in error or admits the least possible
united to a passible body, it is impossible for our
amount of falsehood, (2) That of the concomi- intellect to understand anything actually except
tance of the objects concomitant with the sensible by turning to the phantasms. And of this there are
qualities comes next: in this case certainly we may two indications. First of all because the intellect,
be deceived; for while the perception that there is being a power that docs not make use of a corpo-
white before us cannot be false, the perception
real organ, would in no way be hindered in its act
that what is white is this or that may be false. (3)
Arough the lesion of a corporeal organ if for its
Third comes the perception of the universal at- act Acre were not required the act of some power
tributes which accompany the concomitant ob-
Aat docs make use of a corporeal organ. Now
jects to which the special sensibles attach (I mean sense, imagination and the other powers belong-
c,g. of movement and magnitude); it is in respect make use of a corporeal
ing to the sensitive part,
of these that the greatest amount of sense-illusion
organ. Therefore Aat for the intellect to
it is clear
is possible.
understand actually, not only when it acquires
The motion which is due to the activity of sense
fresh knowledge, but also when it uses knowledge
in these three modes of its exercise will differ from already acquired, there is need for the act of the
the activity of sense; (1) the first kind of derived
imagination and of the other powers. For when
motion is free from error while the sensation is
the act of the imagination is hindered by a lesion
present; (2) and (3) the others may be erroneous of the corporeal organ, for instance, in a case of
whether it is present or absent, especially when frenzy, or when the act of the memory is hin-
the object of perception is far off. If then imagina- dered, as in the case of leAargy, we sec that a
tion presents no other features than those enumer- man is hindered from actually understanding
ated and is what we have described, then imagi-
Aings of which he had a previous knowledge. Sec-
nation must be a movement resulting from an
ondly, anyone can experience this of himself, that
actual exercise of a power of sense.
when he tries to understand something, he forms
As sight is the most highly developed sense . , .
certain phantasms to serve him by way of exam-
imagination has been formed from light because it
ples, in which as it were he examines what he is
is not possible to sec without light.
striving to understand. It is for this reason that
And because
imaginations remain in the organs
when we wish to make someone understand some-
of sense and resemble sensations, animals in their
Aing, we lay examples before him, from which he
actions are largely guided by them, some (i.e. the
can form phantasms purpose of under-
for the
brutes) because of the non-existence in them of
standing.
mind, others (i.e. men) because of the temporary Now Ae reason of this is Aat the power of
eclipse in them of mind by feeling or disease or knowledge proportioned to the thing known.
is
sleep.
Thus . the proper object of Ae human intel-
. .

About imagination, what it is and why it exists,

lect, which is united to a body, is a quiddity or
let so much suffice.
nature existing in corporeal matter, and through
Aristotle, On the Soulj 427^14 such natures of visible things it rises even to some
knowledge of things invisible. Now it belongs to
2 And now have taught what the nature of
that I such a nature to exist in an individual, and this
Ac mind is and out of what Aings it is formed cannot be apart from corporeal matter. And . , .

into one quickened being wiA Ae body, and how so Ae nature of a stone or any material thing
it is dissevered and returns
into its first-begin- cannot be known completely and truly, except ac-
nings, I will attempt to lay before you a truA cording as it is known as existing in the individu-
which most nearly concerns Aese questions, Ae al. Now we apprehend the individual through the
existence of Aings which we call idols of things: senses and the imagination. And, therefore, for
Awe, like films peeled off from the surface of Ae intellect to understand actually its proper ob-
Aings, fly to and Arough Ae air, and do like-
fro must of necessity turn to Ae phantasms
ject, it in
wise frighten our minds when Aey present them- order to examine the universal naAre existing in
 344 I
Chapter 5. Mind

the individuah How easy is a bush supposed a bear!

Aquinajs, Summa Theologica^ I, 84, 7 Shakespeare, Midsummer’Night’s
Dream, V, i, 18
4 O fantasy, that at times dost so snatch us out of
10 Tcl! me where is fancy bred,
we arc conscious of naught, even
ourselves that
Or in the heart or in the head?
though a thousand trumpets sound about us,
How begot, how nourished?
who moves thee, if the senses set naught before
Reply, reply.
thee? A light moves thee which takes its form in
It is engender’d in the eyes,
heaven, of itself, or by a will that sendeth it
With gazing fed; and fancy dies
down.
In the cradle where it lies.
Dante, Purgatorio, XVII, 13
Let us all ring fancy’s kncll:

5 And I, who to the goal of all my longings was

ril begin it —
Ding, dong, bell.
Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, III, ii, 63
drawing nigh, even as was meet the ardour of
the yearning quenched within me. 1 1 Chorus. O for a
Muse of fire, that would ascend
Bernard gave me the sign and smiled to me that I The heaven of invention
brightest
should look on high, but I already of myself was A kingdom for a stage, princes to act
such as he would have me; And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
because my sight, becoming purged, now more Then should the warlike Harry, like himself,
and more was entering through the ray of the Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels,
deep light which in itself is true. Leash’d in like hounds, should famine, sword, and
Thenceforward was my vision mightier than our fire
discourse, which faileth at such sight, and fail- Crouch employment. But pardon, gentles
for all,
cth memory at so great outrage. The unraised spirits that have dared
fiat
As is he who dreaming seeth, and when the dream On this unw'orthy scaffold to bring forth
is gone the passion stamped remaineth, and
So great an object: can this cockpit hold
9 naught else cometh to the mind again; The vasty fields of France? or may we cram
even such am I; wholly faileth me my
for almost Within this w’oodcn O the ver^' casques
vision, yet doth the sweetness that was born of it That did affright the air at Agincourt?
still drop within my heart.
O, pardon! since a crooked figure may
So doth the snow unstamp it to the sun, so to the Attest in little place a million;
wind on the light leaves was lost the Sibyl’s wis- And let us, ciphers to this great accompt,
12
dom. On your Imaginary' forces w’ork.
Dante, Paradiso, XXXIII, 46 Suppose within the girdle of these walls
Are now confined two mighty monarchies,
6 So it is with minds. Unless you keep them busy Whose high upreared and abutting fronts
with some definite subject that will bridle and The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder:
control them, they throw themselves in disorder Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts;
hither and yon in the vague field of imagination. Into a thousand parts divide one man,
. . .And there is no mad or idle (anc)" that they And make imaginary puissance:
do not bring forth in this agitation. Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them
Montaigne, Essays, I, 8, Of Idleness Printing their proud hoofs i’ the receiving earth;
For *tis your thoughts that now must deck our
7 How many men have been made sick by the mere kings,
pow'cr of imagination? Carry them here and there; jumping o’er times,
Montaigne, jEsrsyr, 11, 12, Turning the accomplishment of many years
Apology for Raymond Sebond Into an hour-glass; for the which supply.
Admit me Chorus to this history’.
Shakespeare, //eniy> V, Prologue
8 fjolofernes. This is a gift that I have, simple, sim-
ple; a foolishextravagant spirit, full of forms, fig- Chorus. Thus with imagined wing our swift scene
ures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, mo- flics
tions, revolutions: these are
begot in the ventricle In motion of no less celerity
of memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater,
Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen
and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion. The well-appointed king at Hampton pier
Shakespeare, Lovers Labours Lost, IV, ii, 67 Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet
With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning:
Theseus. Such tricks hath strong imagination, Play with your fancies, and in them behold
That, if it would but apprehend some joy, Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing;
It comprehends some bringcr of that joy; Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give
Or in the night, imagining some fear. To sounds confused; behold the threaden sails.
 5A. Imagination 345

Bomc with the invisible and creeping wind, she’s tome the greatest Princess in the World: For
Draw' the huge bottoms through the furrow’d sea, thou ought’st to know, Sancho, if thou know’st it
Breasting the lofty surge: O, do but think not already, that there are but two things that
You stand upon the rivage and behold chiefly excite us to love a Woman, an attractive
A city on the inconstant billows dancing; Beauty, and unspotted Fame. Now these two En-
For so appears this fleet majestical. dowments are happily reconcil’d in Dulcinea; for as
Holding due course to Harfleun Follow, follow: for the one, she has not her Equal, and few can
Grapple your minds to stemage of this navy. vie with her in the other: But to cut off all Objec-
And leave your England, as dead midnight still, tions at once, I imagine, that All I say of her is
Guarded wth grandsires, babies, and old women really so, without the least Addition or Diminu-
Either past or not arrived to pith and puissance; tion: I fancy her to be just such as I would have
For who is he, whose chin is but enrich’d her for Beauty and Quality. Helen cannot stand in
With one appearing hair, that will not follow Competition with her; Lucretia cannot rival her;
These cull’d and choice-drawn cavaliers to and all the Heroines which Antiquity has to
France? boast, whether Greeks, Romans or Barbarians, are at
Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a once out-done by her incomparable Perfections.
siege; Therefore let the World say what it will; should
Behold the ordnance on their carriages, the Ignorant Vulgar foolishly censure me, I please
With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. my self with the Assurances I have of the Appro-
Suppose the ambassador from the French comes bation of Men of the strictest Morals, and the nic-
back; est Judgment.
TellsHarry that the King doth offer him Cervantes, Don Quixote, I, 25
Katharine his daughter, and with her, to dowry.
Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms. 15 Sancho. Heaven defend me, said he to himself,
The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner what a Heart of a Chicken have I! This now,
With linstock now the devilish cannon touches, which to me is a sad Disaster, to my Master, Don
Aiamm, and chambers go off. Quixote, would be a rare Adventure. He would
And down goes all before them. Still be kind. look upon these Caves and Dungeons as lovely
And eke out our performance with your mind. Gardens, and glorious Palaces, and hope to be led
Shakespeare, Henry F, III, Prologue out of these dark narrow Cells into some fine
Meadow; while I, luckless, helpless, heartless
13 Macbeth. Why do I yield to that suggestion Wretch that I am, every Step I take, expect to
Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair sink into some deeper Pit than this, and go down
And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, I don’t know whither.
Against the use of nature? Present fears Cervantes, Don Quixote, II, 55
Arc less than horrible ima^nings.
Shakespeare, Macbeth, I, iii, 134 16 That power by which we are properly said to
know things, is purely spiritual, and not less dis-
Use which I make of the Lady
14 So, Sancho, as to the tinct from every part of the body than blood from
Dulcinea, she equal to the greatest Princesses in
is bone, or hand from eye. It is a single agency,
the World. Pr’ythee tell me. Dost thou think the whether it receives impressions from the common
Poets, who every one of ’em celebrate the Praises sense simultaneously with the fancy, or applies it-
of some Lady or other, had all real Mistresses? Or self to those that are preserved in the memory, or
that the Amaryllises, the Phyllis*s, the SylDia\ the forms new ones. Often the imagination is so beset
Dfflna’r, the Galateaes, the Alidads, and the like, by these impressions that it is unable at the same
which you shall find in so many Poems, Ro- time to receive ideas from the common sense, or to
mances, Songs and Ballads, upon ever Stage, and transfer them to the motor mechanism in the way
even in every Barber’s Shop, were Creatures of befitting its purely corporeal character. In all
Flesh and Blood, and Mistresses to those that did these operations this cognitive power is at one
and do celebrate ’em? No, no, never think it; for I time passive, at another active, and resembles now
dare assure thee, the greatest Part of ’em were the seal and now the wax. But the resemblance on
nothing but the mcer Imaginations of the Poets, this occasion is only one of analogy, for among
for a Ground-work to exercise their Wits upon, corporeal things there is nothing wholly similar to
and give to the World Occasion to look on the this faculty. It is one and the same agency which,
Authors as Men of an amorous and gallant Dispo- when applying itself along with the imagination
sition: And so ’ds sufficient for me to imagine, to the common sense, is said to see, touch, etc.; if
that Aldonza Lorenzo is beautiful and chaste; as for applying itself to the imagination alone in so far
her Birth and Parentage, they concern me but lit- as that is endowed \vith diverse impressions, it is
tle; for there’s no need to make an Enquiry about said to remember; if it turn to the imagination in
a Woman’s Pedigree, as there is of us Men, when order to create fresh impressions, it is said to
some Badge of Honour is bestowed on us; and so imagine or conceive; finally if it act alone it is said
 346 I
Chapter 5, Mind

to understand. . . . Now it is the same faculty quickens them; she has her fools and sages; and
that in correspondence uith those various func* nothing vexes us more than to sec that she fills her
tions is called cither pure understanding, or imag- devotees %«th a satisfaction far more full and en-
ination, or rnernor)’, or sense. It is properly called tire than docs reason. Those who have a lively

mind when it cither forms new ideas in the fancy, imagination arc a great deal more pleased with
or attends to those already formed. . But after , . themselves than the wise can reasonably be. Thc)'
having grasped these facts the attentive reader look dowm upon men with haughtiness; they ar-
will gather what help is to be expected from each gue with boldness and confidence, others with fear
particular faculty, and discover how far human and diffidence; and this gaiety of countenance of-
effortcan assail to supplement the deficiencies of ten gives them the ad\'antage in the opim'on of the
our mental powers. hearers, such favour have the imaginar)' wise in
Descartes, Rults foT Direction of the Mind^ XII the eyes of judges of like nature. Imagination can-
not make fools \visc; but she can make them hap-
17 When a body is once in motion, it moveth (unless py, to the envy of reason which can only make its
something else hinder it) eternally; and whatsoev- friends miserable; the one covers them with glory',

er hindreth it, cannot in an instant, but in time, the other with shame.
and by degrees, quite extinguish it: and as we sec WTiat but this faculty* of imagination dispenses
in the though the wnd cease, the Ns'avK
Ns'atcr, reputation, awanls respect and veneration to per-
give not over rolling for a long time after; so also sons, w'orks, laws, and the great? How insufficient

it happeneth in that motion which is made in the arc all the riches of the earth without her consent!

internal parts of a man, then, when he secs, \Vould you not say that this magistrate, whose
dreams, etc. For after the object is removed, or the venerable age commands the respect of a whole
eye shut, we still retain an image of the thing seen, people, is governed by pure and lofty' reason, and
though more obscure than when sec it. And that he judges causes according to their true na-
this is it the Latins call imagination, from the image ture without considering those mere trifles which
made in seeing. . . . Imagination, therefore, is only affect the imagination of the weak? See him
nothing but deeming sense; and is found in men and go to sermon, full of de\*out zeal, strengthening his
many other lixang creatures, as well sleeping as reason with the ardour of his lo%‘c. He is ready to
waking. listen with c.xemplary respect. Let the preacher

The decay of sense in men waking is not the
decay of the motion made in sense, but an obscur-
ing of it, in such manner as the light of tlie sun
obscureth the light of the stars; which stars do no
less exercise their nrtuc by which they arc visible
in the day than in the night. This decaying . .
sense, >s'hcn we would express the thing itself (I
mean fancy itself), we call imagination, as I said be-
fore. But when \vc would express the decay, and
signify that the senseis fading, old, and past, it is
called memoiy. So that imagination and memory
are but one thing, which for diverse considerations
hath diverse names.
Hobbes, La'imhan,
appear, and let nature have given him a hoarse
voice or a comical cast of countenance, or let his
barber have given him a bad sha\'c, or let by
chance his dress be more dirtied than usual, then,
how'ever great the truths he announces, 1 wager
.
our senator loses his gTa\ity,
If the greatest philosopher in the w’orld find
himself upon a plank wider than actually neces-
sary, but hanging over a precipice, his imagina-
tion will prevail, though his reason convince him
of his safety. Many cannot bear the thought with-
out a cold sweat. I will not state all its effects.
Pascal, Paisees, 11, 82
I, 2
19 Imagination has this peculiarity* that it produces

18 It is that deceitful part in man, that mistress of the greatest things with as little time and trouble
error and falsity, the more deceptive that she is as little things.
not ahs'a^’s so; for she would be an infallible rule Pascal, ConcfTTiuTg the Veeuwn
of truth, if she were an infallible rule of falsehood.
But being most generally false, she gives no sign of 20 An imagination is an idea which indicates the
her nature, impressing the same character on the present constitution of the human body rather
true and the false. than the nature of an external body, not indeed
I do not speak of fools, I speak of the wisest distinctly but confusedly, so that the mind is said
men; and it is among them that the imagination to err. For c.xample, w'hcn w*e look at the sun, we
has the great gift of persuasion. Reason protests in imagine his distance from us to be about 200 feet,
vain; it cannot set a true value on things. and in this w*e arc decci\*ed so long as we remain
This arrogant power, the enemy of reason, who in ignorance of the true distance, Wlicn this is
likes to rule and dominate it, has established in known, the error is rcmo\'ed, but not the imagina-
man a second nature to show how all-powerful tion, that is to say, the idea of the sun w'hich man-
she is. She makes men happy and sad, healthy ifests body is affect-
his nature in so far only as the
and sick, rich and poor; she compels reason to ed by him; so that although w’c know* his true
believe, doubt, and deny; she blunts the senses, or distance, we nevertheless imagine him close to us.
 348 I
Chapter 5. Mind

our long acquaintance,) upon the sensual
course betw'ccn the sexes, the delight of which he
[Johnson] ascribed chiefly to imagination. *‘Wcre
itnot for imagination, Sir, (said he,) a man would
be as happy in the arms of a chambermaid as of a
Duchess. But such is the adventitious charm of
fancy, that we find men who have violated the
28 best principles of society, and ruined their fame
and their fortune, that they might possess a wom-
an of rank.”
Boswell, Life of Joknsm (May 9, 1778)
In truth, not images of objects, but schemata,
it is
which lie at the foundation of our pure sensuous
inter- to the unity of apperception.
Kant, Critique of Pure Reason,
29
Transcendental Analytic
The imagination (as a productive faculty of cogni-
tion) is a powerful agent for creating, as it were, a
second nature out of the material supplied to it by
actual nature. It affords us entertainment where
experience proves too commonplace; and we even
use it to remodel experience, alw’a)'s follow'iug, no
doubt, law's that arc based on analogy, but still
also follow'ing principleswhich have a higher seat
in reason (and which are every' whit as natural to
us as those follow'cd by the understanding in lay-

conceptions. No image could ever be adequate to ing hold of empirical nature). By this means w’c

our conception of a triangle in general. For the get a sense of our freedom from the law' of associa-

generalness of the conception it never could attain tion (which attaches to the empirical employment

to, as this includes under itself all triangles,

of the imagination), w'ith the result that the mate-

whether right-angled, acute-angled, etc., whilst
the image would alwa)'s be limited to a single part
of this sphere. The schema of the triangle can ex-
ist nowhere else than in thought, and it indicates
a rule of the synthesis of the imagination in regard
to pure figures in space. Still less is an object of
rial can be borrow’ed by us from nature in accor-
dance W'ith that law', but be w orked up by us into
—
something else namely, what surpasses nature.
Such representations of the imagination may be
termed ideas. This is partly because they at least
strain after something lying out beyond the con-

experience, or an image of the object, ever ade- fines of experience, and so seek to approximate to

quate to the empirical conception. On the con- a presentation of rational concepts (i.c., intellectu-
trary', the conception always relates immediately al ideas), thus giving to these concepts the sem-
to the schema of the imagination, as a rule for the blance of an objective reality. But, on the other
determination of our intuition, in conformity' wnth hand, there is this most important reason, that no
a certain general conception. The conception of a concept can be w'holly adequate to them as inter-
dog indicates a rule, according to which ray imag- nal intuitions. The p>oet essays the task of inter-
ination can delineate the figure of a four-footed 30 preting to sense the rational ideas of inrisible
animal in general, without being limited to any beings, the kingdom of the blessed, hell, eternity',

particular individual form which experience pre- creation, etc. Or, again, as to things of w’hich ex-

sents to me, or indeed to any possible image that I amples occur in experience, e.g., death, env’y’, and
can represent to myself in concreto. This schema- all vices, as also love, fame, and the like, trans-

tism of our understanding in regard to phenome- gressing the limits of experience he attempts with

na and their mere form, is an art, hidden in the the aid of an imagination w'hich emulates the dis-

depths of the human soul, whose true modes of play of reason in attainment of a maximum, to
its

action w'e shall only with difficulty' discover and body them forth to sense with a completeness of
unveil. Thus much only can w'c say: “The image is which nature affords no parallel; and it is in fact
a product of the empirical faculty of the produc- precisely in the poetic art that the faculty of aes-

tive imagination —
the schema of sensuous concep- thetic ideas can show itself to full advantage. This
tions (of figures in space, for example) is a prod- faculty',however, regarded solely on its ow'n ac-
uct, and, as it were, a monogram of the pure count, is properly' no more than a talent (of the
imagination a pnon, w’hercby and according to imagination).
which images first become possible, w'hich, ho'^ev- Kant, Critique of Aesthetic Judgement, 49
er, can be connected with the conception only me-
diately by means of the schema which they indi- The iNtAciNvTioN then, I consider either as prima-
cate, and are in themselves never fully adequate ry, or secondary'. The primary’ ikugination I hold
to it.” On the other hand, the schema of a pure to be the living Pow’cr and prime Agent of all
conception of the understanding is something that human Perception, and as a repetition in the fi-
—
cannot be reduced into any image it is nothing nite mind of the eternal act of creation in the infi-
else than the pure synthesis expressed by the cate- nite 1 AM. The secondary Imagination I consider

• goty',conformably to a rule of unity according to as an echo of the former, co-e.xisting w'ith the con-
conceptions. It is a transcendental product of the scious w*!!!, yet still as identical w’ith the primary'
imagination, a product w'hich concerns the deter- in the kind of its agency, and differing only in de-
mination of the internal sense, according to condi- gree, and in the mode of its operation. It dissolves,
tions of its form (time) in respect to all representa- diffuses, dissipates, in order to re-create; or w'here
tions, in so far as these representations must be this process is rendered impossible, y'ct still at all
conjoined a priori in one conception, conformably events it struggles to idealize and to unify’. It is
 —
5A, Imagination 349

essentially tiialy even as all objects (as objects) arc Let the xringed Fancy roam.
essentially fixed and dead. Pleasure never is at home,
Faso*, on the contrar)', has no other counters to Kcau, Fanr>'

play but fixities and definites. The Fancy is

vvith,

indeed no other than a mode of Memory' emanci- 33 Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
pated from the order of time and space; while it is As she is famed to do, deceiving elf.

blended with, and modified by that empirical Keats, Ode to a Nightingale

phenomenon of the will, which we express by the
word aioict. But equally with the ordinary mem- 34 I am certain of nothing but of the holiness of the
ory the Fancy must receive all its materials ready Heart’s affections, and the truth of Imagination.
made from the law of association, What the Imagination seizes as Beauty must be
Coleridge, Biographia Lit^aria, XIII truth —xvhether it existed before or not, — for I

have the same idea of all our passions as of Love:

they arc all, in their sublime, creative of essential
31 We want the creative faculty to imagine that
Beauty'. In a Word, you may know my favourite
which we know; we want the generous impulse to
act that which we imagine; we want the poetry' of
speculation by my first Book, and the little Song 1
life; our calculations have outrun conception; we
sent in my a representation from the
last, which is

fancy of the probable mode

of operating in these
have eaten more than we can digest. The cultiva-
Matters. The Imagination may be compared to
tion of those sciences which have enlarged the
limits of the empire of man over the external
—
Adam’s dream, he awoke and found it truth.
Keats, Letter to Benjamin Bail^'
world has, for want of the poetical faculty, pro-
(Nov. 22, 1817)
portionally circumscribed those of the internal
world; and man, having enslaved the elements,
35 Fanc)' is a wilful, imagination a spontaneous act;
remains himscll a slave.
fancy, a play as xrith dolls and puppets which we
Shelley, Defence of Poetry choose to call men and women; imagination, a
perception and affirming of a real relation bc-
32 Ever let the Fancy' roam, tu'een a thought and some material fact. Fancy
Pleasure never is at home: amuses; imagination expands and exalts us.
At a touch sx^’cet Pleasure mclteth, Emerson, Poetry and Imagination
Like to bubbles when iain peltcth;
Then let \ringcd Fancy wander 36 There is a Catskill eagle in some souls that can
Through the thought still spread beyond her: alike dive down and soar
into the blackest gorges,
Open wde the mind’s cage-door, out of them again and become inxisible in the
She’ll dart forth, and cloudward soar. . . .
sunny spaces. And even if he for ever flics within
the gorge, that gorge is in the mountains; so that
Oh, sxvect Fancy'! let her loose; even in his lowest swoop the mountain eagle is still
Every thing is spoilt by use;
higher than other birds upon the plain, cx'cn
Where’s the check that doth not fade, though they soar.
Too much gazed at? Where’s the maid XCVI
Melville, Mofy DicK
Whose lip mature is ever new?
Where’s the eye, however blue. 37 What a faculty’ must that be which can paint the
Doth not weary'? Where’s the face most barren landscape and humblest life in glori-
One would meet in cx'cry’ place? ous colors! It is pure and invigorated senses react-
W’hcre’s the voice, however soft. ing on a sound and strong imagination. Is not that
One would hear so very oft? the poet’s ease? The intellect of most men is bar-
At a touch sweet Pleasure mclteth ren. They neither fertilize nor arc fertilized. It is
Like to bubbles when rain peltcth. the marriage of the soul with Nature that makes
Let, then,winged Fancy' find the intellect fruitful, that gives birth to imagina-
Thee a mistress to thy mind: tion. When we were dead and dry' as the highw'ay,
Dulcet-eyed as Ceres’ daughter some sense which has been healthily fed will put
Ere the God of Torment taught her us in relation xWth Nature, in sympathy with her;
How to frown and how to chide; some grains of fertilizing pollen, floating in the
\Vilh a waist and with a side air, fall on us, and suddenly the sky is all one
While as Hebe’s, when her zone rainbow, is full of music and fragrance and flavor.
Slipt its golden clasp, and dovm The man of intellect only, the prosaic man, is a
Fell her kirtle to her feet, barren, staminiferous flower; the poet is a fertile
NNliilc she held the goblet sweet. and perfect flower.
And Jo\T grexv languid. Break the— mesh Thorcau,yeumfl/ (Aug. 20, 1851)
Of the Fancy’s silken leash;
Quickly break her prison -string. 38 The Imagination is one of the highest prerogatives
And such joys as these she’ll bring, of man. By this faculty he unites former images
 350
and independently of the will, and thus
ideas,
and novel results. A poet, as Jean
creates brilliant
Paul Richter remarks, “who must reflect whether
he shall make a character say yes or no— to the
devil with him; he is only a stupid corpse.”
Dreaming gives us the best notion of this power;
as Jean Paul again says, “The dream is an invol-
untary art of poetry.” The value of the products of
our imagination depends of course on the num-
ber, accuracy, and clearness of our impressions, on
our judgment and taste in selecting or rejecting
the involuntary combinations, and to a certain ex-
tent on our power of voluntarily combining them.
As dogs, cats, horses, and probably all the higher
39 animals, even birds have vivid dreams, and this is
shewn by their movements and the sounds ut-
tered, we must admit that they possess some pow-
er of imagination. There must be something spe-
cial, which causes dogs to howl in the night, and
especially during moonlight, in that remarkable
and melancholy manner called baying.
Darwin, Descent of Afan, I, 3
Sensations, once experienced, modify the nervous organism,
mind after the
so that copies of them arise again in the
original outward stimulus is gone. No
mental copy,
however, can arise in the mind, of any kind of
sensation which has never been directly excited
from without.
The blind may dream of sights, the deaf of
sounds, for years after they have lost their vision
or hearing; but the man bom deaf can never be
made to imagine what sound is like, nor can the
man bom blind ever have a mental vision. In
Locke’s words . “the mind can frame unto it-
. .
self no one new simple idea.” The originals of
them all must have been given from without. Fan-
tasy, or Imagination, are the names given to the
faculty of reproducing copies of originals once
The imagination is called “reproductive”
the copies are “productive” when elements
literal;
from different originals are recombined so as to
make new wholes.
Chapters. Mind
After-images belong to sensation rather than to
imagination; so that the most immediate phenom-
ena of imagination would seem to be those tardier
images . coercive hauntings of the mind by
. .
echoes of unusual experiences for hours after the
latter have taken place. The phenomena ordinari-
ly ascribed to imagination, however, are those
mental pictures of possible sensible experiences, to
which the ordinary processes of associative
thought give rise.
When represented with surroundings concrete
enough to constitute a date, these pictures, when
they revive, form recollections, V^en the men-
. , .
tal pictures are of data freely combined, and re-
producing no past combination exactly, we have
acts of imagination properly so called.
William James, P^chology, XVIII
40 Renunciation of pleasure has always been very
hard to man; he cannot accomplish it without
some kind of compensation. Accordingly he has
evolved for himself a mental activity in which all
these relinquished sources of pleasure and aban-
doned paths of gratification are permitted to con-
tinue their existence, a form of existence in which
they are free from the demands of reality and
from what we call the exercise of testing reality. Ev-
ery longing is soon transformed into the idea of its
fulfilment; there is no doubt that dwelling upon a
wish-fulfilment in phantasy brings satisfaction, al-
though the knowledge that it is not reality re-
mains thereby unobscured. In phantasy, there-
fore, man can continue to enjoy a freedom from
the grip of the external world, one which he has
long relinquished in actuality.
Freud, General Introduction to
P^'cho-Analysis, XXIII
felt.
when 41 In imagination, not in perception, lies the sub-
stance of expyerience, while knowledge and reason
are but its chastened and ultimate form.
Santayana, Life of Reason, I, 2
 5.5 Dreams

Long before dreams and dreaming became The modern treatment of dreams stresses

the subject of psychological investigation the relation of dreaming to the powers of the
and psychoanalytical theory, the occurrence imagination, and the reader is, therefore,

and content of dreams were objects of won- advised to relate this section to the preced-
der, fear, and speculation. The quotations ing one on the imagination. What is ordi-

drawn from the Old Testament and from narily called day-dreaming or fantasy is, of

the poets, historians, and biographers of an- course, nothing but the imagination at work
tiquity bear witness to the influence of under more or less conscious control or with
dreams and to the importance of the role some directive purpose. In contrast, the
played
1
by soothsayers and prophets as inter- dreams that take place during sleep, or in
Famous dreams and
preters of their content. the process of awakening, manifest no such
famous interpretations of dreams are here control or direction. It is precisely this fact
reported, along with discussions by the phi- that lies at the heart of Freud’s unique con-
losophers of antiquity concerning the art of tribution — his interpretation ofdreams as
divination through dreams. The ancients an expression of the unconscious, revealing
were not without their skeptical doubts to the interpreter wishes, emotions, or ten-
about the supernatural origin of dreams or dencies of which the dreamer was himself
about their trustworthiness as forecasters of unaware. The significance of dreams for the
the future. Aristotle, for example, offers diagnosis and treatment of psychic disorders
some purely naturalistic explanations of connects this section with the one that fol-

dreaming and dream content. lows on madness.

And Jacob went out from Beersheba, and went And, behold, I am with thee, and will keep thee
toward Haran. in all places whither thou goest, and will bring
And he lighted upon a certain place, and tar- thee again into this land; for I will not leave thee,
ried there all night, because the sun was set; and until I have done that which I have spoken to
he took of the stones of that place, and put them thee of.
for his pillows, and lay down in that place to And Jacob awaked out of his sleep, and he said,
sleep. Surely the Lord is in this place; and I knew it not.
And he dreamed, and behold a ladder set up on Genesis 28:10-16
the earth, and the top of it reached to heaven:
and behold the angels of God ascending and de- 2 Your old men shall dream dreams, your young
scending on it. men shall see visions.
Joel 2:28
And, behold, the Lord stood above it, and said,
I am the Inrd God of Abraham thy father, and 3 Penelope. Two gates for ghostly dreams there are:
the God of Isaac: the land whereon thou best, to one gateway
thee will I giveit, and to thy seed; of honest horn, and one of ivory.
And thy seed shall be as the dust of the earth, Issuing by the ivory gate are dreams
and thou shalt spread abroad to the west, and to of glimmering illusion, fantasies,
the east, and to the north, and to the south: and but those that come through solid polished horn
in thee and in thy seed shall all the families of the may be borne out, if mortals only know them.
earth be blessed. Homer, Odyssey, XIX, 562

351
 1

352 Chapter 5 Mind

.

4 Chonis. It is vain, to dream and to see splendors, two irrational principles, he rouses up the third,
and the image slipping from the arms’ embrace which is reason, before he takes his rest, then, as
escapes, not to return again, you know, he attains truth most nearly, and is
on wings drifting down the ways of sleep. least likely to be the sport of fantastic and lawless

Aeschylus, Agamemnon, 423 visions.

I quite agree.

5 Eyes illuminate the sleeping brain,

Clytaemeslra.
In saying this I have been running into a di-
but in the daylight man’s future cannot be seen. gression; but the point which I desire to note is

Aeschylus, Eumenides, 104 that in all of us, even in good men, there is a
lawless wild-beast nature, which peers out in

6 Jocasta. As to your mother’s marriage bed, —don’t sleep.

Plato, Republic, IX, 57 IB
fear it.

Before this, in dreams too, as well as oracles,

10 not improbable that some of the presentations
It is
many a man has lain with his own mother.
which come before the mind in sleep may even be
Sophocles, Oedipus the King, 980
causes of the actions cognate to each of them. For
as when we are about to act [in waking hours], or
7 The Second Maiden, Oh! to set foot, if only in a
are engaged in any course of action, or have al-
dream, in my father’s home and
a luxury city,
ready performed certain actions, we often find
sweet sleep affords, a pleasure shared by us with
ourselves concerned with these actions, or per-
wealth!
forming them, in a vivid dream; the cause wher-
Euripides, Iphigenia m Tauris, 453 eof is Aat the dream-movement has had a way
paved for it from the original movements set up in
8 Socrates, Let me feast my mind with the dream as
the daytime; exactly so, but conversely, it must
day dreamers are in the habit of feasting them-
happen that the movements set up first in sleep
selveswhen they are walking alone; for before
should also prove to be starting-points of actions
they have discovered any means of effecting their
to be performed in the daytime, since the recur-
wishes —that a matter which
is never troubles
rence by day of the thought of these actions also
them —they would rather not tire themselves by
has had its way paved for it in the images before
thinking about possibilities; but assuming that
the mind at night. Thus then it is quite conceiva-
what they desire is already granted to them, they
ble that some dreams may be tokens and causes
proceed with their plan, and delight in detailing
[of future events].
what they mean to do when their wish has come
Aristotle, Prophesying by Dreams, 463^22
—
true that is a way which they have of not doing
much good to a capacity which was never good 1 1 On the whole, forasmuch as certain of the lower
for much. animals also dream, it may be concluded that
Plato, Republic, V, 457B dreams are not sent by God, nor are they designed
for this purpose [to reveal the future]. They have a
9 Socrates. When the reasoning and human and rul- divine aspect, however, for Nature [their cause] is
ing power is asleep; then the wild beast \vithin us, divinely planned, though not itself divine. A spe-
gorged wth meat or drink, starts up and having cial proof [of their not being sent by God] is this:
shaken off sleep, goes forth to satisfy his desires; the power of foreseeing the future and of having
and there is no conceivable folly or crime not — vivid dreams is found in persons of inferior type,
excepting incest or any other unnatural union, or which implies that God does not send their
parricide, or the eating of forbidden food which — dreams; but merely that all those whose physical
at such a time, when he has parted company with temperament is, as it were, garrulous and excit-
all shame and sense, a man may not be ready to able, see sights of all descriptions; for, inasmuch as
commit. they experience many movements of every kind,
Most true, he [Glaucon] said. they just chance to have visions resembling objec-
But when a man’s pulse is healthy and temper- tive facts, their luck in these matters being merely
ate, and when before going to sleep he has awak-
like that of persons who play at even and odd. For
ened his rational powers, and fed them on noble the principle which is expressed in the gambler’s
thoughts and enquiries, collecting himself in med- maxim: you make many throws your luck must
‘If
itation; after having first indulged his appetites change,’ holds good in their case also.
neither too much nor too little, but just enough to
Aristotle, Prophe^'ing ly Dreams, 463^1
lay them to sleep, and prevent them and their
enjoyments and pains from interfering with the 12 Of all animals man is most given to dreaming.
—
higher principle which he leaves in the solitude Children and infants do not dream, but in most
of pure abstraction, free to contemplate and as- cases dreaming comes on at the age of four or five
pire to the knowledge of the unknown, whether in years. Instances have been known of full-grown
past, present, or future: when again he has al- men and women that have never dreamed at all;
layed the passionate element, if he has a quarrel in exceptional cases of this kind, it has been ob-
—
against anyone I say, when, after pacifying the served that when a dream occurs in advanced life
 5 5 Dreams
. .
I
353

it prognosticates either actual dissolution or a gen- not only does the imagination retain its freedom,

eral break-up of the system. but also the common sense is partly freed, so that
Aristotle, History of Animals, 537^14 sometimes while asleep a man may Judge that
what he sees is a dream, discerning, as it were,
13 To whatever pursuit a man is closely tied down between things and their likenesses. Nevertheless,
and strongly attached, on whatever subject we the common sense remains partly suspended, and
have previously much dwelt, the mind having therefore, although it discriminates some likeness-
been put to a more than usual strain in it, during es from the reality, yet is it always deceived in
sleep we for the most part fancy that we are en- some particular. Therefore, while man is asleep,
gaged in the same; lawyers think they plead caus- according as sense and imagination are free, so
17
es and draw up covenants of sale, generals that the judgment of his intellect is unfettered, though
they fight and engage in battle, sailors that they not entirely. Consequently, if a man syllogizes
wage and carry on war with the winds, we think while asleep, when he wakes up he invariably rec-
we pursue our task and investigate the nature of ognizes a flaw in some respect.
things constantly and consign it when discovered
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 84, 8
our native tongue. So all other pur-
to writings in
suits and arts are seen for the most part during Pandar. And all your dreams and other such like
sleep to occupy and mock the minds of men. folly.
Lucretius, Nature of Things, IV To deep oblivion let them be consigned;
For they arise but from your melancholy,
14 Two gates the silent house of Sleep adorn;
Of polish’d iv’ry this, that of transparent horn:
By which your health is being undermined.
True visions thro’ transparent horn arise;
A straw for all the meaning you can find
In dreams! They aren’t worth a hill of beans,
Thro* polish’d iv’ry pass deluding lies.
For no one knows what dreaming really means.
Virgil, Aeneid, VI
Priests in the temples sometimes choose to say
15 Darius was by this time upon his march from
That dreams come from the Gods as revelations;
Susa, very confident, not only in the number of
But other times they speak another way,
his men, which amounted to six hundred thou-
sand, but likewise in a dream, which the Persian
And call them hellish false hallucinations!
soothsayers interpreted rather in flattery to him And doctors say they come from complications,
than according to the natural probability. He
Or fast or surfeit, or any other lie,
For who knows truly what they signify?
dreamed that he saw the Macedonian phalanx all 18
on fire, and Alexander waiting on him, clad in the And others say that through impressions deep,
same dress which he himself had been used to As when one has a purpose firm in mind,
wear when he was courier to the late king; after There come these visions in one’s sleep;
which, going into the temple of Belus, he vanished And others say that they in old books find.
out of his sight. The dream would appear to have That every season hath its special kind
supernatu rally signified to him the illustrious ac- Of dream, and all depends upon the moon;
tions the Macedonians were to perform, and that But all such folk are crazy as a loon!
as he, from a courier’s place, had risen to the
throne, so Alexander should come to be master of Dreams are the proper business of old wives,
Asia, and not long surviving his conquests, con- Who draw their auguries from birds and fowls,
clude his life with glory. For which men often fear to lose their lives,
Plutarch, Alexander The raven’s croak or mournful shriek of owls!
O why put trust in bestial shrieks and howls!
16 The senses are suspended in the sleeper through Alas, that noble man should be so brash
certain evaporations and the escape of certain To implicate his mind in such like trash!
exhalations, as we read in the book on Sleep, And, Chaucer, Troilus and Cressida, V, 52—55
therefore, according to the disposition of such
evaporation, the senses are more or less suspend- Let us bend our course another way, and try a
ed. For when the motion of the vapors is consider- new sort of divination. Of what kind? asked Pan-
able, not only are the senses suspended, but also urge. Of a good ancient and authentic feishion,
the imagination, so that there are no phantasms; answered Pantagruel; it is by dreams. For in
and this happens especially when a man falls dreaming, such circumstances and conditions
asleep after eating and drinking copiously. If, being thereto adhibited, as are clearly enough de-
however, the motion of the vapors be somewhat scribed by Hippocrates ... by Plato, Plotin, lam-
less, phantasms appear, but distorted and without blicus, Synesius, Aristotle, Xenophon, Galen, Plu-
order; thus it happens in a case of fever. And if tarch, Artemidorus, Daldianus, Herophilus, Q.
the motion be still more attenuated, the phan- Calaber, Theocritus, Pliny, Athenseus, and others,
tasms will have a certain order; thus especially the soul doth oftentimes foresee what is to come.
does it happen towards the end of sleep, in sober How true this is, you may conceive by a very vul-
men and those who are gifted with a strong imagi- gar and familiar example; as when you see that at
nation. If the motion of the vapors is very slight. such a time as suckling babes, well nourished, fed
 '

354 Chapter 5. Mind

and fostered with good milk, sleep soundly and dreams of the waking, and worse than dreams.
profoundly, the nurses in the interim get leave to Since our reason and our soul accept the fancies
sport themselves, and are Hcen dated to recreate and opinions which arise in it while sleeping, and
their fancies at what range to them shall seem authorise the actions of our dreams with the same
most and expedient, their presence, seduli-
fitting approbation as they do those of the day, why do
ty, and attendance on the cradle being, during all we not consider the possibility that our thinking,
ti»at space, held unnecessary. Even just so, when our acting, may be another sort of dreaming, and
our body is at rest, that the concoction is every our waking another kind of sleep?
where accomplished, and that, till it awake, it Montaigne, Essays^ II, 12, Apolog)*
lacks for nothing, our soul delighteth to disport for Raymond Sebond
itself, and is well pleased in that frolic to take a
review of its native country, which is the heavens, 20 Ihave no cause to complain of my imagination. I
where it receiveth a most notable participation of have had few thoughts in my life that have even
its first beginning, with an imbuement from its interrupted the course of my sleep, unless they
divine source, and in contemplation of that infi- have been those of desire, which awakened me
nite and intellectual sphere, whereof the centre is without afflicting me. I seldom dream, and then it
every where, and the circumference in no place of is about fantastic things and chimeras usually pro-
the universal world, (to wit, God, according to the duced by amusing thoughts, more ridiculous than
doctrine of Hermes whom no
Trismegistus,) to sad. And I hold that it is true that dreams arc
new whom nothing that is past
thing happeneth, faithful interpreters of our inclinations; but there
escapeth, and unto whom all things are alike pre- is an art to sorting and understanding them. . . .

sent; it remarketh not only what is preUrit and Plato says, moreover, that it is the function of
gone, in the inferior course and agitation of sublu- wisdom to draw from them instructions for divin-
nary matters, but withal taketh notice what is to ing the future. I see nothing in that, except for the
come; then bringing a relation of those future marvelous experiences related by Socrates, Xeno-
events unto the body by the outward senses and phon, and Aristotle, personages of irreproachable
exterior organs, it is divulged abroad unto the authority.
hearing of others. Whereupon the owner of that Montaigne, Essays^ III, 13, Of Experience
soul deserveth to be termed a vaticinator, or
19 prophet. Nevertheless, the truth that the soul
is, is
21 Mcrcutio. O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been
seldom able to report those things in such sincerity with you.
as it hath seen them, by reason of the imperfection
She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes
and frailty of the corporeal senses, which obstruct In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
the effectuating of that office; even as the moon
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
doth not communicate unto this earth of ours that Drawn with a team of little atomies
light which she receiveth from the sun with so
Athwart men’s noses as they lie asleep;
much splendour, heat, vigour, purity, and liveli-
Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners* legs,
ness as it was given her. Hence it is requisite for
The cover of the wings of grasshoppers,
the better reading, explaining, and unfolding of
The traces of the smallest spider’s web,
these somniatory vaticinations, and predictions, of
The collars of the moonshine’s watery beams,
that nature that a dexterous, learned, skilful, wise,
Her whip of cricket’s bone, the lash of film,
and peremptory ex-
industrious, expert, rational,
Her waggoner a small grey-coated gnat.
pounder or interpreter be pitched upon. Not half so big as a round little worm
Rabelais, Gargantua and Pantagruel^ III, 13 Prick’d from the lazy finger of a maid;
Her chariot js an empty hazel-nut
Those who have compared our life to a dream Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
were perhaps more right than they thought. Time out o* mind the fairies’ coachmakers.
When we dream, our soul lives, acts, exercises all And in this state she gallops night by night
her faculties, neither more nor less than when she Through lovers* brains, and then they dream of
is awake; but if more loosely and obscurely, still love;
surely not so much so that the difference is as be- O’er courtiers’ knees, that dream on court’sics
tween night and bright daylight; rather as be- straight.
tween night and shade. There she sleeps, here she O’er lawyers’ fingers, who straight dream on fees,
slumbers: more and less. It is always darkness, O’er ladies’ lips, who straight on kisses dream,
and Cimmerian darkness. Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues.
Sleeping we are awake, and waking asleep. I do Because their breaths with s\s'eetmeats tainted
not see so clearly in sleep; but my wakefulness I are:
never find pure and cloudless enough. Moreover Sometime she gallops o’er a courtier’s nose,
sleep in its depth sometimes puts dreams to sleep. And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
But our wakefulness is never so awake as to purge And sometime comes she \vith a tithe-pig’s tail
and properly dissipate reveries, which are the Tickling a parson’s nose as a’ lies asleep,
 —
3.5. Dreams 355

Then dreams he of another benefice: fear, and and image of some

raiseth the thought
Sometime she driveth o^cr a soldier’s neck, fearful object, tlicmotion from the brain to .the
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, inner parts, and from the inner parts to the brain
Of breaches, ambuscadocs, Spanish blades, l>cing reciprocal. ... In sum, our dreams arc the

Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon reverse of our waking imaginations; the motion
Drums in his car, at which he starts and wakes, when we arc awake l>cginning at one end, and
And being thus friglitcd swears a prayer or ^vhcn we dream, at another.
And sleeps again. This is tltat ver)' Mab Hobbes, /..eifiaihan, I, 2
That plats the manes of horses in the night,
And bakes the cU-locks in foul shulish hairs, 25 To say He hath spoken to him in a dream is no
Wliich once untangled much misfortune bodes; more than to say he dreamed that God spake to
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, him; which is not of force to win l>clicf from any
Thatpresses them and learns them first to bear, man that knows dreams arc for the most part nat-
Making them women of good carriage; ural, and may proceed from former thoughts; and
Tliis is she such dreams as that, from self-conceit, and foolish
Romeo. Peace, peace, Mcrcutio, peace! arrogance, and false opinion of a man’s own good-
Thou lalk’st of notliing. lincss, or other virtue, by which he thinks he hath
Mer. True, I talk of dreams, merited the favour of extraordinar)* revelation. To
Whicli arc the children of an idle brain, say he hath seen a vision, or heard a voice, is to
Begot of nothing but vain fantas)', say that he dreamed l>ctwccn sleeping and wak-
Which is as thin of substance as the air ing: for in such manner a man doth many times
And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes naturally take his dream for a vision, as not hav-
Even no%v the froren bosom of the north, ing well olrcrvcd his own slumbcring.
And, being anger’d, puffs away from thence, HoWks, LainrAnn, !H, 32
Turning his face to the dc\s'-dr opping south.
Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet^ I, iv, 54 26 Half our days sve paw in the shadow of the earth,
and the brother of death cxactcih a third part of
22 Brutus. Between the acting of a dreadful thing our lives. A good part of our sleeps is peered out
And the first motion, all the interim is with visions, and phantastical objects wherin we
Like a phantasma or a hideous dream. arc confessedly deceived. The day supplycth us
Shakespeare, Caesar, II, i, 02 with truths, the night with fictions and falsehoods,
which uncomfortably divide the natural account
23 Hamlet. O God, I could be bounded in a nutslicll of our beings. And therefore having passed the
and count myself a king of infinite space, were it day in 5ol>er labours and rational enquiries of
not that I have bad dreams. truth, we arc fain to betake ourselves unto such a
Shakespeare, Hamlet, II, ii, 260 state of being,wherin the solKrcst heads have act-
ed all the monstrosities of melancholy, and which
24 The imaginations of them that sleep arc those we unto open eyes arc no better than folly and mad-
call dreams. And these also (as all other imagina- ness.
tions) have been before, either totally or by par- Sir Thomas Browne, On Dreams
cels, in the sense. And because in sense, the brain
and ncrv'cs, which arc the necessary' organs of 27 If we dreamt the same thing cvcr>* night, it would
sense, arc so benumbed in sleep as not easily to l>c affect us as much as the objects we see ever)' day.
moved by the action of external objects, there can And if an artisan were sure to dream every night
happen no imagination, and therefore no
in sleep fortwelve hours’ duration that he was a king, I
dream, but what proceeds from the agitation of bclics’c he would be almost as happy as a king,
the inward parts of man’s body; w'hich inward who should dream every night for twelve hours on
parts, for the connexion they liavc with the brain end that he was an artisan.
and other organs, when they be distempered do If we wTre to dream c\*cr>' night that we were
keep the same in motion; whereby the imagina- pursued by enemies and hara.wcd by these painful
tions there formerly made, appear as if a man phantoms, or that we passed ever)' day in differ-
were waking; saving that the organs of sense being ent occupations, as in making a voyage, we should
now benumbed, so as there is no new object which suffer almost as much as if it were real, and should
can master and obscure them with a more vigor- we fear to wake when we dread
fear to sleep, as in
ous impression, a dream must needs be more fact to enteron such mishaps. And, indeed, it

clear, in this silence of sense, than arc our waking would cause pretty nearly the same discomforts as
thoughts. . . . the reality.
And dreams arc caused by the distemper
seeing But since dreams arc all different, and each sin-
of some of the inward parts of the body, diverse gle one is diversified, what is seen in them affects
distempers must needs cause different dreams. us much less tliat what we see when awake, be-
And hence it is that lying cold breedeth dreams of cause of its continuity, which is not, however, so
 I

356 Chapter 5, Mind

continuous and level as not to change too; but it Her skin was as white as leprosy.
changes less abruptly, except rarely, as when we The Night-marc Life-in-Death was she,
travel, and then we say, “It seems to me I am Who thicks man’s blood with cold.
dreaming.” For life is a dream a little less incon- Coleridge, The Rime of the
stant. Ancient Mariner, 190
Pascal, Fmsees, VI, 386
32 Our life is twofold: Sleep hath its own world,
28 Mcthought I saw my late espoused Saint A boundary between the things misnamed
Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave. Death and existence; Sleep hath its own world,
Whom Joves great Son to her glad Husband And a wide realm of wild reality.
gave. Byron, The Dream, I

Rescu’d from death by force though pale and

faint. 33 Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Mine whom washt from spot of child-bed taint,
as Fled is that music :--do I wake or sleep?
• Purification in the old Law did save. Keats, Ode to a Nightingale
And such, as yet once more I trust to have
Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint, 34 When I was a child, I well remember a somewhat
Came vested all in white, pure as her mind; similar circumstance that befell me; whether it
Herface was vail’d, yet to my fancied sight, was a a dream, I never could entirely
reality or
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shin’d settle. The
circumstance was this. I had been cut-
So clear, as in no face with more delight. —
ting up some caper or other I think it was trying
But O as to embrace me she enclin’d to crawl up the chimney, as I had seen a little
I wak’d, she fled, and day brought back my sweep do a few days previous; and my stepmother
night. who, somehow or other, was all the time whipping
Milton, Methougkt I saw my late espoused Saint me, or sending me to bed supperless, my step- —
mother dragged me by the legs out of the chimney
29 He [Johnson] related, that he had once in a dream and packed me off to bed, though it was only two
a contest of wit with some other person, and that o’clock in the afternoon of the 21st June, the long-
he was very much mortified by imagining that his est day in the year in our hemisphere. I felt dread-
opponent had the better of him. *Now, (said he,) fully. But there was no help for it, so upstairs I
one may mark here the effect of sleep in weaken- went to my little room in the third floor, un-
ing the power of reflection; for had not my judge- dressed myself as slowly as possible so as to kill
ment failed me, I should have seen, that the wit of time, and with a bitter sigh got between the
this supposed antagonist, by whose superiority I sheets,
felt myself depressed, was as much furnished by I lay there dismally calculating that sixteen en-
me, as that which I thought I had been uttering in tire hours must elapse before I could hope to get
my own character,’ out of bed again. Sixteen hours in bed! the small
Boswell, Life ofJohnson (1730) of my back ached to think of it. And it was so light
too; the sun shining in at the window, and a great
30 I would ask if dreams (from which our sleep is rattling of coaches in the streets, and the sound of
never free, although we rarely remember what we gay voices all over the house. I felt worse and
have dreamed), may not be a regulation of nature —
worse at last I got up, dressed, and softly going
adapted to ends. For, when all the muscular forces down in my stockinged feet, sought out my step-
of the body are relaxed, dreams serve the purpose mother, and suddenly threw myself at her feet,
of internally stimulating the vital organs by beseeching her as a particular favour to give me a
means of the imagination and the great activity good slippering for my misbehaviour; anything
—
which it exerts an activity that in this state gen- indeed but condemning me to lie abed such an
erally rises to psycho-physical agitation. This unendurable length of time. But she was the best
seems to be why imagination is usually more ac- and most conscientious of stepmothers, and back 1
tively at work in the sleep of those who have gone had to go to my room. For several hours I lay
to bed at night with a loaded stomach, just when there broad awake, feeling a great deal worse
this stimulation is most needed. Hence, I would than I have ever done since, even from the great-
suggest that without this internal stimulating est subsequent misfortunes. At last I must have
force and fatiguing unrest that makes us complain fallen into a troubled nightmare of a doze; and
of our dreams, which in fact, however, are proba- —
slowly waking from it half steeped in dreams —
bly curative, sleep, even in a sound state of health, opened my eyes, and the before sunlit room was
would amount to a complete extinction of life. now wrapped in outer darkness. Instantly I felt a
Kant, Critique of Teleological Judgement^ 67 shock running through all my frame; nothing was
to be seen, and nothing was to be heard; but a
31 Her lips were red, her looks were free, supernatural hand seemed placed in mine. My
Her locks were yellow as gold: arm hung over the counterpane, and the name-
 5.5. Dreams 357

less, unimaginable, silent form or phantom, to cies, the so-called normal man, the bearer and
which the hand belonged, seemed closely seated partly the victim of our painfully acquired civili-
by my bedside. For what seemed ages piled on zation.
ages, I lay there, frozen with the most awful fears, Freud, Origin and Development of
not daring to drag away my hand; yet ever think- P^'cho-AnalysiSf 111

ing that if I could but stir it one single inch, the

horrid spell would be broken. I knew not how this 38 Tliat all the material composing the content of a
consciousness at last glided away from me; but dream somehow derived from experience, that
is

waking in the morning, I shudderingly remem- it reproduced or remembered in the dream this
is —
bered it all, and for day's and weeks and months at least may be accepted as an incontestable fact.
aftenvards I lost myself in confounding attempts Yet it would be wTong to assume that such a con-
to explain the mystery. Nay, to this very' hour, I nection between the dream-content and reality
often puzzle my'self with it. will be easily obvious from a comparison between
Melville, Moty Dickf IV the two. On the contrary, the connection must be
carefully sought, and in quite a number of cases it

35 In a morbid condition of the brain, dreams often may for a long while elude discovery.
have a singular actuality, vividness, and extraor- Freud, Interpretation of Dreams, I, B
dinary semblance of reality. At times monstrous
images arc created, but the setting and the whole 39 The dream represents a certain state of affairs,
picture arc so truthlikc and
with details so
filled such as I might wish to exist; the eontent of the dream
delicate, so unexpectedly, but so artistically con- is thus the fulfilment of a wish; tts motive a wish.
sistent, that the dreamer, were he an artist like Freud, Interpretation of Dreams, II

Pushkin or Turgenev even, could never have in-

vented them in the waking state. Such sick 40 The dream is not comparable to the irregular

dreams alway’s remain long in the memory and sounds of a musical instrument, which, instead of
make a powerful impression on the overuTought being played by the hand of a musician, is struck
and deranged nervous sy'stcm. by some external force; the dream is not mean-
Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment, 1, 5 ingless, not absurd, docs not presuppose that one
part of our store of ideas is dormant while another
36 The tvorld of dreams is our real world whilst we part begins to awake. It is a perfectly valid ps)'-

arc sleeping, because our attention then lapses chic phenomenon, actually a wish-fulfilment; it

from the sensible world. Conversely, when we may be enrolled in the continuity of the intelligi-
w’ake the attention usually lapses from the dream- ble psy'chic activities of the waking state; it is built
world and that becomes unreal. But if a dream up by a highly complicated intellectual activity.
37 haunts us and compels Freud, Dreams, III
our attention during the Interpretation of
day it is very apt to remain figuring in our con-
sciousness as a sort of sub-universe alongside of the 41 The dream often appears to have several mean-
waking world. Most people have probably had ings; not only may several wish-fulfilments be
dreams which it is hard to imagine not to have combined . but one meaning or one wish-
in it . .

been glimpses into an actually existing region of fulfilment may

conceal another, until in the low-
being, perhaps a comer of the ‘‘spiritual world.” est stratum one comes upon the fulfilment of a
And dreams have accordingly in all ages been re- wish from the earliest period of childhood.
garded as revelations, and have played a large Freud, Interpretation of Dreams, V, B
part in furnishing forth mythologies and creating
themes for faith to lay hold upon. The “larger 42 In a certain sense, all dreams arc convenience-
universe” here, which helps us to believe both in dreams; they serve the purpose of continuing to
the dream and in the waking reality which is its sleep instead of waking. The dream is the guardian of
immediate reductive, is the total universe, of Na- sleep, not its disturber. . The wish to sleep,
. . to which
ture plus the Supernatural. The dream holds true, the consaous ego has adjusted itself, and which . . . repre-
namely, in one half of tliat universe; the waking sents the ego*s contribution to the dream, must thus always
perceptions in the other half. be taken into account as a motive of dream-formation, and
William James, P^chology, XXI every successful dream is a fulfilment of this wish.
Freud, Interpretation of Dreams, V, C
In the dream life, the child, as it were, continues
his existence in the man, with a retention of all his 43 Ithas been my experience and to this I have —
traits and wishes, including those which he was —
found no exception that every dream treats of
obliged to allow to fall into disuse in his later oneself. Dreams arc absolutely egoistic.
years. With irresistible might it will be impressed Freud, Interpretation of Dreams, VI, C
on you by what processes of development, of re-
pression, sublimation, and reaction there arises 44 Tire inclusion of a certain content in a dream within
out of the child, with its peculiar gifts and tenden- a dream is, therefore, equivalent to the wish that
 what has been characteriaed as a dream had nev- tion of the human race, of which the development
er occurred. In other words; when a particular of the indh'idual only an abridged repetition
is

incident is represented by the dream- work in a influenced by the fortuitous drcumstances of life
dream, it signifies the strongest confirmation of . . .and wx arc encouraged to expect, from the
the reality of this incident, the most emphatic o/- analy-sis of dreams, a knowledge of the archaic
firmation of it. The dream-work utilizes the dream inheritance of man, a knowledge of psyxhical
itself as a form of repudiation, and thereby con- things in him that arc innate. It would seem that
firms the theory that a dream is a wish-fulfilment, dreams and neuroses have preserved for us more
Freud, Intapretation of Dreams, VI, G of the psychical antiquities than we suspected; so
that psycho-anal>'sis may
claim a high rank
45 The investigation of day-dreams might really among those sciences which endeavour to recon-
have afforded the shortest and best approach to struct the oldest and darkest phases of the begin-
the understanding of nocturnal dreams. nings of mankind.
Like dreams, they are wish-fulfilments; like Freud, Intapretation of Dreams, VII, B
dreams, they arc largely based upon the impres-
sions of childish experiences; like dreams, they ob- 47 And what of the \mluc of dreams in regard to our
tain a certain indulgence from the censorship in knowledge of the future? That, of course, is quite
we trace their forma-
respect of their creations. If out of the question. One svould like to substitute
tion, we become aware how the wish-motive the words: in regard to our knowledge of the fast. For in
which has been operative in their production has ever)' sense a dream has its origin in the past. The
taken the material of which they arc built, mixed andent belief that dreams reveal the future is not
it together, rearranged it, and fitted it together indeed entirely devoid of the truth. By repre-
into a new whole. They bear veiy^ much the same senting a wish as fulfilled the dream certainly
relation to the childish memories to which they leads us into the future; but this future, which the
refer as many of the baroque palaces of Rome dreamer accepts as his present, has been shaped in
bear to the ancient ruins, whose hewn stones and the likeness of the past by the indestructible wish,
columns have furnished the material for the struc- Freud, Intapretation of Dreams, F
tures built in the modern style.

Freud, Intapretation of Dreams, VI, I 48 Had I the heavens* embroidered doths,

Enwrought with golden and silver light,
46 Dreaming is on the whole an act of regression to The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
the earliest relationships of the dreamer, a resusci- Of night and light and the half-light,
tation of his childhood, of the impulses which I would spread the cloths under your feet:
were then dominant and the modes of expression But I, being poor, ha^’e only my dreams;
which were then available. Behind this childhood I have spread my dreams under your feet;

of the individual we are then promised an insight Tread softly because you tread on my dreams,
into the phylogenetic childhood, into the evolu- Yeats, He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

5.6 Madness

Irrationality is peculiar to the so-called “ra- word —such as “frenzy,” “lunacy,” “melan-
tional animal.” Though we sometimes refer choly,” or “insanity” —
takes its place. Only
to other animals as “mad,” we do not do so in quotations drawn from comparatively re-
in the sense in which human madness is un- cent writers do such technical terms as
derstood as loss or disorder of mind. It is “neurosis,” “psychosis,” or “hysteria” occur,
that sense of the term which runs through together with the medical names for the
the quotations below, even when the word symptoms or other manifestations of mental
itself does not appear, but some other disease. The clinical picture of one mental
 5.6, Madness 359

disorder —epilepsy—was known to the an- processes and on the exercise of choice, and
cients. Regarded popularly as “the sacred about the difference between the cogency of
disease,” it was treated in a scientific man- the insane and the lucidity of the sane. One
ner by Hippocrates. special madness is often exemplified
form of

The reader will find in the quotations and commented on, and that is the madness
from the poets, the historians, and the biog- of the lover —the divine madness.
raphers
1
a wide variety of examples of hu- The modern approach to mental disease,

man madness, together with expressions of with its distinction between the symptoms of
the awe or wonder that its manifestations the illness and the disease process itself, and
inspire in those who behold it. There are, in with its classification of neuroses and psy-
addition, observations about the role of the choses, is represented here in the quotations
emotions or passions in frenzy or lunacy, drawn from William James and Sigmund
about the effect of madness on the rational Freud.

Orestes. I go, an outcast wanderer from this land, 2 Towards this tongue of land . , . the men to
and leave whom the business was assigned carried out a
behind, in life, in death, the name of what I did. double bridge from Abydos; and while the Phoe-
Chorus. No, what you did was well done. Do not nicians constructed one line with cables of white
therefore bind flax, the Egyptians in the other used ropes made

your mouth to foul speech. Keep no evil on your of papyrus. Now it is seven furlongs across from
lips. Abydos to the opposite coast. When, therefore, the
You liberated all the Axgive city when channel had been bridged successfully, it hap-
you lopped the heads of Uiese two snakes with one pened that a great storm arising broke the whole
clean stroke. work to pieces, and destroyed all that had been
Or. No! done.
Women who ser\'e this house, they come like So when Xerxes heard of it he was full of wrath,
gorgons, they and straightway gave orders that the Hellespont
wear robes of black, and they are wreathed in a should receive three hundred lashes, and that a
tangle pair of fetters should be cast into it. Nay, I have
of snakes. I can no longer stay. even heard it said that he bade the branders take
Ch. Orestes, dearest to your father of all men their irons and therewith brand the Hellespont. It
what fancies whirl you? Hold, do not give way to is certain that he commanded those who scourged

fear. the waters to utter, as they lashed them, these bar-

Or. These are no fancies of affliction. They are barian and wicked words: “Thou bitter water, thy
clear, lord lays on thee this punishment because thou
and real, and here; the bloodhounds of my heist wronged him without a cause, having suf-
mother’s hate. fered no evil at his hands. Verily King Xerxes will
Ch, It is the blood still wet upon your hands, cross thee, whether thou wilt or no. Well dost thou
that makes deserve that no man should honour thee with sac-
this shaken turbulence be thrown upon your rifice; for thou art of a truth a treacherous and
sense. unsavoury river.” While the sea was thus pun-
Or. Ah, Lord Apollo, how they grow and multi- ished by his orders, he likewise commanded that
ply* the overseere of the work should lose their
repulsive for the blood drops of their dripping heads.
eyes. Herodotus, History, VII, 34—35
Ch. There is one way to make you clean: let
Loxias
3 Tecmessa. In the depth of night, after the evening
touch you, and set you free from these distur-
flares
bances.
Had all gone out, Ajax, with sword in hand.
Or. You can not see them, but I see them. I am Went slowly groping toward the door, intent
driven
Upon some pointless errand. I objected.
from this place. I can stay here no longer.
And said, “Ajax, what are you doing? Why
Aeschylus, Libation Bearers, 1042 Do you stir? No messenger has summoned you:
 — —
360 I
Chapter 5. Mind

You have heard no trumpet. Why, the whole He threw himself to the floor, and acted out
army now’s asleep!” a feast. He tarried there a while, then said
He answered briefly in a well-worn phrase, he was approaching Isthmus’ wooded valley.
‘‘Woman, a woman’s decency is silence.” He unstrapped his buckles and stripped himself
1 heard, and said no more; he issued forth alone. bare,
I don’t know what horrors occurred outside, and wrestled with no one; then called for silence
But when he came back in, he brought with him and crowned himself the victor of a match
A mass of hobbled bulls and shepherd dogs that never was. Then raged against Eurystheus,
And woolly captives. He struck the heads off and said he’d come to Mycenae. His father
some; caught him by that muscled hand and said:
Others’ he severed with an upward cut; “What do you mean, my son? What is this jour-
And some, held fast in bonds, he kept abusing ney
With words and blows, as though they were hu- that you make? Or has the blood of those you’ve
man beings slain
And all the while he was vexing poor dumb made you mad?” He thought Eurystheus’ father
beasts. had come, trembling, to supplicate his hand;
At length he darted out the door and spoke pushed him away, and set his bow and arrows
Wild, rending words, directed toward some phan- against his sons. He thought he was killing
tom, Eurystheus* children. Trembling with terror,
Exulting with a harsh laugh how he’d paid them, they rushed here and there; one hid beneath
Odysseus and the sons of Atreus. Then his mother’s robes, one ran to the shadow
He sprang back in again, and somehow, slowly, of a pillar, and the last crouched like a bird
By painful stages came to his right mind. below the altar. Their mother shrieked:
Sophocles, Ajax, 285 “You are their father! Will you kill your sons?”
And shouts broke from the old man and the
4 Messenger. Offerings to Zeus were set before the slaves.
hearth Around the pillar he pursued his son
to purify the house, for Heracles caught up with him
in dreadful circles, then
had cast the body of the king outside. and pierced him to the heart. Backward he fell,
There the children stood, in lovely cluster, dying, and stained the flagstones with his blood.
with Megara and the old man. In holy hush His father shouted in triumph, exulting,
the basket made the circle of the hearth. “Here is the first of Eurystheus’ youngsters dead;
And then, as Heracles reached out his hand his death repays me for his father's hate.”
to take the torch and dip it in the water, He aimed his bow at the second, who crouched
he stood stockstill. There he stood, not moving, below the altar’s base, trying to hide.
while the children stared. Suddenly he changed: The boy leaped first, fell at his father’s knees
his eyes rolled and bulged from their sockets, and held his hand up to his father’s chin.
and the veins stood out, gorged with blood, and “Dearest Father,” he cried, “do not murder me.
froth Iam your own son, yours, not Eurystheus’!”
began to trickle downbearded chin.
his But he stared from stony gorgon eyes,
Then he spoke, laughing like a maniac: found his son too close to draw the bow,
“Why hallow fire, Father, to cleanse the house and brought his club down on that golden head,
before I kill Eurystheus? Why double work, and smashed the skull, as though a blacksmith
when at one blow I might complete my task? smiting steel. Now that his second son lay dead,
I’ll go and fetch Eurystheus’ head, add it he rushed to kill the single victim left.
to that other corpse, then purify my hands. But before he drew the bow, the mother
Empty your water out! Drop those baskets! seized her child, ran within and locked the doors.
Someone fetch my bow. Put weapons in my And, as though these were the Cyclopean walls,
hands: he pried the panels up, ripped out the jambs,
I marchagainst Mycenae! Let me have and with one arrow brought down son and wife.
crowbars and picks: the Cyclopes built well, And then he rushed to kill his father too,
cramping stone on stone with plumb and mallet, but look! a phantom came or so it seemed to —
but with my pick I’ll rip them down again.” us
Then he fancied that his chariot stood there; Pallas, with plumed helm, brandishing a spear.
he made as though to leap its rails, and rode off, She hurled a rock; it struck him on the chest,
prodding with his hand as though it held a goad. stopped short his murderous rage and knocked
Whether to laugh or shudder, we could not tell. him
We stared at one another. Then one man asked, into sleep. He slumped to the floor and hit
“Is the master playing, or is he . . . mad?” his back against a pillar which had fallen there,
Up and down, throughout the house, he drove, snapped in two pieces when the roof collapsed.
and riding through the great hall, claimed it was Delivered from the fear that made us run,
Nisus’ city, though it was, in fact, his house. we helped the old man lash him down with ropes
 —
5.6. Madness 361

against the piUar, lest when he awakes tore the fir from the earth, and down, do\s'n
tree

still added to the rest.

greater grief be from perch fell Pentheus, tumbling
his high

He sleeps now, wretched man, no happy sleep, to the ground, sobbing and screaming as he fell,

killer of his wife and sons. I do not know for he knew' his end was near. His own mother,

one man alive more miserable than this. like a priestess with her victim, fell upon him

Euripides, Heracles, 922 first. But snatching off his w'ig and snood

so she w'ould recognize his face, he touched her

checks,
5 Messenger. And now the stranger worked a mira- screaming, ‘Wo, no, Mother! I am Pentheus,
cle. your own son, the child you bore to Echion!
Reaching branch of a great fir,
for the highest Pity me, spare me, Mother! I have done a wrong,

he bent down, down, doum to the dark earth,

it own son for my offense!*'
but do not kill your

till it was curved the way a taut bow bends But she was foaming at the mouth, and her crazed
or like a rim of wood when forced about the circle eyes
of a wheel. Like that he forced that mountain fir rolling with frenzy. She w'as mad, stark mad,
down to the ground. No mortal could have done possessed by Bacchus. Ignoring his cries of pity,
it. she seized his left arm at the wrist; then, plant-
Then he seated Pentheus at the highest tip ing
and with his hands let the trunk rise straightly up, her foot upon his chest, she pulled, wTcnching
slowly and gently, lest it throw its rider. aw'ay
And the tree rose, towering to heaven, with my the armat the shoulder —
not by her own strength,
master for the god had put inhuman power in her hands.
huddled at the top. And now the Maenads saw I no, meanwhile, on the other side, was scratching

him off
more clearly than he saw them. But barely had his flesh. Then Autonoe and the w'hole horde
they seen, of Bacchae swarmed upon him. Shouts ev-
when the stranger vanished and there came a erywhere,
great voice he screaming with what little breath w'as left,
out of heaven —Dionysus*, must have been
it they shrieking in triumph. One tore off an arm,
cr)'ing: “Women, I bring you the man who has another a foot stifi warm in its shoe. His ribs
mocked w'crc clawed clean of flesh and every hand
at you and me and at our holy mysteries. was smeared w'ith blood as they played ball with
Take vengeance upon him.'* And as he spoke scraps
a flash of awful fire bound earth and heaven. of Pentheus’ body.
The high air hushed, and along the forest glen The pitiful remains lie scattered,
the leaves hung still; you could hear no cry of one piece among the sharp rocks, others
beasts. lying lost among
the leaves in the depths
The Bacchac heard that voice but missed its His mother, picking up his head,
of the forest.
words, impaled it on her wand. She seems to think it is
and leaping up, they stared, peering cver)^vhere. some mountain lion’s head which she carries in
Again that voice. And now they knew his cry, triumph
the clear command of god. And breaking loose through the thick of Cithaeron. Leaving her sis-
like startled doves, through grove and torrent, ters
over jagged rocks, they flew, their feet maddened at the Maenad dances, she is coming here, gloat-
by the breath of god. And when they saw my mas- ing
ter over her grisly prize. She calls upon Bacchus:
perching in his tree, they climbed a great stone he is her “fellow-huntsman,** “comrade of the
that towered opposite his perch and showered him chase,
with stones and javelins of fir, >s’hilc the others crowned with victory.” But all the victor)'
hurled their wands. And yet they missed their tar- she carries home is her ow'n grief.
get,
Euripides, Bacchae, 1063
poor Pentheus in his perch, barely out of reach
of their eager hands, treed, unable to escape.
Finally they splintered branches from the oaks
and with those bars of wood tried to lever up the 6 Socrates. Of madness there w'ere tw'o kinds; one

tree
produced by human infirmity, the other ... a
dmne release of the soul from the yoke of custom
the roots. But evcr>' effort failed.
and convention.
Agave cried out: “Maenads, make a circle
alx>ut the
Phaedrus. True.
trunk and grip it with your hands.
Unless we lake this climbing beast, Soc. The divine madness vs'as subdivided into
he svill reveal
the recrets of the four kinds, prophetic, initiatory, poetic, erotic,
god.’* With that, thousands of
hands having four gods presiding over them; the first
W'as the inspiration of Apollo, the
second that of
 362 I
Chapter 5. Mind

Dionysus, the third that of the Muses, the fourth 8 Every man prefers to grieve in a sane mind, rather
that of Aphrodite and Eros. In the description of than to be glad in madness.
the last kind of madness, which was also said to be Augustine, Ci^ of God, XI, 27
the best, we spoke of the affection of love in a
7 figure, into which we introduced a tolerably To means to be placed outside one-
credi- 9 suffer ecstasy
ble and possibly true though partly erring myth, self.This happens as to the apprehensive power
which was also a hymn in honour of Love, who is and as to the appetitive power. As to the appre-
your lord and also mine, Phaedrus, and the hensive power, a man is said to be placed outside
guardian of fair children, and to him we sung the himself when he is placed outside the knowledge
hymn in measured and solemn strain. proper to him. This may be due to his being
raised to a higher knowledge; thus, a man is said
Plato, Phaedrus, 265A
to suffer ecstasy because he is placed outside the
connatural apprehension of his sense and reason,
A disaster followed, whether accidental or treach- when he is raised up so as to comprehend things
erously contrived by the emperor,is uncertain, as that surpass sense and reason. Or it may be due to
authors have given both accounts, worse, howev- his being cast down into a state of debasement;
er, and more dreadful than any which have ever thus a man may be said to suffer ecstasy when he
happened to this city by the violence of fire. It is overcome by violent passion or madness. As to
had its beginning in that part of the circus which the appetitive part, a man is said to suffer ccstas)-
adjoins the Palatine and
Cxlian hills, where, when the appetite is borne towards something
amid the shops containing inflammable wares, the else, so that it goes forth out from itself, as it were.
conflagration both broke out and instantly be- The first of these ecstasies is caused by love by
came so fierce and so rapid from the wind that it way of disposition, in so far, namely, as love
seized in grasp the entire length of the circus.
its
makes the beloved to dwell in the lover's mind;
For here there were no houses fenced in by solid and the more we give our mind to one thing, the
masonry, or temples surrounded by walls, or any less we think of others. The second ecstasy is
other obstacle to interpose delay. The blaze in its
caused by love directly; by love of friendship, ab-
fur)'ran first through the level portions of the city, solutely, by love of concupiscence, not absolutely
then rising to the hills, while it again devastated but in a relative sense. Because in love of concu-
every place below them, it outstripped all preven- piscence, the lover is taken out from himself, in a
tive measures; so rapid was the mischief and so certain sense; in so far, namely, as not being satis-
completely at its mere)' the city, w'ith those nar- fied with cnjo)’ing the good that he has, he seeks
row winding passages and irregular streets, which to enjoy something outside himself. But since he
characterised old Rome. . . . And no one dared seeks to have this extrinsic good for himself, he
to Slop the mischief, because of incessant menaces docs not go out from himself absolutely, and this
from a number of persons w’ho forbade the extin- affection remains finally w'ithin him. On the other
guishing of the flames, because again others open- liand, in the love of friendship, a man's affection
ly hurled brands, and kept shouting that there
goes out from itself absolutely, because he washes
was one who gave them authority, either seeking and docs good to his friend, as it w'crc, caring and
to plunder more freely, or obeying orders. providing for him, for his sake.
Nero at this time was at Antium, and did not Aquinas, Summa Tkeohgica, I-II, 28, 3
return to Rome until the fire approached his
house, which he had built to connect the palace
10 Of what is the subtlest madness made, but the
w'ith the gardens of Mxccnas. It could not, how-
subtlest w'isdom? As great enmities arc bom of
ever, be stopped from devouring the palace, the
great friendships, and mortal maladies of vigorous
house, and everything around it. However, to re-
health, so arc the greatest and vrildcst manias
lieve the people, driven out homeless as they svere,
bom of the rare and lively stirrings of our soul; it
he threw open to them the Campus Martius and
isonly a half turn of the peg to pass from the one
the public buildings of Agrippa, and even his ow'n
to the other. In the actions of the insane we sec
gardens, and raised temporary structures to re-
how' neatly madness combines with the most vig-
ceive the destitute multitude. Supplies of food
orous operations of our soul. Who docs not know'
w'crc brought up from Ostia and the neighbouring how imperceptibly near is madness to the lusty
towns, and the price of com was reduced to three flights of a free mind and the effects of supreme
sesterces a peck. These acts, though popular, pro-
and cxiraordinary virtue?
duced no effect, since a rumour had gone forth
Montaigne, Essays, II, 12, Apology' for
everywhere that, at the very time when the city
Raymond Sebond
was in flames, the emperor appeared on a private
stage and sang of the destruction of Troy, compar-
1 1 Is there not some rashness in philosophy to consid-
ing present misfortunes with the calamities of an-
er that men produce their greatest deeds and
tiquity.
those most closely approaching divinity when they
Tacitus, Annah, XV, 38-39 arc out of their minds and frenzied and mad? We
 5,6, Madness 363

improve by the privation and deadening of our
reason. The two natural ways to enter the cabinet
of the gods and there foresee the course of desti-
nies arc madness and sleep. This is amusing to
think about: by the dislocation that the passions
bring about in our reason, we become virtuous; by
the extirpation of reason that is brought about by
madness or the semblance of death, we become
prophets and soothsayers. I never was more will-
ing to believe philosophy. It is a pure transport
that the sacred truth inspired in the philosophical
As he would draw it. Long stay’d he so;
At last, a little shaking of mine arm
And thrice his head thus waving up and down,
He raised a sigh so piteous and profound
As it did seem to shatter all his bulk
And end his being. That done, he lets me go;
And, with his head over his shoulder turn’d.
He seem’d to find his way without his eyes;
For out o’doors he went without their helps,
And, to the last, bended their light on me,
Pol. Come, go with me: I will go seek the King.

spirit, which wrests from it, against its intention, This is the very ecstasy of love.
the admission that the tranquil state of our soul, Whose violent property fordoes itself
the sedate state, the healthiest state that philoso- And leads the will to desperate undertakings
phy can acquire for her, is not her best state. Our As oft as any passion under heaven
waking is more asleep than sleep; our wisdom less That does afflict our natures. I am sorry.
wise than madness. Our dreams are worth more What, have you given him any hard words of
than our reasonings. The worst position we can late?
take is in ourselves. Oph. No, my good lord, but, as you did com-
But docs not philosophy think that we have mand,
enough sense to notice that the voice which makes I did repel his letters and denied
the spirit when it is detached from man so clair- His access to me.
and while it is in man
voyant, so great, so perfect, Pol. That hath made him mad.
so earthly, ignorant, and shadowed, is a voice Shakespeare, Hamlet, II, i, 74
coming from the spirit which is a part of earthly,
ignorant, and shadowed man, and for that reason 14 Hamlet. I am but mad north-north-west. When the
a voice not to be trusted or believed? wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw.
Montaigne, Essays^ II, 12, Apology for Shakespeare, Hamlet, II, ii, 396
Raymond Sebond
15 Ophelia, O, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!
12 Malvolio. I am not mad, Sir Topas: I say to you, The courtier’s, soldier’s, scholar’s, eye, tongue,
this house is dark. sword.
Clown. Madman, thou errest: I say, there is no The expectancy and rose of the fair state.
darkness but ignorance; in which thou art more The glass of fashion and the mould of form.
puzzled than the Egyptians in their fog, The observed of all observers, quite, quite down!
Mai. I say, this house is as dark as ignorance, And I, of ladies most deject and wretched,
though ignorance were as dark as hell; and I say, That suck’d the honey of his music vows.
there was never man thus abused. Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,
Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, IV, ii, 44 Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh;
That unmatch’d form and feature of blown youth
13 Polonius. How now, Ophelia! What’s the matter? Blasted with ecstasy: O, woe is me,
Ophelia. O, my lord, my lord, I have been so To have seen what I have seen, see what I see!
affrighted! Shakespeare, Hamlet, II, i, 158
Pol. With what, i’ the name of God?
Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my closet, 16 Queen. To whom do you speak this?
Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced; Hamlet. Do you see nothing there?
No hat upon his head; his stockings foul’d, Queen. Nothing at all; yet all that is I see.
Ungarter’d, and down-gyved to his ancle; Ham. Nor did you nothing hear?
Pale as his shirt; his knees knocking each other; Queen. No, nothing but ourselves.
And with a look so piteous in purport Ham. Why, look you there! look, how it steals
As he had been loosed out of hell
if away!
To —
speak of horrors he comes before me. My father, in his habit as he lived!
Pol. Mad for thy love? Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal!
My lord, I do not know; [Exit Ghost]
But truly, I do fear it. Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain.
What said he? This bodiless creation ecstasy
Oph. He took me by the wrist and held me Is very cunning in.
hard; Ham. Ekstasy!
Then goes he to the length of all his arm; My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time,
And, with other hand thus o’er
his his brow. And makes as healthful music. It is not madness
He falls to such perusal of my face That I have utter’d. Bring me to the test,
 — —
364 I
Chapter 5, Mind
20
And I the matter will re-word; which madness Doctor. I have two nights watched with you, but
Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, can perceive no truth in your report. When was it
Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, she last walked?
That not your trespass, but my madness speaks. Gentlewoman. Since his Majesty went into the
Shakespeare, Hamlet, III, iv, 131 field, I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her
nightgown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth
17 Laertes. O heat, dry up my brains! tears seven paper, fold it, write upon’t, read it, afterwards seal
times salt, it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a

Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye! most fast sleep.

By heaven, thy madness shall be paid with Doct. A great perturbation in nature, to receive
weight. at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of
Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May! watching! In this slumbery agitation, besides her
Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia! walking and other actual performances, what, at
0 heavens! is’t possible, a young maid*s wits any time, have you heard her say?
Should be as mortal as an old man’s life? Gfn/. That, sir, which I will not report after her.

Nature is fine in love, and where ’tis fine. Doct. You may to me; and *tis most meet you
It sends some precious instance of itself should.
After the thing it loves. Gent. Neither to you nor any one; having no
Ophelia. [S'/ngj] witness to confirm my speech.
“They bore him barefaced on the bier;
Enter Lady Macbeth, with a taper.
Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny;
And grave rain’d many a tear”
in his Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise;

Fare you well, my dove! and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand
Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade close.
revenge, Doct. How came she by that light?
It could notmove thus. G«it. Why,
stood by her. She has light by her
it

Oph. [tyrngj] “You must sing a-down a-down, continually; ’tis her command.
An you call him a-down-a.” Doct. You see, her eyes are open.
O, how the wheel becomes it! It is the false stew- Ay, but their sense is shut.
Gent.
ard, that stole his master’s daughter. What is it she does now? Look, how she
Doct.
Laer. This nothing’s more than matter. rubs her hands.
Oph. There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance, Gent. It is an accustomed action with her, to
pray, love, remember; and there is pansies, that’s seem thus washing her hands. I have known her
for thoughts. continue in this a quarter of an hour.
Laer. A document in madness, thoughts and re- Lady Macbeth. Yet here’s a spot.
membrance fitted. Doct. Hark! she speaks. I will set down what
Shakespeare, Hamlet, IV, v, 155 comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the
more strongly.
18 Lear. You see me here, you gods, a poor old man. Lady M. Out, damned spot! out, I say! One;
As full of grief as age; wretched in both! two. Why, then ’tis time to do’t. Hell is murky!
If it be you that stirs these daughters’ hearts Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard? What
Against their father, fool me not so much need we fear who knows it, when none can call
To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger, our power to account? Yet who would have
And let not women’s weapons, water-drops, thought the old man to have had so much blood
Stain my man’s cheeks! No, you unnatural hags, in him.
1 will have such revenges on you both, Doct. Do you mark that?
That the world shall
all I will do such things— Lady M. The thane of Fife had a wife. Where is
What they are, yet I know not; but they shall be she now? What, will these hands ne’er be clean?
The terrors of the earth. You think I’ll weep; No more o’ that, my lord, no more o’ that! You
No, I’ll not weep. mar all with this starting.
I have full cause of weeping; but this heart Doct. Go to, go to; you have known what you
Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws, should not.
Or ere I’ll weep. O
Fool, I shall go mad! Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I am
Shakespeare, Lear, II, iv, 275 sure of that. Heaven knows what she has known.
La(^ M. Here’s the smell of the blood still. All

19 Lear. Pt^^y? tlo not mock me. the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little

I am a very foolish fond old man. hand. Oh, oh, oh!

Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less; Doct. What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely

And, to deal plainly, charged,

I fear I am not in my perfect mind. Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bo-

Shakespeare, Lear, IV, vii, 60 som for the dignity of the whole body.
 5£. Afndnrss j
363

D{>d. Well, well, well— quoth Snneho P(ine(i^ Those whom thou sec’st yon-
Pray God il be, sir.
Gfnt. der, anssver’d Don Qjiuo.v, with their long-extend-
Dod. This disease is beyond niy practice, Yet I ed Arms; some of that detested Race h.avc Arms
ha\*c knouTi those which have walked in their of so immense a Sire, that .sometimes they reach
sleepwho hasT died holily in their beds. two leagues in length. Pray look liettcr, Sir,
Lady M. Wash your hands, pul on your night- quoth Sanchf^; ihov: things yonder arc no Giants,
gown; look not so pale. 1 tell you yet again, but Wind-mills, and the Arms you fancy, arc their
Banquo’s buried; he cannot come out on’s pravx. Sails, whidi being whirl’d nl>out by (he Wind,

Even so? make the Mill go. Tis a Sign, cry’d Don QmxQte^
LedyM^ To bed, to l)cd! there’s knocking at the thou art but acquainted with Adventures! I
little

gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your tell thee, they are Giants; and therefore if thou art

hand. Uliat’s done cannot Ijc undone. To l>ed, to afraid, go aside and say (hy Prayers, for I am
bed, to bed! |
resolv’d to engage in a dreadful uncqu.al Combat
Dxf. Will she go now to bed? against (hem all. 'Diis said, he clapp’d Spurs to his
Cnf. Directly, Horse without gis’ing Ear to his S<|uire
Shakes pe,i re. Mc,thrih^ V, t, 1 Sa'^,ch:>, who bawl'd out to him, and assur'd him,

that they were Wind-milN. and no Giants. But he

was 50 fully povsew'd with n strong Conceit of the
21 Mcch-rth, How docs your patient, rloctnr?
conlrar)', that he did not to much as hear his
Bodir. Not so sick, my lord.
Squire's Otter)’, nor w.\s he sensible of what they
As she is troubled with thick -coming (.ancirs,
were, although he was already ver)* near them:
That keep her from her rest.
Cure her of th.ai. Far from that, .Stand. Cowards, cr)’*<l he as loud as
SfetL
he could; stand your Ground, ignoble Creatures,
Canst thou not minister to a mind di'cascd.
and By not basely Irom a single Knight, who
Pluck from the mcmor>- a rooted sorrow,
darcjs encounter you all. At the same Time the
Rare out the written troubles of the brain.
And with some sweet oblivious .antidote
Wind rising, the Nfill-.Sails l>eg.an to move, wliich,
bosom of that perilous stuff
when Don spy’d, B.ise Miscreants, cry'd
Cleanse the stuffd
he, though you move more Arms than the Giant
Which sveighs upon the heart?
lUiatcii, you shall pay (or yo\ir Arrogance. He
Dxf. Tljcrcin the patient
most devoutly recommended himself to his l,ady
Must minister to himself.
Duldifa, imploring her Assistance in this perilous
Mach. Throw physic to the dogs; PH none of it.
Adventure; and so covering hinu^elf w'iih his
23 Shakespeare, M&clrih, V, iii, 37
Shield, and couching his I^ncc, he rush’d with
AVrtr.snf/'s utmost Speed sq>on the first Wind-mill
22 Having thus lost his Understanding, lie unluckily he could come at, and running his loanee into the
stumbled upon the oddest Pane)' that e%‘cr enter’d Sail, the Wind whirl’d it aliout with such Swift-
into a Madman’s Brain; for now he thought it ness. that the Rapidity of the Motion presently
convenient and neccssar)', as well for the Increase broke the leaner into Shivers, and hurl'd away
of his oriA'n Honour, a.s the Service of the Publirk, Ixtth Knight and Horse along with it, till slown he
to turn Knight-Errant, and roam through the fell rolling good Way off in the Field Sancho
,*i

whole World arm’d Cap-a-pec, and mounted on
his Steed, in quest of Adventures; that thus imi-
tating those Knight-Errants of whom he had read,
and following their Courr>e of Life, redressing all
manner of Grics-anecs, and exposing himself to
Danger on all Occasions, at last, after a happy
Conclusion of his Entcrprircs, he might purchase
cscrlasting Honour and Renoum.
Cervantes, Dfm 1, I
As thc)' were thus discoursing, they discover’d
Panc/i ran ns fast as his Axs ccuild drive to help his
Master, whom he found lying, and not able to stir,
such a Blow he and PcizinanU had receiv'd. Mercy
o’me! cryW S.tnth’y. did not I givT. your Worihip
fair Warning? Did not I tell you they were Wind-
mills, and that no Bosly could think otherwise,
unless he h.-id also Wind-mills in his Head? Peace,
Friend Sar.chi?, rcply’d Don QwttowV.' 'Fltere is noth-
ing so subject to the Inconstancy of Fortune as
War. I am verily pcrssvadcd, that cursed Necro-
mancer Preston, who carry’d away my Study and

some thirty or forty Wind-mills, that arc in that my Books, h.i.s iransfonn’d these Giants into
Plain; and as soon as the Knight had spy’d them. Wind-mills, to deprive me of the. Honour of the
Fortune, cry'd he, directs our Affairs l>cucr than Victory; such b his inveterate Malice against me:
we our selves could have wlslt’d: l^k yonder, But in the End, all his pernicious Wiles and Stra-
Friend Sancho^ there arc at least thirty outrageous tagems shall prove ineffectual against the prevail-
Giants, whom I intend to encounter; and having ing Edge of my Sword. Atnm, say I, rcply’d Sar.cho;
depriv’d them our
of Life, v,x will l)cgin to enrich and so heaving him up again upon his 1-egs, once
selves with their Spoils:
For they arc lawful Prirc; more the Knight mounted pt>or Ro:innte, that w'as
and the Extirpation of that cursed Brood will l>c half Shouldcr-slipp’d with his Fall.
an acceptable Service to Heaven. What Giants, Cerv'antes, Don Quixote, I, 0
 s

366 Chapters. Mind

24 Know my most faithful Squire, that Amadis

then, 23 At length he wak’d, and with a loud Voice,
de Gaul was one of the most accomplish’d Knights- Blessed be the Almighty, cr)'’d he, for this great
Errant, nay, I should not have said, he was one of Benefit he has vouchsafed to do me! Infinite are
them, but the most perfect, the chief, and Prince his Mercies; they are greater, and more in Num-
of them all. And let not the Belianises, nor any ber than the Sins of Men. The Niece hearkening
others, pretend to stand in Competition with him very attentively to these Words of her Uncle, and
for the Honour of Priority; for, to my Knowledge, finding more Sense in them than there was in his
should they attempt it, they would be egregiously usual Talk, at least since he had fallen ill; What
in the wrong, I must also inform thee, that when a do you say. Sir, said she, has any Thing extraordi-
Painter studies to excel and grow famous in his nary happen’d? What Mercies are these you men-
Art, he takes care to imitate the best Originals; tion? Mercies, ans^ver’d he, that Heaven has this
which Rule ought likewise to be observ’d in all Moment vouchsafed to shew me, in spite of all my
other Arts and Sciences that serve for the Orna- Iniquities. My Judgment is return’d clear and
ment of well-regulated Commonwealths. . . . undisturb’d, and that Cloud of Ignorance is now
Now, Sancho, I find that cimong the things which remov’d, which the continual Reading of those
most display’d that Champion’s Prudence and damnable Books of Knight-Errantry had cast
Fortitude, his Constancy and Love, and his other over my Understanding. Now I perceive their
Hcroick Virtues, none was more remarkable than Nonsense and Impertinence, and am only sorry
his retiring from his disdainful Oriana, to do Pen- the Discovery happens so late, when I want Time
ance on the Poor Rocky changing his Name into to make Amends by those Studies that shou’d en-
that of BelteuebroSy or The Lovely Obscure, a Title lighten my Soul, and prepare me for Futurity. I
certainly most significant, and adapted to the Life find. Niece, my End approaches; but
I wou’d

which he then intended to lead. So I am resolv’d have it such, that though my Life has got me the
to imitate him in this, the rather because I think it Character of a Mad-man, I may deserve a better
a more easy Task than it would be to copy his atmy Death. Dear Child, continu’d he, send for
other Atchievements, such as cleaving the Bodies my honest Friend the Curate, the Batchelor Car-
of Giants, cutting off the Heads of Dragons, kill- rasco, and Master Nicholas the Barber, for I in-

ing dreadful Monsters, routing whole Armies, dis- tend to make my Confession, and my Will. His
persing Navies, and breaking the Force of Magick Niece was sav’d the Trouble of sending, for pres-
Spells. And since these Mountainous Wilds offer ently they all three came in; which Don Quixote
me so fair an Opportunity, I see no Reason why I perceiving, My good Friends, said he, I have hap-
should neglect it, and therefore I’ll lay hold on it py News to tell you; I am no longer Don Quixote de
now. Very well, quoth Sancho; but pray. Sir, what la Mancha, but Alonso Quixano, the same w'hom the
is it that you mean to do in this Fag-end of the World for his fair Behaviour has been formerly
World? Have I not already told thee, ansu'er’d pleas’d to call the Good. I now declare my self an
Don Qutxote, that I intend to copy Amadis in his Enemy to Amadis de Gaul, and his whole Genera-
Madness, Despair, and Fury? Nay, at the same tion; all profane Stories of Knight-Errantry, all
time I imitate the valiant Orlando Furioso*s Extrav- Romances I detest. I have a true Sense of the
agance, when he ran mad, after he had found the Danger of reading them, and of all my pass’d Fol-
unhappy Tokens of the fair Angelica* dishonour- lies, and through Heaven’s Mercy, and my own

able Commerce with Medoro at the Fountain; at Experience, I abhor them. His three Friends were
which time, in his f ran tick Despair, he tore up not a little surprized to hear him talk at this rate,
Trees by the Roots, troubled the Waters of the and concluded some new Frenzy had possess’d
clear Fountains, slew the Shepherds, destroy’d him. What now’, said Sampson to him? What’s all
their Flocks, fir’d their Huts, demolish’d Houses, this to the Purpose, Signor Don Quixote? Wc have
drove their Horses before him, and committed a Justhad the News that the Lady Dulcinea is dis-
hundred thousand other Extravagancies worthy inchanted; and now we are upon the point of
to be recorded in the eternal Register of Fame. turning Shepherds, to sing, and live like Princes,
. .Sir, quoth Sancho, I dare say the Knights who
. you are dwindl’d down to a Hermit.
did these Penances had some Reason to be mad; Cervantes, Don Quixote, 11, 74
but what need have You to be mad too? What
Lady has sent you a packing, or so much as slight- 26 If men were all to become even uniformly mad,
ed you? When did you ever find that my Lady they might agree tolerably well with each other.
Dulcinea del Toboso did otherwise than she should Bacon, Novum Organum, I, 27
do, with either Moor or Christian? \Vhy, there’s the
Point, cry’d Don Quixote; in this consists the singu- 27 That madness is nothing else but too much ap-
lar Perfection of my
Undertaking; For, mark me, pearing passion may be gathered out of the effects
Sancho, for a Knight-Errant to run mad upon any of wine, which are the same with those of the evil
just Occasion, is neither strange nor meritorious; disposition of the organs. . . . For the effect of the
no, the Rarity is to run mad without a Cause, wine does but remove dissimulation, and take
without the least Constraint or Necessity, from them the sight of the deformity of their pas-
Cerv'antes, Don Quixote, I, 25 sions. For, I believe, the most sober men, when
 5.6. Madnrs^ 357

and employment of distempers of the mind l>e,sr a more exact analogy

they walk alone \ciOiout care
to those which arc called IxKlily, than that aptness
the mind, would be unwillini’ the vanity and ex-
travagance of their thoughts at that time should
which iKith have to a relapse. 'Hiis is plain in the
violent div:a*.cs of ambition and avarice. hav-c
be publicly seen, which is a confesMon that pas-
1

sions unguided arc for the most part mere mad-

known ambition, when cured by frequent
at court
disappointments (which arc the only physic for
ness.
Hobbes, B it), to break out again in a contest for foreman of
1,
the grand jury at an assircs; and have heard of a

mad that not to be mad

man who had so far conquered av,irice, as to give
28 Men are so necessarily
form of madness. away many a sixpence, that comforte<I himself, at
svould amount to another
P,v.cal. /V.tm, VI, 4H
las!,on his deathbed, by making a crafty and ad-
vantageous bargain concerning his ensuing funer-
32 al, with an undertaker who had ntanietl his only
29 A daring pilot in extremity;
when the waves went child.
Pleas’d with the danger,
In the affair of love, whirh. out of strict con-
high.
formity vvith the Stoic philfwphy, we shall here
He sought the storms; hut. for a calm unfit.
treat as a disease, this pronenevs to relapse is no
Would steer too nigh the sands to boast his wit
levs compiruous.
Great wits arc sure to madnesa near allietl,
And thin partitions do their Iwunds divide. Fielding, Ten Jtnej, IV. 12
Drvdcn, Ahsatc^n
A(h!:phf!. 159 Johnson, upon the first violent attack of this divir-
der, strove in overcome it by forcible exertions. He
Madmen ... do not appear to me to have lost frequently walked to Birmingliam and back
30
the faculty of reasoning, but having joine<i togeth-
again, and tried many other experfients. but all in

er some ideas \-ery vvrongly, the\* mistake them for vain. His expression concerning it to me was **I

truths; and the)* err as men do that argue right did not tlien know how* to manage
His distress
it.*‘

from wrong principles. For, by the violence of
their imaginations, having taken their fancies for
realities, the)- make right desluction* from them.
Thus you shall find a distracted man fancying
hinucl! a king, with a right inference require
able attendance, respect,and olxrdicncc. others
Ixrcame so intolerable, that hr applied to Dr.
Swinfen. pfiysician in Lichfield, his gx>d-father,
and pul into his hands a state of hti ease, written
in l^tin.Or Sw infen vvas u> mucli struck w ith the
ttiii-
rxUaordinar)* acutenrvs, tesrarch, and elwpiencc
of this paper, that in his zeal for his godson he

who base thought thcmselsTs made of gl.nss, base
used the caution nccc-vsary to preserve such brittle
31
bodies. Hence it comes to pans that a man who is
very sober, and of a right undcntandlng in all
shewed it to several [>eop!e. His daughicr, Nfrx.
Desmoulim. who was many years humanely sup-
ported in Dr. Johnson’s house in Umdon. told me.
that up<jn his discovering that Or. .Ssvinfen had

other things, may in one particular l>c as frantic communicated his case, he svas $n much offended,
as any in Bedlam; if either by any sudden srry that he was never afterwards fully reconciled to
strong impression, or Jong fixing his fanc)* upon him. He indeed had good reason to l>e offended;
one son of thoughts, incoherent ideas have been for though Dr. SwinfenS motive was good, he in-

cemented together so posscrfully, as to remain considerately I>ctraycd a matter deeply interesting

united. But there arc degrees of madness, as of and of great delie^ac)', s\!iich had l)cen entrusted
folly; jumbling ideas together is in
the disorderly to him in confidence; and exposed a complaint of
some more, and some levs. In short, herein seems hh \*oung friend and patient, which, in the suf>cr-
to lie the difference between idiots and madmen: ficial opinion of the generality of mankind, is at-

that madmen put wrong ideas together, and so tended with contempt and disgrace.
make wTong propositions, but argue and rcawn But let not little men triumph upon knossing
right from them; but idiots make very few or no that Johrtson ssas an Hviw momikuck, was subject
propositions, and reason scarce at all. to what the Icarnerl, phtlosophical, and pious Dr.

Locke, Conermin^ Hujnnn Undmtandinp^, Clicync h.vs so well treated under the title of “The
Bk. II, XI, n Fnglish M.alady.“ Tliough he suffered sevTrely
from It, he was not therefore degraded. 'lire pow-
ers of his great mind might be troubled, and their
The diseases of the mind do in almost e\T,r>' par- lull exercise suspended at times; but the mind it-
ticular imitate those of the Ixxly. For which rea- was cv*cr entire. As a
self prixif of this, it is only
son, we hope, that learned faculty, for whom we ncccssar)* to consider, that, when he was at tlic
have soprofound a respect, will pardon us the vcr>' worst, he composed that state of his own ease,
violent hands we havx been necessitated to lay on which shelved an uncommon vigour, not only of
scs'cral words and phrases, which of right belong
fanc)' and taste, but of judgement. I am aw.irc
to them, and without which our descriptions must
that he himself was too ready to call such a com-
have been often unintelligible. plaint by the name of madness; in conformity wiiti
Now there is no one circumstance in which the which notion, he has traced its gradations, with
 368 Chapter 5, Mind

exquisite nicety, in one of the chapters of his but become transfigured into still subtler form.
Rassdas. But there is surely a clear distinction be- Ahab’s full lunacy subsided not, but deepeningly

tween a disorder which affects only the imagina- contracted; like the unabated Hudson, when that
tion and spirits, while the judgement is sound, and noble Northman flows narrowly, but unfathom-
a disorder by which the judgement itself is im- ably through the Highland gorge. But, as in his
paired. This distinction was made to me by the narrow-flowing monomania, not one jot of Ahab’s
late Professor Gaubius of Leyden, physician to the broad madness had been left behind; so in that
Prince of Orange, in a conversation which I had broad madness, not one jot of his great natural
with him several years ago, and he expanded it intellect had perished. That before living agent,
thus: ‘‘If (said he) a man tells me that he is griev- now became the living instrument. If such a furi-
ously disturbed, for that he imagines he sees a ruffi- ous trope may stand, his special lunacy stormed
an coming against him with a drawn sword, his general sanity, and carried it, and turned all

though at the same time he is conscious it is a delu- 36 its concentrated cannon upon its own mad mark*
sion, I pronounce him to have a disordered imagi- so that far from having lost his strength,
Ahab, to
nation; but if a man tells me that he sees this, and that one end, did nowa thousand-fold
possess
in consternation calls to me to look at it, I pro- more potency than ever he had sanely brought to
nounce him to be madJ** bear upon any one reasonable object.

Boswell, Life of Johnson (1729) Melville, Moby Dick, XLl

33 Dr. Johnson and I had a serious conversation by

ourselves on melancholy and madness; which he
Often, when forced from his hammock by ex-
hausting and intolerably vivid dreams of the
was, I always thought, erroneously inclined to
night, which, resuming his own intense thoughts
confound together. Melancholy, like “great wit,”
through the day, carried them on amid a clashing
may be “near allied to madness”; but there is, in
of frenzies, and whirled them round and round in
my opinion, a distinct separation between them.
his blazing brain, till the very throbbing of his
When he talked of madness, he was to be under-
stood as speaking of those who were in any great
life-spot became and when,
insufferable anguish;

degree disturbed, or as it is commonly expressed, aswas sometimes the case, these spiritual throes in
“troubled in mind.” Some of the ancient philoso- him heaved his being up from its base, and a
phers held, that all deviations from right reason
chasm seemed opening in him, from which forked
flames and lightnings shot up, and accursed fiends
were madness. . . .

beckoned him to leap down among them; when

Johnson said, “A madman loves to be with peo-
ple whom he fears; not as a dog fears the lash; but
this hell in himself yawned beneath him, a wild
cry would be heard through the ship; and with
of whom he stands in awe.” I was struck with the
justice of this observation. To be with those of
glaring eyesAhab would burst from his stateroom,
whom a person, whose mind is wavering and de- as though escaping from a bed that was on fire.
jected, stands in awe, represses and composes an
Yet these, perhaps, instead of being the unsup-
uneasy tumult of spirits, and consoles him with pressable symptoms of some latent weakness, of

the contemplation of something steady, and at fright at his own resolve, were but the plainest

least comparatively great.

tokens of its intensity. For, at such times, Ahab,
He added, “Madmen are all sensual in the low- the scheming, unappeasedly steadfast hunter of

er stages of the distemper. They are eager for grat- the White Whale; this Ahab that had gone to his

ifications to sooth their minds, and divert their

hammock, was not the agent that so caused him

attention from the misery which they suffer: but to burst from it in horror again. The latter was the
when they grow very ill, pleasure is too weak for eternal, living principle or soul in him; and in
them, and they seek for pain. Employment, Sir, sleep, being for the time dissociated from the
and hardships, prevent melancholy. I suppose in characterising mind, which at other times em-

all our army in America there was not one man ployed it for its outer vehicle or agent, it sponta-
who went mad.” neously sought escape from the scorching contigu-
ity of the frantic thing, of which, for the time, it
Boswell, Life ofJohnson (Sept. 20, 1777)
was no longer an integral. But as the mind does
not exist unless leagued with the soul, therefore it

34 Who rainbow can draw the Une where the

in the must have been Ahab’s case, yielding up
that, in
violet tint ends and the orange tint begins? Dis- all his thoughts and fancies to his one supreme
tinctly we see the difference of the colors, but purpose; that purpose, by its own sheer inveteracy
where exactly does the one first blendingly enter of will, forced itself against gods and devils into a
into the other? So with sanity and insanity. kind of self-assumed, independent being of its
Melville, Billy Budd own; nay, could grimly live and burn, while the
common vitality to which it was conjoined, fled
35 Human madness is oftentimes a cunning and most horror-stricken from the unbidden and unfeath-
feline thing. When you think it fled, it may have ered birth. Therefore, the tormented spirit that
 5.6. Madness 369

glared out of bodily eyes, when what seemed events on which to fix his whole attention. A
Ahab rushed from his room, was, for the time but healthy man can tear himself away from the
a vacated thing, a formless somnambulistic being, deepest reflections to say a civil word to someone
a ray of living light, to be sure, but without an who comes in and can then return again to his

object to colour, and therefore a blankness in it- own thoughts. But Prince Andrew’s mind was not
self. God help thee, old man, thy thoughts have in a normal state in that respect. All the powers of
created a creature in thee; and he whose intense his mind were more active and clearer than ever,
thinking thus makes him a Prometheus; a vulture but they acted apart from his ^vill. Most diverse
feeds upon that heart for ever; that vulture the thoughts and images occupied him simulta-
very creature he creates. neously. At times his brain suddenly began to
Melville, Moby Dick, XLIV work with a vigor, clearness, and depth it had
never reached when he was in health, but sudden-
ly in the midst of its work it would turn to some
37 Man’s insanity is heaven’s sense; and wandering
unexpected idea and he had not the strength to
from all mortal reason, man comes at last to that
turn it back again.
celestial is absurd and
thought, which, to reason,
Tolstoy, War and Peace, XI, 32
frantic;and weal or woe, feels then uncompro-
mised, indifferent as his God.
Melville, Moby Dick, XGIII
40 Madness is rare in individuals —but in groups,
parties, nations, and ages it is the rule.
Nietzsche, B^'ond Good and Evil, IV, 156
38 There something both contemptible and fright-
is

ful in the sort of evidence on which, of late years,

41 In the eyes of the general public, the symptoms
any person can be judicially declared unfit for the are the essence of a disease, and to them a cure
management of his affairs; and after his death, his
means the removal of the symptoms. In medicine,
disposal of his property can be set aside, if there is
however, we find it important to differentiate be-
enough of it to pay the expenses of litigation
tween symptoms and disease, and state that the
which are charged on the property itself. All the
disappearance of the symptoms is by no means the
minute details of his daily life are pried into, and
same as the cure of the disease. The only tangible
whatever is found which, seen through the medi-
element of the disease that remains after the re-
um of the perceiving and describing faculties of moval of the symptoms, however, is the capacity
the lowest of the low, bears an appearance unlike
to form new symptoms. Therefore for the moment
absolute commonplace, is laid before the jury as
let us adopt the lay point of view and regard a
evidence of insanity, and often with success; the
knowledge of the foundation of the symptoms as
jurors being little, if at all, less vulgar and igno-
equivalent to understanding the disease.
rant than the witnesses; while the judges, with
that extraordinary want of knowledge of human
—
The symptoms of course we are here dealing
with mental (or psychogenic) symptoms, and
39
nature and life which continually astonishes us in
English lawyers, often help to mislead them.
—
mental disease are activities which are detri-
mental, or at least useless, to life as a whole; the
These trials speak volumes as to the state of feel-
person concerned frequently complains of them as
ing and opinion among the vulgar with regard to 42
obnoxious to him or they involve distress and suf-
human liberty. So far from setting any value on
fering for him. The principal injury they inflict
individuality—so far from respecting the right of
lies in the expense of mental energy they entail
each individual to act, in things indifferent, as
and, besides this, in the energy needed to combat
seems good to his own judgment and inclinations,
them. Where the symptoms are extensively devel-
judges and juries cannot even conceive that a per-
oped, these two kinds of effort may exact such a
son in a state of sanity can desire such freedom. In
price that the person suffers a very serious im-
former days, when it was proposed to athe- bum poverishment in available mental energy, which
ists, charitable people used to suggest putting
consequently disables him for all the important
them in a madhouse
instead: it would be nothing
tasks of life. This result depends principally upon
surprising now-a-days were we to see this done,
the amount of energy taken up in this way, there-
and the doers applauding themselves, because, in-
fore you will see that illness is essentially a practi-
stead of penecuting for religion, they had adopted
cal conception. But if you look at the matter from
so humane and Christian a mode of treating
these
a theoretical point of view and ignore this ques-
unfortunates, not without a silent satisfaction at
tion of degree you can very well say that we are
their having thereby obtained their deserts.
all ill, i.e., neurotic; for the conditions required for
Mill, On Liberty, III
symptom-formation are demonstrable also in nor-
mal persons.
His mind was not in a normal state. A healthy Freud, General Introduction to
man usually thinks of, feels, and remembers innu- P:ycho-Analysis, XXI 11
merable things simultaneously, but has the power
and Nsill to select one sequence of thoughts
or If we throw a crystal to the ground, it breaks, but
 370 Chapters, Mind

it docs not break haphazard; in accordance with
the lines of cleavage it falls into fragments, whose
limits were already determined by the structure of
the crystal, although they were invisible. Psychot-
ics are fissured and splintered structures such as
these. We cannot deny them a measure of that
awe with which madmen were regarded by the
peoples of ancient times. They have turned away
from external reality, but for that very reason they
know more of internal psychic reality and can tell
us much that would otherwise be inaccessible to
us.
Freud, New Introductory Lectures on
F^'chO'Ana[ysis, XXXI
43 Every actual animal is somewhat dull and some-
were ever children. The great difficulty in educa-
tion is to get experience out of ideas.
Shame, con-
science, and reason continually disallow and ig-
note what consciousness presents; and what arc
they but habit and latent instinct asserting them-
selves and forcing us to disregard our midsummer
madness? Idiocy and lunacy are merely reversions
to a condition in which present consciousness is in
the ascendant and has escaped the control of un-
conscious forces. Wc speak of people being “out of
their senses,” when they have in fact fallen back
into them; or of those who have “lost their mind,”
when they have lost merely that habitual control
over consciousness which prevented it from flaring
into all sorts of obsessions and agonies. Their bod-
ies having become deranged, their minds, far from

what mad. He will at times miss his signals and correcting that derangement, instantly share and
stare vacantly when he might well act, while at betray it. A dream is always simmering below the
other times he will run off into convulsions and conventional surface of speech and reflection.
raise a dust in his own brain to no purpose. These Even in the highest reaches and serenest medita-
imperfections are so human that we should hardly tions of science sometimes breaks through. Even
it

recognise ourselves if we could shake them off al- there we are seldom constant enough to conceive
together. Not to retain any dulness would mean to a truly natural world; somewhere passionate, fan-
possess untiring attention and universal interests, ciful, or magic elements will slip into the scheme
thus realising the boast about deeming nothing and baffle rational ambition.
human alien to us; while to be absolutely without A body seriously out of equilibrium, cither with
folly would involve perfect self-knowledge and itself environment, perishes outright.
or with its

self-control. The intelligent man known to history Not so a mind. Madness and
suffering can set
flourishes within a dullard and holds a lunatic in themselves no limit; they lapse only when the cor-
leash. He encased in a protective shell of igno-
is poreal frame that sustains them yields to circum-
rance and insensibility which keeps him from stances and changes its habit. If they are unstable
being exhausted and confused by this too compli- at all, it is because they ordinarily correspond to
cated world; but that integument blinds him at strainsand conjunctions which a vigorous body
the same time to many of his nearest and highest overcomes, or which dissolve the body altogether.
interests. He is amused by the antics of the brute A pain not incidental to the play of practical in-
dreaming within he gloats on his pas-
his breast; stinctsmay easily be recurrent, and it might be
sionate reveries, an amusement which sometimes perpetual if even the worst habits were not inter-
costs him very dear. Thus the best human intelli- mittent and the most useless agitations exhaust-
gence is still decidedly barbarous; it fights in ing. Some respite will therefore ensue upon pain,
heavy armour and keeps a fool at court. but no magic cure. Madness, in like manner, if
Santayana, Life of Reason, I, 2 pronounced, is precarious, but when speculative
enough to be harmless or not strong enough to be
44 Philosophers have sometimes said that all ideas debilitating, it too may last for ever.
come from experience; they never could have Santayana, Life of Reason, I, 2
been poets and must have forgotten that they
 372 Chapters. Mind

God is justified.” When the Interpreter had thus ble, notonly in this life but in all that which is to
spoken he scattered lots indifferently among them come. For this is the way of happiness.
all, and each of them took up the lot which fell And according to the report of the messenger
near him, all but Er himself (he was not allowed), from the other world this was what the prophet
and each as he took his lot perceived the number said at the time: “Even for the last comer, if he
which he had obtained. Then the Interpreter chooses wisely and will live diligently, there is ap-
placed on the ground before them the samples of pointed a happy and not undesirable existence.
lives; and there were many more lives than the Let not him who chooses first be careless, and let
souls present, and they were of all sorts. There not the last despair.”
were lives of every animal and of man in every Plato, Rtpublic, X, 61 7B
condition. And there were tyrannies among them,
some lasting out the tyrant’s life, others which 2 We deliberate about things that are in our power
broke off in the middle and came to an end in and can be done. . . , For nature, necessity, and
poverty and exile and beggary; and there were chance are thought to be causes, and also reason
lives of famous men, some who were famous for and everything that depends on man. Now every
their form and beauty as well as for their strength class of men deliberates about the things that can

and success in games, or, again, for their birth and be done by their own efforts. . . .

the qualities of their ancestors; and some who We deliberate not about ends but about means.
were the reverse of famous for the opposite qual- For a doctor does not deliberate whether he shall
ities. And of women likewise; there was not, how- heal, nor an orator whether he shall persuade, nor
ever, any definite character in them, because the a statesman whether he shall produce law and
soul, when choosing a new life, must of necessity order, nor does any one else deliberate about his
become different. But there was every other qual- end. They assume the end and consider how and
ity, and they all mingled with one another, and by what means it is to be attained; and if it seems
also with elements of wealth and poverty, and dis- to be produced by several means they consider by

ease and health; and there were mean states also. which it is most easily and best produced, while if
And here, my dear Glaucon, is the supreme peril it is achieved by one only they consider how it will

of our human state; and therefore the utmost care be achieved by this and by what means this will
should be taken. Let each one of us leave every be achieved, till they come to the first cause,
other kind of knowledge and seek and follow one which in the order of discovery is last. . . ,

thing only, peradventure he may be able to

if The same thing is deliberated upon and is cho-
learn and may find some one who will make him sen, except that the object of choice is already
able to learn and discern between good and evil, determinate, since it is that which has been decid-

and so to choose always and everywhere the better ed upon as a result of deliberation that is the ob-
life as he has opportunity. He should consider the ject of choice. For every one ceases to inquire how
bearing of all these things which have been men- he is to act when he htis brought the moving prin-
tioned severally and collectively upon virtue; he ciple back to himself and to the ruling part of
should know what the effect of beauty is when himself; for this is what chooses. The object . . ,

combined with poverty or wealth in a particular of choice being one of the things in our own power
soul, and what are the good and evil consequences which desired after deliberation, choice will be
is

of noble and humble birth, of private and public deliberate desire of things in our own power; for
station, of strength and weakness, of cleverness when we have decided as a result of deliberation,
and dullness, and of all the natural and acquired we desire in accordance with our deliberation.
gifts of the soul, and the operation of them when We may take it, then, that we have described
conjoined; he will then look at the nature of the choice in outline, and stated the nature of its ob-
soul, and from the consideration of all these qual- jectsand the fact that it is concerned with means.
ities he will be able to determine which is the bet- Aristotle, Ethics, 1112*30
ter and which is the worse; and so he will choose,
giving the name of evil to the life which will make 3 Men make themselves responsible for being unjust
his soul more and good to the life which
unjust, or self-indulgent, in the one case by cheating and
will make his soul more just; all else he will disre- in the other by spending their time in drinking
gard. For we have seen and know that this is the bouts and the like; for it is activities exercised on
best choice both in life and after death. A man particular objects that make
the corresponding
must take with him into the world below an character. This is plain from the case of people
adamantine faith in truth and right, that there training for any contest or action; they practise
too he may be undazzled by the desire of wealth the activity the whole time. Now not to know that
or the other allurements of coming upon
evil, lest, it is from the exercise of activities on particular

tyrannies and similar villainies, he do irremedia- objects that states of character are produced is the

ble wrongs to others and suffer yet worse himself; mark of a thoroughly senseless person. Again, it is
but let him know how to choose the mean and irrational to suppose that a man who acts unjustly
avoid the extremes on either side, as far as possi- does not wish to be unjust or a man who acts
 —

57. Will 373

selMndulgently to be self-indulgent. But if with-
out being ignorant a man does the things which
will make him unjust, he will be unjust voluntari-
ly. Yet it docs not follow that if he wishes he will
cease to be unjust and will be
your w'ill; no one will hurt you, you will not have
an enemy, nor will you suffer any harm.
Aiming, therefore, at such great things, remem-
ber that you must not allow yourself any inclina-
just. For neither tion, however slight, toward the attainment of the

docs the man who is ill become well on those others; but that you must entirely quit some of
terms. We may suppose a case in which he is ill them, and for the present postpone the rest. But if
voluntarily, through living incontinently and dis- you would have these, and possess power and
4 obeying his doctors. In that case it was then open wealth likewise, you may miss the latter in seeking
to him not to be ill, but not now, when he has the former; and you will certainly fail of that by
thrown away his chance, just as when you have let which alone happiness and freedom are procured.
a stone go it is too late to recover it; but yet it was Epictetus, Enchemdion, I

in your power to throw it, since the moving princi-

ple was in you. So, too, to the unjust and to the 6 You can be unconquerable you enter into noif

self-indulgent man it was open

beginning at the combat in which it own power to
is not in your
not to become men of this kind, and so they arc conquer. When, therefore, you sec anyone emi-
unjust and self-indulgent voluntarily; but now nent in honors or power, or in high esteem on any
that they have become so it is not possible for other account, take heed not to be bewildered by
5 them not to be so. appearances and to pronounce him happy; for if
Aristotle, Ethics, 1 1 14“4 the essence of good consists in things within our
ouTi power, there will be no room for env)' or em-
The origin of action — its efficient, not its final ulation. But, for your part, do not desire to be a
cause — is choice, and that of choice is desire and general, or a senator, or a consul, but to be free;
reasoning with a view to an end. This is why and the only way to this is a disregard of things
choice cannot exist cither \vithout reason and in- which lie not witliin our own po\Nx:r.
tellect or without a moral state; for good action Epictetus, Encheiridton, XIX
and its opposite cannot exist without a combina-
tion of intellect and character. Intellect itself, 7 What then do we mean when we speak of freedom
however, moves nothing, but only the intellect in ourselves, . . .

which aims at an end and is practical; for this
rules the productive intellect, as well, since every
one who makes makes for an end, and that which
is made is not an end in the unqualified sense (but
only an end in a particular relation, and the end
of a particular operation) —
only that which is done
is that; for good action is an end, and desire aims
at this. Hence choice is either dcsidcrativc reason
or ratiocinalivc desire, and such an origin of ac-
tion is a man.
Aristotle, Ethics,
There arc things which arc within our power, and
there arc things which arc beyond our power.
Within our power arc opinion, aim, desire, aver-
sion, and, in one word, whatever affairs arc our
own. Beyond our power arc body, property, repu-
My own reading is that, moving as we do amid
adverse fortunes, compulsions, violent assaults of
passion crushing the soul, feeling ourselves mas-
tered by these experiences, playing slave to them,
going where they lead, we have been brought by
all this to doubt whether we arc anything at all
and dispose of ourselves in any particular.
This would indicate that we think of our free
act as one which we execute of our own choice, in
no servitude to chance or necessity or overmaster-
1 139*31 ing passion, nothing thwarting our will; the vol-
untary is conceived as an event amenable to will
and occurring or not as our will dictates. Ev-
erything will be voluntary that is produced under
no compulsion and with knowledge; our free act is
what we arc masters to perform.
Plotinus, Sixth Ennead, VIII, 1

tation, office, and, in one word, whatever arc not

properly our own affairs. 8 So I set myself to examine an idea I had heard
Now the things w'ithinour power arc by nature namely that our free-will is the cause of our doing
free, unrestricted, unhindered; but those beyond
evil, and Your just judgment the cause of our suf-
our power are weak, dependent, restricted, alien. fering evil. I could not clearly discern this. I en-
Remember, then, that if you attribute freedom to deavoured to draw the eye of my mind from the
things by nature dependent and take what be- pit, but I was again plunged into it; and as often
longs to others for your own, you will be hindered, as I tried, so often was I plunged back. But it
you will lament, you will be disturbed, you will raised me a little towards Your light that I now
find fault both with gods and
men. But if you take was as much aware that I had a will as that I had
for your own only
that which is your own and a life. And when I willed to do or not do anything,
view what belongs to others
just as it really is, I was quite certain that it was myself and no other
then no one will ever
compel you, no one will who willed, and I came to see that the cause of my
r^trict you; you will find fault
with no one, you sin lay there.
will accuse no one,
you will do nothing against But what I did unwillingly, it still seemed to me
 1

374 Chapter 5. Mind

that I rather suffered than did, and I judged it to
be not my fault but my punishment: though as I
held You most just, I was quite ready to admit
that I was being justly punished.
But I asked further: “Who made me? Was it
not my God, who is not only Good but Goodness
implanted by nature. Only an agent endowed
widi an intellect can act with a judgment which is
free in so far as it apprehends the common notion
of good, from which it can judge this or the other
thing to be good. Consequently, wherever there is
intellect, there is free choice,

Itself? What root reason is there for my willing Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 59, 3
evil and failing to will good,which would make it
just for me to be punished? Who was it that set 1 1 Man has free choice. Otherwise counsels, exhorta-
and ingrafted in me this root of bitterness, since I tions,commands, prohibitions, rewards and pun-
was wholly made by my most loving God? If the ishments would be in vain. . . .

devil is the author, where does the devil come Free choice is the cause of its own movement,
from? And if by his own perverse will he was because by his free choice man moves himself to
turned from a good angel into a devil, what weis act. But it does not of necessity belong to liberty
the origin in him of the perverse will by which he that what is free should be the first cause of itself,
became a devil, since by the all-good Creator he as neither for one thing to be cause of another
was made wholly angel?” By such thoughts I was need it be the God, therefore, is the
first cause.
cast down again and almost stifled; yet I was not first cause. Who
moves causes both natural and
brought down so far as the hell of that error, voluntary. And just as by moving natural causes
where no man confesses unto You, the error which He does not prevent their acts being natural, so by
holds rather that You suffer evil than that man moving voluntary causes He does not deprive
docs it. their actions of being voluntary, but rather is He
Augustine, Confessions, VII, 3 the cause of this very thing in them; for He oper-
ates in each thing according to its own nature.
9 Let . . . perplexing debatings and disputations of Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 83,
the philosophers go on
may, we, in order
as they
that we may confess the most high and true God 12 Man docs not choose of necessity. And this is be-
Himself, do confess His will, supreme power, and cause that which is possible not to be, is not of
prescience. Neither let us be afraid lest, after all, necessity. Now the reason why it is possible not to
we do not do by will that which we do by will, choose, or to choose, may be gathered from a two-
because He, Whose foreknowledge is infallible, fold power in man. For man can will and not will,
foreknew that we would do it. It was this which act and not act; again, he can will this or that,
Cicero was afraid of, and therefore opposed fore- and do this or that. The reason of this is seated in
knowledge. The Stoics also maintained that all the very power of the reason. For the will can tend
things do not come to pass by necessity, although to whatever the reason can apprehend as good.
they contended that all things happen according Now the reason can apprehend as good, not only
to destiny. What is it, then, that Cicero feared in this, namely, to will or to act, but also this, name-
the prescience of future things? Doubtless it was ly, not to will or not to act. Again, in all particular
this —
that if all future things have been fore- goods, the reason can consider an aspect of some
known, they will happen in the order in which good and the lack of some good, which has the
they have been foreknown; and if they come to aspect of evil; and in this respect, it can appre-
pass in this order, there is a certain order of things hend any single one of such goods as to be chosen
foreknown by God; and if a certain order of or to be avoided. The perfect good alone, which is
things, then a certain order of causes, for nothing Happiness, cannot be apprehended by the reason
can happen which is not preceded by some effi- under the aspect of evil, or as lacking in any way.
cient cause. But if there is a certain order of causes Consequently man wills Happiness of necessity,
according to which everything happens which nor can he will not to be happy, or to be unhappy.
does happen, then by fate, says he, all things hap- Now since choice is not of the end, but of the
pen which do happen. But if this be so, then is means ... it is not of the perfect good, which is
there nothing in our own power, and there is no Happiness, but of other particular goods. There-
such thing as freedom of will. fore man chooses not of necessity but freely.
Augustine, City of God, V, 9 Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I-II, 13, 6

10 There are some things which act not from any 13 Commands and prohibitions should be imposed
choice, but, as it were, moved and made to act by only upon one who can do or not do; otherwise
others; just as the arrow is directed to the target they would be imposed in vain. But prohibitions
by the archer. Others act from some kind of and commands are divinely imposed upon man.
choice, but not from free choice, such as irrational It is therefore in man^s power to do or not to do;
animals, for the sheep flies from the wolf by a kind and so he is endowed with free choice.
of judgment whereby it considers it to be hurtful No one should be punished or rewarded for
to itself; such a judgment is not a free one, but something which it is not in his power to do or not
 5.7. Will 375

to do. But man is justly punished and rewarded By the noble virtue Beatrice understands Freewill,
by God for his deeds. Therefore man can do and and therefore, look that thou have this in mind,
14 not do; and so he is endowed with free choice, if she betake her to speak with thee thereof.”
Aquinas, On Truths XXIV, 1 Dante, Purgatorio, XVIII, 49

“The world is indeed so wholly desert of every 16 The greatest gift God of his largess made at the

virtue, even as thy words sound to me, and creation, and the most conformed to his own
heavy and covered with sin; excellence, and which he most prizeth,
but I pray that thou point the cause out to me, so was the will’s liberty, wherewith creatures intelli-
that I may see it, and that I may show it to gent, both all and alone, were and are en-
others; for one places it in the heavens and an- dowed.
other here below.’* Dante, Paradiso, V, 19
A deep sigh,which grief compressed to “Alas!” he
[Marco] first gave forth, and then began: 17 Mankind is at its best when it is most free. This
“Brother, the world is blind, and verily thou will be clear if we grasp the principle of liberty.
comest from it. We must realize that the basic principle of our
Ye who are living refer every cause up to the freedom is freedom to choose, which saying many
heavens alone, even as if they swept all with have on their lips but few in their minds.
them of necessity. Dante, De Monarchia, I, 12
Were it thus, Freewill in you would be destroyed,

and it were not just to have joy for good and 18 For if we believe it to be true that God foreknows
mourning for evil. and foreordains all can not be
things; that He
The heavens set your impulses in motion; I say deceived or obstructed in His foreknowledge and
15
not all, but suppose I said it, a light is given you predestination; and that nothing happens but at
to know good and evil, His will (which reason itself is compelled to
and Freewill, which, if it endure the strain in its grant), then on reason’s own testimony, there can
first battlings with the heavens, at length gains be no free will in man, or angel, or in any crea-
the whole victory, if it be well nurtured. ture.
Ye lie your freedom, to a greater power
subject, in Luther, Bondage of the Will
and to a better nature; and that creates in you
mind which the heavens have not in their 19 HoTtensio, There’s small choice in rotten apples.
charge. Shakespeare, Taming of the Shrew, I, i, 138
Therefore, the world to-day goeth astray, in you
if

is the cause, in you be it sought.” 20 Cassius. Men at some time are masters of their
Dante, Purgatorio^ XVI, 58 fates:
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
“Every substantial form, which is distinct from But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
matter and is in union with it, has a specific Shakespeare, y«/«w Caesar, I, ii, 139
virtue contained within itself
which is not perceived save in operation, nor is 21 The faculty of will consists alone in our having the
manifested except by its effects, just as life in a power of choosing to do a thing or choosing not to
plant by the green leaves. do it (that is, to affirm or deny, to pursue or to
Therefore man knows not whence the under- shun it), or rather it consists alone in the fact that
standing of the first cognitionsmay come, nor in order to affirm or deny, pursue or shun those
the inclination to the prime objects of appetite, things placed before us by the understanding, we
which are in you, even as the instinct in bees to act so that we are unconscious that any outside
make honey; and this prime will admits no de- force constrains us in doing so. For in order that I
sert of praise or of blame. should be free it is not necessary that I should be
Now in order that to this will every other may be indifferent as to the choice of one or the other of
related, innate with you is the virtue which giv- two contraries; but contrariwise the more I lean to
cth counsel, and ought to guard the threshold of —
the one whether I recognise clearly that the rea-
assent. sons of the good and true are to be found in it, or
This is the principle whence is derived the reason whether God so disposes my inward thought the —
of desert in you, according as it garners and more freelychoose and embrace it. And un-
do I
winnous good and evil loves. doubtedly both divine grace and natural knowl-
Those who in their reasoning went to the founda- edge, far from diminishing my liberty, rather in-
tion, perceived this innate freedom, therefore crease it and strengthen it. Hence this indifference
they left ethics to the world. which I feel, when I am not swayed to one side
Wherefore suppose that every love which is kin- rather than to the other by lack of reason, is the
dled within you arise of necessity, the power to lowest grade of liberty, and rather evinces a lack
arrest it is within you. or negation in knowledge than a perfection of
 376 I
Chapters. Mind

will: for always recognised clearly what was

if I
true and good, I should never have trouble in de-
liberating as to what judgment or choice I should
make, and then I should be entirely free without
ever being indifferent.
Descartes, Mediiaiions on First Philosophy,
liberty ofman in doing what he will is accompa-
nied with the necessity of doing that which God
will, and no more, nor less. For though men may
do many things which God does not command,
nor is therefore author of them; yet they can have
IV no passion, nor appetite to anything, of which ap-
petite God’s will is not the cause. And did not His

22 As to the freedom of the will, a very different ac- will assure the necessity of man's will, and conse-

count must be given of it as it exists in God and as quently of all that on man’s will dependeth, the
it exists in us. For it is self-contradictory that the liberty of men would be a contradiction and

will of God should not have been from eternity impediment to the omnipotence and liberty of
indifferent to all that has come to pass or that ever God. And this shall suffice, as to the matter in
will occur, because we can form no conception of hand, of that natural liberty, which only is prop-
anything good or true, of anything to be believed erly called liberty.

or to be performed or to be omitted, the idea of Hobbes, Leviathan, II, 21

which existed in the divine understanding before

God's will determined Him so to act as to bring it 24 It is not good to have too much liberty. It is not

to pass. Nor do I here speak of priority of time; I good to have all one wants.

mean that it was not even prior in order, or in Pascal, Pensees, VI, 379

nature, or in reasoned relation, as they say [in the

25 Burden not the back of Aries, Leo, or Taurus, with
schools], so that that idea of good impelled God to
thy faults; nor make Saturn, Mars, or Venus, guilty
choose one thing rather than another. Thus
, . .

of thy Follies. Think not to fasten thy imperfec-

that supreme indifference in God is the supreme
proof of his omnipotence. But as to man, since he
tions on the Stars, and so despairingly conceive
finds the nature of all goodness and truth already
thy self under a fatality of being evil. Calculate
determined by God, and his will cannot bear thy self within, seek not thy self in the Moon, but
upon anything else, it is evident that he embraces in thine own Orb or Microcosmical Circumfer-

the true and the good the more willingly and

ence. Let celestial aspects admonish and adver-
hence the more freely in proportion as he sees the tise, not conclude and determine thy ways.
true and the good the more clearly, and that he is Sir Thomas Browne, Christian Morals, III, 7

never indifferent save when he does not know

26 God. I made him [man] just and right,
what is the more true or the better, or at least

when he does not see clearly enough to prevent Sufficient tohave stood, though free to fall.
him from doubting about it. Thus the indifference Such I created all th' Ethereal Powers
which attaches to human liberty is very different
And Spirits, both them who stood & them who
faild;
from that which belongs to the divine. Neither
does it here matter that the essences of things are
Freely they stood who stood, and fell who fell.

said to be indivisible: for firstly

Not free, what proof could they have givn sincere
no essence can
belong in a univocal sense both to God and His Of true allegiance, constant Faith or Love,
creature; and finally indifference does not belong
Where onely what they needs must do, appeard,
to the essence of human liberty, since we are free Not what they would? what praise could they re-
ceive?
not only when our ignorance of the right renders
us indifferent, but also, and chiefly, when a clear What pleasure I from such obedience paid,
perception impels us to prosecute some definite When Will and Reason (Reason also is choice)
course.
Useless and vain, of freedom both despoild.
Made had servd necessitie,
passive both,
Descartes, Objections and Replies, VI
Not mee. They therefore as to right bclongd,
So were created, nor can justly accuse
23 Liberty and necessity are consistent: as in the wa-
Thir maker, or thir making, or thir Fate;
ter that hath not only liberty, but a necessity of
As if Predestination over-rul'd
descending by the channel; so likewise in the ac-
Thir will, dispos'd by absolute Decree
tions which men voluntarily do, which, because
they proceed from their will, proceed from liberty,
Or high foreknowledge; they themselves decreed
Thir own revolt, not I: if I foreknew,
and yet because every act of man’s will and every
Foreknowledge had no influence on their fault.
desire and inclination proceedeth from some
Which had no less prov’d certain unforeknown.
cause, and that from another cause, in a continual
Milton, Paradise Lost, III, 98
chain (whose first link is in the hand of God, the
first of all causes), proceed from necessity. So that
27 I should say that human affairs would be much
to him that could see the connexion of those caus- more happily conducted if it were equally in the
es, the necessity of all men’s voluntary actions power of men to be silent and to speak; but expe-
would appear manifest. And therefore God, that rience shows over and over again that there is
seeth and disposeth ail things, seeth also that the nothing which men have less power over than the
 57. Will 377

tongue, and that there is nothing which they are faults which we run into in the conduct of our
lessable to do than to govern their appetites, so lives, and our endeavours after happiness; whilst

that many persons believe that we do those things we precipitate the determination of our wills, and
only with freedom which we seek indifferently; as engage too soon, before due examination. To pre-
the desire for such things can easily be lessened by vent this, we have a power to suspend the prosecu-
the recollection of another thing which we fre- tion of this or that desire; as every one daily may
quently call to mind; it being impossible, on the experiment in himself. This seems to me the
other hand, to do those things with freedom which source of all liberty; in this seems to consist that
we seek with such ardour that the recollection of which is (as I think improperly) called free-will.
another thing is unable to mitigate it. But if, how- For, during this suspension of any desire, before
ever, we had not found out that we do many the will be determined to action, and the action
things which we afterwards repent, and that when (which follows that determination) done, we have
agitated by conflicting affects we see that which is opportunity to examine, view, and Judge of the
betterand follow that which is worse, nothing go^ or evil of what we are going to do; and
would hinder us from believing that we do ev- when, upon due examination, we have judged, we
erything with freedom. Thus the infant believes have done our duty, all that we can, or ought to
that by free will that
it is it seeks the breast; the do, in pursuit of our happiness; and it is not a
angry boy believes that by he wishes ven-
free will fault, but a perfection of our nature, to desire,

geance; the timid man with free will he

thinks it is will, and act according to the last result of a fair
seeks flight; the drunkard believes that by a free examination. This is so far from being a re-
. . .

command of his mind he speaks the things which straint or diminution of freedom, that it is the
when sober he wishes he had left unsaid. Thus the very improvement and benefit of it; it is not an
madman, the chatterer, the boy, and others of the abridgment, it is the end and use of our liberty;
same kind, all believe that they speak by a free and the further we are removed from such a de-
command of the mind, have
whilst, in truth, they termination, the nearer we are to misery and slav-
no power to restrain the impulse which they have ery.
to speak, so that experience itself, no less than rea- Locke, Concerning Human Understanding,
son, clearly teaches that men believe themselves to Bk. II, XXI, 4a-49
be free simply because they are conscious of their
own actions, knowing nothing of the causes by 29 Philosophic liberty consists in the free exercise of
which they are determined: it teaches, too, that the will; or at least, if we must speak agreeably to
28
the decrees of the mind are nothing but the appe- all systems, in an opinion that we have the free
tites themselves, which differ, therefore, according exercise of our will. Political liberty consists in se-
to the different temper of the body. For every man curity, or, at least, in the opinion that we enjoy
determines all things from his affect; those who security.
are agitated by contrary do not know what
affects This security is never more dangerously at-
they want, whilst those who by no
are agitated tacked than in public or private accusations. It is,
affect are easily driven hither and thither. All this therefore, on the goodness of criminal laws that
plainly shows that the decree of the mind, the ap- the liberty of the subject principally depends.
petite, and determination of the body are coinci-
Montesquieu, Spirit of Laws, XII, 2
dent in nature, or rather that they are one and the
same thing, which, when it is considered under
30 It will not require many words to prove, that all
the attribute of thought and manifested by that, is
mankind have ever agreed in the doctrine of liber-
called a decree, and when it is considered under
ty as well as in that of necessity, and that the
the attribute of extension and is deduced from the
whole dispute, in this respect also, has been hith-
laws of motion and rest, is called a determination.
erto merely verbal. For what is meant by liberty,
Spinoza, Ethics, HI, Prop. 2, Schol. when applied to voluntary actions? We cannot
surely mean that actions have so little connexion
There being in us a great many uneasinesses, al- with motives, inclinations, and circumstances,
ways soliciting and ready to determine the will, it that one does not follow with a certain degree of
is natural, as I have said, that the greatest and uniformity from the other, and that one affords no
most pressing should determine the will to the inference by which we can conclude the existence
next action; and so it does for the most part, but of the other.For these are plain and acknowl-
not always. For, the mind having in most cases, as edged matters of fact. By liberty, then, we can
is evident in experience, a
power to suspend the only mean a power of acting or not acting, ac-
execution and satisfaction of any of its desires; cording to the determinations of the will; that is, if
and so all, one after another; is at liberty to con- we choose to remain at rest, we may; if we choose
sider the objects of them, examine them
on all to move, we also may. Now this hypothetical li-
and weigh them with others. In this lies the
sides,
berty is universally allowed to belong to every one
man has; and from the not using of it right
liberty
who is not a prisoner and in chains. Here, then, is
comes all that variety of mistakes, errors, and no subject of dispute.
 —
378 Chapters. Mind

Whatever definition we may give of liberty, we I not resist an idea which dominates me? No, for

should be careful to observe two requisite circum- what would be the cause of your resistance? None.
stances; first, that it be consistent with plain mat- By your will you can obey only an idea which will
ter of fact; secondly, that it be consistent with it- dominate you more.
self. If we observe these circumstances, and render Now you receive all your ideas; therefore you
our definition intelligible, I am persuaded that all receive your wish, you wish therefore necessarily.
mankind will be found of one opinion with regard The word “liberty” does not therefore belong in
to it. any w'ay to your ssill.

It is universally allowed that nothing exists You ask me

how’ thought and wish are formed
without a cause of its existence, and that chance, in us, I answer you that I have not the remotest
when strictly a mere negative word,
examined, is idea. I do not know how ideas arc made any more
and means not any real power which has any- than how the world w'as made. All that is given to
where a being in nature. But it is pretended that us is to grope for what passes in our incomprehen-
some causes are necessary, some not necessary. sible machine.
Here then is the advantage of definitions. Let any The will, therefore, not a faculty that one can
is

one define a cause, without comprehending, as a call free, A free will an expression absolutely
is

part of the definition, a necessary connexion with void of sense, and w hat the scholastics have called
its effect; him show distinctly the origin of
and let will of indifference, that is to say willing without
the idea, expressed by the definition; and I shall cause, a chimera unworthy of being combated.
is

readily give up the whole controversy. But if the Where will be liberty then? in the power to do
foregoing explication of the matter be received, what one ^vills. I wish to leave my study, the door
this must be absolutely impracticable. Had not is open, I am free to leave it.

objects a regular conjunction with each other, we But, say you, if the door is closed, and I wish to
should never have entertained any notion of cause stay at home, I stay there freely. Let us be explicit.
and effect; and this regular conjunction produces You exercise then the power that you have of
31
that inference of the understanding, which is the staying; you have this power, but you have not
only connexion, that wc can have any compre- that of going out.
hension of. Whoever attempts a definition of The liberty about which so many volumes haNX
cause, exclusive of these circumstances, wdll be been written is, therefore, reduced to its accurate
obliged either to employ unintelligible terms or terms, only the power of acting.
such as arc synonymous to the term which he en- In what sense then must one utter the phrase
deavours to define. And if the definition above “Man is free’? in the same sense that one utters
mentioned be admitted; liberty, when opposed to the w'ords, health, strength, happiness, Man is not
necessity, not to constraint, is the same thing wth alwa)'s strong, always healthy, alwa)’s happy.
chance; which is universally allowed to have no A great passion, a great obstacle, deprive him of
existence. his liberty', his pow'cr of action.

Hume, Concerning Hitman The word “liberty',” “free-will,” is therefore an

Understanding, VIII, 73-74 abstract word, a general word, like beauty', good-
ness, justice, These terms do not state that all men

What is the meaning of this phrase *‘to be free”? it

are ahvays beautiful, good and just; similarly,
means “to be able,” or assuredly it has no sense. they arc not alw'a>’s free.

For the will “to be able ” is as ridiculous at bot- Voltaire, Philosophical Dictiona^':

tom as to say that the will is yellow or blue, round Free-Will

or square. To will is to wish, and

be to be free is to
able. Let us note step by step the chain of what 32 Dr. Johnson shunned to-night any discussion of
passes in us, without obfuscating our minds by the f>crp!exed question of fate and free w'UI, w'hich

any terms of the schools or any antecedent princi- I attempted to agitate. “Sir, (said he,) we knoiv our
ple. will is free, and there*s an end on*t.”
It is proposed to you that you mount a horse, Boswell, Life of Johnson (Oct. 10, 1769)
you must absolutely make a choice, for it is quite
clear that you either will go or that you will no go. 33 Dr. Mayo, (to Dr. Johnson,) “Pray, Sir, have you
There is no middle way. It is therefore of absolute read Edwards, of New England, on Gracef* Johnson.
necessity that you wish yes or no. Up to there it is “No, Sir.” Boswell. “It puzzled me so much as to
demonstrated that the will is not free. You wish to the freedom of the human will, by stating, with
mount the horse; why? The reason, an ignoramus wonderful acute ingenuity’, our being actuated by
will say,is because I wish it. This answer is idiotic, a series of motives which we cannot resist, that the
nothing happens or can happen without a reason, only relief I had was Mayo. “But he
to forget it.”
a cause; there is one therefore for your wish! What makes the proper distinction bet\s'cen moral and
is it? the agreeable idea of going on horseback physical necessity'.” Boswell. “Alas, Sir, they come
which presents itself in your brain, the dominant both to the same thing. You may be bound as
idea, the determinant idea. But, you will say, can hard by chains when covered by leather, as w'hcn
 57. Will 379

the iron appears. The argument for the moral ne- sense that freedom shall be the rational system of
cessity of human actions is always, I observe, forti- mind, as in the sense that this system shall be the
fied by supposing universal prescience to be one of world of immediate actuality. In making freedom
the attributes of the T>t\Xy'^ Johnson. “You are sur- its object, mind’s purpose is to be explicitly, as

er that you are free, than you are of prescience; Idea,what the will is implicitly. The definition of
you are surer that you can lift up your finger or the concept of the will in abstraction from the
not as you please, than you arc of any conclusion Idea of the will is “the free will which wills the
from a deduction of reasoning. But let us consider free will.”
a little the objection from prescience. It is certain Hegel, Philosophy of Right, Introduction, 27
I am cither to go home to-night or not; that docs
not prevent my freedom.” Boswell. “That it is cer- 38 In . the will is rooted my ability to free myself
. .

tain you arc either to go home or not, docs not
prevent your freedom; because the liberty of
choice between the two is compatible with that
certainty. But if one of these events be certain now^
you have no future power of volition. If it be cer-
tain you arc to go home to-night, you must go
home.” Johnson. “If I am well acquainted witli a
man, I can judge with great probability how he
will act in any case, without his being restrained
by my judging. God may have this probability
increased to certainty.” Boswell
creased to freedom ceases, because that
certainty,
from everything, abandon every aim, abstract
from everything. Man alone can sacrifice ev-
erything, his life included; he can commit suicide.
An animal cannot; it always remains merely neg-
ative, in an alien destiny to which it merely accus-
toms itself.
Hegel, Philosophy of Right, Additions, Par. 5
39 A will which resolves on nothing is no actual will;
a characterless man never reaches a decision.
“When it is in- Hegel, Philosophy of Right, Additions, Par, 13

cannot be certainly foreknown, which is not cer- 40 Every man, being what he is and placed in the
tain at the time; but if it be certain at the time, it circumstances which for the moment obtain, but
is a contradiction in terms to maintain that there which on their part also arise by strict necessity,
can be afterwards any conlingenty dependent upon can absolutely never do anything else than just
the exercise of will or any thing clsc.”yo/i7i5on. “All what at that moment he docs do. Accordingly, the
theory is against the freedom of the will; all expe- whole course of a man’s life, in all its incidents
rience for it.” — I did not push the subject any far- great and small, is as necessarily predetermined as
ther. I was glad to find him so mild in discussing a the course of a clock.
question of the most abstract nature, involved Schopenhauer, Free^ Will and Fatalism
with theological tenets, which he generally would
not suffer to be in any degree opposed, 41 Chance, freewill, and necessity — nowise incom-
Boswell, Life ofJohnson (Apr. 15, 1778) patible — all intcrwcavingly working together.
The straight warp of necessity, not to be swerved
34 A free will and a will subject to moral laws arc from its ultimate course — its every alternating
one and the same. vibration, indeed, only tending to that; freewill
Kant, Fundamental Principles of the free to ply her shuttle between given threads;
still

Metaphysic of Morals, III and chance, though restrained in its play within
the right lines of necessity, and sidc\vays in its mo-
35 If itwere possible to have so profound an insight tions modified by freewill, though thus prescribed
into a man’s mental character as shown by inter- to by both, chance by turns rules either, and has
nal as well as external actions as to know all its the last featuring blow at events.
motives, even the smallest, and likewise all the Melville, Moby Dick, XLVII
external occasions that can influence them, we
could calculate a man’s conduct for the future 42 We arc conscious automata, endowed with free
with as great certainty as a lunar or solar eclipse; will in the only intelligible sense of that much-
and nevertheless we may maintain that the man is —
abused term inasmuch as in many respects we
free.
—
arc able to do as we like but none the less parts
Kant, Critique of Practical Reason, Pt. I, I, 3 of the great scries of causes and effects which, in
unbroken continuity, composes that which is, and
36 Ifwe grant freedom to man, there is an end to the —
has been, and shall be the sum of existence.
omniscience of God; for if the Divinity knows how T. H. Huxley, Animal Automatism
I shall act, I must act so perforce.
Goethe, Conversations with Eckermann 43 Correctly conceived, the doctrine called Philo-
(Oct. 12, 1825) sophical Necessity is simply this: that, given the
motives which are present to an individual’s
37 The absolute goal, or, if you like, the absolute im- mind, and given likewise the character and dispo-
pulse, of free mind is to make its freedom its ob- sition of the individual, the manner in which he
ject, i.c, to make freedom objective as much in the will act might be unerringly inferred; that if we
 380 I
Chapter 5. Mind

knew the person thoroughly, and knew all the in- men, free will cannot exist, for then man’s will is

ducements which are acting upon him, we could subject to that law.
foretell his conduct with as much certainty as we In this contradiction lies the problem of free
can predict any physical event. This proposition I will, which from most ancient times has occupied
take to be a mere interpretation of universal expe- the best human minds and from most ancient
rience, a statement in words of what every one is times has been presented in its whole tremendous
internally convinced of. No one who believed that significance.
he knew thoroughly the circumstances of any The problem is that regarding man as a subject
case, and the characters of the different persons of observation from whatever point of view —theo-
concerned, would hesitate to foretell how all of logical, historical, ethical, or philosophic —we find
them would act. Whatever degree of doubt he a general law of necessity to which he (like all
may in fact feel arises from the uncertainty that exists) is subject. But regarding him from
whether he really knows the circumstances, or the within ounelves as what we are conscious of, we
character of some one or other of the persons, with feel ourselves to be free.

the degree of accuracy required; but by no means This consciousness is a source of self-cognition
from thinking that if he did know these things, quite apart from and independent of reason.
there could be any uncertainty what the conduct Through his reason man observes himself, but
would be. Nor does this full assurance conflict in only through consciousness does he know himself.
the smallest degree with what is called our feeling Apart from consciousness of self no observation
of freedom. We
do not feel ourselves the less free or application of reason is conceivable.
because those to whom we are intimately known To understand, observe, and draw conclusions,
arc well assured how we a par-
shall will to act in man must first of all be conscious of himself as
ticular case. We often, on the contrary, regard the living. A man is only conscious of himself as a
doubt what our conduct will be as a mark of igno- living being by the fact that he wlls, that is, is
rance of our character, and sometimes even resent conscious of his volition. But his will — which
it as an imputation. The religious metaphysicians —
forms the essence of his life man recognizes (and
who have asserted the freedom of the Nvill have can but recognize) as free.
always maintained it to be consistent with divine If, observing himself, man sees that his will is

foreknowledge of our actions; and if with divine, always directed by one and the same law (wheth-
then with any other foreknowledge. We may be er he observes the necessity of taking food, using
free, and yet another may have reason to be per- his brain, or anything else) he cannot recognize
fectly certain what use we shall make of our free- this never-varying direction of his %vill otherwise
dom. than as a limitation of it. Were it not free it could
Mill, System of Logic, Bk. VI, 11, 2 not be limited, A man’s will seems to him to be
limited just because he is not conscious of it except
44 If history dealt only with external phenomena, as free-
the establishment of this simple and obvious law You say: I am not free. But I have lifted my
would suffice and we should have finished our ar- hand and let it fall. Everyone understands that
gument. But the law of history relates to man. A this illogical reply is an irrefutable demonstration
particle of matter cannot tell us that it does not of freedom.
feel the law of attraction or repulsion and that That reply is the expression of a consciousness

that law is untrue, but man, who is the subject of that isnot subject to reason.
history, says plainly: I am free and am therefore If the consciousness of freedom were not a sepa-
not subject to the law. rate and independent source of self-consciousness
The presence of the problem of man’s free will, it would be subject to reasoning and to experi-
though unexpressed, is felt at every step of history. ence, but in fact such subjection does not exist and
All seriously thinking historians have involun- is inconceivable.
tarily encountered this question. All the contra- A series of experiments and arguments proves
dictions and obscurities of history and the false to every man that he, as an object of observation,
path historical science has followed are due solely is subject to certain lau's, and man submits to
to the lack of a solution of that question. them and never resists the laws of gravity or im-
If the will of every man were free, that is, if permeability once he has become acquainted with
each man could act as he pleased, all history them. But the same series of experiments and ar-
would be a series of disconnected incidents. guments proves to him that the complete freedom
If ina thousand years even one man in a mil- of which he is <X)nscious in himself is impossible,
lion could act freely, that is, as he chose, it is evi- and that his every action depends on his organic
dent that one single free act of that man’s in viola- tion, his character, and the motives acting upon
tion of the laws governing human action would him: yet man never submits to the deductions of
destroy the possibility of the existence of any laws these experiments and arguments. Having learned
for the whole of humanity. from experiment and argument that a stone falls
If there be a single law governing the actions of downwards, a man indubitably believes this and

alH'ays expects the law that he has learned
fulfilled.
But learning just as certainly that his will is
subject to la%«, he docs not and cannot believe
this.
However often experiment and reasoning may
show a man that under the same conditions and
with the same character he will do the same thing
as before, yet when under tlic same conditions and
with the same character he approaches for the
thousandth time the action that alwap ends in
the same way, he feels as certainly convinced as
before the experiment that he can act as he pleas-
es. Ever)' man, savage or sage, however incontest-
ably reason and experiment may prove to him
that it is impossible to imagine two different
courses of action in precisely the same
feels that without this conception
irrational
(which constitutes the essence of freedom) he can-
not imagine life. He feels that however impossible
it may be, it is so, for without this conception of
freedom not only would he be unable to under-
stand life, but he would be unable to
single moment.
He could not live, because all man’s efforts, all
his impulses to life, arc only efforts to increase
freedom. Wealth and poverty, fame and obscuri-
ty, power and subordination, strength and weak-
ness, health and disease, culture and ignorance,
work and leisure, repletion and hunger, virtue
and vice, are only greater or lesser degrees of frcc-
dom-
A man having no freedom cannot be conceived
of except as deprived of life.
If the conception of freedom appears to reason
to be a senseless contradiction like the possibility
of performing two actions at one and the same
instant of time, or of an effect without a cause,
that only proves that consciousness is
to reason.
This unshakable, irrefutable consciousness of
freedom, uncontrolled by experiment or argu-
ment, recognized by all thinkers and felt by ev-
eryone without exception, this consciousness with-
out which no conception of man
constitutes the other side of the question.
Man
is the creation of an all-powerful, all-
good, and all-seeing God. What is sin, the concep-
tion of which arises from the consciousness of
man’s freedom? That is a question for theology.
The actions of men are subject to general im-
mutable laws expressed in statistics. What is
man’s responsibility to society, the conception of
'vhich results from the conception of freedom?
That is a question for jurisprudence.
Man’s actions proceed from his innate charac-
ter and the motives acting upon him.
What is con-
science and the perception of right and wrong in
actions that follows from the consciousness of free-
dom? That a question for ethics.
is
Man in connection with the general
57. Will 381
to be manity appears subject to laws which determine
that life. But the same man apart from that con-
nection appears to be free. How should the past
life of nations and of humanity be regarded as —
the result of the free, or as the result of the con-
strained, activity of man? That is a question for
history.
Only our self-confident day of the populari-
in
zation of knowledge —
thanks to that most power-
ful engine of ignorance, the diffusion of printed
—
matter has the question of the freedom of will
been put on a level on which the question itself
cannot exist. In our time the majority of so-called
—
advanced people that is, the crowd of ignora-
—
muses have taken the work of the naturalists
who deal with one side of the question for a solu-
conditions, tion of the whole problem.
Tlicy say and write and print that the soul and
freedom do not exist for the life of man is ex-
pressed by muscular movements and muscular
movements arc conditioned by the activity of the
nerves; the soul and free will do not exist because
live for a at an unknown period of time w’c sprang from the
apes. They say this, not at all suspecting that
thousands of years ago that same law of necessity
which with such ardor they arc now trying to
prove by physiology and comparative zoolog)' was
not merely acknowledged by all the religions and
all the thinkers, but has never been denied. They
do not see that the role of the natural sciences in
this matter is merely to scr\*c as an instrument for
the illumination of one side of it. For the fact that,
from the point of view of obscrv'ation, reason and
the will arc merely secretions of the brain, and
that man following the general law may have de-
veloped from lower animals at some unknow'n pe-
riod of time, only explains from a fresh side the
truth admitted thousands of years ago by all the
not subject religious and philosophic theories —
that from the
point of view of reason man is subject to the law of
necessity; but it docs not advance by a hair’s
breadth the solution of the question, which has
another, opposite, side, based on the consciousness
of freedom.
is possible Tolstoy, War and Ptace, II Epilogue, VIII
45 Man’s free will differs from every other force in
that man is directly conscious of it, but in the eyes
of reason it in no way differs from any other force.
The forces of gravitation, electricity, or chemical
affinity arc only distinguished from one another
in that they arc differently defined by reason. Just
so the force of man’s free will is distinguished by
reason from the other forces of nature only by the
definition reason gives it. Freedom, apart from ne-
cessity, that is, apart from the law's of reason that
no way from gravitation, or
define it, differs in
heat, or the force that makes things grow; for rea-
son, it is only a momentary undcfinablc sensation
of life.
life of hu- Tolstoy, War and Prace, II Epilogue, X
 382 I
Chapter 5, Mind

46 When scientific and moral postulates war thus only approximately uniform; and persons in
with each other and objective proof is not to be whom knowledge of the world’s past has bred pes-
had, the only course is voluntary choice, for scep- simism (or doubts as to the world’s good charac-
ticism itself, if systematic, is also voluntary choice. ter, which become certainties if that character be
If, meanwhile, the will be undetermined, it would supposed eternally fixed) may naturally welcome
seem only the belief in its indetermina-
fitting that free will as a melioristic doctrine. It holds up im-
tion should be voluntarily chosen from amongst provement as at least possible; whereas determin-
other possible beliefs. Freedom's first deed should ism assures us that our whole notion of possibility
48
be to affirm itself. is bom of human ignorance, and that necessity
William James, P^chology, XXVI and impossibility between them rule the destinies
of the world.

47 Both free will and determinism have been in- William James, Pragmatism, III

veighed against and called absurd, because each,

in the eyes of its enemies, has seemed to prevent The existence of strict causality implies that the
the *impu lability’ of good or bad deeds to their actions, the mental processes, and especially the
authors. Queer antinomy this! Free will means will of every individual are
completely de-
novelty, the grafting on to the past of something termined at any given moment by the state of his
not involved therein. If our acts were predeter- mind, taken as a whole, in the previous moment,
mined, if we merely transmitted the push of the and by any influences acting upon him coming
whole past, the freewillists say, how could we be from the external world. We have no reason what-
praised or blamed for anything? We should be ever for doubting the truth of this assertion. But
‘agents’ only, not ‘principals,’ and where then the question of free will is not concerned with the
would be our precious imputability and responsi- question whether there is such a definite connec-

bility? tion, but whether the person in question is aware

But where would it be if we had free will? rejoin of this connection. This, and this alone, de-
the determinists. If a ‘free’ act be sheer novelty, termines whether a person can or cannot feel free.
that comes not from me, the previous me, but ex If a man were able to forecast his own future sole-
and simply tacks itself on to me, how can f
nihilo, ly on the ground of causality, then and then only
the previous I, be responsible? How can I have we would have to deny this consciousness of free-
any permanent character that will stand still long dom of the will. Such a contingency is, however,
enough for praise or blame to be awarded? The impossible, sinceit contains a logical contradic-

chaplet of my
days tumbles into a cast of discon- tion.Complete knowledge implies that the object
nected beads as soon as the thread of inner neces- apprehended is not altered by any events taldng
sity is drawn out by the preposterous indetermin- place in the knowing subject; and if subject and
ist doctrine. . . . object are identical, this assumption does not ap-
It may be good ad hominemy but otherwise it is ply. To put it more concretely, the knowledge of
pitiful.For I ask you, quite apart from other rea- any motive or of any activity of will is an inner
sons, whether any man, woman or child, with a experience, from which a fresh motive may
sense for realities, ought not to be ashamed to spring; consequently such an awareness increases
plead such principles as either dignity or imput- the number of possible motives. But as soon as this
ability. Instinct and utility between them can is recognized, the recognition brings about a fresh
safely be trusted to carry on the social business of act of awareness, which in its turn can generate
punishment and praise. If a man does good acts yet another activity of the will. In this way the
we shall praise him, if he does bad acts we shall chain proceeds, without it ever being possible to
—
punish him anyhow, and quite apart from theo- reach a motive which is definitely decisive for any
ries as to whether the acts result from what Weis future action; in other words, to reach an aware-
previous in him or are novelties in a strict sense. ness which is not in its turn the occasion of a fr^
To make our human ethics revolve about the act of will. When we look back upon a finished
question of ‘merit’ is a piteous unreality —God action, which we can contemplate as a whole, the
alone can know our merits, if we have any. The case is completely different. Here knowledge no
realground supposing free will is indeed prag-
for longer influences will, and hence a strictly causal
matic, but it has nothing to do \rith this consideration of motives and will is possible, at
contemptible right to punish which has made least in theory.
such a noise in past discussions of the subject. these considerations appear unintelligible if
If —
Free will pragmatically means novelties in the it isthought that a mind could completely grasp
world, the right to expect that in its deepest ele- the causes of its present state, provided it were
ments as well as in its surface phenomena, the intelligent enough —
then such an argument is
future may not identically repeat and imitate the akin to saying that a giant who is big enough to
past. That imitation en masse is there, who can look down on everybody else should be able to
deny? The general “uniformity of nature” is pre- look down on himself as well. The fact is that no
supposed by every lesser law. But nature may be person, however clever, can derive the decisive
 5.7. Will 383

motives of his own conscious actions from the 51 Human free will docs not exclude but presupposes
causal law alone; he requires another law the — the vast and complex dynamism of instincts, ten-
ethical law, for which the highest intelligence and dencies, psycho-physical dispositions, acquired
the most subtle self-analysis arc no adequate sub- habits,and hereditary traits, and it is at the top
stitute. point where this dynamism emerges in the world
Planck, Universe in the Light of spirit that freedom of choice is exercised, to give
of Modem Physics, 6 or withhold decisive efficacy to the inclinations
and urges of nature. It follows from this that free-
dom, as well as responsibility, is capable of a mul-
49 To foresee future objective alternatives and to be
tiplicity of degrees of which the Author of being
able by deliberation to choose one of them and
alone is judge. It docs not follow from this that
thereby weight chances in the struggle for fu-
ture existence,
its

measures our freedom. It is as-

freedom docs not exist —
on the contrary'! If it ad-
mits of degrees, then it exists.
sumed sometimes that if it can be shown that deli-
Mari tain, The Conquest of Freedom
beration determines choice and deliberation is
determined by character and conditions, there is
52 It must be made clear that not only particular
no freedom. This is like saying that because a
and partial goods, offered us by the finite world,
flower comes from root and stem it cannot bear
but all the concrete goods which we may love and
fruit. The question is not what are the antecedents
desire in this life, arc thus the object of the will’s
of deliberation and choice, but what arc their con-
free choice. Even the noblest good, even the divine
sequences. What do they do that is distinctive?
good, is thus, and for the same rca.son, the object
The answer is that they give us all (lie control of
of the will’s free choice.
future possibilities which is open to us. And this
control is the crux of our freedom. Without it, we Mari tain, Scholasticisn\ and PoliUcs, V
arc pushed from behind.
53 Human-reality is free because it is not enough. It
De\vcy, Human Nature and Conduct, IV, 3
is free because it is perpetually wrenched away

from itself and because it has been separated by a

50 We are free when our acts spring from our whole nothingness from what it is and from what it will
personality, when they express it, when they have be. It Is free, finally, because its present being is
that indefinable resemblance to it which one itself a nothingness in the form of the “reflection-

sometimes finds between the artist and his work. reflecting.” Man is free because he is not himself
It is no use asserting that we are then yielding to but presence to himself. The being which is what
the all-powerful influence of our character. Our it is can not be free. Erccdom is precisely (he noth-

character is still ourselves; and because we arc
pleased to split the person into two parts so that
by an effort of abstraction tve may consider in
turn the self which feels or thinks and the self
which acts, it wnuld be ver)' strange to conclude
that one of the two selves is coercing the other.
Bergson, Time and Free Wilt, III
ingness which is made-to-be at the heart of man
and which forces human-reality to make itself in-
stead of to be. As we have seen, for human reality,
to be is to choose oneself; nothing comes to it qer
from the outside or from within which it can re-
ceive or accept.
Sartre, Being and Nothingness, Pt. IV, I, 1
 Chapter 6

KNOWLEDGE

Chapter 6 is divided into seven sections: 6.1 with truth as the good that is attained when
The Characteristics and Conditions of Human we possess knowledge, with error as the con-
Knowledge, 6.2 Experience, 6.3 Truth, 6.4 trary of truth and ignorance as the privation
Error, Ignorance, and the Limits of Human of knowledge, with opinion and belief as al-
Knowledge^ 6.5 Opinion, Belief, and Faith, 6.6 ternatives to knowledge, or even substitutes
Doubt and Skepticism, and 6.7 Reasoning, for it, with doubt and skepticism as checks
Demonstration, and Disputation. against unwarranted assertions of knowl-
Man is pre-eminently a knowing animal. edge, and with the ratiocinative process as
As one famous statement that comes down that is involved in our effort to know, in the
to us from antiquity puts it, ‘‘all men by na- defence of our own opinions, and in the crit-
ture desire to know.” Knowing, feeling, and icism of the opinions advanced by others.
—
doing these three, in separation and in The chapter most closely related to this

combination, round out the whole orbit of one is, of course, Chapter 5 on Mind; but the
human performance. reader will also find relevant passages in
After the opening section of the chapter, Chapter 17 on Philosophy, Science, and
in which the most general and persistent Mathematics, and some passages in Chapter
questions about knowledge are raised and 19 on Nature and the Cosmos, particularly
discussed, the sections that follow deal with Section 19.3 on Cause and Section 19.4 on
the contributions and values of experience, Chance.

384
 6.1 The Characteristics and Conditions

of Human Knowledge
On a number of points, the quotations col- tance (or knowledge and knowledge by
of)

lected here tend to be in substantial agree- description (or knowledge about)\ the differ-
ment: that knowledge, or the truth that is ence between scientific and technical knowl-
attained when we know, is the essential good edge (or between know-that and know-
of the mind; that it is both good in itself, to how); and the difference between spec-
be loved for its own sake, and also good as a ulative and practical knowledge (or
means to be used in action and production; knowing what is the case and knowing what
that, while man aspires to know all that is ought to be done or sought).
knowable, human knowledge at its best is Beyond this, the reader will find that the
imperfect and limited; and that knowledge quotations exhibit a pattern of manifold and
is a relation between a knower and an object intricate disagreements about the process of
known. knowing itself —how we know whatever it is

Other points made by some of the authors that we do know; about the precise nature
4
quoted are not concurred in or mentioned of the relationship between knower and
by others, such as the distinction between known; about the existential status of the
that which is more knowable in itself and object known; about the grades of human
that which is more knowable to us; the com- knowledge, either in terms of the character
parison between man’s finite or limited of the objects known or in terms of the de-
knowledge and God’s infinite knowledge; gree of certainty or uncertainty with which
the difference between sensitive and intel- something is known; about the distinction
lectual knowledge; the difference between between knowledge and opinion; and about
simple apprehensions which assert nothing the limits of human knowledge. Some of
and so are neither true nor false and judg- these matters, merely hinted at in the pas-
ments which, affirming or denying some- sages quoted here, are more fully discussed
thing, are capable of truth and falsity; the in later sections of this chapter, especially
difference between knowledge by acquain- Sections 6.4, 6.5, and 6.6.

1 The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowl- of the one man who has understanding? ought we
edge: but fools despise wisdom and instruction. not to fear and reverence him more than all the
Proverbs 1:7 rest of the world: and if we desert him shall we not
destroy and injure that principle in us which may
2 Persian soldier. TTis the sorest of all human ills, to be assumed to be improved by justice and deterio-
abound in knowledge and yet have no power over rated by injustice?
action. Plato, CritOy 47B
Herodotus, IX, 16
Socrates. What again shall we say of the actual ac-
3 Socrates. In questions of just and unjust, fair and quirement of —
knowledge? is the body, if invited
foul, good and which are the subjects of our
evil, to share in the enquiry, a hinderer or a helper? I
present consultation, ought we to follow the opin- mean to say, have sight and hearing any truth in
ion of the many and to fear them; or the opinion them? Are they not, as the poets are always telling

385
 —
386 Chapter 6. Knowledge

us, inaccurate witnesses? and yet, if even they are do not say heaven, lest you should fancy that I am
inaccurate and indistinct, what is to be said of the playing upon the name. May I suppose that you
—
other senses? for you will allow that they are the have this distinction of the visible and intelligible
best of them? fixed in your mind?
Certainly, he [Simmias] replied. Glaucon. I have.
Then when docs the soul attain truth? for in — Now take a line which has been cut into two
attempting to consider anything in company with unequal parts, and divide each of them again in

the she is obviously deceived. the same proportion, and suppose the two main
True. divisions to answer, one to the visible and the
Then must not true existence be revealed to her other to the intelligible, and then compare the
in thought, if at all? subdivisions in respect of their clearness and want
Yes. of clearness, and you will find that the first section

And thought is best when gathered

the mind is in the sphere of the visible consists of images. And
into herself and none of these things trouble her by images I mean, in the
place, shadows, and
first

neither sounds nor sights nor pain nor any plea- in the second place, reflections in water and in
sure, — when she takes leave of the body, and has smooth and polished bodies and the
solid, like: Do
as little as possible to do with it, when she has no you understand?
bodily sense or desire, but is aspiring after true Yes, I understand.
being? Imagine, now, the other section, of which this is
Certainly. only the resemblance, to include the animals
And in this the philosopher dishonours the which we see, and everything that grows or is
body; his soul runs away from his body and de- made.
sires to be alone and by herself? Very good.
That is true. Would you not admit that both the sections of
Well, but there is another thing, Simmias: Is this division have different degrees of truth, and
there or is there not an absolute justice? that the copy is to the original as the sphere of
Assuredly there is. opinion is to the sphere of knowledge?
And an absolute beauty and absolute good? Most undoubtedly.
Of course. Next proceed to consider the manner in which
But did you ever behold any of them with your the sphere of the intellectual is to be divided.
eyes? In what manner?
Certainly not. Thus: —^There are two subdivisions, in the low-
Or did you ever reach them with any other er of which the soul uses the figures given by the
—
bodily sense? and I speak not of these alone, but former division as images; the enquiry can only be
of absolute greatness, and health, and strength, hypothetical, and instead of going upwards to a
and of the essence or true nature of everything. principle descends to the other end; in the higher
Has the reality of them ever been perceived by of the tw’o, the soul passes out of hypotheses, and
you through the bodily organs? or rather, is not goes up to a principle which is above hypotheses,
the nearest approach to the knowledge of their making no use of images as in the former case, but
several natures made by him who so orders his proceeding only in and through the ideas them-
intellectual vision as to have the most exact con- selves.
ception of the essence of each thing which he con- I do not quite understand your meaning, he
siders? said.
Certainly. Then I will try again; you will understand me
And he attains to the purest knowledge of them betterwhen I have made some preliminary re-
who goes to each with the mind alone, not intro- marks. You are aware that students of geometry,
ducing or intruding in the act of thought sight or arithmetic, and the kindred sciences assume the
any other sense together with reason, but with the odd and the even and the figures and three kinds
very light of the mind in her own clearness of angles and the like in their several branches of
searches into the very truth of each; he who has science; these are their hypotheses, which they
got he can, of eyes and ears and, so to
rid, as far as and every body are supposed to know, and there-
speak, of the whole body, these being in his opin- fore they do not deign to give any account of them
ion distracting elements which when they infect either to themselves or others; but they begin with
the soul hinder her from acquiring truth and them, and go on until they arrive atlast, and in a
—
knowledge who, if not he, is likely to attain to consistentmanner, at their conclusion?
the knowledge of true being? Yes, he said, I know.
Plato, PhaedOf 65A And do you not know also that although they
make use of the visible forms and reason about
5 Socrates. You have to imagine . , . that there are them, they are thinking not of these, but of the
two ruling pow’ers, and that one of them is set over ideals which they resemble; not of the figures
the intellectual world, the other over the visible. I which they draw, but of the absolute square and
 —
6A. The ChnTacterisiics and Conditions of Ihman Knowledge 387

the absolute diameter, and so on—thc forms ments by whicfi tljc knowledge of it is necessarily
which they draw or make, and which have shad- imparted; fourth, there is the knowledge itself,
ows and reflections in water of their own, arc con- and, as fifth, we must count the thing itself which
verted by them into images, but they are really is known and truly exists. Tlic first is the name,
seeking to behold the things themselves, which the second the definition, the third the image, and
can only be seen with the c>x of the mind? the fourth the knowledge. If you wish to learn

That is true. what mean, take these in the ease of one in-
I

And of this kind 1 spoke as the intelligible, al- stance, and so undentand them in the ease of all.
though in the search after it the soul is compelled A circle is a thing spoken of, and its name is that
to use hypotheses; no! ascending to a first princi- vcr>’ word which we have just uttered. I'hc second

ple, because she is unable to rise aljovc tlie region thing Wonging to it is its definition, made up of
of hypothesis, but employing the objects of which names and verbal which has the
forms. For that
the shado\^'s below arc resemblances in their turn name "round/' “annular," or "circle," might be
as images, they having in relation to the shadows defined as that which has tlic distance from its
and reflections of them a greater distinctness, and circumference to its centre cvcr>*whcrc equal.

therefore a higher value.
I understand, he said, that you arc speaking of
the prosince of geometry and the sister arts.
And when Ispeak of the other division of the
intelligible, you will understand me to speak of
that other sort of knowledge which reason herself
attairu by the power of dialectic, using the hy-
potheses not as first principles, but only as hy-
potheses— that is to say, as steps and points of de-
parture into a world which above hypotheses, in
is
order that she may soar beyond them to the first
principle of the whole; and clinging to this and
then to that which depends on this, by successive
steps she descends again without the aid of any
sensible object, from ideas, through ideas, and in
ideas she ends.
I understand you, he replied; not perfectly, for
you seem to me to be describing a task which is
really tremendous; but, at any rate, 1 understand
you to say that knowledge and f)C!ng, which the
science of dialectic contemplates, are clearer than
the notions of the arts, as they arc termed, which
proceed from hypotheses only: these arc also con-
templated by the understanding, and not by the
senses: yet, because they start from Iiypothcscs
and do not ascend to a principle, those who con-
template them appear to you not to exercise the
higher reason upon them, although when a first
principle is added to them they arc cognizable by
the higher reason. And the habit which is con-
cerned with geometry and the cognate sciences 1
suppose that you would term understanding and
not reason, as being intermediate between opinion
and reason.
7 It
You have quite conceived my meaning, I said;
and now, corresponding to these four divisions, let
there be four faculties in the soul —
reason answer-
ing to the highest, understanding to the second,
faith (or conviction) to the third, and perception
of —
shadows to the last and let there be a scale of
them, and let us suppose that the several faculties
have clearness in the same degree that their ob-
jects have truth.
Plato, Republic, VI, 509B
6 For everything that exists there arc three instru-
Tlurd, comes that which is drawn and rubl>ed out
again, or turned on a lathe and broken up none —
of which things can happen to the circle itself to —
which the other things mentioned have reference;
for it IS something of a different order from them.
Fourth, comes knowledge, intelligence and right
opinion about these things. Under this one head
we must group cvcrj'ihing which has its existence,
not in words nor in botlily shapes, but in souls
from which it is clear that it is something different
from the nature of the circle itself and from the
three things mentioned before. Of these things in-
telligence comes closest in kinship and likeness to
the fifth, and the others arc farther distant.
Tlic same applies to straight as well as to circu-
lar form, to coloun, to tlic good, the beautiful, the
just, to all bodies whether manufactured or com-
ing into being in the course of nature, to fire, wa-
ter, and all such things, to cs'cr)* living being, to
character in souls, and to all things done ami suf-
fered. For in the case of all these no one, if he has
not some how’ or other got hold of the four things
first mentioned, can ever l>c completely a partaker
of knowledge of the fifth. Further, on account of
the weakness of language, these (i.c., the four) at-
tempt to show what each thing is like, not less
than what each thing is. For this reason no man of
intelligence will venture to express his pliilosophi-
cal view's in language, especially not in language
that is unchangeable, which is true of that which
is set dowm in written characters.
Plato, Sn fnth iMln
docs not appc.ar to be true in all eases that cor-
relatives come into existence simultaneously. The
object of knowledge w'ould appear to exist before
knowledge itself, for it is usually the ease that wx
acquire knowledge of objects already existing; it
w'ould be difficult, if not impossible, to find a
branch of knowledge the beginning of the exis-
tence of which was contemporaneous wmh that of
its object.
Again, while the object of knowledge, if it ceas-
es to exist, cancels at the same time the knowledge
which was its correlative, the converse of this is
not true. It is true that if the object of knowledge
 388 I
Chapter 6, Knowledge

does not exist there can be no knowledge: for that in everything, as the saying is, ‘the first start
there will no longer be anything to know. Yet it is is the main part’: and for this reason also it is the

equally true that^ if the knowledge of a certain most difficult; for in proportion as most po-
it is

object docs not exist, the object may nevertheless tent in its influence, so it is smallest in compass
its

quite well exist. Thus, in the case of the squaring and therefore most difficult to see: whereas when
of the circle,if indeed that process is an object of this once discovered, it is easier to add and de-
is

knowledge, though it itself exists as an object of velop the remainder in connexion with it.
knowledge, yet the knowledge of it has not yet Aristotle, On Sophistical
come into existence. Again, if all animals ceased Refutations, 183^17
to exist, there would be no knowledge, but there
might yet be many objects of knowledge. 12 When the objects of an inquiry, in any depart-
Aristotle, Categories, 1^21 ment, have principles, conditions, or elements, it
is through acquaintance with these that knowl-

8 Knowledge, as a genus, is explained by reference edge, that is to say scientific knowledge, is at-

to something else, for we mean a knowledge of

tained. For we do not think that we know a thing

something. But particular branches of knowledge

until we are acquainted with its primary condi-

arc not thus explained. The knowledge of gram- tions or first principles, and have carried our anal-

mar is not relative to anything external, nor is the ysis as far as its simplest elements. Plainly there-

knowledge of music, but these, if relative at all, fore in the science of Nature, as in other branches

are relative only in virtue of their genera; thus of study, our first task will be to try to determine

grammar is said to be the knowledge of something, what relates to its principles.

not the grammar of something; similarly music is The natural way of doing this is to start from
the knowledge of something, not the music of some- the things which are more knowable and obvious
thing. to us and proceed towards those which are clearer

Thus individual branches of knowledge are not and more knowable by nature; for the same
relative. And it is because we possess these indi- things are not ‘knowable relatively to us’ and

vidual branches of knowledge that we are said to ‘knowable’ without qualification. So in the pres-
be such and such. It is these that we actually pos-
ent inquiry we must follow this method and ad-
sess: we are called experts because we possess vance from what is more obscure by nature, but
knowledge in some particular branch. clearer to us, towards what is more clear and more

Aristotle, Categories, 11^24

knowable by nature.
Aristotle, Physics, 184*10

9 There is a difference between what and is prior

13 All men by nature desire to know. An indication
better known in the order of being and what is
of this is we take in our senses; for even
the delight
prior and better known to man. I mean that ob-
apart from their usefulness they are loved for
jects nearer to sense are prior and better known to
themselves; and above all others the sense of sight.
man; objects without qualification prior and bet-
For not only with a view to action, but even when
ter known are those further from sense. Now the
we are not going to do anything, we prefer seeing
most universal causes are furthest from sense and
(one might say) to everything else. The reason is
particular causes are nearest to sense, and they
that this, most of all the senses, makes us know
arc thus exactly opposed to one another.
and brings to light many differences between
Aristotle, Posterior Analytics, 71*^34
things.
Aristotle, Metaphysics, 980*1
10 It is hard to be sure whether one knows or not; for
it is hard to be sure whether one’s knowledge is
14 For all men begin, as we said, by wondering that
based on the basic truths appropriate to each at- things are as they are, as they do about self-mov-
tribute —the differentia of true knowledge. We ing marionettes, or about the solstices or the in-
think we have scientific knowledge if we have rea- commensurability of the diagonal of a square with
soned from true and primary premisses. But that the side; for it seems wonderful to all who have
is not so: the conclusion must be homogeneous
not yet seen the reason, that there is a thing which
with the basic facts of the science. cannot be measured even by the smallest unit. But
Aristotle, Posterior Analytics, 76^^26 we must end in the contrary and, according to the
proverb, the better state, as is the case in these
1 1 In the case of all discoveries the results of previous instances too when men learn the cause; for there
labours that have been handed down from others is nothing which would surprise a geometer so
have been advanced bit by bit by those who have much as if the diagonal turned out to be commen-
taken them on, whereas the original discoveries surable.
generally make an advance that is small at first Aristotle, Metaphysics, 983*13
though much more useful than the development
which later springs out of them. For it may be 15 It is absurd to seek at the same time knowledge
 —
6.L The Characteristics and Conditions of Human Knowledge 389

and the way of attaining knowledge; and it is not 19 The fact that men use the language that flows

easy to get even one of the two. from knowledge proves nothing; for even men un-
Aristotle, Metaphysics, 995»I3 der the influence of these passions utter scientific
proofs and verses of Empedocles, and those who
have just begun to learn a science can string to-
16 Since men may know the same thing in many
gether its phrases, but do not yet know it; for it
way's, we say that he who recognizes what a thing
has to become part of themselves, and that takes
is by its being so and so know’s more fully than he
time.
who recognizes it by its not being so and so, and in
Aristotle, Ethics, 1H7»17
the former class itself one know-s more fully than
another, and he knows most fully who knows what
20 It is one thing ...remember, another to know.
to
a thing is, not he who knows its quantity or quab
ity' or what it can by nature do or have done to it.
To remember is something entrusted
to safeguard
to your memory', whereas to know’, by contrast, is
Aristotle, Metaphysics, 996^^14
actually to make each item your own, and not to
be dependent on some original and be constantly
17 That there is no science of the accidental is ob- looking to see w'hat the master said,
vious; for all science is cither of that w'hich is al-
Seneca, letters to Lucilius, 33
way*s or of that w’hich most part. (For
is for the
how' else is one to learn or to teach another? Tlic 21 Now as touching things offered unto idols, w’c
thing must be determined as occurring cither al- know that we all have knowledge. Knowledge
v^’ays or for the most part, c.g. that honey-water is
puffeth up, but charity cdtficth.
useful for a patient in a fever is true for the most
And if any man think that he knoweth any
part.) But that which is contrary to the usual law
thing, he know'cth nothing yet as he ought to
science vv'ill be unable to state, i.c.when the thing know'.
docs not happen, c.g. *on the day of new moon*; for But if any man love God, the same is known of
even that v^ hich happens on the day of new moon him,
happens then cither alvs’ays or for the most part; / Connthians 8:1-3
but the accidental is contrary to svich laws.
Aristotle, Metaphysics, 1027*19 22 Knowledge, if it docs not determine action, is

dead to us.
18 WTiat scientific knowledge is, if v^’C arc to speak ex- Plotinus, First Ennead, II, 4
actlyand not follow mere similarities, is plain
from what follows. Wc all suppose that what we 23 Yet, l^rd Go<l of truth, is any man pleasing to
know is not cvxn capable of being otherwise; of You for knowing such things? Surely' a man is
things capable of being othcnvisc wc do not know, unhappy even if he knows all these things but
when have passed outside our observation,
they’ man is happy who
docs not know' You; and that
whether they c.xi5t or not. Therefore the object of know’s You even though he knows nothing of
sdcntific knowledge is of necessity. Tlicrcforc it is them, and the man who know-s lx)th You and
eternal; for things that arc of necessity in the un- them is not the happier for ilicm but only on ac-
qualified sense arc all eternal; and things that are count of You: if knovring You he glorifies You as
eternal are ungcncrated and imperishable. Again, You arc and gives thanks and docs not become
cvxry science thought to be capable of being
is vain in his thoughts. For just as he is better who
taught, and its object of being learned. And all knows he possesses a tree and gives thanks to You
teaching starts from what is already known, as wc for the use it is to him, although he docs not know
maintain in the Anatytics also; for it proceeds how many cubits high it is or the width of its
sometimes through induction and sometimes by spread, than another man who can measure it
syllogism. Now induction is the starting-point and number its branches but neither possesses it
W’hich knowledge even of the universal presuppos- nor know's and loves Him who created it; so it
es, while syllogism proceeds, from univcrsals. would be absurd to doubt that a true Christian
There are therefore starting-points from which who in some sense possesses all this w’orld of riches
syllogism proceeds, which are not reached by syl- and who having nothing yet possesses all things by
logism; it is therefore by induction that they are cleaving unto You whom all things serve — is bet-
acquired. Scientific knowledge is, then, a state of ter though he docs not cvxn know the circles of the
capacity to demonstrate, and has the other limit- Great Bear than one who can measure the heav-
ing characteristics which wc specify in the Anaiyt^ ens and number the stars and balance the ele-
ics, for it is when a man believes in a certain way ments, if in all this he neglects You who have or-
and the starting-points arc known to him that he dered alt things in measure and number and weight.
has scientific knowledge, since if they arc not bet- Augustine, Confessions, V, 4
ter known him than the conclusion, he will
to
have his knowledge only incidentally, 24 The knowledge of the creature is, in comparison
Aristotle, Ethics, 1139^19 of the knowledge of the Creator, but a twilight;
 —
390 I
Chapter 6, Knowledge

and so dawns and breaks into morning when

it cept information about objects, either past or
the creatureis drawn to the praise and love of the present, that relate to the bodily senses, in which
Creator; and night never falls when the Creator is are included also the experiments and conclusions
not forsaken through love of the creature. of the useful mechanical arts, except also the sci-
Augustine, City of God, XI, 7 ences of reasoning and of numbers. And in regard
to all these we must hold by the maxim, *‘Not too

25 Certain it is that, though philosophers disagree much of anything”; especially in the case of those

regarding the nature of things, and the mode of which, pertaining as they do to the senses, arc sub-
investigating truth, and of the good to which all ject to the relations of space and time.
our actions ought to tend, yet in these three great Augustine, Christian Doctrine, II, 39
general questions all their intellectual energy’ is

spent. And though there be a confusing diversity 29 \Vhcn the student of the Holy Scriptures . . .

of opinion, every* man striving to establish his own shall enter upon his investigations, let him con-
opinion in regard to each of these questions, yet upon that saying of the apostlc^'s,
stantly meditate
no one of them all doubts that nature has some “Knowledge puffeth up, but charity edifieth.” For
cause, science some method, life some end and so he will feel that, whatever may be the riches he
aim. Then, again, there arc three things which brings with him out of Egy*pt, yet unless he has
every artificer must possess if he is to effect any- kept the passover, he cannot be safe. Now Christ
—
thing nature, education, practice. Nature is to is our passover sacrificed for us. Let them
. . .

be judged by capacity, education by knowledge, remember, then, that those who celebrated the
practice by its fruit. passover at that time in type and shadow, when
Augustine, Cify of God, XI, 25 they were ordered to mark their door-posts with
the blood of the lamb, used hyssop to mark them
26 In ourselves beholding His image, let us, like that with. Now this is a meek and lowly herb, and yet
younger son of the gospel, come to ourselves, and nothing is stronger and more penetrating than its
arise and return to Him from ^Vhom by our sin roots; that being rooted and grounded in love, wc.
we had departed. There our being w^ill have no may be able to comprehend with all saints what is
death, our knowledge no error, our love no mis- the breadth, and length, and depth, and height
hap. that is, to comprehend the cross of our Lord, the
Augustine, City of God, XI, 28 breadth of which is indicated by the transverse
wood on which the hands arc stretched, its length
27 Owing to the liability of the human mind to fall by the part from the ground up to the cross-bar on
into mistakes, this very* pursuit of knowledge may \vhich the ^vhoIc body* from the bead do\N'nuards
be a snare to (man] unless he has a divine Master, is fixed, its height by the part from the cross-bar to

whom he may obey without misgiWng, and who the top on which the head lies, and its depth by
may at the same time give him such help as to the part w*hich is hidden, being fixed in the earth.
perserve his own freedom. And by this sign of the cross all Christian action is

Augustine, City of God, XIX, 14 symbolized, do good works in Christ, to

viz., to

ding with constancy* to Him, to hope for heaven,

28 I think that it is well to \N*am studious and able and not to desecrate the sacraments. And purified
young men, who fear God and arc seeking for by* this Christian action, shall be able to know

happiness of life, not to venture heedlessly upon even “the love of Christ which passeth knowl-
the pursuit of the branches of learning that are in edge.”
vogue beyond the pale of the Church of Christ, as Augustine, Christian Doctrine, II, 41

if these could secure for them the happiness they

seek; but soberly and carefully to discriminate 30 The brevity of our life, the dullness of our senses,
among them. And if they find any of those which the torpor of our indifference, the futility of our
have been instituted by men varying by reason of occupation, suffer us to know but little: and that
the varying pleasure of their founders, and un- little is soon shaken and then tom from the mind
known by reason of erroneous conjectures, espe- by* that traitor to learning, that hostile and faith-

cially if they involve entering into fcIIou*ship uith less stepmother to memory*, oblidon.
devils by means of leagues and covenants about John of Salisbury*, Prologue to the

signs, let these be utterly rejected and held in Policraticus

detestation. Let the young men also withdraw

their attention from such institutions of men as 31 Our soul possesses two cognitive powers. One is

are unnecessary and luxurious. But for the sake of the act of any* corporeal organ, which naturally
the necessities of this life we must not neglect the knou*s things existing in indiddual matter; hence
arrangements of men that enable us to carry* on Is anoth-
sense knou's only* the singular. But there
intercourse with those around us. I think, howev- er kind of cognitive power in the soul, called the
er, there is nothing useful in the other branches of intellect, and not the act of any corporeal
this is
learning that are found among the heathen, ex- organ. Therefore the intellect naturally kno\\*s na-
 6J. The Characteristics and Conditions of Human Knowledge \
391

tures which have being only in individual matter; partly practical. In proof of this it must be ob-
not however as they are in individual matter, but served that knowledge can be called speculative in
according as they are abstracted from it by the three ways. First, on the part of the things known,
consideration of the intellect. Hence it follows which are not operable by the knower; such is the
that through the intellect we can understand knowledge of man about natural or divine things.
things of this kind as universal, and this is beyond Secondly, as regards the manner of knowing as, —
the power of sense. Now the angelic intellect natu- for instance, if a builder consider a house by de-
rally knows natures not existing in matter; but fining and dividing, and considering what belongs
this is beyond the natural power of the intellect of to it in general, for this is to consider operable
our soul in the state of its present life, united as it things in a speculative manner, and not as they
is to the body. are operable; for operable means the application
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 12, 4 of form to matter, and not the resolution of the
composite into its universal formal principles.
32 Each thing is known insofar as its likeness is in the Thirdly, as regards the end; “for the practical in-
one who knows. Now this takes place in two ways. tellect differs in its end from the speculative,” as

For since things which are like one and the same the Philosopher [Aristotle] says. For the practical
thing arc like each other, the knowing power can intellect is ordered to the end of the operation,

be assimilated to any knowable object in two whereas the end of the speculative intellect is the
ways. In one way it is assimilated by the object consideration of truth. Hence if a builder should
itself, when it is directly informed by its likeness, consider how a house can be made, not ordering
and then the object is known in itself. In another this to the end of operation, but only to know

way when informed by a species which resembles (how to do it), this would be only a speculative
the object; and in this way the knowledge is not of consideration as regards the end, although it con-
the thing in itself, but of the thing in its likeness. cerns an operable thing. Therefore knowledge
For the knowledge of a man in himself differs which is speculative by reason of the thing itself
from the knowledge of him in his image. known, is merely speculative. But that which is
Aquinas, Summa Theological I, 12, 9 speculative either in its mode or as to its end is
partly speculative and partly practical; and when
33 A thing is said be comprehended when the end
to it is ordered to an operative end it is simply prac-
of the knowledge of it is attained, and this is ac- tical.

complished when it is known as perfectly as it is Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 14, 16

knowable; as, for instance, a demonstrable propo-
sition is comprehended when known by demon- 36 The intellect knows principles naturally; and this
stration, but not, however, when it is known by knowledge in man causes the knowledge of con-
some probable reason. clusions, which are known by him not naturally,
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 14, 3 but by discovery, or by teaching,
Aquin 2is, Summa Theologica^ I, 60, 2
34 As the Philosopher [Aristotle] says, “one knowl-
edge is preferable to another, either because it is 37 Knowledge is loved not that any good may come
about a higher object, or because it is more cer- to it but that it may be possessed.
tain.” Hence if the subject be equally good and Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 60, 3
sublime, that virtue will be the greater which “pos-
sesses more certain knowledge. But a virtue which 38 The action of the intellect consists in this —that
is less about a higher and better object, is
certain the notion of the thing understood is in the one
preferable to that which is more certain about an who understands, while the act of the will consists
object of inferior degree. Hence the Philosopher in this — that the will is inclined to the thing itself
says that a great thing to be able to know
it is as it is in itself. And therefore the Philosopher [Ar-
something about celestial beings, though it be istotle]says in the Metaphysics that good and evil,
based on weak and probable reasoning; and which are objects of the will, are in things, but
again, that it is better to know a little about sub- truth and error, which are objects of the intellect,
lime things, than much about mean things. Ac- are in the mind. When, therefore, the thing in
cordingly wisdom, to which knowledge about God which there is good is nobler than the soul itself,
pertains, beyond the reach of man, especially in
is in which is the idea understood, by comparison
be his possession, for this belongs
this life, so as to with such a thing the will is higher than the intel-
to God alone; and yet this little knowledge about lect. But when the thing which is good is less no-
God which we can have through wisdom is prefer- ble than the soul, then even in comparison with
able to all other knowledge. that thing the intellect is higher than the will.
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 14, 5 Therefore the love of God is better than the
knowledge of God; but, on the contrary, the
35 Some knowledge is speculative only, some is prac- knowledge of corporeal things is better than the
tical only, and some is partly speculative and love of them. Absolutely, however, the intellect is
 392 I
Chapter 6, Knowledge

nobler than the will. 42 Something is required for the perfection of knowl-
Aquinas, Summa Thtologica, I, 82, 3 edge that is not requisite for the perfection of love.
For knowledge pertains to the reason, whose func-
tion consists in distinguishing things which in re-
39 Material things known must exist in the knower
ality are rmited, and in unidng together, after a
not materially, but immaterially. The reason of
fashion, things that are distinct, by comparing one
this is because the act of knowledge extends to
wath another. Consequently the perfection of
things outside the knower, for we also know’ the
knowledge requires that man should know one by
things that are outside us. Now by matter the
one all that is in a thing, such as its parts, powers,
form of a thing is determined to some one thing.
and properties. On the other hand, love is in the
Therefore it is clear that knowledge is in inverse
appetitive power, ^vhich regards a thing as it is in
ratio to materiality. And consequently things that
itself; therefore it suffices, for the perfection of
arc not receptive of forms save materially, have no
—
pow’er of knowledge whatever such as plants, as
love, that a thing
prehended in itself.
be loved according as
Hence it is,
it is

therefore, that a
ap-

the Philosopher [Aristotle] says. But the more im-

thing is loved more than it is known, since it can
materially a thing has the form of the thing
be loved perfectly, even %vithout being perfectly
known, the more perfect is its knowledge. There-
known. This is most evident in regard to the sci-
fore the intellect which abstracts the species not
ences, which some love through having a certain
only from matter, but also from the individuating
conditions of matter, has more perfect knowledge
summary knowledge of them; for instance, thc>’
than the senses, which receive the form of the
know that rhetoric is a science that enables man
to persuade others, and this is what they love in
thing knowm, without matter indeed, but subject
to material conditions. Moreover, among the sen-
rhetoric. The same applies to the love of God.
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I-II, 27, 2
has the most perfect knowledge because
ses, sight

it is the least material. while among intellects

. .

the more perfect is the more immaterial. 43 As saith the Philosopher [Aristotle] in the begin-
ning of the First Philosophy, ‘All men by nature
Aquinas, Summa Thcologica, I, 84, 2
desire to know’; the reason whereof may be, that
each thing, impelled by its own natural foresight,
40 Plato held that naturally man's intellect is filled inclines to its owm perfection; wherefore, inas-
with all intelligible species, but that, by being
much asknowledge is the distinguishing perfec-
united to the body, it is hindered from the realiza- our soul, w’herein consists our distinguish-
tion of
tion of its act. But this seems to be wrong. First,
ing blessedness, all of us are naturally subject to
because, if the soul has a natural knowledge of all
the longing for it.
things, it seems impossible for the soul so far to
Dante, Convivio, I, 1
forget this natural knowledge as not to know that
it has it. For no man forgets what he kno\vs natu-
44 Before Noah’s flood the world was highly learned,
rally; that, for instance, every whole is larger than
by reason men lived a long time, and so attained
the part, and the like. And especially unreason-
great experience and wisdom; now, ere we begin
able does this seem if we suppose that it is natural
rightly to come to the true knowledge of a thing,
to the soul to be united to the body for it is
. .
,
we lie down and die. God will not have it that we
unreasonable that the natural operation of a thing
should attain a higher knowledge of things.
be totally hindered by that which belongs to it
Luther, TabU Talk, H160
naturally. Secondly, the falseness of this opinion is

clearly proved from the fact that if a sense be

45 In truth, knowledge is a great and ver)' useful
wanting, the knowledge of what is apprehended
through that sense is wanting also; for instance, a
quality; those who despise it give evidence enough
of their stupidity. But yet I do not set its value at
man who is born blind can have no knowledge of
that extreme measure that some attribute to it,
colours. This w’ould not be the case if the soul had
like Herillus the philosopher, w’ho placed in it the
innate species of all intelligible things. We must
sovereign good, and held that it was in its pow’er
therefore conclude that the soul does not know
corporeal things through innate species.
to make us wise and content. That I do not be-
lieve, nor what others have said, that knowledge is
Aquinas, Summa TTieologica, I, 84, 3 the mother of all virtue, and that all vice is pro-
duced by ignorance. If that is true, it is subject to
41 Good is the cause of love, as being its object. But a long interpretation.
good is not the object of the appetite, except as Montaigne, Essays, II, 12, Apology for
apprehended. And therefore love demands some Raymond Sebond
apprehension of the good that is loved. Ac- . . .

cordingly knowledge is the cause of love for the 46 Leonles. How blest am I
same reason as good is, which can be loved only if In my just censure, in my true opinion!
known. Alack, for lesser knowiedge! how’ accursed
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I-II, 27, 2 In being so blest! There may be in the cup
 6.1. The Characteristics and Conditions of Human Knowledge 393

A spider steep’d, and one may drink, depart, fice the authority of its first conclusions.
And yet partake no venom, for his knowledge Bacon, Novum Organum, I, 46
Is not infected; but if one present
The abhorr’d ingredient to his eye, make known 52 How much more exalted will that discovery be,
How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides. which leads to the easy discovery’ of everything
With violent hefts. I have drunk, and seen the else! Yet (to speak the truth) in the same manner
spider. as we are very thankful for light w'hich enables us
Shakespeare, Winter's Tale, II, i, 36 to enter on our way, to practise arts, to read, to
distinguish each other, and yet sight is more excel-
47 The contemplation of God’s creatures and works lent and beautiful than the various uses of light;
produced! (having regard to the works and crea- so is the contemplation of things as they are, free

tures themselves)knowledge, but having regard to from superstition or imposture, error or confusion,
God, no perfect knowledge, but wonder which is much more dignified in itself than all the advan-
broken knowledge. tage to be derived from discoveries.
Bacon, Advancement of Leamingy Bacon, Novum Organum, I, 129
Bk. I, I, 3
53 Again, the meanness of my estate doth somewhat
48 The commandment of knowledge is yet higher move me: for though I cannot accuse myself that
than the commandment over the will: for it is a I am cither prodigal or slothful, yet my health is

commandment over the reason, belief, and under- not to spend, nor my course to get. Lastly, I con-
standing of man, which is the highest part of the fessthat I have as vast contemplative ends, as I
mind, and giveth law to the will itself. For there is have moderate civil ends: for I have taken all
no power on earth which setteth up a throne or knowledge to be my province; and if I could
chair of estate in the spirits and souls of men, and purge it of two sorts of rovers, w'hercof the one
in their cogitations, imaginations, opinions, and with frivolous disputations, confutations, and ver-
beliefs, but knowledge and learning. bosities, the other with blind experiments and au-
Bacon, Advancement of Learning, ricular traditions and impostures, hath committed
Bk. I, VIII, 3 so many spoils, I hope I should bring in industri-
ous observations, grounded conclusions, and prof-
49 Let this be a rule, that all partitions of knowledges itable inventions and discoveries; the best state of
be accepted rather for lines and veins than for that province.
sections and separations; and that the continu- Bacon, Letter to Lord Burght^ (1592)
ance and cntircncss of knowledge be preserved.
For the contrary hereof hath made particular sci- 54 In the subjects we propose to investigate, our in-
ences tobecome barren, shallow, and erroneous, quiries should be directed, not to w’hat others have
while they have not been nourished and main- thought, nor towhat we ourselves conjecture, but
tained from the common fountain. towhat we can clearly and perspicuously behold
Bacon, Advancement of Learning, and with certainty deduce; for knowledge is not
Bk. II, IX, 1 won in any other way.
Descartes, Rules for Direction
50 Howbeit (if we will truly consider of it) more wor- of the Mind, III
thy it is than to know as we now know.
to believe
For in knowledge man’s mind suffereth from 55 Since we cannot be universal and know’ all that is
sense; but in belief it suffereth from spirit, such to be known of everything, w’e ought to know a
one as it holdcth for more authorized than itself, little about everything. For it is far better to know
and so suffereth from the worthier agent. Other- something about everything than to know all
wise it is of the state of man glorified; for then about one thing. This universality is the best. If
faith shall cease, and we shall know as we arc we can have both, still better; but if we must
known. choose, we ought to choose the former. And the
Bacon, Advancement of Learning, world feels this and does so; for the w’orld is often
Bk. II, XXV, 2 a good judge.
Pascal, Pensees, I, 37
51 The human understanding, when any proposition
has been once laid down (cither from general ad- 56 Our intellect holds the same position in the world
mission and belief, or from the pleasure it affords), of thought as our body occupies in the expanse of
forces cvcrj’thing else to add fresh support and nature.
confirmation; and although most cogent and Limited as we are in every’ way, this state w'hich
abundant instances may c-xist to the contrary, yet holds the mean benveen two extremes is present in
either docs not observe or despises them, or gets all our impotence. Our senses perceive no ex-
rid of and rejects them by some
distinction, with treme. Too much sound deafens us; too much
violent and injurious prejudice, rather than sacri-
light dazzles us; too great distance or proximity’
 394 I
Chapter 6. Knowledge

hinders our view. Too great length and too great with the Sun, until the opposite motion of their
brevity of discourse tend to obscurity; too much orbs bring them to such a place in the firmament,
truth is paralysing (I know some who cannot un- where they may be seen evening or morning? The
derstand that to take four from nothing leaves light which we have gained was given us, not to be
nothing). First principles are too self-evident for ever staring on, but by it to discover onward
us; too much pleasure disagrees with us. Too things more remote from our knowledge.
many concords are annoying in music; too many Milton, Areopagitica
benefits irritate us; we wish to have the where-
withal to overpay our debts. We feel neither
. . .
59 To be still searching what we know not by what
extreme heat nor extreme cold. Excessive qualities we know, still closing up truth to truth as we find
are prejudicial to us and not perceptible by the it (for all her body is homogeneal and proportion-
senses; we do not feel but suffer them. Extreme al), this is the golden rule in theology as well as in
youth and extreme age hinder the mind, as also arithmetic, and makes up the best harmony in a
too much and too little education. In short, ex- Church; not the forced and outward union of cold
tremes are for us as though they were not, and we and neutral, and inwardly divided minds.
arc not within their notice. They escape us, or we Milton, Areopagitica
them.
This is our true state; this is what makes us
incapable of certain knowledge and of absolute
60 A person who kno\vs anything, by that very fact
knows that he kno\vs, and knows that he knows
ignorance. We sail within a vast sphere, ever drift-
that he knows, and so ad infinitum.
ing in uncertainty, driven from end to end. When
Spinoza, Ethics, 11, Prop, 21, Schol.
we think to attach ourselves to any point and to
fasten to wavers and leaves us; and if we
it, it

follow it, it eludes our grasp, slips past us, and 61 All efforts which we make through reason arc
vanishes for evetv Nothing stays for us. This is our nothing but efforts to understand, and the mind,

natural condition and yet most contrary to our in so far as it uses reason, adjudges nothing as
inclination; we burn with desire to find solid profitable to itself excepting that which conduces
ground and an ultimate sure foundation whereon to understanding.

to build a tower reaching to the Infinite. But our Spinoza, Ethics, IV, Prop. 26
whole groundwork cracks, and the earth opens to
abysses. 62 We do not know that anything is certainly good
Let us, therefore, not look for certainty and sta- or evil excepting that which actually conduces to
bility. Our reason is always deceived by fickle understanding, or which can prevent us from un-
shadows; nothing can fix die finite between the derstanding.
two Infinites, which both enclose and fly from it. Spinoza, Ethics, IV, Prop, 27
If this be well understood, I think that we shall
remain at rest, each in the state wherein nature 63 The highest good of the mind is the knowledge of
has placed him. As this sphere which has fallen to God, and the highest virtue of the mind is to know
us as our lot is always distant from either extreme, God.
what matters it that man should have a little Spinoza, Ethics, IV, Prop. 28
more knowledge of the universe? If he has it, he
but gets a little higher. Is he not always infinitely 64 Faith. There is knowledge and knowledge.
. . .

removed from the end, and is not the duration of Knowledge that rcsteth in the bare speculation of
our life equally removed from eternity, even if it
things, and knowledge that is accompanied with
lasts ten years longer?
the grace of faith and love, which puts a man
In comparison with these Infinites, all finites
upon doing even the will of God from the heart:
are equal, and I see no reason for fixing our imag- of these will serve the Talker, but without
the first
ination on one more than on another. The only
the other the true Christian is not content.
comparison which we make of ourselves to the fi-
Bunyan, Pilgrim*s Progress, I
nite is painful to us.
Pascal, Pensets^ II, 72 65 He hawks at larks and sparrows has no less
that
sport,though a much less considerable quarry,
57 We must not think to make a staple commodity of than he that flies at nobler game: and he is little
all the knowledge in the land, to mark and licence acquainted with the subject of this treatise the —
it like our broadcloth and our woolpacks. —
UNDERSTANDING who docs not know that, as it is
Milton, Areopagitica the most elevated faculty of the soul, so it is em-
ployed with a greater and more constant delight
58 We boast our light; but if we look not wisely on than any of the other. Its searches after truth arc a
the Sun itself, it smites us into darkness. Who can sort of hawking and hunting, wherein the very
discern those planets that are oft combust, and pursuit makes a great part of the pleasure. Every
those stars of brightest magnitude that rise and set step the mind takes in its progress towards Knowl-
 6,1. The Characteristics and Conditions of Human Knowledge 395

edge makes some discover)', which is not only and repugnancy of any of our ideas. In
or disagreement

new, but the best too, for the time at least.
For the understanding, like the eye, judging of
objects only by its own sight, cannot but be
pleased with what it discovers, having less regret
for what has escaped it, because it is unknown.
Thus he who has raised himself above the alms-
basket, and, not content to live lazily
begged opinions, sets his own
truth, will (whatever
find and follow
this alone it consists. Where this perception is,
there is knowledge, and where it is not, there,
though we may fancy, guess, or believe, yet we
always come short of knowledge.
Locke, Concerning Human Understandings
Bk. IV, I, 1-2
on scraps of
thoughts on work, to 68 The knowledge of our own being we have by intu-
he on) ition. The existence of a God, reason clearly
lights

not miss the hunter’s satisfaction; every
of his pursuit will reward his pains with some de-
light; and he will have reason to think his time
not ill spent, even when he cannot much boast of
any great acquisition.
moment makes known to us, as has been shown.
The knowledge of the existence of any other thing
we can have only by sensation: for there being no
necessary connexion of real existence with any
idea a man hath in his memory; nor of any other

Locke, Concerning Human Understandings existence but that of God with the existence of any

Epistle to the
66 Though the comprehension of our understandings
comes exceeding short of the vast extent of things,
yet we shall have cause enough to magnify the
bountiful Author of our being, for that proportion
and degree of knowledge he has bestowed on us,
so far above all the rest of the inhabitants of this
our mansion. Men have reason to be well satisfied
with what God hath thought fit for them, since he
hath given them whatsoever is necessary for
. . .
Reader particular man: no particular man can know the
existence of any other being, but only when, by
actual operating upon him, it makes itself per-
ceived by him. For, the having the idea of any-
thing in our mind, no more proves the existence of
that thing, than the picture of a man evidences his
being in the world, or the visions of a dream make
thereby a true history.
Locke, Concerning Human Understanding,
Bk. IV, XI, 1

the conveniences of life and information of virtue; 69 We should believe that God has dealt more boun-
and has put within the reach of their discovery, tifully with the sons of men than to give them a
the comfortable provision for this life, and the strong desire for that knowledge which he had
way that leads to a better. How short soever their placed quite out of their reach.
knowledge may come of a universal or perfect Berkeley, Principles of Human Knowledge,
comprehension of whatsoever is, it yet secures Intro., 3
their great concernments, that they have light
enough to lead them to the knowledge of their 70 It is who takes a survey of the
evident to any one
Maker, and the sight of their own duties. ... It objects of human
knowledge, that they are either
will be no excuse to an idle and untoward servant, ideas actually imprinted on the senses; or else
who would not attend his business by candle light, such as are perceived by attending to the passions
to plead that he had not broad sunshine. The and operations of the mind; or lastly, ideas
Candle that is set up in us shines bright enough formed by help of memory and imagination—
for all our purposes. The discoveries we can make either compounding, dividing, or barely repre-
with this ought to satisfy us; and we shall then use senting those originally perceived in the aforesaid
our understandings right, when we entertain all ways. By sight I have the ideas of light and col-
objects in that way and proportion that they are ours, with their several degrees and By
variations.
suited to our faculties, and upon those grounds touch I perceive hard and soft, heat and cold, mo-
they arc capable of being proposed to us; and not tion and resistance, and of all these more and less
peremptorily or intcmperately require demonstra- either as to quantity or degree. Smelling furnishes
tion, and demand certainty, where probability me with odours; the palate with tastes; and hear-
only isto be had, and which is sufficient to govern ing conveys sounds to the mind in all their variety
all our concernments. If we will disbelieve ev- of tone and composition. And as several of these
erything, because we cannot certainly know all are observed to accompany each other, they come
things, we
do muchwhat as wisely as he who
shall to be marked by one name, and so to be reputed
would not use his legs, but sit still and perish, be- as one thing. Thus, for example a certain colour,
cause he had no wings to fly. taste, smell, figure and consistence having been

Locke, Concerning Human Understandings Intro. observed to go together, are accounted one dis-
tinct thing, signified by the name apple; other col-
67 Since the mind, in all its thoughts and reasonings, lections of ideas constitute a stone, a tree, a book,
hath no other immediate object but its own ideas,
which
—
and the like sensible things which as they are
it alone docs or can contemplate, it is evi- pleasing or disagreeable excite the passions of
dent that our knowledge is only conversant about love, hatred, joy, grief, and so forth.
them. . . . Knowledge then seems to me to be noth- But, besides all that endless variety of ideas or
ing but the perception of the connexion and agreement^ objects of knowledge, there
of is likewise something
 396 I
Chapter 6, Knowledge

which kiio\\'S or perceives them, and exercises di- to those high flights which otherwise it would be
vers operations, as willing, imagining, remember- able to reach.
ing, about them. This perceiving, active being is This doctrine, I am afraid, is at present carried
what I call mind, spirit, soul, or mysdj. By which much too far: for why should writing differ so
words do not denote any one of my ideas, but a
I much from all other arts? The nimbleness of a
thing entirely distinct from them, wherein, they dancing-master is not at all prejudiced by being
exist, or, which is the same thing, whereby they taught to move; nor doth any mechanic, I believe
—
are perceived for the existence of an idea con- exercise his tools the worse by having learnt to use
sists in being perceived. them. For my own part, I cannot conceive that
That neither our thoughts, nor passions, nor Homer or Virgil would have writ with more fire,
ideas formed by the imagination, exist without the if, instead of being masters of all the learning of
mind, is what cvciy^body will allow. And it seems their times, they had been as ignorant as most of
no less evident that the various sensations or ideas the authors of the present age. Nor do I believe
imprinted on the sense, however blended or com- that all the imagination, fire, and judgment of
bined together (that is, whatever objects they Pitt,could have produced those orations that have
compose), cannot exist othenvisc than in a mind made the senate of England, in these our times, a
perceiving them. —
I think an intuitive knowledge rival in eloquence to Greece and Rome, if he had
may be obtained of this by any one tliat shall not been so well read in the wTitings of Demos-
attend to what is meant by the term exists, when thenes and Cicero, as to have transferred their
applied to sensible things. The table I write on I whole spirit into his speeches, and, with their spir-
say e.xists, that is, I sec and feel it; and if I were it, knowledge too.
their
out of my study I should say it existed meaning — would not here be understood to insist on the
I

thereby that if I was in my study I might perceive same fund of learning in any of my brethren, as
it, or that some other spirit actually docs perceive Cicero persuades us is neecssar)’’ to the composi-
it. There was an odour, that is, it was smelt; there tion of an orator. On the contrary', very' little
was a sound, that is, it w'as heard; a colour or reading is, I conceive, necessary to the poet, less to
figure, and it was perceived by sight or touch. the critic, and the least of all to the politician. For
This is all that I can understand by these and the the first, perhaps, Byshe’s Art of Poetry’, and a few
like expressions. For as to what is said of the abso- of our modem poets, may suffice; for the second, a
lute existence of unthinking things without any moderate heap of plan’s; and, for the last, an indif-
relation to their being perceived, that seems per- ferent collection of political journals.
fectly unintelligible. Their esse is percepi, nor is it To say the truth, I require no more than that a
possible they should have any existence out of the man should have some litde knowledge of the sub-
minds or thinking things which perceive them. jecton which he treats, according to the old max-
It is indeed an opinion strangely prevailing im Quam quisque norit ariem in ea se exerceaU
of law,
amongst men, that houses, mountains, rivers, and ^Vith this alone a w'riter may sometimes do tolera-
in a word all sensible objects, have an e.xistence, bly well; and, indeed, without this, all the other
natural or real, distinct from their being perceived learning in the world will stand him in little stead.
by the understanding. But, with how great an as- For instance, let us suppose that Homer and
surance and acquiescence soever this principle Virgil, and Cicero, Thucydides and
Aristotle
may be entertained in the world, yet whoever Li\y', could have met all together, and have
shall find in his heart to call it in question may, if clubbed their several talents to have composed a
I mistake not, perceive it to involve a manifest treatise on the art of dancing: I believe it will be
contradiction. For, what arc the forementioned readily agreed they could not have equalled the
objects but the things we perceive by sense? and excellent treatise which Mr. Elssex hath given us
what do we perceive besides our own ideas or sen- on that subject, entitled, The Rudiments of Gen-
sations? and is it not plainly repugnant that any teel Education. And, indeed, should the excellent
one of these, or any combination of them, should Mr. Broughton be pre\'ailed on to set fist to paper,
exist unperceived? and to complete the above-said rudiments, by de-
Berkeley, Principles of Human Knowledge, 1-4 livering down the true principles of athletics, I
question whether the world will have any cause to
71 As several gentlemen in these times, by the won- lament, that none of the great uTiters, either an-
derful force of genius only, without the least assis- tient or modem, have ever treated about that no-

tance of learning, perhaps without being well able ble and useful art.

to read, have made a considerable figure in the

To avoid a multiplicity of examples in so plain
a case, and at once to my point, 1 am apt
to come
republic of letters; the modern critics, I am told,
have lately begun to assert, that all kind of learn-
to conceive, that one reason why many English
writers have totally failed in describing the man-
ing is entirely useless to a writer; and, indeed, no
other than a kind of fetters on the natural spright- ners of upper life, may possibly be, that in reality

lincss and activity of the imagination, which is they know nothing of it.

thus weighed dow’n, and prevented from soaring Fielding, Tom Jones, XIV, 1
 6.L The Characteristics and Conditions of Human Knowledge 397

72 Man is a reasonable being; and as such, receives standing is greatly indebted to the passions,

from science his proper food and nourishment:
But so narrow are the bounds of human under-
standing, that little satisfaction can be hoped for
in this particular, either from the extent of securi-
ty or his acquisitions. Man is a sociable, no less
than a reasonable being: But neither can he al-
ways enjoy company agreeable and amusing, or
preserve the proper relish for them. Man is also
which, it is universally allowed, are also much in-
debted to the understanding. It is by the activity
of the passions that our reason is improved; for we
desire knowledge only because we wish to enjoy;
and it is impossible to conceive any reason why a
person who has neither fears nor desires should
give himself the trouble of reasoning.
Rousseau, Origin of Jnequalitys I

an active being; and from that disposition, as well

as from the various necessities of human life, must 76 Knowledge, for most of those who cultivate it, is
submit to business and occupation: But the mind only a kind of money. They value it greatly, but
requires some relaxation, and cannot always sup- only in proportion as it is communicated; it is

port bent to care and industry. It seems, then,

its good only in commerce. Take from the learned
that nature has pointed out a mixed kind of life as the pleasure of being listened to, and knowledge
most suitable to the human race, and secretly ad- would cezise to be anything to them.
monished them to allow none of these biasses to Rousseau, La Nouvelle HeloisCs XII
draw too much, so as to incapacitate them for
other occupations and entertainments. Indulge many subjects of study which seem
77 There are . . .

your passion for science, says she, but let your sci-
but remotely allied to useful knowledge and of
ence be human, and such as may have a direct
little importance to happiness or virtue; nor is it
reference to action and society. Abstruse thought
easy to forbear some sallies of merriment or ex-
and profound researches I prohibit, and will se- pressions of pity when we see a man wrinkled with
verely punish,by the pensive melancholy which aUtnlion and emaciated with solicitude in the in-
they introduce, by the endless uncertainty in
vestigation of questions of which, without visible
which they involve you, and by the cold reception
inconvenience, the world may expire in igno-
which your pretended discoveries shall meet with,
rance.
when communicated.
Johnson, Rambler No. 83
Hume, Concerning Human Understandings I, 4

78 Knowledge always desires increase: it is like fire,

73 The sweetest and most inoffensive path of life
which must first be kindled by some external
and learning;
leads through the avenues of science
agent, but which will afterwards propagate itself.
and whoever can either remove any obstructions
Johnson, Letter to William
in this way, or open up any new prospect, ought
Drummond (Aug. 13, 1766)
so far to be esteemed a benefactor to mankind.
And though these researches may appear painful
and it is with some minds as with some
fatiguing, 79 Deign on the passing world to turn thine eyes.
bodies, which being endowed with vigorous and And pause awhile from letters, to be wise.
florid health, require severe exercise, and reap a Johnson, Vanity of Human Wishes, 157

pleasure from what, to the generality of mankind,

may seem burdensome and laborious. Obscurity, 80 “Sir, (said he [Johnson]) a desire of knowledge is

indeed, is painful to the mind as well as to the the natural feeling of mankind; and every human
eye; but to bring light from obscurity, by whatev- being, whose mind is not debauched, will be will-

er labour, must needs be delightful and rejoicing. ing to give all that he has to get knowledge.”
Hume, Concerning Human Understandings I, 6 Boswell, Life of Johnson (July 30, 1763)

74 What though these reasonings concerning human
nature seem abstract, and of difficult comprehen-
sion? This affords no presumption of their false-
hood. On the contrary, it seems impossible, that
what has hitherto escaped so many wise and pro-
found philosophers can be very obvious and easy.
And whatever pains these researches may cost us,
we may think ourselves sufficiently rewarded, not
only in point of profit but of pleasure, if, by that
means, we can make any addition to our stock of
knowledge, in subjects of such unspeakable im-
portance.
Hume, Concerning Human Understandings
75 Whatever moralists may human
hold, the
81 He [Johnson] observed, “All knowledge is of itself
of some value. There is nothing so minute or in-
considerable, that I would not rather know it than
not. In the same manner, all power, of whatever
sort, is of itself desirable. A man would not submit
to learn to hem a ruffle, of his wife, or his wife's
maid; but if a mere wish could attain it, he would
rather wish to be able to hem a ruffle.”
Boswell, Life of Johnson (Apr. 14, 1775)
82 Mathematical science affords us a brilliant exam-
ple, how far, independently of all experience, we
I, 10 may carry our a priori knowledge. It is true that
the mathematician occupies himself with objects
under- and cognitions only in so far as they can be repre-
 398 Chapter 6. Knowledge

sented by means of intuition. But this circum- And now I’ve nearly ten years through
stance is easily overlooked, because the said intu- Pulled my students by their noses to and fro
ition can itself be given a priori, and therefore is And up and down, across, about,
hardly to be distinguished from a mere pure con- And see nothing we can know!
there’s
ception. Deceived by such a proof of the power of That all but burns my heart right out.
reason, we can perceive no limits to the extension Goethe, Faust, I, 354
of our knowledge. The light dove cleaving in free
flight the thin air, whose resistance it feels, might 86 Wagner, But, ah, the world! the mind and heart of
imagine that her movements would be far more men!
free in airless space. Just in the same
and rapid Of these we each would fain know something just
way did Plato, abandoning the world of sense be- the same.
cause of the narrow limits it sets to the under- Faust. Yes, “know”! Men call it so, but then
standing, venture upon the wings of ideas beyond Who dares to call the child by its right name?
it, He did not
into the void space of pure intellect. The few who have some part of it descried,
reflect that he made no real progress by all his Yet fools enough to guard not their full hearts,
efforts; for he met with no resistance which might revealing
serve him for a support, as it were, whereon to To riffraffboth their insight and their feeling,
rest, and on which he might apply his powers, in Men have of old burned at the stake and cruci-
order to let the intellect acquire momentum for its fied.
progress. It is, indeed, the common fate of human Goethe, Faust, I, 586
reason in speculation, to finish the imposing edi-
fice of thought as rapidly as possible, and then for 87 1st Destinjf. Knowledge is not happiness, and
the first time to begin to examine whether the science
foundation is a solid one or no. Arrived at this But an exchange of ignorance for that
point, all sorts of excuses arc sought after, in order Which is another kind of ignorance.

to console us for its want of stability, or rather, Byron, Manfred, II, iv, 431
indeed, to enable us to dispense altogether with so
late and dangerous an investigation. 88 It is . the wish for rational insight, not the
. .

Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, ambition to amass a mere heap of acquirements,

Introduction, III that should be presupposed in every case as pos-
sessing the mind of the learner in the study of
83 All our knowledge begins with sense, proceeds science.
thence to understanding, and ends with reason, Hegel, Philosophy of Histo^,
beyond which nothing higher can be discovered in Introduction, 3
the human mind for elaborating the matter of in-
tuition and subjecting it to the highest unity of 89 Knowledge is the knowing thatwe can not know.
thought. Emerson, Montaigne; or. The Skeptic
Kant, Critique of Pure Reason,
Transcendental Dialectic 90 Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers,
Tennyson, Locksl^ Hall, 141
84 It isa maxim universally admitted in geometry,
and indeed in every branch of knowledge, that, in 91 Who loves not Knowledge? Who shall rail
the progress of investigation, we should proceed Against her beauty? May she mix
from known facts to what is unknown. In early With men and prosper! Who shall fix
infancy, our ideas spring from our wants; the sen- Her pillars? Let her work prevail.
sation of want excites the idea of the object by Tennyson, In Memoriam, CXIV
which it is to be In this manner, from a
gratified.
series of sensations, observations, and analyses, a 92 What is most of our boasted so-called knowledge
successive train of ideas arises, so linked together but a conceit that we know something, which robs
that an attentive observer may trace back to a us of the advantage of our actual ignorance?
certain point the order and connection of the Thoreau, Walking
whole sum of human knowledge.
Lavoisier, Elements of Chemistiy, Pref. 93 In science, as in life, learning and knowledge arc
distinct, and the study of things, and not of books,
85 FausU I’ve studied now Philosophy is the source of the latter.
And Jurisprudence, Medicine, T. H. Huxley, A Lobster, or
And even, alasl Theology The Study of Zoology
All through and through with ardour keen!
Here now I and see
stand, poor fool, 94 The nature of our mind leads us to seek the es-
I*m just as wise as formerly. sence or the why of things. Thus we aim beyond
Am called a Master, even Doctor too, the goal that it is given us to reach; for experience
 6J. The Characteristics
soon teaches us that we cannot get beyond the
how, i.e., beyond the immediate cause or the nec-
essary conditions of phenomena.
Claude Bernard, Experimental Medicine,
The nature or very essence phenomena, wheth-
of
95
er vital or mineral, will always remain unknown.
The essence of the simplest mineral
is as completely unknown to chemists
cists to-day as is the essence of intellectual phe-
nomena or of vital phenomenon to phy-
any other
That, moreover, is easy to apprehend;
siologists.
knowledge of the inmost nature or the absolute, in
the simplest phenomenon, would demand knowl-
edge of the whole universe; for every phenomenon
of the universe is evidently a sort of radiation from
that universe to whose harmony it contributes. In
living bodies absolute truth would be still harder
to attain; because, besides implying knowledge of
the universe outside a living body, it would also
demand complete knowledge of the Organism
which, as we have long been saying, is a little
world (microcosm) in the great universe (macro-
cosm). Absolute knowledge could, therefore, leave
nothing outside itself; and only on condition of
knowing everything could man be granted its at-
tainment. Man behaves as if he were destined to
reach this absolute knowledge; and the incessant
why which he puts to nature proves it. Indeed, this
hope, constantly disappointed, constantly reborn,
sustains and always will sustain successive genera-
tions in the passionate search for truth.
Claude Bernard, Experimental
96 The communication of knowledge certainly is
either a condition or the means of that sense of
enlargement or enlightenment, of which at this
day we hear so much in certain quarters: this can-
not be denied; but next, it is equally plain, that
such communication is not the whole of the pro-
cess. The enlargement consists, not merely in the
passive reception into the mind
ideas hitherto unknown to it, but in the mind’s
and simultaneous action upon and to-
energetic
wards and among those new ideas, which are
rushing in upon it. It is the action of a formative
power, reducing to order and meaning the matter
of our acquirements; it is a making the objects of
our knowledge subjectively our own, or, to use a
familiar word, a digestion of what we receive,
it is
into the substance of our previous state of
thought; and without this no enlargement is said
to follow. There is no enlargement, unless there be
a comparison of ideas one with another, as they
come before the mind, and a systematizing of
them. We feel our minds to be growing and ex-
panding then, when we not only learn, but refer
what we learn to what we know already. It is not
Ae mere addition to our knowledge that is the
illumination; but the locomotion, the movement
onwards, of that mental centre, to which both
and Conditions of Human Knowledge 399
what we know, and what we are learning, the ac-
cumulating mass of our acquirements, gravitates.
And therefore a truly great intellect, and recog-
II, 1 nized to be such by the common opinion of man-
kind, such as the intellect of Aristotle, or of St.
Thomas, or of Newton, or of Goethe (I purposely
take instances within and without the Catholic
phenomenon pale, when I would speak of the intellect as such),
and physi- is one which takes a connected view of old and
new, past and present, far and near, and which
has an insight into the influence of all these one
on another; without which there is no whole, and
no centre. It possesses the knowledge, not only of
things, but also of their mutual and true relations;
knowledge, not merely considered as acquire-
ment, but as philosophy.
Newman, Idea of a University,
Discourse VI
97 It is aseasy by taking thought to add a cubit to
one’s stature, as it is to produce an idea accept-
able to any of the Muses by merely straining for
it, before ready to come. We haunt in vain the
it is
sacred well and throne of Mnemosyne; the deeper
workings of the spirit take place in their own slow
way, without our connivance. Let but their bugle
sound, and we may then make our effort, sure of
an oblation for the altar of whatsoever divinity its
savor gratifies. Beside this inward process, there is
the operation of the environment, which goes to
break up habits destined to be broken up and so
to render the mind lively. Every'body knows that
the long continuance of a routine of habit make us
Medicine, II, 1
lethargic, while a succession of surprises wonder-
fully brightens the ideas. Where there is a motion,
where history is a-making, there is the focus of
mental activity, and it has been said that the arts
and sciences reside within the temple of Janus,
waking when that is open, but slumbering when it
is closed.
C. S, Peirce, Evolutionary Love
of a number of 98 Better know nothing than half-know many things!
Nietzsche, Thus Spake Zarathustra, IV, 64
99 The psychologist's attitude towards cognition ... is a
thorough- going dualism. It supposes two elements,
mind knowing and thing known, and treats them
as irreducible. Neither gets out of itself or into the
other, neither in any way is the other, neither
makes the other. They just stand face to face in a
common world, and one simply knows, or is
known unto, its counterpart. This singular rela-
tion is not to be expressed in any lower terms, or
translated into any more intelligible name. Some
sort of signalmust be given by the thing to the
mind’s brain, or the knowing will not occur ^we —
find as a matter of fact that the mere existence of a
thing outside the brain is not a sufficient cause for
our knowing it; it must strike the brain in some
way, as well as be there, to be known. But the
brain being struck, the knowledge is constituted
 400 Chapter 6, Knowledge

by a new construction that occurs altogether in to notice and analyze and think. What wc arc

the mind. The thing remains the same whether only acquainted with is only present to our minds;
known or not. And when once there, the knowl- wc have it, or the idea of it. But when wc know
edge may remain there, whatever becomes of the about it, we do more than merely have it; we
thing. seem, as wc think over its relations, to subject it to
William James, P^'chology, VIII a sort of treatment and to operate upon it with our
thought. The words feeling and thought give voice to
the antithesis. Through feelings wc become ac-
100 There are two kinds of knowledge broadly and practi-
quainted with things, but only by our thoughts do
cally distinguishable; we may call them respec-
wc know about them. Feelings arc the germ and
tively knowledge of acquaintance and knowledge^about.
starting point of cognition, thoughts the developed
... Iacquainted with many people and
am
tree. The minimum of grammatical subject, of ob-
things, which I know very little about, except
known about, the mere
jective presence, of reality
their presence in the places where I have met
beginning of knowledge, must be named by the
them. I know the color blue when I see and the
it,
word that says the least. Such a word is the inter-
flavor of a pear when I taste it! I know an inch
jection, as lo! there! ecce! voild! or the article or de-
when move my finger through it; a second of
I
monstrative pronoun introducing the sentence, as
time, when I feel it pass; an effort of attention
the, it, that.
when I make it; a difference between two things
when I notice it; but about the inner nature of William James, Psychology, VIII
these facts or what makes them what they arc, I
can say nothing at cannot impart acquain-
all. I 101 Common sense appears ... as a perfectly definite
tance with them to any one who has not already stage in our understanding of things, a stage that
made it himself. I cannot describe them, make a satisfies in an extraordinarily successful way the
blind man guess what blue is like, define to a child purposes for which wc think. ‘Things’ do exist,
a syllogism, or tell a philosopher in just what re- even when wc do not see them. Their ‘kinds’ also
spect distance is just what it is, and differs from exist. Their ‘qualities’ arc what they act by, and
other forms of relation. At most, I can say to my arc what wc act on; and these also exist. These
friends, Go to certain places and act in certain lamps shed their quality of light on every object in
ways, and these objects will probably come. All thisroom. Wc intercept it on its way whenever wc
the elementary natures of the world, its highest hold up an opaque screen. It is the very sound
genera, the simple qualities of matter and mind, that my lips emit that travels into your cars. It is
together with the kinds of relation that subsist be- the sensible heat of the fire that migrates into the
tween them, must cither not be known at all, or water in which wc boil an egg; and wc can
known in this dumb way of acquaintance without change the heat into coolness by dropping in a
knowledge’obout In minds able to speak at all there lump of ice. At this stage of philosophy all non-
is, it is knowledge alx>ut everything.
true, some European men without exception have remained.
Things can at least be classed, and the times of It suffices for all the necessary practical ends of
their appearance told. But in general, the less we life; and, among our
race even, it is only the high-
analyze a thing, and the fewer of its relations we ly sophisticated specimens, the minds debauched
perceive, the less we know about it and the more by learning, as Berkeley calls them, who have ever
our familiarity with it is of the acquaintance-type. even suspected common sense of not being abso-
The two kinds of knowledge arc, therefore, as the lutely true.
human mind them, relative
practically exerts But when wc look back, and speculate as to
terms. That is, the same thought of a thing may how the common-sense categories may have
be called knowlcdgc-about it in comparison with achieved their wonderful supremacy, no reason
a simpler thought, or acquaintance with it in appears why it may not have been by a process
comparison with a thought of it that is more artic- just like that by which the conceptions due to De-
ulate and explicit still. mocritus, Berkeley, or Darwin, achieved their
The grammatical sentence expresses this. Its similar triumphs in more recent times. In other
stands for an object of acquaintance
^‘subject*’ words, they may have been successfully discovered
which, by the addition of the predicate, is to gel by prehistoric geniuses whose names the night of
something known about it. We may already know antiquity has covered up; they may have been
a good deal, when we hear the subject named its — verified by the immediate facts of experience
name may have rich connotations. But, know we which they first fitted; and then from fact to fact
much or little then, we know more still when the and from man to man they may have spread, until
sentence is We
can relapse at will into a
done. all language rested on them and we arc now inca-
mere condition of acquaintance with an object by pable of thinking naturally in any other terms.
scattering our attention and staring at it in a vac- Such a view would only follow the rule that has
uous trance-like way. Wc can ascend to knowl- proved elsewhere so fertile, of assuming the vast
edge about it by rallying our wits and proceeding and remote to conform to the law’s of formation
 6.1, The Characteristics and Conditions of Human Knowledge 401

that we can obscn’c at work in the small and somebody; but when I say, “I sec nobody,” 1
near. mean, “I see, but I do not see somebody,” which is
William James, Pragmatism, V prima-facic evidence that there is not somebody.
Such negative judgments arc just as important a.s
102 I maintain that the notion of ‘mere knowledge’ is
positive judgments in building up our empirical
a high abstraction which we should dismiss from knowledge.
our minds. Knowledge is 0lwa)'s accompanied
Russell, Human Knowledge, II, 10
with accessories of emotion and purpose. Also we
must remember that there arc grades in the gen-
105 Arc there general facts? We
may restate this ques-
erality of ideas. Thus a general idea occurs in his-
tion in the following form: Suppose I knew the
tory in special forms determined by peculiar cir-
truth or falsehood of every' sentence not contain-
cumstances of race and of stage of civilization.
ing the word “all” or the word “some” or an
The higher generalities rarely receive any accu-
equivalent of either of these words; what, then,
rate verbal expression.
should I not knmv? Would what I should not
Whitehead, Artcmturrs of Jdtas, I, 1
know be my knowledge and
only something about
belief, or would be something that involves no
it
103 It isunconsciously assumed, as a premiss for a
reference to knowledge or belief? I am supposing
Tcductio cd absurdum of the analytic view, that, if A
that I can say. “Brown is here,” “Jones is here,”
and B arc immediate data, and A differs from B,
an im- “Robinson is here,” but not “Some men arc
then the fact that thc>' differ must also be
here,” still less “Exactly three men arc here” or
mediate datum. It is difficult to say how this as-
sumption arose, but I think it is to be connected
“Every man here is called ‘Brown’ or ‘Jones’ or
‘Robinson.’ ” And 1 am supposing that though I
with the confusion between “acquaintance” and
“knowledge about.” Acquaintance, which is what know the injth or falsehood of c\'cr>’ sentence of a
certain sort, I do not know that my knowledge has
we derive from sense, docs not, theoretically at
this completeness. If I knew my list to be complete
imply even the smallest “knowledge alx>ut,”
least,
I could infer that there arc three men here, but. as
docs not imply knowledge of any proposition
i.c. it

concerning the object with which we are ac- it is, I do not know that there arc no others.
quainted.It is a mistake to speak as if acquain-
Russell, Human Knoivtedge, II, 10

tance had degrees: there is merely acquaintance

and non-acquaintance. When 'vc speak of Ijccom- 106 It is clear that knowledge
is a sub-class of true

ing “better acquainted,” as for instance with a beliefs: every ease of knowledge is a ease of true
person, what we must mean is, becoming ac- belief, but not vice versa. It is very' easy to give

quainted with more parts of a certain whole; but examples of true beliefs that arc not knowledge.
the acquaintance with each part is either com- There is the man who looks at a clock which is not
plete or non-existent. Thus it is a mistake to say going, though he thinks it is, and who happens to
that if we were perfectly acquainted with an ob- look at it at the moment when it is right; this man
ject we should know all about it. “Knowledge acquires a true belief as to the time of d.iy, but
about” knowledge of propositions, which is not
is cannot be said to have knowledge. TJicrc is the
involved necessarily in acquaintance with the man who Ixlicvcs, truly, that the last name of the
constituents of the propositions. To know tltat two Prime Minister 1906 began with a B, but who
in
shades of colour arc different is knowledge about l>clic%’cs this because he thinks that Balfour was

them; hence acquaintance with the two shades Prime Minister then, whereas in fact it was
docs not in any way necessitate the knowledge Campbell Bannerman. 'Hjcrc is the lucky' opti-
that thc>* arc different. mist who, having bought a ticket for a lottery', has
Russell, Throry oj Continui^’ an unshakable conviction that he udll win, and,
being lucky, docs win. Such instances can be mul-
104 From the point of view* of knowledge, though not tiplied indefinitely, and show that you cannot
of logic, there is an important difference between claim to have known merely because you turned
positive and negative general propositions, name- out to be right.
ly that some general negative propositions seem to \Vliat character in addition to truth must a be-
result from observation as directly as “TTiis is not lief have in order to count as knowledge? ITic
blue”. ... In Through the Looking Glassy the king plain man would say there must be sound evi-
says to Alice, “Who do
you sec coming along the dence to support the As a matter of com-
belief.
road?” and she replies, “I see nobody coming,” to mon sense this is most of the eases in
right in
which the king retorts, “What good eyes you must which doubt arises in practice, but if intended as a
have! It’s as much as I can do to see somebody by complete account of the matter it is very' inade-
this light.” The point, for us, is that “I see no- quate. “Evidence” consists, on the one hand, of
body” is 710/ equivalent to “I do not see some- certain matters of fact that arc accepted as indu-
body.” The latter statement is true if my eyes arc bitable, and, on the other hand, of certain princi-
shut, and affords no evidence that there is not ples by means of which inferences arc drawn from
 —
402 i
Chapter 6. Knowledge

the matters of fact. It is obvious that this process is lectual findings —

our logical terms or projected
unsatisfactory' unless we know the matters of fact metes and bounds. If the required reorganization
and the principles of inference not merely by is effected, they arc confirmed, and reflection (on

means of evidence, for otherwise we !>ecomc in- that topic) ceases; if not, there is frustration, and
volved in a vicious circle or an endless regress. We inquiry continues. That all knowledge, as issuing
must therefore concentrate our attention on the from reflection, is experimental (in the litenU
maitcn of fact and the principles of inference. We phy'sical sense of experimental) is then a constit-
may then say that what isknown consists, fint, of uent proposition of this doctrine.
certain matters of fact and certain principles of Upon this view', thinking, or knowledge-getting,
inference, neither of which stands in need of ex- is from being the armchair thing it is often
far
traneous evidence, and secondly, ol all that can be supposed to be. The reason it is not an armchair
ascertained by applying the principles of infer- thing is that it is not an c^•cnt going on exclusively
ence to the matters o! fact. Traditionally, the mat- within tlic cortex or die cortex and vocal organs.
ten of fact arc those given in perception and me- It ins'olvcs the explorations by which rclcs-am

mory', while the principles ol inference arc those of data arc procured and the phy'sical analyses by
deductive and inductive logic. which they arc refined and made precise; it com-
There arc various unsatisfactory* features in this prises the readings by which information is got
traditional doctrine, though I am not at all sure hold of, the words w'hich arc experimented with,
that, in the end, we can substitute anything very and the calculations by which the significance of
much better. entertained conceptions or hypotheses is elaborat-
Russell, Human Kr.culedrjt 11, 11 ed. Hands and apparatus and appliances of
feet,

all kinds are as much a pari of it as changes in the

107 It is difficult to define knowledge, difficult to de- brain. Since these phy'sical operations (including
cide whether we have any knowledge, and diffi- the cerebral c\cnts) and equipments arc a part of
cult, exxn il it is conceded that we sometimes have 109 tbinVmg, ibinking mental, not because ol a pe-
is

knowledge, to discover whether we can ever know culiar stuff which enters into it or of peculiar non-
that we have knowledge in this or that particular natural activities whidi constitute it, but because
case, of what physical acts and appliances do: the dis-
Russell, /In/ihm oj Mind, Xlll tinctive purpose for which they arc employed and
die disiinctn-c results which they accomplish.

108 Knowing alway's has a p>{iTUnilar purpose, and its Dewey, Essins in ExprrimrrJal tcgiCf
solution must be a function of its conditions in Introduction, 2
connection witli additional ones which arc brought
to l>ear. Kver^' reflective knowledge, in other Ijci me . . . call attention to an ambiguity' in the
words, has a specific task which is set by a con- term '‘knowledge.” The statement that all knowl-
creteand empirical situation, so that it can per- edge involves reflection or, more concretely, that —
form that task only by detecting and remaining il denotes an inference from cs’idencc gives of- —
faithful to the conditions in the situation in whicli fense to many; it seems a departure from fact as
the difficulty arises, while its purpose is a reorga- wtH as a wilful limitation of the word "knosd-
nization of its factors in order to get unity. edge.” I hasT . . . endeas'ored to mitigate the ob-
So far, however, there is no accomplished noxiousness of the doctrine by referring to
knowledge, but only knowledge coming to be “knowledge which is intellectual or logical in
learning, in the classic Greek conception. T7unk- character.” Lest this expression be regarded as a
ing gets no farther, as thinKin^, than a statement of futile evasion of a real issue, I shall now be more
elements constituting the difficulty at hand and a explicit.
statement —
a propounding, a proposition--of a It may well be admitted that there is a real
method for resolving them. In fi.xing the frame- sense in which knowledge (as distinct from think-
work of every’ reflective situation, this state of af- ing or inquiring with a guess attached) does not
fairs also determines the further stepwhich is come into c.xisicncc till thinking has terminated in
needed if be knowledge knowledge in
there is to — the experimental act which fulfils the specifica-
the eulogistic sense, as distinct from opinion, dog- tions set forth in thinking. But w’hai is also true is
ma, and gucsssvork, or from what casually passes that the object thus determined is an object of
current as knowledge. Overt action is demanded Kmo'Medpr only because of the thinking which has
if the worth or validity of the reflective consider- preceded it and to which it sets a happy term. To
ations is to be determined. Othcrvs’isc, we have, at run against a hard and painful stone is not ol
most, only a hypothesis that the conditions of the itself, 1 should say, an act of knowing; but if run-
difficulty arc such and such, and that the v*ay to ning into a hard and painful thing is an outcome
go at them so as to get over or througli them is predicted after inspection of data and elaboration
thus and so. This way must be tried in action; it of a hypothesis, then the hardness and the painful
must be applied, physically, in the situation. By bruise which define the thing as a stone also con-
finding out what tlicn happens, we test our intel- stitute it emphatically an object o! knowledge. In
 6.1 , The Characteristics and Conditions of Human Knowledge 403

short, the object of knowledge in the strict sense is The structure of the fact consists of the struc-
its objective; and this objective is not constituted tures of the atomic facts.

till it is reached. Now this conclusion — as the The totality of existent atomic facts is the
—
word denotes is thinking brought to a close, world.
done with. If the reader docs not find this state- The totality of existent atomic facts also de-
ment satisfactory, he may, pending further discus- termines which atomic facts do not exist.
sion, at leastrecognize that the doctrine set forth The existence and non-existence of atomic facts
has no difficulty in connecting knowledge with in- is the reality.
ference, and at the same time admitting that (The existence of atomic facts we also call a
knowledge in the emphatic sense docs not exist till positive fact, their non-existence a negative fact.)
inference has ceased. Seen from this point of view, Atomic facts arc independent of one another.
so-called immediate knowledge or simple appre- From the existence or non-existence of an
hension or acquaintance-knowledge represents a atomic fact we cannot infer the existence or non-
critical skill, a certainty of response which has ac- existence of another.
crued in consequence of reflection. A like surencss The total reality is the world.
of footing apart from prior investigations and test- We make to ourselves pictures of facts.

ings is found in instinct and habit. I do not deny TTic picture presents the facts in logical space,
that these may be better than knowing, but I see the existence and non-existence of atomic facts.
no reason for complicating an already too con- The picture is a model of reality.
fused situation by giving them the name “knowl- To the objects correspond in the picture the ele-
edge” with its usual intellectual implications. ments of the picture.
From this point of view, the subject-matter of The elements of the picture stand, in the pic-
knowledge is precisely that which we do not think ture, for the objects.
of, or mentally refer to in any way, being that The picture consists in the fact that its elements
which taken as matter of course, but it is never-
is are combined with one another in a definite way.
theless knowledge in virtue of the inquiry which The picture is a fact.
has led up to it. That the elements of the picture arc combined
Dewey, Essays in Experimental with one another in a definite way, represents that
Logic, Intro., 2 the things arc so combined with one another.
This connexion of the elements of the picture is
110 Knowledge becomes relative, as soon as the intel-
structure, and the of this
made a kind of absolute.
lect is —We regard the called
structure
its

is
possibility
called the form of representation of
human intellect, on the contrary, as relative to the
the picture.
needs of action. Postulate action, and the very
'Hie form of representation is the possibility
form of the intellect can be deduced from it. This
that the things arc combined with one another as
form is therefore neither irreducible nor inexplica-
arc the elements of the picture.
ble.And, precisely because it is not independent,
Thus the picture is linked wth reality; it reach-
knowledge cannot be said to depend on it: knowl-
es up to it.
edge ceases to be a product of the intellect and
It is like a scale applied to reality.
becomes, in a certain sense, part and parcel of
reality.
Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-
Philosophicus, 2.026-2.1512
Bergson, Creative Evolution, 11

111 In order to know an object, 1 must know not its

1 1 3 Knowledge is not eating, and we cannot expect to
external but all its internal qualities. devour and possess what we mean. Knowledge is
recognition of something absent; it is a salutation,
Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico*
not an embrace. It is an advance on sensation pre-
Philosophicus, 2.01231
cisely because it is representative.
112 Only if there are objects can there be a fixed form Santayana, Life of Reason, I, 3
of the world.
The fixed, the existent and the object arc one. 114 Superstition, and sometimes philosophy, accepts
The object is the fixed, the existent; the config- imagination as a truer avenue to knowledge than
uration is the changing, the variable. is contact with things; but this is precisely what I

The configuration
of the objects forms the endeavour to avoid by distinguishing matter, or
atomic fact. the substance of dynamic things, from essence, or
In the atomic fact objects hang one in another, the direct datum, sensuous or intelligible, or intu-
like the members of a chain. ition. Intuition represents the free life of the mind,

In the atomic fact the objects are combined in a the poetry native to it, which I am far from des-
definite way. pising; but this is the subjective or ideal element
The way which objects hang together in the
in in thought which we must discount if we arc anx-
atomic fact the structure of the atomic fact.
is ious to possess true knowledge.
The form is the possibility of the structure. Santayana, Realms of Being, Intro.
 404 I
Chapter 6, Knowledge

115 The enormous infusion of error that sense, pas- but issuing in spiritual entertainment. Had the
sion,and language bring with them into human world turned out to be very small and handy, and
knowledge is therefore less misleading than might the science of it as simple as it seemed to Dcs.
be supposed. Knowledge is not truth, but a view cartes, spiritwould have suffered no disappoint-
or expression of the truth; a glimpse of it secured ment; there would have been more than matter
by some animal with special organs under special enough for all the wit of man. Perhaps the envi-
circumstances. A lover of paradox might say that roning blank would have positively helped to
to be partly wrong is a condition of being partly frame in the picture, and make it easier for a reli-
right; or more soberly, that to be partial is, for gion of the heart to understand and envelop exis-
knowledge, a condition of existing at all. To be tence.
partial and also to be relative: so that all the sen- There is a snare, however, in the very essence of
suous colour and local perspective proper to hu- knowledge in that it has to be a form of faith, and
man views, and all the moral bias pervading faith is something psychic rather than spiritual:
them, far from rendering knowledge impossible, an expectation and hope addressed to things not
supply instruments for exploration, divers sensi- seen, because they would match potentialities in
tive centres and divers inks, whereby in divers the soul. Actual belief (the expectation or affirma-
ways the facts may be recorded. tion in it) is a state of the spirit; but spirit could
Santayana, Realm of Truthy VII never fall into that state or maintain that asser-
tiveness by a purely spiritual insight, since intu-
116 The knowledge belongs to the essence of
love of ition is of the given and spirit is pure actuality. In
spirit.Far from being, as Baconian pragmatism knowledge, as distinguished from intuition, Acre
would have it, a love of power, it is a love of imag- is therefore a postulating element, an element of

ination; only that imagination needs to be fed by
contact with external things and by widening vi-
tal rhythms. When the great explorers sailed in
search of gold and of spices, imagination within
them was dreaming of the wonders they might
find, and of the splendours they might display at
home after their return. The voyage too would be
something glorious, to be described in fabulous
books and woven into tapestries. This is a healthy
love of knowledge, grounded on animal quests,
hunger unsatisfied; the datum hangs in the air,
not being accepted for what it is, but taken as an
index to a dynamic object that is perhaps non-
existent. This adventurous intent, this sense of the
ulterior and potential, strains the spirit, spoils in-
tuition, and opens the door to doubt, argument,
error, and presumption. Faith belongs to earth
and to purgatory: in heaven it would be a lapse
into distraction.
Santayana, Realm of Spirit, VII

6.2 Experience

Although it is a term that no one can avoid how much of what we know is somehow
using, experience seldom defined by those
is born of experience, and also to realize how
who use it. It would appear to be co-exten- special is the knowledge that some philoso-
sive with consciousness —the flow of experi- phers call transcendental because it is inde-
ence from moment to moment being identi- pendent of and goes beyond experience.
cal with what William James called "the —
A few of the writers quoted namely, Ar-
stream of consciousness.” It would appear to istotle, Hobbes, and Harvey —
use the word
be impossible to be a sentient or conscious "experience” in a more restricted sense.
being and not to have experience at every They point out that from repeated percep-
waking moment and even when one^s sleep tions, memories are generated; and that
is interrupted by dreams. To understand from many memories, experience emerges.
this much about experience is to recognize It is in this sense of the term that a man of
 1

6.2. Experience
j
405

experience about certain matters is said to of Faust’s search for the uniquely satisfying

have competence to judge about such mat- experience in which he will gladly come to

ters, a competence comparable to, though rest. For the poets, as the quotations indi-
perhaps inferior to, that of the artist or sci- cate, experience is more likely to be valued

entist with respect to the same matters. The for its own sake and not merely as a factor

latter, it is noted, have a knowledge based indispensable to the attainment of knowl-

on experience that they can teach others, edge.
whereas the expertness of the man of experi- Two other points should be noted, espe-
ence is not similarly conveyable to others. bearing on the relationship
cially for their

The value of experience is differently ap- between experience and knowledge. One is
praised in relation to different kinds of that experience, however indispensable it
knowledge; it is of much less utility, or much may be as a source of knowledge, is never by
less experience is needed, in mathematics, itself a form of knowledge. The other is a
for example, than in ethics or That politics. point to which Francis Bacon first called ex-
is why, as some writers point out, young men plicit namely, that scientific
attention;
with little experience can become experts in method a systematic effort to obtain and
is

certain fields of learning, whereas in others control experience by carefully planned ob-
we prefer to listen to older mer\ and women servations. Philosophers may appeal to ex-
whose counsel or wisdom reflects long and periences that they have in common with
varied experience. other men; only scientists “manufacture”
The human appetite for experience would the special experiences they amass and in-
4
appear to be as insatiable as the desire for terpret for their own purposes. The reader
knowledge. This craving for every variety of will find more detailed discussion of this
experience is celebrated by the poets, and point in Section 17.2.
especially by Goethe in his characterization

1 A man that hath traveled knoweth many things; ingly showed them hospitality, and invited them
and he that hath much experience will declare to a banquet, where, as they feasted, he said to
wisdom. He that hath no experience knoweth lit- them: —
tle: but he that hath traveled is full of prudence. “Men of Lacedeemon, why will ye not consent
When I traveled, I saw many things; and I under- to be friends with the king? Ye have but to look at
stand more than I can express. me and my fortune to sec that the king knows well
Ecclesiasiictis 34:9-1 how to honour merit. In like manner ye your-
selves, were ye to make your submission to him,

2 Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story would receive at his hands, seeing that he deems
of that man skilled in all ways of contending, you men of merit, some government in Greece.”
the wanderer, harried for years on end, “Hydarnes,” they answered, “thou art a one-
after he plundered the stronghold sided counsellor. Thou hast experience of half the
on the proud height of Troy. matter; but the other half is beyond thy knowl-
He saw the town lands edge. A slave’s life thou understandest; but, never
and learned the minds of many distant men, having tasted liberty, thou canst not tell whether
and weathered many bitter nights and days it be sweet or no. Ah! hadst thou known what

in his deep heart at sea, while he fought only freedom is, thou wouldst have bidden us fight for
to save his to bring his shipmates it, not with the spear only, but with the battle-
life, home,
axe.”
Homer, Odyssey, I, 1
So they answered Hydarnes.
3 On their road to
Susa they presented themselves Herodotus, History, VII, 135
before Hydames. This Hydarnes was a Persian by
birth, and had the command of all the nations Socrates.Well, then, if you and I, Callicles, were
that dwelt along the sea-coast of Asia, He accord- intending to set about some public business, and
 406 I
Chapter 6. Knowledge

were advising one another to undertake buildings, 6 The animals other than man live by appearances
such as walls, docks or temples of the largest size, and memories, and have but of connected
little

ought we not to examine ourselves, first, as to experience; but the human race lives also by art
whether we know or do not know the art of build- and reasonings. Now from memory experience is
ing, and who taught us?~-~would not that be nec- produced in men; for the several memories of the
essary, Callicles? same thing produce finally the capacity for a sin-
True.
Callicles. gle experience. And experience seems pretty
In the second place, we should have to con-
Soc. much like science and but really science and
art,

sider whether we had ever constructed any private art come to men through experience; for ‘experi-
house, either of our own or for our friends, and ence made art’, as Polus says, ‘but inexperience
whether this building of ours was a success or not; luck’.
and if upon consideration we found that we had Aristotle, Metaphysics, 980l>25
had good and eminent masters, and had been suc-
cessful in constructing many fine buildings, not 7 With a view to action experience seems in no re-
only with their 2issistance, but without them, by spect inferior to art, and men of experience suc-
our own unaided skill —-in that case prudence ceed even better than those who have theory with-
would not dissuade us from proceeding to the con- out experience. (The reason is that experience is

struction of public works. But if we had no master knowledge of individuals, art of univcrsals, and
to show, and only a number of worthless buildings actions and productions are all concerned with
or none at all, then, surely, it would be ridiculous the individual; for the physician does not cure
in us to attempt public works, or to advise one man, except inan incidental way, but Callias or
5 another to undertake them. Is not this true? Socrates orsome other called by some such indi-
Cal. Certainly. vidual name, who happens to be a man. If, then,
Soc. And does not the same hold in all other a man has the theory without the experience, and
cases? If you were physicians, and were ad-
and I recognizes the universal but does not know the
vising one another that we were competent to individual included in this, he will often fail to
practise as state-physicians, should I not ask about cure; for it is the individual that is to be cured.)
you, and would you not ask about me, Well, but But yet we think that knowledge and understanding
how about Socrates himself, has he good health? belong to art rather than to experience, and we
and was any one else ever known to be cured by suppose artists to be wiser than men of experience
him, whether slave or freeman? And I should (which implies that Wisdom depends in all cases
make the same enquiries about you. And if we rather on knowledge); and this because the for-
arrived at the conclusion that no one, whether cit- mer know the cause, but the latter do not. For
izen or stranger, man or woman, had ever been men of experience know that the thing is so, but
any the better for the medical skill of either of us, do not know why, while the others know the ‘why’
then, by Heaven, Callicles, what an absurdity to and the cause. Hence we think also that the masr
think that we or any human being should be so ter-workers in each craft are more honourable
silly as to set up as state-physicians and advise and know in a truer sense and are wiser than the
others like ourselves to do the same, without hav- manual workers, because they know the causes of
ing first practised in private, whether successfully the things that are done (we think the manual
or not, and acquired experience of the art! Is not workers are like certain lifeless things which act
this, as they say, to begin with the big jar when indeed, but act without knowing what they do, as
you are learning the potter’s art; which is a foolish fire burns, — but while the lifeless things perfont
thing? each of their functions by a natural tendency, the
Plato, GorgiaSy 5 HA labourers perform them through habit); thus we
view them as being wiser not in virtue of being
Socrates. Bear in mind the whole business of the able to act, but of having the theory for them-
midwives, and then you will see my meaning bet- selves and knowing the causes. And in general it is
ter: — No woman, as you are probably aware, who a sign of the man who knows and of the man who
is still able to conceive and bear, attends other does not know, that the former can teach, and
women, but only those who are past bearing. therefore we think art more truly knowledge than
Theaetetus. Yes, I know. experience is; for artists can teach, and men of

Soc. The
reason of this is said to be that Artemis mere experience cannot.
— the goddess of childbirth —
is not a mother, and Aristotle, Metaphysics, 98 1® 13
she honours those who are like herself; but she
could not allow the barren to be mid wives, be- 8 While young men become geometricians and
cause human nature cannot know the mystery of mathematicians and wise in matters like these, it
an art without experience; and therefore she as- is thought that a young man of practical wisdom

signed this office to those who are too old to bear. cannot be found. The cause is that such wisdom is
Plato, Theaetetus, 149A concerned not only with universal but with par-
 6.2. Experience 407

ticulars, which become familiar from experience, hope, because just as it makes a man think possi-
but a young man has no experience, for it is blewhat he had previously thought impossible, so,
length of time that gives experience; indeed one conversely, experience makes a man consider as
might ask this question too, why a boy may be- impossible that which hitherto he had thought
come a mathematician, but not a philosopher or a possible. Accordingly experience causes hope in
because the objects of mathematics
physicist. It is 13 two ways, despair in one way; and for this reason
existby abstraction, while the first principles of we may say rather that it causes hope.
these other subjects come from experience, and Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I-II, 40, 5
because young men have no conviction about the
latter but merely use the proper language, while “I [Odysseus] departed from Circe, who beyond a
the essence of mathematical objects is plain
year detained me there near Gaeta, ere /Eneas
enough to them? thus had named it,
Aristotle, 1142^12 neither fondness formy son, nor reverence for my
9 We ought to attend to the undemonstrated say- aged father, nor the due love that should have
ings and opinions of experienced and older people cheered Penelope,
or of people of practical wisdom not less than to could conquer in me the ardour that I had to gain
demonstrations; for because experience has given experience of the world, and of human vice and
them an eye they see aright. worth;
Aristotle, Ethics, 1143^11 I put forth on the deep open sea, with but one
ship, and with that small company, which had
10 Prove all things; hold fast that which is good. not deserted me.
I Thessalonians 5:21 Both the shores I saw as far as Spain, far as Mo-
rocco; and saw Sardinia and the other isles
1 1 Medicine, to produce health, has to examine dis- which that sea bathes round.
ease, and music, to create harmony, must investi- I and my
companions were old and tardy, when
gate discord; and the supreme arts of temperance, we cameto that narrow pass, where Hercules
of justice, and of wisdom, as they are acts of judg- assigned his landmarks
ment and selection, exercised not on good and just to hinder man from venturing farther; on the
and expedient only, but also on wicked, unjust, right hand, I left Seville; on the other, had al-
and inexpedient objects, do not give their com- ready left Ceuta.
mendations to the mere innocence whose boast is ‘O brothers!’I said, ‘who through a hundred

its inexperience of evil, and whose truer name is, thousand dangers have reached the West, deny
by their award, simpleness and ignorance of what not, to this the brief vigil
all men w'ho live aright should know. The ancient ofyour senses that remains, experience of the un-
Spartans, at their festivals, used to force their Hel- peopled world behind the Sun.
ots to s^vallow large quantities of raw wine, and Consider your origin: ye were not formed to live
then to expose them at the public tables, to let the like brutes, but to follow virtue and knowledge.’
young men see what it is to be drunk. With this brief speech I made my companions so
Plutarch, Demetrius eager for the voyage, that I could hardly then
have checked them;
12 The hope is a future good, difficult but
object of and, turning the poop towards morning, we of our
Consequently a thing may be a
possible to obtain. oars made wings for the foolish flight, always
cause of hope either because it makes something gaining on the left.
possible to a man or because it makes him think Night already saw the other pole, with all its stars;
something possible. In the first way hope is caused and ours so low, that it rose not from the ocean
by everything that increases a man’s power; for floor.
instance riches, strength, and, among others, ex- Five times the light beneath the Moon had been
perience, for by experience man acquires the pos- rekindled and quenched as oft, since we had
something easily, and the result
sibility of getting entered on the arduous passage,
of this hope. Therefore Vegetius says: “No one
is when there appeared to us a Mountain, dim with
fears to do that which he is sure of having learnt distance; and to me it seemed the highest I had
well.” ever seen.
In the second way, hope
is caused by everything We joyed, and soon our joy was turned to grief:
that makes man think that something is possible a tempest rose from the new land, and
for
for him; and thus both teaching and persuasion struck the forepart of our ship.
may be a cause of hope. And in this way also Three times it made her whirl round with all the
experience is a cause of hope, in so far as it makes waters; at the fourth, made the poop rise up and
him consider something possible which before his prow go down, as pleased Another, till the sea
experience he looked upon as impossible. Howev- was closed above us.”
er, in this way, experience can cause a lack of Dante, Inferno, XXVI, 91
 408 Chapter 6. Knowledge

14 “Now listen, Troilus,” replied his friend [Pandar], stuffed with rounded periods, nor with any extrin-
“Perhaps I am a fool, yet it is so, sic allurements or adornments whatever, with
That folly oft can helpful counsel lend, which so many are accustomed to load and em-
Whereby the wise the better way may know. bellish their works; for I have wished either that
For I myself have seen a blind man go, no hojiour should be given it, or else that the truth
Where he would fall who sees both far and wide; of the matter and the weightiness of the theme
Sometimes a fool can be the safest guide. shall make it acceptable.
Machiavelli, Princcy Dedication
“A whetstone is no carving instrument.
And yet it maketh sharp the carving tool; 16 There is no desire more natural than the desire for
And if you see my efforts wrongly spent, knowledge. We
try all the ways that can lead us to
Eschew that course and learn out of my school; it. When reason fails us, we use experience . . ,

For thus the wise may profit by the fool. which is a weaker and dignified means. But
less
And edge his wit, and grow more keen and wary. truth is so great a thing that we must not disdain
For wisdom shines opposed to its contrary. any medium that will lead us to it. Reason has so

“For how might sweetness ever have been known many shapes that we know not which to lay hold
of; experience heis no fewer. The inference that we
To him who never tasted bitterness?
try to draw from the resemblance of events is un-
Felicity exists for those alone
certain, because they are always dissimilar: there
Who first have suffered sorrow and distress;
Thus white by black, honor by shame’s excess, is no quality so universal in this aspect of things as
diversity and variety.
More brightly shines by what the other seems,
As all men see and as the wise man deems. Montaigne, Essays^ III, 13, Of Experience

“By opposites does one wisdom grow,

in 17 Whatever may be the fruit we can reap from ex-
And though I have in love vain effort made. perience, what we derive from foreign examples
Then a\\ the heVtcr \ thereby shou\d know will Ka-trily he. mjach. use tor out educaXleu, we
make such little profit from the experience we
To guide thee on thy path when thou hast
strayed. have of ourselves, which is more familiar to us,
Spurn not with scorn, therefore, my proffered aid, and certainly sufficient to inform us of what wc
For I desire nothing but to share need.
Thy grief, and make it easier to bear.” I study myself more than any other subject.

Chaucer, Troilus and Crwrirfa, I, 90-93

That is my metaphysics, that is my physics.
Montaigne, EssaySy III, 13, Of Experience

15 Those who strive to obtain the good graces of a 18 Antonio. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that
prince are accustomed to come before him with Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister?
such things as they hold most precious, or in Panthino. ’Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son.
which they see him take most delight: whence one Am Why, what of him?
often secs horses, arms, cloth of gold, precious Pan. He wonder’d that your lordship
stones, and similar ornaments presented to Would suffer him to spend his youth at home,
princes, worthy of their greatness. While other men, of slender reputation.
Desiring therefore to present myself to your Put forth their sons to seek preferment out:
Magnificence [Lorenzo di Piero de’ Medici] u^ith Some to the wars, to try their fortune there;
some testimony of my devotion towards you, I Some to discover islands far away;
have not found among my possessions anything Some to the studious universities.
which I hold more dear than, or value so much as, For any or for all these exercises
the knowledge of the actions of great men, ac- He said that Proteus your son was meet,
quired by long experience in contemporary af- And did request me to importune you
fairs, and a continual study of antiquity; which, To let him spend his time no more at home,
having reflected upon it with great and prolonged Which would be great impeachment to his age.
diligence, I now send, digested into a little vol- In having known no travel in his youth.
ume, to your Magnificence. Ant. Nor need’st thou much importune me to
And although I may consider this work unwor- that
thy of your countenance, nevertheless I trust Whereon this month I have been hammering.
much to your benignity that it may be acceptable, Ihave consider’d well his loss of time
seeing that it is not possible for me to make a And how he cannot be a perfect man,
better gift than to offer you the opportunity of Not being tried and tutor’d in the world:
understanding in the shortest time all that I have Experience is by industry achieved
learnt in so many years, and with so many trou- And perfected by the swift course of time.
bles and dangers; which work I have not embel- Then tell me, whither were I best to send him?
lished with swelling or magnificent words, nor Shakespeare, Two Gentlmm of Ferona, I, iii, 1
 6.2. Experience 409

19 Rosalind. To have seen much and to have nothing, but principally in this: the former contains only
is have rich eyes and poor hands. ... I had
to the varieties of natural species without the experi-

rather have a fool to make me merry than experi- ments of mechanical arts; for as in ordinary life
ence to make me sad. every person’s disposition, and the concealed feel-
Shakespeare, As You Like It, IV, i, 23 ings of the mind and passions are most drawn out
when they are disturbed —so the secrets of nature
betray themselves more readily when tormented
20 Another error hath proceeded from too great a
reverence, and a kind of adoration of the mind
by art than when left to their own course. We
and understanding of man; by means whereof, 22 must begin, therefore, to entertain hopes of natu-
ral philosophy then only, when we have a better
men have withdrawn themselves too much from
and the observations compilation of natural history, its real basis and
the contemplation of nature,
and have tumbled up and down in support.
of experience,
their own reason and conceits. Upon these intel- Bacon, Novum Organum, I, 98
which are notwithstanding commonly
lectualists,
taken for the most sublime and divine philoso- As soon as age permitted me to emerge from the
phers, Heraclitus gave a just censure, saying, control of my tutors, I entirely quitted the study of
“Men own little worlds, and
sought truth in their And resolving to seek no other science than
letters.
not in the great and common world”; for they that which could be found in myself, or at least in
disdain to spell, and so by degrees to read in the the great book of the world, I employed the rest of
volume of God’s works: and contrariwise by con- my youth in travel, in seeing courts and armies, in
tinual meditation and agitation of wit do urge intercourse with men of diverse temperaments
and, as it were, invocatc their own spirits to divine and conditions, in collecting varied experiences,
and give oracles unto them, whereby they are de- in proving myself in the various predicaments in
servedly deluded. which I was placed by fortune, and under all cir-
Bacon, Advancement of Learning, Bk. I, V, 6 cumstances bringing my mind to bear on the
things which came before it, so that I might derive
21 The foundations of experience (our sole resource) some profit from my experience. For it seemed to
have hitherto failed completely or have been very me that I might meet with much more truth in
weak; nor has a store and collection of particular the reasonings that each man makes on the mat-
facts, capable of informing the mind or in any ters that specially concern him, and the issue of
way satisfactory, been either sought after or which would very soon punish him if he made a
amassed. On the contrary, learned, but idle zind wrong judgment, than in the case of those made
indolent, men have received some mere reports of by a man of letters in his study touching specula-
experience, traditions as it were of dreams, as es- tions which lead to no result, and which bring
tablishing or confirming their philosophy, and about no other consequences to himself excepting
have not hesitated to allow them the weight of that he will be all the more vain the more they are
legitimate evidence. So that a system has been removed from common sense, since in this case it
pursued in philosophy with regard to experience proves him to have employed so much the more
resembling that of a kingdom or state which ingenuity and skill in trying to make them seem
would direct its councils and affairs according to probable. And I always had an excessive desire to
the gossip of city and street politicians, instead of learn to distinguish the true from the false, in or-
the letters and reports of ambassadors and mes- der to see clearly in my actions and to walk with
sengers worthy of credit. Nothing is rightly in- confidence in this life.

quired into, or verified, noted, weighed, or mea- It is true that while I only considered the man-
sured, in natural history; indefinite and vague ners of other men I found in them nothing to give
observation produces fallacious and uncertain in- me settled convictions; and I remarked in them
formation. If this appear strange, or our com- almost as much diversity as I had formerly seen in
plaint somewhat too unjust (because Aristotle the opinions of philosophers. So much wzis this the
himself, so distinguished a man and supported by case that the greatest profit which I derived from
the wealth of so great a king, has completed an their study was that, in seeing many things which,
accurate history of animals, to which others with although they seem to us very extravagant and
greater diligence but less noise have made consid- ridiculous, were yet commonly received and ap-
erable additions, and others again have composed proved by other great nations, I learned to believe
copious histories and notices of plants, metals, and nothing too certainly of which I had only been
fossils), it will arise from
a want of sufficiently at- convinced by example and custom. Thus little by
tending to and comprehending our present obser- I was delivered from many errors which
little
vations; for a natural history compiled on might have obscured our natural vision and ren-
its own
account, and one collected for the mind’s infor- dered us less capable of listening to Reason. But
mation as a foundation for philosophy, are two after I had employed several years in thus study-
different things. They differ in several respects. ing the book of the world and trying to acquire
 2

410 I
Chapter 6. Knowledge

some experience, I one day formed the resolution ed on by ourselves, is that which supplies our un-
of alsomaking myself an object of study and of derstandings with all the materials of thinking.
employing all the strength of my mind in choosing These two are the fountains of knowledge, from
the road I should follow. This succeeded much whence all the ideas we have, or can naturally
better, appeared to me, than if I had never de-
it have, do spring.
26
parted cither from my country' or my books. Locke, Concerning Human Understandinp
Descartes, Disamrst on Melhodj I Bk. n, 1,

23 As much experience is prudmee, so is much science \Vhcn it is asked, What is the nature cf all our rcojon.
sapience. For though we usually have one name of lags concerning matter of fact? theproper ansv^-cr
wisdom for them both; yet the Latins did always seems to be, that they are founded on the relation
distinguish between prudentia and sapientia; ascrib- of cause and effect, \Vhcn again it is asked, B'&it
ing the former to experience, the latter to science. is the foundation of all our reasonings and conclnsims
But to make appear more clearly,
their difference concerning that relation? it may be replied in one
let us suppose one man endued with an excellent word. Experience. But if we still carry on our sift-
natural use and dexterity in handling his arms; ing humour, and ask, UTiat is the foundation of all
and another to have added to that dexterity' an conclusions from experience? this implies a new ques-
acquired science of where he can offend, or be ^
lion, which may be
of more difficult solution and
offended by his adversary, in every possible pos- explication. ...
say then, that, even after ve
I
ture or guard: the ability of the former would be have experience of the operations of cause and
to the ability of the latter, as prudence to sapi- effect, our conclusions from that experience arc not
ence; both useful, but the latter infallible. But founded on reasoning, or any process of the un-
they that, trusting only to the authority of books, derstanding. . , .

follow the blind blindly, arc like him
a master of fence, ventures
to the false rules of
presumptuously upon an adversary that either
kills or disgraces him.
The signs of science are some certain and infal-
lible;some, uncertain. Certain, when he that pre-
tendeth the science of anything can teach the
same; that is to say, demonstrate the truth thereof
perspicuously to another: uncertain, when only
some particular events answer to his pretence, and
upon many occasions prove so as he says they
must. Signs of prudence are all uncertain; because
to observe by experience, and remember all cir-
cumstances that may alter the success, is impossi-
ble, But in any business, whereof a
infalhble science to proceed by, to forsake his
natural judgment, and be guided by general sen-
tences read in authors, and subject to many ex-
ceptions, is a sign of folly, and generally scorned
by the name of pedantry.
Hobbes,
that, trusting All reasonings may be divided into two kinds,
namely, demonstrative reasoning, or that con-
cerning relations of ideas, and moral reasoning, or
that concerning matter of fact and existence. That
there arc no demonstrative arguments in the case
seems e\'idcnt; since it implies no contradiction
that the course of nature may change, and that an
object, seemingly like those which \s'e have experi-
enced, may be attended with different or contrary
effects. May I not clearly and distinctly conceive
that a body, falling from the clouds, and which, in
all other respects, resembles snow, has yet the
taste of salt or feeling of fire? Is there any more
intelligible proposition than to affirm, that all the
man has not trees w'ill flourish in December and January, and
own decay in May and June? Now whatever is intelli-
gible, and can be distinctly conceived, implies no
contradiction, and can never be proved false by
any demonstrative argument or abstract reason-
ing a priori.
Leviathan, I, 5 If we be, therefore, engaged by arguments to

put trust in past experience, and make it the stan-

24 Two things instruct man about his whole nature; dard of our future judgement, these arguments
instinct and experience. must be probable only, or such as regard matter of
Pascal, Pensees, VI, 396 fact and real existence, according to the division
above mentioned. But that there is no argument
25 Let us then suppose the mind to be, as we say, of this kind, must appear, if our explication of
white paper, void of all characters, without any that species of reasoning be admitted as solid and
ideas: —How comes it tobe furnished? Whence satisfactory. We
have said that all arguments con-
comes it by that vast store which the busy and cerning existence arc founded on the relation of
boundless fancy of man has painted on it with an cause and effect; that our knowledge of that rela-
almost endless variety? Whence has it all the mate^ tion is derived entirely from experience; and that
riab of reason and knowledge? To this I answer, in all our experimental conclusions proceed upon
one word, from e.\perience. In that all our knowl- the supposition that the future will be conform-
edge founded; and from that it ultimately de-
is able to the past. To endeavour, therefore, the
rives Our observation employed either,
itself. proof of this last supposition by probable argu-
about external sensible objects, or about the inter- ments, or arguments regarding existence, must be
nal operations of our minds perceived and reflect- evidently going in a circle, and taking that for
 6.2. Experience 411

granted, which is the very point in question. the young beginner but because there is a certain
In reality, all arguments from experience are uniformity in the operation of the sun, rain, and
founded on the similarity which we discover earth towards the production of vegetables; and
among natural objects, and by which we are in- experience teaches the old practitioner the rules
duced to expect effects similar to those which we by which this operation is governed and directed.
have found to follow from such objects. And Hume, Concerning Human Understanding,
though none but a fool or madman will ever pre- VIII, 65
tend to dispute the authority of experience, or to
reject that great guide of human life, it may surely 28 She [Mrs. Western] was, moreover, excellently
be allowed a philosopher to have so much curiosi- well-skilled in the doctrine of amour, and knew
ty at least as to examine the principle of human better than anybody who and who were together;
nature, which gives this mighty authority to expe- a knowledge which she the more easily attained,
rience, and makes us draw advantage from that as her pursuit of it was never diverted by any af-
similarity which nature has placed among differ- fairs of her own; for either she had no inclinations,
ent objects. From causes which appear similar we or they had never been solicited; which last is in-
expect similar effects. This is the sum of all our deed very probable; for her masculine person,
experimental conclusions. Now it seems evident which was near six foot high, added to her man-
that, if this conclusion were formed by reason, it ner and learning, possibly prevented the other sex
would be as perfect at first, and upon one in- from regarding her, notwithstanding her petti-
stance, as after ever so long a course of experience. coats, in the light of a woman. However, as she
But the case is far otherwise. . . . had considered the matter scientifically, she per-
And it is certain we here advance a very intelli- fectly well knew, though she had never practised
gible proposition at least, if not a true one, when them, all the arts which fine ladies use when they
we assert that, after the constant conjunction of desire to give encouragement, or to conceal liking,
t\vo objects —heat and flame, instance, weight
for with all the long appendage of smiles, ogles,
and solidity — are determined by custom alone
^we glances, &c., as they are at present practised in
to expect the one from the appearance of the the bcau-mondc. To sum the whole, no species of
27 other. This hypothesis seems even the only one disguise or affectation had escai>ed her notice; but
which explains the difficulty, why we draw, from as to the plain simple workings of honest nature,
a thousand instances, an inference which we are as she had never seen any such, she could know
not able to draw from one instance, that is, in no but little of them.
respect, differentfrom them. Reason is incapable Fielding, Tom Jones, VI, 2
of any such variation. The conclusions which it
draws from considering one circle are the same 29 Whose assistance shall I invoke to direct my pen?
which it would form upon surveying all the circles First, Genius; thou gift of Heaven; without
in the universe. But no man, having seen only one
whose aid in vain we struggle against the stream
body move after being impelled by another, could of nature. . And thou, almost the constant at-
. .

infer that every other body will move after a like

tendant on true genius, Humanity, bring all thy
impulse. All inferences from experience, therefore,
tender sensations. And thou, Learning!
. . . O
arc effects of custom, not of reasoning.
(for without thy assistance nothing pure, nothing
Hume, Concerning Human Understanding, correct, can genius produce) do thou guide my
IV, 28-V, 36 pen. . . . come Experience, long conver-
Lastly,
sant with the wise, the good, the learned, and the
The general observations treasured up by a course polite. Nor with them only, but with every kind of
of experience, give us the clue of human nature, character, from the minister at his levee, to the
and teach us to unravel all its intricacies. Pretexts spunging- house; from the dutchess at
bailiff in his
and appearances no longer deceive us. Public dec- her drum, to the landlady behind her bar. From
larations pass for the specious colouring of a thee only can the manners of mankind be known;
cause. And though virtue and honour be allowed to which the recluse pedant, however great his
their proper weight and authority, that perfect parts or extensive his learning may be, hath ever
disinterestedness, so often pretended to, is never been a stranger.
expected in multitudes and parties; seldom in Fielding, Tom Jones, XIII, 1

their leaders; and scarcely even in individuals of

any rank or station. But were there no uniformity 30 I mentioned Dr. Adam Smith’s book on The
m human actions, and were every experiment Wealth of Nations, which was just published, and
which we could form of this kind irregular and that Sir John Pringle had observed to me, that Dr.
anomalous, it were impossible to collect any gen- Smith, who had never been in trade, could not be
eral observations concerning
mankind; and no ex- expected to write well on that subject any more
perience, however accurately
digested by reflec- than a lawyer upon physick. Johnson. “He is mis-
tion, would ever serve
to any purpose. Why is the taken, Sir: a man who has never been engaged in
aged husbandman more skilful
in his calling than trade himself may undoubtedly write well upon
 412 Chapter 6. Knowledge
34

trade, and there is nothing which requires more to That our knowledge begins with experience
all

be illustrated by philosophy than trade does. As to
mere wealth, that is to say, money, it is clear that
one nation or one individual cannot increase its
store but by making another poorer: but trade
procures what is more valuable, the reciprocation
of the peculiar advantages of different countries.
A merchant seldom thinks but of his own particu-
lar trade. To write a good book upon it,
must have extensive views. It is not necessary to
have practised, to write well upon a subject.” I
mentioned law as a subject on which no man
could write well without practice. Johnson. “Why,
Sir, in England, where so much money is to be got
by the practice of the law, most of our writers
upon it have been in practice; though Blackstone
had not been much in practice when he published
his But upon the Continent, the
Commentaries.
great writers on law have not all been in practice:
there can be no doubt. For how is it possible that
the faculty of cognition should be awakened into
exercise othenvise than by means of objects which
affect our senses, and partly of themselves produce
representations, partly rouse our powers of under-
standing into activity, to compare, to connect, or
to separate these, and so to convert the raw mate-
a man rial of our sensuous impressions into a knowledge
of objects, which is called experience? In respect
of time, therefore, no knowledge of ours is antece-
dent to experience, but begins with it.
But, though all our knowledge begins with ex-
perience, it by no means follows that all arises out
of experience. For, on the contrary, it is quite pos-
sible that our empirical knowledge is a compound
of that which we receive through impressions, and
that which the faculty of cognition supplies from
itself (sensuous impressions giving merely the occa-

Grotius, indeed, was; but Puffendorf was not, Bur- an addition which we cannot distinguish
sion'),

lamaqui was not.” from the original element given by sense, till long
Boswell, Life of Johnson (Mar. 16, 1776) practice has made us attentive to, and skilful in
separating it. It is, therefore, a question which re-

31 It was a very remarkable circumstance about quires close investigation, and not to be ans\vcred
Johnson, whom shallow observers have supposed at first sight, whether there exists a knowledge al-
to have been ignorant of the world, that very few together independent of experience, and even of

men had seen greater variety of characters; and all sensuous impressions? Knowledge of this kind

none could observe them better, as was evident is called a pnori, in contradistinction to empirical
from the strong, yet nice portraits which he often knowledge, which has its sources a posteriori, that

drew. is, in experience.

Boswell, Life ofJohnson (Apr. 5, 1776)
32 Under these melancholy circumstances [the inva-
sion of the Germans], an inexperienced youth was
appointed to save and to govern the provinces of
But the expression, “a priori,'* is not as yet defi-
nite enough adequately to indicate the whole
meaning of the question above started. For, in
speaking of knowledge which has its sources in
experience, we are wont to say, that this or that

Gaul, or rather, as he expresses it himself, to ex- may be known because we do not derive
a priori,

hibit the vain image of Imperial greatness. The this knowledge immediately from experience, but

retired scholastic education of Julian, in which he from a general rule, which, however, we have it-
had been more conversant with books than with self borrowed from experience. Thus, if a man un-

arms, with the dead than with the living, left him dermined his house, we say, “he might know a
in profound ignorance of the practical arts of war priori that it would have fallen;” that is, he needed

and government; and when he awkwardly repeat- not to have waited for the experience that it did
ed some military exercise which it was necessary actually fall. But still, a priori, he could not know
for him to learn, he exclaimed with a sigh, “O even this much. For, that bodies are heavy, and,
Plato, Plato, what a task for a philosopher!” consequently, that they fall when their supports
Gibbon, Decline and Fall of the are taken away, must have been known to him
Roman Empire, XIX previously, by means of experience.
By the term “knowledge a priori,** therefore, wc
33 The which may some-
exjjcrience of past faults, shall in the sequel understand, not such as is inde-

times correct the mature age of an individual, is pendent of this or that kind of experience, but
such as is all experience. Opposed
absolutely so of
seldom profitable to the successive generations of
mankind. The nations of antiquity, careless of to this empirical knowledge, or that which is
is

each other’s safety, were separately vanquished possible only a posteriori, that is, through experi-

and enslaved by the Romans. This awful lesson ence. Knowledge a priori is that with which no

might have instructed the barbarians of the West empirical element is mixed up. For example, the
to oppose, with timely counsels and confederate
proposition, “Every change has a cause,” is a
proposition apriori, but impure, because change is
arms, the unbounded ambition of Justinian. Yet
the same error was repeated, the same conse- a conception which can only be derived from ex-
quences were felt.
perience.

Gibbon, Decline and Fall of the Kant, Critique of Pure Reason,

Roman Empire, XLI Introduction, I
 6.2. Experience 413

35 One impulse from a vernal wood be realised until personal experience has
cannot

May you more of man,

teach brought it home. But much more of the meaning
Of moral evil and of good, even of these would have been understood, and
Than all the sages can. what was understood would have been far more
Wordsworth, The Tables Turned deeply impressed on the mind, if the man had
40 been accustomed to hear it argued pro and con by

37
36 No facts are to me sacred; none arc profane; I people who did understand it.
simply experiment, an endless seeker with no Past Mill, On Liberty, II

at my back.
Emerson, Circles Experience must be consulted in order to learn
from it under what circumstances arguments from
The years teach much which the days never it will be valid. We have no ulterior test to which

know. we subject experience in general; but we make

Emerson, Experience experience its own test.

Mill, System of Logic, Bk. Ill, IV, 2

38 I cannot rest from travel; I will drink
Life to the lees. All times I have enjoy’d
Greatly, have suffer’d greatly, both with those 41 Kutuzov looked round. He was listening to the
That love me, and alone; on shore, and when general’s report —
which consisted chiefly of a crit-
Thro’ scudding drifts the rainy Hyadcs icism of the position at Tsarevo-Zaymishche — as
Vext the dim sea. I am become a name; he had listened to Denisov, and seven years previ-
For always roaming with a hungry heart ously had listened to the discussion at the Auster-
Much have I seen and known, cities of men — litz He evidently listened only be-
council of war.
And manners, climates, councils, goverrunents, cause he had ears which, though there was a piece
Myself not least, but honor’d of them all, of tow in one of them, could not help hearing; but
And drunk delight of battle with my peers, it was evident that nothing the general could say

Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. would surprise or even interest him, that he knew
1 am a part of all that I have met; all that would be said beforehand, and heard it all

Yet all experience is an arch where thro’ only because he had to, as one has to listen to the
Gleams that untravell’d world whose margin chanting of a service of prayer. All that Denisov
fades had said was clever and to the point. What the
For ever and for ever when I move. general was saying was even more clever and to
How dull it is to pause, to make an end. the point, but it was evident that Kutu-
To unbumish’d, not to shine in use!
rust zov despised knowledge and cleverness, and knew
As tho’ to breathe were life! Life piled on life of something else that would decide the matter
Were all too little, and of one to me something independent of cleverness and knowl-
Little remains; but every hour is saved edge. Prince Andrew watched the commander in
From that eternal silence, something more, chiefs face attentively, and the only expression he
A bringcr of new things; and vile it were could sec there was one of boredom, curiosity as to
For some three suns to store and hoard myself. the meaning of the feminine whispering behind
And this gray spirit yearning in desire the door, and a desire to observe propriety. It was
To follow knowledge like a sinking star, evident that Kutuzov despised cleverness and
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. learning and even the patriotic feeling shown by
Tennyson, Ulysses Denisov, but despised them not because of his own
intellect, feelings, or knowledge —
he did not try
39 All languages and literatures are full of general to display any of these —
but because of something
observationson life, both as to what it is, and how else. He despised them because of his old age and
to conduct oneself in it; observations which ev- experience of life.
erybody knows, which everybody repeats, or hears Tolstoy, fVar and Peace, X, 15
with acquiescence, which are received as truisms,
yet of which most people first truly learn the 42 Kutuzov like all old people did not sleep much at
nieaning when experience, generally of a painful night. He often fell asleep unexpectedly in the
kind, has made it a reality to them. How often, daytime, but at night, lying on his bed without
when smarting under some unforeseen misfortune undressing, he generally remained awake think-
or disappointment, does a person call to mind ing.
some proverb or common saying, familiar to him So he lay now on his bed, supporting his large,
all his life, the meaning of
which, if he had ever heavy, scarred head on his plump hand, with his
beforefelt it as he does now, would have saved one eye open, meditating and peering into the
him from the calamity. There are indeed reasons darkness.
for this, other than the absence of discussion; Since Bennigsen, who corresponded with the
there are many truths of which the full meaning Emperor and had more influence than anyone
 414 Chapter 6. Knowledge

else on the staff, had begun to avoid him, Kutuzov
was more at ease as to the possibility of himself
and his troops being obliged to take part in useless
aggressive movements. The lesson of the Tanitino
battle and of the day before it, which Kutuzov
remembered with pain, rnust, he thought, have
some effect on others too.
“They must understand that we can only lose
by taking the offensive. Patience and time are my
warriors, champions,’’ thought Kutuzov. He
my
knew that an apple should not be plucked while it
is green. It will fall of itself when ripe, but if
picked unripe the apple is spoiled, the tree is
harmed, and your teeth are set on edge. Likoan
experienced sportsman he knew that the beast was
wounded, and wounded as only the whole
strength of Russia could have wounded it, but
whether it was mortally wounded or not was still
an undecided question. Now by the fact of Lauri-
ston and Barthelemi having been sent, and by the
reports of the guerrillas, Kutuzov was almost sure
that the wound was mortal- But he needed further
proofs and it was necessaf)' to wait.
“They want to run to see how they have
wounded it. Wait and we shall see! Continual ma-
neuvers, continual advances!” thought he. “What
for? only to distinguish themselves! As if fighting
were fun. They
are like children from ^v'hom one
can’t get any sensible account of what has hap-
pened because they all want to show how well
they can fight. But that’s not what is needed now,
“And what ingenious maneuvers they all pro-
pose to me! It seems to them that when they have
thought of two or three contingencies” (he re-
membered the general plan sent him from Peters-
burg) “they have foreseen every'thing. But the
contingencies are endless.”
Tolstoy, War and Pface^ XIII,
items which I notice shape my mind—without se-
lective interest, experience is an utter chaos. Inter-
est alone gives accent and emphasis, light and
shade, background and foreground intelligible —
perspective, in a w'ord. It varies in every creature,
but without it the consciousness of every creature
would be a gray chaotic indiscriminatencss, im-
possible for us even to conceive.
William James, P^'ckohgy, XI
46 In lo^c a concept is unalterable; but what are
popularly called our “conceptions of things” alter
by being used. The aim of “Science” is to attain
conceptions so adequate and exact that we shall
never need to change them. There is an everlast-
ing struggle in every mind between the tendency'
to keep unchanged, and the tendency to renovate,
its ideas. Our education is a ceaseless compromise
between the conservative and the progressive fac-
tors. Every new experience must be disposed of
under some old head. The great point is to find the
head which has to be least altered to take it in.
Certain Polynesian natives, seeing horses for the
first time, called them pigs, that being the nearest
head. My
child of two played for a sveek \rith the
first orange that was given him, calling it a “ball.”
He called the first whole eggs he saw “potatoes,”
havdng been accustomed to see his “eggs” broken
into a glass, and his potatoes without the skin. A
folding pocket-corkscrew he unhesitatingly called
“bad-scissors.” Hardly any one of us can make
new heads easily when fresh experiences come.
Most grow more and more enslaved to the
of us
stock conceptions with which we have once be-
come familiar, and less and less capable of assimi-
lating impressions in any but the old way's. Old-
fogyism, in short, is the inevitable terminus to
17 which sweeps us on. Objects w'hich violate our
life

established habits of “apperception” arc simply

43 If the realm of human knowledge were confined not taken account of at all; or, if on some occasion
to abstract reasoning, then having subjected to we are forced by dint of argument to adirUt their
criticism the c.xpIanation of “power” that Juridical existence, twenty-four hours later the admission is

science gives us, humanity would conclude that as were not, and every trace of the una5simila-
if it

power is merely a word and has no real existence. ble truth has vanished from our thought. Genius,
But to understand phenomena man has, besides in truth, means little more than the faculty of per-
abstract reasoning, experience by which he veri- ceiving in an unhabitual way.
fies his reflections. And experience tells us that William James, Piychologyt XIX
power is not merely a word but an actually ex-
isting phenomenon. 47 These are the most prominent of the tendencies
Tolstoy, War and Peace, II Epilogue, V which are >vorthy of being called instinctive in the
human species. It %vill be obser\'ed that no other
44 We should be careful to get out of an exp>erience mammal, not even the monk^', shows so large an array. In
—
only the wisdom that is in it and stop there; lest a perfectly-rounded development, every' one of
we be like the cat that sits down on a hot stovo-lid. these instincts would start a habit toward certain
She will never sit down on a hot stove-lid again objects and inhibit a habit toward certain others.
and that is well; but also she will never sit down Usually this is the case; but, in the one-sided de-
on a cold one any more. velopment of civilized life, it happens that the
Mark Twain, Pudd'nhead Wilson*^ timely age goes by in a sort of starv'ation of ob-
New Calendar, XJ jects, and the individual then grow's up with gaps
in his psychic constitution which future expen-
45 My experience is what I agree to attend to. Only those ences can never fill. Compare the accomplished
 6.2. Experience
|
415

gentleman \vith the poor artisan or tradesman of a 50 To place knowledge where it arises and operates
city:during the adolescence of the former, objects in experience is to know that, as it arose because
appropriate to his growing interests, bodily and of the troubles of man, it is confirmed in recon-

mental, were offered as fast as the interests awoke, structing the conditions which occasioned those
and, as a consequence, he is armed and equipped troubles. Genuine intcllcclual integrity is found in

at every angle to meet the world. Sport came to experimental know'ing. Until this lesson is fully

the rescue and completed his education where learned, it is not safe to dissociate knowledge from
real things u’crc lacking. He
has tasted of the es- experiment nor experimen! from experience.
sence of every side of human life, being sailor, Dewey, Essays in Experimental Logic,
hunter, athlete, scholar, fighter, talker, dandy, Introduction, 7
man of affairs, etc., all in one. Over the city poor
boy’s youth no such golden opportunities were 51 Scientific principles do not lie on the
and law’s
hung, and in his manhood no desires for most of surface of nature. They
and must be
arc hidden,
them exist. Fortunate it is for him if gaps arc the wTcstcd from nature by an active and elaborate
only anomalies his instinctive life presents; per- technique of inquir>’. Neither logical reasoning
versions arc too often the fruit of his unnatural nor the passive accumulation of any number of
bringing up. obscr\'ations —which the ancients called experi-
William James, P^ckology, XXIV ence— suffices to lay hold of them. Active experi-
mentation must force the apparent facts of nature
48 Consciousness flickers; and even at its brightest, into forms different to those in w'hich they famil-
there is a small focal region of clear illumination, iarly present themselves;and thus make them tell
and a large pcnuinbral region of experience may compel
the truth about themselves, as torture
which tells of intense experience in dim apprehen- an unwilling witness to reveal what he has been
sion. The simplicity of clear consciousness is no concealing. Pure reasoning as a means of arriving
measure of the complexity of complete experi- at truth is like the .spider who spins a web out of
ence. Also this character of our experience sug- himself. T7ic web is orderly and elaborate, but it is

gests that consciousness is the crown of experience, only a trap. The passive accumulation of experi-
only occasionally attained, not its ncccssar)’ base. —
ences the traditional empirical method is like —
Whitehead, Process and Rcaht}\ III^ 3 the ant who and collects and
busily runs about
piles up heaps of raw’ materials. True method,
49 I feel that the concept of ‘experience’ has been that which Bacon would usher in, is comparable
very* much over-emphasized, especially in the Ide- to the operations of the bee who, like the ant, col-
alist philosophy, but also in many
forms of empiri- lects material from the external world, but unlike
cism. I found, when I began to think about theory that industrious creature attacks and modifies the
of knowledge, that none of the philosophers who collected stuff in order to make it yield its hidden
emphasize ‘experience’ tells us what they mean by treasure.
the word. They seem willing to accept it as an Dewey, Reconstruction in Philosophy, II
indefinable of which the significance should be
obvious.They tend to think that only what is ex- We
52 alw’ay-s live at the time w'c live and not at
perienced can be known to exist and that it is some other time, and only by extracting at each
meaningless to assert that some things exist al-
present time the full meaning of each present ex-
though we do not know' them to exist. 1 think that
perience arc we prepared for doing the same thing
this sort of view gives much too much importance in the future. This is the only preparation which
to knowledge, or at any rate to something analo-
in the long run amounts to anything.
gous to knowledge. I think also that those W'ho
Dewey, Experience and Education, III
profess such views have not realized all their im-
plications. Few philosophers seem to understand
that one may know a proposition of the form ‘All 53 There is no discipline in the w'orld so severe as the
A is B’ or ‘There arc AV w'ithout knowing any discipline of experience subjected to the tests of
single A individually. If you arc on a pebbly intelligent des’clopment and direction.
beach you may be quite sure that there arc peb- Dewey, Experience and Education, VIII
bles on the beach that you have not seen or
touched. Everybody, in fact, accepts innumerable 54 We should do w'cll to remember that crude expe-
propositions about things not experienced, but rience knows nothing of the distinction between
when people begin to philosophize they seem to subject and object. This distinction is a division in
think it necessary to make themselves artificially things, a contrast established bctw'ccn masses of
stupid. I admit at once that there arc difficul-
will images w’hich show’ different characteristics in
ties in explaining how
w'c acquire knowledge that their modes of existence and relation. If this truth
transcends experience, but I think the view that
is overlooked, if subject and object are made con-
we have no such knowledge is utterly untenable. ditions of c,\pcricncc instead of being, like body
Russell, Mjf Philosophical Development^ XI and mind, its contrasted parts, the revenge of fate
 —
41G I
Chapter 6. Knowledge

is quick and ironical; cither subject or object must sonable and appearance becomes knowledge of
immediately collapse and evaporate altogether. reality.

All objects must become modifications of the sub- Santayana, Life of Reason, I, 6
ject or all subjects aspects or fragments of the ob-
ject. ,Reflection must
. . separate them, if
. . ,
55 April 26. Mother is putting my new secondhand
clothes in order.She prays now, she says, that I
knowledge (that is, ideas with cvctitual applica-
tion and practical transcendence) is to exist at all.
may learn in my own
life and away from home

and friends what the heart is and what it feels.

In other words, action must l>c adjusted to certain
elements of experience and not to others, and
Amen. So be it. Welcome, O life! I go to encoun-
ter for the millionth time the reality of experience
those chiefly regarded must have a certain inter-
and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreat-
pretation pul upon them by trained apperception.
The rest must be treated as moonshine and taken
ed conscience of my race.

no account of except perhaps in idle and poetic Joyce, Porirail of the Artist

rever)'. In tills way crude experience grows rea- as a Young Man, V

6.3 Truth

Though ii is not included among the pas- form or fail to conform. In the absence of

sages here quoted, a memorable staicmenl the possibility of a correspondence between

by Josiah Royce provides an apt introduc- tile mind and an independent reality that it

tion to the subject under consideration. “A attempts to know, truth for the mind would
liar,” Professor Royce once said, “is a man have to consist in tlic interna! colicrcncc and
who willfully misplaces his ontological pred- consistency of its own thoughts. But even for

icates” —a man who, believing that some- those who hold that an independent reality

thing is the case, declares in speech that it is provides the ultimate test of the minds
not the case; or believing that something is claim to possessing the truth, consistency
not the case, declares that it is. Accordingly, the avoidance of contradiction — is also of
it is impossible to prevaricate in .speech un- critical importance.
less one thinks that one lias the truth about The question, 117?^/ is truth?, to be an-
the matter in question. When is anyone in swered by one or another definition of it,

that state of mind? Aristotle’s answer to that must never be confused with the question,
question, in a famous passage quoted below, How can we tell wdieiher a partiadar statement
provides the basis for Roycc’s remark. \Vc under consideration is true or false? Answering
possess the truth mentally, he said, when wc the latter question, many of the philosophers
think that that which is, u, or that that quoted formulate different sets of criteria for
which is not, is not. Falsity in the mind, like discriminating between the true and the
prevarication in speech, consists in thinking false; as, for example, \VilIiani James and
that which /j, is not^ or that which is noty is. John Dewey in their promulgation of what
This classic definition of truth is accept- came to be called “the pragmatic theor)' of
able only to those who affirm the existence truth,” which, while it did not c.xcludc the
of a reality independent of the knowing criterion of internal consistency, stressed the
mind —a reality to which the mind can con- point that our best assurance of the truth of
 6J, Truth 417

a statement comes from our finding that it gation to pursue and love the truth, and to
works successfully when put into practice. be unswerving in one’s adherence to it, a
“The true,” said James, “is the expedient in higher loyalty even than the one we owe to

the way of our thinking.” our friends; the necessity of complete free-

In addition to offering definitions of truth dom of expression and discussion for the co-

itselfand enumerating the criteria for de- operative pursuit of truth; and the acknow-
termining whether a particular statement is ledgment of human fallibility in that

true or false, the passages here collected dis- pursuit.

cuss the unity of Truth with a capital T as The extent of that fallibility and the
contrasted with the multiplicity of truths; proneness of the human mind to error are

the immutability of whatever is true in and discussed in Section 6.4 and points there
of itself as against the mutability of the hu- made are further developed in Sections 6.5
man mind’s claims to knowing what is true and where the questioning of human
6.6,
3
and false; the difference between the truth opinions and beliefs leads to skeptical
of true statements about what is the case doubts about the human mind’s ability ever
and the truth of true statements about what to get at the truth.

ought to be done or sought; the moral obli-

1 Truth lies at the bottom of a well. equally belong to all at the same moment and
Democritus (qu. by Diogenes Laertius, always, they must be supposed to have their own
Livfs of the Philosophers) proper and permanent essence: they are not in
relation to us, or influenced by us, fluctuating ac-

2 Socrates. Protagoras . . . says that man is the mea- cording to our fancy, but they are independent,
sure of all things, and that things are to me as and maintain to their own essence the relation
they appear to me, and that they are to you as prescribed by nature.
they appear to you. Do
you agree with him, or Her. I think, Socrates, that you have said the
would you say that things have a permanent es- truth.

sence of their own? Plato, CratyltiSy 386A

Hermogenes. There have been times, Socrates,
when I have been driven in perplexity to take my Of the nature of the soul, though her true form be
refuge with Protagoras; not that I agree with him ever a theme of large and more than mortal dis-
at all. . . . course, let speak briefly, and in a figure. And
me
Soc. But if Protagoras is right, and the truth is let the figure be composite —
a pair of winged
that things are as they appear toany one, how horses and a charioteer. Now the winged horses
can some of us be wise and some of us foolish? and the charioteers of the gods are all of them
Her. Impossible. noble and of noble descent, but those of other
Soc. And if, on the other hand, wisdom and folly races are mixed; the human charioteer drives his
arc really distinguishable, you will allow, I think, in a pair; and one of them is noble and of noble
that the assertion of Protagoras can hardly be cor- breed, and the other is ignoble and of ignoble
rect.For if what appears each man is true to
to breed; and the driving of them of necessity gives a
him, one man cannot in reality be wiser than an- great deal of trouble to him. I will endeavour to
other. explain to you in what way the mortal differs
Her. He cannot. from the immortal creature. The soul in her total-
Soc. Nor will you be disposed to say with Euthy- ity has the care of inanimate being everywhere,
dcmus, that all things equally belong to all men at and traverses the whole heaven in divers forms
the same moment and always; for neither on his —
appearing: when perfect and fully winged she
view can there be some good and other bad, if soars upward, and orders the whole world; where-
virtue and vice are always equally to be attributed as the imperfect soul, losing her wings and droop-
to all. ing in her flight at last settles on the solid
Her. There cannot. —
ground there, finding a home, she receives an
Soc. But if neither and things are not
is right, earthly frame which appears to be self-moved, but
relative to indmduals, and all things do not is really moved by her power; and this composi-
 A
B

410 I
Chapter 6. Knowledge

tion of soul and body is called n living and mortal and upon them, she passes down into the
feasting
creature. For immortal no such union can be rea- interior of the heavens and returns home; and
sonably believed to be; although fancy, not hav- there the charioteer putting up his horses at the
ing seen nor surely known the nature of God, may stall, gives them ambrosia to cat and nectar to

imagine an immortal creature having both a body drink.

and also a soul which arc united throughout all Such is the life of the gods; but of other souls,
lime. Let that, however, be as God wills, and be that which follows God best and is likest to him
spoken of acceptably to him. And now let us ask lifts the head of the charioteer into the outer
the reason why the soul loses her wings! world, and is carried round in the resolution,

The wing is the corporeal element which is troubled indeed by the steeds, and with difficulty
most akin to the divine, and w'hich by nature beholding true being; while another only rises and
tends to soar aloft and carry that which gravitates falls, and sees, and again fails to see by reason of

downwards into the upper region, which is the
habitation of the gods. The divine
dom, goodness, and the like; and by these the
wing of the soul is nourished, and grows apace;
but when fed upon evil and foulness and the op-
posite of good, wastes and falls away. Zeus, the
the unrulincss of the steeds. The rest of the souls
is beauty, wis- arc also longing after the upper world and ihc)' all
follow, but not being strong enough the)’ arc car-
ried round below' the surface, plunging, treading
on one another, each striving to be first; and there
is confusion and penpiration and the extremity of

mighty lord, holding the reins of a winged chariot, effort; and many of them arc lamed or have their
leads the way in heaven, ordering all and taking w'ingS' broken through the ill -driving of the chario-
care of all; and there follows him the array of gods teers; and all of them after a fruitless toil, not
and demigods, marshalled in eleven bands; Hestia having attained to the m)‘stcrics of true being, go
alone abides at home in the house of heaven; of aw'ay, and feed upon opinion. Tlic reason why the
the rest they who arc reckoned among the prince- souls exhibit this exceeding eagerness to behold
ly twelve march in their appointed order. They the plain of truth is that pasturage is found there,
see many blessed sights in tlic inner heaven, and which is suited to the highest pan of the soul; and
there arc man> ways to and fro, along wiiich the the wing on which the soul soars is nourished w'ith
blessed gods arc passings one doing his own
c\'cr>* this. And there is a law of Destiny, that the soul

work; he may follow' who will and can, for jeal- w hich attains any Wsion of truth in company with
ous)' has no place in the celestial choir. But when a god is prcscrkcd from harm until the next peri-
they go to banquet and festival, then they move od, and if is alw*a)‘s unharmed.
attaining alwa)-3
up the steep to the top of the vault of heaven. Tlie But w hen she unable to follow’, and fails to be-
is

chariots of the gods in cv'cn poise, obeying the
rein, glide rapidly; but the others l.ibour, for the
vicious steed goes heavily, weighing down
charioteer to the earth when his steed has not
—
been tltoroughly trained: and this is the hour of
agony and cxtrcmcst conflict for the soul. For the
immortals, when they arc at the end of their
course, go forth and stand upon the outside of
heaven, and the revolution of the spheres carries
them round, and they behold the things beyond.
But of the heaven which is above the heavens,
what earthly poet ever did or ever will sing wor-
thily? h is such as 1 will describe; for 1 must dare
hold the truth, and through some ill-hap sinks be-
neath the double load of forgetfulness and vice,
the and her w'ings fall from her and she drops to the
ground, then the law ordains that this soul shall at
her first birth pass, not into any other animal, but
only into nun; and the soul which has seen most
of truth shall come to the birth as a philosopher,
or artist, or some musical and losing nature; that
which has seen truth in the second degree shall be
some righteous king or warrior chief; the soul
which is of the third class shall be a politician, or
economist, or trader; the fourth shall be a lover of
g)*mnastic or a physician; the fifth shall lead
toils,

to speak the truth, when truth h my theme. There the life prophet or hierophant; to the sixth
of a
abides the \Tr>' being with which true knowledge the character of a poet or some other imitainT
is concerned; the colourless, formless, intangible artist will be assigned; to the seventh the life of an
essence, visible only to mind, the pilot of the soul. artisan or husbandman; to the eighth that of a
The divine intelligence, being nurtured upon sophist or demagogue; to the ninth that of a ty-
mind and pure knowledge, and the intelligence of rant; — allthese arc states of probation, in w’hich
ever)' soul which capable of receiving the food
is he who docs righteously improx-cs, and he w’ho
proper to it, rejoices at beholding reality, and docs unrighteously, deteriorates his lot.

once more gazing upon truth, is replenished and

Plato, PhaedniSy 246
made glad, until the revolution of the w’orlds
brings her round again to the same place. In the
revolution she beholds justice, and temperance,
4 I cannot refute you, Socrates, said Agathon: Let —
us assume that what you say is true.
and knowledge absolute, not in the form of gener-
Say rather, beloved Agathon, that you cannot
ation or of relation, w-hich men call existence, but
refute the truth; for Socrates is easily refuted.
knowledge absolute in existence absolute; and be-
holding the other true existences in like manner, Plato, Symposium^ 201
 A
1

63. Truth 419

5 SocraUs. I would ask you to be thinking of the verbial door,which no one can fail to hit, in this
truth and not of Socrates: agree with me, if I seem respect must be easy, but the fact that we can
it

to you to be speaking the truth; or if not, with- have a whole truth and not the particular part we
stand me might and main, that I may not deceive aim at shows the difficulty of it.
you as well as myself in my enthusiasm, and like Perhaps, too, as difficulties are of two kinds, the
the bee, leave my sting in you before I die. cause of the present difficulty is not in the facts
Plato, Phaedo, 91 but in us. For as the eyes of bats are to the blaze of
day, so is the reason in our soul to the things
6 should not like to have my words repeat-
SocraUs. I which are by nature most evident of all.
ed to the tragedians and the rest of the imitative Aristotle, Metaphysics, 993^30
tribe —
but I do not mind saying to you, that all
poetical imitations are ruinous to the under- 12 It is right that philosophy should be called
. . .

standing of the hearers, and that the knowledge of
their truenature is the only antidote to them.
Ihave always from my earliest youth had an awe
and love of Homer, which even now makes the
words falter on my lips, for he is the great captain
and teacher of the whole of that charming tragic
company; but a man is not to be reverenced more
than the truth.
Plato, Republic^
7 Athenian Stranger. The greatest and highest
have no outward image of themselves visible to
knowledge of the truth. For the end of theoretical
. . .
knowledge is truth, while that of practical knowl-
edge is action (for even if they consider how things
are, practical men do not study the eternal, but
what is relative and in the present). Now we do
not know a truth without its cause; and a thing
has a quality in a higher degree than other things
if in virtue of it the similar quality belongs to the
X, 595A other things as well (e.g. fire is the hottest of
things; for it is the cause of the heat of all other
truths things); so that that which causes derivative truths
to be true most true. Hence the principles of
is

man, which he who wishes to satisfy the soul of eternal thingsmust be always most true (for they
the enquirer can adapt to the eye of sense, and are not merely sometimes true, nor is there any
therefore we ought to train ourselves to give and cause of their being, but they themselves are the
accept a rational account of them; for immaterial cause of the being of other things), so that as each
things, which are the noblest and greatest, are thing is in respect of being, so is it in respect of
shown only in thought and idea, and in no other truth.
10
way.
Aristotle, Metaphysics, 993^19
Plato, Staiesmany 286A
13 Of one subject we must either affirm or deny any
8 As there arc in the mind thoughts which do not
one predicate. This is clear, in the first place, if we
involve truth or falsity, and also those which must
define what the true and the false are. To say of
be cither true orfalse, so it is in speech. For truth
what is that it is not, or of what is not that it is, is
and imply combination and separation.
falsity
false, while to say of what is that it is, and of what
Nouns and verbs, provided nothing is added, are
is not that it is not, is true; so that he who says of
like thoughts without combination or separation;
anything that it is, or that it is not, will say either
‘man’ and ‘white’, as isolated terms, are not yet
what is true or what is false; but neither what is
cither true or false.
nor what is not is said to be or not to be.
Aristotle, On Interpretation, 16^10
Aristotlt, Metaphysics, 1011^24

9 The least initial deviation from the truth is multi-

plied later a thousandfold. 14 It would perhaps be thought to be better, indeed
Aristotle, On the Heavens, 271^9
to be our duty, for the sake of maintaining the
truth even to destroy what touches us closely, es-
To give a satisfactory decision as to the truth it is
pecially as we are philosophers or lovers of wis-
necessary to be rather an arbitrator than a party dom; for, while both are dear, piety requires us to
to the dispute. honour truth above our friends.
» Aristotle, On the Heavens, 279^1 Aristotle, Ethics, 1096^13

lyThe investigation of the truth is in one way hard, 15 The man who loves truth, and is truthful where
in another easy. An indication of this is found in nothing is at stake, will still more be truthful
the fact that no one is able to attain the truth where something is at stake; he will avoid false-
adequately, while, on the other hand, we do not hood as something base, seeing that he avoided it
collectix-ely fail, but every one says something true even for its own sake; and such a man is worthy of
about the nature of things, and while individually praise. He inclines rather to understate the truth;
we contribute little or nothing to the truth, by the for this seems in better taste because exaggerations
union of all a considerable amount is amassed. are wearisome.
Therefore, since the truth seems to be like the pro-
Aristotle, Ethics, 1127^3
 420 1
Chapter 6. Knowledge

16 The by Nartue of which the soul possesses

states is falsehood anything, save that something b
truthby way of affirmation or denial are five in thought to be w'hich is not.
number, i.e. art, scientific knowledge, practical Augustine, Confessions, 15
wisdom, philosophic wdsdom, intuitive reason; we
do not include judgement and opinion because in 26 I have met many' ^vho w'ished to deceive, but not
these we may be mistaken. one w'ho >s’ishcd to be deceived.
Aristotle, Ethics, 1139^16 Augustine, Confessions, X, 23

17 Those who object that that at which all things 27 Why does truth call forth hatred? Why is Your
aim not necessarily good are, we may surmise,
is servant treated as an enemy by those to w'hom he
talking nonsense. For we say that that which ev- preaches the truth, if happiness is loved, which is
ery one thinks really is so; and the man who at- simply joy in truth? Simply because truth is loved
tacks this belief >vill hardly have anything more in such a way that those who love some other
credible to maintain instead. thing want it to be the truth, and, precisely be-
Aristotle, Ethics, 1172^35 cause they do not w-ish to be deceived, are umrill-
ing to be oon\'inced that they are deceived. Thus
18 Nature has instilled in our minds an insatiable they hate the truth for the sake of that other thing
desire to see truth. \vhich they love because they take it for truth.
Cicero, Dispuiations, I, 19 They love truth w’hen it enlightens them, the>'
hate truth when it accuses them. Because they do
19 We don’t believe a liar even when he tells the not wish to be deceived and do wish to deceive,
truth. they love truth w'hen it reveals itself, and hate it
Cicero, Divination, 11, 71 when it reveals them. Thus it shall reward them
as they deserve: those w'ho do not w'ish to be re-
20 Then said Jesus to those Jew's w'hich believed on vealed by truth, truth will unmask against their
him, If ye continue in my word, then are ye my will, but it will not reveal itself to them. Thus,
disciples indeed; thus, even thus, does the human mind, blind and
22 And yc shall know the truth, and the truth shall inert, vile and ill -behaved, desire to keep itself
make you free. concealed, yet desire that nothing should be con-
John 8:31-32 cealed from itself. But the contrary happens to
23
—
it it cannot He hidden from truth, but only truth

21 Pilate therefore saidimto him. Art thou a king from it. Even so, for all its worthlessness, the hu-
24
then? Jesus ans\vered, Thou sayest that I am a man mind w'ould rather find its joy in truth than

king. To this end was I bom, and for this cause falsehood. So that it shall be happy if, wath no
came I into the world, that I should bear witness other thing to distract, it shall one day come to
unto the truth. Every one that is of the truth hear- rejoice in that sole Truth by W'hich all things are
25
my voice.
/ I

Pilate saith unto him. What is truth? And w'hen

he had said this, he went out again unto the Jew's,
true.
Augustine, Confessions, X, 23

and saith unto them, I find in him no fault at all. 28 Lying is \\Tong even to save chastity.
John 18:37-38 Augustine, On Lying, VII, 10

Am I therefore become your enemy, because I tell 29 He W’ho says that some lies are just, must be
you the truth? judged to say no other than that some sins are
Galatians 4:16 just, and thereforesome things are just w’hich arc
unjust: than which w’hat can be more absurd?
A liar ought to have a good memory'. Augustine, To Consentius, Against lying, 18
Quintilian, Institidio Oratoria, IV, 2
30 “If any man makes search for truth w'ith all his
Veritable truth not accordance with an e.Kter-
is penetration, and w'ould be led astray by no de-
nal; it is self-accordance; it affirms and is nothing ceiving paths, let him turn upon himself the light
other than itself and is nothing other; it is at once of an in\N'ard gaze, let him bend by force the long-
existence and self-affirmation. draw'n w’anderings of his thoughts into one circle;
Plotinus, Fifth Ennead, V, 2 let him tell surely to his soul, that he has, thrust
aw'ay w’ithin the treasures of his mind, all that he
And I looked upon other
and I saw' that
things, labours to acquire without. Then shall that truth,
they owed their being to You, and that all finite which now w'as hid in error’s darkening cloud,
things are in You: hut in a different manner, shine forth more clear than Phosbus’s self. For the

being in You not as in a place, but because You body, though it brings material mass w'hich breeds
are and hold things in the hand of Your truth,
all has never driven forth all light from
forgetfulness,
and all things are true inasmuch as they are: nor the mind. The seed of truth does surely cling w’ith-
 6,3, Truth 421

in, and can be roused as a spark by the fanning of to the preconception in the divine intellect. Thus,
philosophy. For if it is not so, how do ye men then, truth is principally in the intellect, and sec-

make ansv^'crs true of your own instinct when ondarily in things according as they are related to
teachers question Is it not that the quick
you? the intellect as their principle.
spark of truth buried in the heart’s low
lies Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 16, 1

depths? And if the Muse of Plato sends through

those depths the voice of truth, each man has not 32 Truth is found in the intellect according as it ap-
forgotten and is but reminding himself of what he prehends a thing as it is, and in things according
learns.” as they have being conformable to an intellect.
When she [Philosophy] made an end, I said, *‘I This is to the greatest degree found in God. For
agree very strongly with Plato; for this is the sec- His being is not only conformed to His intellect,
ond time that you have reminded me of these but it is the very act of His intellect, and His act of
thoughts. The first time I had lost them through understanding is the measure and cause of every
the material influence of the body; the second, other being and of every other intellect, and He
when overwhelmed by this weight of trouble.” Himself is His own being and act of under-
Boethius, Consolation of Philosophy, III standing. And so it follows not only that truth is in
Him, but that He is truth itself, and the supreme
31 As the good denotes that towards which the appe- and first truth.

tite tends, so the true denotes that towards which
the intellect tends. Now there
between the appetite and the intellect, or any
knowledge whatsoever, that knowledge is accord-
ing as the thing known is in the knower, whilst
appetite is according as the desirer tends towards
the thing desired. Thus the term of the appetite,
/ Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 16, 5
is this difference
^^^ruth and good include one another; for truth is
something good, otherwise it would not be desir-
able; and good is something true, otherwise it
would not be intelligible. Therefore Just as the ob-
ject of the appetite may be something true, as

namely good, is in the thing desirable, and the having the aspect of good, for example, when
term of knowledge, namely true, is in the intellect some one desires to know the truth, so the object
itself. of the practical intellect is good directed to opera-

Now as good exists in a thing so far as that tion, and under the aspect of truth. For the practi-

thing is related to the appetite —

and hence the cal intellect knows truth, just as the speculative,
aspect of goodness passes on from the desirable but it directs the known truth to operation.
thing to the appetite, according as the appetite is Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 79, 11

called good if the thing desired is good, so, since

the true is in the intellect in so far as
con- it is 34 No one envies another the knowledge of truth,
formed to the thing understood, the aspect of the which can be known entirely by many except per-
true must pass from the intellect to the thing un- haps one may envy another his superiority in the
derstood, so that also the thing understood is said knowledge of it,
to be true in so far as it has some relation to the Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I-II, 28, 4
intellect.

Now a thing understood may be in relation to 35 Being and truth in the universal cannot be the
an intellect either essentially or accidentally. It is object of hatred because disagreement is the cause
related essentially to an intellect on which it de- of hatred, and agreement is the cause of love,
pends as regards its being, but accidentally to an while being and truth are common to all things.
intellect by which it is knowable; even as we may But nothing hinders some particular being or
say that a house is related essentially to the intel- some particular truth being an object of hatred, in
lect of the architect,
but accidentally to the intel- so far as it is considered as something contrary
lectupon which it does not depend. and repugnant. . . .

Now we do not judge of a thing by what is in it Now it may happen in three ways that some
accidentally, but by what is in it essentially. particular truth repugnant or contrary to the
is
Hence, everything is said to be true absolutely in good we love. First, according as truth is in things
so far as it is related to the intellect from which it as in its cause and origin. And thus man some-
depends; and thus it is that artificial things are times hates a particular truth when he wishes that
said to be true as being related to our intellect. what is true were not true. Secondly, according as
For a house is said to ^ true that expresses the truth is in man’s knowledge, which hinders him
likeness of the form in the architect’s mind, and from gaining the object loved; such is the case of
^^tJrds arc said to be true so far as they are the those who wish not to know the truth of faith, that
signs of truth in the intellect. In the same way they may sin freely. Thirdly, a particular
. . .

natural things are said to be true in so far as they truth is hated as something repugnant according
express the likeness of the species that are in the as it is in the intellect of another man; as, for
divine mind. For a stone is called true, because it instance, when a man wishes to remain indolent
expresses the nature proper to a stone, according in his sin, he hates that anyone should know the
 422 Chapter 6. Knowledge

truth about his sin. But nonetheless, each gospel is all true,
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I-II, 29, 5 And all of them accord in their essence,
Howbeit there’s in telling difference.
36 The greatest of all pleasures consists in the con- For some of them say more and some say less
templation of truth. Now every pleasure assuages When they His piteous passion would express;
pain as stated above. Hence the contemplation of I mean now Mark and Matthew, Luke and John;

truth assuages pain or sorrow, and the more so the Yet, without doubt, their meaning is all one,
more perfectly one is a lover of wisdom. Chaucer, Canterbury Tales: Prologue to
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I-II, 38, 4 Mclibcus

42 Superstition, idolatry, and hypocrisy have ample

37 A small error in the beginning is a great one in
wages, but truth goes a begging,
the end.
Luther, Table Talk, H53
j Aquinas, Concerning Being and Essence, Intro.

43 Anyone who doesnot feel sufficiently strong in

38/7fw expresses the correspondence of being to the
memory should not meddle with lying. Now . . .

knowing power, knowing is produced by an

for all
liars either invent everything out of whole cloth,
assimilation of the knower to the thing known, so
or else disguise and alter something fundamental-
that assimilation is said to be the cause of knowl-
ly true. W4ien they disguise and change a story, if
edge. Similarly, the sense of sight knows a color by
you put them back onto it often enough they find
being informed with a species of the color.
it hard not to get tangled up. For since the thing
The first reference of being to the intellect, zsit is has become lodged first in the memory and
therefore, consists in its agreement with the intel-
has imprinted itself there by way of consciousness
lect. This agreement is called “the conformity of
and knowledge, it is difficult for it not to present
thing and intellect.’* In this conformity is fulfilled
itself to the imagination, dislodging the falsehood,
the formal constituent of the true, and this is what
which cannot have so firm and secure a foothold.
the true adds to being, namely, the conformity or
Likewise, the circumstances that were learned
equation of thing and intellect. As we said, the
first, slipping into the mind every moment, tend
knowledge of a thing is a consequence of this con-
to weaken the memory of the false or corrupted
formity; therefore, it is an effect of truth, even
parts that have been added. In what liars invent
though the fact that the thing is a being is prior to
completely, inasmuch as there is no contrary im-
its truth.
pression which clashes with the falsehood, they
Aquinas, On Truth, I, 1
seem to have the less reason to fear making a mis-
take. Nevertheless even this, since it is an empty
39 And the Friar: “I heard once at Bologna many of thing without a grip, is prone to escape any but a
the Devil’s vices told; amongst which, I heard that
very strong memory.
he is a liar and the father of lies.”
Montaigne, Essays, I, 9, Of Liars
Dante, Inferno, XXIII, 143
44 If falsehood, like truth, had only one face, we
40 But first, I pray you, of your courtesy, would be in better shape. Forwe would take as
You’ll not ascribe it to vulgarity certain the opposite of what the liar said. But the
Though I speak plainly of this matter here, reverse of truth has a hundred thousand shapes
Retailing you their words and means of cheer; and a limitless field.
Nor though use their very terms, nor lie.
I Montaigne, Essays, I, 9, Of Liars
For this thing do you know as well as I:
When one repeats a tale told by a man, 45 How many arts there are that profess to consist of
He must report, as nearly as he can, conjecture more than of knowledge, that do not
Every least word, if he remember it, decide on the true and the false and merely follow
However rude it be, or how unfit; what seems to be! There are, they say, both a true
Or else he may be telling what’s untrue. and a false, and there is in us the means to seek it,
Embellishing and fictionizing too. but not to test it by a touchstone. Wc are much
He may not spare, although it were his brother; better if we let ourselves be led without inquisi-
He must as well say one word as another. tiveness in the way of the world. A soul guaran-
Christ spoke right broadly out, in holy writ, teed against prejudice is marvelously advanced to-
And, you know well, there’s nothing low in it. ward tranquility. People who judge and check
And Plato says, to those able to read: their judges never submit to them as they ought.
“The word should be the cousin to the deed.” How much more docile and easily led, both by the
Chaucer, Canterbury Tales: The Prologue laws of religion and by political laws, are the sim-
ple and incurious minds, than those minds that
41 As thus: You know that each evangelist survey divine and human causes like pedagogues!
Who tells the passion of Lord Jesus Christ Montaigne, Essays, 11, 12, Apology for
Says not in all things as his fellows do, Raymond Sebond
 a

63. Truth 1
423

46 If the human was capable and firm enough

grip whipped out, w-hen Lady the brach may stand by
to grasp (he truth by our own means; these means the fire and stink.
being common to all men, this truth would be Shakespeare, Ltar, I, iv, 124
bandied from hand to hand, from one man to an-
other; and at least there would be one thing in the 54 I thank thee for thy Good-Ns*ill, dear Sancko,
world, out of all there arc, that would be believed rcpiy’d Don But I assure thee, that all
by all men with universal consent. But this fact, these seeming Extrav'agancics that I must run
that no proposition can be seen W'hich is not de- through, arc no Jests: Far from it, they must be all
bated and controverted among us, or which may perform’d seriously and solemnly; for otherwise
not be, well shows that our natural judgment docs w’c should transgress the Law’s of Chivalry, that
not grasp very' clearly w'hat it grasps. For my forbid us to tell Lyes upon the Pain of Degrada-
judgment cannot make my companion’s judgment tion; now to pretend to do one Thing, and effect
accept it; which is a sign that I have grasped it by another, is an Evasion, w’hich I esteem to be as
some other means than by a natural power that is bad as Lying. Therefore the Blow-s w'hich I must
in me and in all men. give my
self on the Head, ought to be real, sub-
Montaigne, Essays, II, 12, Apolog)’ for sound ones, Nrithout any Trick, or mental
stantial,
Raymond Sebond Reservation; for w’hich Reason I w’ould have thee
leave me some Lint and Salve, since Fortune has
47 Truth is the first and fundamental part of virtue. depriv’d us of the So%’ercign Balsam which we
We must love it for itself. He who tells the truth lost.
because he has some external obligation to do so Cer\'antcs, Don QuixoU, I, 25
and because it serves him, and who docs not fear
to tell a lie when it is not important to anybody, is
55 With regard to authority, it is the greatest weak-
not sufiicicntly truthful. ness to attribute infinite credit to particular au-
Montaigne, Essays, 11, 17, Of Presumption thors, and to refuse his own prerogative to time,
the author of all authors, and, therefore, of all
48 The way of truthone and simple; that of pri-
is authority. For truth is rightly named the daughter
vate profit and the advantage of one’s personal of time, not of authority.
business is double, uneven, and random.
Bacon, Novum Organum, I, 84
Montaigne, Eissays, III, 1, The Useful and
the Honorable 56 This same truth is a naked and open day-light,
that doth not shew’ the masques and mummeries
49 Truth itself docs not have the privilege to be em- and triumphs of the world, half so stately and
ployed at any time and in any way; its use, noble daintily as candle-lights. Truth may perhaps
as it is, has its circumscriptions and limits. It often
come to the price of a pearl, that shcw’cth best by
happens, as (he w'orld goes, that people blurt it day; but it w’ill not rise to the price of a diamond
out into a prince’s car not only fruitlessly, but or carbuncle, that shcw'cth best in varied lights. A
harmfully, and even unjustly. And no one will mixture of a lie doth ever add pleasure.
make me believe that a righteous remonstrance Bacon, Of Truth
cannot be applied wrongfully, and that the inter-
est of the substance must not often yield to the
57 How’soever these things arc thus in men’s de-
interest of the form.
praved judgments and affections, yet truth, which
Montaigne, Essays, III, 13, Of Experience only doth judge itself, teacheth that the inquiry' of
truth, which is the love-making or wooing of it,
50 Launcfloi. Truth will come to light; murder cannot the knowledge of truth, w’hich is the presence of it,
be hid long.
and the belief of truth, w’hich is the enjoying of it,

Shakespeare, Mmhant of Vnia, II, ii, 82 is the sovereign good of human nature.
Bacon, Of Truth
51 Hotspur, I can teach thee, coz, shame the devil
to
By telling truth: tell truth and shame the devil. 58 It w'cre far better never to think of investigating
Shakespeare, / Haxiy JV, III, i, 58 truth at all, than to do so without a method. . . .

Moreover by a method I mean certain and simple

52 PotcTAus, See you now'; rules, such that, if a man obscrv'c them accurately,
Your bail of falsehood takes this carp of truth: he shall never assume what is false as true, and
And thus do we of wisdom and of reach, will never spend his mental efforts to no purpose,
With windlasses and wdth assay's of bias. but will a!wa)*s gradually increase his knowiedge
By indirections find directions out. and so arrive at a true understanding of all that
Shakespeare, Hamid, II, i, 62 docs not surpass his powers.
Descartes, Rules for DirecUon
53 IkI. Truth dog must he must be
to kennel; of the Mind, IV
 424 Chapter 6, Knowledge

59 Having but one truth to discover in respect to
each matter, whoever succeeds in finding it knows
in its regard as much as can be known.
Descartes, Discourse on Method, II
60 Having remarked that there was nothing at all in
the statement "/ think, therefore I am** which assures
me of having thereby made a true assertion, ex-
cepting that I sec very clearly that to think it is
necessary to be, I came to the conclusion that I
might assume, as a general rule, that the things
which we conceive very clearly and distinctly are
all true.
Descartes, Discourse on Method,
61 From the very fact that anyone girds himself
for an attack upon the truth, he makes himself less
capable of perceiving the truth itself, since he
vdthdraws his mind from the consideration of
those reasons that tend to convince him of it, in
violence, and only serve to exasperate it. When
weaker must succumb to the
force meets force, the
stronger; when argument is opposed to argument,
the solid and the convincing triumphs over the
empty and the false; but violence and verity can
make no impression on each other. Let none sup-
pose, however, that the two are, therefore, equal
to each other; for there is this vast difference be-
tween them, that violence has only a certain
course to run, limited by the appointment of
Heaven, which overrules its effects to the gloiy' of
the truth which it assails; whereas verity endures
foreverand eventually triumphs over its enemies,
IV being eternal and almighty as God himself,
Pascal, Provincial Letters, XIl
up
65 We make an idol of truth itself; for truth apart
from charity is not God, but His image and idol,
which wc must neither love nor worship; and still
less must wc love or worship its opposite, namely,

order to discover others that have the opposite ef- falsehood.

fect. Pascal, Pensees, VIII, 582
Descartes, Objections and Replies, 11
66 Truth is so obscure in these times, and falsehood
62 When two names are joined together into a conse- so established, that, unless we love the truth, wc
quence, or affirmation, as thus, A man ir a living cannot know it.

creature; or thus. If he be a man, he is a living creature; Pascal, Pensees, XIV, 864

if name living creature signify all that the
the latter
former name man signifieth, then the affirmation, 67 Whatever the weight of antiquity, truth should
or consequence, is otherwise fabe. For true
true; always have the advantage, even when newly dis-
and false are attributes of speech, not of things. covered, since it is always older than every opin-
And where speech is not, there is neither truth nor ion men have held about it, and only ignorance of
falsehood. Error there may be, as when we expect its nature could imagine it began to be at the time

that which shall not be, or suspect what has not it began to be known.
been; but in neither case can a man be charged Pascal, Preface to the Treatise on the Vacuum
with untruth.
Seeing then that truth consisteth in the right 68 It is a disease natural to man to believe that he
ordering of names in our affirmations, a man that possesses the truth directly, and this is the reason
secketh precise truth had need to remember what he is always inclined to deny whatever he cannot
every name he uses stands for, and to place it ac- understand. Whereas in fact he naturally knows
cordingly; or else he will find himself entangled in nothing but error and should accept as true only
words, as a bird in lime twigs; the more he strug- those things whose contradictory appears to him
gles,the more belimcd. to be false. Consequently, whenever a proposition
Hobbes, Leviathan, I, 4 is inconceivable, we must suspend our judgment
and not deny it for that reason, but examine its

63 Every man is not a proper Champion for Truth, contradictory; and if we find this manifestly false,

nor fit to take up the Gauntlet in the cause of we may boldly affirm the original statement, how-
Verity: Many, from the ignorance of these Max- ever incomprehensible it is.

imes, and an inconsiderate Zeal unto Truth, have Pascal, Geometrical Demonstration
too rashly charged the Troops of Error, and re-
main as Trophies unto the enemies of Truth: A 69 I sec indeed that truth is the same at Toulouse
man may be in as just possession of Truth as of a and at Paris.
City, and yet be forced to surrender; his therefore Pascal, Letter to Fermat (July 29, 1654)
far better to enjoy her with peace, than to haazard
her on a battle. 70 Thus while he spake, each passion dimmM his

Sir Thomas Browne, Religio Medici, I, 6 [Satan's] face

64 It is a strange and tedious war when violence
tempts to vanquish truth. All the efforts of vio-
lence cannot weaken truth, and only serve to give
it fresh vigour. All the lights of truth cannot arrest
Thrice chang'd with pale, ire, cnvic and despair,
at- Which marrd his borrow'd visage, and betraid
Him counterfet, if any eye beheld.
For hcav’nly mindes from such distempers foulc
Arc ever clecr. Whereof hec soon aware,
 63. Tmth I
425

Each perturbation smooth'd with outw»ar(i cairnc, idea which agrees with (hat of which it is the
Artiheer of fraud; and was the first idea — have shown almost more times than
I

7'hat pmetisd falshood under saintly shew, enough that he k^o^v•s it simply because he has an
Deep malice to conccalc, couch*l witli revenge. idea which .igrccs with that of which it is the idea,
Milton, PrtTii/ihf Ijisf, IV, 114 that is to say, because truth is its own standard.
We must rcnicml>cr, l>csidcs, that our mind, in so
71 Hard arc the wnp of injth, and rough to walk. far as it truly perceives things, is a part of the
Milton, Paraiitsf I, 47(1 infinite intellect of Cod, and therefore it must be
that the clear and distinct ideas of (be mind arc as

72 And though all the winds of doctrine were let true as those of God.
loose to play upon the earth, so Truth l>c in the Spinor.a, ICthics, II, Prop. 43; Schol.
field, we do by licensing and prohib-
injuriously,
iting, to misdoubt her strength. Let her and False- 75 For Truth has such a face and such a mien,
hood grapple; who cs'cr knew Truth put to the As to l>c lov’i! needs only to be seen.
worse, in a free and open encounter? Dr>*dcn, 77:r //md and th/ Panth/r, I, 33
Milton, AtfoMpltea
76 'Hierc arc two kinds of truths, (hose of rrasontn^
. . .

73 For who Truth is strong, next to

knov^s not that and those of fact. Truths of reasoning arc neces-
the Almighty? She needs no policies, nor strata- sary* and their opposite is impossible: iniths of fact

gems, nor licensings to make Iter victorious; those are contingent and their opposite is possible.
arc the sltifis and the defences that error uses When a truth is necessary, its reason can be found
against her power. Give her but room, and do not by analysis, resolving it into more simple ideas
bind her when she sleeps, for then she speaks not and trtiihs, until we come to those which arc pri-
true. mary'.

Milton, Arfopaf;ittca Leibniz, Afonadoh^^, 33

74 He who has a true idea kno^>-s at the same time 77 Tlic truth certainly would do well enough if she
that he has a true idea, nor can he doubt the tnith were once left to shift for herself. She .seldom has
of the thing. . . . For no one who has a true idea received anti,1 fear, never will receive much assis-

is ignorant that a true idea involves the highest tance from the power of great men, to whom .she is
certitude; to have a true idea signifying just this, but rarely known and more rarely welcome. She is
to know a thing perfectly or as well as possible. No not taught by law's, nor has she any need of force

one, in fact, can doubt this, unless he supposes an to proctirc her entrance into the minds of men.
idea to be something dumb, like a picture on a Errors, indeed, prcs-ail by the assistance of foreign
tablet, instead of being a mode of thought, that is and borrowed succours. But if Truth makes not
to say, intelligence itself. Moreover, 1 ask who can her way into the understanding by her own light,
knovs’ that he understands a thing unless he first of she win l>c but the weaker for any borrowed force
all understands that thing? that is to say, who can violence can add to her.
know that he is certain of anything unless he is Locke, Cvncerrung Tcleration
first of all certain of that thing? ^llcn, again, what
can be clearer or more certain than a true idea as 7B TIic imputation of Novelty is a terrible charge
the standard of truth? Just as light reveals both amongst those who judge of men's heads, as they'
itselfand the darkness, so truth is the standard of do of their perukes, by the fashion, and can allow
itselfand of the false. I consider what has been none to lx; right but the received doctrines. Truth
said to be a sufficient anrwer to the objection that .scarce ever yet carried it by vote any'whcre at its
if a true idea is distinguished from a false idea first appearance: new opinions arc al way's sus-

only in so far as it is said to agree with that of pected, and usually opposed, without any other
which the idea, the true idea therefore has no
it is reason but lx;causc they arc not .already common.
reality nor perfection above the false idea (since But (ruth, like gold, is not the less so for being
they arc distinguished by an external sign alone), newly brought out of the mine. It Is trial and ex-
and consequently the man who has (rue ideas w'ill amination must give it price, and not any antique
have no greater reality or perfection than he who fashion; and though it be not yet current by the
has false ideas only. I consider, loo, that I have public stamp, yet it may, for all that, be as old as
already replied to those who inquire why men nature, and is certainly not the less genuinc-
have false ideas, and how a man can certainly Locke, Concemini; Human Undnstandin^^,
know that he has ideas which agree with those Dedication
things of which they are the ideas. For with re-
gard to the difference bct\s*ccn a true and a false 79 ITough, compliance with the ordinary* w'ay of
in
idea, it is evident . . that the former is related to
. speaking, have show'n in what scn.se and upon
1

the latter as being is to non-being. With re- , . . what ground our ideas may be sometimes called
gard to . . how a man can know that he has an
, true or false; yet if we will look a little nearer into
 426 Chapter 6. Knowledge

the matter, in cases where any idea is called

all erly be said to understand him; and I am so far
true or from somt judgment that the mind
false, it is from receiving information, that he leaves me
makes, or is supposed to make, that is true or false. worse than in ignorance; for I am led to believe a
For truth or falsehood, being never without some thing black, when it is white; and short, when it is

affirmation or negation, express or tacit, it is not long. And these were

the notions he had con-
all

to be found but where signs are joined or separat- cerning that faculty of lying, so perfectly well un-
ed, according to the agreement or disagreement of derstood, and so universally practised among hu-
the things they stand for. The signs we chiefly use man creatures.
are cither ideas or words; wherewith we make Swift, Gulliver^s Travels, IV, 4
either mental or verbal propositions. Truth lies in

so joining or separating these representatives, as

83 He who tells a lie is not sensible of how great a
the things they stand for do in themselves agree or
task he undertakes; for he must be forced to in-
disagree; and falsehood in the contrary.
vent twenty more to maintain that one.
Locke, Concerning Human Understandings
Pope, Thoughts on Various Subjects
Bk. II, XXXII, 19

84 There are certain times when most people are in a

80 He that would seriously set upon the search of
disposition of being informed, and ’tis incredible
truth ought in the first place to prepare his mind
what a vast good a little truth might do, spoken in
with a love of it. For he that loves it not will not
such seasons.
take much pains to get it; nor be much concerned
when he misses it. There is nobody in the com- Pope, Letter to JVilliam Wycherlg
monwealth of learning who does not profess him- (June 23, 1705)

self a lover of truth: and there is not a rational

creature that would not take it amiss to be 85 ’Tis certain we cannot take pleasure in any dis-
thought otherwise of. And yet, for all this, one course, where our judgment gives no assent to
may truly say, that there arc very few lovers of
those images which are presented to our fancy.

truth, for truth’s sake, even amongst those who
persuade themselves that they are so. How a man
may know whether he be so in earnest, is worth
inquiry: and I think there is one unerring mark of
The conversation of those, who have acquir’d a
habit of lying, tho’ in affairs of no moment, never
gives any satisfaction; and that because those
ideas they present to us, not being attended Nvith

it, viz. The not entertaining any proposition with

belief, make no impression upon the mind. Poets
greater assurance than the proofs it is built upon themselves, tho’ liars by profession, always en-

will warrant. Whoever goes beyond this measure deavour to give an air of truth to their fictions;
of assent, it is plain, receives not the truth in the and where that is totally neglected, their perfor-
love of it; loves not truth for truth’s sake, but for mances, however ingenious, will never be able to
some other bye-end. afford much pleasure. In short, we may observe,

Locke, Concerning Human Understanding,

that even when manner of influence
ideas have no

Bk. IV, XIX, 1

on the will as passions, truth and reality are still
requisite, in order to make them entertaining to
the imagination.
81 He must surely be either very weak, or very little
acquainted with the sciences, who shall reject a Hume, Treatise of Human Nature, Bk. I, III, 10

truth that is capable of demonstration, for no

other reason but because it is newly known, and
86^ Reason is the discovery of truth or falshood. Truth
I or consists in an agreement or dis-
falshood
contrary to the prejudices of mankind.
agreement either to the real relations of ideas, or to
Berkeley, Principles of Human Knowledge, Pref.
real existence and matter of fact. Whatever, there-

fore, is not susceptible of this agreement or dis-

82 My master heard me with great appearances of
agreement, is incapable of being true or false, and
uneasiness in his countenance; because doubting or
can never be an object of our reason,
no/ believing, are so little known in this country,
Hume, Treatise of Human Nature, Bk. Ill, I, 1
that the inhabitants cannot tell how to behave
themselves under such circumstances. And I re-
member in frequent discourses with my master 87 Mr. Allworthy rightly observed, that there was a
concerning the nature of manhood, in other parts great difference between being guilty of a false-
and
of the world, having occasion to talk of lying hood to excuse yourself, and to excuse another.
was with much difficulty that
false representation, it
Fielding, Tom Jones, III, 5

he comprehended what I meant; although he had

otherwise a most acute judgment. For he argued 88 The elegant Lord Shaftesbury somewhere objects
thus; that the use of speech was to make us under- to telling too much truth: by which it may be
stand one another, and to receive information of fairly inferred, that, in some cases, to lie is not
facts; now if any one said the thing which war no/, only excusable, but commendable.
these ends were defeated; because I cannot prop- And surely there are no persons who may so
 63. Truth 427

properly challenge a right to this commendable 96 We talked of the casuistical question. Whether it
deviation from trutli, as young women in the af- was allowable at any time to depart from Truth.^
fair of love; for which they may plead precept, Johnson. “The general rule is, that Truth should
education, and above all, the sanction, nay, I may never be violated, because it is of the utmost im-
say the necessity of custom, by which they are re- portance to the comfort of life, that we should
strained, not from submitting to the honest impul- have a full security by mutual faith; and occasion-
ses of nature (for that would be a foolish prohibi- al inconveniences should be willingly suffered that
tion), but from owning them. w'e may preserve it. There must, however, be some
Fielding, Tom Jones, XIII, 12 exceptions. If, for instance, a murderer should ask
you which w'ay a man is gone, you may tell him
89 Humanly speaking, let us define truth, while what is not true, because you arc under a previous
w'aiting for a better definition, as “a statement — obligation not to betray a man to a murderer.

of the facts as they arc.” . . . deny the lawfulness of telling a lie to a

But I

Voltaire, Philosophical Dictionary: Truth sick man for fear of alarming him. You have no
business with consequences; you arc to tell the
90 There arc truths which are not for all men, nor for truth. Besides, you arc not sure what effect your
all occasions. telling him that he is in danger may have. It may

Voltaire, Letter to Cardinal de Berms bring his distemper to a crisis, and that may cure
(Apr, 23, mi) him. Of all lying, I have the greatest abhorrence
of this, because I believe it has been frequently

91/Truth a fruit which should not be plucked until practised on myself.”

^ it is
is

quite ripe. I cannot help thinking that there is much

Voltaire, Letter to Countess de Barcewitz weight in the opinion of those who have held, that
(Dec. 24, 1761) Truth, as an eternal and immutable principle,
ought, upon no account whatever, to be violated,
92 Between falsehood and useless truth there is little from supposed previous or superiour obligations,
difference. As gold which he cannot spend will of which every man being to judge for himself,
make no man rich, so knowledge which he cannot there is great danger that we too often, from par-
apply will make no man wise. tial motives, persuade ourselves that they exist;

Johnson, Idler No. 84 and probably whatever extraordinary instances

may sometimes occur, where some evil may be
93 “Pilgrimage,” said Imlac, “like many other acts of prevented by violating this noble principle, it
piety, may be
reasonable or superstitious, accord- w'ould be found that human happiness would,
ing to the principles upon which it is performed. upon the whole, be more perfect were Truth uni-
Long journeys in search of truth arc not com- versally preserved.
manded. Truth, such as is necessary to the regula- Boswell, Life of Johnson (June 13, 1784)
tion of life, is always found where it is honestly
sought.” 97 The protestant and philosophic readers of the
Johnson, Rasselas, XI present age will incline to believe that, in the ac-
count of his own conversion, Constantine attested
94 Goldsmith. “There arc people who tell a hundred a wilful falsehood by a solemn and deliberate per-
political lies every day, and are not hurt by it. jury. They may not hesitate to pronounce that, in
Surely, then, one may tell truth with safety'. the choice of a religion, his mind was determined
son. “Why, the first place, he w’ho tells a
Sir, in only by a sense of interest; and that ... he used
hundred has disarmed the force of his Hes. But
lies the altars of the church as a convenient footstool
besides; a man had rather have a hundred lies to the throne of the empire. A conclusion so harsh
told of him, than one truth which he docs not wish not, however, warranted by our
and so absolute is
should be told,” Goldsmith. “For my part, Fd tell knowledge of human nature, of Constantine, or of
truth, and shame the devil,” Johnson. “Yes, Sir; an age of religious fervour the
Christianity. In
but the devil will be angry'. I vv'ish to shame the
most artful statesmen arc obser^'cd to feel some
dev-il as much as you do, but I should choose
to be part of the enthusiasm which they inspire; and
out of the reach of his claws.” Goldsmith. “His
the most orthodox saints assume the dangerous
claws can do you no harm, when you have the privilege of defending the cause of truth by the
shield of truth.”
arms of deceit and falsehood. Personal interest is
Boswell, Life ofJohnson (Apr. 15, 1773) often the standard of our belief, as well as of our
practice; and the same motives of temporal ad-
95 Johnson. Nobody has a right to put another under vantage which might influence the public conduct
such a difficulty, that he must either hurt the per-
and professions of Constantine would insensibly
son by telling the truth, or
hurt himself by telling dispose his mind to embrace a religion so propi-
'vhat is not true.
tious to his fame and fortunes. His vanity was
Boswell, Life of Johnson (Apr. 25, 1778) gratified by the flattering assurance that he had
 428 Chapter 6. Knowledge

been chosen by Heaven to reign over the earth: it then takes unobstructed possession of the
success had justified his divine title to the throne, hearer's whole soul, and leaves him no by-thought
and that title was founded on the truth of the to distract him; partly, also, because he feels that
Christian revelation. As real virtue is sometimes here he not being corrupted or cheated by the
is

excited by undeserved applause, the specious pi- but that all the effect of what is
arts of rhetoric,
ety of Constantine, if at first it was only specious, said comes from the thing itself.
might gradually, by the influence of praise, of Schopenhauer, Some Forms of Literature
habit, and of example, be matured into serious
faith and fervent devotion. 104 If you have reason
to suspect that a person is tell-
Gibbon, Decline and Fall of the ing you a look as though you believed every
lie,

Roman Empire, XX word he said. This will give him courage to go on;
he will become more vehement in his assertions
98 It isa humiliating consideration for human rea- and in the end betray himself.
son that it is incompetent to discover truth by Schopenhauer, Our Relation to Others
means of pure speculation, but, on the contrary,
stands in need of discipline to check its deviations 105 The true must essentially be regarded as in con-
from the straight path and to expose the illusions flict with this world; the world has never been so
which it on the other hand, this
originates. But, good, and will never become so good, that the ma-
consideration ought to elevate and to give it confi- jority will desire the truth, or have the true con-
dence, for this discipline is exercised by itself ception of it in such a way
proclamation that its

alone, and it is subject to the censure of no other must consequently immediately gain the support
power. The bounds, moreover, which it is forced of everyone.No, he who will proclaim some truth
to set to its speculative exercise, form likewise a in truth,must prepare himself in some other way
check upon the fallacious pretensions of oppo- than by the help of such a foolish expectation; he
nents; and thus what remains ol its po^essions, must be willing essentially to relinquish the imme-
after these exaggerated claims have been disal- diate.
lowed, is secure from attack or usurpation. The Kierkegaard, Works of Love, II, 10
greatest, and perhaps the only, use of all philoso-
phy of pure reason is, accordingly, of a purely 106 Truth is such a fly-away, such a sly-boots, so un-
negative character. It is not an organon for the transportable and unbarrelable a commodity,
extension, but a discipline for the determination, that it is as bad to catch as light,
of the limits of its exercise; and without laying Emerson, Literary Ethics
claim to the discovery of new truth, it has the
modest merit of guarding against error. 107 The soul is the perceiver and reveal er of truth. Wc
Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, know truth when we see it, let sceptic and scoffer
Transcendental Method say what they choose. Foolish people ask you,
when you have spoken what they do not wish to
99 Truth can never be told so as to be understood, hear, *How do you know it is truth, and not an
and not be believed. error of your own?’ We know truth when we see it,
Blake, Marriage of Heaven and Hell, 10 from opinion, as we know when we are awake
that we are awake. We are wiser than wc
. . .

100 Veracity does not consist in saying, but in the in- know.
tention of communicating, truth. Emerson, The Over-Soul
Coleridge, Biographia Literaria, IX
108 God offers to every mind its choice between truth
101 And, after all, what
a lie? ’T is but
is

The truth in masquerade; and I defy

and repose. Take which you please —you can nev-
er have both.
Historians, heroes, lawyers, priests, to put Emerson, Intellect

A fact without some leaven of a lie.

Byron, Don Juan, XI, 37 109 “Jonah did the Almighty’s bidding. And what was
that, shipmates? To preach the truth to the face of
102 *Tis strange, —but true; for truth is always Falsehood! That was it!
strange; “This, shipmates, this is that other lesson; and
Stranger than fiction; could be told,
if it woe to that pilot of the living God who slights it.

How much would novels gain by the exchange! Woe to him whom this world charms from Gospel
How differently the world would men behold! duty! Woe to him who seeks to pour oil upon the
Byron, Don Juan, XIV, 101 waters when God has brewed them into a gale!
Woe him who seeks to please rather than to
to
Truth most beautiful undraped; and the im-
is appal! Woe to him whose good name is more to
pression makes is deep in proportion as hs ex-
it him than goodness! Woe to him who, in this
pression has been simple. This is so partly because world, courts not dishonour! Woe to him who
 63, Truth 429

would not be even though to be false were

true, our natures, we suppose a case, and put ourselves
salvation! Yea, woeto him who, as the great Pilot into it, and hence are in two cases at the same
Paul has it, while preaching to others is himself a time, and it is doubly difficult to get out. In sane
castaway!” moments we regard only the facts, the case that is.

He dropped and fell away from himself for a Say what you have to say, not what you ought.
moment; then lifting his face to them again, Any truth is better than make-believe.
showed a deep joy in his eyes, as he cried out with Thorcau, Walden: Conclusion
—
a heavenly enthusiasm, "but oh! shipmates! on
the starboard hand of every woe, there is a sure 113 If some great Power would agree to make me al-
delight; and higher the top of that delight, than ways think what is true and do what is right, on
the botton of the woe is deep. Is not the maintruck condition of being turned into a sort of clock and
higher than the kelson is low? Delight is to him wound up every morning before I got out of bed, I
a far, far upward, and inward delight who — should instantly close with the offer.
against the proud gods and commodores of this T. H. Huxley, Descartes* “Discourse
earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self. on Method”
Delight is to him whose strong arms yet support
him, when the ship of this base treacherous world 114 History warns us . . . that it is the customary fate
has gone down beneath him. Delight is to him, of new truths to begin as heresies and to end as
who gives no quarter in the truth, and kill, burns, superstitions.
and destroys all sin though he pluck it out from T. H. Huxley, The Coming of Age of
under the robes of Senators and Judges. De- “The Origin of Species”
light, —top-gallant delight is to him, who ac-
knowledges no law or lord, but the Lord his God, 1 15 Time, whose tooth gnaws away everything else, is
and is only a patriot to heaven. Delight is to him, powerless against truth.
whom all the waves of the billows of the seas of T. H. Huxley, Administrative Nihilism
the boisterous mob can never shake from this sure
Keel of the Ages. And eternal delight and deli- 116 It is a piece of idle sentimentality that truth,
ciousness will be his, who coming to lay him merely as truth, has any inherent power denied to
down, can say with his final breath O Father! — error of prevailing against the dungeon and the
chiefly known to me by Thy rod —
mortal or im- stake. Men arc not more zealous for truth than
mortal, here I die. I have striven to be Thine, they often are for error, and a sufficient applica-
more than to be this world’s, or mine own. Yet even of social penalties will gener-
tion of legal or
this is nothing; I leave eternity to Thee; for what
ally succeed in stopping the propagation of cither.
is man that he should live out the lifetime of his
The real advantage which truth has consists in
God?” this, that when an opinion is true, it may be extin-
Melville, Mofy Dick, IX guished once, twice, or many times, but in the
course of ages there will generally be found per-
no The symmetry of form attainable in pure fiction sons to rediscover it, until some one of its reap-
cannot so readily be achieved in a narration es- pearances falls on a time when from favourable
sentially having less to do with fable than with circumstances it escapes persecution until it has
fact. Truth uncompromisingly told will always
made such head as to withstand all subsequent
have its ragged edges; hence the conclusion of attempts to suppress it.
such a narration is apt to be less finished than an Mill, On Liberty, II
architectural finial.
Melville, Billy Budd 1 1 7 No one can be a great thinker who does not recog-
nise, that as it is his first duty to follow
a thinker
111 The men, even, are not the
wildest dreanrs of wild his intellect towhatever conclusions it may lead.
less true,though they may not recommend them- Truth gains more even by the errors of one who,
selves to the sense which is most common among with due study and preparation, thinks for him-
Englishmen and Americans to-day. It is not every self, than by the true opinions of those who only
truth that recommends itself to the common sense.
hold them because they do not suffer themselves
Nature has a place for the wild clematis as well as to think. Not that it is solely, or chiefly, to form
for the cabbage. Some expressions of truth arc great thinkers, that freedom of thinking is re-
reminiscent, —others merely sensible, as the phrase quired. On the contrary, it is as much and even
is, —others prophetic. more indispensable to enable average human
Thorcau, Walking beings to attain the mental stature which they arc
capable of. There have been, and may again be,
112 No face which we can give to a matter will stead great individual thinkers in a general atmosphere
us so well at last as the truth. This alone wears of mental slavery. But there never has been, nor
well. For the most part, we are not where we are, ever will be, in that atmosphere an intellectually
but in a false position. Through an infirmity of active people. Where any people has made a tern-
 430 Chapter 6, Knowledge

porary approach to such a character, it has been hood simply by this, that if acted on it should,
on
because the dread of heterodox speculation was consideration, carry us to the point we aim at
full

for a time suspended. Where there is a tacit con- and not astray, and then, though convinced of
vention that principles are not to be disputed; this, dares not know the truth and seeks to avoid
where the discussion of the greatest questions it, is in a sorry state of mind indeed.
which can occupy humanity is considered to be C. S. Peirce, Fixation of Belief
closed, we cannot hope to find that generally high
scale of mental activity which has made some pe- 124 Truths, on the average, have a greater tendency
riods of history so remarkable. to get believed than falsities have. Were it othcr-
Mill, On Liberty, 11 'wsc, considering that there arc myriads of false
hypotheses to account for any given phenomenon,
118 On every subject on which difference of opinion is against one sole true one (or if you will have it so,
possible, the truth depends on a balance to be against every true one), the first step toward genu-
struck between two sets of conflicting reasons. ine knowledge must have been next door to a mir-
Mill, On Liberty, II acle.
C, S. Peirce, What Pragmatism Means
119 Truth, in the great practical concerns of life, is so
much a question of the reconciling and combining 1 25 You don’t know about me without you have read
of opposites, that very few have minds sufficiently a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Saw-
capacious and impartial to make the adjustment yer; but that ain’t no matter. T^at book was made
with an approach to correctness, and it has to be by Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, main-
made by the rough process of a struggle between ly, There was things which he stretched, but

combatants fighting under hostile banners. mainly he told the truth. That is nothing. I never
Mill, On Liberty, II seen anybody but lied one time or another.
Mark Twain, Huckleberry Finn, 1

120 The essence of lying is in deception, not in words;

a lie may be told by silence, by equivocation, by 126 One of the most striking differences between a cat
the accent on a syllabic, by a glance of the eye and a lie isthat a cat has only nine lives.
attaching a peculiar significance to a sentence; Mark Tw'ain, Pudd^nhead Wilsm*s
and all these kinds of lies arc worse and baser by Calendar, VII
many degrees than a lie plainly worded; so that
no form of blinded conscience is so far sunk as 127 When in doubt tell the truth.
that which comforts itself for having deceived, be- Mark Twain, Pudd*nhead Wils(m*s
cause the deception was by gesture or silence, in- New Calendar, II
stead of utterance; and, finally, according to
Tennyson’s deep and trenchant line, “A lie which 128 The most common lie is the lie one tells to oneself;
is half a truth is ever the worst of lies.” lying to others is relatively the exception.
Ruskin, Modem Painters, Pt. IX, 7 Nietzsche, Antichrist, LV

121 “I should never dare to say that
truth,” said theMason, whose words struck Pierre
more and more by their precision and firmness.
*‘No one can attain to truth by himself. Only by
laying stone on stone with the cooperation of all,
by the millions of generations from our forefather
Adam our own times, is that temple reared
to
which be a worthy dwelling place of the
is to
Great God,” he added, and closed his eyes.
Tolstoy, fVar and Peace, V, 2
122 If we would only stop lying,
fy to the trutli as we sec it, it would turn out at
I know the 129 Hands off: neither the whole of truth nor the
whole of good is revealed to any single obscrv’cr,
although each observer gaiiw a partial superiority
of insight from the peculiar position in which he
stands. Even prisons and sickrooms have their spe-
cial revelations. It is enough to ask of each of us
that he should be faithful to his own opportunities
and make the most of his own blessings, without
presuming to regulate the rest of the vast field.
William James, On a Certain Blindness in
Human Beings
if we would only testi-
\%JOur belief in truth itself, for instance, that there is

once that there arc hundreds, thousands, even a truth, and that our minds and it arc made for
millions of men just as we are, who sec the truth as —
each other what is it but a passionate affirma-
wc do, arc afraid as we are of seeming to be singu- tion of desire, in w'hich our social system backs us
lar by confessing it, and are only waiting, again as up? Wc want to have a truth; wc want to believe
we are, for some one to proclaim it. that our experiments and studies and discussions
Tolstoy, The Kingdom of God Is Within You must put us in a continually better and better po-
sition towards it; and on this line we agree to fight
12^ The person who confesses that there is such a out our thinking lives. But if a Pyrrhonistic skep-
thing as truth, which is distinguished from false- tic asks us how we know all this, can our logic find
 63. Truth 431

a reply? No! certainly it cannot. It is just one voli- the medicine or whiskey that first filled it wholly
tion against another —we \villing to go in for life out.
upon a trust or assumption which he, for his part, My thesis now is A is, that our fundamental ways of
does not care to make. thinking about things are discoveries of exceedingly remote

William James, The Will to Believe ancestors, which have been able to preserve themselves
throughout the experience of all subsequent time. They
131 The true name of whatever proves itself to be good in
is the
form one great stage of equilibrium in the human
the way of belief and good, too, for definite, assignable
mind’s development, the stage of common sense.
reasons. Surely you must admit this, that if there
OAer stages have grafted themselves upon this
were no good for life in true ideas, or if the knowl- stage, but have never succeeded in displacing it.

edge of them were positively disadvantageous and William James, Pragmatism, V

false ideas the only useful ones, then the current
notion that truth is divine and precious, and its 133 pragmatism . . asks its usual question. “Grant
.

pursuit a duty, could never have grown up or be- an idea or belief to be true,” it says, “what con-
come a dogma. In a world like that, our duty crete difference will its being true make in
would be to shun truth, rather. But in this world, anyone’s actual life? How will the truA be real-

just as certain foods are not only agreeable to our ized? What experiences will be different from
taste, but good for our teeth, our stomach, and our Aose which would obtain if the belief were false?
tissues; so certain ideas are not only agreeable to What, in short, is the truth’s cash value in expe-
think about, or agreeable as supporting other riential terms?”
ideas that we are fond of, but they are also helpful The moment pragmatism asks this question, it

in life’s practical struggles. If there be any life that sees the ans^ver: True ideas are those that we can assim-
it is really better we should lead, and if there be ilate, validate, corroborate, and verify. False ideas are those

any idea which, if believed in, would help us to thatwe cannot That is the practical difference it

lead that life, then it would be really better for tis to makes to us to have true ideas; that, therefore, is

believe in that idea, unless, indeed, belief in it inciden- Ae meaning of truA, for it is all that truth is

tally clashed with other greater vital benefits. known as.

“What would be better for us to believe!” This William James, Pragmatism, VI

sounds very like a definition of truth. It comes
very near to saying “what we ought to believe”; 134 *The true,* to put it very briefly, is only the expedient in the
and in that definition none of you would find any way of our thinking, just as Uhe right* is only the expedient
oddity. Ought we ever not to believe what it is in the way of our behaving. Expedient in almost any
better for us to believe? And can we then keep the fashion; and expeAent in the long run and on the
notion of what is better for us, and what is true for whole of course; for what meets expediently all
us, permanently apart? Ae experience in sight won’t necessarily meet all
Pragmatism says no, and I fully agree with her. farther experiences equally satisfactorily. Experi-
William James, Pragmatism, II ence, aswe know, has ways of boiling over, and
making us correct our present formulas.
132 New truths thus are resultants of new experiences The ‘absolutely’ true, meaning what no farther
and of old truths combined and mutually modify- experience will ever alter, is Aat ideal vanishing
ing one another. And since this is the case in the point toward which we imagine Aat all our tem-
changes of opinion of today, there is no reason to porary truths will some day converge. It runs on
assume that it has not been so at all times. It fol- all fours wiA the perfectly wise man, and with the
lows that very ancient modes of thought may have absolutely complete experience; and, if Aese ide-
survived through all the later changes in men’s als are ever realized, be realized to-
they will all

opinions. The most

primitive ways of thinking geAer. Meanwhile we have to live today by what
may not be wholly expunged. Like our five
yet truth we can get today, and be ready tomorrow to
fingers, our ear bones, our rudimentary caudal call it falsehood. Ptolemaic astronomy. Euclidean
appendage, or our other ‘vestigial’ peculiarities, space, Aristotelian logic, scholastic metaphysics,
they may remain as indelible tokens of events in were expedient for centuries, but human experi-
our race history. Our anc^tors may at certain ence has boiled over those limits, and we now call
moments have stinick into ways of thinking which Aese things only relatively true, or true within
they might conceivably not have found. But once Aose borders of experience. ‘Absolutely’ they are
they did so, and after the fact, the inheritance false; for we knowthat those limits were casual,
continues. When you begin a piece of music in a and might have been transcended by past theo-
certain key, you must keep the key to the end. rists just as they are by present thinkers.
You may alter your house ad libitum, but the William James, Pragmatism, VI
ground plan of the first architect persists you
can make great changes, but you cannot change a
—
135 The TruA: what a perfect idol of the rationalistic
Gothic church into a Doric temple. You may rinse mind! I —
read in an old letter from a gifted friend
and rinse Ac bottle, but you can’t get the taste of who —
died too young these words: “In everything,
 1

432 Chapter 6. Knowledge

in science, art, morals, and religion, there must be pursues them is condemned never to know repose.
one system that is right and tveiy other wrong.” It must be added that those who fear the one will
How characteristic of the enthusiasm of a certain also fear the other; for they are the ones who in
stage of youth! At twenty-one we
such a rise to everything arc concerned above all with conse-
challenge and expect to find the system. It never quences. In a word, I liken the two truths, because
occurs to most of us even later that the question the same reasons make us love them and because
‘*what is the truth?” is no real question (being the same reasons make us fear them.
irrelative to all conditions) and that the whole no- Poincare, Value of Science, Intro.

tion of the truth is an abstraction from the fact of

136 truths in the plural, a mere useful summarizing 137 Truth telling is not compatible with the defence of
phrase like the Latin Language or the Law. the realm.
William James, Pragmatism, VII Sha%v, Heartbreak House, Pref.

The search for truth should be the goal of our 138 Keegan. My w-ay of joking is to tell the truth. It’s

activities; it is the sole end worthy of them. the funniest joke in the world.
Doubtless we should first bend our efforts to as- Shaw, John Bull's Other Island, 11

suage human suffering, but why? Not to suffer is a

139 Truth is a qualification which applies to Appear-
negative ideal more surely attained by the annihi-
lation of the world. If we
wish more and more to ance alone. Reality is just itself, and it is nonsense
free man from material cares, it is that he may be to ask whether it be true or false. Truth is the

able to employ the liberty obtained in the study conformation of Appearance to Reality. This con-
and contemplation of truth. formation may be more or less, also direct or indi-
But sometimes truth frightens us. And in fact rect. Thus Truth is a generic quality with a varie-

we know that it is sometimes deceptive, that it is a ty of degrees and modes. In the Law-Courts, the

phantom nevet showing itself foT a moment ex- wrong species of Truth may amount to perjury.
cept to ceaselessly flee, that it must be pursued For example, a portrait may be so faithful as to
further and ever further without ever being at- deceive the eye. Its very truthfulness then
tained. Yet to work one must stop, as some Greek, amounts to deception. A reflexion in a mirror is at
Aristotle or another, has said. We also know how once a truthful appearance and a deceptive ap-
cruel the truth often is, and we wonder whether pearance. The smile of a hypocrite is deceptive,
illusion is not more consoling, yea, even more and that of a philanthropist may be truthful. But
bracing, for illusion it is which gives confidence. both of them were truly smiling.
When have vanished, will hope remain
shall Whitehead, Adventures of Ideas, XVI, 2
it
y
and shall we have the courage to achieve? Thus
would not the horse harnessed to his treadmill re- 140 Every belief which is not merely an impulse to
fuse to go, were his eyes not bandaged? And then action is in the nature of a picture, combined with
to seek truth it is necessary to be independent, a yes-feeling or a no-feeling; in the case of a yes-
wholly independent. If, on the contrary, we wish feeling it is “true” if there is a fact having to the

to act, to be strong, we should be united. This is picture the kind of similarity that a prototype has
why many of us fear truth; we consider it a cause to an image; in the case of a no-feeling it is “true”
of weakness. Yet truth should not be feared, for it if thereis no such fact, A belief which is not true is

alone is beautiful. called “false.”

When I speak here of truth, assuredly I refer This is a definition of “truth” and “falsehood.”
first to scientific truth; but I also mean moral Russell, Human Knowledge, II, 1

truth, of which what we call justice is only one

aspect. It may seem that I am misusing words, 141 The most mordant verities are heard at last, after

that I combine thus under the same name two the interests they injure and the emotions they
things having nothing in common; that scientific rouse have exhausted their frenzy.
truth,which is demonstrated, can in no way be Freud, Future of P^cho-Analytic Therapy
likened to moral truth, which is felt. And yet I can
not separate them, and whosoever loves the one 142 The simplest explanation is not always the right

can not help loving the other. To find the one, as one, truth is very often not simple.
well as to find the other, it is necessary to free the Freud, New Introductory Lectures on

soul completely from prejudice and from passion; P.ychO’Analysis, XXX

it is necessary to attain absolute sincerity. These
two when discovered give the same
sorts of truth 143 The ordinary man knows only one truth —truth in
joy; each when
perceived beams with the same the ordinary sense of the word. What may be
splendor, so that we must see it or close our eyes. meant by a higher, or a highest, truth, he cannot
Lastly, both attract us and flee from us; they are imagine. Truth seems to him as little capable of
never fixed: when we think to have reached them, having degrees as death, and the necessary leap
we find that we have still to advance, and he who from the beautiful to the true is one that he can-
 6.3. Truth 433

not make. Perhaps you will agree with me in prehension; an observer, himself a part of the
thinking that he is right in this. world he observes, must have a particular station
Freud, New Introductoiy Lectures on in it; he cannot be equally near to everything, nor
P^'cho-Analysis, XXXV internal to anything but himself; of the rest he
can only take views, abstracted according to his
144 For ordinary purposes, that is for practical pur- sensibility and foreshortened according to his in-

poses, the truth and the real ness of things are syn- terests. Those animals which I was supposing en-

onymous. We
are all children who say “really and dowed with an adequate philosophy surely do not
truly.” A reality which is taken in organic re- possess the absolute truth. They read nature in
sponse so as to lead to subsequent reactions that their private idioms. Their imagination, like the
are off the track and aside from the mark, while it human, is doubtless incapable of coping with all
is, existentially speaking, perfectly real, is not good things at once, or even with the whole of anything
reality. It lacks the hallmark of value. Since it is a natural. Mind was not created for the sake of dis-
certain kind of object which we want, one which covering the absolute truth. The absolute truth
will be as favorable as possible to a consistent and has its own intangible reality, and scorns to be
liberal or growing functioning, it is this kind, the known.
true kind, which for us monopolizes the title of re- Santayana, Realms of Beings Pref.
ality. Pragmatically, teleologically, this identifica-
tion of truth and “reality” is sound and reason- 148 Not the assertion as a psychological fact is true,
able: ration alistically, it leads to the notion of the but only that which it asserts: and the difference
duplicate versions of reality, one absolute and in quality and value between true ideas and false
static because exhausted; the other phenomenal ideas, taken as states of mind, is a moral differ-
and kept continually on the jump because other- ence: the true ideas being safer and probably
wise its own inherent nothingness would lead to its clearer and more humorous than the false, and
total annihilation. Since it is only genuine or sin- marking a success on the mind’s part in under-
cere things, things which are good for what they standing the world, whereas false ideas would
lay claim to in the way of consequences, which we mark a failure.
want or are after, morally they alone are “real.” Santayana, Realm of Truths V
Dewey, Practical Character of Reality

149 Truth is . . , not discoverable at all v/ithout some

145 To generalize the recognition that the true means vitalmoral impulse prompting to survey it, and
the verified and means nothing else places upon some rhetorical or grammatical faculty, synthesiz-
men the responsibility for surrendering political ing that survey and holding it up to attention in
and moral dogmas, and subjecting to the test of the form of a recognizable essence. Dramatic
consequences their most cherished prejudices. myth, however poetical it may be or merely anal-
Such a change involves a great change in the seat ogous to the facts, in that at least it responds to
of authority and the methods of decision in soci- the facts reflectively, has entered the arena of
ety. truth; it is more cognitive, more intelligent, and
Dewey, Reconstruction in Philosophy^ VI more usefulthan a mechanical record of those
facts without any moral synthesis. I think it very
146 An a priori true thought would be one whose pos- doubtful whether, if religion and poetry should

sibilityguaranteed its truth. dry up altogether, mankind would be nearer the

We could only know a priori that a thought is truth; or whether science would gain anything by
true if its truth was to be recognized from the correcting its philosophical pretensions, for in-
thought itself (without an object of comparison). stance the pretension to truth, in order to become
Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico- merely the technology of the mechanical arts.
Philosophicus, 3.04-3.05 Certainly nothing would be gained intellectually:
and if we condemned intelligence, as well as
147 What is the function of philosophy? To disclose imagination, to ticking like a clock, if not to total

the absolute truth? But is it credible that the abso- silence, we might outrage human nature too deep-
lute truth should descend into the thoughts of a ly, and provoke a violent reaction. It is more pru-
mortal creature, equipped with a few special sen- dent for the critic of illusion to consider the truth
ses and with a biassed intellect, a man lost amidst that myth may possess rather than to attempt to
millions of his fellows and a prey to the epidemic escape from myth altogether.
delusions of the race? Possession of the absolute Santayana, Realm of Truth, VII
truth is not merely by accident beyond the range
of particular minds; it is incompatible with being 150 The love of truth is often mentioned, the hatred of
alive, because it excludes any particular station, truth hardly ever, yet the latter is the commoner.
organ, interest, or date of survey: the absolute People say they love the truth when they pursue
truth is undiscoverablc just because it is not a per- it, and they pursue it when unknown: not there-
spective, Perspectives are essential to animal ap- fore because of any felt affinity to it in their souls.
 434 I
Chapter 6. Knowledge

but probably because they need information for with that thing. We therefore conclude that truth
practical purposes, or to solve some conventional in the mind consists in its conformity with the thing.

riddle. W^ere known, on the contrary, truth is It is impossible to define truth otherwise with-

almost always dismissed or disguised, because the out lying to ourselves, without falsifying the no-
aspect of it is hateful. And this apart from any tion of truth of which in practice we make use in
devilish perversity in the natural man, or acciden- the living exercise of our intelligence, each time
tal vices that may fear the light. On the contrary, that we think.
the cause rather the natural man’s innocence
is We may further remark that a thought false in
and courage in thinking himself the measure of all all its constituents is an impossibility for, being in
things. Life imposes selfish inter^ts and subjective conformity with nothing whatsoever, it would be
views on every inhabitant of earth; and in hug- the zero of thought. If, for instance, I affirm that
ging these interests and these views the man hugs stones have a soul, this is undoubtedly a complete

what he initially assumes to be the truth and the error. But it is true that stones exist, true also that
right. So that aversion from the real truth, a sort certain beings have a soul; that is to say, all the
of antecedent hatred of it as contrary to presump- constituents which compose this false thought arc
tion, is interwoven into the very fabric of thought. not false. Therefore error itself presupposes truth.
Santayana, Realm of Truth, XII Mari tain, Introduction to Philosophy, II, 4

151 There is no difficulty in understanding what is
meant by the notion of truth. What is a true or
truthful word? A word which expresses, as it really
is, the speaker’s thought; a word in conformity
with that thought. What, then, is a true thought?
A thought which represents, as it really is, the
thing to which it refers; a thought in conformity
152 All views arc only probable, and a doctrine of
probability which is not bound to a truth dissolves
into thin air. In order to describe the probable,
you must have a firm hold on the true. Therefore,
before there can be any truth whatsoever, there
must be an absolute truth.
Sartre, Existentialism

6.4 I
Error, Ignorance, and the Limits

of Human Knowledge
The mind that is in error about a certain rance —an explicit recognition that one does
matter and the mind that is ignorant of it not know.
are both in want of knowledge, but they do The passages collected here ring all the
not stand in the same relation to the knowl- changes on these states of mind and point
edge that they lack. To be in error is to out their implications not only for teaching
claim to know what one does not know. It is, and learning, but also for the development
therefore, an unacknowledged ignorance of of knowledge itself. On any point in ques-
the matter in question, combined with a tion, there can be a multiplicity of errors all
falsepresumption. In contrast, ignorance is opposed to a single truth; and the sources or
simply a privation of knowledge unaccom- causes of error are also multitudinous. Writ-
panied by any pretension to know. Hence, erssuch as Descartes and Bacon, who are
from the point view of the teacher, as Soc-
of concerned with rules for the proper conduct
rates suggests, ignorance is preferable to er- of the mind’s efforts in seeking knowledge,
ror, and especially an acknowledged igno- therefore undertake to specify the pitfalls
 6A. Errorf Ignorancr, and ihr Limits of Human KncirUd^e |
435

.ind stumbling blocks that must be avoided knowable? Is the unknowable unknowable
in order to steer clear of error. in itself or only to us because of the weak-
Error, manifesting the fallibility of the ness of our intellects? Can the mind estab-
human mind, and ignorance, betokening its lish for itself the boundaries of attainable
failure to know, enter into the consideration knowledge, and safeguard itself against the
of the question concerning the limits of hu- illusorv' pursuit of the unknowable beyond
man knowledge, discussed in a number of those borders? To questions of this sort, the
the quotations assembled here. What is the writers quoted offer an interesting diversity
line that divides the unknown from the un- of answers.

1 Alin Delusion is (he elder daughter of Zeus, then he would ha%x been ready to tell all the
the accursed s^-orldagain and again that the double space
who deludes all; her feet arc delicate and lhc>* should have a double sidc.
step not Mcn. Truc-
on the firm earth, but she u-alks the air above Soc. But do you suppose that he would ever

mcn*s heads haxT enquired into or learned what he fancied

and leads them astray. that he kne^v, though he w'as really ignorant of it,
Homer, /W, XIX, 91 until he had under the idea
fallen into pcrplc,\ity
that he did not know, and had desired to know?
2 Tfirenas. All men may err Men. I think not, Socrates.
but error once committed, hc*s no fool Soc. Then he was the better for the torpedo’s
nor yet unfortunate, who gives up his stiffness touch?
and cures the trouble he has fallen in. Men. I think so.
Stubbornness and stupidity arc iwns. Plato, Meno, 84A
Sophocles, Anti^onr^ 1023
SocraUs. I am
going to explain to you why I have
3 Ajax. Not knowing an^nhing’s the s^vcctest life such an c\nl name. WTicn
I heard the answer, I

Ignorance is an evil free from pain. said to m>‘sclf, Wliat can the god mean? and what
Sophocles, Ajax, 554 is the interpretation of his riddle? for I know that
I hasT no wisdom, small or great. WTat then can
4 Dioiima. Herein Ls the c\i! of ignorance, that he he mean when he s.ap that I am the wisest of
ssho Is neither good nor \dsc is ncsortlicicss satis- men? And yet he is a god, and cannot lie; that
fiedwith himself: he has no desire for that of would be against his nature. After long consider-
which he feels no \\'anl. ation, I thought of a method of tiy’ing the ques-
Plato, Synpostx:Tn, 204A tion. I reflected that if I could only find a man
wiser than m)'sclf, then 1 might go to the god with
5 S-xrain. Do you see, Mcno, what ads'anocs he (the a refutation in my hand. I should say to him,
ilase boy] has made in his power of recollection? "Here is a man who is wiser than I am; but you
He did not know at first, and he docs not know said that I u-as the vs'iscst." Accordingly I went to
now, what is the side of a figure of eight feet: but one who had the reputation of sWsdom, and ob-
then he thought that he knew, and answered con- —
served him his name I need not mention; he was
fidently as if he knew, and had no difficulty; now a politician whom 1 selected for examination
he has a difficulty, and neither knou-s nor fancies and the result was as ^ollo^^'s: When 1 began to
th.st he knows. talk wlh him, 1 could not help thinking that he
.Ur;3. True. W.1S not really w4sc, although he s\‘a5 thought wise
Sc<. h he not belter off in knovs-ing his igno- b)* many, and still wiser b)’ himself; and there-
rance? upon I tried to explain to him that he thought
Mn. 1 think that he is. himself wise, but was not really wise; and the con-
haso made him doubt, and gi\ cn him
If \%T sequence was that he hated me, and his enmity
the “torpedo's shock," have done him any w-as shared by several wlio xsxirc present and heard
harm? me. So I left him. saying to m>‘sc!f, as svent I

Mri 1 think not. away: Well, although I do not suppose that either
,^v. We hasT certainly, as ssould seem, assisted of US knoss^ anything really beautiful and gcod. I
him in some degree to the discoverv* of the truth; am better off than he is, — for he kno'A’s nothincr,
and ncn»' he ^'-ill xWih to remedy his ignorance, but and thinks that he knos^a; 1 neither know not
 436 I
Chapter 6. Knowledge

think that I know. In this latter particular, then, I 7 Ignorance—defined not as the negation of knowl-
seem to have slightly the advantage of him. Then edge but as a positive state of mind is error pro- —
I went to another who had still higher pretensions duced by inference,
to wisdom, and my conclusion was exactly the Aristotle, Posterior Analytics, 79^23
same. Whereupon another enemy of him,
I made
and of many others besides him. 8 The very limit of human blindness is to gtoiy in
Then I went to one man after another, being being blind.
not unconscious of the enmity which I provoked, Augustine, Confessions, III, 3
and Ilamented and feared this: But necessity was
laid upon me, —
the word of God, I thought, ought 9 It is clear that as regards its proper object the
to be considered first. And I said to myself, Go I always true; and hence it is never de-
intellect is
must to all who appear to know, and find out the ceived of itself, but whatever deception occurs
meaning of the oracle. And I swear to you, Athe- must be ascribed to some lower power, such as the
nians, by the dog I swear! —
for I must tell you the imagination or the like. Hence we see that when
truth —the result of my mission was just this: I the natural power of judgment is free we arc not
found that the men most in repute were all but deceived by such images, but only when it is not
the most foolish; and that others less esteemed free, as is the case in sleep.
were really wiser and better. I will tell you the tale Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 94, 4
of my wanderings and of the “Herculean** la-
bours, as I may call them, which I endured only 10 O Juvenal, how truly thou didst say.
to find at last the oracle irrefutable. After the poli- The people never know for what they seek,
ticians, I went to the poets; tragic, dithyrambic, For what they want seems right in every way,
and all sorts. And there, I said to myself, you will And clouds of error ever render weak
be instantly detected; now you will find out that Their judgments, in what’er they do or speak.
you are more ignorant than they arc. According- Chaucer., Troilus and Cressida^ IV., 29
ly, I took them some of the most elaborate pas-

sages in their own writings, and asked what was 1 1 O January, what might it now avail
—
the meaning of them thinking that they would Could your eyes see as far as ships can sail?
teach me something. Will you believe me? I am For it*s as pleasant, blind, deceived to be
almost ashamed to confess the truth, but I must As be deceived while yet a man may sec.
say that there is hardly a person present who Lo, Argus, who was called the hundred-eyed,
would not have talked better about their poetry No matter how he peered and watched and pried,
than they did themselves. Then I knew that not He was deceived; and God knou's others too
by wisdom do poets write poetry, but by a sort of Who think, and firmly, that it is not so.
genius and inspiration; they arc like diviners or Oblivion is peace; I say no more.
soothsayers who also say many fine things, but do Chaucer, Canterbu^ Tales: Merchant’s Talc
not understand the meaning of them. The poets
appeared to me to be much in the same case; and 12 It may be said with some plausibility that there is
I further observed that upon the strength of their
an abecedarian ignorance that comes before
poetry they believed themselves to be the wisest of knowledge, and another, doctoral ignorance that
men in other things in which they were not wise. comes after knowledge: an ignorance that knowl-
So I departed, conceiving myself to be superior to edge creates and engenders, just as it undoes and
them for the same reason that I was superior to destroys the first.
the politicians. Montaigne, Essays, I, 54, Of Vain Subtleties
At last I went to the artisans, for I was con-
scious that I knew nothing at all, as I may say, man
13 Do you want a to be healthy, do you want
and I was sure that they knew many fine things; him disciplined and firmly and securely poised?
and here I was not mistaken, for they did know Wrap him in darkness, idleness, and dullness. We
many things of which I was ignorant, and in this must become animals in order to become
like the
they certainly were wiser than I was. But I ob-
wise, and be blinded in order to be guided.
served that even the good artisans fell into the Montaigne, Essays, II, 12,
—
same error as the poets; because they were good Apology for Raymond Sebond
workmen they thought that they also knew all
sorts of high matters, and this defect in them over-
14 As by simplicity becomes pleasanter, so also
life
shadowed their wisdom; and therefore I asked become and more innocent, as I was
better
does it
myself on behalf of the oracle, whether I would say a while back. The simple and igno-
starting to
like to be as I was, neither having their knowledge
rant, says Saint Paul, raise themselves to heaven,
nor their ignorance, or like them in both; and I
and take possession of it; and we, with all our
made answer to myself and to the oracle that I learning, plunge ourselves into the infernal abyss.
was better off as I was.
Montaigne, Essays, II, 12,
Plato, Apology^ 2IA Apology for Raymond Sebond
 6A. Error, Ignorance, and the Limits of Human Knowledge 437

15 Many abuses are engendered in the world, or, to tercourse with others, or from his reading, and the
put it more boldly, all the abuses in the world are authority acquired by those whom he reverences
engendered, by our being taught to be afraid of and admires, or from the different impressions
professing our ignorance and our being bound to produced on the mind, as it happens to be preoc-
accept everything that we cannot refute. cupied and predisposed, or equable and tranquil,
Montaigne, Essays, III, 1 1 ,
Of Cripples and the like; so that the spirit of man (according
to its several dispositions), is variable, confused,

16 Anyone who wants to be cured of ignorance must and, as it were, actuated by chance; and Heracli-
confess it. . . . Wonder is the foundation of all tus said well that men search for knowledge in
philosophy, inquiry its progress, ignorance its end. lesser worlds, and not in the greater or common
I’ll go further: a certain strong and gen-
There is world.
erous ignorance that concedes nothing to knowl- There are also idols formed by the reciprocal
edge in honor and courage, an ignorance that re- intercourse and society of man wth man, which
quires no less knowledge to conceive it than docs we idok of the market, from the commerce
call

^owledgc. and men with each other; for men

association of
Montaigne, Essays, III, 11, Of Cripples converse by means of language, but words are
formed at the will of the generality, and there
17 The human soul uses reason, sees many things, arises from a bad and unapt formation of words a

investigates many more; but, however well wonderful obstruction to the mind. Nor can the
equipped, it and the beginnings of
gets light definitions and explanations with which learned

knowledge from the outer senses, as from beyond men arc wont to guard and protect themselves in
—
a barrier hence the very many ignorances and some instances afford a complete remedy; words
foolishnesses whereby our judgments and our life- still manifestly force the understanding, throw ev-

actions are confused, so that few or none do right- erything into confusion, and lead mankind into

ly and duly order their acts. vain and innumerable controversies and fallacies.
William Gilbert, On the Loadstone, V, 1 Lastly, there are idols which have crept into
men’s minds from the various dogmas of peculiar
18 Messala. O hateful error, melancholy’s child, systems of philosophy, and also from the perverted
Why rules of demonstration, and these we denominate
dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men
The things that are not? O error, soon conceived, idok of the theatre; for we regard all the systems
Thou never comest unto a happy birth, of philosophy hitherto received or imagined, as so

But kill’st the mother that engender’d thee! many plays brought out and performed, creating
Shakespeare, ya/iuj Caesar, V, iii, 67 fictitious and theatrical worlds.
Bacon, Novum Organum, I, 39-44
19 Four species of idols beset the human mind, to
which (for distinction’s sake) we have assigned 20 The power of will which I have received from
names, calling the first idols of the tribe, the sec- God is not of itself the source of my errors for it —
ond idols of the den, the third idols of the market, isvery ample and very perfect of its kind any —
the fourth idols of the theatre. more than is the power of understanding; for since
The formation of notions and axioms on the I understand nothing but by the power which
foundation of true induction is the only fitting God hzLS given me for understanding, there is no
remedy by which we can ward off and expel these doubt that all that I understand, I understand as I
idok. It however, of great service to point them
is, ought, and it is not possible that I err in this.
out; for the doctrine of idols bears the same rela- Whence then come my errors? They come from
tion to the interpretation of nature as that of the the sole fact that since the will is much wider in its
confutation of sophisms docs to common logic. range and compass than the understanding, I do
.
The idok of the tribe are inherent in human not restrain it within the same bounds, but extend
nature and the very tribe or race of man; for it also to things which I do not understand: and as

man’s sense is falsely asserted to be the standard of the will is of itself indifferent to these, it easily falls
things; on the contrary, all the perceptions both of into error and sin, and chooses the evil for the
the senses and the mind bear reference to man good, or the fake for the true.
and not and the human mind re-
to the universe, Descartes, Meditations on First Philosophy, IV
sembles those uneven mirrors which impart their
own properties to different objects, from which 21 I . . . perceive that God could easily have created
rays are emitted and distort and disfigure them. me so that I never should err, although I still re-
The idok of the den are those of each individu- mained free, and endowed with a limited knowl-
al; for everybody (in addition to the errors com- edge, viz., by giving to my understanding a clear
mon to the race of man) has his o\vn individual and distinct intelligence of all things as to which I
den or cavern, which intercepts and corrupts the should ever have to deliberate; or simply by His
light of nature, either from his own peculiar and engraving deeply in my memory the resolution
singular disposition, or from his education and in- never to form a judgment on anything without
 5

438 I
Chapter 6. Knowledge

having a dear and distinct understanding of it, so one of them

that begins his ratiocination from the
that I could never forget it. And it is easy for me names they arc to
definitions or explications of the
to understand that, in so far as I consider myself use; which is a method that hath been used only
alone, and as if there were only myself in the in geometry, which conclusions have thereby been
world, I should have been much more perfect made indisputable.
than I am, if God had created me so that I could Hobbes, Leviathan, 1,
never err. Nevertheless I cannot deny that in some
sense it is a greater perfection in the whole uni- 23 The chief malady of man is restless curiosity'
verse that certain parts should not be exempt from about things which he cannot understand; and it
should be
22 error as others arc than that all parts is not so bad for him to be in error as to be curious
exactly similar. And I have no right to complain if to no purpose.
God, having placed me in the world, has not
Pascal, Pensees, 1, 18
called upon me to play a part that excels all

others in distinction and perfection,

24 Man is only a subject full of error,
natural and
Descartes, MediUitions on First Philosophjt IV
ineffaceable, without grace. Nothing sho^-s him
the tnith. Everything deceives him. These two
When a man reckons wTthout the use of words, sources of truth, reason and the senses, besides
which may be done in particular things, as when being both wanting in sincerity, deceive each
upon the sight of any one thing, we conjecture other in turn. The senses mislead the Reason with
w'hat was likely to have preceded, or is likely to false appearances, and receive from Reason in
follow upon it; if that which he thought likely to their turn the same which
trickery' they’ apply to
follow follows not, or that which he thought likely Reason has her rc\'cngc. The passions of the
her;
to have preceded it hath not preceded it, this is and make false impressions
soul trouble the senses,
called error; to which even the most prudent men
upon them. They rival each other in falsehood
arc subject. But when we reason in words of gen- and deception.
eral signification, and fall uf>on a general infer-
Pascal, Pensees, II, 83
ence which is false; though it be commonly called
error, it is indeed an absurdity, or senseless speech.

For error is but a deception, in presuming that

25 Satan. One fatal Tree there stands of Knowledge
caird,
somewhat is past, or to come; of which, though it
Forbidden them to taste: Knowledge forbidden?
wxrc not past, or not to come, yet there was no
impossibility discoverable. But when we make a
Suspicious, reasonless. Why should thir Lord
Envic them that? can it be sin to know,
be a true one, the possi-
general assertion, unless it

bility of it is And words whereby

inconceivable.
Can it be death? and do they oncly stand
we conceive nothing but the sound arc those we By Ignorance, is that thir happic state.
call absurd, insignificant, and nonsense. And therefore
The proof of thir obedience and thir faith?
if a man should talk to me of a round quadrangle; or Milton, Paradise Lost, IV, 514
accidents of bread in cheese; or immaterial substances; or
of a free subject; a free will; or any/rrr but free from 26 Many a truth, consist merely in the ap-
errors, of

being hindered by opposition; I should not say he plication of the wrong names to things. For if a
were in an error, but that his words were without man says that the lines which are drawm from the
meaning; that is to say, absurd. centre of the circle to the circumference arc not
I have said before that a man did excel all
. . .
equal, he understands by the circle, at all events
other animats in this faculty, that when he con- for the time, something else than mathematicians
ceived anything whatsoever, he was apt to enquire understand by it. So when men make errors in
the consequences of it, and what effects he could calculation, the numbers which arc in their minds
do with it. And now I add this other degree of the arc not those which arc upon the paper. As far as
same excellence, that he can by words reduce the their mind is concerned there is no error, although
consequences he finds to general rules, called theo- it seems as if there were, because we think that the

rems, or aphorisms; that is, he can reason, or reckon, numbers in their minds are those which arc upon
not only in number, but in all other things where- the paper. If we did not think so, we should not
of one may be added unto or subtracted from an- them
believe to be in error. . . . This is the source
other. from which so many controversies arise — that

But this privilege is allayed by another; and men do not properly explain their own
either
that is by the privilege of absurdity, to which no thoughts, or do not properly interpret those of
living creature is subject, but men only. And of other people; for, in truth, when they' most contra-
men, those arc most subject to it that profess
of ail dict one another, they’ either think the same
philosophy. For it is most true that Cicero saith of things or something different, so that those things
them somewhere; that there can be nothing so which they suppose to be errors and absurdities in
absurd but may be found in the books of philoso- another person arc not so.
phers. And the reason is manifest. For there is not Spinoza, Ethics, II, Prop. 47, Schol.
 6A, Error, Ignorance, and the Limits of Human Knowledge 439

27 There is not so contemptible a plant or animal, 31 Now if you venture to go along Nrith me, and
will
that docs not confound the most enlarged under- look down intothe bottom of this matter, it \rill be
standing. Though the familiar use of things about found that the cause of obscurity and confusion,
us take off our wonder, yet it cures not our igno- in the mind of a man, is threefold.
rance. Dull organs, dear Sir, in the first place. Second-
Locke, Conerming Human Understanding, ly, slight and transient impressions made by the
Bk. Ill, VI, 9 objects, when the said organs arc not dull. And
thirdly, a memory like unto a sieve, not able to
28 Hcav’n from all creatures hides the book of Fate, retain %vhat has received,
it . . .

All but the page prescribe, their present state; Now you must understand that not one of these
From brutes what men, from men what spirits
was the true cause of the confusion in my uncle
know: Toby’s discourse; and it is for that very reason 1
Or who could suffer Being here below? enlarge upon them so long, after the manner of
The lamb thy
Had
riot dooms to bleed to-day.
he thy Reason, would he skip and play?
great physiologists — to shew the w'Orld, what it did
not arise from.
Pleas'd to the last, he crops the flow’ry food.
What it did arise from, I have hinted above,
And licks the hand just shed his blood.
rais'd to
and a fertile source of obscurity it is, and ever —
Oh blindness to the future! kindly giv’n.
That each may fill the circle mark'd by Heav'n;
will be, — and that is the unsteady uses of words,
which have perplexed the clearest and most exalt-
Who secs with equal eye, as God of all, ed understandings.
A hero perish, or a sparrow fall, Sterne, Tristram Shandy, II, 2
Atoms or systems into ruin hurl’d,
And now a bubble burst, and now a world. How is reason so precious a gift
32 that we would not
Pope, Essay on Man, Epistle I, 77
lose it anything in the world? and how has this
for
reason served only to make us the most unhappy
29 We may discover the reason why no philosopher,
of all beings?
who is and modest, has ever pretended to
rational
assign the ultimate cause of any natural opera-
Whence comes it that loving truth passionately,

tion, or to show distinctly the action of that power,

we are always betrayed to the most gross impos-
tures?
which produces any single effect in the universe.
It is confessed, that the utmost effort of human Why is life still loved by this crowd of Indians
deceived and enslaved by the bonzes, crushed by a
reason is to reduce the principles, productive of
Tartar’s descendants, overburdened with work,
natural phenomena, to a greater simplicity, and
many groaning in want, assailed by disease, exposed to
to resolve the particular effects into a few
every scourge?
general causes, by means of reasonings from anal-
og)', experience, and observation. But as to the Whence comes evil, and why does evil exist?

causes of these general causes, we should in vain O atoms of a day! O my companions in infinite
attempt their discovery; nor shall we ever be able littleness, bom like me to suffer everything and to
be ignorant of everything, are there enough mad-
to satisfy* ourselves,by any particular explication
of them. These ultimate springs and principles arc men among you to believe that they know all
totally shut up from human curiosity and enquiry.
these things? No, there are not; no, at the bottom

Elasticity, gravity, cohesion of parts, communica-

of your hearts you feel your nonentity as I render

tion of motion by impulse; these are probably the justice to mine. But you are arrogant enough to

ultimate causes and principles which w*e shall ever want people to embrace your vain systems; un-
able to be tyrants over our bodies, you claim to be
discover in nature;and we may esteem ourselves
sufficientlyhappy, if, by accurate enquiry' and tyrants over our souls.
reasoning, we can trace up the particular phe- Voltaire, Philosophical Dictionaiy:
nomena to, or near to, these general principles. Ignorance
Hume, Concerning Human
33 Ignorance is mere privation, by which nothing
Understanding, IV, 26
can be produced: it is a vacuity in which the soul
30 To each his suffrings: all arc men, sitsmotionless and torpid for want of attraction;
Condemn’d alike to groan; and, without knowing why, we always rejoice
The tender for another’s pain, when we learn, and grieve when we forget.
Th* unfeeling for his own. Johnson, Rasselas, XI
Yet ah! why should they know their fate?
Since sorrow never comes too late. 34 A lady once asked him [Johnson] how he came to
And happiness too swiftly flies. define Pastern the knee of a horse: instead of mak-
Thought would destroy their paradise. ing an elaborate defence, as she expected, he at
No more; where ignorance is bliss, once answered, *Tgnorance, Madam, pure igno-
’Tis folly to be wise. rance.”
Gray, Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College Bos\vcll, Life of Johnson (1755)
 —
440 j
Chapter 6. Knowledge

35 Johnson. Mankind have a great aversion to intch lesson of moderation to those who arc c%'cr so
Icctual labour; but even supposing knowledge to much persuaded of their being in the right in any
be easily attainable, more people would be con- controversy. And a further reason for caution, in
tent to be ignorant than would lake even a little this respect,might be drawn from the reflection
trouble to acquire it, that wc
arc not al way's sure that those who advo-
Boswell, Lije of Johnson (i763) cate the truth arc influenced by purer principles
than their antagonists. Ambition, avarice, person-
36 Thus, have disposed of this falsehood. But
Sir, I al animosity, party opposition, and many other
falsehood has a perennial spring. motives not more laudable than these, arc apt to
Burkc, Sperch on Ammcan operate as well upon those who support as those
Taxation (1774) who oppose the right side of a question,
Hamilton, Federalist /

37 The consciousness of ignorance — unless this igno-

rance is recognized to be absolutely necessary' 40 Though it cannot be pretended that the principles
ought, instead of forming the conclusion of my of moral and political knowledge have, in general,
inquiries, to be the strongest motive to the pursuit the same degree of certainty with those of the
of them. All ignorance is cither ignorance of mathematics, yet they' have much better claims in
things or of the limits of knowledge. If my igno- this respect than, to judge from the conduct of
rance is accidental and not neccssar)*, it must in- men in particular situations, wc should be dis-
cite me, in the first case, to a do^^otuRl inquir>* posed to allow them. The obscurity is much oficn-
regarding the objects of which 1 am ignorant; in cr in the passions and prejudices of the rcasoner
the second, to a mttcal investigation into the than in the subject. Men, upon too many occa-
bounds of all possible knowledge. But that my ig- sions, do not give their own understandings fair
norance is absolutely necessary' and una\t>idablc, play; but, yielding to some untoward bias, they
and that it consequently absolves Irom the duty ol entangle themselves in words and confound them-
all further investigation, is a fact which cannot be selves in subtleties.
made out upon empirical grounds from ohsma- — Hamilton, FederdislSl
—
Uon but upon critical grounds alone, that is, by a
thoroughgoing tnvfsttgation into the primary' Oh, happy he who still hopes
4 1 Faust that he can
sources of cognition. It follou-s that the determina- Emerge from Error’s boundless sea!
tion of the bounds of reason can be made only on What man knou's not, is needed most by man,

a pnon grounds; while the empirical limitation of .And what man knows, for that no use has he.
reason, which is merely an indeterminate cogni- Goethe, Faust, I, 1064
tion ofan ignorance that can nc\cr be completely
removed, can take place only a postenon. In other 42 Thai there should one Man die ignorant who had
words, our empirical knowledge is limited by that capacity for Knowledge, this 1 call a tragedy.
which y’ct remains for us to know. Carlyle, Sartor Resarius, III, 4
K-ant, Cnttque of Pure Reason,
Transcendental Method 43 There arc many things of which a wise man might
wish to be ignorant.
38 It is . quite certain that we can never gel a
. . Emerson, Demonology
sufficientknowledge of organized beings and their
inner possibility, much less get an c-xplanation of 44 So seemed it to me, as I stood at her helm, and for
them, by looking merely to mechanical principles long hours silently guided the way of this fire-ship
of nature. Indeed, so certain is it,thatwe may on the sea. Wrapped, for that intcnal, in darkness
confidently assert that it is absurd for men even to my*sclf, but the better saw the redness, the mad-
I
entertain any thought of so doing or to hope that ness, the ghastliness of others. The continual sight
maybe another New'ton may some day' arise, to of the fiend shapes before me, capering half in
make intelligible to us even the genesis of but a smoke and half in fire, these at last begat kindred
blade of grass from natural lau-s that no design visions in my soul, as soon as I began to yield to
has ordered. Such insight we must absolutely deny that unaccountable drovs-sincss which c\*cr would
to mankind. come over me at a midnight helm.
Kant, Critique of Teleological But that night, in particular, a strange (and
Judgement, 75 ever since ine.xp!icablc) thing occurred to me.
Starting from a brief standing sleep, I was horri-
39 So numerous indeed and so powerful arc the caus- bly conscious of something fatally \NTt>ng. The
es which serve to gwe a false bias to the judgment, jawbone tiller smote my side, which leaned
that w’c, upon many occasions, sec w ise and good against it; in my cars was the low hum of sails,
men on the wrong as well as on the right side of just beginning to shake in the wind; I thought my
questions of the first magnitude to society. This eyes were open; I u’as half conscious of putting my
circumstance, if duly attended to, would furnish a finger? to the lids and mechanically stretching
 6 A. Err or ^
li^norancf, and the Lirnits of Unman Knowlrdf^r ‘HI

ihcm still further apart. Hut, spile of all this, I ise the inith? Docs a l>clicf cease to l>c real and
could see no compayy^ l)cforc me to steer by; vital as soon as it is generally received — and is a
though it seemed but a minute since 1 had been proposition never thoioughly undcrstoo<l and felt

watching the card, by the steady binnacle lamp unless some doubt of it remains? As smjn as man-
illumining it. Nothing seemed Ixrforc me btu a jet kind have unanimously accepted a truth, docs the
gloom, now and then made gliasily by flas!ic5 of inith pcrisli within them? 'Die highest aim and
redness-Uppermost was the impression, that he.st result of improved intelligence, it has hitherto
rvs-ift, rushing thing 1 stOfKl on was not m
whaics'cr !>ecn tliought, is to unite mankind more and more
much bound to any haven ahead as rushing from in the acknowledgment of all im|>oriant truths;
all havens astern. A stark, l>es%i!dcrcd feeling, as and doe.s the intelligence only last as long as it has

of death, came over me, Consatbivcly my liands not achieved its object? I>) (lie fruits o! conquest
grasped the tiller, bn! with the cra/y conceit that perish by the very* completeness of the victory*?
the tiller was, somehow, in some enchanted way, I affirm no stich thing. M mankind improve,
inverted. My God! what is the matter with me? tlie which arc no longer dis-
niiml>er of doctrines
thought I. I-o! in my brief sleep I had turned my- puted or doubted will l>e constantly on the in-
self alwut, and w.ns fronting the ship s stern, with trr:tsc‘. and the wcIM)eing of mankind may al-

my back to her prow and the compass. In an in- most be measured by the number and gravity of
stant I faced back, just in time to present the ves- the truths s^htch have reached the point of being
sel from flying up into the wind, and very* proba- uncontested. The cessation, on one quc.siion after
bly capsizing her. How glad and how grateful the another, of serious controversy, is one of the neces-
relief from this unnatural hallucination of the sary incidents of the con*o!idaiion of opinion; a
night, and the fatal contingency of l>eing brought consolidation as salutary in die case of true opin-
by the lee! ions, as it IS d.tngrrmis and noxious when the
l>ook not too long in the face of the fire, O opinions arc erroneous.
man! Never dream with thy hand on the helm! Mill. On /afrrn. H
Turn not thy back to the compass; accept the first
hint of the hitching tiller; Ijclicvc not the artificial
40 Ifyou want to know whether you arc thinking
fire, when its redness makes all things look ghast-
put your thoughts into words. In the very
rtehtly.
ly. To-morrow, in the natural sun, the skies will
attempt to do this you will find yourvlvcs, con-
be bright; those gbrrd like devils in the fork-
\>’ho
sciouslyor sinconsctoiisly, using logical forms
ing flames, the morn will show in far other, at
I»gic compels us to throw our meaning into dis-
least gentler, relief; the glorious, golden, glad sun,
tinct propcciitions. and our rc.isonings into distinct
the only true lamp — all dthtrs but liars!
steps. It in.skr.s us conscious of all the implied as-
Melville. Mch Did, XC\'I sumptions on which we arc proceeding, and
svhich, if not true, viti.stc ilie entire procc^s. It
45 It has often and confidently been .liaericd, that makes us aware what extent of dr»ctrine we com-
man’s origin can never l>c known: but ignorance rcavuung, and
mit ounelvcs to by any course of
more frequently begets confidence than does obligm us implied premises in the face,
to look the
knowledge: it is those who know little, and not
arul make up our minds whether s^c can stand to
those who know much, wlio so positively avert
tlicm. It makes our opinions consistent svitli them-
that this or llial problem will never l>e solvctl by
selves and with one another, and forces us to think
sdcncc.
dearly, csxn svhen it cannot make us think cor-
Darwin, Dfscrr.l of Intro. rectly. It is true that error may l>c consistent and
sy*stcmatic ns well as truth; but tins is not the com-
46 So that while it is the human wivlom to
summit of mon case. no small advantage to see clearly
It IS
leant the limit of our faculties, it may l>c wise to the principles and conscqucnccjs involved in our
recollect that we have no more right to make de- opinions, and which sve must either accept, or else
nials, than to put forth affirmatives, alxjut what abandon those opinions. We arc much nearer to
lies bc>*ond that limit. broad day-
finding truth sslicn sve search for it in
T. H. Huxley, JIume, bishop Ilcrkcley light. Error, pursued rigorously to all that is im-
on the Metaphysics of Sensation plied in seldom fails to get detected by coming
it,

into collision with some known and admitted fact.

47 Tlic fatal icndcnc)* of mankind to leave off think-
Mill, Inaugural Adciresj al St. Andtr^os
ing about a thing when it is no longer doubtful, is
the cause of half their errors. A contemporary au-
49 Ignorance is not innocence but sin.
thor has well spoken of “the deep slumber of a
decided opinion.” Brosvning, Thf Inn Album, V
But what! (it may l>c asked) Is the absence of
unanimity an indispensable condition of true 50 Among all fonm of mistake, prophecy' is the mast
knowledge? Is it necessary that some part of man- gratuitous.
kind should persist in error to enable any to real- George Eliot, Middlanarchf I, 10
 442 I
Chapter 6*. Knowledge

51 Ignorance gives one a large range of probabilities. in error even if the horse does \vin.

George Eliot, Daniel Deronda, II, 13 56 Russell, Human Knowledge, V, 6

52 Father Zossima. Of the pride of Satan what I think The proposition that symptoms vanish when their
is this: it is hard for ns on earth to comprehend it, unconscious antecedents have been made con-
and therefore it is so easy to fall into error and to scious has been borne out by all subsequent re-
share even imagining that we arc doing some-
it, search; although the most extraordinary and un-
thing grand and fine. Indeed, many of the strong- expected complications are met with in
est feelings and movements of our nature we can- attempting to carry this proposition out in prac-
not comprehend on earth. Let not that be a tice. Our therapy does its work by transforming
stumbling-block, and think not that it may serve something unconscious into something conscious
as a justification to you for anything. For the Eter- and only succeeds in its work in so far as it is able
nal Judge asks of you what you can comprehend to effect this transformation.
and not what you cannot. You vdll know that Now for a rapid digression, lest you should run
yourself hereafter, for you will behold all things the risk of imagining that this therapeutic effect is
truly then and will not dispute them. On earth, achieved too easily. According to the conclusions
indeed, we are, as it were, astray, and if it were wc h^ve reached so far, neurosis would be the re-
not for the precious image of Christ before us, we sult ofa kind of ignorance, a not-knowing of men-
should be undone and altogether lost, as was the tal processes which should be known. This would
human race before the flood. Much on earth is approach very closely to the well-known Socratic
hidden from us, but to make up for that we have doctrine according to which even vice is the result
been given a precious m^'stic sense of our living of ignorance. Now it happens in analysis that an
bond %vith the other world, with the higher heav- experienced practitioner can usually surmise very
and feel-
enly world, and the roots of our thoughts easily what those feelings arc which have rc-
That is why
ings are not here but in other worlds. \wdw\d\wA p-'adwA. \\
the philosophers say that we cannot apprehend should not therefore be a matter of great difficulty
the reality of things on earth. to cure the patient by imparting his knowledge to
Dostoevsky, Brothers Karamazov, Pt. II, VI, 3 him nnd so relieving his ignorance. At least, one
side of the unconscious meaning of the symptom
53 I am God created us all
thankful that the good would be easily dealt with in this way, although it

ignorant. I am
glad that when we change His is true that the other side of it, the connection
plans in this regard we have to do it at our own between the symptom and the previous experi-
risk. ences in the patient’s life, can hardly be divined
Mark Twain, Letter to the Alta California thus; for the analyst does not kno%v what the expe-
[San Francisco] (May 28, 1867) riences have been, he has to wait till the patient
remembers them and tells him. But one might
54 Philosophers can never hope finally to formulate find ^ substitute even for this in many cases. One
. . . metaphysical first principles. Weakness of in- might ask for information about his past life from
sight and deficiencies of language stand in the the friends and relations; they are often in a posi-
way inexorably. Words and phrases must be tion to know what events have been of a traumat-
stretched towards a generality foreign to their or- ic nature, perhaps they can even relate some of
dinary usage; and however such elements of lan- which the patient is ignorant because they took
guage be stabilized as technicalities, they remain place a,t some very early period of childhood. By a
metaphors mutely appealing for an imaginative combination of these two means it would seem
leap. that the pathogenic ignorance of the patients
There is no first principle which is in itself un- might be overcome in a short time without much
knowable, not to be captured by a flash of insight. trouble.
But, putting aside the difficulties of language, de- If only it were sol But we have made discoveries
ficiency in imaginative penetration forbids prog- that we were quite unprepared for at first. There
ress in any form other than that of an asymptotic isknowing and knowing; they are not always the
approach to a scheme of principles, only definable same thing. There are various kinds of knowing,
in terms of the ideal which they should satisfy. which psychologically are not by any means of
Whitehead, Process and Reality, I, 1 equal value. Knowing on the part of the phy-
. . .

sician is not the same thing as knowing on the

55 Error not only the absolute error of believing
is part of the patient and docs not have the same
what but also the quantitative error of
is false, effect. When the physician conveys his knowledge
believing more or less strongly than is warranted to the patient by telling him what he knows, it has
by the degree of credibility properly attaching to effect.No, it would be incorrect to say tliat. It
the proposition believed in relation to the does not have the effect of dispersing the symp-
believer’sknowledge. A man who is quite con- toms; but it has a different one, it sets the analysis
vinced that a certain horse will win the Derby is in motion, and the first result of this is often an
 6.5. Opinion^ Belief, and Faith |
443

energetic denial. The patient has learned some- only come about by a mental operation directed
—
thing that he did not know before the meaning to that end.
of his symptom —and yet he knows it as little as Freud, General Introduction to

ever. Thus we discover that there is more than one P^'chO’Analysis, XVIII
kind of ignorance. a considerable de-
It requires
gree of insight and understanding of psychological 57 While the power of thought frees us from servile

matters order to sec in what the difference con- subjection to instinct, appetite, and routine, it also
sists. But the proposition that symptoms vanish brings with it the occasion and p>ossibility of error

with the acquisition of knowledge of their mean- and mistake. In elevating us above the brute, it
ing remains true, nevertheless. The necessary con- opens to us the possibility of failures to which the
dition is that the knowledge must be founded animal, limited to instinct, cannot sink.
upon an inner change in the patient which can Dewey, How We Think, Pt, I, II, 2

6.5 I
Opinion, Belief, and Faith

The three subjects considered here all tend from the proposition that two plus two
to bring the meaning of knowledge into makes four, then I know it to be true; I do

sharper focus. Does the man who says “I not opine or believe it. But if what is pro-
know” signify a different state of mind from posed is something that I can voluntarily ac-
the man who says, of the same matter, “I cept or reject, then my affirmation or denial
opine,” or ‘T think,” or ‘T believe”? What is of the matter is an act of opinion or belief,
the difference? Are there some things of not of knowledge. In geometry, for example,
which we can only say “I think,” “1 opine,” an axiom commands my assent, but I am
or “I believe,” but not “I know”? Is faith a free to accept or reject a postulate which
beliefabout things that we cannot know? asks me to take something for granted.
These and similar questions are dealt with As the difference between knowledge, on
in the passages quoted below. the one hand, and opinion or belief, on the
Employing the phrase “right opinion” to other, becomes clearer, the door to skepti-
designate an opinion that happens to be cism is opened by doubts concerning the ex-
true, Plato attempts to point out why it is tent of the area in which men can properly
better to have knowledge than right opinion say that they know. This is countered by
even though both put the mind in possession giving greater weight or credence to opin-
of the truth. In a similar vein, Aristotle com- ions and beliefs in proportion as they are
ments on the difference between knowing well grounded in observed facts or support-
the truth of a theorem in geometry because ed by cogent reasons even though the facts
one is able to demonstrate it and believing and the reasons do not produce the certainty
or opining that it is true on the authority of of self-evident or of demonstrated truths.
one’s teacher. In subsequent elaborations of Accordingly, the discussion of opinion and
the same knowledge and opinion or
insight, belief becomes involved with considerations
belief are differentiated by the distinction of probability, and with efforts to ascertain
between that which the mind necessarily af- the degree of probability that, for all practi-
firms and that to which it voluntarily gives cal purposes, is as good as certainty.
its assent. If I cannot withhold my assent In common speech, the words “belief”
 444 Chapter 6. Knowledge

and “faith” are often used interchangeably, a mark of divine grace. Men may exercise

but the word “faith” has a special and dis- their own will to believe about other mat-
tinct significance when it is employed by ters, but belief in the articles of religious

writers in the Judaeo-Christian tradition of faith is a gift that God

himself bestows upon
Western thought. The passages quoted here them. Because theology^, or at least dogmatic
reflecting that tradition set religious faith theology, finds its first principles in the arti-

apart from the ordinary run of secular be- cles of religious faith and then attempts to
liefs by confining it to the things that God explicate what is thus believed, some quota-
has explicitly revealed to men in Sacred tions dealing with theology are included
Scripture. Having such faith is thought to be here.

L^hy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto Men. The difference, Socrates, is only that he
my path. who has knowledge will always be right; but he
Psalm 119:105 who has right opinion \rill sometimes be right,
and sometimes not.
2 And he Go, and tell this people, Hear ye
said. Soc. What do you mean? Can he be wrong who

indeed, but understand not; and see ye indeed, has right opinion, so long as he has right opinion?
but perceive not. Men. I admit the cogency of your argument,
Make fat, and make
the heart of this people and therefore, Socrates, I wonder that knowledge
their ears hea\^, and shut their eyes; lest they see 4 should be preferred to right opinion — or why they
with their eyes, and hear with their ears, and un- should ever differ.
derstand with their heart, and convert, and be Soc. And shall I explain this wonder to you?
healed. Men. Do tell me.
Then said I, Lord, how long? And he ans^ve^ed, Soc. You would not wonder if you had ever ob-
Until the be wasted without inhabitant, and
cities served the images of Daedalus; but perhaps you
the houses without man, and the land be utterly have not got them in your country?
desolate. Men. What have they to do with the question?
And the Lord have removed men far aw'ay, and Soc. Because they require to be fastened in order
there be a great forsaking in the midst of the to keep them, and if they are not fastened they
land. will play truant and run away.
Isaiah 6:9-12 Men. Well, what of that?
Soc. I mean to say that they are not very valu-
3 Socrates. If a man knew the way to Larisa, or any- able possessions if they are at liberty, for they will
where and went to the place and led others
else, walk off like runaway but when fastened,
slaves;
thither, would he not be a right and good guide? they are of great value, for they are really beauti-
Meno. Certainly. ful works of art. Now this is an illustration of the
Soc. And a person who had a right opinion nature of true opinions: while they abide with us
about the way, but had never been and did not they are beautiful and fruitful, but they run away
know, might be a good guide also, might he not? out of the human soul, and do not remain long,
Men. Certainly. and therefore they are not of much value until
Soc. And w’hile he has true opinion about that they are fastened by the tie of the cause; and this

which the other knows, he will be just as good a fastening of them, friend Meno, is recollection, as
guide if he thinks the truth, as he who knows the you and I have agreed to call it. But when thq'
truth? are bound, in the first place, they have the nature
Men. Exactly. of knowledge; and, in the second place, they are
Soc. Then true opinion is as good a guide to abiding. And this is why knowledge is more hon-
correct action as knowledge; and that was the ourable and excellent than true opinion, because
point which we omitted in our speculation about fastened by a chain.
the nature of virtue, when we said that knowledge Plato, Meno, 97A
only the guide of right action; whereas there
is is

also right opinion. Soaates. Seeing . . . that not only rhetoric works
Men. True. by persuasion, but that other arts do the same, as
Soc. Then right opinion is not less useful than in the case of the painter, a question has ^sen
knowledge? which is a very fair one: Of what persuasion is
 65 . . OpinioTiy Belief, and Faith 445

rhetoric the artificer, and about what? — is not 5 Things that are true and things that are better
that a fair way of putting the question? arc, by their nature, practically always easier to
Gorgias. I think so. prove and easier to believe in.

Soc.Then, if you approve the question, Gorgias, Aristotle, Rhetoric, 1355*38

what is the answer?
I thank thee, O Father,
Gor. I answer, Socrates, that rhetoric is the art
6 Jesus answered and said,
of persuasion in courts of law and other assem-
Lord of heaven and earth, because thou hast hid
blies, as I was just now saying, and about the just these things from the wise and prudent, and hast
and unjust.
revealed them unto babes.
Soc. And that, Gorgias, \vvls what I was suspect- Even so, Father: for so it seemed good in thy
ing to be your notion; yet Iwould not have you sight.
wonder if by-and-by I am found repeating a All things are delivered unto me of my Father:
seemingly plain question; for I ask not in order to and no man knoweth the Son, but the Father;
confute you, but as I was saying that the argu- neither knoweth any man the Father, save the
ment may proceed consecutively, and that we Son, and he to whomsoever the Son will reveal
may not get the habit of anticipating and suspect- him.
ing the meaning of one another’s words; I would
Matthew 11:25-27
have you develop your own views in your own
way, whatever may be your hypothesis.
7 The disciples came, and said unto him, why
Gor. I think that you arc quite right, Socrates.
Soc. Then let me raise
another question; there is
speakest thou unto them in parables?

such a thing as “having learned”?

He
answered and said unto them, Because it is
given unto you to know the mysteries of the king-
Gor. Yes.
Soc. And there is also “having believed”?
dom of heaven, but to them it is not given.
Gor. Yes.
For whosoever hath, to him shall be given, and
Soc. And is the “having learned” the same as
he shall have more abundance; but whosoever
“having believed,” and arc learning and belief the hath not, from him shall be taken away even that
same things? he hath.
Gor. In my judgment, Socrates, they are not the
Therefore speak I to them in parables: because
same. they seeing see not; and hearing they hear not,
Soc. And your judgment is right, as you may neither do they understand. ^
ascertain in this way: —
a person were to say to
If
And them is fulfilled the prophecy of E-sm-
in
as, which saith. By hearing ye shall hear, and
you, “Is there, Gorgias, a false belief as well as a
shall not understand; and seeing ye shall see, and
—
true?” you would reply, if I am not mistaken,
shall not perceive:
that there is.
For this people’s heart is waxed gross, and their
Gor. Yes.
Soc. Well, but is there a false knowledge as well cars arc dull of hearing, and their eyes they have
as a true? any time they should sec with their
closed; lest at

Gor.No. and hear with their cars, and should under-

eyes,

Soc. No, indeed; and this again proves that stand with their heart, and should be converted,
knowledge and belief differ. 10 and I should heal them.
Gor. Very true. But blessed are your eyes, for they see: and your
Soc. And yet those who have learned as cars, for they hear.
well as
those who have believed are persuaded? For verily I say unto you, That many prophets
Gor. Just so. and righteous men have desired to sec those things
Soc. Shall we then assume two
sorts of persua-
which ye sec, and have not seen them; and to hear
sion, —one which the source of belief without
is
those things which ye hear, and have not heard
knowledge, as the other is of knowledge? them.
Gor, By means.
all Matthew 13:10-17
Soc. And which sort of persuasion does rhetoric

create in courts of law and other assemblies about
the just and unjust, the sort of persuasion which
gives belief without knowledge, or that which
gives knowledge?
Gor. Clearly, Socrates, that
lief.
8 Verily I say unto you, If ye have faith as a grain
ofmustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain.
Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall re-
move; and nothing shall be impossible unto you.
which only gives be- Matthew 17:20

Soc. Then would appear, is the arti-

rhetoric, as
ficer of
9 And straightway the father of the child cried out,
a persuasion which creates belief about the
and said with tears, Lord, I believe; help thou
just and unjust, but gives no instruction about
them?
mine unbelief.
Gor. True. Mark 9:24

Plato, Gorgias, 454A For verily I say unto you, That whosoever shall
 446 I
Chapter 6. Knowledge

say unto this mountain, Be thou removed, and be But that no man is justified by the law in the
thou cast into the sea; and shall not doubt in his sight of God, it is evident; for, The just shall IK-c
heart, but shall believe that those things which he by faith.

saith shall come to pass; he shall have whatsoever Galatians 3:1-11

he saith.
Therefore I say unto you, What things soever 14 have fought a good fight, I have
I finished my
ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive course, I have kept the faith.
them, and ye shall have them. // Tmothy 4:7
Mark 11:23-24
15 Therefore we ought
to give the more earnest heed
1
1 Jesus saith unto him, Thomas, because thou hast to the things which we have heard, lest at any
seen me, thou hast believed: blessed are they that time we should let them slip.
have not seen, and yet have believed. For if the word spoken by angels was stedfast,
John 20:29 and every transgression and disobedience rcceh-cd
a just recompcncc of reward;
How’ shall we escape, if we neglect so great sal-
12 Whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord
vation; which at the first began to be spoken by
shall be saved.
the Lord, and was confirmed unto us by them that
How then shall they call on him in whom they
heard him;
have not believed? and how shall they believe in
God also bearing them witness, both with signs
him of whom they have not heard? and how shall
and wonders, and w’ith divers miracles, and gifts
they hear without a preacher?
of the Holy Ghost, according to his own will?
And how shall they preach, except they be
sent? as written, How beautiful are the feet of
Hebrews 2:1-4
it is

them that preach the gospel of peace, and bring

glad tidings of good things! 16 Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the
But they have not all obeyed the gospel. For evidence of things not seen.
__
saith. Lord, who hath believed our re- Hebrews 11:1
port?
So then faith cometh by hearing, and hearing 17 We have not followed cunningly devised fables,
by the word of God. when we made known unto you the power and
Romans 10:13-17 coining of our Lord Jesus Christ, but w'ere c>’cwt-
nesses of his majesty.
For he received from God the Father honour
13 O foolish Galatians, who hath bewitched you,
glory, when there came such a voice to him
and
that ye should not obey the truth, before whose
from the excellent glory. This is my beloved Son,
eyes Jesus Christ hath been evidently set forth,
crucified among you? in whom I am well pleased.

This only would I learn of you. Received ye the

And which came from heaven w’c
this voice

Spirit by the works of the law, or by the hearing of

heard, when were w'ith him in the holy mount.
w^e

faith?
We have also a more sure w’ord of prophecy;
whereunto ye do well that ye take heed, as unto a
Are ye so foolish? having begun in the Spirit,
light that shineth in a dark place, until the day
are ye now made perfect by the flesh?
dawm, and the day star arise in your hearts,
Have ye suffered so many things in vain? if it be
IJ Peter
yet in vain.
He you the Spirit,
therefore that ministereth to
and worketh miracles among you, doeth he it by 18 The Revelation of Jesus Christ, which God gave
the works of the law, or by the hearing of faith? unto him, to shew unto his servants things w’hich
Even as Abraham believed God, and it was ac- must shortly come to pass; and he sent and signi-
counted to him for righteousness. fied it by his angel unto his servant John:

Know’ ye therefore that they which are of faith, Who bare record of the w’ord of God, and of the
the same arc the children of Abraham. testimony of Jesus Christ, and of all things that he
And the scripture, foreseeing that God would saw.
justify the heathen through faith, preached before Blessed is he that readeth, and they that hear
the gospel unto Abraham, saying, In thee shall all the words of this prophecy, and keep those things
nations be blessed. which arc wrritten therein: for the time is at hand.
So then they which be of faith are blessed %vith Revelation 1:1-3

faithful Abraham.
For as many as are of the worI« of the law are 19 I was glad also that the old scriptures of the Law
under the curse: for it is written, Cursed is every and the Prophets were set before me now, no lon-
one that continueth not in all things which are ger in that light in which they had formerly
WTitten in the book of the law to do them. seemed absurd, when I criticised Your holy ones
 6.5. Opinion, Belief, and Faith |
447

for thinking this or that which in plain fact they though a light of utter confidence shone in all

did not think. And it was a joy to hear Ambrose my heart, and all the darkness of uncertainty van-
who often repeated to his congregation, as if it ished away. . . .

were a rule he was most strongly urging upon Then we went in to my mother and told her, to
them, the text: the letter killeth, but the spirit gweth life. her great joy. We
related how it had come about:
And he would go on to draw aside the veil of she was filled with triumphant exultation, and
mystery and lay open the spiritual meaning of praised You who are mighty beyond what we ask
things which taken literally would have seemed to or conceive: for she saw that You had given her
teach falsehood. more than with her pitiful weeping she had
all

Augustine, Confessionsy VI, 4 ever asked. For You converted me to Yourself so

that I no longer sought a wife nor any of this
20 I wanted be as certain of things unseen as that
to world's promises, but stood upon that same rule of

seven and three make ten. For I had not reached faith inwhich You had shown me to her so many
the point of madness which denies that even this years before. Thus You changed her mourning
can be known; but I wanted to know other things had thought to
into joy, a joy far richer than she

as clearly as this, either such material things as wish, a joy much

were not present to my senses, or spiritual things
which I did not know how to conceive save corpo-
really. By believing I might have been cured; for
then the eye of my mind would have been clearer
and so might in some way have been directed
towards Your truth which abides for ever and
knows no But as usually happens, the man
defect.
who has tried a bad doctor is afraid to trust even
a good one, so it was with the health of my soul,
which could not be healed save by believing, and
refused to be healed that way for fear of believing
falsehood. Thus I was Your hands, for
resisting
You prepared for us the medicine of faith and
first
then applied it to the diseases of the world and
gave it such great power.
Augustine, Confessionsy VI, 4
21 I continued my miserable complaining: “How
long, how go on saying tomorrow and
long shall I not seen, we trust those who have (and likewise
again tomorrow? Why not now, why not have an
end to my uncleanness this very hour?”
Such things I said, weeping in the most bitter
sorrow of my heart. And suddenly I heard a voice
from some nearby house, a boy’s voice or a girl’s
voice, I do not know: but it was a sort of sing-song,
repeated again and again, “Take and read, take
and read.” I ceased weeping and immediately be-
gan to search my mind most carefully as to wheth-
er children were accustomed to chant these words
in any kind of game, and I could not remember
that I had ever heard any such thing. Damming
back the flood ofmy tears I arose, interpreting the
incident as quite certainly a divine command to
open my book of Scripture and read the passage
at which I should open. ... So I was moved to
return to the place where Alypius was sitting, for I
dearer and purer than she had
thought to find in grandchildren of my flesh.
Augustine, Confessionsy VIII, 12
22 This Mediator, having spoken what He judged
sufficient first by the prophets, then by His own
lips, and aflenvards by the apostles, has besides
produced the Scripture which is called canonical,
which has paramount authority, and to which we
yield assent in all matters of which we ought not
to be ignorant, and yet cannot know of ourselves.
For if we attain the knowledge of present objects
by the testimony of our owm senses, whether inter-
nal or external, then, regarding objects remote
from our own senses, we need others to bring their
testimony, since we cannot know them by our
own, and we credit the persons to whom the ob-
jects have been or arc sensibly present. According-
ly, as in the case of visible objects which we have
with all sensible objects), so in the case of things
which arc perceived by the mind and spirit, i.c.,
which are remote from our interior sense, it be-
hoves us to trust those who have seen them set in
that incorporeal light, or abidingly contemplate
them.
Augustine, City of God, XI, 3
23 Men see Him just so far as they die to this world;
and it they sec Him not. But
so far as they live to
yet, although that light may begin to appear
clearer, and not only more tolerable, but even
more delightful, still it is only through a glass
darkly that we are said to sec, because we walk by
faith, not by sight, while we continue to wander as
strangers in this world, even though our conversa-

had put down the Apostle’s book there when I tion be in heaven.

arose. I snatched it up, opened it and in silence
read the passage upon which my eyes first fell: Not
in noting and drunkennesSy not in chambering and im/mri-
tieSy not in contention and envj>, but put
ye on the Lord
Jesus Christ and make not provision for the flesh in its
{Romans xiii, 13.] I had no wish to
concupiscences.
read further, and no need. For in that instant,
with the very ending of the sentence, it was as
Augustine, Christian Doctrine, II, 7
24 Just as poor as the store of gold and silver and
garments which the people of Israel brought with
them out of Egypt was in comparison with the
riches which they aftei^vards attained at Jerusa-
lem, and which reached their height in the reign
of King Solomon, so poor is all the useful knowl-
 8

448 I
Chapter 6. Knowledge

edge which is gathered from the books of the a Trinity, On the other hand, in one and the same
heathen when compared with the knowledge of man, about the same thing, and in the same re-
Holy Scripture. For whatever man may have spect, science is incompatible with either opinion
learnt from other sources, if it is hurtful, it is there or faith, yet for different reasons. Because science
condemned; if it is useful, it is therein contained. is incompatible with opinion about the same thing

And while every man may find there all that he absolutely, for the notion of science demands that
has learnt of useful elsewhere, he will find there in what is known should be thought impossible to be
much greater abundance things that arc to be otherv\’isc, but the notion of opinion demands that
found nowhere else, but can be Icamt only in the the thing of whichthere is opinion may be
wonderful sublimity and wonderful simplicity of thought possible to be otherwise. Yet that which is
the Scriptures. held by faith, on account of the certainty of faith
Augustine, Christian Doctrine, II, 42 is also thought impossible to be otherwise; and the

reason why science and faith cannot be about the

25 What I understand I also believe, but I do not same object and in the same respect is because the
understand everything that I believe; for all object of science is something seen, while the ob-
which I understand I know, but I do not know all ject of faith is the unseen, as stated above.
that I believe. But still I am not unmindful of the Aquinas, Summa Theologica, II-II, 1 ,
5
utility of believing many things which arc not
known. . And though the majority of things
. . 30 Whatever is in opposition to faith, whether it con-
must remain unknown to me, yet I do know what sist in a man’s thoughts, or in outward persecu-

is the utility of believing. tion, increases the merit of faith, insofar as the will
Augustine, On the Teacher, XI, 37 isshowm to be more prompt and firm in believing.
Hence the martyrs had more merit of faith,
26 Although by the revelation of grace in this life we through not renouncing faith on account of perse-
cannot know of God “what He is,** and thus are cution; and even the wise have greater merit of
united to Him as to one unknown, still we know faith,through not renouncing their faith on ac-
Him more fully according as many and more ex- count of the reasons brought forward by philoso-
cellent of His effects are demonstrated to us, and phers or heretics in opposition to faith.
according as we attribute to Him some things Aquinas, Summa Theologica, II-II, 2, 10
known by divine revelation, to which natural rea-
son cannot reach, as, for instance, that God is 31 Other things being equal sight is more certain
Three and One. than hearing. But if (the authority of) the person
Aquinas, Summa Tkeologica, I, 12, 13 from whom we hear greatly surpasses that of the
seer’s sight, hearing is more certain than sight.
27 The light of faith makes us see what we believe. Thus a man of little science is more certain about
For just as, by the habits of the other virtues, man w’hat he hears on the authority of an expert in
sees what is fitting to him in respect of that habit, science, than about what is apparent to him ac-
so, by the habit of faith, the human mind is di- cording to his own reason. And much more is a
rected to assent to such things as are fitting to a man certain about what he hears from God, Who
right faith, and not to assent to others. cannot be deceived, than about what he sees with
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, II-II, 1, 4 his own reason, which can be mistaken.
Aquinas, »Jumma Theologica, II-II, 4,
28 Unbelievers are in ignorance of things that are of
faith, for neither do they see or know them in 32 Faith is the substance of things hoped for, and
themselves, nor do they know them to be credible. argument of things which are not seen; and this I

The faithful, on the other hand, know them, not take to be its quiddity.
as by demonstration, but by the light of faith Dante, Paradiso, XXIV, 64
which makes them see that they ought to believe
them. 33 I believe in one God, sole and eternal, who mov-
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, II-II, 1, 5 eth all the heaven, himself unmoved, with love
and with desire.
29 Science and opinion about the same object can And such belief I have not only proofs physic
for
certainly be in different men, as we have stated and metaphysic, but it is given me likewise by
above about science and faith. Yet it is possible for the truth which hence doth rain
one and the same man to have science and faith through Moses, through the Prophets and
about the same thing relatively, that is, in relation through the Psalms, through the Gospel and
to the subject, but not in the same respect. For it is through you who wrote when the glowing Spirit
possible for the same person, about one and the had made you fosterers.
same thing, to know one thing and to think anoth- And I believe in three eternal Persons, and I be-
er. And, in like manner, one may know by dem- lieve them one Essence, so One and so Trine as

onstration the unity of God, and believe that He is to comport at once with are and is.
 —
6^, Ofuniotiy Belief, and Faith |
449

With the profound divine state whereof I speak, not to ourselves; but rather make them our own,
my mind is stamped more limes than once by by embracing them in our hearts.
evangelic teaching. Calvin. Institutes of the Christian Religion, III, 2
This the beginning is; this is the spark which then
dilates into a living flame, and like a star in 41 Perhaps it is not without reason that vs’c attribute
heaven shineth in me. facility in belief and conviction to simplicity and
Dante, Paradiso, XXIV, 130 ignorance; for it scem.s to me once learned that
I

belief was a sort of impression made on our mind,

34 The principal lesson of thcolog)' is that Christ can and that the softer and less resistant the mind, the
be known. easier it was to imprint something on it. The . . .

Luther. Table Talk, 1333 more a mind is empty and without counterpoise,
the more easily it gives beneath the weight of the
first persuxsive argument.
35 Prior to faith and a knowledge of God, reason is
Montaigne, Essays, I, 27, It Is Folly
darkness, but in believers it's an excellent instru-
ment, Just as all gifts and instruments of nature
arc evil in godless men, so they arc good in believ- 42 Some make the world believe that they believe
ers. Faith is now furthered by reason, speech, and
what they do not bclics’c. Others, in greater num-
ber, make themselves believe it, being unable to
eloquence, whereas these were only impediments
prior to faith. Enlightened reason, taken captive
penetrate what it means to believe.

by faith, receives life from faith, for it is slain and Montaigne, Essays, II, 12, Apolog)’ for
given life again. Raymond Seixmd
Luther, Table Talk, 2938b
43 We must not give God chaff for wheat, as they
say. If SVC believed in him, I do not say by faitli,
36 Faith justifies not as a work, or as a quality, or as
but with a simple belief; in fact (and I say it to
knowledge, but as assent of the will and firm con-
our great confusion), if we l>clievcd in him just xs
fidence in llic mere)' of God. Forwere only if faith
in any other history, if we knew him like one
of
knowledge, then the dcs'il would certainly be
our comrades, we would love him above all other
saved because he possesses the greatest knowledge
things, for the infinite goodness and beauty that
of God and of all the works and wonders of
shines in him. At least he would march in the
from the creation of the world. Accordingly faith
same rank in our affection as riches, plcxsurcs,
must be understood otherwise than as knowledge.
gloiy, and our friends.
In part, howcs’cr, it is assent.
Montaigne, Essays, II, 12, Apolog)' for
Luther, Table Talk, 4655
Raymond Sebond
37 Little children arc saved only by faith without
44 Tlic participation that we have in the knowledge
any good works; therefore faith alone justifies. If
of truth, whatever it may be, has not been ac-
God's power be able to effect that in one, then he
quired by our own powers. God has taught us that
is also able to accomplish it in all; for the power of
clearly enough by the witnesses that he has chosen
the child effects it not, but the power of faith;
from the common people, simple and ignorant, to
neither is it done through the child's weakness or
instruct us in his admirable secrets. Our faith is
disability; for then that weakness would be merit
not ol our owm acquiring, it is a pure present of
of itself, or equivalent to merit. It is a mlschic\*ous
another’s liberality. It is not by reasoning or by
thing that we
miserable, sinful wretches will up-
our understanding that we have received our reli-
braid God, and hit him in the teeth with our
gion; itby external authority and command.
is
works, and think thereby to be justified before
The weakness of our judgment helps us more in
him; but God w-ill not allow it.
this than its strength, and our blindness more
Luther, Table Talk, H304 than our clear-sightedness. It is by the mediation
of our ignorance more than of our knowledge that
38 Faith consists in a knowledge of God and of
we are learned with that divine learning.
Christ, not in reverence for the Church.
Montaigne, Essays, 11, 12, Apolog)* for
Calvin, Institides of the Christian Religion, III, 2 Raymond Sebond
39 Faith is a knowledge of the benevolence of God
45 Rexson docs nothing but go xstray in everything,
towards us, and a certain persuasion of his veraci- and especially when it meddles with divine things.
ty-
Who feels this more cs'idcntly than we? For even
Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, III, 2 though we have given it certain and infallible
principles, even though we light its steps with the
40 The principal hinge on which faith turns is this holy lamp of the truth which it has pleased God to
that we must not consider the promises of mercy, communicate to us, nevertheless we see daily how,
which the Lord offers, as true only to others, and when it strays however little from the beaten path
 450 I
Chapter
and deviates or wanders from the w'ay traced and
trodden by the Church, immediately it is lost, it
gTo^s’S embarrassed and entangled, whirling round
and floating in that vast, troubled, and undulat-
ing sea of human opinions, unbridled and aimless.
As soon as it loses that great common highroad it
breaks up and disj>crses onto a thousand different
roads.
Montaigne, Essays, II, 12, Apology for
Raymond Sebond
46 I do not at all hate opinions contrary to mine. I
am so far from being vexed to see discord betNveen
my judgments and others’, and from making my-
selfincompatible with the society of men because
they are of a different sentiment and party from
mine, that on the contrary, since variety is the
most general fashion that nature has followed,
and more in minds than bodies, inasmuch -as
minds are of a substance suppler and susceptible
of more forms, I find it much rarer to see our
humors and plans agree. And there were never in
the world two opinions alike, any more than two
hairs or two grains. Their most universal quality is
diversity.
Montaigne, Essays, 11, 37, Children and
Fath».rs
47 I enter into discussion and argument ^vith great
freedom and ease, inasmuch as opinion finds in
me a bad soil to penetrate and take deep roots in.
No propositions astonish me, no belief offends me,
whatever contrast it offers with my own. There is
no fancy so frivolous and so extravagant that it
docs not seem to me quite suitable to the produc-
tion of the human mind. We who deprive our
Judgment of the right to make decisions look mild-
ly on opinions different from ours; and if we do
not lend them our judgment, we easily lend them
our ears. Where one scale of the balance is totally
empty, I let the other vacillate under an old
woman’s dreams. And it seems to me excusable if
I take rather the odd number than the even,
Thursday rather than Friday; if I am happier to
be twelfth or fourteenth than thirteenth at table;
if I would rather see a hare skirting my path when
I travel than crossing it, and rather give my left
foot than my right to be booted first. All such idle
fancies, which are in credit around us, deserve at
least to be listened to. For me they out%veigh only
emptiness, but they do outweigh that. Popular
and chance opinions count in weight for some-
thing, and not nothing, in nature. And he who
does not let himself go that far may perhaps fall
into the vice of obstinacy to avoid that of supersti-
tion.
Montaigne, Essays, III, 8, Of the Art of
Discussion
48 I honoured our theology and aspired as much as
anyone to reach to heaven, but having learned to
6. Knowledge
regard it as a most highly assured fact that the
road is not less open to the most ignorant than to
the most learned, and that the revealed truths
which conduct thither are quite above our intelli-
gence, I should not have dared to submit them to
the feebleness of my reasonings; and I thought
that, in order to undertake to examine them and
succeed in so doing, it was necessary to have some
extraordinary assistance from above and to be
more than a mere man.
Descartes, Discourse on Method, I
49 Though the matters be obscure with which our
faithis said to deal, nevertheless this is understood
to hold only of the fact or matter of which it
treats, and not meant that the formal reason
it is
on account ofwhich we assent to matters of faith
is obscure: for, on the other hand, this formal rea-
son consists in a certain internal light, and it is
when God supernaturally fills us wiA this illumi-
nation that we are confident that what is pro-
posed for our belief has been revealed by Him,
Himself, and that it is clearly impossible that He
should lie: a fact more certain than any natural
lightand often indeed more evident than it on
account of the light of grace.
Descartes, Objections and Replies, II
50 The Scripture was written to show unto men the
kingdom of God, and to prepare their minds to
become His obedient subjects, leaving the world,
and the philosophy thereof, to the disputation of
men for the exercising of their natural reason.
Hobbes, Leviathan, I, 8
51 Faith of supernatural law is not a fulfilling, but
only an assenting to the same; and not a duty that
we exhibit to God, but a gift which God freely
giveth to whom He pleaseth; as also unbelief is
not a breach of any of His laws, but a rejection of
them all, except the laws natural. f
Hobbes, Leviathan, II, 26
52 Disputing of God’s nature is contrary to His hon-
our, for it is supposed that in this natural kingdom
of God, there is no other way to know anything
but by natural reason; that is, from the principles
of natural science; which are so far from teaching
us anything of God’s nature, as they cannot teach
us our own nature, nor the nature of the smallest
creature living. And therefore, when men out of
the principles of natural reason dispute of the at-
tributes of God, they but dishonour Him: for in
the attributes which we give to God, we are not to
consider the signification of philosophical truth,
but the signification of pious intention to do Him
the greatest honour we are able,
Hobbes, Leviathan, 11, 31
53 Belief and unbelief never follow men’s commands.
Faith is a gift of God which man can neither give
 6,5, Opinion, Belief, and Faith 451

nor take away by promise of rewards or menaces 58 Instead of complaining that God had hidden
of torture. Himself, you w*ill give Him thanks for not having
Hobbes, Leviathan, III, 42 revealed so much of Himself; and you will also
give Him thanks for not having revealed Himself
to haughty sages, unworthy to know so holy a
54 As for those wing)’ M)’stcrics in Divinity, and airy
God.
subtleties in Religion, which have unhing’d the
Tw’o kinds of persons know Him: those who
brains of better heads, they never stretched the Pia
have a humble heart, and who love lowliness,
Mater of mine. Methinks there be not impossibili-
w’hatcvcr kind of intellect they may have, high or
ties enough in Religion for an active faith; the
low; and those who have sufficient understanding
deepest M)*steries ours contains have not only
to sec the truth, w'hatever opposition they may
been illustrated, but maintained, by Syllogism
Reason. 1 love to lose my self in a
have to it.
and the rule of
Pascal, Pensees, IV, 288
m>’Stery, to pursue my Reason to an 0 altitudo! Tis
my solitary recreation to pose my apprehension
with those involved Ainigma’s and riddles of die 59 Tlic knowledge of God without that of man’s mis-
Trinity, with Incarnation, and Resurrection. I ery causes pride. The knowledge of man’s misery’
can answer all the Objections of Satan and my w’ithout that of God causes despair. The knowl-

rebellious reason w’ith that odd resolution I edge of Jesus Christ constitutes the middle course,
learned of Tertullian, Certum esl quia impossibile esl I
because in Him we find both God and our misery.
desire to exercise my faith in the difficultest point; Pascal, Pensees, VII, 527

for to credit ordinary and \Tsiblc objects is not

faith, but pcrs\vasion. Some believe the better for 60 We understand nothing of the works of God, if we
seeing Christ’s Sepulchre; and when they have do not take as a principle that He has willed to
seen the Red Sea, doubt not of the Miracle. Now blind some and enlighten others.
contrarily, I bless my self and am tliankful that I Pascal, Pensees, VIII, 566
lived not in the da)’s of Miracles, that I never saw
Christ nor His Disciples; I would not have been 61 It is a wonderful thing, and svonhy of particular
one of those Israelites that pass’d the Red Sea, nor attention, to sec this Jewish people existing so
one of Christ’s patients on w’hom he wrought his many years in perpetual misery, it being neces-
wonders; then had my faith been thrust upon me, sary’ as a proof of Jesus Christ both that they
nor should I enjoy that greater blessing pro- should exist to prove Him and that they should be
nounced to all that believe and saw not. ’Tis an miserable because they crucified Him; and
easie and necessary’ belief, to credit what our eye though to be miserable and to exist arc contradic-
and sense hath examined: I believe he was dead, tory, they nevertheless still exist in spile of their
and buried, and rose again; and desire to sec him misery. They arc visibly a people expressly creat-
in his glory’, rather than to contemplate him in his ed to a witness to the Messiah (Isaiah
serv’e as

Cenotaphe or Sepulchre. Nor is this much to bc- 43.9; 44.8). They keep
the books, and love them,
lic\’c; as we have reason, we ow’e this faith unto and do not understand them. And all this w’as
History’: they only had the advantage of a bold foretold; that God's judgments arc entrusted to
and noble Faith, w’ho lived before his coming, them, but as a sealed book.
who upon obscure prophesies and my'stical Types Pascal, Pensees, IX, 640-641
could raise a belief, and expect apparent impossi-
bilities. 62 What in me is dark
Sir Thomas Browne, Religio Medici, I, 9 Illumine, what is low raise and support;
That to the highth of this great Argument
55 How shall the dead arise, is no question of my Imay assert Eternal Providence,
Faith; to belie^’c only possibilities, is not Faith,
And justific the w'aycs of God to men.
but meer Philosophy’. Milton, Paradise Lost, I, 22
Sir Thomas Bro\vne, Religio Medici, 1,48
63 Thou Celestial light
Shine inward, and the mind through all her pow’-
56 Faith indeed tells what the senses do not tell, but
ers
not the contrary of what they see. It is above them
Irradiate, there plant eyes, all mist from thence
and not contrary tb them.
Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell
Pascal, Pensees, IV, 265 Of things invisible to mortal sight.
Milton, Paradise Lost, III, 51
57 If we submit
everything to reason, our religion
will have no mysterious and supernatural cle-
64 So spake the Seraph Abdiel faithful found,
ment. If we offend the principles of reason, our
Among the faithless, faithful only hce;
religion will be absurd and ridiculous. Among innumerable false, unmov’d,
Pascal, Pensees, IV, 273 Unshak’n, unseduc’d, unterrifi’d
 452 j
Chapter 6, Knowledge

His Loyal tie he kept, his Love, his Zealc; make us act with zeal and joyfully as the law of
Nor number, nor example with him wrought God commands. Then we have no further need to
To swerve from truth, or change his constant think of reasons or to pause over the difficulties of
mind argument which the mind may anticipate.
Though single. From amidst them forth he passd. Leibniz, Theodity, 29
Long way through hostile scorn, which he sus-
teind 70 Though cverj'thing said in the text be infallibly
Superior, nor of violence fear’d aught; true, yet the reader may be, nay, cannot choose
And with retorted scorn his back he turn’d but be, very fallible in the understanding of it.
On those proud Towrs to swift destruction Nor is it to be wondered, that the \rill of God,
doom’d. when clothed in words, should be liable to that
Milton, Paradise Lost, V, 893 doubt and uncertainty which unavoidably attends
when even his Son, whilst
that sort of conveyance,
65 Where there is much desire to learn, there of ne- clothed in flesh, was subject to all the frailties and
cessity will be much arguing, much writing, many inconveniences of human nature, sin e.xccpted.
opinions; for opinion in good men is but knowl-
Locke, Concerning Human Understanding,
edge in the making.
Bk. Ill, IX, 23
Milton, Areopagitica

71 Though the common experience and the ordinary

66 As in the whole course of my investigation 1 found
nothing taught expressly by Scripture, which does
not agree with our understanding, or which is re-
pugnant thereto, and as I saw that the prophets
taught nothing, which is not very simple and easi-
ly to be grasped by all, and further, that they
clothed their teaching in the style, and confirmed
it with the reasons, which would most deeply
move the mind of the masses to devotion towards
God, I became thoroughly convinced, that the Bi-
ble leaves reason absolutely free, that it has noth-
ing in common with philosophy, in fact, that Rev-
elation and Philosophy stand on totally different
footings.
Spinoza, Theologico-Political
67 Scripture does not teach philosophy, but merely
obedience, and ... all it contains has been
adapted to the understanding and established
opinions of the multitude. Those, therefore, who
wish to adapt it to philosophy, must needs ascribe
to the prophets many ideas which they never even
dreamed of, and give an extremely forced inter-
course of things have justly a mighty influence on
the minds of men, to make them give or refuse
credit to anything proposed to their belief; yet
there is one wherein the strangeness of the
case,
fact lessens not the assent to
a fair testimony given
of it. For where such supernatural events are suit-
able to ends aimed at by Him who has the power
to change the course of nature, there, under such
circumstances, that may be the fitter to procure
belief, by how much the more they are beyond or
contrary to ordinary observation. This is the prop-
er case of miracles, which, well attested, do not
only find credit themselves, but give it also to
other truths, which need such confirmation.
Treatise, Pref.
Locke, Concerning Human Understanding,
Bk. IV, XVI, 13
72 Reason is natural revelation, whereby the eternal
Father of light and fountain of all knowledge,
communicates to mankind that portion of truth
which he has laid within the reach of their natu-
ral faculties: revelation is natural reason enlarged

pretation to their words: those on the other hand, by a new set of discoveries communicated by God
who would make reason and philosophy subser- immediately; which reason vouches the truth of,
vient to theology, will be forced to accept as Di- by the testimony and proofs it gives that they
vine utterances the prejudices of the ancient Jews, come from God. So that he that takes away reason
and to fill and confuse their mind therewith. In to make >vay for revelation, puts out the light of

short, one party will run wild with the aid of rea- both, and does muchwhat the same as if he would

son, and the other will run wild without the aid of persuade a man to put out his eyes, the better to

reason. receive the remote light of an invisible star by a

Spinoza, Theologico-Political Treatise, XV telescope.
Locke, Concerning Human Understanding,
68 Faith is not built on disquisitions vain; Bk. IV, XIX, 4
The things we must believe are few and plain.
Dryden, Religio Laid, 431 73 I believe that thousands of men would be ortho-
dox enough in certain points, if divines had not
69 Divine faith itself, when it is kindled in the soul, is been too curious, or too narrow, in reducing or-
something more than an opinion, and depends thodoxy within the compass of subtleties, niceties,
not upon the occasions or the motives that have and distinctions, with little warrant from Scrip-
given it birth; it advances beyond the intellect, ture and less from reason or good policy.
and takes possession of the will and of the heart, to S\vift, Thoughts on Religim
 454 Chapter 6. Knowledge

darkness, perplexity, and inevitable contradiction. fallinto different opinions on some of them. When
Gibbon, Decline and Fall of the Roman they are governed by a common passion, their
Empire, XXI opinions, if they are so to be called, will be the
same.
84 I maintain that attempts of reason to establish
all Hamilton or Madison, Federalist 50
a theology by the aid of speculation alone arc
fruitless, that the principles of reason as applied to 87 Public opinion . . . deserves to be as much re-

nature do not conduct us to any theological —

spected as despised despised for its concrete ex-
truths, and, consequently, that a rational theology pression and for the concrete consciousness it ex-
can have no existence, unless it is founded upon presses, respected for its essential basis, a basis

the lau-s of morality. For all synthetical principles which only glimmers more or less dimly in that
of the understanding arc valid only as immanent concrete expression. But in itself it has no criterion
in experience; while the cognition of a Supreme of discrimination, nor has it the ability to extract
Being necessitates their being employed transcen- the substantive element it contains and raise it to

dentally, and of this the understanding is quite precise knowledge. Thus to be independent of
incapable. If the empirical law of causality is to public opinion is the first formal condition of
conduct us to a Supreme Being, this being must achieving anything great or rational whether in
belong to the chain of empirical objects in which — life or in science. Great achievement is assured,

case it would be, like all phenomena, itself condi- however, of subsequent recognition and grateful
tioned. If the possibility of passing the limits of acceptance by public opinion, which in due
experience be admitted, by means of the dynami- course will make it one of its own prejudices.
cal law of the relation of an effect to its cause, Hegel, Philosophy of Right, 318
what kind of conception shall we obtain by this
procedure? Certainly not the conception of a Su- 88 Opinion is like a pendulum and obeys the same
preme Being, because experience never presents law. If it goes past the centre of gravity on one
us with the greatest of all possible effects, and it is side, it must go a like distance on the other; and it

only an effect of this character that could witness is only after a certain time that it finds the true
to the existence of a corresponding cause. If, for point which itcan remain at rest.
the purpose of fully satisfying the requirements of Schopenhauer, Further Pathological
Reason, we recognize her right to assert the exis- Observations
tence of a perfect and absolutely necessary being,
this can be admitted only from favour, and can- 89 There is no other revelation than the thoughts of
not be regarded as the result or irresistible demon- the wi 5 e, even though these thoughts, liable to er-
stration. The physico-thcological proof may add ror as is the lot of everything human, arc ohen
—
weight to others if other proofs there are by — clothed in strange allegories and myths under the
connecting speculation with experience; but in it- name of religion. So far, then, it is a matter of
self it rather prepares the mind for theological indifference whether a man lives and dies in reli-

cognition, and gives it a right and natural direc- ance on own or another’s thoughts; for it is
his
tion, than establishes a sure foundation for theolo- never more than human thought, human opinion,
gy* which he trusts. Still, instead of trusting what
Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, Transcendental theirown minds tell them, men have as a rule a
Dialectic weakne^ for trusting others who pretend to super-
natural sources of knowledge. And in view of the
85 Holding for true, or the subjective validity of a enormous intellectual inequality between man
judgement in relation to conviction (which is, at and man, it is easy to see that the thoughts of one
the same time, objectively valid), has the three mind might appear as in some sense a revelation
following degrees: opinion, belief, and knowledge. to another.
Opinion is a consciously insufficient judgement, Schopenhauer, Christian System
subjectively as well as objectively. Belief is subjec-
tively sufficient, but
recognized as being objec-
is 90 Faith is the highest pasion in a man. There arc
tively insufficient. Knowledge
is both subjectively perhaps many in every generation who do not
and objectively sufficient. Subjective sufficiency is even reach it, but no one gets further.
termed conviction (for myself); objective sufficien- Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling, Epilogue
cy termed certainty (for all). I need not dwell
is

longer on the explanation of such simple conrcp- 91 Mysticism has not the patience to wait for God’s
tions. revelation.
Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, Transcendental Kierkegaard, Jounjflb (July II, IS40)
Method
92 We are born believing. A man bears beliefs as a
86 When men exercise their reason coolly and freely tree bears apples.
on a variety of distinct questions, they inevitably Emerson, Warship
 —
6.5. OpinioHy Belief, and Faith 455

93 The test of the true faitli, ccrt«'iinl>% should be its dicting and disproving our opinion is the very
power to charm and command the soul, as the condition which justifies us in a.ssuming its truth
laws of nature control the activity of the hands purposes of action; and on no other temts can
for

so commanding that we find pleasure and honor a being with human faculties have any rational
99
in obeying. assurance of being right.
Emerson, Address to Harvard Divinity School Mill, On Liberty, II

94 Strong Son of God, immortal Love, The usefulness of an opinion is itself matter of
WHiom we, that liave not seen thy face, opinion: as disputable, as open to discussion, and
By and faith alone, embrace,
faith, requiring discussion as much as the opinion itself.

Believing where we cannot prove. There is the same need of an infallible judge of
Tenny’son, In Memonamy Pref. opinions to decide an opinion to be noxious, as to
decide it to be false, unless the opinion con-
95 Ahah. If the gods think to speak outright to man, demned has full opportunity of defending itself.

they will honourably speak outright; not shake And it will not do be
to say that the heretic may
their heads, and give an old wife’s darkling hint. allowed to maintain the utility or harmlcssncss of
Melville, Moby Dicky CXXXIII his opinion, though forbidden to maintain its
truth. 7'hc truth of an opinion is part of its utility.
96 It is remarkable that the highest intellectual mood If we w'ould know whether or not it is desirable

which the world tolerates is the perception of the that a proposition should be believed, is it possible
truth of the most ancient revelations, now in some to exclude the consideration of w'hcthcr or not it is
respects out of date; but any direct revelation, any true? In the opinion, not of bad men, but of the
original thoughts, it hates like virtue. The fathers best men, no l>elicf which is contrary to tnith can
and (he mothers of the xo\vn would rather hear be really useful: and can you prevent such men
the young man or young woman at their tables from urging that plea, when they arc charged
express reverence for some old statement of the with culpability for denying some doctrine which
truth than utter a direct revelation themselves. they arc told is useful, but which they Ijclicvc to
The)' don’t want to have any prophets born into be false?
their families —
damn them! So far as thinking is Mill, On Liberty, II
concerned, surely original thinking is the divincst
thing. Rather we should rcs'crcntly watch for the
100 Reason ... is subscr\'icnt to faith, as handling,
least motions, the least scintillations, of thought in examining, explaining, recording, cataloguing,
this sluggish and men should run to and fro
world,
defending the truths which faith, not reason, has
on the occasion more than at an earthquake. We
gained for us, as providing an intellectual expres-
check and repress the divinity tliat stirs within us, sion of supernatural facts, eliciting what is implic-
to fall down and worship the divinity that is dead
it,comparing, measuring, connecting each w’iih
without us. I go to see many a good man or good each, and forming one and all into a theological
woman, so called, and utter freely that thought
s>'stcm,
which alone it w'as given to me to utter; but there
Ncw'man, Essay on the Development of
was a man w'ho lived a long, long time ago, and
ChnsUan Doctrine, Pt. 11, VII, 3
his name was Moses, and another whose name
was Christ, and
your thought docs not, or docs
if

not appear to, coincide with w-hat they said, the

101 From the age of fifteen, dogma hxs been the fun-
good man or tlic good woman has no cars to hear damental principle of my religion: I know no
other religion; I cannot enter into the idea of any
you. They think they love God! It is only his old
other sort of religion; religion, as a mere senti-
clothes, of which they make scarecrow's for the
Where will they come nearer to ment, is to me a dream and a mockery.
children. God
than in those very children? Ncw’man, Apologia Pro Vita Sun, II

Thorcau,yoar7ia/ (Nov. 16, 1B5I)

102 Ten thousand difficulties do not make one doubt.
97 What we call rational grounds
our beliefs arc for Newman, Apologia Pro Vita Sua, V
often extremely irrational attempts to justify our
instincts. 103 The Sea of Faith
T. H. Huxley, On the Natural Inequality of Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore
Aleuy In. I Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
98 ^cre the greatest difference between presum-
is Its melancholy, long, withdraw'ing roar,
ing an opinion to be true, because, with every op- Retreating, to the breath
portunity for contesting it, it has not been refuted, Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
and assuming its truth for the purpose of not per- And naked shingles of the world.
mitting its refutation. Complete liberty of contra- Arnold, Dover Beach
 456 Chapter 6, Knowledge

104 That ancient deception which demands faith in 108 The ‘will of God* (that is to say the conditions
lor
what has no reasonable explanation, is already preserving the power of the priest) has to
be
worn out and we can no longer return to it. . . . known — to this end a ‘revelation* is required. In
Man always understands everything through his plain words: a great literary forgery becomes nec-
reason and not through faith. It was once possible essary, a ‘sacred book* is discovered it is made —
to deceive him by asserting that he knows only public with all hieratic pomp, with days of repen-
through faith and not through reason, but as soon tance and with lamentation over the long years of
as he knows two faiths and sees men who profess ‘sinfulness*.

another faith in the same way that he professes his Nietzsche, Antichrist, XXVI
own, he is inevitably obliged to decide the matter
by reason. ... In our time the attempts made to
109 The logical reason of man operates in this held of
infuse spirituality into man through faith apart
divinity exactly as it has always operated in Jove
from reason, are like attempts to feed a man
or in patriotism, or in politics, or in any other of
otherwise than through his mouth.
the wider affairs of life, in which our passions or
Tolstoy, On Life, Appendix III
our mystical intuitions fix our beliefs beforehand.
It finds arguments for our conviction, for indeed it
105 People today live without faith. On the one hand,
has to find them. It amplifies and defines our
the minority of wealthy, educated people, having
faith, and dignifies it and lends it words and plau-
freed themselves from the hypnotism of the
sibility. It hardly ever engenders it; it cannot now
Church, believe in nothing. They look upon all
secure it.
faiths as absurdities or as useful means of keeping
William James,
the masses in bondage —
no more. On the other
Varieties

Experience,
of Religious
XVIIl
hand, the vast majority, poor, uneducated, but for
the most part truly sincere, remain under the hyp-
110 Our faith is faith in someone else’s faith, and in
notism of the Church and therefore think they
the greatest matters this is most the case.
believe and have faith. But this is not really faith,
William James, The Will
for instead of throwing light on man^s position in
to Belize
the world it only darkens it.
Tolstoy, What Is Religion?, VIII
111 So far as man stands for anything, and is produc-
106 Thought in action has for its only possible motive tive or originative at all, his entire \dtal function
the attainment of thought at rest; and whatever may be said to have to deal with maybes. Not a
does not refer to belief is no part of the thought victory is gained, not a deed of faithfulness or
itself. courage is done, except upon a maybe; not a ser-
And what, then, is belief? It is the demi -ca- vice, not a sally of generosity, not a scientific ex-
dence which closes a musical phrase in the sym- ploration or experiment or textbook, that may not
phony of our intellectual life. We have seen that it be a mistake. It is only by risking our persons from
has just three properties: First, it is something that one hour to another that we live at all. And often
we are aware of; second, it appeases the irritation enough our faith beforehand in an uncertified re-
of doubt; and, third, it involves the establishment sult is the only thing that makes the result come true.

in our nature of a rule of action, or, say for short, Suppose, for instance, that you are climbing a
a habit. As it appeases the irritation of doubt, mountain, and have worked yourself into a posi-
which is the motive for thinking, thought relaxes, tion from which the only escape is by a terrible
and comes to rest for a moment when belief is leap. Have faith that you can successfully make it,
reached. But, since belief is a rule for action, the and your feet are ners^ed to its accomplishment
application of which involves further doubt and But mistrust yourself, and think of all the sweet
further thought, at the same time that it is a stop- things you have heard the scientists say of maybes,
ping-place, it is also a new star dng-pl ace for and you will hesitate so long that, at last, all un-
thought. That is why I have permitted myself to strung and trembling, and launching yourself in a
call it thought at rest, although thought is essen- moment of despair, you roll in the abyss. In such a
tially an action. The final upshot of thinking is the case (and it belongs to an enormous class), the
exercise of volition, and no longer
of this thought part of wisdom as well as of courage is to believe
forms a part; but belief is only a stadium of men- what is m the line ofyour needs, for only by such belief
tal action, an effect upon our nature due to is the need fulfilled. Refuse to believe, and you

thought, which will influence future thinking. shall indeed be right, for you shall irretrievably
G. S, Peirce, How to Make Our Ideas Clear perish. But believe, and again you shall be right,
for you shall save yourself. You make one or the
107 Whoever has theologian blood in his veins has a other of two possible universes true by your trust
wrong and dishonest attitude towards all things —
or mistrust, both universes having been only
from the very first. The pathos that develops out maybes, in this particular, before you contributed
of this is called faith. your act.
Nietzsche, Antichrist, IX William James, Is Life Worth Living?
 6.6. Doubt and Skepticism 457

112 These, then, are my last words to you: Be not
afraid of life. Believe that life is worth living, and
your belief will help create the fact. The ‘scientific
proof that you are right may
not be clear before
the day of judgment (or some stage of being which
philosophic system than do formal reasonings;
and he thought that we should be rendering a
service to the cause of philosophical sincerity if we
would openly recognize the motives which inspire
us. He also maintained the thesis that the greater

that expression may serve to symbolize) is
reached. But the faithful fighters of this hour, or
the beings that then and there will
them, then turn to the faint-hearted, who
may
here decline to go on, with words like those with
which Henry IV greeted the tardy Crillon after a
great victory had been gained: “Hang yourself,
part of philosophic problems and especially those
which touch on religious fields are of such a na-
represent ture that they are not susceptible of decisive evi-
dence one way or the other. Consequently he
claimed the right of a man to choose his beliefs
not only in the presence of proofs or conclusive
facts, but also in the absence of all such proof.

brave Crillon! we fought at Arques, and you were Above all when he is forced to choose between one
not there.” meaning or another, or when by refusing to
William James, Is Life Worth Living? choose he has a right to assume the risks of faith,
his refusal is itself equivalent to a choice. The
113 It is not disbelief that is dangerous in our society: theory of the will to believe gives rise to misunder-
it is belief. standings and even to ridicule; and therefore it is
Shaw, Andrades and the Lion, Pref. necessary to understand clearly in what way
James used it. We
are always obliged to act in any
114 WilliamJames accomplished a new advance in case; our actions and with them their conse-
Pragmatism by his theory of the will to believe, or quences actually change according to the beliefs
as he himself later called it, the right to believe. 115 which we have chosen. Moreover it may be that,
The discovery of the fundamental consequences of in order to discover the proofs which will ulti-

one or another belief has without fail a certain mately be the intellectual justification of certain
influence on that belief itself. If a man cherishes beliefs—the belief in freedom, for example, or the
novelty, risk, opportunity and a variegated esthet- belief in God — it is necessary to begin to act in
ic reality, he will certainly reject any belief in accordance with this belief.

Monism, when he clearly perceives the import of Dewey, Development of American

this system. But if, from the very start, he is at- Pragmatism
tracted by esthetic harmony, classic proportions,
fixity even to the extent of absolute security, and Dogmas are at their best when nobody denies
logical coherence, it is quite natural that he them, for then their falsehood sleeps, like that of
should put faith in Monism. Thus William James an unconscious metaphor, and their moral func-
took into account those motives of instinctive sym- tion is discharged instinctively.
pathy which play a greater role in our choice of a Santayana, Life of Reason, III, 5

6.6 Doubt and Skepticism

It is not in the sphere of opinion

or belief, hold what they affirm or deny to be beyond
but rather with respect to matters about all reasonable doubt. It is such certitude
which men claim to have knowledge, that that the skeptic challenges by his doubts.
doubt operates critically. Whatever is a As the passages collected here plainly
matter of opinion or belief, even if appraised show, skepticism is both an attitude of mind
as highly probable,
is subject to doubt. But and a systematic method of dealing with the
when men claim to have certitude in their whole range of human opinions, beliefs, and
knowledge or possession of the truth, they claims to knowledge. In its ancient as well as
 6,6. Doubt and Skepticism 459

about you. For I know that all pretty young gen- Soc. Whereas the other side do not admit that

tlemen like to have pretty similes made about they speak falsely?
tljcm —as well they may —
^but I shall not return Theod. They do not.
the compliment. As to my being a torpedo, if the Soc. And he, as may be inferred from his writ-
torpedo is torpid as well as the cause of torpidity ings, agrees that this opinion is also true.
2
in others, then indeed I zim a torpedo, but not Theod. Clearly.
otherwise; for I perplex others, not because I am Soc. Then all mankind, beginning with Protago-
clear,but because I am utterly perplexed myself. ras, willcontend, or rather, I should say that he
And now I know not what virtue is, and you seem will allow, when he concedes that his adversary
to be in the same case, although you did once —
has a true opinion Protagoras, I say, will himself
perhaps know before you touched me. allow that neither a dog nor any ordinary man is
Plato, MenOj 79B the measure of anything which he has not
learned —am I not right?
Theod. Yes.
SocraUs. Tellme, Theodorus, do you suppose that
you yourself, or any other follower of Protagoras,
Soc. And the truth of Protagoras being doubted
by all, will be true neither to himself nor to any
would contend that no one deems another igno-
one else?
rant or mistaken in his opinion?
Theodoras. The thing is incredible, Socrates.
Theod. I think, Socrates, that we are running my
old friend too hard.
Soc. And yet that absurdity nec^arily in-
is

volved in the thesis which declares man to be the Plato, Theaeletus, 170B
measure of all things.
Theod. How so? 3 All statements cannot be false nor all true, both
Soc. Why, suppose that you determine in your because of many other difficulties which might be
own mind something to be true, and declare your adduced as arising from this position,and because
opinion to me; let us assume, as he argues, that if all are false it will not be true to say even this,
this is true to you. Now, if so, you must either say and if all are true it will not be false to say all are
that the rest of us are not the judges of this opin- false.

ion or judgment of yours, or that we judge you Aristotle, Metaphysics, 1063^30

always to have a true opinion? But are there not
thousands upon thousands who, whenever you 4 If a man believe that nothing is known, he knows

form a judgment, take up arms and against you not whether this even can be known, since he ad-
arc of an opposite judgment and opinion, deem- mits he knows nothing. I will therefore decline to
ing that you judge falsely? argue the case against him who places himself
Theod. Yes, indeed, Socrates, thousands and tens with head where his feet should be. And yet
of thousands, as Homer says, who give me a world granting that he knows this, I would still put this
of trouble. question, since he has never yet seen any truth in
Soc. Well, but are we to assert that what you things,whence he knows what knowing and not
think is true to you and false to the ten thousand knowing severally are, and what it is that has pro-
others? duced the knowledge of the true and the false and
Theod. No other inference seems to be possible. what hzis proved the doubtful to differ from the
Soc. And how about Protagoras himself? If nei- certain.
ther he nor the multitude thought, as indeed they Lucretius, Nature of Things, IV
do not think, that man
the measure of all
is
things, must it not follow that the truth of which 5 But straightway Jesus spake unto them, saying, Be
Protagoras wrote would be true to no one? But if of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid.
you suppose that he himself thought this, and that And Peter answered him and said. Lord, if it be
the multitude does not agree with him, you must thou, bid me come unto thee on the water.
begin by allowing that in whatever proportion the And he said. Come. And when Peter was come
many more than one, in that proportion his
arc down out of the ship, he walked on the water, to
truth more untrue than true.
is go to Jesus.
Theod. TTiat would follow if the truth is sup- But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was
posed to vary with individual opinion. afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying,
Soc. And the best of the joke Lord, save me.
is, that he acknowl-
edges the truth of their opinion who believe his And immediately Jesus stretched forth his
own opinion to be false; for he admits that the hand, and caught him, and said unto him, O thou
opinions of all men are true. of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?
Theod. Certainly.
Matthew 14:27-31
Soc. And does he not allow that his own opinion
is false, if he admits that the opinion of those who 6 But Thomas, one of the twelve, called DId-y-mus,
think him false is true? was not with them when Jesus came.
Theod. Of course.
The other disciples therefore said unto him. We
 460 I
Chapter 6, Knowledge

have seen the Lord. But he said unto them, Ex- Ninth D. Too late. It is given.

I shall see in his hands the print of the nails, Her. Stop that Nvrangling and go with your pur-
7 cept
and put my finger into the print of the nails, and we hope to
chaser. Gentlemen, sec you here ag^n
thrust my hand into his side, I will not believe. to-morrow, when wc shall be offering some lots
John 20:24-25 suitable for plain men, artisans, and shopkeepers.
Lucian, Sale oj Creeds

Zms. What have wc left?

Hemes. There is Scepticism. Come along, Pyr- 8 For we are, and know that wc arc, and delight in

rhias, and be put up. Quick’s the word. The at- our being, and our knowledge of it. Moreover, in

tendance is dwindling; there will be small compe- these three things no true-seeming illusion dis-
tition. Well, who buys Lot 9? turbs us; for wc do not come into contact with

Ninth Dealer. I. Tell me first, though, what do these by some bodily sense, as wc perceive the
you know? things outside of us —
colours, e.g., by seeing,

Scepuasm. Nothing. sounds by hearing, smells by smelling, tastes by

Ninth D. But how’s that? tasting, hard and soft objects by touching of all —
There does not appear to me to be anything.
Sc. which sensible objects it is the images resembling
Ninth D. Are not we something? them but not themselves which we perceive in the
Sc. How do I know that? mind and hold in the memory, and which excite
Ninth D. And you yourself? us to desire the objects. But, wthout any delusive
Sc. Of that I am still more doubtful. representation of images or phantasms, I am most
Ninth D. Well, you are in a fix! And what have certain that I am and that I know and delight in
you got those scales for? this.In respect of these truths, I am not at all
Sc. I use them to weigh arguments in, and get afraid of the arguments of the Academicians, who
them evenly balanced. They must be absolutely say, if you are deceived?** For if 1 am de-
“What
—
equal not a feather-weight to choose between ceived, I am. For he who is not, cannot be de-
them; then, and not till then, can I make uncer- ceived; and if I am deceived, by this same token I
tain which is right. am. And since I am if I am deceived, how am I
Ninth D. What else can you turn your hand to? deceived in believing that I am? for it is certain
Sc.Anything; except catching a runaway. that I am if I am deceived. Since, therefore, I, the
Ninth D. And why not that? person deceived, should be, even if I were de-
Sc. Because, friend, every'thing eludes my grasp. ceived, certainly I am not deceived in this knowl-
Ninth D. I believe you. A slow, lumpish fellow edge that I am. And, consequently, neither am I
you seem to be. And what is the end of your deceived in knowing that I know. For, as I know
knowledge? that I am, so I know this also, that I know. And
Sc. Ignorance. Deafness. Blindness. when I love these t\vo things, I add to them a
Ninth D. What! sight and hearing both gone? certain third thing, namely, my love, which is of

Sc. And with them judgement and perception, equal moment. For neither am I deceived in this,

and all, in short, that distinguishes man from a that I love, since in those things which I love I am
worm. not deceived; though even if these were false, it
Ninth D. You are worth money! —-What shall would still be true that I loved false things. For
we say for him? how could I justly be blamed and prohibited from
Her. Four pounds. if it were false that I loved
loving false things,
Ninth D. Here it is. Well, fellow; so you are them? But, since they arc true and real, who
mine? doubts that when they are loved, the Jove of them
Sc. I doubt it. is itself true and real?
Ninth D. Nay, doubt it not! You are bought and Augustine, City of God, XI, 26
paid for.

Sc. It is a difficult case. ... I reserve my deci- 9 Panurge. By the flesh, blood, and body, I swear,
sion. reswear, fors\vear, abjure, and renounce: he
Ninth D. Now, come along with me, like a good evades and avoids, shifts and escapes me, and
slave. quite slips and winds himself out of my gripes and
Sc. But how am I to know whether what you say clutches.
is true? At these words Gargantua arose, and said,
Ninth D. Ask the auctioneer. Ask my money. Praised be the good God in all things, but espe-
Ask the spectators. cially for bringing the world into the height of
Sc. Spectators? But can we be sure there are refinedness beyond what it was when I first be-
any? came acquainted therewith, that now the most
Ninth D. Oh, 1*11 send you to the treadmill. That learned and most prudent philosophers are not
will convince you with a vengeance that I am ashamed to be seen entering in at the porches and
your master. frontispieces of the schools of the Pyrrhonian,
Sc. Reserve your decision. Aporrhetic, Sceptic, and Ephetic sects. Blessed be
 —
6.6. Doubt and Skepticism 461

the holy name of God! Veritably, it is like hence- known, well and good; if they do not know how to
forth to be found an enterprise of much more easy prove it, just as good.
undertaking, to catch lions by the neck, horses by Montaigne, Essays, II, 12, Apology for
the mane, oxen by the horns, bulls by the muzzle, Raymond Sebond
wolves by the tail, goats by the beard, and flying
10 birds by the feet, than to entrap such philosophers 1
1
Que scfiisd^? (What do I know?)
in their words. Montaigne (his motto)
Rabelais, Gargantm and Pantagruel, III, 36

12 HamUu Doubt thou the stars are fire;

Ignorance that knows itself, that judges itself and Doubt that the sun doth move;
condemns itself, is not complete ignorance: to be Doubt truth to be a liar;
that, it must be ignorant of itself. So that the pro- But never doubt I love.
fession of the Pyrrhonians is to waver, doubt, and Shakespeare, Hamlet, II, ii, 116
inquire, to be sure of nothing, to answer for noth-
ing. Of the three functions of the soul, the imagi-
native, the appetitive, and the consenting, they 13 Othello. Make me to see’t; or, at the least, so prove
it
accept the first two; the last they suspend and
keep it ambiguous, without inclination or appro- That the probation bear no hinge nor loop
bation, however slight, in one direction or the To hang a doubt on; or woe upon thy life!
other.
lago. My noble lord
Zeno pictured in a gesture his conception of this
thou dost slander her and torture me,
0th, If

division of the hand

faculties of the soul: the
Never pray more; abandon all remorse;
spread and open was appearance; the hand half On horror’s head horrors accumulate;
shut and the fingers a little hooked, consent; the
Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amazed;
closed comprehension; when with his left
fist,
For nothing canst thou to damnation add
hand he closed his fist still tighter, knowledge. Greater than that.
Now Judgment, straight
this attitude of their
Shakespeare, Othello, III, iii, 364
and inflexible, taking all things in without adher-
ence or consent, leads them to their Ataraxy, 14 If a man will begin with certainties, he shall end
which is a peaceful and sedate condition of life, in doubts; but if he will be content to begin with

exempt from the agitations we receive through the doubts, he shall end in certainties.

impression of the opinion and knowledge we think Bacon, Advancement of Learning, Bk. I, V, 8
we have of things. Whence are born fear, avarice,
envy, immoderate desires, ambition, pride, super- 15 The registering of doubts hath two excellent uses:
stition, love of novelty, rebellion, disobedience, the one, that saveth philosophy from errors and
it

obstinacy, and most bodily ills. Indeed, they free falsehoods; when that which is not fully appearing
themselves thereby from jealousy on behalf of is not collected into assertion, whereby error
their doctrine. For they dispute in a very mild might draw but reserved in doubt: the
error,
manner. They do not fear contradiction in their other, that the entry of doubts are as so many
discussion. When they say that heavy things go suckers or sponges to draw use of knowledge; inso-
down, they would be very sorry to have anyone much as that which, if doubts had not preceded, a
take their word for it; and they seek to be contra- man should never have advised, but passed it over
dicted, so as to create doubt and suspension of without note, by the suggestion and solicitation of
judgment, which is their goal. They advance their doubts is made to be attended and applied. But
propositions only to combat those they think we both these commodities do scarcely countervail an
believe in. . . . inconvenience, which will intrude itself if it be not
Is itnot an advantage to be freed from the ne- debarred; which is, that when a doubt is once re-
cessity thatcurbs others? Is it not better to remain ceived, men labour rather how to keep it a doubt
in suspense than to entangle yourself in the many
still, than how to solve it; and accordingly bend
errors that the human fancy has produced? Is it their wits.Of this we see the familiar example in
not better to suspend your conviction than to get lawyers and scholars, both which, if they have
mixed up in these seditious and quarrelsome divi- once admitted a doubt, it goeth ever after author-
...
sions?
ized for a doubt. But that use of wit and knowl-
The Pyrrhonians have kept themselves a won- edge is to be allowed, which laboureth to make
derful advantage in combat, having rid them- doubtful things certain, and not those which la-
selves of theneed to cover up. It does not matter bour to make certain things doubtful. Therefore
to them that they are
struck, provided they strike; these kalendars of doubts I commend as excellent
and they do their work with everything. If they things; so that there be this caution used, that
your proposition is lame; if you win, theirs is. when they be thoroughly sifted and brought to
If they Iwe, they
confirm ignorance; if you lose, resolution, they be from thenceforth omitted, de-
you confirm it. If they prove
that nothing is carded, and not continued to cherish and encour-
 462 j
Chapter 6. Knowledge

age men in doubting. doubt of its truth; and thus I have a true and
certain knowledge of it. And this same knowledge
Bacon, Adrcncmeni of Learning,
extends other things which I recol-
likew'isc to all
Bk. 11, VIII, 5
lect haHng
formerly demonstrated, such as the
16 Our method and that of the sceptics agree in some truths of geometry' and the like; for what can be
respects at first most widely,
setting out, but differ alleged against them to cause me to place them in
and arc completely opposed each other in their
to doubt?
conclusion; for they roundly assert that nothing Descartes, Meditations on First Philosophy, V
can be knovvii; we, that but a small part of nature
can be known, by the present method; their next 19 My statement that the entire testimony of the
step, hoNvever, is to destroy the authority of the senses must be considered to be uncertain, nay,
senses and understanding, whilst we invent and even false, is quite serious and so necessary for the
supply them wth assistance. comprehension of my meditations, that he who
Bacon, Novxmt Orgamwi, I, 37 not or cannot admit that, is unfit to urge any
w'ill

objection to them that merits a reply.

17 1 consider that I possess no senses; I imagine that

Descartes, Qhjectiorvi and Replies, V
body, figure, extension, movement and place arc
but the fictions of my mind. What, then, can be 20 What astonishes me most is to see that all the
esteemed as true? Perhaps nothing at all, unless world is not astonished at its own weakness. Men
that there is nothing in the world that is certain. act seriously,and each follows his ow’n mode of
But how can I know there is not something dif- life,not because it is in fact good to follow’ since it
ferent from those things that I have just consid- is the custom, but as if each man knew certainly

ered, of which one cannot have the slightest where reason and justice are. They find them-
doubt? Is there not some God, or some other being selves continually deceived, and, by a comical
by' whatever name we call it, who puts these re- humility, think it is their own fault and not that of
flections into my' mind? That is not necessary', for the art which they claim always to possess. But it
is it not possible that am capable of producing
I is w’ell there are so many such people in the \vorId,

them my'scif? I myself, am I not at least some- who are not sceptics for the glory of scepticism, in
thing? But have already denied that I had senses
I oirier toshow that man is quite capable of the
and body. Yet I hesitate, for what follows from most extravagant opinions, since he is capable of
that? Am I so dependent on body and senses that believing that he is not in a state of natural and
I cannot exist without these? But I w'as persuaded inevitable w'eakness, but, on the contrary, of natu-
that there was nothing in all the w'orld, that there ral wisdom.
W'as no heaven, no earth, that there w’ere no Nothing fortifies scepticism more than that
minds, nor any bodies: w'as I not then likewise there are some who are not sceptics; if all w'cre so,
persuaded that I did not exist? Not at all; of a they would be w’rong.
surety I my-self did exist since I persuaded myself Pascal, Paisees, VI, 374
of something [or merely because I thought of
something]. But there is some deceiver or other, 21 As to what is said by’ Descartes, that w'c must
very' powerful and very' cunning, who ever em- doubt all things in w'hich there is the least uncer-

ploys his ingenuity in deceiving me. Then without tainty, it W’ould be preferable to express it by this

doubt I exist also if he deceives me, and let him better and more e.xpressive precept: Wc ought to

deceive me as much as he will, he can never cause think w’hat degree of acceptance or dissent cv-
me to be nothing so long as I think that I am ery'thing merits; or more simply, ought to in- Wc
something. So that after having reflected well and quire after the reasons of any’ dogma. Thus the
carefully examined all things, we must come to Cartesian w’ranglings concerning doubt would
the definite conclusion that this proposition: I 2im, cease.
I exist, is necessarily' true each time that I pro- Leibniz, Animadversions on Descartes* Principles
nounce it, or that I mentally conceive it. of Philosophy
Descartes, Meditations on First Philosophy, II we because we can-
22 If will disbelieve everything,
not certainly know all things, w'c shall do much-
18 After I have recognised that there is a God be- — w'hat as wnscly as he w'ho w’ould not use his legs,
cause at the same time I have also recognised that but sit still and perish, because he had no w’ings to
all things depend upon Him, and that He is not a
ny.
deceiver, and from that have inferred that what I Locke, Concerning Human Understanding, Intro.
perceive clearly and distinctly cannot fail to be
—
true although I no longer pay attention to the 23 As for our own existence, we p>erccivc it so plainly
reasons for which I have judged this to be true, and so certainly, that it neither needs nor is capa-
provided that I recollect hav'ing clearly and dis- ble of any proof. For nothing can be more evident
tinctly perceived it no contrary' reason can be to us than our ow'n existence. I think, I reason, I
brought forward which could ever cause me to feel pleasure and pain: can any of these be more
 6.6, Doubt and Skepticism 463

evident to me than my own existence? If I doubt sible, to refute them. But as soon as they leave the
of all other things, that very doubt makes me per- shade, and by the presence of the real objects,
ceive my own existence, and will not suffer me to which actuate our passions and sentiments, are
doubt of that. For if I know I feel pain, it is evi- put in opposition to the more pow'crful principles
dent I have as certain perception of my own exis- of our nature, they vanish like smoke, and leave
tence, as of the existence of the pain I feel: or if I the most determined sceptic in the same condition
know I doubt, I have as certain perception of the as other mortals.
existence of the thing doubting, as of that thought The sceptic, therefore, had better keep within
which I call doubt. Experience then convinces us, his proper sphere, and display those philosophical
that we have an intuitive knowledge of our own objections, which arise from more profound re-
existence, and an internal infallible perception searches. Here he seems to have ample matter of
that we In every act of sensation, reasoning,
arc. triumph; while he justly insists, that all our evi-
or thinking, we arc conscious to ourselves of our dence for any matter of fact, which lies beyond
own being; and, in this matter, come not short of the testimony of sense or memory, is derived en-
the highest degree of certainty. tirely from the relation of cause and effect; that
Locke, Concerning Human Understandings we have no other idea of this relation than that of
Bk. IV, IX, 3 two objects, which have been frequently con-
joined together; that wc have no argument to con-
24 As these noble Houyhnhnms arc endowed by na- vince us, that objccLs, which have, in our experi-
ture with a general disposition to all virtues, and ence, been frequently conjoined, will likewise, in
have no conceptions or ideas of what is evil in a other instances, be conjoined in the same manner;
rational creature, so theirgrand maxim is, to cul- and that nothing leads us to this inference but
tivate reason^ and
be wholly governed by it. Nei-
to custom or a certain instinct of our nature; which
ther is reason among them a point problematical as it is indeed difficult to resist, but %vhich, like other

with us, where men can argue with plausibility on instincts, may be fallacious and deceitful. While
both sides of the question; but strikes you with the sceptic insists upon these topics, he shows his
immediate conviction; as it must needs do where force, or rather, indeed, his own and our weak-
it is not mingled, obscured, or discoloured by pas- ness; and seems, for the time at least, to destroy all
sion and interest. I remember it w'as with extreme assurance and conviction. These arguments might
difficulty that I master to under-
could bring my be displayed at greater length, if any durable
stand the meaning of the word or how a opinions good or benefit to society could ever be expected
point could be disputable; because reason taught to result from them.
us to affirm or deny, only where we arc certain; For here is the chief and most confounding ob-
and beyond our knowledge, we cannot do cither. jection to excessive scepticism, that no durable
So that controversies, wranglings, disputes, and good can ever result from it; while it remains in its
positivcncss in false or dubious propositions, arc full force and vigour. Wc need only ask such a
evils unknown among the Houyhnhnms. In the sceptic, What his meaning is? And what he pro-
like manner, when I used to explain to him our poses by all these curious researches? He is imme-
several systems of natural philosophy's he would laugh diately at a loss, and know’s not what to answer. A
that a creature pretending to reasons should value Copcmican or Ptolemaic, who supports each his
upon the knowledge of other peoples conjec-
it self different s^-stem of astronomy, may hope to pro-
and in things, where that knowledge, if it
tures, duce a conviction, which will remain constant
were certain, could be of no use. Wherein he and durable, with his audience. A Stoic or Epicu-
agreed entirely with the sentiments of Socrates, as rean display’s principles, which may not be dura-
Plato delivers them; which I mention as the high- ble, but which have an effect on conduct and be-
est honour I can do that prince of philosophers. haviour. But a Pyrrhonian cannot expect, that his
Swift, Gulliver*s Travelsj IV, 8 philosophy will have any constant influence on
the mind: or if it had, that its influence would be
25 The Cartesian doubt were it ever possible to
. . . beneficial to society. On the contrary, he must ac-
lx: attained by any human creature (as it plainly knowledge, if he will acknowledge anything, that
is not) would be entirely incurable; and no rea- all human life must perish, were his principles
soning could ever bring us to a state of assurance universally and steadily to prevail. All discourse,
and conviction upon any subject. all action would immediately cease; and men re-
Hume, Concerning Human Understandings main in a total lethargy, till the necessities of na-
Xn, 116 ture, unsatisfied, put an end to their miserable
existence. It is an event is very little
true; so fatal
26 'Hie great subverter of Pyrrhonism or the exces- to be dreaded. Nature is always too strong for
sive principles of scepticism
is action, and cmploy- principle. And though a Pyrrhonian may throw
m^t, and the occupations of common life. These himself or others into a momentary amazement
principles may flourish and triumph in the and confusion by his profound reasonings; the
schools; where it is, indeed, difficult, if not impos- first and most trivial event in life will put to flight
 —
464 I
Chapter 6. Knowledge

all his doubts and scruples, and leave him the 28 What danger can ever come from ingenious tea-
same, in c\'cry' point of action and speculation, soning and inquiry*? The worst speculative skeptic
with the philosophers of c\’er>' other sect, or wth c\’er I knew a much better man than the best
those who never concerned themselves in any superstitious devotee and bigot,

philosophical researches. W^cn he awakes from Hume, Letter to Gilbert Elliot (Mar. W, 1751)
his dream, he will be the first to join in the laugh
against himself, and to confess, that all his objec- 29 Doubt is not a pleasant condition, but cenainty is
tions arcmere amusement, and can have no other an absurd one.
tendency’ than to show the whimsical condition of Voltaire, Letter to Frederick the Great
mankind, who must act and reason and believe; (Apr. 6, 1767)
27 though they arc not able, by their most diligent
enquiry, to satisfy themselves concerning the 30 Talking of those who denied the truth of Chris-
foundation of these operauons, or to remove the tianity, he Qohnson] said, "It is always easy' to be
objections, w’hich may be raised against them. on the negative side. If a man were now to deny
Hume, Concerning Human that there is salt upon the table, you could not
Understanding, XII, 126-128 reduce him to an absurdity. Come, let us try' this a
little deny that Canada is taken, and I
further. I

There is, indeed, a more mitigated scepticism or can support my denial by pretty’ good arguments.
academical philosophy, which may
be IxJth dura- The French are a much more numerous people
ble and useful, and which may, in part, be the than we; and it is not likely that they would allmv
result of this Pyrrhonism, or excessive scepticism, us to take it. ‘But the ministry have assured us, in
when its undistinguished doubts are, in some mea- all the formality of The Gazette, that it is taken.’
sure, correctedby common sense and reflection. Very true. But the ministry’ have put us to an
The mankind arc naturally apt to
greater part of enormous expence by the war in America, and it
be affirmative and dogmatical in their opinions; their interest to persuade us thatwe have got
and while they see objects only on one side, and
is

something —
our money. ‘But the fact is con-
for
have no idea of any counterpoising argument, firmed by thousands of men who were at the tak-
they throw themselves precipitately’ into the prin- —
ing of it.* Ay, but these men have still more in-
ciples, towhich they are inclined; nor have they terest in deceiving us. They’ don’t want that you
any indulgence for those who entertain opposite should think the French have beat them, but that
sentiments. To hesitate or balance perplexes their they’ have beat the French. Now suppose you
understanding, checks their passion, and suspends should go over and find that it is really taken, that
their action. They are, therefore, impatient till w’ould only satisfy yourself; for when you come
they escape from a state, which to them is so home we will not believe you. We will say, y’ou
uneasy: and they think, that they could never re- have been bribed. —Yet, Sir, not\rithstanding all
move themselves far enough from it, by the vio- these plausible objections, we have no doubt that
lence of their affirmations and obstinacy of their Canada is really ours. Such is the weight of com-
belief. But could such dogmatical reason ers be- mon testimony. How much stronger are the evi-
come sensible of the strange infirmities of human dences of the Christian religion!”
understanding, even in its most perfect state, and Bosw’ell, Life ofJohnson (July 14, 1763)
when most accurate and cautious in its determi-
would naturally inspire
nations; such a reflection 31 Johnson. ‘‘Hume, and other sceptical innovators,
them with more modesty and reserve, and dimin- are vain men, and w’ill gratify’ themselves at any
ish their fond opinion of themselves, and their expence. Truth will not afford sufficient food to
prejudice against antagonists. The illiterate may their vanity; so they have betaken themsclv'es to
reflect on the disposition of the learned, who, errour. Truth, Sir, is a cow’ which will yield such
amidst all the advantages of study and reflection, people no more milk, and so they’ are gone to milk
are commonly’ still diffident in Aeir determina- the bull.If I could have allowed myself to gratify
tions: and if any of the learned be inclined, from my vanity at the cxpcnce of truth, w'hat fame
their natural temper, to haughtiness and obstina- might I have acquired. Every’ thing which Hume
cy, a small tincture of Pyrrhonism might abate has advanced against Christianity had passed
their pride, by showing them, that the few advan- through my mind long before he wTOtc. Always
tages, which they may have attained over their remember this, that after a system is well settled
fellows, are but inconsiderable, if compared wth upon positive evidence, a few partial objections
the universal perplexity and confusion, which is ought not to shake it. The human mind is so limit-
inherent in human nature. In general, there is a ed, that it cannot take in all the parts of a subject,
degree of doubt, and caution, and modesty, so that there may be objections raised against any
which, in all kinds of scrutiny and decision, ought thing. There are objections against a plenum, and
for ever to accompany a just reasoner. objections against a vacuum; yet one of them must
Hume, Concerning Human certainly be true,”
Understanding, XII, 129 Boswell, Life ofJohnson (July 21, 1763)
 Doubt ivul SLrfftuiwi j
*\(V)

32 After we enmr out of the cluirth, \sc MckkJ lalkim: all the jKtwTrx which reside in the f.iruhy; and
for some time together of Ui^liop !lrrkr|ry’< injic* thus the bte wluch always overtakes scepticism
ntous$tip!uMr>’ to prove tl»c ^on•r^i^le^re of nut' meets him too, 'Huat is to ?..ay, hU own declarations
ter, and that cverv* thlm: in the univenre is merely are doubted, for his objections wrre based u|>on
ideal. I observed that though
»
ssc arc satisfied lui /rtoM, which are contingent, and not upon princi-
doctrine is not true, it is iin|XvsTlble to refute it. I
35 plc5, which can atone demonstrate the necessary'
never shall fon^et the alacrity ssitli v^hich Johmon invalidity of .all dogmatical ac*rf lions.

answered, strikinft his fool sviih mii^liiy force Kant, CnU(iur t'if I*uff Heottrfu Tran»crndeninl
aijainst a larjte stone, till he rrlxjundrd from it, "I MrthocI
refute it Mso.*’

UossstII, cf JcK-AT^, t7(\‘i) He who shall tracfi tlie (Jiild to Doubt

‘Ibe rotting Grave shall neVr get out.

33 When apply rraton to the objettise synihesis

sve He who respects the Inf.intV f.silh

of phenomena reau>M rstablishes. ssiih much

. . ,
*rriumphs over Hell Death.
pbusibility, its principle of unconditioned unity, lUakr. Aufjitifi c,f R7
but it very* sewn falls into surli cnntr.sdirtiont iliat

itis compel lal, in rrhiiion to cmmot<H:y, t<» rr* 3() Mtf'hii'phUi I am the Spirit that denies!
nouncr its pretension*. And rightly too; bu all ih.n <!oth fjcgin
For here .1 nesv phenomenon of fturii.sn reason .ShouM rightly to rle^trucoon run;
meets us— a |y:rfectly natural antithetic, wliich *l'wrte liettrf then that notliing vsrre l>eg\in
does not require to be s/>ui:;hi for In subtle tophis* G^iethr. /bijf. I. 133B
lr>', but into which reason of it*rU unasoidably

blh. It is thereby piesrrvrd, to be sure, from the 37 J> r/r::}nl ril not lei terram? lead me fo war
slumber of a fancied conviction v-hiih a merely — Wnfi doubts and crnu-cavih
onesided illininn privluces, hut it r» the same M 'Hie Devil mint lie vunethirtg, or
time compelled, either, on the one hand, to alum Fb/? h<iw' <T>u!d there \k devil<^
don it*eU to a drspairini: wrptKtem, of, on the iHfotiit For on<e. | ve pliantaiy.
other, to assume a docmatira! confidence and oh* It it far too dtnyxitic..
5tin.ite persistence in cert.sin av^riions, svithout In truth, if 1 all I ter,
granting a fair hearing to the oilier sitb of the Tfvlay I'm idmuc
question. Kithcr is the death of a Sfnrnd phiheo- Ht.iUit "Dus riot m.ikes rny t future \hrrr
phy. although the former might j>erhaj« devrsr An<l grratlv irks mr surelv,
the title of the euthanasia of pure reason. For llir first time I'm jtanding here
K.inl, Cntipi*' cf Phfr ‘rramrendental On my fret insrcurrly,
l.balectic .Va/-emv:ruM/nr ^Vi^h much drbght I join this
crew'
34 'n»e sceptical errons of this rernarSt.'tbly acute And share with them their reveb;
thinker |i.r., Tfurncl ato*^ principally from a de- For that there arc gtM»d spirits trv)
fect, which wascommon in him with the dognt^* I argue from these drsib.

tuts,namely, that he had nesrr made a s\ntematic ShfUt 7bry go to tr.scl the fl.imeirts out
review of all the different kinds of c frjf'u synthesis Am! think they're near the irrasurc.
perfonnai by the understanding. Had he don^ so. Dry’ll alliterates with I'kmbt,
he would have found, to take one example among Sci 1 am here svith pleasure.
many, that the principle of permanence svas of rJorthe, I, 4313
this character, and that it, as well as the principle
of causality, anticipates c.eprrience. In this way he 3n "Die arrogant deU.smations current in our time
might have l>een able to describe the determinate against plitlo‘ophy present tlie singular spectacle,
limits o! the c
/ nrrt operations of undent.a nding on ihr one hand of deriving their justification
and reason. Uul he merely declared the under' fftim the superficiality to whirh that study has
standing to be limited, instead of showing wliat its Ixrcn drgradcfl,and, on tlir other, of Ix-ing them-
limits were; he created a general rnistaist in the wives rrxjtrd in this element against wliich they
power of our faculties, without giving us any de- tuni so ungr.atefully. For by pronouncing the
icmiinatc knowledge of the Ixninds of our neces- knowledge of truth a vvild-goc>«,e clia.-’e, this self-
sary'and unavoidable ignorance; he rx.nmincd styled philmophiring has reduced nil ihoughti
and condemned some of the principles of the un- and al! lopim to the itamr level, just as the despo-
derstanding, without investigating all its jxiwrni tism of the Roman Kmptre nliolishcd the distinc*
svith the complcicneiw necessary
to criticism. He lion lictvseen free men and slaves, virtue and vice,
denies, with tnitfi, certain powers to the under* lionour and dishonour. Ic.arning and ignor:tncc.
standing, but he goes further, and declares it to be 'Die result of this levelling prriceM is iliat the con-
utterlyinadequate to tlic a /»nW extension of cepts of what is true, the l.iw-s of ethics, likewise
knowledge, although he h.is not fully rx.imincd Income nothing more than opinions and sutijcC'
 466 Chapter 6. Knowledge

tive convictions.The maxims of the worst of crim- But in the darkness and the cloud.
they too are convictions, are put on the
inals, since As over Sinai’s peaks of old,
same level of value as those laws; and at the same While Israel made their gods of gold,
time any object, however sorry, however acciden- Altho’ the trumpet blew so loud.
tal, any material however insipid, is put on the Tennyson, In Memoriam, XCVI
same value as what constitutes the interest
level of
of all thinking men and the bonds of the ethical 43 Know ye, now, Bulkington? Glimpses do ye seem
world. to sec of that mortally intolerable truth; that all
Hegel, Philosophy of Right, Pref. deep, earnest thinking but the intrepid effort of
is

the soul to keep the open independence of her sea;

39 The most dangerous form of scepticism is always while the wildest winds of heaven and earth con-
that which least looks like it. The notion that pure spire to cast her on the treacherous, slavish shore?
thought is the positive truth for an existing indi- But as in landlessness alone resides the highest
vidual, is sheer scepticism, for this positivencss is
truth, shoreless, indefinite as God — so, better is it
chimerical. a glorious thing to be able to ex-
It is to perish in that howling infinite,than be inglori-
plain the past, the whole of human history; but if ously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safe-
the ability to understand the past is to be the sum- ty! For worm-like, then, oh! who would craven
mit of attainment for a living individual, this posi- crawl to land! Terrors of the terrible! is all this
tiveness is scepticism, and a dangerous form of it, agony so vain? Take heart, take heart, O Bulking-
because of the deceptive quantity of things under- ton! Bear thee grimly, demigod! Up from the
stood. spray of thy ocean-perishing —straight up, leaps
Kierkegaard, Concluding Unscientific thy apotheosis!
Postscript, II, 3 Melville, Moby Dick, XXIII

40 I do not press the skepticism of the materialist. I

44 Through all the thick mists of the dim doubts in
know the quadruped opinion will not prevail, nfis
my mind, divine intuitions now and then shoot,
of no importance what bats and oxen think. The
enkindling my fog with a heavenly ray. And for
first dangerous symptom I report is, the levity of
this I thank God; for all have doubts; many deny;
intellect; as if it were fatal to earnestness to know
but doubts or denials, few along with them, have
much. Knowledge is the knowing that we can not
intuitions. Doubts of all things earthly, and intu-
know. The dull pray; the geniuses are light mock-
some things heavenly; this combination
itions of
ers. How respectable is earnestness on every plat-
makes neither believer nor infidel, but makes a
form! but intellect kills it.
man who regards them both with equal eye.
Emerson, Montaigne; or. The Skeptic
Melville, Moby Dick, LXXXV

41 I am the doubter and the doubt,

And I the hymn the Brahmin sings.
45 Those who were more directly responsible for pro-
viding me with the knowledge essential to the
Emerson, Brahma
right guidance of life (and who sincerely desired
to do so), imagined they were discharging that
42 You say, but with no touch of scorn,
Sweet-hearted, you, whose light-blue eyes
most sacred duty by impressing upon my childish
Are tender over drowning flies. mind the necessity, on pain of reprobation in this
You world and damnation in the next, of accepting, in
tell me, doubt is Devil-born.
the strict and literal sense, every statement con-
I know not: one indeed I knew tained in the Protestant Bible. I was told to be-
In many a subtle question versed, and I did believe, that doubt about any of
lieve,
Who touch’d a jarring lyre at first. them was a sin, not less reprehensible than a mor-
But ever strove to make it true; al delict. I suppose that, out of a thousand of my
contemporaries, nine hundred, at least, had their
Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds.
minds systematically warped and poisoned, in the
At last he beat his music out.
There
name of the God of truth, by like discipline.
lives more faith in honest doubt,
T. H. Huxley, Science and Christian Tradition,
Believe me, than in half the creeds.
Prologue
He fought his doubts and gather’d strength,
He would not make his judgment blind. 46 Why not, “The Way, the Truth, the Life?”
He faced the spectres of the mind
That way
And laid them; thus he came at length
Over the mountain, which who stands upon
To find a stronger faith his own, Is apt to doubt if it be meant for a road;
And Power was with him in the night, While, if he views it from the waste itself,

Which makes the darkness and the light. Up goes the line there, plain from base to brow.
And dwells not in the light alone. Not vague, mistakable! what’s a break or two
 6.G, Doubt and Skepticism 467

Seen from the unbroken desert either side? and that our minds and it arc made for each
And then (to bring in fresh philosophy) other, —
what is it but a passionate affirmation of
What if the breaks themselves should prove at last desire, in which our social system backs us up? We

The most consummate of contrivances want to have a truth; we want to believe that our
To train a man’s eye, teach him what is faitli? cxpcrimcnl.s and studies and discussions must put
And so we stumble at truth’s verj- test! us in a continually better and better position to-
All w'c have gained then by our unbelief wards it; and on this line we agree to fight out our
Is a doubt diversified by faith,
life of thinking lives. But if a pyrrhonistic sceptic asks us
For one of faith diversified by doubt: how we know all this, can our logic find a reply?
We called the chess-board white, —we call it No! certainly it cannot. It is just one volition
black. against another, —
we willing to go In for life upon
Bro%s'ning, Bishop Blou^ram^s Apolop- a tnisi or assumption which he, for his part, docs
not care to make.
47 Philosophers of very diverse stripes propose that William James, Will to Believe
philosophy shall take its start from one or another
state of mind in which no man, least of all a be- 49 Neither acquiescence in skepticism nor acquies-
ginner in philosophy, actually is. One proposes cence in dogma is what education should produce.
that you shall begin by doubting cvcrj'tliing, and What it should produce is a belief that knowledge
sa^'s that there is only one thing that you cannot is attainable in a measure, though with difficulty;

doubt, as if doubting were "as cas)* as lying." An- that much of what passes for knowledge at any
other proposes that we should begin by obscr\'ing given time is likely to be more or less mistaken,
“the first impressions of sense," forgetting that our but that the mistakes can be rectified by care and
very percepts arc the results of cognitive elabora- industiy*. . Knowledge, like other good things,
. .

tion.But in truth, there is but one state of mind is difficult, but not impossible; the dogmatist for-

from which you can “set out," namely, the very* gets the difficulty, the skeptic denies the possibili-
state of mind
which you actually find yourself
in ty. Both arc mistaken, and their errors, when
at the time you do “set out” a state in which you — widespread, produce .social disaster.
arc laden with an immense mass of cognition al- Russell, Aims of lidncatton

ready formed, of which you cannot divest yourself

if you would; and who knos^'s whether, if you 50 1 wish to propose for the reader’s favourable con-
could, you would not have made all knowledge .sidcration a doctrine which may, I fear, appear
impossible to yourself? Do you call it doubiin^^ to wildly paradoxical and subversive, llic doctrine
\NTite do^^'n on a piece of paper that you doubt? If in question is this: that it is undesirable to l>elicvc
so, doubt has nothing to do with any serious busi- a proposition when there is no ground whatever
ness. But do not make belics'c; if pedantry has not for supposing it true. I must, of course, admit that
eaten all you
the reality' out of you, recognize, as if such an opinion became common it would com-

must, that there is much

you do not doubt, in
that pletely transform our social life and our political
the least. Now that which you do not at all doubt, s^'stem; since both arc at present faultless, this
you must and do regard as infallible, absolute must weigh against it. I am also aware (what is
truth. . . . more serious) that it would tend to diminish the
Two things here arc all-important to assure incomes of cIair\*oyants, Ixwkmakcrs, bishops and
oneself of remember. The first is that a
and to others w*ho live on the irrational hopes of tho^
person is not an individual. His
absolutely who have done nothing to dcscr'.'e good fortune
thoughts arc what he is “saying to himself," that here or hereafter. In spite of these grave argu-
is, is saying to that other self that is just coming
ments, I maintain that a case can be made out for
into life in the flow of time. Wlien one reasons, it my paradox.
is that critical self that one is try'ing to
persuade; Russell, Sceptical Essays, I

and all thought whatsoever is a sign, and is mostly

of the nature of language. The second thing to 51 If one regards oneself as a sceptic, it is well from
remember is that the man’s circle of society (how- time to time to be sceptical about one’s scepticism.
ever w'idcly or narrowly this phrase may be un- Freud, New Introductory Lectures on
derstood), is a sort of loosely compacted person, in
Psycho-Analysis, XXX
rome respects of higher
rank than the person of an
individual organism. It is thesetwo things alone 52 Tlic Weltanschauung to which I shall first refer is, as
that render it possible for you but only in the — it were, a counterpart of political anarchism, and
ab^act, and in a Pickwickian sense to distin-
guish between absolute truth and what you do not
— may perhaps have emanated from it. No doubt
there have been intellectual nihilists of this kind
doubt.
before, but at the present day the theory' of rela-
C. S. Peirce, JVhat Pragmatism Means tivity of modern physics seems to have gone to
their heads. It is true that they start out from sci-
48 Our belief in truth itself . . . that there is a truth, ence, but they succeed in forcing it to cut the
 468 Chapter 6. Knowledge

ground from under own feet, to commit sui-

its For doubt can only exist where there is a ques-
cide, as it were; they make it dispose of itself by tion; a question only where there is an answer
getting it to refute its own premises. One often has and this only where something can be said.
an impression that this nihilism is only a tempo- We feel that even if all possible scientific ques-
rary attitude, which will only be kept up until this tions be answered, the problems of life have still
task has been completed. When once science has not been touehed at all. Of course there is then no
been got rid of, some kind of mysticism, or, in- question left, and just this is the answer.
deed, the old religious Weltanschauung, can spring The solution of the problem of life is seen in the
up in the space that has been left vacant. Accord- vanishing of this problem.
ing to this anarchistic doctrine, there is no such (Is not this the reason why men to whom after
thing as truth, no assured knowledge of the exter- long doubting the sense of life became clear, could
nal world. What we give out as scientific truth is not then say wherein this sense consisted?)
only the product of our own needs and desires, as Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-
they are formulated under varying external con- Philosophictis, 6.5-6.521
ditions; that is to say, it is illusion once more. Ulti-
mately we find only what we need to find, and see 54 Scepticism is the chastity of the intellect, and it is
only what we desire to see. We can do nothing shameful to surrender it too soon or to the fint
else. And since the criterion of truth, correspon- comer: there is nobility in preserving it coolly and
dence with an external world, disappears, it is ab- proudly through a long youth, until at last, in the
solutely immaterial what views we accept. All of ripeness of instinct and discretion, it can be safely
them are equally true and false. And no one has a exchanged for fidelity and happiness.
right to accuse any one else of error. Santayana, Scepticism and Animal
For a mind which is interested in epistemology, Faith, IX
itwould be tempting to enquire into the contriv-
ances and sophistries by means of which the anar-
55 Was the being of truth , . , denied by the Soph-
chists manage to elicit a final product of this kind
ists, or could they deny it? Yes, if we think only of
from science. One would no doubt be brought up the truth as proclaimed by particular opinions.
against situations like the one involved in the fa-
All things said to be true might be false. Whatso-
miliar example of the Cretan who says that all
ever depended on argument might be challenged
Cretans are But I am not desirous, nor am I
liars.
by an opposed cleverer argument; whatsoever de-
capable, of going deeper into this. I will merely pended on usage, faith, or preference might be
remark that the anarchistic theory only retains its
reversed by a contrary pose; so that ever>' man
remarkable air of superiority so long as it is con-
remained free to think and do what he liked, and
cerned with opinions about abstract things; it
to deny all authority. This, though with a differ-
breaks down the moment it comes in contact with
ent moral tone and intention, was also the posi-
53 practical life. Now the behaviour of men is guided
tion of the Sceptics. They despised opinion, and
by their opinions and knowledge, and the same collected contradictory arguments in order to lib-
scientific spirit which speculates about the struc-
erate the mind from every pledge and the heart
ture of the atom or the origin of man is concerned
from every earthly bond. These indomitable
in the building of a bridge that will bear its load.
doubters stood firm as rocks in their philosophy;
If it were really a matter of indifference what we
and even the Sophists were sure of their wisdom
believed, if there were no knowledge which was
and knowingness in playing their chosen parts in
distinguished from among our opinions by the fact
the world. For both schools, then, there was an
that it corresponds with reality, then we might
unspoken tndh:namely, that life was a treacherous
just as well build our bridges of cardboard as of
predicament in which they found themselves
stone, or inject a tenth of a gramme of morphia
without a reason, and that they were determined,
into a patient instead of a hundredth, or take
whether nobly or nimbly, to make the best of it.
tear-gas as a narcotic instead of ether. But the
Their moral philosophy left the cosmos proble-
intellectual anarchists themselves would strongly matical, while taking for granted abundant
repudiate such practical applications of their
knowledge of human affairs and human charac-
theory,
ter. If that age had had a turn for introspection
Freud, New Introducto^ Lectures on and autobiography, it might have erected a doc-
Psycho-Analysis, XXXV trine of the march of experience. Trust in memo-
ry, in expectation, in the mutual communication
For an answer which cannot be expressed the of many minds might have issued in a system like
question too cannot be expressed. modem psychologism: the view that all we see,
The riddle does not exist. say, and think
is false, but that the only truth is
If a question can be put at all, then it can also that we say and think it. If nothing be real
see,
be answered. except experience, nothing can be true except bi-
Scepticism is not irrefutable, but palpably sense- ography. Society must then be conceived as car-
less, if it would doubt where a question cannot be ried on in a literary medium, with no regard to
asked. the natural basis of society. If the ancients never
 6.7. Reasoning, Demonstration, and Disputation 469

hit upon such a system of biographical metaphy- not know whether any proposition is true, either
sics, the reason doubtless was that they were too they know that this proposition at any rate is true,
intelligent. in which case they obviously contradict them-
selves, or they do not know whether it is true, in
Santayana, Realm of Truth, XIII
which case they are either saying nothing whatev-
er, or do not know what they say. The sole philos-
56 As for the sceptics, who doubt, as least theoreti- ophy open to those who doubt the possibility of
cally and in words, the reliability of our organs of truth is absolute silence —even mental. That is to
knowledge, especially of the intellect or reason, it say, as Aristotle points out, such men must make
would obviously be waste of breath to attempt to themselves vegetables. No doubt reason often errs,
demonstrate its reliability to them. For every' especially in the highest matters, and, as Cicero
demonstration rests on some previously admitted said long ago, there is no nonsense in the world
certainty, and it is their very profession to admit which has not found some philosopher to main-
of none. To defend human knowledge against tain it, so difficult is it to attain truth. But it is the
their attack it is sufficient (i) to show in what that error of cowards to mistake a difficulty for an im-
knowledge consists and how it is attained; (ii) to possibility.
refute the arguments they adduce; (iii) to make a
reductio ad absurdum. When they say that they do
Maritain, Introduction to Philosophy, II, 4

6.7 I
Reasoning, Demonstration, and Disputation

The subjects treated in this section relate to gism; others describe reasoning in psycho-
subjects treated in earlier ones: reasoning is logical rather than in logical terms, as a pro-
involved in the acquisition of knowledge, in cess by which the mind passes from one
the development of hypotheses or theories, judgment to another. Different types of rea-
and in the criticism of opinions or beliefs; soning are distinguished, and fallacies in
demonstration or proof is regarded, in cer- reasoning are noted. The difference between
tain fields of learning (mathematics, for ex- deduction and induction is considered in
ample), as a condition pre-requisite to the two ways: on the one hand, as a distinction
acceptance of a conclusion as valid knowl- between two kinds of reasoning; on the
edge; disputation or controversy arises when other hand, as a distinction between a ratio-
men attempt to resolve issues generated by cinative process (deduction) and an intui-
conflicting theories, or confliedng opinions tive leap (induction).
and beliefs. The reader will also find that The between that which the
contrast
the subjects treated here are relevant to the mind grasps through steps of
discursively,
discussion of philosophy, science, and reasoning or ratiocination, and that which it
mathematics in Chapter 17; and to certain grasps intuitively, by immediate apprehen-
aspects of the consideration of mind in sion, is involved in a basic thesis concerning
Chapter 5. demonstration, advanced in certain of the
Some of the passages quoted undertake to passages quoted. Reasoning may be formal-
formulate the logic of reasoning in rules that ly valid, in the sense that it does not violate
determine whether the reasoning is valid or any logical rules, while at the same time
invalid, such as Aristotle’s rules
of the syllo- being materially false; i.e., reaching, from
 470 Chapter 6, Knowledge
I

premises that are partly or wholly false, a demonstration argue that it presupposes the
conclusion that is false. When the term indemonstrable.
“demonstration” is applied, as it is by cer- At the opposite extreme from demonstra-
tain writers, to reasoning that is not only tion is the use of reasoning in what certain

formally valid but also materially true (the authors call the process of dialectic or dispu-
establishment of a true conclusion from true tation. On many issues reasonable men can

premises), a question arises. Does this al- take opposite sides, and when they do, they
ways require that the truth of the premises can marshall arguments for opposite conclu-

be demonstrated in turn? Or does demon- sions.Those who draw a sharp line between
stration presuppose the existence of inde- the spheres of knowledge and opinion, or
monstrable propositions —axioms that can- truth and probability, place demonstrative
not be demonstrated, yet the truth of which reasoning on one side of this line, and dia-

can be known, intuitively and not by

still lectical or disputatious reasoning on the
reasoning? Those who take a strict view of other.

1 Come now, and let us reason together, saith the lastbe too glad to transfer the blame from himself
Lord. to arguments in general: and for ever afterwards
Isaiah 1:18 should hate and revile them, and lose truth and
the knowledge of realities.
2 Wrong Aye, say you so? why I have been
Logic. Plato, Phaedo, 90A
do so long
half-burst; I
To overthrow his arguments with arguments more
4 Socrates. First principles,even if they appear cer-
strong.
tain, should be carefully considered; and when
I am the Lesser Logic? True: these Schoolmen
they arc satisfactorily ascertained, then, with a
call me so,
sort of hesitating confidence in human reason, you
Simply because I was the first of all mankind to
may, I think, follow the course of the argument.
show Plato, Phaedo, 107A
How old established rules and laws might contra-
dicted be:
And this, as you may guess, is worth a thousand 5 Verily, Glaucon, I [Socrates] said, glorious is the

pounds to me, power of the art of contradiction!

To take the feebler cause, and yet to win the dis-
Why do you say so?

putation. Because I think that many a man falls into the

Aristophanes, Clouds, 1031

practice against his wall. When he thinks that he
is reasoning he is really disputing, just because he

When man who cannot define and divide, and so know that of
3 Socrates. a simple has no skill in

dialectics believes an argument to be true which which he is speaking; and he will pursue a merely
he afterwards imagines to be false, whether really verbal opposition in the spirit of contention and

false or not, and then another and another, he has not of fair discussion.
Plato, Republic, V, 454A
no longer any faitli left, and great disputers, as
you know, come to think at last that they have
grown to be the wisest of mankind; for they alone 6 Socrates. That your feelings may not be moved to
perceive the utter unsoundness and instability of pity about our citizens who are now thirty years of
all arguments, or indeed, of all things, How . . . age, every care must be taken in introducing them
melancholy, if there be such a thing as truth or to dialectic.
certainty or possibility of knowledge that a man — Glaucon. Certainly.
should have lighted upon some argument or other There is a danger lest they should taste the dear
which at first seemed true and then turned out to delight too early; for youngsters, as you may have
be false, and instead of blaming himself and his observed, w'hen they first get the taste in their
own want of wit, because he is annoyed, should at mouths, argue for amusement, and are always
 6,7, Reasoning, Demonstration, and Disputation ]
471

contradicring and refuting others in imitation of though not susceptible of proof by the teacher,
it is

those who refute them; puppydogs, they re-

like yet ignorance of it does not constitute a total bar

joice in pulling and tearing at all who come near to progress on the part of the pupil: one which the

them- pupil must know if he is to learn anything what-

Yes, he said, there is nothing which they like ever is an axiom. I call it an axiom because there
better. arc such truths and we give them the name of
And when they have made many conquests and axioms par excellence. If a thesis asumes one part or
received defeats at the hands of many, they vio- the other of an enunciation, i.c. asserts either the
lently and speedily get into a way of not believing existence or the non-existence of a subject, it is a
anything which they believed before, and hence, hypothesis; if it does not so assert, it is a definition.
not only they, but philosophy and all that relates Definition is a ‘thesis’ or a ‘laying something
to it is apt to have a bad name with the rest of the down’, since the arithmetician lays it down that to
world. be a unit is to be quantitatively indivisible; but it
Too true, he said. is not a hypothesis, for to define what a unit is is

But \vhcn a man begins to get older, he will no not the same as to affirm its existence.
longer be guilty of such insanity; he will imitate Now since the required ground of our knowl-
the dialectician who is seeking for truth, and not edge — i.e. of —
our conviction of a fact is the pos-
the eristic, who is contradicting for the sake of session of such a syllogism as we call demonstra-
amusement; and the greater moderation of his tion, and the ground of the syllogism is the facts

character will increase instead of diminishing the constituting its premisses, we must not only know
honour of the pursuit. the primary premisses —some if not all of them
Plato, Republic, VII, 539A beforehand, but know them better than the con-
clusion.

7 What I now assert is that at we do know

all events Aristotle, Posterior A nal}'tics, 71 1

by demonstration. By demonstration I mean a syl-

logism productive of scientific knowledge, a syllo-
gism, that is, the grasp of which
knowiedgr. Assuming then that
nature of scientific kno\ving
isses demonstrated knowledge must be true, pri-
of
mary, immediate, better known than and prior to
the conclusion, which is further related to
effect to cause. Unless these conditions are satis-
fied, the basic truths will not be ‘appropriate* to
the conclusion. Syllogism there may indeed be
without these conditions, but such syllogism, not
being productive of scientific knowledge, will not
be demonstration. The premisses must be true: for
that which is non-existent cannot be known ^we
cannot know, c.g. that the diagonal of a square is
commensurate with its side. The premisses must
be primary' and indemonstrable; otherwise they
will require demonstration in order to be known,
since to have knowledge, if it be not accidental
knowledge, of things which are demonstrable,
means precisely to have a demonstration of them.
The premisses must be the causes
sion, better known than it, and prior to it; its
8 Reasoning is an argument in which, certain
is eo ipso such things being laid down, something other than
my thesis as to the these necessarily comes about through them, (a) It
is correct, the prem- is a ‘demonstration’, when the premisses from
which the reasoning starts are true and primary,
or are such that our knowledge of them has origi-
them as nally come through premisses which are primary
and true: (b) reasoning, on the other hand, is ‘dia-
lectical’, if it reasons from opinions that are gener-
ally accepted. Things are ‘true* and ‘primary’
which are believed on the strength not of any-
thing else but of themselves: for in regard to the
first it is improper to ask any
principles of science
— further for the why and
wherefore of them; each
of the first principles should command belief in
and by itself. On the other hand, those opinions
are ‘generally accepted’ which are accepted by ev-
ery one or by the majority or by the philoso-
—
phers i.e. by all, or by the majority, or by the
most notable and illustrious of them. Again (r),
reasoning is ‘contentious’ if it starts from opinions
of the conclu- that seem be generally accepted, but are not
to
really such, or again if it merely seems to reason

causes, since we possess scientific knowledge of a
thing only W'hcn we know its cause; prior, in order
to be causes; antecedently knouu, this antecedent
knowledge being not our mere understanding of
the meaning, but knowledge of the fact as well.
... In saying that the premisses of demonstrated
knowledge must be primary’, I mean that they
must be the ‘appropriate’ basic truths, for I identi-
fy primary premiss and basic truth. A ‘basic truth*
m a demonstration is an immediate proposition.
An immediate proposition is one which has no
other pro^ition prior to it. ...
I call an imme-
diate basic truth of s>’llogism
a ‘thesis’ when.
from opinions that are or seem to be generally
accepted. For not every' opinion that seems to be
generally accepted actually is generally accepted.
For none of the opinions which we call general-
in
ly accepted is the illusion entirely on the surface,
as happens in the case of the principles of conten-
tious arguments; for the nature of the fallacy in
these obrious immediately, and as a rule even to
is
persons with little power of comprehension. So
then, of the contentious reasonings mentioned, the
former really deser\'es to be called ‘reasoning’ as
well, but the other should be called ‘contentious
reasoning’, but not ‘reasoning’, since it appears to
 472 j
Chapter 6. Knowledge

reason, but does not really do so. Further (rf), be- 10 We must grasp the number of aims entertained by
sides all the reasoning we have mentioned there those who argue as competitors and rivals to the
are the mis-reasonings that start from the premiss- death. These are five in number, refutation, falla-
es peculiar to the special sciences, ashappens (for cy, paradox, solecism, and fifthly to reduce the
example) in the case of geometry and her sister opponent in the discussion to babbling i.e. — lo
sciences. For this form of reasoning appears to dif- constrain him to repeat himself a number of
fer from the reasonings mentioned above; the times; or it is to produce the appearance of each

man who draws a false figure reasons from things of these things without the reality. For they choose
that are neither true and primary, nor yet gener- if possible plainly to refute the other party, or as

ally accepted. For he does not fall within the de- the second best to show that he is committing
9 finition; he docs not assume opinions that are re- some fallacy, or as a third best to lead him into
ceived either by every one or by the majority or paradox, or fourthly to reduce him to solecism, i.e.
by philosophers —that is to say, by all, or by most, to make the answerer, in consequence of the argu-
or by the most illustrious of —
them but he con- ment, to use an ungrammatical expression; or, as
ducts his reasoning upon assumptions which, a last resort, to make him repeat himself.
though appropriate to the science in question, are Aristotle, On Sophisticai Refutations, 165^12
not true; for he effects his mis-rcasoning either by
describing the semicircles wrongly or by drawing 1 1 Precision is not to be sought for alike in all discus-
certain lines in a way in which they could not be sions, any more than in all the products of the
drawn. crafts. Now fine and just actions, which political
The foregoing must stand for an outline survey science investigates, admit of much variety and
of the species of reasoning. fluctuation of opinion, so that they may be
Aristotle, Topics, 100^25 thought to exist only by convention, and not by
nature. And goods also give rise to a similar fluc-
You should display your training in inductive rea- tuation because they bring harm to many people;
soning against a young man, in deductive against for before now men have been undone by reason
an expert. You should try, moreover, to secure of their wealth, and others by reason of their cour-
from those skilled in deduction their premisses, age. We must be content, then, in speaking of
from inductive reasoners their parallel cases; for such subjects and with such premisses to indicate
this is the thing in which they are respectively the truth roughly and in outline, and in speaking
trained. In general, too, from your exercises in ar- about things which are only for the most part true
gumentation you should try to carry away either a and with premisses of the same kind to reach con-
syllogism on some subject or a refutation or a clusions that are no better. In the same spirit,
proposition or an objection, or whether some one therefore, should each type of statement be re-
put his question properly or improperly (whether ceived; for it is the mark of an educated man to
it was yourself or some one else) and the point look for precision in each class of things just so far
which made it the one or the other. For this is as the nature of the subject admits; it is evidently
what gives one ability, and the whole object of equally foolish to accept probable reasoning from
training is to acquire ability, especially in regard a mathematician and to demand from a rhetori-
to propositions and objections. For it is the skilled cian scientific proofs.
propounder and objector who is, speaking gener- Aristotle, Ethics, 1094^13
ally, a dialectician. . . .

Do not argue with every one’ nor practise upon
the man in the street; for there are some people
with whom any argument is bound to degenerate.
For against any one who is ready to try all means
in order to seem not to be beaten, it is indeed fair
to try all means of bringing about one’s conclu-
sion: but it is not good form. Wherefore the best
rule is, not lightly to engage with casual acquain-
tances, or bad argument is sure to result. For you
see how in practising together people cannot re-
frain from contentious argument.
It is best also to have ready-made arguments
relating to those questions in which a very small
stock will furnish us with arguments serviceable
on a very large number of occasions. These are
those that are universal, and those in regard to
which it is rather difficult to produce points for
ourselves from matters of everyday experience.
Aristotle, Topics,
12 Scientific knowledge is judgement about things
that are universal and necessary, and the conclu-
sions of demonstration, and all scientific knowl-
edge, follow from first principles (for scientific
knowledge involves apprehension of a rational
ground). This being so, the first principle from
which what is scientifically known follows cannot
be an object of scientific knowledge, of art, or of
practical wisdom; for that which can be scientif-
ically known can be demonstrated, and art and
practical wisdom deal with things that arc vari-
able. Nor are these first principles the objects of
philosophic wisdom, for it is a mark of the philoso-
pher to have demonstration about some things. If,
then, the states of mind by which we have truth
and arc never deceived about things invariable or
even variable are scientific knowledge, practical
wisdom, philosophic wisdom, and intuitive reason,
164*12 and it cannot be any of the three (i.e. practical
 6.7, Reasoning, Demonstration, and Disputation |
473

wisdom, scientific knowledge, or philosophic wis- guard. For c.xamplc, one man lays before another
dom), the remaining alternative is that it is intui- with w'hom he is talking, the proposition, “What I
tive reason that grasps the first prindples. am, you arc not.” The other assents, for the prop-
Aristotle, Ethics, 1140^31 osition is in part true, the one man being cunning
and the other simple. Then the first speaker adds:
13 What things a man must learn in order to be able “I am a man”; and w’hen the other has given his
to apply the art of disputation, has been accurate- assent to this also, the first draw's his conclusion:

ly shown by our philosophers; but w'ith respect to “Then you are not a man.” Now’ of this sort of

the proper use of the things, we are entirely with- ensnaring arguments. Scripture, as I judge, c.\-
out practice. Only give to any of us, whom
you presses detestation in that place w'here it is said,

please, an illiterate man to discuss with, and he “There is one that show’cth w’isdom in w’ords, and
cannot discover how to deal \vith the man. But is hated”; although, indeed, a stv'le of speech

when he has moved the man a little, if he answers which is not intended to entrap, but only aims at
beside the purpose, he does not know how' to treat verbal ornamentation more than is consistent

him, but he then either abuses or ridicules him, w'ith seriousness of purpose, is also called sophisti-

and sa)'s, *‘Hc is an illiterate man; it is not possi- cal.

ble to do anything with him.” Now a guide, when There are also valid processes of reasoning
he has found a man
out of the road leads him into which lead to false conclusions, by following out
the right w’ay: he does not ridicule or abuse him to its consequences the error of the man
logical

and then leave him. Do you also show this illiter-
ate manthe truth, and you will see that he fol-
lows. But so long as you do not show' him the
truth, do not ridicule him, but rather feel your
own incapacity.
How then did Socrates act? He
his adversary' in disputation to bear testimony to
him, and he w’anted no other w'itness. Therefore
he could say, “I care not for other witnesses, but I
am alw'ay's satisfied with the evidence of my ad-
versary’, and I do not ask the opinion of others,
but only the opinion of him who is disputing with
with whom
one is arguing; and these conclusions
are sometimes draw'n by' a good and learned man,
with the object of making the person from w’hose
error these consequences result, feel ashamed of
them, and of thus leading him to give up his error,
used to compel W’hen he finds that if he w'ishes to retain his old
opinion, he must of necessity also hold other opin-
ions W'hich he condemns. For example, the apostle
did not draw true conclusions when he said,
“Then is Christ not risen,” and again, “Then is
our preaching vain, and your faith is also vain”;
and further on drew’ other inferences w’hich are all

me.” For he used to make the conclusions draw'n utterly false; for Christ has risen, the preaching of
from natural notions so plain that every man saw those w'ho declared this fact w’as not in vain, nor
the contradiction and withdrew' from it. was their faith in vain w’ho had believed it. But all

Epictetus, Discourses, II, 12 these false inferences followed legitimately from

the opinion of those w’ho said that there is no
14 When one of those who w'cre present said, “Per- resurrection of the dead. These inferences, then,
suade me is necessary',” he replied: Do
that logic being repudiated as false, it follow's that since they
you w'ish meprove this to you? The answer
to w'ould be true the dead rise not, there will be a
if

w'as, “Yes.” Then I must use a demonstrative form resurrection of the dead. As, then, valid conclu-
of speech. This was granted. How then will you sions may
be drawn not only from true but from
know if I am cheating you by argument? The reasoning may
false propositions, the law's of valid

man was silent. Do you sec, said Epictetus, that easily be learnt in the schools, outside the pale of
you yourself are admitting that logic is necessary, the Church. But the truth of propositions must be
if without it you cannot know so much as this, inquired into in the sacred books of the Church.
whether logic is necessary or not necessary? Augustine, Christian Doctrine, II, 31
Epictetus, Discourses, II, 25
16 Human intellects obtain their perfection in the
15 There remain those branches of know'Iedge w'hich knowledge of truth by a kind of movement and
pertain not to the bodily senses, but to the intel- discursive intellectual operation; that is to say, as
lect, among which tlie science of reasoning
and they advance from one know'n thing to another.
that of number arc the chief. The science of rea- But, if from the know'Iedge of a know’n principle

soning is great service in searching into

of very' they w'ere straightw'ay to perceive as know'n all its
and unravelling all sorts of questions that come up consequent conclusions, then discourse would
in Scripture, only in the use of it we must
guard have no place in them. Such is the condition of
against the love of WTangling and the childish the angels, because in those things w’hich they' first
vanity of entrapping an adversary'. For there are know naturally, they at once behold all things
many of what arc called sophisms, inferences in whatsoever that can be know'n in them.
r^p^ning that arc false, and yet so close an imita- Aquinas, Summa Tkeologica, I, 58, 3
tion of the true, as to dccciv'c
not only dull people,
but cle\*cr men As
too, w’hcn they arc not on their 17 in the intellect, when reasoning, the conclusion
 474 Chapter 6. Knowledge

ence only, as prudence is; but attained by indus-

is compared with the principle, so in the intellect
try: first in apt imposing of names; and secondly
composing and dividing, the predicate is com-
by getting a good and orderly method in proceed-
pared with the subject. For if our intellect were to
ing from the elements, which arc names, to asser-
see at once the force of the conclusion in the prin-
tions made by connexion one of them to anoth-
of
ciple, it would never understand by discursion
er; and so to syllogisms, which are the connexions
and reasoning. In like manner, if the intellect in
of one assertion to another, till we come to a
apprehending the quiddity of the subject were at
knowledge of all the consequences of names ap-
once to have knowledge of all that can be attri-
pertaining to the subject in hand.
buted to, or removed from, the subject, it would
never understand by composing and dividing, but Hobbes, Leviathan, 1, 5
only by understanding the essence. Thus it is evi-
dent that for the self-same reason our intellect un- 23 Those who are accustomed to judge by feeling do
derstands by discursion, and by composing and not understand the process of reasoning, for they
dividing, namely, that in the first apprehension of would understand at first sight and are not used to
anything newly apprehended it does not at once seek for principles. And others, on the contrary,
grasp all that is virtually contained in it. And this who are accustomed to reason from principles, do
comes from the weakness of the intellectual light not at all understand matters of feeling, seeking
within us. principles and being unable to see at a glance.
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 58, 4 Pascal, Pensees, I, 3

18 The discourse of reason always begins from an un- 24 When we wish to demonstrate a general theorem,
derstanding and ends at an understanding, be- we must give the rule as applied to a particular
cause we reason by proceeding from certain un- case; but if we wish to demonstrate a particular
derstood principles, and the discourse of reason is case, we must begin with the general rule. For we
perfected when we come to understand what we always find the thing obscure which we wish to
did not know before. Hence the act of reasoning prove and that clear which we use for the proof;
proceeds from something previously understood. for, when a thing is put forward to be proved, we
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, II-II, 8, 1 first fill ourselves with the imagination that it is,

therefore, obscure and, on the contrary, that what

19 Axioms determined upon in argument can never is to prove it is clear, and so we understand it

assist in the discovery of new effects; for the subtil- easily.

ty of nature is vastly superior to that of argument. Pascal, PenseeSf I, 40
Bacon, Novum Organum, I, 24
25 We must know where to doubt, where to feel cer-
20 There are two ways by which we arrive at the tain, where to submit. He who does not do so un-
knowledge of facts, viz, by experience and by de- derstands not the force of reason. There are some
duction. We must further observe that while our who offend against these three rules, either by af-
inferences from experience are frequently falla- firming everything as demonstrative, from want of
cious, deduction, or the pure illation of one thing knowing what demonstration is; or by doubting
from another, though it may be passed over, if it is want of knowing where to sub-
everything, from
not seen through, cannot be erroneous when per- by submitting in everything, from want of
mit; or
formed by an understanding that is in the least knowing where they must judge.
degree rational.
Pascal, Pensees, IV, 268
Descartes, Rules for Direction
of the Mindj 11
26 Permit me to remind you of a universal rule
which is applicable to all the particular subjects in
21 In reasoning we unite not names but the things which our concern is with establishing truth. I do
signified by the names; and I marvel that the op- not doubt your acceptance of it since it is general-
posite can occur to anyone. For who doubts ly admitted by all who consider things with an
whether a Frenchman and a German are able to open mind and since it constitutes the chief part
reason in exactly the same way about the same of the method of the schools in dealing with the
things, though they yet conceive the words in an
sciences and that used by seekers after what is
entirely diverse way? really solid, filling and fully satisfying the mind.
Descartes, Objections and Replies, III The rule is never to make a decisive judgment,
affirming or denying a proposition, unless what
22 All men by nature reason alike, and well, when one affirms or denies satisfies one of the two fol-
they have good principles. For who is so stupid as lowing conditions: either that of itself it appear so
both to mistake in geometry, and also to persist in clearly and distinctly to sense or to reason, accord-
when another detects his error to him?
it, ing as it is subject to one or the other, that the
By this it appears that reason is not, as sense mind cannot doubt its certainty, and that is what
and memory, born with us; nor gotten by experi- we call a principle or axiom, as, for example, if
 6.7. Reasoning, Demonstration,
equals are added to equals, the results are equal;
or that it be deduced as an infallible and neces-
sary consequence from such principles or axioms,
upon whose certainty entirely depends that of the
consequences correctly drawn from them, as this
a triangle are
proposition, the three angles of
equal to two right angles, “which not being self-
evidently demonstrated
evident,” is zis
ble consequence of such axioms. Everything satis-
two conditions is certain and
fying one of these
true,and everything satisfying neither is consid-
ered doubtful and uncertain. We pass decisive
judgment on things of the first kind and leave the
undecided, calling them, according to their
rest
now a vision, now a caprice, occasionally
deserts,
a fancy, sometimes an idea, and at the most a
happy thought; and since it is rash to affirm them,
we incline rather to the negative, ready however
to return to the affirmative if a convincing dem-
onstration brings their truth to light.
Pascal, Concerning the Vacuum
21 The art which I calf the art of persuading, and
which is simply the management of perfect scien-
tific proofs, consists of three essential parts: defin-
ing by clear definitions the terms to be used; lay-
ing down evident principles or axioms to prove
the matter in question; always mentally substitut-
ing in the demonstration, in place of the things
defined, their definitions.
TTic reason for this method
apparent, since it
is
would be useless to put forward something capa-
ble of proof and to undertake its demonstration if
28 we had not first clearly defined all unintelligible
terms; and since likewise the demonstration must
be preceded by the granting of the evident princi-
ples required for the demonstration, for if we do
not make sure of the foundation, we can have no
assurance of the building; and since finally while
demonstrating we must mentally substitute the
definition in place of the things defined, for other-
wise we could be led astray by the different
ings encountered in the terms. It is easy to see that
if we observe this method we are sure to convince,
since,with all the terms so defined that they are
understood and entirely free from ambiguity and
with the principles granted, if in the
tion we always substitute in thought the defini-
tions in place of the things defined, the invincible
force of the conclusions cannot fail of its full effect.
Pascal, Geometrical Demonstration
How vain . it is to expect demonstration and
. ,
certainty in things not capable of it; and refuse
assent to very rational propositions, and act con-
trary to very plain and clear truths, because they
cannot be made out so evident, as to surmount
every the least (I will not say reason, but) pre-
tent^ of doubting. He that, in the ordinary affairs
of life, would admit of nothing but direct plain
demonstration, would be sure of nothing in this
and Disputation 475
world, but of perishing quickly.
Locke, Concerning Human Understanding,
Bk. IV, XI, 10
29 As demonstration is the showing the agreement or
disagreement of two ideas by the intervention of
one or more proofs, which have a constant, im-
an infalli-
mutable, and visible connexion one with another;
so probability is nothing but the appearance of
such an agreement or disagreement by the inter-
vention of proofs, whose connexion is not constant
and immutable, or at least is not perceived to be
so, but is, or appears for the most part to be so,
and is enough to induce the mind to judge the
proposition to be true or false, rather than the
contrary.
Locke, Concerning Human Understanding,
Bk. IV, XV, 1
30 If the use and end of right reasoning be to have
right notions and a judgment of things, to
right
distinguish betwixt truth and falsehood, right and
wrong, and to act accordingly, be sure not to let
your sou be bred up iu the art and formality of
disputing, either practicing it himself, or admiring
it in others; unless instead ofan able man, you
desire to have him an insignificant wrangler,
and priding himself in con-
opiniator in discourse,
which is worse, questioning
tradicting others; or,
everything, and thinking there is no such thing as
truth to be sought, but only victory, in disputing.
There cannot be anything so disingenuous, so mis-
becoming a gentleman or anyone who pretends to
be a rational creature, as not to yield to plain
reason and the conviction of clear arguments. Is
there anything more consistent with civil conver-
sation, and the end of all debate, than not to take
an answer, though never so full and satisfactory,
but still to go on with the dispute as long as equiv-
ocal sounds can furnish ... a term to wrangle
with on the one side, or a distinction on the other;
whether pertinent or impertinent, sense or non-
mean- sense, agreeing with or contrary to what he had
said before, it matters not For this, in short, is the
way and perfection of logical disputes, that the
opponent never takes any answer, nor the respon-
dent ever yields to any argument. This neither of
demonstra- them must do, whatever becomes of truth or
knowledge, unless he will pass for a poor baffled
wretch, and lie under the disgrace of not being
able to maintain whatever he has once affirmed,
which is the great aim and glory in disputing.
Truth is to be found and supported by a mature
and due consideration of things themselves, and
not by artificial terms and ways of arguing: these
lead not men so much into the discovery of truth
as into a captious and fallacious use of doubtful
words, which is the most useless and most offen-
sive way of talking, and such as least suits a gen-
tleman or a lover of truth of anything in the
world.
Locke, Some Thoughts Concerning
Education, 289
 — —
476 Chapter 6. Knowledge

31 Who reasons wisely is not therefore wise. to be master of the field, he had recourse to the
His pride in Reasoning not in Acting lies* device which Goldsmith imputed to him in the
117 witty words of one of Cibber’s comedies: “There is
Pope, Moral Essays^ Epistle I,
no arguing with Johnson; for when his pistol miss-
he knocks you down with the butt end of
es fire,
32 The gift of ratiocination and making syllogisms
I mean in man —
for in superior classes of beings,
—
it.”

Boswell, Life oj Johnson (Oct. 26, 1769)

such as angels and spirits ’tis all done, may it
please your worships, as they tell me, by Intu-
ition; —
and beings inferior, as your worships all 35 Johnson having argued for some time with a per-
—
jcnow syllogize by their noses: though there is an tinacious gentleman; his opponent, who had
island swimming in the sea (though not altogether talked in a very puzzling manner, happened to
at its ease) whose inhabitants, if my intelligence say, “I don’t understand you. Sir”: upon which
deceives me not, are so wonderfully gifted, as to Johnson observed, “Sir, I have found you an argu-
syllogize after the same fashion, and oft-times to ment; but I am not obliged to find you an under-
make very well out too: but that’s neither standing.”
here nor there Boswell, Life of Johnson (June 1764)
The gift of doing it as it should be, amongst us,
or— the great and principal act of ratiocination in
36 When reason employs conceptions alone, only one
man, as logicians tell us, is the finding out the
proof of its thesis is possible, if any. When, there-
agreement or disagreement of two ideas one with
fore, the dogmatist advances with ten arguments
another, by the intervention of a third (called the
in favour of a proposition, we may be sure that
medivs termmus)\ just as a man, as Locke well ob-
not one of them is conclusive. For
he possessed if
serves, by a yard, finds two men’s ninepin-alleys
one which proved the proposition he brings for-
to be of the same length, which could not be
btougViV togetbcT, to measuTe tiieit tquabty, by
—
waird to demonstration as must always be the

juxtaposition.
case with the propositions of pure reason what —
need is there for any more?
Had the same great rcasoner looked on, as my
Kant, Critique of Pure Reason,
father illustrated his systems of noses, and ob-
served my
uncle Toby’s deportment — what great Transcendental Method

attention he gave to every word and as oft as he —

took his pipe from his mouth, with what wonder- 37 Myself when young did eagerly frequent
ful seriousness he contemplated the length of it Doctor and Saint, and heard great argument
surveying it transversely as he held it betwixt his About it and about; but evermore
finger —
and his thumb then foreright then this — Came out by the same door where in I went.
way, and then that, in all its possible directions
With them the seed ofWisdom did I sow.
—
and foreshortenings he would have concluded
And with mine own hand wrought to make it
my uncle Toby had got hold of the medius terminus, grow;
and was syllogizing and measuring with it the
And this was all the Harvest that I reaped
truth of each hypothesis of long noses, in order, as
“I came like Water, and like Wind I go.”
my father laid them before him. This, by the bye,
was more than my father wanted — his aim in all
FitzGerald, Rubaiyat, XXVII-XXVIII
the pains he was at in these philosophic lectures
was to enable my uncle Toby not to discuss but — 38 When you cannot prove that people are wrong,
comprehend —
hold the grains and scruples of
to but only that they are absurd, the best course is to
—
learning ^not to weigh them. My uncle let them alone.

Toby, as you will read in the next chapter, did T. H. Huxley, On the Method of Zadig
neither the one nor the other.
Sterne, Tristram Shandy, III, 40 39 There is no greater mistake than the hasty conclu-
sion that opinions are worthless because they are
33 When one has had a good argument about spirit badly argued.
and matter, one always finishes by not under- T. H. Huxley, Natural Rights and
standing each other. No philosopher has been Political Rights

able with his own strength to lift this veil stretched

by nature over all the first principles of things. 40 There are tw^o forms of reasoning: first, the inves-
Men argue, nature acts. tigating or interrogative form used by men who do
Voltaire, Philosophical Dictionaiy: Soul not know and who wish to learn; secondly, the
demonstrating or affirmative form employed by
34 One of the company took the other side. . . . This men who know or think they know, and who wish
appeared to me very satisfactory. Johnson did not to teach others.
answer it; but talking for victory, and determined Claude Bernard, Experimental Medicine, I, 2
 57. . Reasoning, Demonstration, and Disputation 477

41 Few persons care to study logic, because ev- of these articles, he had been able to discriminate
erybody conceives himself to be proficient enough the identical partial attribute of capacity to take
in the art of reasoning already. But I observe that up water, and had reflected, “For the present pur-
this satisfaction is limited to one’s own ratiocina- pose Aey are identical.” This, which the dog did
tion, and docs not extend to that of other men. not do, any man but the very stupidest could not
We come to the full possession of our power of fail to do.
drawing inferences, the last of all our faculties; for William James, P^'chology, XXII
it is not so much a natural gift as a long and
difficult art. 44 It is very desirable, in instruction, not merely to

C. S. Peirce, Fixation of Belief persuade the student of the accuracy of important

theorems, but to persuade him in the way which
42 The object of reasoning is to find out, from the itself has, of all possible ways, the most beauty.

consideration of what we already know, some- The true interest of a demonstration is not, as tra-
thing else which we do not know. Consequently, ditional modes of exposition suggest, concentrated
reasoning is good if it be such as to give a true wholly in the result; where this does occur, it must
conclusion from true premisses, and not otherwise. be viewed as a defect, to be remedied, if possible,
Thus, the question of validity is purely one of fact by so generalizing the steps of the proof that each
and not of thinking. A being the facts stated in the becomes important in and for itself. An argument
premisses and B being that concluded, the ques- which serves only to prove a conclusion is like a
tion is, whether these facts arc really so related story subordinated to some moral which it is
that if A were B would generally be. If so, the meant to teach: for aesthetic perfection no part of
inference is valid; if not, not. It is not in the least Ac whole should be merely a means.
the question whether, when the premisses arc ac- Russell, Study of Mathematics
cepted by the mind, we feel an impulse to accept
the conclusion also. It is true that we do generally 45 The proof of self-evident propositions may seem,
reason correctly by nature. But that is an acci- to Ac uninitiated, a somewhat frivolous occupa-
dent; the true conclusion would remain true if we tion. To Ais we might reply that it is often by no
had no impulse to accept it; and the false one means self-evident that one obvious proposition
\TOuld remain false, though we could not resist the follows from another obvious proposition; so that
tendency to believe in it. we arc really discovering new truths when we
C. S. Peirce, Fixation of Belief prove what is evident by a method which is not
evident. But a more interesting retort is, Aat since
43 A friend of the writer gave as proof of the almost people have tried to prove obvious propositions,
human intelligence of his dog that he took him they have found that many of them arc false. Self-
one day down to his boat on the shore, but found evidence is often a mere \Wll-o’-Ac-wisp, which is
the boat full of dirt and water. He remembered sure to lead us astray if we take it as our guide.
that the sponge was up at the house, a third of a For instance, nothing is plainer than that a whole
mile distant; but, disliking to go back himself, he always has more terms than a part, or that a num-
made various gestures of wiping out the boat and ber is increased by adding one to it. But these
so forth, saying to his terrier,
“Sponge, sponge; go propositions arc now known to be usually false.
fetch the sponge.” But he had little expectation of Most numbers arc infinite, and if a number is infi-
a result, since the dog had never received the nite you may add ones to it as long as you like
slightest training with the boat or the sponge. \riAout disturbing it in the least. One of the mer-
Nevertheless, off he trotted to the house, and, to its of a proof is that it instils a certain doubt as to

his owner’s great surprise and admiration, Ac result proved; and when what is obvious can
brought the sponge in his Javvs. Sagacious as this be proved in some cases, but not in others, it be-
was, it required nothing but ordinary contiguous comes possible to suppose that in these other cases
association of ideas. The terrier v\»as only excep- it is false.

tional in theminuteness of his spontaneous obser- Russell, Mathematics and the Metaphysicians
vation. Most terriers would have taken no interest
in the boat-cleaning operation, nor noticed what 46 Ihave never been able to convince myself of the
the sponge was for. This terrier, in having picked truA of the saying that “strife is the father of all
those details out of the crude mass of his boat- Aings.” I Aink the source of it was the philosophy
experience distinctly enough to be reminded of of Ac Greek sophists and that
it errs, as does the

them, was truly enough ahead of his peers on the latter,through the overcstimation of dialectics. It
linewhich leads to human reason. But his act was seems to me, on the contrary, that scientific con-
not yet an act of reasoning proper. It might fairly troversy, so-called, is on Ac whole quite unfruit-
have been called so if, unable to find the sponge at ful, apart from Ae fact that it is almost always
Ac house, he had brought back a dipper or a mop conducted in a highly personal manner.
instead.Such a substitution would have shown Freud, General Introduction to
Aat, embedded in the very different appearances P^'chO’Analysis, XVI
 478 I
Chapter 6, Knowledge

47 Bacon’s conviction of the quarrelsome, self^dis-
playing character of the scholarship which had
come down from antiquity was of course not so
much due to Greek science itself as to the degen-
erate heritage of scholasticism in the fourteenth
century, when philosophy had fallen into the
hands of disputatious theologians, full of hair-
splitting argumentativeness and quirks and tricks
truth of reason and a particular truth of
sense
which had previously been noted separately.
In
any case, learning meant growth of knowledge,
and growth belongs in the region of becoming,
change, and hence is inferior to possession of
knowledge in the syllogistic self-revolving manip-
ulation of what >vas already knowm demonstra- —
tion.

by which to win victory' over somebody else. In contrast with this point of view, Bacon elo-
But Bacon also brought his charge against the quently proclaimed the superiority of discovery of
Aristotelian method itself. In its rigorous forms it nesv facts and truths to demonstration of the old.
aimed at demonstration, and milder forms
in its Now there only one road to discovery', and that
is

at persuasion. But both demonstration and per- is penetrating inquiry' into the secrets of nature.
suasion aim at conquest of mind rather than of Dewey, Reconstruction in Philosophy, II
nature. Moreover they both assume that some one
is already in possession of a truth or a belief, and 48 Dialectic is the conscience of discourse and has
that the only problem is to convince some one the same function as morality elsewhere, namely,
else, or to teach. In contrast, his new method had to endow the soul with integrity' and to perfect it
an exceedingly opinion of the amount of
slight into a monument to its own radical impulse. But
truth already existent, and a lively sense of the as virtue is a wider thing than morality, because it

extent and importance of truths still to
tained. It would be a logic of discovery', not a logic
of argumentation, proof and persuasion. To Ba-
con, the old logic even at its best was a logic for
teaching the already' knoN^ n, and teaching meant
indoctrination, discipling. It was an axiom of Ar-
istotle that only that which was already known
could be learned, that growth in knowledge con-
sisted simply of bringing togctlier a universal
be at- includes natural gifts and genial sympathies, or
even heroic sacrifices, so w'xsdom is a wder thing
than logic. To coherence in thought it adds docili-
ty to facts, and humility even of intellect, so that
the integrity of its sy'stcm becomes a human vir-
tue, like the perfect use of a single language, with-
out being an insult to the nature of things or a
learned madness.
Siuitayana, Realm of Essence, \^I
 Chapter 7

LANGUAGE

Chapter 7 is divided into two sections: 7.1 that related disciplines such as philology, se-
The Nature OF Language and 7.2 The Arts of mantics, and semiotics have come into being
Language. or matured. Beginning less than a half cen-
The passages included in these two sec- tury ago, a dominant school of Anglo-Amer-
tions tend to overlap in certain respects^ but ican thought emerged, calling itself “linguis-
the primary emphasis in the quotations as- ticand analytic philosophy.” Nevertheless,
sembled in Section 7.1 is on the characteris- the reader will find that an interest in the
tics of human speech, its elements and struc- nature and structure of language and in the
ture, whereas the primary emphasis in arts of using it effectively begins with the
Section 7.2 ison how to put the power of Greeks and runs throughout the tradition of
speech to good use in a variety of ways. Western thought.
Of all the subjects treated in this book, The matters covered in this chapter are
language, perhaps more than any other, is related to questions touched on in other
thought by many
have been a major field
to chapters, Chapter 1 on Man,
especially
of speculation, analysis, and research only in Chapter 5 on Mind, Chapter 6 on Knowl-
the last hundred years or so. It is in that EDGE, Chapter 8 on Education, Chapter 16
period that a variety of sciences bearing the on Art and Aesthetics, and Chapter 1 7 on
name ‘‘linguistics” have been developed and Philosophy. Science, and Mathematics.

479
 A

7.1 I
The Nature of Language

The passages assembled here deal with about the conditions underlying its effective

questions about the origin of language, the use for the purpose of communication.
conventions of language, the diversity of That other animals communicate by
languages, the power of words to perform sounds or gestures is acknowledged even by
the function of signs, and the relation of ver- those writers who assert that man alone pos-
bal signs to thought and knowledge, as well sessesa language in which questions can be
as to the objects of thought and knowledge. asked and statements made in the service of
Points are made about the manifold sen- inquiry and thought quite apart from the
ses in which words can be used and their purposes of communication between indi-

modes of ambiguity, about the distinction viduals. Whether it is thought that the dif-

between words that name objects of thought ference between man and other animals is

or knowledge and words that play a role in one of kind or degree, it is universally
sentences without naming anything, about agreed that the way in which the human
the relation of spoken to written language, species has developed and employed lan-
about the distinction between proper and guage is one of its most distinctive charac-
common or general names, about the vari- teristics.

ous uses to which language can be put, and

1 And out of the ground the Lord God formed every language, that they may not understand one
beast of the field, and every and
fowl of the air; another’s speech.
brought them unto Adam to see what he would So the Lord scattered them abroad from thcticc
callthem: and whatsoever Adam called every liv- upon the face of all the earth: and they left off to

ing creature, that was the name thereof. build the city.
And Adam gave names to all cattle, and to the Therefore is the name of it called Babel; be-
fowl of the air, and to every beast of the field. cause the Lord did there confound the language
Genesis 2:19-20 of all the earth: and from thence did the Lord
scatter them abroad upon the face of all the earth.
2 And the whole earth was of one language, and of Genesis 11:1-9
one speech.
And it came to pass, as they journeyed from the 3 Socrates. A name is an instrument of teaching and
east, thatthey found a plain in the land of Shi- of distinguishing natures, as the shuttle is of distin-
nar; and they dwelt there. guishing the threads of the web.
And they said one to another, Go to, let us Plato, Cratylus, 388A
make and burn them thoroughly. And they
brick,
had brick for stone, and slime had they for mor- 4 Socrates. I would recommend you , , . not to en-
ter. courage yourself in this polemical and controver-
And they said, Go to, let us build us a city and sial temper, but to find out, in a friendly and con-
a tower, whose top may reach unto heaven; and genial spirit, what we really mean when we say
let us make us a name, lest we be scattered abroad that all things are in motion, and that to every
upon the whole earth.
face of the individual and state what appears, is. In this man-
And the Lord came down to see the city and ner you will consider whether knowledge and sen-
.the tower, which the children of men builded. sation are the same or different, but you will not
And the Lord said, Behold, the people is one, argue, as you were just now doing, from the cus-
and they have all one language; and this they tomary use of names and words, which the vulgar
begin to do; and now nothing will be restrained pervert in all sorts of ways, causing infinite per-
from them, which they have imagined to do. plexity to one another.
Go to, let us go down, and there confound their Plato, Theaetetus, 168

480
 7.1. The NaUtTf of Lnnguage |
481

5 EUatic Stranger. At present we nre only agrcetl the just and the unjust. And it is a characteristic
about the name, but of the thing to which we both of man any sense of good and
that he alone has
apply the name possibly you have one notion and evil, of just and unjust, and the like, and the asso-

I another; whereas we ought always to come to an ciation of living beings w'ho have this seme makes
understanding about the thing itself in terms of a a family and a state.
definition, and not merely about the name minus Aristotle, Polities, 1253*8
the definition,
Plato, Sephtit, 2lOA 10 Why then should words challenge Eternity,
When greatest men, and greatest actions die?
6 No man of intelligence will venture to exprew his Use may revive the obsolctcst words.
philosophical views in language, especially not in And banish those that now' arc most in vogue;
language that is unchangeable, which is true of Use is the judge, the I.aw, and rule of speech.
that which is set down in written characters, Horace, Ars Poettea
Plato, Sf::er,th Letter

11 I have discovered by observation how» I

, . .

7 Things are said to be, named 'equivocally* when, learned to speak. I did not learn by elders teach-
though they have a common name, the definition ing me words in any s)‘stcmaiic w'ay, as I was soon
corresponding with the name differs for each. after taught to read and write. But of my ow'n
Thus, a real man and a figure in a picture can motion ... I strove with cries and various sounds
both lay claim to the name 'animal*; ^-ct these arc and much moving of my limbs to utter the feelings
equivocally so named, for, though thc>* a ofmy heart — all tliis in order to get my own w*ay.
common name, the definition corresponding with Now I did not nlw-ays manage to express the right
the name differs for each. For should any one dc* meanings began to re-
to the right people. So I

fine in what sense each is an animal, his definition flect. (1 observed that) would make my ciders
in the one case wall be appropriate to that ease some p.*irticular sound, and as they made it would
only. point at or move towards some particular thing:
On the other hand, things arc said to be named and from this 1 came to realize that the tiling w,as
‘univocally* which have both the name and the called by the sound they made when they w'ished
definition answering to the name in common. A to draw my attention to it. Tliat thc>’ intended
man and an ox arc both 'animal*, and these arc this w.os clear from the motions of their body, by a
univocally so named, inasmuch as not only the kind of natural language common to all races
name, but also the definition, the same in both
i.i whicli consists in facial expressions, glances of the
cases: for if a man should state in what sense each eye, gestures, and the tones by which the voice
is an animal, the siaicrncnt in the one ease would expresses the mind's state — for example whether
be identical with that in the other. things arc to be sought, kept, throwm aw'ay, or
Things arc said to be named 'dcris'ativcly*. avoided. So, as 1 heard the same words again and

which derive their name from some other name, again properly used in different phrases, I came
but differ from it in termination, '^fluts the gram- gradually to grasp what things they signified; and
marian derives his name from the w*ord 'gram- forcing my mouth to the same sounds, I l)cgan to
mar*, and the courageous man from the word use them to express my ow-n w ishes. Thus I learnt
'courage*. to con VC)* svhat I meant to those alxiut me.
Aristotle, Categones, 1*1 .Augustine, Cen/fsttens, I, 0

8 Spoken words arc the symbols of mental experi- 12 AH instruction is either about things or about
ence and written words arc the s)'mlx>h of spoken sigas; but things arc learnt by means of signs. 1

words. Just as all men have not the same writing, now use the word "thing** in a strict sense to signi-
so all men have not the same speech sounds, but fy that which is neser employed as a sign of any-
the mental experiences, which these directly symi- thing else: for example, svood, stone, cattle, and
boHze, arc the same for all, as also are those things other things of that kind. Not, however, the w'ood
of which our experiences arc the images, which w'c rend Moses cast into the bitter w'aters to
Aristotle, On Interpretation^ I6M make them sweet, nor the stone which Jacob used
as a pillosv, nor the ram which Abraham offered
9 Nature . . . makes nothing
and man is in vain, up instead of his son; for these, though they arc
the only animal whom she has endowed with the things, arc also signs of other things.There arc
gift of speech. And whereas
mere voice is but an signs of another kind, thosewhich arc nc\*cr em-
indication of pleasure or pain, and is therefore ployed except as signs: for example, words. No
found in other animals (for their nature attains to one uses words except as signs of something else;
the perception of pleasure and
pain and the inti- and hence may be undentood w'hat I call signs:
mation of them to one another, and no further), those things, to wit, which arc used to indicate
the power of speech is
intended to set forth the something else. Accordingly, every* sign is also a
expedient and inexpedient, and therefore likewise thing; for what is not a thing is nothing at all.
 482 I
Chapter 7. Language

Every thing, however, is not also a sign. arc concerned with it, because even the signs
Augustine, Christian Doctrine, I, 2 which have been given us of God, and which arc
contained in the Holy Scriptures, were made
13 When we speak, in order that what we have in
known to us through men —
those, namely, who

our minds may enter through the ear into the wrote the Scriptures. The beasts, too, have certain
signs among themselves by which they make
mind of the hearer, the word which we have in
our hearts becomes an outward sound and is known the desires in their mind. For when the
called speech; and yet our thought docs not lose
poultry-cock has discovered food, he signals with

itself in the sound, but remains complete in itself,

his voice for the hen to run to him, and the dove

and takes the form of speech without being modi- by cooing calls his mate, or is called by her in
fied in its own nature by the change. turn; and many signs of the same kind arc matters
Augustine, Christian Doctrine, I, 13 of common observation. Now whether these signs,
like the expression or the cry of a man in grief
follow the movement of the mind instinctively and
14 As when I was writing about things, I introduced
apart from any purpose, or whether they are real-
the subject with a warning against attending to
ly used with the purpose of signification, is anoth-
anything but what they arc in themselves, even
er question, and docs not pertain to the matter in
though they are signs of something else, so now,
hand. And this part of the subject I exclude from
when I come in its turn to discuss the subject of
the scope of this work as not necessary to my pres-
signs, I lay down this direction, not to attend to
ent object.
what they arc in themselves, but to the fact that
they arc signs, that is, to what they signify. For a
Of the signs, then, by which men communicate
their thoughts to one another, some relate to the
sign is a thing which, over and above the impres-
sion it makes on the senses, causes something else
sense of sight, some to that of hearing, a very few

to come into the mind as a consequence of itself: to the other senses. For, when we nod, wc give no

as when we see a footprint, we conclude that an sign except to the eyes of the man to whom we
wish by ^is sign to impart our desire. And some
animal whose footprint this is has passed by; and
when we sec smoke, wc know that there is fire convey a great deal by the motion of the hands:
beneath; and when wc hear the voice of a living
and actors by movements of all their limbs give
certain signs to the initiated, and, so to speak, ad-
man, we think of the feeling in his mind; and
when the trumpet sounds, soldiers know that they dress their conversation to the eyes: and the mili-

arc to advance or retreat, or do whatever else the

tary standards and flags convey through the eyes
state of the battle requires. the will of the commanders. And all these signs

Now some are as it were a kind of visible w'ords. The signs

signs are natural, others convention-
that address themselves to the car arc, as I have
al. Natural signs arc those which, apart from any
intention or desire of using them as signs, do yet
said, more numerous, and for the most part con-
lead to the knowledge of something else, as, for sist of words. For though the bugle and the flute

example, smoke when it indicates fire. For it is not 15

and the lyre frequently give not only a sweet but a
significant sound, yet all these signs arc very few
from any intention of making it a sign that it is so,
but through attention to experience wc come to in number compared with words. For among men

know that fire is beneath, even when nothing but words have obtained far and away the chief place
smoke can be seen. And the footprint of an animal as a means of indicating the thoughts of the mind.

passing by belongs to this class of signs. And the
countenance of an angry or sorrowful man indi-
cates the feeling in his mind, independently of his
will: and in the same way every other emotion of
the mind is betrayed by the tell-tale countenance,
even though we do nothing with the intention of
Our Lord, it is true, gave a sign through the odour
of the ointment which was poured out upon His
feet; and in the sacrament of His body and blood
He signified His will through the sense of taste;
and when by touching the hem of His garment
the woman was made whole, the act was not

making it known. This class of signs, however, it is wanting in significance. But the countless multi-
tude of the signs through which men express their
no part my
design to discuss at present. But as
of
comes under thoughts consist of words. For I have been able to
it this division of the subject, I could
not altogether pass it over. It will be enough to put into words all those signs, the various classes
have noticed of which I have briefly touched upon, but I could
it thus far.
Conventional signs, on the other hand, are by no effort express words in terms of those
signs.
those which living beings mutually exchange for
the purpose of showing, as well as they can, the Augustine, Christian Doctrine, II, 1-3

feelings of their minds, or their perceptions, or

their thoughts. Nor is there any reason for giving Because words pass away as soon as they strike
a sign except the desire of drawing forth and con- upon the air, and last no longer than their sound,
veying into another’s mind what the giver of the men have by means of letters formed signs of
sign has in his own mind. We wish, then, to con- words. Thus the sounds of the voice are made visi-
sider and discuss this class of signs so far as men ble to the eye, not of course as sounds, but by
 7 ./. The Nature of Language |
483

means of certain signs. have expression or gestures, as the ape and some
Aug^istlnc, ChrisUan Do<innt^ II, 4 others seem to have, I answer that it is not true
that they speak, nor that tlicy have gestures, be-
16 Since according to the Philosopher [Aristotle], cause they have no reason, from which these
words arc signs of ideas, and ideas tlic similitude things must needs proceed; nor have they the
of things, it is evident that words relate to the principle of these tilings within them, nor do they
meaning of things signified through the mexfium understand what it is; nor do they purpose to sig-
of the intellectual conception. It folIo>s’S therefore nify anything by them, but they merely reproduce
that we can give a name to anything in as far xus what tlicy see and licar. Wherefore, even as the
we can understand it. Thus . tlic idea c.\-
. . . . . image of bodies is rcpro<luccd by certain shining
pressed by the name is the definition. things (for instance, a mirror),and the corporeal
Aquinas, Tkroh^ten, I, 13, 1 image that the mirror display's is not real, so the
semblance of reason, namely the expression and
17 A name is communicable in two wa>'s, properly,
tlic speech which the brute beast reproduces or
and by likeness. It isproperly communicable in
displays, is not real.
the sense that its whole signification can l>e given
Danic, Cenrrao, III, 7
to many; by likeness it is communicable according
to some part of the signification of the name. For
21 What we call the vernacular speech is that to
instance this name ‘‘lion** is properly communi-
which children are accustomed by those who arc
cated to all things of the .same nature as lion; by
alxiutthem when they first begin to distinguish
likeness it is communicable to tho'c who partici-
words; or to put it more shortly, we say that the
pate in something fion-fike, as for instance by
vernacular speech is that which vst acquire with-
courage, or strength, and those who thus partici-
out any rule, by imitating our nurses. 'I’licrc fur-
pate arc called lions metaphorically.
ther springs from this another secondary speech,
Aquinas, Summa 77i fobbed, I. 13, 9
svhich the Romansgrammar. And this sec-
called
ondary speech the Greeks also have, as well as
18 If man were by nature a solitary animal the pas-
others, but not all. Few, however, acquire the use
sions of the soul by which he was conformed to
of this speech, because we can only be guided and
things so as to have knowledge of them would be
it by the expenditure of much time,
instructed in
sufficient for him; but since he is by nature a po-
and by assiduous study. Of these two kinds of
litical and social animal it was necessary* that his
speech also, the vernacular is tlic nobler, as well
conceptions be made known to others. This he
l>ecausc it employed by the human
w.-« the first
docs tiirough vocal sound, 'riicrcforc there had to
race, as because the whole world makes use of it,
be significant vocal sounds in order that men
though it has been divided into forms differing in
might livT together. Whence those who speak dif-
pronunciation and vocabulary'. It is also the no-
ferent languages find it difficult to live together in
bler as l>cing natural to us, whereas the other is
social unity.
rather of an artificial kind.
Aquinas, ConmrrJ/iiy cn Anstatl/s
*Vn Intnf^TftaUon/* 1 2
D.intc, Vf Fu/ijafi S/ogumUa, I, I
,

19 If man had only sensitive cognition, which is of 22 In a certain bark of the dog the horse knows there
the here and now, such sounds as
significant vocal is anger; at a certain other sound of his he is not

the other animals use to manifest their concep- frightened. Even in the Ixrasis that have no voice,
tions to each other would be sufficient for him to from the mutual serv ices we see be tsveen them we
live with others. But man also has the advantage easily infer some other means of communication;
of intellectual cognition, which abstracts from the their motions converse and discuss. . Why not; . .

here and now, and as a consequence, is concerned just as well as our mutes dispute, argue, and tell
with things distant in place and future in time as stories by signs? 1 have seen some so supple and
well as things present according to lime and place. versed in this, that in truth they lacked nothing of
Hence the use of writing was necessary so that he perfection in being able to make themselves un-
might manifest his conceptions to those wlio arc derstood. Ivovcrs grow angry, arc reconciled, en-
distant according to place and to those who will treat, thank, make assignations, and in fine say
come in future time. everything, with their eyes. . . . WOiai of the
Aquinas, CommentaTy on AristotU's hands? We beg, we promise, call, dismiss, threat-

*Vn /ntrrpTflaiwn/* I, 2 en, pray, entreat, deny, refuse, question, admire,

count, confess, repent, fear, blush, doubt, instruct,
20 Man alone amongst the animals speaks and has command, incite, encourage, swear, testify, ac-
and cxprc.ssion which we call rational,
gestures cuse, condemn, absolve, insult, despise, defy, vex,
becau^ he alone has reason in him. And if any- flatter, applaud, bless, humiliate, mock, reconcile,
one should say in contradiction that certain birds commend, exalt, entertain, rejoice, complain,
talk, as seems to be the ease with some, especially
mope, despair, wonder, exclaim, arc silent,
grieve,
the magpie and the parrot, and that certain beasts and what not, with a variation and multiplication
 484 Chapter 7, Language

that vie with the tongue. With the head: we in- 26 Custom is the most certain mistress of language
vite,send away, avow, disavow, give the lie, wel- as the public stamp makes the current money. But
come, honor, venerate, disdain, demand, show we must not be too frequent with the mint, every
out, cheer, lament, caress, scold, submit, brave, day coining, nor fetch words from the extreme
exhort, menace, assure, inquire. What of the eye- and utmost ages; since the chief virtue of a st)*le is
brows? What of the shoulders? There is no move- perspicuity, and nothing so vicious in it as to need
ment that does not speak both a language intelli- an interpreter. Words borrowed of antiquity do
gible without instruction, and a public language; lend a kind of majesty to style, and are not with-
which means, seeing the variety and particular out their delight sometimes; for they have the au-
use of other languages, that this one must rather thority of years, and out of their intermission do
be judged the one proper to human nature. win themselves a kind of gracelike newness. But
Montaigne, Essays, II, 12, the eldest of the present, and newest of the past
Apology for Raymond Sebond language, is the best. For what was the ancient
language, which some men so dote upon, but the
ancient custom? Yet when I name custom, I un-
23 As for speech, it is certain that if it is not natural,
derstand not the vulgar custom; for that were a
it is not necessary. Nevertheless, I believe that a
precept no dangerous to language than life, if
less
child who had been brought up in complete soli-
tude, remote from all association (which would be
we should speak or live after the manners of the
vulgar: but that I call custom of speech, which is
a hard experiment to make), would have some
the consent of the learned; as custom of life, which
sort of speech to express his ideas. And it is not
is the consent of the good.
credible that Nature has denied us this resource
that she has given to many other animals: for Jonson, Discoveries: Consuetudo
what is but speech, this faculty we see in them of
it

complaining, rejoicing, calling to each other for 27 Men converse by means of language, but words
help, inviting each other to love, as they do by the are formed at the will of the generality, and there
use of their voice? How could they not speak to arises from a bad and unapt formation of words a

one another? They certainly speak to us, and we wonderful obstruction to the mind.
to them. In how many ways do we not speak to Bacon, Novum Organum, 1, 43
our dogs? And they answer us. We
talk to them in
another language, with other names, than to 28 We may also recognise the difference that exists
birds, hogs, oxen, horses; and we change the idi- between men and brutes. For it is a very remark-
om according to the species. able fact that there are none so depraved and stu-

Montaigne, Essays, II, 12, pid, without even excepting idiots, that they can-

Apology for Raymond Sebond not arrange different words together, forming of
them a statement by which they make kno>vn
their thoughts; while, on the other hand, there is
24 Juliet. What’s in a name? that which we ceill a rose
no other animal, however perfect and fortunately
By any other name would smell as sweet.
circumstanced it may be, which can do the same.
Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, II, ii, 43
It is not the want of organs that brings this to pass,
for it is evident that magpies and parrots are able
25 Prospero. Abhorred slave. to utter words just like ourselves, and yet they
Which any print of goodness wilt not take, cannot speak as we do, that is, so zis to give evi-
Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee, dence that they think of what they say. On the
Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each other hand, men who, being born, deaf and dumb,
hour are in the same degree, or even more than the
One thing or other. When thou didst not, savage, brutes, destitute of the organs which serve the
Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble others for talking, are in the habit of themselves
like inventing certain signs by which they make them-
A thing most brutish,endow’d thy purposes
I selves understood by those who, being usually in
With words that made them known. But thy vile their company, have leisure to learn their lan-
race, guage. And does not merely show that the
this
Though thou didst learn, had that in’t which good brutes have less reason than men, but that they
natures have none at all, since it is clear that very little is
Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou required in order to be able to talk. And when we
Deservedly confined into this rock, notice the inequality that exists betw'cen animals
Who hadst deserved more than a prison. of the same species, as well as between men, and
Caliban. You taught me language; and my prof- observe that some are more capable of receiving
it on’t instruction than others, it is not credible that a
Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you monkey or a parrot, selected as the most perfect of
For learning me your language! its species, should not in these matters equal the
Shakespeare, Tempest, I, ii, 352 stupidest child to be found, or at least a child
 7.L Thr Nature of La7igiin(*r 4B5

whose mind is clouded, unless In the case of the the)’ do but repeat the words softly, or con them in

bnue were of an entirely different nature

the soul their mind.
from ours. And we ought not to coitfound speech Hobbes, f^rinthan, I, A
with natural movements which l)eiray passions
and may be imitated by machines ns well a* be 32 llicrc arc those who go to the absurdity of
. . .

manifested by animals; nor must we think, ns did
some of (he ancients, that brutes talk, although we
do not understand their language. For if this urre
true, since ihey have many organs which arc al-
lied to our own, they could communicate their
thoughts to us just as easily as to tho^ of their
osMi race,
Descartes, Dhcpurie cn AfftSod,
29 TTic most noble and profitable invention of
explaining a word by the word Itself. I know of
some who have defined light in this w'ay: "Light ii
a luminar)' motion of luminous bodies," as if we
could undentand the words /urntna^ and /uminour
without understanding the word
We cannot undertake to define being without
falling into this absurdity, for we cannot define
V any word without beginning w ith these words tt u,
and thus use the word defined in the definition.
all It is sufficiently clear from this that there arc

other was that of sprrcK consisting of names or words incapable of definition. And if nature had
appellations, and their connexion; whereby men not made up for this defect by giving a like idea to
repster their thoughts, recall them when they arc all men, all our expressions would be confused;
past, and also declare them one to another for whereas we make use of them wnth the same as-
mutual utility and conservation; without which surance and the s.amc certainty we should have if
there had been amongst men neither Common- they* had Ix'cn explained in a perfectly unambigu-
wealth, nor society, nor contract, nor peace, no ous W'ay, l>ecause nature itself has given us, with-
more than amongst lions, bran, and w^olves. 'Hie out words, a clearer undentanding of them than
fint author of speech was God himself, that in- wo gain through art with all our explanations.
structed Adam hosv to name such creatures as He Pascal, Ce^*nrfrien/ Dem'^tfrafic*:
presented to his sight; for the Scripture goeth no
further in this matter. But this svas sufficient to 33 Tlic senses at fint let in ^ritn/nr ideas, and fur-
direct him to add more names, as the ejtprrienrc nish the yet empty cabinet, and the mind by de-
and use of the creatures should give him occasion; grees growing f.imiliar with some of them, they
and to join them in such manner by degrees as to arc lodged in the memory, and names got to
make himself understood; and so by succession of tlirm. Afterw'Ards, the mind proceeding further,
time, so much language might lx: gotten as hehad alystracts them, and by degrees learns the use of
found use for. general nainn. In this manner the mind comes to
Hobbes, l^Anthnn, I, -J lx: furniihetl w'i th ideas and l.mgu.'igc, the rtaterjah
alxsut which to exercise its discunive faailty. And
30 The manner how speech remem-
sersTth to the the use of reason Ix-comes dally more visible, as
brance of the consequence of causes and effects these materials that give it employment increase.
consisteth in the imposing of mmfi, and the con- Ijocke, Ccneeminf^ Uu^^nn Understanding,
nexion of them. Ilk. I, 1. lb
Of names, some arc prp/x'r, and singular to one
only thing; as Peter, John, this man, this tree: and 34 Man . had by nature his organs so fashioned,
. *

some arc conmen to many man, horse,

things; as as to be to frame articulate sounds, which wt
fit

tree; ever)' of which, though but one name, is nev- call words. But this was not enough to produce
ertheless the name of diverse particular things; in language; for parrots, and tes'cral other birds, will
respect of all it h called a uniimal^
which together, lx: taught to make articulate sounds distinct
there being nothing in the world universal but cnougli, which yet by no m carts arc capable of
names; for the things named arc c\*cry one of language.
them individual and singular. Besides articulate sounds, therefore, it was fur-
Hoblxa, I, 4 ther necessary that he should be able to use these
sounds as signs of internal conceptions; and to
31 When a man, upon the hearing of any speech, make them stand as marks for the ideas within his
hath those thoughts which the w-ords of that own rnind, whereby they might lx: made known to
speech, and their connexion, were ordained and others, and the thoughts of men’s minds be con-
constituted to signify, then he is said to under- veyed from one to anotlicr.
stand it; being nothing else but con-
undersiandinfi But neither was this sufficient to make words so
ception caused by speech. And therefore if speech useful as (hey ought to be. It ts not enough for the

^ peculiar to man, as for ought I know it is, then

is understanding peculiar
perfection of language, that sounds can be made
to him also. And there- signs of ideas, unless those signs can be so made
fore of absurd and false affirmations, in ease they use of as to comprehend several particular things:
be universal, there can be no understanding; for the multiplication of words would have per-
though many think they understand then, when plexed their use, had every partiailar thing need
 486 Chapter 7, Language

of a distinct name to be signified by. To remedy their general nature being nothing but the capati
this inconvenience, language had yet a further ty they are put into, by the understanding, ol sig
improvement in the use of general terms, whereby nifying or representing many particulars. For the
one word was made to mark a multitude of partic- signification they have is nothing but a relation
ular existences: which advantageous use of sounds that, by the mind of man, is added to them.
was obtained only by the difference of the ideas Locke, Concerning Human Undmlanding,
they were made signs of: those names becoming Bk. Ill, in, 11
general, which are made to stand for general ideas,
and those remaining particular, where the ideas 37 Besides words which are names of ideas in the
they are used for are particular. mind, there arc a great many others that arc
Besides these names which stand for ideas, there made use of to signify the connexion that the mind
be other words which men make use of, not to gives to ideas, or to propositions, one with anoth-
signify any idea, but the want or absence of some er. The mind, communicating its thoughts to
in
ideas, simple or complex, or all ideas together; others, does not only need signs of the ideas it has
such as are nihil in Latin,and in English, ignorance then before it, but others also, to show or intimate
and barrenness. All which negative or privative some particular action of its own, at that time,
words cannot be said properly to belong to, or relating to those ideas. This it does several wa)'s;
signify no ideas: for then they would be perfectly as Is, and are the general marks, of the
Is not,
insignificant sounds; but they relate to positive mind, affirming or denying. But besides affirma-
ideas, and signify their absence. tion or negation, without which there is in words
Locke, Concerning Human Understanding, no truth or falsehood, the mind does, in declaring
Bk. Ill, I, itssentiments to others, connect not only the parts
of propositions, but whole sentences one to anoth-
35 Because by familiar use from our cradles, we come er, with their several relations and dependencies,

to learn certain articulate sounds very perfectly, to make a coherent discourse.

and have them readily on our tongues, and always Locke, Concerning Human Understanding,
at hand in our memories, but yet are not always Bk. Ill, VII, I

careful to examine or settle their significations

perfectly; it often happens that men, even when 38 I leave be considered, whether it would not
it to
they would apply themselves to an attentive con- be well mankind, whose concernment it is to
for
sideration, do set their thoughts more on words know things as they are, and to do what they
than things. Nay, because words are many of ought, and not to spend their lives in talking
them learned before the ideas are known for about them, or tossing words to and fro; wheth- —
which they stand: therefore some, not only chil- er it would not be well, I say, that the use of words
dren but men, speak several words no otherwise were made plain and direct; and that language,
than parrots do, only because they have learned which was given us for the improvement of knowl-
them, and have been accustomed to those sounds. edge and bond of society, should not be employed
But so far as words are of use and signification, so to darken truth and unsettle people’s rights; to
far is there a constant connexion between the raise mists, and render unintelligible both morali-
sound and the idea, and a designation that the ty and religion? Or that at least, if this will hap-
one stands for the other; without which applica- pen, it should not be thought learning or knowl-
tion of them, they are nothing but so much insig- edge to do so?
nificant noise. Locke, Concerning Human Understanding,
Locke, Concerning Human Understanding, Bk. in, X, 13
Bk. Ill, II, 7

39 There has been a late deservedly esteemed philos-

36 It is plain, by what has been said, that general
universal belong not to the real existence of things;
but are the inventions and creatures of the under-
standing, made by it for its own use, and concern
only signs, whether words or ideas. Words are
general, as has been said, when used for signs of
general ideas, and so are applicable indifferently
to many particular things; and ideas are general
when they are set up as the representatives of
many particular things: but universality belongs
not to things themselves, which are all of them
particular in their existence, even those words and
ideas which in their signification are general.
When therefore we quit particulars, the generals
that rest are only creatures of our own making;
and opher [Locke] who, no doubt, has given [the doc-
trine of abstraction] very much countenance, by
seeming to think the having abstract general ideas
is what puts the widest difference in point of un-
derstanding betwixt man and beast. ... I readily
agree with this learned author, that the faculties
of brutes can by no means attain to abstraction.
But then if this be made the distinguishing prop-
erty of that sort of animals, I fear a great many of
those that pass for men must be reckoned into
their number. The reason that is here assigned
why we have no grounds to think brutes have ab-
stract general ideas is, that we observe in them no
use of words or any other general signs; which is
built on this supposition —
that the making use of
 —
7As The Nature of Language
words implies the having general ideas. From
which it follows that men who use language are
able to abstract or generalize their ideas. That
thisis the sense and arguing of the author will
further appear by his answering the question he
in another place puts: “Since all things that exist
are only particulars, how come we by general
terms?” His answer is: “Words become general by
being made the signs of general ideas.” Essay on
Human Understandingj III. iii. 6. But it seems that a
word becomes general by being made the sign, not
of an abstract general idea, but of several particu-
lar ideas, any one of which it indifferently suggests
to the mind. For example, when it is said “the
change of motion is proportional to the impressed
force,” or that “whatever has extension is divisi-
ble,” these propositions are to be understood of
motion and extension in general; and nevertheless
it will not follow that they suggest to my thoughts
an idea of motion without a body moved, or any
determinate direction and velocity, or that I must
conceive an abstract general idea of extension,
which is neither line, surface, nor solid, neither
great nor small, black, white, nor red, nor of any
other determinate colour. It is only implied that
whatever particular motion I consider, whether it
be swift or slow, perpendicular, horizontal, or ob-
lique, or in whatever object, the axiom concerning
it holds equally true. As does the otherof every
particular extension, it matters not whether line,
surface, or solid, whether of this or that magni-
tude or figure.
Berkeley, Principles of Human Knowledge,
Introduction, 11
40 Of late many have been very sensible of the ab-
42 then put up their implements, help each other to
surd opinions and insignificant disputes which
grow out of the abuse of words. And, in order to
remedy these evils, they advise well, that we at-
tend to the ideas signified, and draw off our atten-
tion from the words which signify them. But, how
good soever this advice may be they have given
others, it is plain they could not have a due regard
to it themselves, so long as they thought the only
immediate use of words was to signify ideas, and
that the immediate signification of every general
name was a determinate abstract idea.
But, these being known to be mistakes, a man
may with greater ease prevent his being imposed
on by words. He that kno^vs he has no other than
particular ideas, will not puzzle himself in vain to
find out and conceive the abstract idea annexed to
any name. And he that knows names do not al-
ways stand for ideas will spare himself the labour
of looking for ideas where there are none to be
had.
Berkeley, Principles of Human Knowledge,
Introduction, 23-24
41 We next went to the school of languages, where
Arec professors sat in consultation upon improv-
ing that of their own country.
487
The first project was to shorten discourseby
cutting polysyllables into one, and leaving out
verbs and participles, because in reality all things
imaginable are but nouns.
The other, was a scheme for entirely abolishing
all words whatsoever: and this was urged as a
great advantage in point of health as well as brev-
ity. For, it is plain, that every word we speak is in
some degree a diminution of our lungs by corro-
sion; and consequently contributes to the short-
ning of our lives. An expedient was therefore of-
fered, that since words are only names for things, it
would be more convenient for all men to carry
about them, such things as were necessary to ex-
press the particular business they are to discourse
on. And this invention would certainly have taken
place, to the great ease as well as health of the
subject, if the women in conjunction with the vul-
gar and illiterate had not threatned to raise a re-
bellion, unless they might be allowed the liberty
to speak with their tongues, after the manner of
their forefathers: such constant irreconcileable en-
emies to science are the common people. Howev-
er, many of the most learned and wise adhere to
the new scheme of expressing themselves by things;
which hath only this inconvenience attending it;
that if a man’s business be very great, and of vari-
ous kinds, he must be obliged in proportion to
carry a greater bundle of things upon his back,
unless he can afford one or two strong servants to
attend him. I have often beheld two of those sages
almost sinking under the weight of their packs,
like pedlars among us; who, when they met in the
streets would lay down their loads, open their
sacks,and hold conversation for an hour together;
resume their burthens, and take their leave.
But, for short conversations, a man may carry
implements in his pockets and under his arms,
enough to supply him, and in his house he cannot
be at a loss; therefore the room where company
meet who practise this art, is full of all things
ready at hand, requisite to furnish matter for this
kind of artificial converse.
Another great advantage proposed by this in-
vention, was, that it would serve as an universal
language to be understood in all civilized nations,
whose goods and utensils are generally of the same
kind, or nearly resembling, so that their uses
might easily be comprehended. And thus, embas-
sadors would be qualified to treat with foreign
princes or ministers of State, to whose tongues
they were utter strangers.
Swift, GullivePs Travels, III, 5
This society hath a peculiar cant and jargon of
their own, that no other mortal can understand,
and wherein all their laws are written, which they
take special care to multiply; whereby they have
wholly confounded the very essence of truth and
falshood, of right and wrong; so that it will take
 1

488 Chapter 7 Language

.

thirty years to decide whether the field, left me by 47 The first [difficulty] which presents itself is to con-

my ancestors for six generations, belong to me, or ceive how language can have become necessary;
to a stranger three hundred miles off. for as there was no communication among men
Swift, Gulliver*s Travelsj IV, 5 and no need for any, we can neither conceive
the
necessity of this invention, nor the possibility of it
if it was not somehow indispensable. might
43 Jones now declared that they must certainly have I af-

lost their way; but this the guide insisted upon

firm, with many others, that languages arose in
the domestic intercourse between parents and
was impossible; a word which, in common conver-
their children. But this expedient would not obvi-
sation, is often used to signify not only improba-
ble, but often what is really very likely, and, some-
ate the difficulty, and would besides involve the

times, what hath certainly happened; and

blunder made by those who, in reasoning on the

hyperbolical violence like that which is so fre- state of nature, always import into it ideas gath-
quently offered to the words infinite and eternal; ered in a state of society. For to say that the
. . .

by the former of which it is usual to express a mother dictated to her child the words he was to
distance of half a yard, and by the latter, a dura- use in asking her for one thing or another, is an
tion of five minutes. And thus it is as usual to explanation of how languages already formed are
assert the impossibility of losing what is already taught, but by no means explains how languages

actually lost. This was, in fact, the case at present. were originally formed.
Fielding, Tom Jones, XII, 1
We will suppose, however, that this first diffi-
culty is obviated. Let us for a moment then take
ourselves as being on this side of the vast space
44 Words do not constitute an overt act; they remain
which must lie between a pure state of nature and
only in idea. When considered by themselves,
that in which languages had become necessary,
they have generally no determinate signification;
and, admitting their necessity, let us inquire how
for this depends on the tone in which they are
they could first be established. Here we have a
uttered. It often happens that in repeating the
new and worse difficulty to grapple with: for if
same words they have not the same meaning; this
men need speech to learn to think, they must have
depends on their connection with other things,
stood in much greater need of the art of thinking,
and sometimes more is signified by silence than by
to be able to invent that of speaking. And though
any expression whatever.
we might conceive how the articulate sound of the
Montesquieu, Spirit of Laws, XII, 12
voice came to be taken as the conventional inter-
preters of our ideas, it would still remain for us to
45 There is no such thing as abstract or general inquire what could have been the interpreters of
ideas, properly speaking; but ... all general this convention for those ideas, which, answering
ideas are, in reality, particular ones, attached to a to no sensible objects, could not be indicated
general term, which recalls, upon occasion, other either by gesture or voice; so that we can hardly
particular ones, that resemble, in certain circum- form any tolerable conjectures about the origin of
stances, the idea, present to the mind. Thus when this art of communicating our thoughts and estab-
the term Horse pronounced, we immediately
is lishing a correspondence between minds.
figure to ourselves the idea of a black or a white Rousseau, Origin of Inequality, I

animal, of a particular size or figure: But as that

term is also usually applied to animals of other
48 The language of mankind, the most universal
first
colours, figures and sizes, these ideas, though not
and word the only language man need-
vivid, in a
actually present to the imagination, are easily re-
ed, before he had occasion to exert his eloquence
called; and our reasoning and conclusion proceed
to persuade assembled multitudes, was the simple
in the same way, as if they were actually present.
cry of nature. But as this was excited only by a
Hume, Concerning Human Understanding,
sort of instinct on urgent occasions, to implore as-
XII, 125, fn.
sistance in case of danger, or relief in czst of suf-
fering, it could be of little use in the ordinary
46 There is no complete language, no language course of which more moderate feelings
life, in
which can express all our ideas and all our sensa- prevail. When the ideas of men began to expand
tions; their shades are too numerous, too imper- and multiply, and closer communication took
ceptible. Nobody can make known the precise de- place among them, they strove to invent more
gree of sensation he experiences. One is obliged, numerous signs and a more copious language.
for example, to designate by the general nam« of They multiplied the inflections of the voice, and
“love” and “hate” a thousand loves and a thou- added gestures, which are in their own nature
sand hates all different from each other; it is the more expressive, and depend less for their mean-
same with our pleasures and our pains. Thus all ing on a prior determination. Visible and mov-
languages are, like us, imperfect. able objects were therefore expressed by gestures,
Voltaire, Philosophical Dictiona^: and audible ones by imitative sounds: but, as
Languages hardly anything can be indicated by gestures, ex-
 7 ./. The Nature of Language
cept objects actually present or easily described,
and visible actions; as they are not universally
useful — for darkness or the interposition of a ma-
terial object destroys their efficacy —and as be-
sides they rather request than secure our atten-
tion; men at length bethought themselves of
substituting for them the articulate sounds of the
voice, which, without bearing the same relation to
any particular ideas, are better calculated to ex-
press them all, as conventional signs. Such an in-
stitution could only be made by common consent,
and must have been effected in a manner not very
easy for men whose gross organs had not been
49
accustomed to any such exercise. It is also in itself
still more difficult to conceive, since such a com-
mon agreement must have had motives, and
speech seems to have been highly necessary to es-
tablish the use of it.
Rousseau, Origin of Inequality,
General ideas cannot be introduced into the mind
without the assistance of words, nor can the un-
derstanding seize them except by means of propo-
sitions. This one of the reasons why animals
is
cannot form such ideas, or ever acquire that ca-
pacity for self-improvement which depends on
them. When a monkey goes from one nut to an-
other, arc we to conceive that he entertains any
general idea of that kind of fruit, and compares its
archetype with the two individual nuts? Assuredly
hb does not; but the sight of one of these nuts
recalls to his memory the sensations which he re-
ceived from the other, and his eyes, being modi-
fied after a certain manner, give information to
the palate of the modification it is about to re-
ceive. Every general idea is purely intellectual; if
the imagination meddles with it ever so little, the
idea immediately becomes particular. It you en-
deavour to trace in your mind the image of a tree
in general, you never attain to your end. In spite
of all you can do, you will have to see it as great or
little, bare or leafy, light or dark, and were you
capable of seeing nothing in it but what is com-
mon to all trees, it would no longer be like a tree
at all. Purely abstract beings are perceivable in
the same manner, or are only conceivable by the
help of language. The definition of a triangle
alone gives you a true idea of it: the moment you
imagine a triangle in your mind, it is some partic-
ular triangle and not another, and you cannot
avoid giving it sensible lines and a coloured area.
We must then make use of propositions and of
language in order to form general ideas. For no
sooner does the imagination cease to operate than
the understanding proceeds only by the help of
words. If then the first inventors of speech could
give names only to ideas they already had, it fol-
lows that the
first substantives could be nothing
more than proper names.
Rousseau, Origin of Inequality,
489
50 For myself, I am so aghast at the increasing diffi-
culties which present themselves, and so well con-
vinced of the almost demonstrable impossibility
that languages should owe their original institu-
tion to merely human means, that I leave, to any
one who will undertake it, the discussion of the
difficult problem, which was most necessary, the
existence of society to the invention of language,
or the invention of language to the establishment
of society.
Rousseau, Origin of Inequality, I
51 Talking of the origin of language; Johnson. “It
must have come by inspiration. A thousand, nay,
a million of children could not invent a language.
While the organs are pliable, there is not under-
standing enough to form a language; by the time
that there is understanding enough, the organs
I
become stiff. We know that after a certain age we
cannot learn to pronounce a new language. No
foreigner, who comes to England when advanced
in life, ever pronounces English tolerably well; at
least such instances are very rare. When I main-
tain that language must have come by inspiration,
I do not mean that inspiration is required for
rhctorick, and all the beauties of language; for
when once man has language, we can conceive
that he may gradually form modifications of it. I
mean only that inspiration seems to me to be nec-
essary to give man the faculty of speech; to inform
him that he may have speech; which I think he
could no more find out without inspiration, than
cows or hogs would think of such a faculty.”
Boswell, Life of Johnson (Apr. 18, 1783)
52 So sensible were the Romans of the influence of
language over national manners, that it was their
most serious care to extend, with the progress of
their arms, the use of the Latin tongue. The an-
cient dialects of Italy, the Sabine, the Etruscan,
and the Venetian, sunk into oblivion; but in the
provinces, the east was less docile than the west, to
the voice of its victorious preceptors. This obvious
difference marked the two portions of the empire
with a distinction of colours, which, though it was
in some degree concealed during the meridian
splendour of prosperity, became gradually more
visible as the shades of night descended upon the
Roman world. The western countries were civi-
lised by the same hands which subdued them. As
soon as the barbarians were reconciled to obedi-
ence, their minds were opened to any new impres-
sions of knowledge and politeness. The language
of Virgil and Cicero, though with some inevitable
mixture of corruption, was so universally adopted
in Africa, Spain, Gaul, Britain, and Pannonia,
that the faint traces of the Punic or Celtic idioms
were preserved only in the mountains, or among
the peasants. Education and study insensibly in-
spired the natives of those countries with the senti-
I ments of Romans; and Italy gave fashions as well
 490 I
Chapter 7. Language

as laws to her Latin provincials. They solicited nations than between individuals; and we
may
with more ardour, and obtained with more facili- safely pronounce that, without some species of
ty, the freedom and honours of the state; support- writing, no people has ever preserved the faithful
ed the national dignity in letters and in arms; annals of their history, ever made any consider-
and, at length, in the person of Trajan, produced able progress in the abstraa sciences, or ever pos-
an emperor whom the Scipios would not have dis- sessed, in any tolerable degree of perfection, the

owned countryman. The situation of the

for their useful and agreeable arts of life.
Greeks was very different from that of the Barbar- Gibbon, Decline and Fall of Uu
ians. The former had been long since civilised and Roman Empire, IX
corrupted. They had toomuch taste to relinquish
their language, and too much vanity
to adopt any 54 Though the origin of most of our words is forgot-
foreign institutions. Still preserving the prejudices ten, each word was at first a stroke of genius, and
after they had lost the virtues of their ancestors, obtained currency because for the moment it sym-
they affected to despise the unpolished manners of bolized the world to the first speaker and to the
the Roman conquerors, whilst they were com- hearer. The etymologist finds the deadest word to
pelled to respect their superior wisdom and pow- have been once a brilliant picture. Language is

er. Nor was the influence of the Grecian language fossil poetry.
and sentiments confined to the narrow limits of Emerson, The Poet
that once celebrated country. Their empire, by
the progress of colonies and conquest, had been 55 If wc possessed a perfect pedigree of mankind, a
diffused from the Hadriatic to the Euphrates and genealogical arrangement of the races of man
the Nile. Asia was covered with Greek cities, and would afford the best classification of the various
the long reign of the Macedonian kings had intro- languages now spoken throughout the world; and
duced a silent revolution into Syria and Egypt. In if all extinct languages, and all intermediate and
their pompous courts those princes united the ele- slowly changing dialects, were to be included,
gance of Athens with the luxury of the East, and such an arrangement would be the only possible
53 the example of the court was imitated, at an hum- one. Yet it might be that some ancient languages
ble distance, by the higher ranks of their subjects. had altered very little and had given rise to few
Such was the general division of the Roman em- new languages, whilst others had altered much
pire into the Latin and Greek languages. To these owing to the spreading, isolation, and state of civi-
we may add a third distinction for the body of the lisation of the several co-descended races, and had
natives in Syria, and especially in Egypt. The use thus given rise to many new dialects and languag-
of their ancient dialects, by secluding them from es,The various degrees of difference between the
the commerce of mankind, checked the improve- languages of the same stock, would have to be
ments of those barbarians. The slothful effemina- expressed by groups subordinate to groups; but
cy of the former, exposed them to the contempt; the proper or even the only possible arrangement
the sullen ferociousness of the latter, excited the would still be genealogical; and this would be
aversion of the conquerors. strictly natural, as it would connect together all

Gibbon, Decline and Fall of the languages, extinct and recent, by the closest affini-
Roman Empire, 11 ties, and would give the filiation and origin of
each tongue.
The use of letters is the principal circumstance Darwin, Origin of Species, XIV
that distinguishes a civilized people from a herd of
savages incapable of knowledge or reflection. 56 The habitual use of articulate language is . . .

Without that artificial help, the human memory peculiar to man; but he uses, in common with
soon dissipates or corrupts the ideas intrusted to lower animals, inarticulate cries to express his
her charge; and the nobler faculties of the mind, meaning, aided by gestures and the movements of
no longer supplied w’ith models or w'ith materials, the muscles of the face. This especially holds good
gradually forget their powers; the judgment be- with the more simple and vivid feelings, which are
comes feeble and lethargic, the imagination lan- but little connected \vith our higher intelligence.
guid or irregular. Fully to apprehend this impor- Our cries of pain, fear, surprise, anger, together
tant truth, let us attempt, in an improved society, with their appropriate actions, and the murmur of
to calculate the immense distance between the a mother to her beloved child arc more c-xpressive
man and the illiterate peasant. The for-
of learning than any words. That which distinguishes man
mer, by reading and reflection, multiplies his own from the lower animals is not the understanding
experience, and lives in distant ages and remote of articulate sounds, for, as every one knows, dogs
countries; whilst the latter, rooted to a single spot, understand many words and sentences. In this re-
and confined to a few years of existence, surpasses, spect they arc at the same stage of development as
but very little, his fellow-labourer the ox in the infants, between the ages of ten and twelve
exercise of his mental faculties. The same, and months, who understand many words and short
even a greater, difference will be found between sentences, but cannot yet utter a single word. It is
 7,/. 77;f Nature of iMU^ua^e j
‘UM

not the mere articulation which is our disiinj^uish* saying, do you know how to talk French?"
inq character, for parrots and other birds possess "Well, den, why couldn’t he say it?"
this po^^*c^ Nor is it the mere capacity of connect* "Why, he n n -saying it. 'Hiat’s a Frenchman’s
ing dc/mitc sounds sWth definirc ideas; /or it is rrqv of .saying it."
certain that some which have l>ecn tautjht
parrots, "Well, it’s a blame* ridicklous way, cn I doan'
to speak, connect unerringly words with things, want to hear no mo* Iwui it. Dey ain* no sense in
and persons with events. 'Hie lowxr animals differ it."

from man solely in his almost infinitely larger *’lAX)ky here, Jim; does a cat talk like we do?"
power of associating together the mmt <fi verbified "No, a cat don’t."
sounds and ideiis; and this obviously depends on "Well, does a cow?"
the high des'clopmcnt of his mental posters. "No, a cow don’t, nuther."
Dar>vin, Otur'A cf Mn*^, I, 3 "l>oc4 a cat talk like ,a cow, or a cow talk like a
cat?"
57 Language is an an, like brevs ing or baking. . . It "No, dey don't."
certainly is not a true instinct, for ever)* langsiagr "It’s natur.il and right for 'em to talk different
has to be learnt. from each other, ain’t it?"

Oarwin, Dtu'nl e/Afui, I, 3 "Cour^-r,"

"And ain't it natural and right for a cat and a
58 With respect to the origin of articulate language cow to talk different from
... I cannot doubt that language ovncs its ongm "Why, m^e,’ slioly it i^."
to the imitation and mixfincation of various natu- "Well, then, why ain’t it natural and right for a

ral founds, the sToices of other animals, and man's

/‘Vr:rA^<3e to talk different from ut’ Vou arnw-cr
instinctive erica, aided by signs and grsturrs. me th,at."

DArt^an, /^rtrrtre/.Uer. I, 3 "U a cat a man, HikI?’’

"No."
59 A great «ridc in the development of the inielirct
"Well, drn, dey ain't no sense in a cat talkin'
will have soon at the half- art and
follovscd, as like a man. N a cow a man?— er it a cmv a cat?"
half-instinct of language came into uw; for ihr
"No, she ain’t either of them.’’
continued use of language will Kant reacted on "Well. den. she ain* got no buunev; to talk like
the brain and produced an inherited cffcxrt; and either one er the y uthrr of 'em. U a FrrncJim.in a

thisagain will have rr.tcted on the improvemrnt man?"

of language. As Mr. Chaunecy Wright has s^ell "Yrs."
remarked, the largcnrra of the brain in man rela- "llV//, den! D.id blame it. why do.an* hr UtK like
tively to his Ixxfy, compareti with the lower ani- a man? You answer me dar'"

malt, may be aitributerf in chief part to the early I see it wam't no use wasting weirdv— you can’t

use of some simple form of language.—-that won- learn a nigger to arKue- So I quit.
derful engine which affixes signs to all sorts of ob- Mark 'Fw'ain, }!u:kttlrrry Xl\'
jects and qualities, and excites trains of thought
which wtruld never arise from the mere impression Gl l.anguage w.xs originally m.idr by men who were
of the senses, or if they' did ari«f* could not lx: not p^ycliolori^rt. and mmt men to-d.vy employ
followrd out, Tlic higher intellectual powers of almmt csclu^ivc!y the styrabuhary' of outward
man, ruch as those of ratiocination, alrttraction, things. 'Hie cardinal passions of our life, anger.
probably follow from the
self-consciousness, etc., loNe, fear, hate, hope, and the mml comprehen-
continued improvement and exerdte of the otlier sive divisions of our intellectual activity, to re-
menial faculties. member, expect, think, know, dream, with the
Darwin Dfurrj, tf Stcr,, III, 21 broadest genera of .xstlietic feeling, joy, sorrow*,
pleasure, pain, are the only facts of a subjective
60 "Why, Huck, doan* dc Trench people talk dc order which this vocabulary deigns to note by spe-
same way we does?" cial wordv nic clement.arv' qualities of sensation,
'Wo, Jim; you couldn't understand a wt»rd they' bright, loud, red, blue, hot, cold, are, it is tnie,
said —
not a single word." susceptible of being used in both an objective and
"Well, now, I be ding-busted! How^ do dat a subjective sense. They stand for outer qualities
come?" and for the feelings whicli these arouse, flut the
'7 don't know"^; but it's so. I got some objec(i%‘c sense the original sense; and to-
of their is still
jabber out of a book. S’pose a man w*as to come to day we have to descrily* a I.irge numl>er of sensa-
you and say Polly-voo-franzy what would you — tions by the name of the object from wliich they
think?" have most frequently been got. An orange color,
“I wouldn’ think nuffn; I’d take cn bust him an odor of violets, a cheesy taste, a thunderous
—
over dc head dat is, cf he wam't white. I sound, a fiery smart, etc., will recall what I mean,
wouldn’t 'low no nigger to call me dat." 'Hits absence of a special vocabulary for subjective
"Shucks, It ain’t calling you anything. It’s only facts hinders the study of all but the s^cry coarsest
 492 Chapter 7 Language
.

of them. Empiricist writers are very fond of em- When a dog yelps in front of a door, and his mas-
phasizing one great set of delusions which lan- ter,understanding his desire, opens it, the dog
guage on the mind. Whenever we have
inflicts may, after a certain number of repetitions, get to
made a word, they say, to denote a certain group repeat in cold blood a yelp which was at first the
of phenomena, we are prone to suppose a substan- involuntary interjectional expression of strong
tive entity existing beyond the phenomena, of emotion. The same dog may be taught to “beg”
which the word shall be the name. But the lack of for food, and afterwards come to do so deliber-
a word quite as often leads to the directly opposite ately when hungry. The dog also learns to under-
error. We arc then prone to suppose that no entity stand the signs of men, and the word “rat” uttered
can be there; and so we come to overlook phe- to a terrier suggests exciting thoughts of the rat-
nomena whose existence would be patent to us all, hunt. If the dog had the varied impulse to vocal
had we only grown up to hear it familiarly recog- utterance which some other animals have, he
nized in speech. It is hard to focus our attention would probably repeat the word “rat” whenever
on the nameless, and so there results a certain he spontaneously happened to think of a rat-
vacuousness in the descriptive parts of most psy- —
hunt he no doubt does have it as an auditory
chologies. image, just as a parrot calls out different words
But a worse defect than vacuousness comes spontaneously from its repertory, and having
from the dependence of psychology on common learned the name of a given dog will utter it on
speech. Naming our thought by its own objects, the sight of a different dog. In each of these sepa-
we almost all of us assume that as the objects are, rate cases the particular sign may be consciously
so the thought must be. The thought of several noticed by the animal, as distinct from the partic-
distinct things can only consist of several distinct ular thing signified, and will thus, so far as it goes,
bits of thought, or “ideas”; that of an abstract or be a true manifestation of language. But when wc
universal object can only be an abstract or univer- come to man we find a great difference. He has a
sal idea. As each object may come and go, be for- deliberate intention to apply a sign to eve^thing. The
gotten and then thought of again, it is held that linguistic impulse is with him generalized and sys-
the thought of it has a precisely similar indepen- tematic. For things hitherto unnoticed or unfeli,
dence, self-identity, and mobility. The thought of he desires a sign before he has one. Even though
the object’s recurrent identity is regarded as the the dog should possess his “yelp” for this thing, his
identity of its recurrent thought; and the percep- “beg” for that, and his auditory image “rat” for a
tions of multiplicity, of coexistence, of succession, third thing, the matter with him rests there. If a
are severally conceived to be brought about only fourth thing interests him for which no sign hap-
through a multiplicity, a coexistence, a succession, pens already to have been learned, he remains
of perceptions. The continuous flow of the mental tranquilly without it and goes no further. But the
stream is sacrificed, and in its place an atomism, a man postulates it, its absence irritates him, and he
brickbat plan of construction, is preached for the ends by inventing it. This general purpose consti-
existence of which no good introspective grounds tutes, I take it, the peculiarity of human speech, and ex-

can be brought forward, and out of which present- plains its prodigious development
ly grow all sorts of paradoxes and contradictions, How, then, does the general purpose arise? It

the heritage of woe of students of the mind. soon as the notion of a sign as such, apart
arises as
These words are meant to impeach the entire from any particular import, is born; and this no-
English psychology derived from Locke and tion is bom by dissociation from the outstanding
Hume, and the entire German psychology derived portions of a number of concrete cases of significa-
from Herbart, so far as they both treat “ideas” as tion, The “yelp,” the “beg,” the “rat,” differ as to

separate subjective entities that come and go. their several imports and natures. They agree
William James, P^chology, VII only in so far as they have the to besame use —
signs, to stand for something more important than
62 The opinion so stoutly professed by many, that themselves.The dog whom this similarity could
language is essential to thought, seems to have this would have grasped the sign per se as such,
strike
much of truth in it, that all our inward images and would probably thereupon become a general
tend invincibly to attach themselves to something sign -maker, or speaker in the human sense. But
sensible, so as to gain in corporeity and life. how can the similarity strike him? Not without
Words serve this purpose, gestures serve it, stones, the juxtaposition of the similars (in virtue of the
straws, chalk-marks, anything will do. As soon as law we have laid down, that in order to be segre-
any one of these things stands for the idea, the gated an experience must be repeated with vary-
latter seems to be more real. —
ing concomitants)- not unless the “yelp” of the
William James, P^'chology, XXI dog at the moment it occurs recalls to him his

“beg,” by the delicate bond of their subtle simi-

63 Language is a system of signs, different from the larity of use —
not till then can this thought flash
things signified, but able to suggest them, . . . through his mind: “W^y, yelp and beg, in spite of
No doubt brutes have a number of such signs. all their unlikeness, are yet alike in this: that they
 7 . 7. The Nature of Language 493

are actions, signs, which lead to important boons.
Other boons, any boons, may then be got by other
signs!” This reflection made, the gulf is passed.
Animals probably never make it, because the
bond of similarity is not delicate enough. Each
sign is drowned in its import, and never awakens
ing to speak is learning habits and associations
which are just as much determined by the envi-
ronment as the habit of expecting dogs to bark
and cocks to crow. The community that speaks a
language has learnt it, and modified it by pro-
cesses almost all of which are not deliberate, but

other signs and other imports in juxtaposition. the results of causes operating according to more
The rat-hunt idea is too absorbingly interesting in or less ascertainable laws. If we trace any Indo-
itself be interrupted by anything so uncontigu-
to European language back far enough, we arrive
ous to it as the idea of the “beg for food,” or of hypothetically (at any rate according to some au-
“the door-open yelp,” nor in their turn do these thorities) at the stage when language consisted

awaken the rat-hunt idea. only of the roots out of which subsequent words
In the human child, however, these ruptures of have grown. How these roots acquired their
contiguous association are very soon made; far off meanings is not known, but a conventional origin
cases of sign-using arise when we make a sign is clearly just as mythical as the social contract by

now; and soon language is launched. The child in which Hobbes and Rousseau supposed civil gov-
each case makes the discovery for himself. No one ernment to have been established. We can hardly
can help him except by furnishing him with the suppose a parliament of hitherto speechless elders
conditions. But as he is constituted, the conditions meeting together and agreeing to call a cow a cow
will sooner or later shoot together into the result. and a wolf a wolf. The association of words with
William James, Piychology, XXII their meanings must have grown up by some nat-
ural process, though at present the nature of the
64 A language is not a universal mode of expressing process is unknown.
all ideas whatsoever. It is a linuted mode of ex- Russell, Analysis of Mind, X
pressing such ideas as have been frequently enter-
tained, and urgently needed, by the group of hu- 66 The essence of language lies, not in the use of this
man beings who developed that mode of speech. or that special means of communication, but in
It is only during a comparatively short period of the employment of fixed associations (however
human history that there has existed any lan- these may have originated) in order that some-
guage with an adequate stock of general terms. thing now sensible —
a spoken word, a picture, a
Such general terms require a permanent litera- what not may
gesture, or — call up the “idea” of
ture to define them by their mode of employment. something else. Whenever this is done, what is

The result is that the free handling of general now sensible may be called a “sign” or “symbol,”
ideas is a late acquirement. not maintaining
I am and that of which it is intended to call up the
that the brains of men were
inadequate for the “idea” may be called its “meaning.” This is a
task. The point is that it took ages for them to rough outline of what constitutes “meaning.”
develop first the appliances and then the habits Russell, Analysis of Mind, X
which made generality of thought possible and
prevalent. For ages, existing languages must have 67 Language has two interconnected merits: first,
been ready for development. If men had been in that it is social, and second, that it supplies public
contact \vith a superior race, either personally or expression for “thoughts” which would otherwise
by a survival a process which
of their literature, remain private. Without language, or some pre-
hundreds of generations
requires scores or even linguistic analogue, our knowledge of the environ-
might have been antedated, so as to have been ment is confined to what our own senses have
effected almost at once. Such, in fact, was the lat- shown us, together >vith such inferences as our
er history of the development of the races of congenital constitution may prompt; but by the
Northern Europe. Again, a social system which help of speech we are able to know what others
encourages developments of thought can procure
can relate, and to relate what is no longer sensibly
the advent. This is the way in which the result
present but only remembered. When we see or
was first obtained. Society and language grew to-
hear something which a companion is not seeing
gether.
or hearing, we can often make him aware of it by
Whitehead, Religion in the Making, I, 5 the one word “look” or “listen,” or even by ges-
tures. But if half an hour ago we saw a fox, it is
65 It is natural to think of the meaning of a word as
not possible to make another person aware of this
something conventional. This, however, is only fact without language. This depends upon the fact
true %vith great limitations. A new word can be that the word “fox” applies equally to a fox seen
added to an existing language by a mere conven- or a fox remembered, so that our memories, which
tion, as is done, for instance, with new scientific
in themselves are private, are represented to
terms. But the basis of a language is not conven-
others by uttered sounds, which are With- public.
tional, cither from the point of view of the individ-
out language, only that part of our life which con-
ual or from that of the community. A child learn-
sists of public sensations would be communicable,
 494 Chapter 7. Language

and that only to those so situated as to be able to asks oneself whethermany of these symbols have
share the sensations in question. not a permanently established meaning, like
the
Russell, Human Knowledge, 11, 1 signs in shorthand; and one even thinks of
at-
tempting to compile a new dream-book on the
68 Language serves not only to express thoughts, but lines of the cipher method. In this connection
it

to make possible thoughts which could not exist should be noted that symbolism does not apper-
without it. It is sometimes maintained that there tain especially to dreams, but rather to the uncon-
can be no thought without language, but to this scious imagination, and particularly to that of the
view I cannot assent: I hold that there can be people, and it is to be found in a more developed
thought, and even true and false belief, without condition in folklore, myths, legends, idiomatic
language. But however that may, it cannot be de- phrases, proverbs, and the current wittidsms of a
nied that all fairly elaborate thoughts require people than in dreams. We should have, there-
words. I can know, in a sense, that I have five fore, to go far beyond the province of dream-inter-

fingers without knowing the word “five,*' but I pretation in order fully to investigate the meaning
cannot know that the population of London is of symbolism, and to discuss the numerous prob-
about eight millions unless I have acquired the —
lems for the most part still unsolved which arc —
language of arithmetic, nor can I have any assodated with the concept of the symbol. We
thought at all closely corresponding to what is as- shall here confine ourselves to saying that repre-

serted in the sentence; “The ratio of the circum-
ference of a circle to the diameter is approximate-
ly 3.14159.” Language, once evolved, acquires a
kind of autonomy: we can know, especially in
mathematics, that a sentence asserts something
true, although what it asserts is too complex to be
apprehended even by the best minds.
by a s)'mboI comes under the heading of
sentation
the representations, but that wc arc
indirect
warned by all sorts of signs against indiscrimi-
nately closing symbolic representation with the
other modes of indirect representation before wc
have clearly conceived its distinguishing charac-
teristics. In a number of cases, the common qual-

Russell, Human Knowledge, II, 1

ity shared by the symbol and the thing which it
71
represents is obvious; in others, it is concealed; in

69 I think the elementary uses of a word may be these latter cases the choice of the symbol appears
distinguished as indicative, imperative, and inter- to be enigmatic. And these arc the very cases that

rogative. Whena child sees his mother coming, he must be able to elucidate the ultimate meaning of
may say, “Mother”; this is the indicative use. the symbolic relation; they point to the fact that it
When he wants her, he calls, “Mother!”; this is of a genetic nature. What is today symbolically
is

the imperative use. When she dresses up as a connected was probably united, in primitive

witch and he begins to pierce the disguise, he may times, by conceptual and linguistic identity. The
say, “Mother?” This is the interrogative use. The symibolic relationship seems to be a residue and
indicative use must come first in the acquisition of reminder of a former identity. It may also be not-
language, since the association of word and object ed that in many cases the symbolic identity c-x-
signified can only be created by the simultaneous tends beyond the linguistic identity.
presence of both. But the imp>crativc use very Freud, Inlerpnetalion of Dreams, VI, E
quickly follows. This is relevant in considering
what we mean by “thinking of” an object It is There is a specially close relation between true
obvious that the child who has just learned to call s^^mbols and sexuality.
his mother has found verbal expression for a state An important clue in this connection has re-
in which he had often been previously, that this cently been given to us in the view expressed by a
state was associated with his mother, and that it philologist (H. Sperber, of Upsala, who works in-
has now become associated with the word “Moth- dependently of psycho-analysis), that sexual needs
er.” Before language, his state was only partially have had the largest share in the origin and devel-
communicable; an adult, hearing him cry, could opment of language. He says that the first sounds
know that he wanted something, but had to guess uttered were a means of communication, and of
what it was. But the fact that the word “Mother!” summoning the sexual partner, and that, in the
expresses his state shows that even before the ac- later development, the elements of speech were
quisition of language his state had a relation to his used as an accompaniment to the different kinds
mother, namely, the relation called “thinking of.” of work carried on by primitive man. This work
This relation is not created by language, but ante- was performed by associated efforts, to the sound
dates it. What language does is to make it com- of rhythmically repeated utterances, the effect of
municable. which was to transfer a sexual interest to the
Russell, Human Knowledge, II, 2 work. Primitive man thus made his work agree-

able, so to speak, by treating it as the equivalent

70 When one has familiarized oneself with the exten- of and substitute for sexual activities. The word
sive employment of symbolism for the representa- uttered during the communal work had therefore
tion of sexual material in dreams, one naturally two meanings, the one referring to the sexual act.
 7.2. The Arts of Language 495

the other to the labour which had come to be tance of language as a tool of preserving meanings
equivalent to it. In time the word was dissociated cannot be overstated. To be sure, the method of
from its sexual significance and its application storage is not wholly aseptic; words often corrupt
confined to the work. Generations later the same and modify the meanings they are supposed to
thing happened to a new word with a sexual signi- keep intact, but liability to infection is a price
fication, which was then applied to a new form of paid by every living thing for the privilege of liv-
work. In this way a number of root-words arose ing.
which were all of sexual origin but had all lost Dewey, How We Think, Pt. Ill, XIII, 1

their sexual meaning. If the statement here out-

lined be correct, a possibility at least of under- 73 As is often said, grammar expresses the uncon-
standing dream-symbolism opens out before us. scious logic of the popular mind. The chief intellectu-
We should comprehend why it is that in dreams, al classifications that constitute the working capital of
which retain something of these primitive condi- thought have been built up for us by our mother tongue.
tions, there is such an extraordinarily large num- Our very lack of explicit consciousness in using
ber of sexual symbols; and why weapons and tools language that we are employing the intellectual
72 in general stand for the male, and materials and systematizations of the race shows how thoroughly
things worked on for the female. The symbolic accustomed we have become to its logical distinc-
relations would then be the survival of the old tions and groupings.
identity in words; things which once had the same Dewey, How We Think, Pt. Ill, XIII, 1
name as the genitalia could now appear in
dreams as symbolizing them. 74 Instruction always runs the risk of swamping the
Freud, General Introduction to pupil’s own vital, though narrow, experience un-
P^cho-Analysis, X der masses of communicated material. The in-
structor ceases and the teacher begins at the point
Things come and go; or we come and go, and where communicated matter stimulates into fuller
either way things escape our notice. Our direct and more significant life that which has entered
sensible relation to things is very limited. The sug- by the strait and narrow gate of sense-perception
gestion of meanings by natural signs is limited to and motor activity. Genuine corrmiunication in-
occasions of direct contact or vision. But a mean- volves contagion; its name should not be taken in
ing fixed by a linguistic sign is conserved for fu- vain by terming communication that which pro-
ture use. Even if the thing is not there to represent duces no community of thought and purpose be-
the meaning, the word may be produced so as to tween the child and the race of which he is the
evoke the meaning. Since intellectual depends life heir.
on possession of a store of meanings, the impor- Dewey, How We Think, Pt. Ill, XVI, 3

7.2 The Arts of Language

Among the categories of art to which atten- would probably understand the second four
tion is called in the first section of Chapter better if they were referred to as the mathe-
16 on Art AND Aesthetics is the group of arts matical arts of calculation and measure-
traditionally called “the seven liberal arts,” ment.
divided into the trivium, or the three arts of Many of the passages quoted in this sec-
grammar, logic, and rhetoric, and the qua- tion recommend steps to be taken to make
drivium, or the four arts of arithmetic, ge- speech serve more effectively as an instru-
ometry, music, and astronomy. The contem- ment of communication or of thought. They
porary reader will immediately recognize be
call attention to the fallacies or faults to
the first three as arts of language; the reader avoided by a careless or uncritical use of
 496 Chapter 7. Language
]

words. They propose remedies for the misuse of learning — ^the arts of teaching and being

and abuse of language. taught. It isnot surprising, therefore, that

Still other passages consider ways of mak- certain matters covered in this section
ing speech more effective as a means of per- should be related to matters covered in
suasion, and touch on questions of style, Chapter 8 on Education, especially its third
both rhetorical and poetical. The fact that section, on teaching and learning. Since the

there are more passages that deal with rhe- liberal arts, especially logic, are involved in

torical considerations than with the rules of the process of inquiry and the formulation
grammar or logic is to be explained by the of knowledge, it is also the case that things

much more technical character of the latter, touched on in this section are related to
the treatment of which would be inappro- matters covered in Chapter 6 on Knowledge,
priate in a book of this kind. Chapter 16 on Art and Aesthetics, and
The liberal arts, especially the arts of lan- Chapter 17 on Philosophy, Science, and
guage, are sometimes referred to as the arts Mathematics.

1 Hecuba. Why another, and the point which is in dispute can

do vfo so TOOch oi kaowlodgt, sVroggle so be decided. This sort of eatertaAnment fc/
hard decline, and prefer to talk with one another, and
to get some little skill not worth the effort? put one another to the proof in conversation. And
But persuasion, the only art whose power these arc the models which I desire that you and I
is absolute, worth any price we pay, should imitate. Leaving the poets, and keeping to
we totally neglect. And so we fail; our^lves, let us try the mettle of one another and
we lose our hopes. make proof of the truth in conversation. If you
Euripides, Hecuba^ 815 have a mind to ask, I am ready to answer; or if
you would rather, do you anssver, and give me the
wish Protagoras cither to ask or answer opportunity of resuming and completing our un-
2 Socrates. I

as he is would rather have done

inclined; but I finished argument.

w'ith poems and odes, he does not object, and

if
Plato, Protagoras^ 347A

come back to the question about which I was ask-

ing you at first, Protagoras, and by your help 3 Soerc^tes. The composers of speeches . . . alwa)'s

make an end of that. The talk about the poets appear to me to be very extraordinary men . . .

seems to me like a commonplace entertainment to and their art is lofty and divine, and no wonder.
which a vulgar company have recourse; who, be- For their art is a part of the great art of enchant-
cause they are not able to converse or amuse one ment, and hardly, if at all, inferior to it: and
another, while they are drinking, with the sound whereas the art of the enchanter is a mode of
of their own voices and conversation, by reason of charming snakes and spiders and scorpions, and
their stupidity, raise the price of flute-girls in the other monsters and pests, this art of theirs acts
sum the voice of a flute
market, hiring for a great upon dicasts and ecclesiasts and bodies of men, for
instead of theirown breath, to be the medium of the charming and pacifying of them.
intercourse among them: but where the company Plato, EuthydemuSf 289B
arc real gentlemen and men of education, you \vill
see no flute-girls, nor dancing-girls, nor harp-girls; 4 Socrates.Every discourse ought to be a living crea-
and they have no nonsense or games, but are con- ture, having a body of its own and a head and
tented with one another’s conversation, of which feet; there should be a middle, beginning, and
their own voices are the medium, and which they end, adapted to one another and to the w'holc.
carry on by turns and in an orderly manner, even Plato, PhaedruSj 264B
though they are very liberal in their potations.
And a company and men such as
like this of ours, 5 It is useful to have examined the number of mean-
we profess to be, do not require the help of man
ings of a term both for clearness’ sake (for a
another’s voice, or of the poets whom you cannot is more know what it is he asserts, if it has
likely to
interrogate about the meaning of what they are been made dear to him how many meanings it
saying; people who cite them declaring, some that may have), and also with a view to ensuring that
the poet has one meaning, and others that he has our reasonings shall be in accordance with the ac-
 7 2 The Arts of Language
. . 497

tual facts and not addressed merely to the term persuaded when we consider a thing to have been
used. For as long as it is not clear in how many demonstrated.
senses a term is used, it is possible that the answer- Aristotle, Rhetoric, 1355^3
er and the questioner are not directing their
minds upon the same thing: whereas when once it
10 It absurd to hold that a man ought to be
is

has been made clear how many meanings there

ashamed of being unable to defend himself with
his limbs, but not of being unable to defend him-
arc, and also upon which of them the former di-
self with speech and reason, when the use of ra-
rects his mind when he makes his assertion, the
tional speech is more distinctive of a human being
questioner would then look ridiculous if he failed
than the use of his limbs. And if it be objected that
to address his argument to this. It helps us also
both to avoid being misled and to mislead by false
one who uses such power of speech unjustly might
reasoning: for if we know the number of meanings
do great harm, that is a charge which may be
of a term, we shall certainly never be misled by
made in common against all good things except
false reasoning, but shall know if the questioner
virtue, and above all against the things that are

fails to address his argument to the same point;

most useful, as strength, health, wealth, general-

and when we ourselves put the questions we shall ship. A man can confer the greatest of benefits by
be able to mislead him, if our answerer happens a right use of these, and inflict the greatest of inju-
ries by using them wrongly.
not to know the number of meanings of our terms.
It is clear, then, that rhetoric is not bound up
Aristotle, Topics, 108^18
with a single definite class of subjects, but is as
universal as dialectic; it is clear, also, that it is
6 We ought to use our terms to mean the same
useful. It is clear, further, that its function is not
things as most people mean by them, but when we
simply to succeed in persuading, but rather to dis-
ask what kind of things are or are not of such and
cover the means of coming as near such success as
such a kind, we should not here go with the multi-
the circumstances of each particular case allow.
tude: e.g. it is right to call ‘healthy’ whatever
In this it resembles all other arts. For example, it
tends to produce health, as do most men: but in
isnot the function of medicine simply to make a
saying whether the object before us tends to pro-
man quite healthy, but to put him as far as may
duce health or not, we should adopt the language
be on the road to health; it is possible to give
no longer of the multitude but of the doctor.
excellent treatment even to those who can never
Aristotle, Topics, 110^17
enjoy sound health. Furthermore, it is plain that it
isthe function of one and the same art to discern
7 It is impossible in a discussion to bring in the ac- the real and the apparent means of persuasion,
tual things discussed: we use their names as sym- just as it is the function of dialectic to discern the
bols instead of them; and therefore we suppose real and the apparent syllogism. What makes a
that what follows in the names, follows in the man a not his faculty, but his moral
‘sophist’ is
things as well, just as people who calculate sup- purpose. In rhetoric, however, the term ‘rhetori-
pose in regard to their counters. But the two cases cian’ may describe either the speaker’s knowledge
(names and things) are not alike. For names are of the art, or his moral purpose. In dialectic it is
finite and so is the sum-total of formulae, while different; a man is a ‘sophist’ because he has a
number. Inevitably, then,
things arc infinite in certain kind of moral purpose, a ‘dialectician’ in
thesame formulae, and a single name, have a respect, not of his moral purpose, but of his facul-
number of meanings. Accordingly just as, in
ty*
counting, those who are not clever in manipulat- Aristotle, Rhetoric, 1355^39
ing their counters are taken in by the experts, in
the same way in arguments too those who are not 1 1 Rhetoric may be defined as the faculty of observ-
well acquainted with the force of names misreason ing in any given case the available means of per-
both in their own discussions and when they listen suasion. This is not a function of any other art.
to others.For this reason, then, and for others to Every other art can instruct or persuade about its
be mentioned later, there exists both reasoning own particular subject-matter; for instance, medi-
and refutation that is apparent but not real. cine about what is healthy and unhealthy, geome-
Aristotle, On Sophistical Refutations, 165^5 try about the properties of magnitudes, arithmetic
about numbers, and the same is true of the other
arts and sciences. But rhetoric we look upon as the
8 An incisive argument is one which produces the
p>ower of observing the means of persuasion on
greatest perplexity: for this is the one with the
sharpest fang.
almost any subject presented to us; and that is
why we say that, in its technical character, it is
Aristotle, On Sophistical Refutations, 182^32
not concerned with any special or definite class of
subjects,
9 Rhetorical study, in its strict sense, is concerned
Aristotle, Rhetoric, 1355*^26
with the modes of persuasion. Persuasion is clearly
a sort of demonstration, since we are most fully 12 Of the modes of persuasion furnished by the spo-
 498 I
Chapter 7. Language

ken word there arc three kinds. The first kind de- 15 Since rhetoric exists to affect the giving of deci-
pends on the personal character of the speaker; sions —
the hearers decide between one political
the second on putting the audience into a certain speaker and another, and a legal verdia is a deci-
frame of mind; the third on the proof, or apparent sion —the orator must not only tr>* to make the
proof, proxided by the words of the speech itself. argument of his speech demonstrative and worthy
Persuasion is achieved by the speaker’s personal of belief; he must also make his own character
character when the speech is so spoken as to make look right and put his hearers, who arc to decide
us think him credible. We believe good men more into the right frame of mind. Particularly in polit-
fully and more readily than others. This kind
. . . ical orator)*, but also in law-suils, it adds much to
of persuasion, like the others, should be achie\’cd an orator’s influence that his own character
by what the speaker says, not by what people should look right and that he should be thought to
think of his character before he begins to speak. entertain the right feelings towards his hearers;
. . His character may almost be called the most
. and also that his hearers themselves should be in
effective means of persuasion he possesses. Second- just the right frame of mind. That the orator’s
ly, persuasion may come
through the hearers, owTi character should look right is particularly
when Our judge-
the speech stirs their emotions. important in political speaking: that the audience
ments when we arc pleased and friendly arc not should be in the right frame of mind, in lawsuits.
the same as when wc arc pained and hostile. . . . When people arc feeling friendly and placable,
Thirdly, persuasion is effected through the speech they think one sort of thing; \vhcn they* arc feeling
itself when wc have proved a truth or an apparent angry* or hostile, they think cither something to-
truth by means of the pcrsuasi\*c arguments suit- tally* different or the same thing w’ith a different
able to the case in question. when they* feel friendly to the man who
intensity*:

Aristotle, 'Rhetoric, 1356*1 comes before them for judgement, they* regard
him as having done little wrong, if any; when the)*
13 The duty of rhetoric is to deal vith such matters fed hostile, they* take the opposite v*icw. Again, if
as wc deliberate upon wthout arts or ty-stems to they arc eager for, and have good hopes of, a
guide us, in the hearing of persons who cannot thing that will be pleasant if it happens, thc)*
take in at a glance a compficated argument, or think that it «rtainly vrill happen and be good for
follow a long chain of reasoning. The subjects of them: whereas if they* arc indifferent or annov-ed,
our deliberation arc such as seem to present us they do not think so.
with alternative possibilities: about things that There arc three things w hich inspire confidence
could not have been, and cannot now or in the in the orator’s ow’n character thc three, namdy, —
future be, other than they arc, nobody who takes that induce us to bdievc a thing apart from any
them to be of this nature wastes his time in delib- proof of it: good sense, good moral character, and
eration. goodwill. False statements and bad advice arc due
.Aristotle, Rhetoric, I356M0 to one or more of the following three causes. Men
cither form a false opinion through v^'ant of good
14 There arc three di\isions of oraloty — (1) political,
sense; or they form a true opinion, but because of
their moral badness do not say* what they really
(2) forensic, and (3) the cerctnoruad oratory of dis-
pJay- think; or finally*, they* arc both sensible and up-

Political speaking urges us cither to do or not to right,but not well disposed to their hearers, and
do something: one of these two courses is always may* in consequence to recommend what ihq*
fail

taken by private counsellors, as well as by men know* to be the best course. These are thc only
VN’ho address public assemblies. Forensic speaking possible cases. It follows that anyt)nc who is

cither attacks or defends somebody: one or other thought to have all three of these good qualities

of these two things must alwav's be done by the inspire trust in his audience. The
v%ill v»’ay to

parties in a case. The ceremonial oratory of dis- make ourselves thought to be sensible and morally

play cither praises or censures somebody. These good must be gathered from the analysis of good-
three kinds of rhetoric refer to three different ness already given: the vs'ay* to establish your own
kinds of time. The political orator is concerned goodness is the same as thc v^'ay to establish that of
with the future: it is about things to be done here- others.

after that he advises, for or against. The party* in a Aristotle, Rhetoric, 1377**21
case at lavs* is concerned vrith the past; one man
accuses the other, and the other defends himself, 16 The use of persuasive speech is to lead to deci-
with reference to things already done. The cere- sions. (\Vhen we know a thing, and have decided
monial orator is, properly speaking, concerned about it, there is no further use in speaking about
with the present, since all men praise or blame in it.) This is so even if one is addressing a single
view* of the state of things existing at the time, person and urging him to do or not to do some-
though the>* often find it useful also to recall the thing, as when wc scold a man for his conduct or
past and to make guesses at the future. try* to change his v*ie\N-s: the single person is as
Aristotle, Rhetoric, 1358^ much your ‘judge’ as if he were one of many; we
 72. The Arts of Language 499

may say, without qualification, that any one is
your judge whom you have to persuade. Nor does
it matter whether we are arguing against an actu-
al opponent or against a mere proposition; in the
though at other times heightened. We can now see
that a writer must disguise his art and give the
impression of speaking naturally and not artifi-
Naturalness is persuasive, artificiality is the
cially,

latter case we still have to use speech and over- contrary for our hearers are prejudiced and think
throw the opposing arguments, and w^e attack we have some design against them, as if we were
these as we should attack an actual opponent, mixing their wines for them.
Aristotle, Rhetoric, 1391^8 Aristotle, Rhetoric, 1404^2

17 Simplicity . . . makes the uneducated more effec- 20 Prose- writers must pay specially careful at-
. . .

tive than the educated when addressing popular tention to metaphor, because their other resources
audiences. Educated men lay down broad
. . . are scantier than those of poets. Metaphor, more-
men argue from
general principles; uneducated over, gives style clearness, charm, and distinction
common knowledge and draw obvious conclu- as nothing else can: and it is not a thing whose use
sions. can be taught by one man to another.
Aristotle, Rhetoric, 1395^27 Aristotle, Rhetoric, 1405^5

18 The right thing in speaking really is that we 21 The foundation of good style is correctness of lan-
should be satisfied not to annoy our hearers, with- guage, which falls under five heads. (1) First, the
out trying to delight them: we ought in fairness to proper use of connecting words, and the arrange-
fight our case with no help beyond the bare facts: ment of them in the natural sequence which some
nothing, therefore, should matter e.xcept the proof of them require. (2) The second lies in calling
. , .

of those facts. Still, as has been already said, other things by their own special names and not by
things affect the result considerably, owing to the vague general ones, (3) The third is to avoid
defects of our hearers. The arts of language can- ambiguitiw; unless, indeed, you definitely desire
not help having a small but real importance, to be ambiguous, as those do who have nothing to
whatever it is we have to expound to others: the say but arc pretending to mean something. Such
way in which a thing is said does affect its intelli- people are apt to put that sort of thing into verse.
gibility. Not, however, so much importance as ... (4) A
fourth rule is to observe Protagoras’
people think. All such arts are fanciful and meant classification of nouns into male, female, and
to charm the hearer. Nobody uses fine language inanimate; for these distinctions also must be cor-
when teaching geometry. rectly given. . . . (5) A fifth rule is to express plu-
Aristotle, Rhetoric, 1404^3 rality, fewness, and unity by the correct word-
ing. . . .

19 Style to be good must be clear, as is proved by the It is a general rule that a written composition

fact that speech which fails to convey a plain should be easy to read and therefore easy to deliv-
meaning will fail to do just what speech has to do. er. This cannot be so where there are many con-

It must also be appropriate, avoiding both mean-
ness and undue elevation; poetical language is
certainly free from meanness, but it is not appro-
priate to prose. Clearness is secured by using the
words (nouns and verbs alike) that are current
and ordinary. Freedom from meanness, and posi-
tive adornment too, are secured by using the other
words mentioned in the Art of Poetry. Such varia-
tion from what is usual makes the language ap-
pear more stately. People do not feel towards
strangers as they do towards their own country-
men, and the same thing is true of their feeling for
language. It is therefore well to give to everyday
speech an unfamiliar air: people like what strikes
them, and are struck by what is out of the way. In
verse such effects are common, and
fitting: the persons and things
comparatively remote from ordinary life. In prose
passages they are far less often fitting because the
subject-matter is less exalted. Even in poetry, it is
not quite appropriate that fine language should
be used by a slave or a very young man, or about
very even in poetry the style, to be
trivial subjects:
appropriate, must sometimes be toned down.
necting words or clauses, or where punctuation is
hard.
Aristotle, Rhetoric, 1407*19
22 An author can hold correct opinions and yet not
be able to express them in polished style. To put
one’s thoughts on paper without being able to or-
ganize them or to express them clearly, or without
being able to hold the reader ^vith some kind of
charm, means one is making an inexcusable mis-
use of both his leisure and his pen.
Cicero, Disputations, I, 3
23 Speech has a great deal to do with gaining pro-
priety, and it has a double function. The first is
there they are oratory and the second is conversation. Oratory is
there spoken of are the type of speech used in pleading court cases,
addressing public assemblies, and in the Senate.
Conversation finds its place in social gatherings,
informal discussions, and in speaking with friend.
It should also play a role in dinners. Rhetoricians
lay down the rules for oratory, but there arc no
rules for conversation. I don’t really know why
there shouldn’t be. Where there are students to
 500 Chapter 7. Language

learn, teachers willbe found. But there is no one cussed, handled, and
considered; since eloquence
who makes conversation a subject of study, while is one of the most eminentvirtues; and though
all
pupils surround rhetoricians everywhere. Yet the the virtues are in their nature equal and alike,
yet
same rules that we apply to words and sentences one species is more beautiful and noble than an-
in rhetoric would work equally well in conversa- other; as is this power, which, comprehending a
tion. knowledge of things, expresses the thoughts
and
Cicero, De Officiis, I, 37 purposes of the mind in such a manner, that it can
impel the audience whithersoever it inclines its
24 Conversation, in which the Socratics are the best force; and, the greater is its influence, the more

models, ought to have the following qualities. It necessary it is that it should be united with probi-
should be casual and not in the least dogmatic. It ty and eminent judgment; for if we bestow the
should be flavored with wit. The conversationalist faculty of eloquence upon persons destitute of
should not hinder others from talking by monop- these virtues, we shall not make them orators, but
olizing the conversation. In a general conversa- give arms to madmen.
tion he should be willing to let each person have Cicero, De Oratore, III, 14

his turn. He
should pay attention, in the first
place, to what the subject of the conversation is. If 27 A speech, then, is to be made becoming in its
it is solemn, he should treat it seriously; if it is kind, with a sort of complexion and substance of
light, with humor. And above all, he should be its own; be weighty, agreeable, savoring
for that it

careful lest his remarks give away some defect in of erudition andknowledge, worthy of ad-
liberal
his character. This is most likely to happen, when miration, polished, having feeling and passion in
people, in jest or in earnest, delight in malicious it, as far as is required, arc qualities not confined
and slanderous gossip behind someone’s back, or to particular members, but are apparent in the
set out to damage their reputations. whole body; but that it be, as it were, strewed
Cicero, De Officiis^ I, 37 with flowers of language and thought, is a proper-
ty which ought not to be equally diffused through-
25 Neither can embellishments of language be found out the whole speech, but at such intervals, that,
without arrangement and expression of thoughts, as in the arrangement of ornaments, there may be
nor can thoughts be made to shine without the certain remarkable and luminous objects disposed
light of language. here and there. Such a kind of eloquence, there-
Cicero, De Oratore^ III, 6 fore, is to be chosen, as is most adapted to interest
the audience, such as may not only delight, but
26 Nobody ever admired an orator for merely speak- delight without satiety.

ing good Latin; if he speaks otherwise, they ridi- Cicero, De Oratore, III, 25

cule him; and not only do not think him an ora-

tor, but not even a man. Nor has any one ever 28 As in most things, so in language, Nature herself
extolled a speaker for merely speaking in such a has wonderfully contrived, that what carries in it
manner that those who were present understood the greatest utility, should have at the same time
what he said; though every one has despised him either the most dignity, or, as if often happens, the

who was not able to do so. Whom then do men most beauty.
regard with awe? What speaker do they behold Cicero, De Oratore, III, 45

with astonishment? At whom do they utter excla-

mations? Whom do they consider as a deity, if I 29 This orator of ours is so to be finished as to his

may use the expression, amongst mortals? Him styleand thoughts in general, that, as those who
who speaks distinctly, explicitly, copiously,and study fencing and polite exercises, not only think
luminously, both as to matter and words; who it necessary to acquire a skill in parrying and
produces in his language a sort of rhythm and but also grace and elegance of motion, so
striking,
harmony; who speaks, as I call it, gracefully. Those he may use such words as are suited to elegant
also who importance of
treat their subject as the and graceful composition, and such thoughts as
things and persons be commended
requires, are to contribute to the impressiveness of language.
for that peculiar kind of merit, which I term apti- Cicero, De Oratore, HI, 52
tude and congruity. . . . On my authority, therefore,
deride and despise all those who imagine that 30 The best orator is the one whose address instructs,
from the precepts of such as arc now called rheto- delights, and moves the minds of the hearers. The
ricians they have gained all the powers of oratory, orator is obliged to instruct, while pleasure is a
and have not yet been able to understand what gratuity granted to the audience. But to stir the

character they hold, or what they profess; for in- emotions is indispensable.
deed, by an orator everything that relates to hu- Cicero, De Optimo Genere Oratorum, I

man life, since that is the field on which his abili-

ties are displayed, and is the subject for his 31 The difference between the orator and the dialec-
eloquence, should be examined, heard, read, dis- tician is as great as that between two rivers of an
 72, The Arts of Language 501

opposite character. Streams that flow between answer or giving confirmation, or joining in an
high banks and at full flood have greater force inquiry about the thing itself, not about the word,
than shallow brooks with water struggling against or by some other (it suggestion.
the opposition of pebbles. Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, I, 10
Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria, XII, 2
38 The chief merit of language is clearness, and we
32 As loose and incontinent livers are seldom fathers know that nothing detracts so much from this as
of many children, so loose and incontinent talkers do unfamiliar terms; accordingly we employ those
seldom originate many sensible words. terms which the bulk of people are accustomed to
Plutarch, Lycurgus use.
Galen, Natural Faculties, I, 1

33 Rhetoric . . . is . . the government of the souls

.

of men, and . . . her chief business is to address 39 We . . . are not to suppose that when certain
the affections and passions, which are as it were rhetoricians pour ridicule upon that which they
the strings and keys to the soul, and require a are quite incapable of refuting, without any at-
skilful and careful touch to be played on as they tempt at argument, their words are really thereby
should be. constituted rhetoric. For rhetoric proceeds by per-
Plutarch, Pericles suasive reasoning; words without reasoning are
buffoonery rather than rhetoric.
34 The most eloquent of public speakers [Demosthe- Galen, Natural Faculties, I, 16
nes], in his oration against Midias, allows that Al-
cibiades, among other perfections, was a most ac- 40 A thing [is] not bound to be true because uttered
complished orator. If, however, we give credit to eloquently, nor false because the utterance of the
Theophrastus, who of all philosophers was the lips is ill-arranged; but ... on the other hand a
most curious inquirer, and the greatest lover of thing not necessarily true because badly ut-
is

history, we are to understand that Alcibiades had tered, nor false because spoken magnificently. For
the highest capacity for inventing, for discerning it is with wisdom and folly as with wholesome and

what was the right thing to be said for any pur-
pose, and on any occasion; but aiming not only at
saying what W 2is required, but also at saying it
well, in respect, that is, of words and phrases,
when these did not readily occur, he would often
pause in the middle of his discourse for want of
the apt word, and would be silent and stop till he
could recollect himself, and had considered 'what
to say.
Plutarch, Alcibiades
35 Extemporaneous speeches are deft and facile to
abundance, but those who make them know nei-
ther w’here to begin nor where to stop.
Plutarch, Education of Children
36 This faculty of speaking and of ornamenting
words, if there is indeed any such peculiar faculty,
what else does it do, when there happens to be
discourse about a thing, than to ornament the
words and arrange them as hairdressers do the
hair? But whether it is better to sj>eak or to be
silent, and better to speak in this way or that way,
and whether this is becoming or not becoming,
and the season for each and the use, what else tells
us than the faculty of the will?
Epictetus, DiscourseSj II, 23
37 From Alexander the grammarian [I learned] to
refrain from fault-finding, and not in a reproach-
ful way to chide those who uttered any barbarous
or solecistic or strange-sounding expression; but
dexterously to introduce the very expression
which ought to have been used, and in the way of
unwholesome food: just as either kind of food can
be served equally well in rich dishes or simple, so
plain or beautiful language may clothe either wis-
dom or folly indifferently.
Augustine, Confessions, V, 6
41 The art of rhetoric being available for the enforc-
ing either of truth or falsehood, who will dare to
say that truth in the person of its defenders is to
take its stand unarmed against falsehood? For ex-
ample, that those who are trying to persuade men
of what is false are to know how to introduce their
subject, so as to put the hearer into a friendly, or
attentive, or teachable frame of mind, while the
defenders of the truth shall be ignorant of that
art? That the former are to tell their falsehoods
briefly, clearly, and plausibly, while the latter
shall tell the truth in such a way that it is tedious
to listen to, hard to understand, and, in fine, not
easy to believe it? That the former are to oppose
the truth and defend falsehood with sophistical
arguments, while the latter shall be unable either
to defend what is true, or to refute what is false?
That the former, while imbuing the minds of their
hearers with erroneous opinions, are by their pow-
er of speech to awe, to melt, to enliven, and to
rouse them, while the latter shall in defence of the
truth be sluggish, and frigid, and somnolent? Who
is such a fool as to think this wisdom? Since, then,
the faculty of eloquence is available for both sides,
and is of very great service in the enforcing either
of wrong or right, why do not good men study to
engage it on the side of truth, when bad men use
it to obtain the triumph of wicked and worthless
 502 Chapter 7. Language
I

causes, and to further injustice and error? gift is given to all is seen in so many French writ-
Augustine, Christian Doctrine, IV, 2 ers ofour time. They are bold and disdainful
enough not to follow the common road, but vs-ant
42 We must beware of the man who abounds in elo- of invention and of discretion ruins them. There
is

quent nonsense, and so much the more if the nothing to be seen in them but a wTetched affecta-
hearer is pleased with what is not worth listening tion of originality, cold and absurd disguises
to, and thinks that because the speaker is eloquent which instead of elevating the substance bring it
what he says must be true. And this opinion is down. Provided they can strut gorgeously in their
held even by those who think that the art of rheto- novelty, they care nothing about effectiveness.
To
ric should be taught: for they confess that “though seizea new word they abandon the ordinary’ one,
wisdom without eloquence is of little service to which is often stronger and more sinewy,
states, yet eloquence without wisdom is frequently Montaigne, Essays, III, 5, On Some
a positive injury, and is of service never.” Verses of Virgil
Augustine, Christian Doctrine, IV, 5
46 I do not avoid any [figures of speech] that are used
43 Let the language devoted to truth be plain and simple, in the streets of France; those who would combat
IVho speaks carefully unless he wants to speak affectedly? usage with grammar make fools of themselves.
[Seneca]. The elequence that diverts us to itself Montaigne, Essays, III, 5, On Some
harms its content. . Verses of Virgil
As in dress it is pettiness to seek attention by
some peculiar and unusual fashion, so in language 47 The most fruitful and natural exercise of our
the search for novel phrases and little-knowm mind, in my opinion, is discussion. I find it sw'cct-
w'ords comes from a childish and pedantic ambi- cr than any other action of our life; and that is the
tion. Would that I might use only those that are reason why, if I w'crc right now’ forced to choose, I
used in the markets of Paris'. Aristophanes the bcViO'e 1 would rather consent to lose my sight
grammarian did not know what he was talking than my hearing or speech. . . .

about when he criticized Epicurus for the simplic- The study of books is a languishing and feeble
ity of his words and the aim of his oratorical art, activity that gives no heat, whereas discussion
w’hich was simply lucidity of speech. The imita- teaches and exercises us at the same time. If I

tion of speech, because of its facility, may be discuss w’ith a strong mind and a stiff jouster, he
quickly picked up by a whole people; the imita- presses on my flanks, prods me right and left; his

tion of judgment and invention does not come so ideas launch mine. Ri\’alry, glory', compedtion,
fast. push me and lift me above myself. And unison is
Montaigne, Essays, I, 26, Education an altogether boring quality’ in discussion.
of Children As our mind is strengthened by communication
with vigorous and orderly minds, so it is impossi-
44 My language has no case or polish; it is harsh and ble to say how’ much it loses and degenerates b)’
disdainful, with a free and unruly disposition. our continual association and frequentadon w’ith
And I like it not by judgment, then by
that w’ay, if mean and sickly minds. There is no contagion
inclination. But I am quite conscious that some- that spreads like that one. I know’ by enough c.x-
times I let myself go too far, and that in the effort perience how’ much it is worth per yard. I love to
to avoid art and affectation, I fall back into them argue and discuss, but in a small group and for
in another direction: my own sake. For to scr\'e as a spectacle to the
great and make a corapetidve parade of onek w’it
I strive to be concise.
and chatter is an occupation that I find very' un-
And grow' obscure.
becoming to a man of honor.
HORACE
Montaigne, Elssays, III, 8, Of the Art
Plato sa^'s that length and brevity are proper- of Discussion
ties which neither decrease nor increase the w'orth
of sty'le. 48 Truly, Sancho, said Don Quixote, thy Simplicity
Montaigne, Essays, II, 17, and thy Sense improves e\’ery Day. And
lessens,
Of Presumption good Reason w’hy’, quoth Sancho; some of your
Worships Wit must needs stick to me; for your
45 Handling and use by able minds give value to a dry unkindly Land, with good dunging and till-
language, not so much by innovating as by filling ing, w’ill in time yield a good Crop. I mean, Sir,

it out with more vigorous and varied services, by
stretching and bending it. They do not bring to it
new' words, but they enrich their own, give more
w’eight and depth to their meaning and use; they
teach the language unaccustomed movements,
but prudently and shrewdly. And how little this
that the Dung and Muck of your Conversation
being thrown on the barren Ground of my Wit,
together w’ith the Time I ha’ ^rved your IVorship,
and kept you Company; which is, as a body may
say, the Tillage; I must needs bring forth blessed
Fruit at last, so as not to shame my Master, but
 7 2 The
. . A rts of Language 503

keep in the Paths of good Manners, which you or speech that savoureth of the affectation of art
have beaten into my sodden Understanding, and precepts, or speech that is framed after the
Cerv'antes, Don Quixote, II, 12 imitation of some pattern of eloquence, though
never so excellent; all this hath somewhat servile,
49 In the next place, Sancko, said the Knight, do not and holding of the subject.

ovcrlard your common Discourse with that glut of Bacon, Advancement of Learning, Bk. 1, To the
Proverbs, which you mix in it continually; for King, 2
though Proverbs arc properly concise and pithy
Sentences, yet as thou bring’st ’em in, in such a 53 Let us consider the false appearances that are im-
huddle, by the Head and Shoulders, thou makest posed upon us by words, which arc framed and
’em look like so many Absurdities. Alas! Sir, applied according to the conceit and capacities of
quoth Sancho, this is a Disease that Heaven alone the vulgar sort: and although we think w'C govern
can cure; for I’ve more Proverbs than will fill a our words, and prescribe it well yet certain it
. . .

Book; and when I talk, they crowd so thick and is that words, as a Tartar’s bow, do shoot back

fast to my Mouth, that they quarrel which shall upon the understanding of the wisest, and mighti-
get out first; so that my Tongue is forc’d
to let ’em ly entangle and pervert the judgement. So as it is
out as fast, first come though nothing
first scr\'*d, almost necessary, in all controversies and disputa-
to my Purpose. But henceforvvards I'll set a Watch tions, to imitate the wisdom of the mathemati-
on my Mouth, and let none fly out, but such as cians, in setting down in the very' beginning the
shall befit the Gravity of my Place. For in a rich definitions of our words and terms, that others
Man’s House the Cloth is soon laid; where there’s may know how we accept and understand them,
Plenty the Guests can’t be empty. A Blot’s no Blot and whether they concur with us or no. For it
till ’tis hit. He’s safe who stands under the Bells; cometh to pass, for want of this, that we arc sure
you can’t cat your Cake and have your Cake; and to end there where we ought to have begun, which
Store’s no Sore. is, in questions and differences about words.

Go on, go on. Friend, said Don Quixote, thread,
tack, stitch on, heap Proverb on Proverb, out with
’em Man, spc^v them out! There’s no body com-
ing. My Mother whips me, and I whip the Gigg. I
warn thee to forbear foisting in a Rope of Prov-
erbs every where, and thou blunder *si out a whole
Litany of old Saws, as much to the Purpose as the
last Yearns Snow. Obscr\'c me, Sancko,
not the Use of Proverbs; but *tis
Bacon, Advancement of Learning,
Bk. II, XIV, n
54 Concerning speech and words, the consideration
of them hath produced the science of grammar.
For man still striveth to reintegrate himself in
those benedictions, from which by his fault he
I condemn hath been deprived. ... So hath he sought to
most certain, that come forth of the . general curse which was the
. .

such a Confusion and Hodge-podge of ’em, as confusion of tongues by the art of grammar;
thou throw'st out and dragg’st in by the Hair to- whereof the use in a mother tongue is small, in a
gether, make Conversation fulsom and poor.
foreign tongue more; but most in such foreign
Cervantes, Don Quixote, II, 43 tongues as have ceased to be vulgar tongues, and
arc turned only to learned tongues. The duty of it
50 In all speech, words and sense are as the body and is of two natures: the one popular, which is for the
the soul. The sense is as the life and soul of lan- speedy and perfect attaining languages, as well for
guage, without which words arc dead. Sense is
all intercourse of speech as for understanding of au-
wrought out of experience, the knowledge of hu- thors; the other philosophical, c.xamining the
man life and actions, or of the liberal arts. . . .
power and nature of words, as they arc the foot-
Words arc the people’s, yet there is a choice of steps and prints of reason: which kind of analogy
them to be made. They arc to be chose ac-
. . .
between words and reason is handled sparism, bro-
cording to the persons we make speak, or the kenly though not entirely; and therefore I cannot
things we speak of. Some arc of the camp, some of report it deficient, though I think it very worthy
the council-board, some of the shop, some of the to be reduced into a science by itself.
sheepcot, some of the pulpit, some of the bar, etc. Unto grammar also belongcth, as an appendix,
And herein is seen their elegance and propriety, the consideration of the accidents of words; which
when we use them fitly and draw them forth to arc measure, sound, and elevation or accent, and
their just strength and nature by way of transla- the sweetness and harshness of them; whence hath
tion or metaphor. issued some curious observations in rhetoric, but
Jonson, Discoveries: Dc Orationis Dignitatc chiefly poesy, as we consider it, in respect of the
verse and not of the argument. Wherein though
51 Language most shows a man: Speak, that I may men in learned tongues do tie themselves to the
sec thee.
ancient measures, yet in modem languages it
Jonson, Discoveries: Dc Stilo seemeth to me as free to make new measures of
verses as of dances: for a dance is a measured
52 Speech that uttered with labour and difficulty,
is pace, as a verse is a measured speech. In these
 504 I
Chapter 7. Language

things the sense is better judge than the art. fined uniformity. For it means that which easily
Bacon, Advancement of Learning, diffuses itself over another body; that which is in-

Bk. II, XVI, 4-5 determinable and cannot be brought to a consis-

tency; that which yields easily in every direction*
55 The proofs and demonstrators of logic are toward that which is easily divided and dispersed; that
all men indifferent and the same; but the proofs which is easily united and collected; that which
and persuasions of rhetoric ought to differ accord- easily flows and is put in motion; that which easi-

ing to the auditors, . . . Which application, in ly adheres to, and wets another body; that which
perfection of idea, ought to extend so far, that if a is reduced to a liquid state though previous-
easily

man should speak of the same thing to several ly solid. When, therefore, you come to predicate

persons, he should speak to them all respectively or impose this name, in one sense flame is moist,
and several ways. in another air is not moist, in another fine powder
is moist, in another glass is moist; so that it is quite
Bacon, Advancement of Learning,
Bk. II, XVIII, 5 clear that this notion is hastily abstracted from
water only, and common ordinary liquors, with-
out any due verification of it.
56 Men imagine that their reason governs words,
There are, however, different degrees of distor-
whilst, in fact, words react upon the under-
tion and mistake in words. One of the least faulty
standing; and this has rendered philosophy and
classes is that of the names of substances, particu-
the sciences sophistical and inactive. Words are
larly of the less abstract and more defined species
generally formed in a popular sense, and define
(those then of chalk and mud arc good, of earth
things by those broad lines which arc most ob-
when a more acute bad); words signifying actions arc more faulty, as
vious to the vulgar mind; but
to generate, to corrupt, to change; but the most
understanding, or more diligent observation is
faulty are those denoting qualities (except the im-
anxious to vary those lines, and to adapt them
more accurately to nature, words oppose it. Hence mediate objects of sense), as heavy, light, rare,
dense. Yet in all of these there must be some no-
the great and solemn disputes of learned men of-
tions a little better than others, in proportion as a
ten terminate in controversies about words and
names, in regard to which it would be better (imi- greater or less number of things come before the
senses.
tating the caution of mathematicians) to proceed
more advisedly in the first instance, and to bring
Bacon, Novum Organum, I, 59-60

such disputes to a regular issue by definitions.

Such definitions, however, cannot remedy the evil 57 It is good, in discourse and speech of conversation,
in natural and material objects, because they con- to vary and intermingle speech of the present oc-
sist themselves of words, and these words produce
casion wth arguments, tales with reasons, asking
others; so that we must necessarily have recourse of questions with telling of opinions, and jest with
to particular instances, and their regular series earnest; for a dull thing
it is to tire, and, as we say
and arrangement, as we shall mention when we now, to jade, any thing too far.

come to the mode and scheme of determining no- Bacon, Of Discourse

tions and axioms.
The idols imposed upon the understanding by
words arc of two kinds. They are either the names
of things which have no existence (for as some
objects are from inattention left without a name,
58 Names have been conferred on things for the most
part by the inexpert, and ... for this reason they
do not always fit the things with sufficient accura-
cy. ... It is not our part to change them after

so names are formed by fanciful imaginations custom has accepted them, but only to permit the
which are without an object), or they are the emendation of their meanings, when we perceive
names of actual objects, but confused, badly de- that others do not understand them aright.
fined, and hastily and irregularly abstracted from Descartes, Objections and Replies, V
things. Fortune, the primum mobile, the plane-
tary orbits, the clement of fire, and the like fic- 59 Eloquence is power; because it is seeming pru-
tions, which owe their birth to futile and false the- dence.
ories, are instances of the first kind. And this Hobbes, Leviathan, I, 10
species of idols is removed with greater facility,
because it can be exterminated by the constant 60 Eloquence is an art of saying things in such a way
refutation or the desuetude of the theories them- (1) that those to whom we
speak may listen to

selves. The others, which are created by vicious them without pain and with pleasure; (2) that
and unskilful abstraction, are intricate and deeply they feel themselves interested, so that self-love

rooted. Take some word for instance, as moist, leads them more willingly to reflection upon it.

and let us examine how far the different significa- then, in a correspondence which we
It consists,
tions of this word are consistent. It will be found seek to establish between the head and the heart
that the word moist is nothing but a confused sign of those to whom we speak, on the one hand, and,
of different actions admitted of no settled and de- on the other, between the thoughts and the ex-
 7 2 The Arts of Language
. . 505

prcssions which we employ. This assumes that we

what wc say, without having an idea of it. For

have studied well the heart of man so as to know often wc

vaguely understand each of the terms, or
all its powers and, then, to find
the just propor- wc remember that wc have formerly understood
tions of the discourse which we wish to
adapt to them; but as we content ourselves with this blind
them. We must put ourselves in the place of those thought and as we do not push far enough the
who are to hear us, and make trial on our own analysis of notions, it happens that unwittingly wc

heart of the turn which we give to our discourse in fall into the contradiction which the composite
order to see whether one is made for the other, idea may imply.
and whether we can assure ourselves that the Leibniz, Thoughts on Knowledge, Truth
hearer will be, as it were, forced to surrender. We and Ideas
ought to restrict ourselves, so far as possible, to the
simple and natural, and not to magnify that 67 If wc had some exact language (like the one called
which is little, or belittle that which is great. It is Adamitic by some) or at least a kind of truly philo-
not enough that a thing be beautiful; it must be sophic writing, in which the ideas were reduced to a
and there must be in it
suitable to the subject, kind of alphabet of human thought, then all that fol-
nothing of excess or defect. lows rationally from what is given could be found
Pascal, Pensees, I, 16 by a kind of calculus, just as arithmetical or geomet-
rical problems arc solved.
61 Eloquence. — It requires the pleasant and the real; Such a language would amount to a Cabala of
but the pleasant must itself be drawn from the mystical vocables or to the arithmetic of Pythagore-
true. an numbers or to the Characteristic language of
Pascal, PenseeSj I, 25 magi, that is, of the wise,
Leibniz, On the Universal Science:
62 There arc some who speak well and write badly. Characteristic, XIV
For the place and the audience warm them, and
draw from their minds more than they think of 68 To come back to the representations of ideas by
without that warmth. characters: I think that controversies wll never
Pascal, Pensees, I, 47 end nor silence be imposed upon the sects, unless
complicated reasonings can be reduced to simple
63 When we find \vords repeated in a discourse and, calculations, and words of vague and uncertain
in trying to correct them, discover that they are so meaning to determinate characters.
appropriate that vec would spoil the discourse, we What must be achieved is in fact this: that ev-
must leave them alone. This is the test; and our ery paralogism be recognized as an error of calcula-
attempt is the work of envy, which is blind, and tion, and that every sophism, when expressed in this
docs not see that repetition is not in this place a new kind of notation, appear as a solecism or barba-
fault; for there is no general rule. rism, to be corrected easily by the law’s of this phil-
Pascal, Pensees, I, 48 osophical grammar.
Once done, then when a controversy aris-
this is
64 The same meaning changes with the words which es, disputation will nomore be needed between
express it. Meanings receive their dignity from tw’o philosophers than between Uvo computers. It
words instead of giving it to them. will suffice that, pen in hand, they sit down to
Pascal, Pensees, I, 50 their abacus and (calling in a friend, if they so
wish) say to each other: let us calculate. Once . . .

65 No matter what w'c wish to persuade we must

of, this true art of general analysis is established and
consider the f>crson concerned, whose mind and taken up by custom, men who understand it and
heart wc must know, what principles he admits, are experienced in it will under otherwise equal
what things he loves, and then observe in the conditions be as far superior to all others as the
thing in question what relations it has to these literate is to the illiterate, the learned to the vul-
admitted principles or to these objects of delight. eminent geometrician to the apprentice,
gar, the
So that the art of persuasion consists as much in and the outstanding algebraist to the common
knowing how to please as in knowing how to con- calculator. Provided the required intelligence be
vince, so much more do men follow caprice than applied, anyone could wnth this reliable method
reason.
find out everything that can be obtained from the
Pascal, Geometrical Demonstration available data, with the use of reason, even by the
greatest and most experienced mind. The only
66 It often happens that w'e imagine that we have in difference remaining would be one of promptness,
our minds ideas of things, from supposing, wrong- which is more important in action than in medita-
^

ly, that we have already

explained to ourselves the tion and invention. ... If the invention of the
terms of which w’c make use. And
it is not true, as telescope and the microscope has brought so much
some say, or at least it is very ambiguous, that we
light into the sciences of nature, it will certainly
cannot speak of anything, understanding fully be understood how much can be achieved by this
 72. The Arts of Language 507

them can scarce pass for faults. But yet if we way man’s words, according to the pro-
of using a
would speak of things as they arc, we must allow priety of the language, though it have not always

that all the art of rhetoric, besides order and
clearness; all the artificial and figurative applica-
tion of words eloquence hath invented, arc for
nothing else but to insinuate wrong ideas, move
the passions, and thereby mislead the judgment;
and so indeed are perfect cheats: and therefore,
however laudable or allowable oratory may ren-
der them in harangues and popular addresses,
they arc certainly, in all discourses that pretend to
inform or instruct, wholly to be avoided; and
where truth and knowledge are concerned, cannot
but be thought a great fault, either of the lan-
guage or person that makes use of them. What
and how various they are, will be superfluous here
to take notice; the books of rhetoric which abound
in the world, will instruct those who want to be
informed: only I cannot but observe how little the
preservation and improvement of truth and
knowledge is and concern of mankind;
the care
since the arts of fallacy are endowed and pre-
ferred. It is evident how much men love to deceive
72
and be deceived, since rhetoric, that powerful in-
strument of error and deceit, has its established
professors, is publicly taught, and has always been
had in great reputation: and I doubt not but it
will be thought great boldness, if not brutality, in
me to have said thus much against it. Eloquence,
like the fair sex, has too prevailing beauties in it to
suffer itself ever to be spoken against. And it is in
vain to find fault with those arts of deceiving,
wherein men find pleasure to be deceived.
Locke, Concerning Human Understanding,
Bk. Ill, X, 34
It is men have ideas, determined
not enough that
ideas, for which they make these signs stand; but
they must also take care to apply their words as
near as may be to such ideas as common use has
annexed them to. For words, especially of lan-
guages already framed, being no man’s private
possession, but the common measure of commerce
the good fortune to be understood; yet most com-
monly leaves the blame of it on him who is so
unskilful in the language he speaks, as not to un-
derstand it when made use of as it ought to be.
Locke, Concerning Human Understanding,
Bk. Ill, XI, 11
73 In the ordinary affairs of life, any phrases may be
retained, so long as they excite in us proper senti-
ments, or dispositions to act in such a manner as is
necessary for our well-being, how false soever they
may be if taken in a strict and speculative sense.
Nay, this is unavoidable, since, propriety being
regulated by custom, language is suited to the re-
ceived opinions, which are not always the truest.
Hence it is impossible, even in the most rigid,
philosophic reasonings, so far to alter the bent and
genius of the tongue we speak, as never to give a
handle for cavillers to pretend difficulties and in-
consistencies. But, a fair and ingenuous reader
will collect the sense from the scope and tenor and
connexion of a discourse, making allowances for
those inaccurate modes of speech which use has
made inevitable.
Berkeley, Principles of Human Knowledge, 52
74 And how did Garrick speak the soliloquy last
night? all rule, my Lord,
Oh, against most —
ungrammatically! betwixt the substantive and the
adjective, which should agree together in number,
case, and gender, he made a breach thus, stop- —
ping, as if the point wanted settling; —
and betwixt
the nominative case, which your lordship knows
should govern the verb, he suspended his voice in
the epilogue a dozen times three seconds and
three fifths by a stop-w’atch, my Lord, each
time. -Admirable grammarian! But in sus-
pending his voice —-was the sense suspended like-
wise? Did no expression of attitude or counte-
—
nance fill up the chasm? Was the eye silent? Did
you narrowly look? 1 looked only at the stop-

and communication, it is not for any one at plea- watch, my Lord. Excellent observer!
sure to change the stamp they arc current in, nor And what of this new book the whole world
alter the ideas they are affixed to; or at least, makes such a rout about? Oh! ’tis out of all
when there is a necessity to do so, he is bound to plumb, my Lord, quite an irregular thing!
give notice of it. Men’s intentions in speaking are, not one of the angles at the four corners was a
or at least should be, to be understood; which can- right angle. 1 had my rule and compasses,
not be without frequent explanations, demands, etc., my Lord, in my pocket. Excellent critic!
and other the like incommodious interruptions, And for the epic poem your lordship bid
where men do not follow common use. Propriety me —
upon taking the length, breadth,
look at
of speech is that which gives our thoughts en- height,and depth of it, and trying them at home
trance into other men’s minds with the greatest
—
upon an exact scale of Bossu’s ’tis out, my Lord,
case and advantage: and therefore deserves some in every one of its dimensions. ^Admirable
part of our care and study, especially in the names connoisseur!
of moral words. The proper signification and use Sterne, Tristram Shandy, III, 12
of terms is be learned from those who in
best to
their wntings and discourses appear to have had 75 Now before I venture to make use of the word
the clearest notions,and applied to them their —
Nose a second time to avoid all confusion in
terms with the cxactest choice and fitness. This what will be said upon it, in this interesting part
 ^

508 I
Chapter 7. Language

of my story, it may not be amiss to explain my 78 At Mr. Thrale’s, in the evening, he [Johnson] re-
oum meaning, and define, \Nith all possible exact- peated his usual paradoxical declamation against
ness and precision, what I wonld \villmgly be un- action in publick speaking. “Action can have no
derstood to mean by
the term: being of opinion, effect upon reasonable minds. It may augment

that *tis owing to the negligence and perverseness noise, but it never can enforce argument If you

of writers in despising this precaution, and to speak to a dog, you use action; you hold up your
nothing else—that all the polemical writings in hand thus, because he is a brute; and in propor-
divdnity are not as clear and demonstrative as tion as men are removed from brutes, action will
those upon a Will o’ the Wisp, or any other sound have the less influence upon them,” Mrs. Tkrak.
part of philosophy, and natural pursuit; in order “What then. Sir, becomes of Demosthenes’s say-
to which, what have you to do, before you set out, ing? ‘Action, action, action!’ ” Johnson. “Demos-
unless you intend to go puzzling on to the day of thenes, Madam, spoke to an assembly of brutes- to
—
judgment but to give the world a good defini- a barbarous people.”
tion, and stand to it, main word you have
of the I thought it extraordinary, that he should deny

most occasion for — changing it. Sir, as you would the power of rhetorical action upon human na-
—
a guinea, into small coin? which done let the — ture, when proved by innumerable facts in all
it is

father of confusion puzzle you, if he can; or put a stages of society. Reasonable beings are not solely
different idea either into your head, or your rcasonable. They have fancies which may be
reader’s head, if he knows ho\v. pleased, passions which may be roused.
In books of strict morality and close reasoning, Boswell, Life of Johnson (Apr. 3, 1773)
such as this I —
am engaged in the neglect is inex-
cusable; and Heaven is witness, how the world has
79 Johnson was at all times jealous of infractions
revenged itself upon me for leaving so many open-
upon the genuine English language, and prompt
—
ings to equivocal strictures and for depending so
to repress colloquial barbarisms; such as, pledging
much as I have done, all along, upon the cleanli- myself, for undertaking; line, for department, or branch,
ness of my readers’ imaginations . . . therefore
the the banking He was particular-
I define a nose as follows —intreating only be- as, civil line, line.

ly indignant against the almost universal use of

forehand, and beseeching my readers, both male
and female, of what age, complexion, and condi-
tion soever, for the love of God and their own
souls, to guard against the temptations and sug-
gestions of the de\Tl, and suffer him by no art or
wile to put any other ideas into their minds, than
what I put into my definition For by the word —
Nose, throughout all this long chapter of noses,
and in every other part of my work, where the
—
word Nose occurs I declare, by that word I
mean a nose, and nothing more, or less.
Sterne, TristTam Shandy^ III, 31
76 Let it be considered how many ideas we owe to
the use of speech; how far grammar exercises the
understanding and facilitates its operations. Let
us reflect on the inconceivable pains and the infi-
nite space of time that the first invention of lan-
guages must have cost. To these reflections add
w'hat preceded, and then judge how many thou-
sand ages must have elapsed in the successive de-
velopment in the human mind of those operations
of which it is capable.
Rousseau, Origin of Inequality
the word idea in notion or opinion, when
the sense of
it is can only signify something of
clear that idea
which an image can be formed in the mind. VVe
may have an idea or image of a mountain, a tree, a
building; but we cannot surely have an idea or
image of an argument or proposition. Yet we hear the
sages of the law' “delivering their ideas upon the
question under consideration”; and the first
speakers in parliament “entirely coinciding in the
idea which has been ably stated by an honourable
—
member”; or “reprobating an idea unconstitu-
tional, and fraught with the most dangerous con-
sequences to a great and free country.” Johnson
caUed this “modem cant.”
Boswell, Life ofJohnson (Sept. 23, 1777)
80 Talking of conversation, he [Johnson] said,
“There must, in the first place, be knowledge,
there must be materials; in the second place, there
must be a command of w-ords; in the third place,
there must be imagination, to place things in such
vie\vs as they are not commonly seen in; and in
the fourth place, there must be presence of mind,
I and a resolution that is not to be overcome by
failures: this last is an essential requisite; for want

77 Wise men, if they try to speak their language to of it many people do not excel in conversation.”
the common herd instead of its own, cannot possi- Boswell, Life ofJohnson (Mar. 21, 1783)
bly make themselves understood. There are a
thousand kinds of ideas which it is impossible to 81 The arts of persuasion, so diligently cultivated by
translate into popular language. Conceptions that the first Csesars, were neglected by the military
are too general and objects that are too remote ignorance and Asiatic pride of their successors,
are equally out of its range. and, if they condescended to harangue the sol-
Rousseau, Social Contract, II, 7 diers, whom they feared, they treated with silent
 7 2 The Arts of Language
, , 509

disdain the senators, whom they despised. an languages possess, the thinker finds himself of-
82 Gibbon, Decline and Fall of the ten at a loss for an expression exactly suited to his
Roman Empire, XXII conception, for want of which he is unable to
make himself intelligible either to others or to
General logic resolves the whole formal busi-
himself. To coin new words is a pretension to leg-
. . .

ness of understanding and reason into its ele-

islation in language which is seldom successful;
ments, and exhibits them as principles of all logi-
and, before recourse is taken to so desperate an
cal judging of our cognitions. This part of logic
expedient, it is advisable to examine the dead and
may, be called analytic, and is at least
therefore,
learned languages, with the hope and the proba-
the negative test of truth, because all cognitions bility that we may there meet with some adequate
must first of all be estimated and tried according expression of the nbtion we have in our minds. In
to these laws before we proceed to investigate
this case, even if the original meaning of the word
them in respect of their content, in order to dis- has become somewhat uncertain, from careless-
cover whether they contain positive truth in re-
ness or want of caution on the part of the authors
gard to their object. Because, however, the mere of it, it is always better to adhere to and confirm
form of a cognition, accurately as it may accord
with logical laws, is insufficient to supply us with
its proper meaning —even although it may be
doubtful whether it was formerly used in exactly
material (objective) truth, no one, by
logic alone,can venture to predicate anything of
means of
this sense —than to make our labour vain by want
of sufficient care to render ourselves intelligible.
or decide concerning objects, unless he has ob-
For this reason, when it happens that there ex-
tained, independently of logic, well-grounded in-
istsonly a single word to express a certain concep-
formation about them, in order afterwards to ex-
tion, and this word, in its usual acceptation, is
amine, according to logical laws, into the use and
thoroughly adequate to the conception, the accu-
connection, in a cohering whole, of that informa-
rate distinction of which from related conceptions
tion, or, what is still better, merely to test by
it
is of great importance, we ought not to employ the
them. Notwithstanding, there lies so seductive a
expression improvidently, or, for the sake of varie-
charm in the possession of a specious art like
it as a synonym for
ty and elegance of style, use
this —an art which gives our cognitions the
to all
other cognate words. It is our duty, on the con-
form of the understanding, although with respect
trary, carefully to preserve its peculiar significa-
to the content thereof we may be sadly deficient
tion, as otherwise happens that when the
it easily
that general logic, which is merely a canon of
attention of the reader is no longer particularly
judgement, has been employed as an organon for
attracted to the expression, and it is lost amid the
the actual production, or rather for the semblance
multitude of other words of very different import,
of production, of objective assertions, and has thus
the thought which it conveyed, and which it alone
been grossly misapplied. Now general logic, in its
conveyed, is lost with it.
assumed character of organon, is called dialectic.
Kant, Critique of Pure Reason,
Different as are the significations in which the
Transcendental Dialectic
ancients used this term for a science or an art, we
may safely infer, from their actual employment of
83 it, that with them it was nothing else than a logic 84 That the strictest laws of honesty should be ob-

of illusion —
a sophistical art for giving ignorance,
served in the discussion of a purely speculative
subject is the least requirement that can be made.
nay, even intentional sophistries, the colouring of
If we could reckon with security even upon so lit-
truth, in which the thoroughness of procedure
tle, the conflict of speculative reason regarding the
which logic requires was imitated, and their topic
important questions of God, immortality, and
employed to cloak the empty pretensions. Now it
freedom, would have been either decided long
may be taken as a safe and useful warning, that
ago, or would very soon be brought to a conclu-
general logic, considered as an organon, must al-
sion. But, in general, the uprightness of the de-
ways be a logic of illusion, that is, be dialectical,
for, as it teaches us nothing whatever respecting
fence stands in an inverse ratio to the goodness of

the content of our cognitions, but merely the for- the cause; and perhaps more honesty and fairness
mal conditions of their accordance with the un- are shown by those who deny than by those who

derstanding, which do not relate to and are quite

uphold these doctrines.
indifferent in respect of objects, any attempt to Kant, Critique of Pure Reason,
employ it as an instrument (organon) in order to Transcendental Method
extend and enlarge the range of our knowledge
niust end in mere prating; any one being able to 85 The arts of speech are rhetoric and poehy. Rhetoric is

maintain or oppose, with some appearance of the art of transacting a serious business of the un-
truth, any single assertion whatever. derstanding as if it were a free play of the imagi-
nation; poetry that of conducting a free play of the
Kant, Critique of Pure Reason,
imagination as if it were a serious business of the
Transcendental Logic, Intro.
understanding.
Despite the great wealth of words which Europe- Kant, Critique of Aesthetic Judgement, 51
 510 j
Chapter 7. Language

86 The use of words is to express ideas. Perspicuity, parts of speech does not exist; in many languages
therefore, requires not only that the ideas should it is widely different from that to which
we are
be distinctly formed, but that they should be ex- accustomed in the Indo-European languages
pressed by words distinctly and exclusively appro- These facts have to be borne in mind if we arc to
priate to them. But no language is so copious as to avoid giving metaphysical importance to mere ac-
supply words and phrases for every complex idea, cidents of our own speech.
or so correct as not to include many equivocally Russell, Analysis of Mind,
X
denoting different ideas. Hence it must happen
that however accurately objects may be discrimi- 90 In psycho-analytic treatment nothing happens
nated in themselves, and however accurately the but an exchange of words between the patient and
discrimination may be considered, the definition the physician. The patient talks, tells of his past
ofthem may be rendered inaccurate by the inac- experiences and present impressions, complains,
curacy of the terms in which it is delivered. And and expresses his wishes and his emotions. The
this unavoidable inaccuracy must be greater or physician listens, attempts to direct the patient’s
less, according to the complexity and novelty of thought-processes, reminds him, forces his atten-
the objects defined. When the Almighty himself tion in certain directions, gives him explanations
condescends to address mankind in their own lan- and observes the reactions of understanding or de-
guage, his meaning, luminous as it must be, is ren- nial thus evoked. The patient’s unenlightened rel-
dered dim and doubtful by the cloudy medium
through which it is communicated.
atives —people of a kind to be impressed only by
something visible and tangible, preferably by the
Here, then, are three sources of vague and in- sort of action thatmay be seen at a cinema never —
correct definitions: indistinctness of the object, im- omit to express their doubts of how *‘mere talk can
perfection of the organ of conception, inade- possibly cure anybody.” Their reasoning is of
quateness of the vehicle of ideas. Any one of these course as illogical as it is inconsistent. For they are
must produce a certain degree of obscurity, the same people who are always convinced that
Madison, Federalist 37 the sufferings of neurotics are purely “in their own
imagination.” Words and magic were in the be-
87 Grammar, in its extended and consistent form, is ginning one and the same thing, and even today
the work of thought, which makes its categories words retain much of their magical power. By
distinctly visible therein. words one of us can give to another the greatest
Hegel, Philosophy of History, Intro., 3 happiness or bring about utter despair; by words
the teacher imparts his knowledge to the student;
88 Consider for a moment what grammar is. It is the by words the orator sweeps his audience with him
most elementary part of logic. It is the beginning and determines its judgments and decisions.
of the analysis of the thinking process. The princi- Words call forth emotions and are universally the
plesand rules of grammar are the means by means by which we influence our fellow-crea-
which the forms of language are made to corre- tures. Therefore let us not despise the use of words
spond with the universal forms of thought. The in psycho-therapy.
between the various parts of speech,
distinctions Freud, General Introduction to

between the cases of nouns, the moods and tenses P^cho-Analysis, I

of verbs, the functions of particles, are distinctions

in thought, not merely in words. Single nouns and 91 Imagine that you had undertaken to replace a
verbs express objects and events, many of which political leading article in a newspaper by a series
can be cognized by the senses: but the modes of of illustrations; you would have to abandon al-
putting nouns and verbs together express the rela- phabetic characters in favour of hieroglyphics.
tions of objects and events, which can be cognized The people and concrete objects mentioned in the
only by the intellect; and each different mode cor- article could be easily represented, perhaps even
responds to a different relation. The structure of more satisfactorily, in pictorial form; but you
every sentence is a lesson in logic. would expect to meet with difficulties when you
Mill, Inaugural Address at St Andrews came to the portrayal of all the abstract words
and all those parts of speech which indicate rela-
89 The things that words mean differ more than tions between the various thoughts, e.g., particles,
words do. There are different sorts of words, dis- conjunctions, and so forth. With the abstract
tinguished by the grammarians; and there are words you would employ all manner of devices:
logical distinctions, which are connected to some for instance, you would try to render the text of
extent, though not so closely as was formerly sup- the article into other words, more unfamiliar per-
posed, with the grammatical distinctions of parts haps, but made up of parts more concrete and
of speech. It is easy, however, to be misled by therefore more capable of such representation.
grammar, particularly if all the languages we This will remind you of the fact that most abstract
know belong to one family. In some languages, words were originally concrete, their original sig-
according to some authorities, the distinction of nificance having faded; and therefore you will fall
 7 2 The Arts of Language
. .
back on the original concrete meaning of these
words wherever possible. So you will be glad that
you can represent the possessing of an object as a
literal, physical sitting upon it (possess =po-
This is Just how the dream-work pro-
tis'^sedeo).
ceeds. In such circumstances you can hardly de-
mand great accuracy of representation, neither
will you quarrel with the dream-work for replac-
ing an clement which is difficult to reduce to pic-
torial form, such as the idea of breaking marriage
vows, by some other kind of breaking, e.g.,
an arm or leg. In this way yousome extent
will to
succeed in overcoming the awkwardness of ren-
dering alphabetic characters into hieroglyphs.
Freud, General Introduction to
P^'cho-Analysis,
92 The Chinese lemguage, both spoken and
nxcecdingly ancient but used today by four
is still
hundred million people. Don’t suppose that I un-
derstand it at all; I only obtained some informa-
tion about it because I hoped to find in it analo-
gies to the kinds of indefinitene^ occurring in
dreams; nor was I disappointed in my expecta-
tion, for Chinese is so full of uncertainties as posi-
tively to terrify one. As is well known, it
a number of syllabic sounds which are pro-
nounced singly or doubled in combination. One of
the chief dialects has about four hundred of these
sounds, and since the vocabulary of this dialect is
estimated at somewhere about four thousand
words it is evident that every sound has an aver-
age of ten different meanings some fewer, but — Freud, General
some all the more. For this reason there are a
511
whole escape ambiguity, for the
series of devices to
context alone will not show which
of the ten possi-
ble meanings of the syllable the speaker wishes to
convey to the hearer. Amongst these devices is the
combining of two sounds into a single word and
the use of four different “tones” in which these
syllables may be spoken. For purposes of our com-
parison a still more interesting fact is that this
language is practically without grammar: it is im-
possible to say of any of the one-syllable words
that of whether it is a noun, a verb or an adjective; and,
further there are no show gender,
inflections to
number, case, tense ormood. The language con-
sists, as we may say, of the raw material only; Just
as our thought-language is resolved into its raw
XI material by the dream-work omitting to express
the relations in it. Wherever there is any uncer-
written, tainty in Chinese the decision is left to the intelli-
gence of the listener, who is guided by the context.
I made a note of a Chinese saying which literally
translated runs thus: “Little what sec, much what
wonderful.” This is simple enough to understand.
It may mean: “The less a man has seen, the more
he finds to wonder at,” or “There is much to won-
der at for the man who has seen little.” Naturally
consists of there is no occasion to choose between these two
translations which differ only in grammatical con-
struction. We are assured that in spite of these
uncertainties the Chinese language is a quite ex-
ceptionally good medium of expression; so it is
clear that indefiniteness docs not necessarily lead
to ambiguity,
Introduction to
P^xhO'Analysis, XV
 —

Chapter 8

EDUCATION

Chapter 8 is divided into three sections: 8.1 even during the years of formal schooling,
The Ends and Means of Education, 8.2 Habit, and certainly thereafter, there is much
and 8.3 The Arts of Teaching and Learning. learning without teachers. This situtation is

Education, broadly conceived, covers reflected an ambiguity in the word

in
much more than schooling, or the period in “learning.” As a verb, the word connotes an
which the young are under tutelage. It em- activity of the pupil or student whereby he
braces every activity by which an individual learns, usually under the guidance of an in-
grows mentally, morally, and spiritually. structor. But as a noun, the word often refers
Whatever contributes to the development of to what has been or can be learned and by —
a human person or the fulfillment of his po- extension to the whole range of things that
tentialities should be regarded as educative. men can know: the world of learning. Hu-
The development may b& an improve- man beings who are at home in that world
ment of the person’s mind through acquired are ordinarily called learned, and they are
knowledge or skill; it may be an improve- usually conceived as no longer needing to be
ment of his character; it may be an im- instructed, although even here there is an
provement in the use of his body. For that ambiguity, for the childlike innocence of the
improvement to be a stable and relatively learned has often been noted and described.
permanent acquisition, and not a momen- Texts having to do with learning in the
tarily transient one, it must become habitu- latter sense of the word will be found in Sec-

al.That is why the subject of Section 8.2 tion 8.1, for in this sense of the word learn-
habit and habit formation — is an important ing is the end, oran end, of education. Quo-
consideration in this chapter. tations having to do with learning in the
What is called formal or organized educa- former sense —
^where it refers to a process
tion, the kind that takes place in institutions ordinarily undergone by students in
of learning —schools at any level —usually schools —
will be found in Section 8.3.
involves teaching as well as learning, but Education as a process of human im-

512
 S.L The Ends and Means of Education \
513

provement is intimately related to subjects KNo^vLEDGE, Chapter 7 on Language, Chapter

Chapter
treated in other chapters, especially 9 on Ethics, and Chapter 16 on Art and Aes-
1 on Man, Chapter 5 on Mind, Chapter 6 on thetics.

8.1 The Ends and Means of Education

That the goal of education is the improve- for theeducation of the young.
ment of human beings can hardly be disput- For the most part, the education of the
ed; but that does not preclude wide differ- young, under the tutelage of teachers, occu-
ences of opinion about what constitutes such pies the center of attention; but there are
improvement and what factors or devices passages that concern themselves with edu-
contribute to it. The quotations here assem- cation as the process of a lifetime, begun in
bled conceive the educative process differ- school but not concluded there. Closely re-
ently according as they define in a different lated to these are the biographical quota-
manner the end it should be designed to tions in which men look back upon their
achieve and outline different programs for early training and evaluate it in the light of
accomplishing it. Associated with these dif- what they have learned much later in life.
ferences are differences in the way that the There are also quotations, for the most
ideal of an educated man is portrayed. part written by very learned men, about the
Some of the passages quoted get down to life of the scholar. It is interesting to note
the nuts and bolts of specific programs of that many of these are uncomplimentary.
instruction —the order of studies, the materi- The scholar or man of learning is often
als of learning, in short, the content of the viewed as simple or vain, as hindered by the
curriculum. Some are concerned with the very weight of his learning from leading a
order of learning and with the stages or peri- normal, happy, successful life. Such ani-
ods into which the whole process of educa- madversions are not universal, however, and
tion should be divided. Still others deal with there are texts that laud the scholar and rec-
the responsibility of the family and the state ommend his way of life as the best of all.

I Socrates. Indeed, Lysimachus, I should be very further than ourselves). I maintain, my friends,
wrong in refusing to aid in the improvement of that every one of us should seek out the best
anybody. And if I had shown in this conversation teacher whom he can find, first for ourselves, who
that had a knowledge which Nicias and Laches
I are greatly in need of one, and then for the youth,
have not, then I admit that you would be right in regardless of expense or anything. But I cannot
inviting me to perform this duty; but as we are all advise that we remain as we are. And if any one
in the same perplexity, why should one of us be laughs at us for going to school at our age, I would
preferred to another? I certainly think that no one quote to them the authority of Homer, who says,
should; and under these circumstances, let me of- “Modesty
that is not good for a needy man.” Let
fer you a piece of advice (and this need not go us, then, regardless of what may be said of us,
 514 Chapter 8. Education
make the education of the youths our own educa-
tion.
Plato, Laches, 200B
2 Socrates.Calculation and geometry and all the
other elements of instruction, which are a prepa-
ration for dialectic, should be presented to the
mind in childhood. . . .
That is a very rational notion, he [Glaucon]
said.
Do you remember that the children, too, were
on horseback; and
to be taken to see the battle
that if there were no danger they were to be
brought close up and, like young hounds, have a
taste of blood given them?
Yes, I remember.
The same practice may be followed, I said, in
all these things —
labours, lessons, dangers and—
he who is most at home in all of them ought to be
enrolled in a select number.
At what age?
At the age when the necessary gymnastics are
over: the period whether of two or three years
which passes in this sort of training is useless for
any other purpose; for sleep and exercise are un-
propitious to learning; and the trial of who is first
in gymnastic exercises is one of the most impor-
tant tests to which our youth are subjected.
Certainly, he replied.
After that time those who are selected from the
class of twenty years old will be promoted to high-
er honour, and the sciences which they learned
without any order in their early education will
now be brought together, and they will be able to
sec the natural relationship of them to one anoth-
er and to true being.
Yes, he said, that is the only kind of knowledge
which takes lasting root.
Yes, I said; and the capacity for such knowl-
edge is the great criterion of dialectical talent: the
comprehensive mind is always the dialectical.
I agree with you, he said.
These, I said, are the points which you must
consider; and those who have most of this compre-
hension, and who are more steadfast in their
learning, and in their military and other appoint-
ed duties, when they have arrived at the age of
thirty will have to be chosen by you out of the
select class, and elevated to higher honour; and
you will have to prove them by the help of dialec-
tic, in order to learn which of them is able to give
up the use of sight and the other senses, and in
company with truth to attain absolute being. . .
Suppose, I said, the study of philosophy to take
the place of gymnastics and to be continued dili-
gently and earnestly and exclusively for twice the
number of years which were passed in bodily exer-
cise —will that be enough?
Would you say six or four years? he asked.
Say five years, I replied; at the end of the time
they must be sent down again into the den and
compelled to hold any military or other office
which young men
are qualified to hold: in
this
way they will get their experience of life, and
there will be an opportunity of trying whether
when they are drawn all manner of ways by
temptation, they will stand firm or flinch.
And how long is this stage of their lives to last?
Fifteen years, I answered; and when they have
reached fifty years of age, then who still
let those
survive and have distinguished themselves in ev-
ery action of their lives and in every branch of
knowledge come at last to their consummation;
the time has now arrived at which they must raise
the eye of the soul to the universal light which
lightens all things, and behold the absolute good;
for that is the pattern according to which they arc
to order the State and the lives of individuals, and
the remainder of their own lives also;
losophy their chief pursuit, but, when their turn
making phi-
comes, toiling also at politics and ruling for the
public good, not as though they were performing
some heroic action, but simply as a matter of
duty; and when they have brought up in each
generation others like themselves and left them in
their place to be governors of the State, then they
will depart to the Islands of the Blest and dwell
there; and the city will give them public memori-
als and sacrifices and honour them, if the Pythian
oracle consent, as demigods, but if not, as in any
case blessed and divine.
You are a sculptor, Socrates, and have made
statues of our governors faultless in beauty.
Yes, I said, Glaucon, and of our governesses
too; for you must not suppose that what I have
been saying applies to men only and not to wom-
en as far as their natures can go.
Plato, Itepublic, VII, 536B
Any one who would be good at
3 Athenian Stranger,
anything must practise that thing from his youth
upwards, both in sport and earnest, in its several
branches: for example, he who is to be a good
builder, should play at building children’s houses;
he who is to be a good husbandman, at tilling the
ground; and those who have the care of their edu-
cation should provide them when young with
mimic tools. They should learn beforehand the
knowledge which they will afterwards require for
their art. For example, the future carpenter
should learn to measure or apply the line in play;
and the future warrior should learn riding, or
some other exercise, for amusement, and the
. teacher should endeavour to direct the children’s
inclinations and pleasures, by the help of amuse-
ments, to their final aim in life. The most impor-
tant part of education is right training in the nur-
sery. The soul of the child in his play should be
guided to the love of that sort of excellence in
which when he grows up to manhood he will have
to be perfected. Do you agree with me thus far?
Cleinias. Certainly.
 A

8,L The Ends and Means of Education |

515

AtJu Then let meaning of edu-

us not leave the ical in all or nearly all branches of knowledge,
cation ambiguous or At present, when
ill-defined. and not to one who has a like ability merely in
we speak in terms of praise or blame about the some special subject. For it is possible for a man to
bringing-up of each person, we call one man edu- have this competence in some one branch of
cated and another uneducated, although the un- knowledge without having it in all.

educated man may be sometimes very well edu-
cated for the calling of a retail trader, or of a
captain of a ship, and the like. For we are not
speaking of education in this narrower sense, but
of that other education in virtue from youth up-
wards, which makes a man eagerly pursue the
ideal perfection of citizenship,and teaches him
how and how to obey. This is the
rightly to rule
only education which, upon our view, deserves the
name; that other sort of training, which aims at
the acquisition of wealth or bodily strength, or
mere cleverness apart from intelligence and jus-
tice, is mean and illiberal, and is not worthy to be
called education at all. But let us not quarrel with
one another about a word, provided that the
proposition which has just been granted hold
good: to wit, that those who arc rightly educated
generally become good men. Neither must we cast
a slight upon education, which is the first and
fairest thing that the best of men can ever have,
and which, though liable to take a wrong direc-
tion, is capable of reformation. And this work of
Aristotle, Parts of Animals, 639^1
6 Moral excellence is concerned with pleasures and
pains; it is on account of the pleasure that w'c do
bad things, and on account of the pain that wc
abstain from noble ones. Hence wc ought to have
been brought up in a particular way from our
very youth, as Plato says, so as both to delight in
and to be pained by the things that w'c ought; for
this is the right education.
Aristotle, Ethics, 1104^
7 The legislator should direct his attention above all
to the education of youth; for the neglect of edu-
cation docs harm to the constitution. The citizen
should be moulded to suit the form of government
under which he lives. For each government has a
peculiar character which originally formed and
which continues to preserve it. The character of
democracy creates democracy, and the character
of oligarchy creates oligarchy; and always the bet-
ter the character, the better the government. . . .

reformation is the great business of every man And since the whole city has one end, it is man-
while he lives. ifest that education should be one and the same
Plato, Laws, I, 643A for all, and that it should be public, and not pri-
vate. . . . The training in things which arc of
4 Athenian Stranger. I mean by
education that train- common same for all. Nei-
interest should be the
ing which is given by suitable habits to the first ther must wc suppose that any one of the citizens
instincts of virtue in children; —when pleasure, belongs to himself, for they all belong to the state,
and friendship, and pain, and hatred, arc rightly and arc each of them a part of the state, and the
implanted in souls not yet capable of under- care of each part is inseparable from the care of
standing the nature of them, and who find them, the whole.
after they have attained reason, to be in harmony Aristotle, Politics, 1337^
with her. This harmony of the soul, taken as a
whole, is virtue; but the particular training in re- 8 That education should be regulated by law and
spect of pleasure and pain, which leads you al- should be an affair of state is not to be denied, but
ways to hate what you ought to hate, and love what should be the character of this public educa-
what you ought to love from the beginning of life tion, and how young persons should be educated,
to the end, may be separated off; and, in my view, arc questions which remain to be considered. As
will be rightly called education. things arc, there is disagreement about the sub-
Plato, Laws, II, 653 jects. For mankind are by no means agreed about
the things to be taught, whether wc look to virtue
5 Every systematic science, the humblest and the or the best Neither is it clear whether educa-
life.

noblest alike, seems to admit of two distinct kinds tion is more concerned with intellectual or with
of proficiency; one of which may be properly moral virtue. The existing practice is perplexing;
called scientific knowledge of the subject, while no one knows on what principle we should pro-
the other is a kind of educational acquaintance —
ceed should the useful in life, or should virtue, or
with it. For an educated man should be able to should the higher knowledge, be the aim of our
form a fair off-hand judgement as to the goodness training; all three opinions have been entertained.
or badness of the method used by a professor in Again, about the means there is no agreement; for
his exposition. To be educated is in fact to be able different persons, starting with different ideas
to do this; and even the man of universal educa- about the nature of virtue, naturally disagree
tion we deem to be such in virtue of his having about the practice of it,
this ability. It will, however, of course, be under- Aristotle, Politics, 1337®33
stood that we only ascribe universal education to
one who in his own individual person is thus crit- 9 Nature herself . . . requires that we should be
 1

516 Chapter 6, Education

able, not only to work well, but to use leisure well; ability,but because care was never taken in
nur-
for the first principle of all action is leisure.
. . . turing You may respond that some surpass
it.

Both are required, but leisure is better than occu- others in ability. I grant this to be true, in
that
pation and is its end; and therefore the question some accomplish more and others less. But there is
must be asked, what ought we to do when at lei- no one who does not gain by some studying.
sure? Clearly we ought not to be amusing our- Quintilian, /nstiluho Oraloria, 1,
selves, for then amusement would be the end of
life, . . . It is clear then that there are branches of 14 When a wise man like Numa had received the
learning and education which we must study sovereignty over a new and docile people, was
merely with a view to leisure spent in intellectual there anything that would better deserve his at-
activity, and these are to be valued for their own tention than the education of children, and the
sake; whereas those kinds of knowledge which are training up of the young, not tq, contrariet)' and
useful in business are to be deemed necessary, and discordance of character, but to the unity of the
exist for the sake of other things. common model of virtue, to which from their cra-
Aristotle, Politics^ 1337^31 dle they should have been formed and moulded?
One benefit among many that Lycurgus obtained
10 What greater or more beneficial service can I ren- by his course was the permanence which it se-

der the republic than to teach and train the cured to his laws. The obligation of oaths to pre-
youth, considering how far astray our young men serve them would have availed but little, if he had
have gone because of the prevailing moral loose- not, by discipline and education, infused them
ness. The greatest effort will be needed to restore into the children’s characters, and imbued their
them and to point them in the right direction. whole early life with a love of his government.
Cicero, Divination, II, 2 Plutarch, Lycurgus and Muma Compared

UK you want a man to keep Kis head when the 15 Ingenious men have long observed a resemblance
crisis comes you must give him some training be- between the arts and the bodily senses. And they
fore it comes. were first led to do so, I think, by noticing the way
Seneca, Letters to Luciliiis, 18 in which, both in the arts and with our senses, wc
examine opposites. Judgment once obtained, the
12 Why ‘liberal studies’ are so called is obvious: it is use to which we put it differs in the two cases. Our
because they are the ones considered worthy of a senses are not meant to pick out black rather than
free man. But there is really only one liberal study white, to prefer sweet to bitter, or soft and yielding
that deserves the name because it makes a per- — to hard and resisting objects; all they have to do is

—
son free and that is the pursuit of wisdom. Its to receive impressions as they occur, and report to
high ideals, its steadfastness and spirit make all the understanding the impressions as received.
other studies puerile and puny in comparison. The arts, on the other hand, which reason insti-

Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 88 tutes expressly to choose and obtain some suitable,
and to refuse and get rid of some unsuitable ob-
13 A father should, as soon as his son is born, con- ject, have their proper concern in the consider-
ceive the greatest possible hopes for the child’s fu- ation of the former; though, in a casual and con-
ture. He will thereby grow the more solicitous tingent way, theymust also, for the very rejection
about his improvement from the very beginning. of them,pay attention to the latter. . . .

For it is an assertion without foundation that In the same manner, it seems to me likely
claims that “to very few people is granted the fac- enough that we shall be all the more zealous and
ulty of comprehending what is imparted to them, more emulous to read, observe, and imitate the
and that most, through dulness of understanding, better lives, if we are not left in ignorance of the
lose their labour and their time.” On the con- blameworthy and the bad.
trary, you will find that the greater number of Plutarch, Demetrius
men are both ready in apprehending and quick in
learning, since such a faculty is natural to man. \ 6 Socrates, the great sage of antiquity, used to say,
As birds are born to fly, horses to run, and wild and very aptly, that if such a thing were possible
beasts to show fierceness, so to us peculiarly be- he would ascend to the loftiest height of the city
long and sagacity of understanding.
activity and cry out; “Where, mankind arc you heading?
Therefore the mind is considered to be a gift from Upon the acquisition of money you bestow every
heaven. Dull and unteachable persons are no zeal, but of your sons, to whom you will leave this
more produced in the course of nature than are money, you take little thought.” For my part I
persons marked by deformity or monstrosity. Such should add that the procedure of such fathers is
are certainly few, A simple proof of this assertion very like that of a man who would take thought
is that among boys, most of them show good for his shoe but neglect his foot. But many fathers
promise. And if it turns out that this promise nev- reach such a pitch in their love of money as well
er materializes, it is not usually for lack of latent as hatred of children that to avoid paying a larger
 —
8,L The Ends and Aieans of Education 517

stipend they choose as teachers for their children who flogged me? For if on some trifling point he
men worth nothing at all, shopping for ignorance had the worst of the argument with some fellow-
at bargain prices. On this point Aristippus very master, he was more torn with angry vanity than
neatlyand with great cleverness made a jesting I when I was beaten in a game of ball.

remark to a father who had no sense and no Augustine, Confessionsy I, 9

brains. When man
asked him his price for
the
educating his son, he replied “A thousand drach- 21 A clerk from Oxford was with us also,
mas.” “By Heracles,” the man said, “what an ex- Who’d turned to getting knowledge, long ago.
orbitant figure! I can buy a slave for a thousand.” As meagre was his horse as is a rake.
“Then you will have two slaves,” Aristippus re- Nor he himself too fat, Til undertake.
torted, “your son and the fellow you buy.” But he looked hollow and went soberly.
Plutarch, Education of Children Right threadbare was his overcoat; for he
Had got him yet no churchly benefice.
17 Education is how ... to distinguish
the learning Nor was so worldly as to gain office.
that of things some are in our power, but others For he would rather have at his bed’s head
arc not; in our power are will and all acts which Some twenty books, all bound in black and red.
depend on the will; things not in our power are Of Aristotle and his philosophy
the body, the parts of the body, possessions, par- Than rich robes, fiddle, or gay psaltery.
and, generally,
ents, brothers, children, countr>', Yet, and for all he was philosopher,
all with w'hom w'c live in society. He had but little gold within his coffer;
Epictetus, Discourses^ I, 22 But all that he might borrow from a friend
On books and learning he would swiftly spend,
18 We must not believe the many, who say that free And then he’d pray right busily for the souls
persons only ought to be educated, but we should Of those who gave him wherewithal for schools.
rather believe the philosophers, who say that the Of study took he utmost care and heed.
educated only arc free. Not one word spoke he more than was his need;
Epictetus, DiscourseSy 11, 1 And that w^as said in fullest reverence
And and quick and full of high good sense.
short

19 The carpenter docs not come and say, “Hear me Pregnant of moral virtue was his speech;
talk about the carperitcr’s art”; but having under- And gladly would he learn and gladly teach.
taken to build a house, he makes it, and proves Chaucer, Canterbuj}' Tales: The Prologue
that he know's the art. Youought to do some-
also
thing of the kind; eat like a man, drink like a 22 We can get along without burgomasters, princes,
man, dress, marry, beget children, do the office of and noblemen, but we can’t do without schools,
a endure abuse, bear with an unreason-
citizen, for they must rule the world,
able brother, bear with your father, bear with Luther, Table Talk, 5247
your son, neighbour, companion. Show us these
things that we may see that you have in truth 23 He put himself into such a road and way of study-
learned something from the philosophers. ing that he lost not any one hour in the day, but
Epictetus, Discourses^ III, 21 employed all his time in learning, and honest
knowledge. Gargantua awak’d, then about four
20 My parents seemed to be amused at the torments o’clock in the morning. Whilst they were in rub-
inflicted upon me as a boy by my masters, though bing of him, there was read unto him some chap-
I no less afraid of my punishments or zealous
w'as ter of the Holy Scripture aloud and clearly, with a
in my prayers to You for deliverance. But in spite pronunciation fit for the matter, and hereunto
of my terrors I still did wrong, by writing or read- was appointed a young page born in Baschc,
ing or studying less than my set tasks. It was not, named Anagnostes. According to the purpose and
Lord, that I lacked mind or memory, for You had argument of that lesson, he oftentimes gave him-
given me as much of these as my age required; self to worship, adore, pray, and send up his sup-
but the one thing I revelled in was play; and for plications to that good God, whose word did show
this I was punished by men w’ho were after all his majesty and maiv'ellous judgment. Then went
doing exactly the same things themselves. But the he into the secret places to make excretion of his
idling of men is called business; the idling of boys, natural There his master repeated
digestions.
though exactly like, is punished by those same what had been read, expounding unto him the
men: and no one pities either boys or men. Per- most obscure and difficult points. In returning,
haps an unbiased observer would hold that I was they considered the face of the sky, if it was such
rightly punished as a boy for playing with a ball: as they had observed it the night before, and into
because this hindered my progress in studies what signs the sun was entering, as also the moon
studies w'hichwould give me the opportunity as a for that day. This done, he was appareled,
man to play at things more degraded. And what combed, curled, trimmed and perfumed, during
difference was there between me and the master which time they repeated to him the lessons of the
 518 Chapter 8, Education

day before. He himself said them by heart, and
upon them would ground some practical cases
concerning the estate of man, which he would
prosecute sometimes two or three hours, but ordi-
narily they ceased as soon as he was fully clothed.
Then for three good hours he had a lecture read
unto him. This done, they went forth, still confer-
ring of the substance of the lecture, either unto a
fieldnear the university called the Brack, or unto
the meadou's where they played at the ball, the
long-tennis, and at the pile trigone, most gallantly
exercising their bodies, as formerly they had done
tlieir minds. All their play was but in liberty, for
they when they pleased, and that was com-
left off
monly when they did sweat over all their body, or
were otherwise weary. Then were they very well
wiped and rubbed, shifted their shirts, and walk-
ing soberly, went to see dinner was ready.
if
Whilst they stayed for that, they did clearly and
eloquently pronounce some sentences that they
had retained of the lecture. In the meantime Mas-
ter Appetite came, and then very orderly sat they
down at table. At the beginning of the meal, there
was read some pleasant history of the warlike ac-
tions of former times, until he had taken a glass of
wine. Then, if they thought good, they continued
reading, or began to discourse merrily together;
speaking first of the virtue, propriety, efficacy and
nature of all that was ser\'cd in at that table; of
bread, of \rine, of water, of salt, of fleshes, fishes,
fruits, herbs, roots, and of their dressing. By means
whereof, he learned in a little time all the pas-
sages competent for this, that were to be found in
Pliny, Athenajus, Dioscorides, Julius Pollux, Ga-
len, Porphyrius, Oppian, Polybius, Heliodorus,
Aristotle, iSian, and others. Whilst they talked of
etc. For in waiting on the concoction, and attend-
ing the digestion of his food, they made a thou-
sand pretty instruments and geometrical figures
and did in some measure practice the astronomi-
cal canons.
After this they recreated themselves with sing-
ing musically, in four or five parts, or upon a set
theme or ground at random, as it best pleased
them. In matter of musical instruments he
learned to play upon the lute, the virginals, the
harp, the Allman flute with nine holes, the violin
and the sackbut. This hour thus spent, and di-
gestion finished, he did purge his body of natural
excrements, then betook himself to his principal
study for three hours together, or more, as well to
repeat his matutinal lectures, as to proceed in the
book wherein he was, as also to >vTite handsomely,
to draw and form the antique and Roman letters.
This being done, they went out of their house, and
with them a young gentleman of Touraine,
named the Esquire Gymnast, who taught him the
art of riding. Changing then his clothes, he rode a
Naples courser, Dutch roussin, a Spanish gennet,
a barbed or trapped steed, then a light fleet horse,
unto whom he gave a hundred caricres, made him
go the high saults, bounding in the air, free a
ditch with a skip, leap over a stile or pale, turn
short in a ring both to the right and left hand.
There he broke not his lance; for it is the greatest
foolery in the world to say, I have broken ten
lances at tilts or in fight. A carpenter can do even
as much. But it is a glorious and praiseworthy
action, with one lance to break and overthrow ten
enemies. Therefore with a sharp, stiff, strong, and
well-steeled lance, would he usually force up a
door, pierce a harness, beat down a tree, cari)’

these things, many times, to be the more certain, away the ring, lift up a cuirassier saddle, with the
they caused the very books to be brought to the mail -coat and gauntlet. All this he did in com-
table, and so well and perfectly did he in his plete arms from head to foot. As for the prancing
memory retain the things above said, that in that flourishes, and smacking popisms, for the better
time there was not a ph^^ician that knew half so cherishing of the horse, commonly used in riding,
much as he did. Afterwards they conferred of the none did them better than he. The voltiger of Fer-
lessons read in the morning, and, ending their re- rara was but as an ape compared to him. He was
past with some conserve or marmalade of quinces, singularly skilful in leaping nimbly from one
he picked his teeth with mastic tooth- pickers, horse to another without putting foot to ground,
washed his hands and eyes with fair fresh water, and these horses were called desultorics. He could
and gave thanks unto God in some fine canticks, likewise from either side, with a lance in his hand,
made in praise of the divine bounty and munifi- leap on horseback without stirrups, and rule the
cence. This done, they brought in cards, not to horse at his pleasure without a bridle, for such
play, but to leam a thousand pretty tricks, and things are useful in military engagements. Anoth-
new which were all grounded upon
inventions, er day he exercised the battle-axe, which he so
arithmetic. By this means he fell in love with that dexterously wielded, both in the nimble, strong,
numerical science, and every day after dinner and and smooth management of that weapon, and
supper he passed his time in it as pleasantly, as he that in all the feats practiceable by it, that he
wzs wont to do at cards and dice: so that at last he passed knight of arms In the field, and at all es-
understood so well both the theory and practical says.
part thereof, that Tunstal the Englishman, who Then tossed he the
pike, played with the two-
had ™ttcn very largely of that purpose, confessed handed sword, the back sword, with the
\vith
that verily in comparison of him he had no skill at Spanish tuck, the dagger, poniard, armed, un-
all. And
not only in that, but in the other mathe- armed, with a buckler, with a cloak, with a target
matical sciences, as geometry, astronomy, music, Then w’ould he hunt the hart, the roebuck, the
 8.L The Ends and Means of Education
bear, the deer, the wild boar, the hare, the
pheasant, the and the bustard. He
partridge
played at the balloon, and made it bound in the
air, both with fist and foot. He wrestled, ran,
jumped, not at three steps and a leap, called the
hops, nor at chchepUd, called the hare’s leap, nor
yet at the Almanes; for, said Gymnast, these jumps
arc for the wars altogether unprofitable, and of no
use: but at one leap he would skip over a ditch,
spring over a hedge, mount six paces upon a wall,
ramp and grapple after this fashion up against a
window, of the full height of a lance. He did swim
in deep waters on his belly, on his back, sidc^vays,
with all his body, with his feet only, w'iih one
hand in the air, wherein he held a book, crossing
thus the breadth of the River Seine, without wet-
ting, and dragging along his cloak with his tectlt,
as did Julius Ccesar; then with tlic help of one
hand he entered forcibly into a boat, from whence
he cast himself again headlong into the water,
sounded the depths, hollowed the rocks, and
plunged into the pits and gulfs. Then turned he
the boat about, governed it, led it s>viftly or slowly
wth the stream and against the stream, stopped it
in his course, guided it with one hand, and \sith
the other laid hard about him with a huge great
oar, hoisted the sail, hied up along the mast by the
shrouds, ran upon the edge of the decks, set the
compass in order, tackled the bowlines, and
steered the helm. Coming out of the water, he ran
furiouslyup against a hill, and with the same
alacrity and sw'iftncss ran down again. He
climbed up trees like a cat, leaped from the one to
the other like a squirrel. He did pull dowm the
great boughs and branches, like another Milo;
then Mth two sharp well -steeled daggers, and two
tried bodkins, would be run up by the wall to the
very top of a house like a rat; then suddenly come
down from the top to the bottom with such an
even composition of members, that by the fall he
would catch no harm.
He did cast the dart, throw the bar, put the
stone, practise the javelin, the boar spear or parti-
san, and the halbert. He broke the strongest bows
in drawing, bended against his breast the greatest
cross-bow’s of steel, took his aim by the eye with
the hand-gun, and shot w’cll, traversed and plant-
ed the cannon, shot at but-marks, at the papgay
from below’ upw-ards, or to a height from above
dowm wards* or to a descent; then before him side-
wise, and behind him, like the Parthians. They
tied a cable-rope to the top of a high tow'cr, by
one end whereof hanging near the ground he
wrought himself with his hands to the very top;
then upon the same tract came dowm so sturdily
and firm that you could not on a plain meadow
have run with more assurance. They set up a
great pole fixedupon tw’o trees. There w’ould he
hang by his hands, and with them alone, his feet
touching at nothing, would go back and fore
along the aforesaid rope with so great swiftness,
j
519
that hardly could one overtake him with running;
and then, to exercise his breast and lungs, he
w’ould shout like all the devils in hell. I heard him
once call Eudemon from St. Victor’s gate to
Montmartre. Stentor never had such a voice at
the siege of Troy. Then for the strengthening of
his nerves or sinew's, they made him two great
sows of lead, each of them w'cighing eight thou-
sand and seven hundred quintals, which they
called Altcrcs. Those he took up from the ground,
in each hand one, then lifted them up over his
head, and held them so without stirring three
quarters of an hour or more, which was an inimi-
table force. He fought at barriers with the stoutest
and most vigorous champions; and when it came
to the cope, he stood so sturdily on his feet, that he
abandoned himself unto the strongest, in ease they
could remove him from his place, as Milo was
w'onl to do of old. In whose imitation likewise he
held a pomegranate in his hand, to give it unto
him that could take it from him. The time being
thus bestowed, and himself rubbed, cleansed,
wiped and refreshed w’ith other clothes, he re-
turned fair and softly; and passing through cer-
tain meadow's, or other grass)' places, beheld the
trees and plants, comparing them w’ith w'hat is
written of them in the books of the ancients, such
as Tlieophrast, Dioscoridcs* Marinus, Pliny, Ni-
candcr, Maccr, and Galen, and carried home to
the house great handfuls of them, w’hcrcof a
young page called Rizotomos had charge; togeth-
er with little mattocks, pickaxes, gnibbing hooks,
cabbies, pruning knives, and other instruments
requisite for herborising. Being come to their
lodging, whilst supper w’asmaking ready, they re-
peated certain passages of that which had been
read, and then sat down at table. Here remark,
that his dinner was sober and thrifty, for he did
then cat only to prevent the gnawings of his stom-
ach, but his supper was copious and large; for he
took then as much as was fit to maintain and
nourish him; w’hich indeed is the true diet pre-
scribed by the good and sound physic, al-
art of
though a rabble of loggerheaded physicians, muz-
zled in the brabbling shop of sophisters, counsel
the contrary’. During that repast was continued
the lesson read at dinner as long as they thought
good: the rest w’as spent in good discourse, learned
and profitable. After that they had given thanks,
he set himself to sing vocally, and play upon har-
monious instruments, or otherwise passed his time
at some pretty sports, made w’ith cards and dice,
or in practising the feats of legerdemain with cups
and balls. There they staid some nights in frolick-
ing thus, and making themselves merry till it was
time to go to bed; and on other nights they would
go make visits unto learned men, or to such as had
been travellers in strange and remote countries.
When it \vas full night before they retired them-
selves,they w’cnt unto the most open place of the
house to see the face of the sky, and there beheld
 520 Chapter 8. Education

the comets, if any were, as likewise the figures, inviolable rule that neither my father himself, nor
situations, aspects, oppositions and conjunctions of my mother, nor any valet or housemaid, should
both the fixed stars and planets. speak anything in my presence but such Latin
Then with his master did he briefly recapitu- words as each had learned in order to jabber wth
late, after the manner of the Pythagoreans, that me.
which he had read, seen, learned, done and un- It is wonderful how everyone profited from this.

derstood in the whole course of that day. My father and mother learned enough Latin in
Then prayed they unto God the Creator, in this way to understand it, and acquir^ sufficient
falling doNvn before him, and strengthening their skill touse it when necessary, as did also the ser-
faith towards him, and glorifying him for his vants who were most attached to my service. Alto-
boundless bounty; and, giving thanks unto him gether, we Latinized ourselves so much that it

for the time that was past, they recommended overflowed all the way to our
on every villages
themselves to his divine clemency for the future. sidCi where there still remain several Latin names
Which being done, they went to bed, and betook for artisans and tools that have taken root by us-
themselves to their repose and rest. age. As for me, I was over six before I understood
Rabelais, Gargantua and Pantagrud, I, 23 any more French or Perigordian than Arabic,
Montaigne, Eimys, I, 26, Education ol
24 Since philosophy that teaches us to live, and
it is Children
since there is a lesson in it for childhood as well as

for the other ages, why is it not imparted to chil- 26 The ignorance that was naturally in us we have
dren? . . They teach us to live, when life is past.
. by long study confirmed and verified. To really
A hundred students have caught the syphilis be- learned men has happened what happens to cars
fore they came to Aristotle’s lesson on temper- of wheat: they rise high and lofty, heads erect and
ance. . Our child is in much more of a hurry:
. .
proud, as long as they arc empty; but when they
he owes to education only the first fifteen or six- arc full and s^vollen with grain in their ripeness,

teen years of his life; the rest he outs to action. they begin to grow humble and lower their horns.

Let us use so short a time for the necessary teach- Siniilarly, men who have tried everything and

ings. The others are abuses: away with all those sounded everything, having found in that pile of
thorny subtleties of dialectics, by which our lives knowledge and store of so many various things
cannot be amended. Taicc the simple teachings of nothing solid and firm, and nothing but vanity,
philosophy, know how to choose them and treat have renounced their presumption and recog-
them at the right time; they arc easier to under- nized their natural condition.
stand than a tale of Boccaccio. A child is capable Montaigne, EssaySf II, 12,
of that when he leaves his nurse, much more than Apology for Raymond Sebond
of learning to read and write. Philosophy has les-
sons for the birth of men as well as for their de- 27 Tranio, Mi perdonato, gentle master mine,
crepitude. I am in all affected as )x»urself;
Montaigne, Essays^ I, 26, Education of Glad that you thus continue your resolve

Children To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy.

Only, good master, while wc do admire
25 My having made all the inquiries a
late father, This virtue and this moral discipline,
man can make, among men of learning and un- Let’s be no stoics nor no stocks, I pray;
derstanding, about a superlative system of educa- Or so devote to Aristotle’s checks
tion, became aware of the drawbacks that were As Ovid be an outcast quite abjured:
prevalent; and he was told that the long time we Balk logic with acquaintance that you have
put into learning languages which cost the an- And practise rhetoric in your common talk;

cient Greeks and Romans nothing U’as the only Music and poesy use to quicken you;
reason we could not attain their greatness in soul The mathematics and the metaphysics,
and in knowledge. I do not think that that is the Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you;
only reason. At all events, the expedient my lather No profit grows where is no pleasure ta’cn:
hit upon was that while I was nursing and
this, In brief, sir, study what you most affect.
before the first loosening of my tongue, he put me Shakespeare, Taming of the ShreWf I, i, 25
in the care of a German, who has since died a
famous doctor in France, wholly ignorant of our 28 Biron. Study is like the heaven’s glorious sun
language and very well versed in Latin. This That will not be dccp-scarch’d with saucy
man, whom he had sent for expressly, and who looks:
was very highly paid, had me constantly in his Small have continual plodders ever won
hands. There were also two others with him, less Save base authority from others* books.
learned, to attend me and relieve him. These These earthly godfathers of heaven’s lights
spoke to me in no other language than Latin. As That give a name to every fixed star
for the rest of my father’s household, it was an Have no more profit of their shining nights
 8,L The Ends and Means of Education
Than those that walk and wot not what they
are.
Too much to know is to know nought by fame;
And every godfather can give a name.
Shakespeare, Lovds Labour^s Lost, I,
Sir, said he,you seem to me to have frequented
29
the Schools; pray what Science has been your
particular Study? That of Knight-Errantry,
answer’d Don QuixoU, \vhich is as good as that of
Poetry, and somewhat better too. I don’t know
what a Science that is, said Don Lorenzo^
sort of
nor indeed did I ever hear of it before. ’Tis a Sci-
ence answer’d Don Quixote^ that includes in itself
all the other Sciences in the World, or at least the
greatest Part of them: Whoever professes it, ought
to be learned in the laws, and understand distrib-
utive and commutative Justice, in order to right
all Mankind. He ought to be a Divine, to give a
Reason of his Faith, and vindicate his Religion by
Dint of Argument. He ought to be skill’d in Phy-
sick, especially in the Botanick Part of it, that he
may know the Nature of Simples, and have re-
course to those Herbs that can cure Wounds; for a
Knight-Errant must not expect to find Surgeons
in the Woods and Desarts. He must be an Astron-
omer, to understand the Motions of the Celestial
Orbs, and find out by the Stars the Hour of the
Night, and the Longitude and Latitude of the Cli-
mate on which Fortune throws him: and he ought
to be well instructed in all the other Parts of the
Mathematicks, that Science being of constant use
to a Professor of Arms, on many Accounts too
numerous to be related. I need not tell you, that
all and moral Virtues must center in
the divine
his Mind. To descend to less material Qualifica-
tions; he must be able to swim like a Fish, know
how to shooe a Horse, mend
a Saddle or Bridle:
and returning to higher Matters, he ought to be
inviolably devoted to Heaven and his Mistress,
Chaste in his Thoughts, Modest in Words, and
Liberal and Valiant in Deeds; Patient in Afflic-
tions, Charitable to the Poor; and finally a Main-
tainer of Truth, though it cost him his Life to
defend it. These are the Endowments to constitute
a good Knight-Errant; and now, Sir, be you a
Judge, whether the Professors of Chivalry have an
easy Task to perform, and whether such a Science
may not stand in Competition with the most cele-
brated and best of those that are taught in Col-
leges?
Cervantes, Don Quixote^ II,
30 Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for
ability. Their chief use for delight is in privateness
and retiring; for ornament, is in discourse; and for
ability, in the judgment and disposition of busi-
ness. For expert men can
execute, and perhaps
judge one by one; but the general
of particulars,
counsels, and the plots and marshalling of affairs,
come best from those that arc learned. To spend
521
toomuch time in studies is sloth; to use them too
much for ornament is affectation; to make judg-
ment wholly by their rules is the humour of a
scholar. They perfect nature, and are perfected by
i, 84 experience: for natural abilities are like natural
plants, that need pruning by study; and studies
themselves do give forth directions too much at
large, except they be bounded in by experience.
Bacon, Of Studies
31 Crafty men contemn studies; simple men admire
them; and wise men use them: for they teach not
their own use; but that is a wisdom without them
and above them, won by observation.
Bacon, Of Studies
32 Histories make men wise; poets witty; the mathe-
matics subtile; natural philosophy deep; moral
grave; logic and rhetoric able to contend. . . .
There is no stond or impediment in the wit, but
may be wrought out by fit studies: like as diseases
of the body may have appropriate exercises.
Bacon, Of Studies
33 The end of study should be to direct the mind
towards the enunciation of sound and correct
judgments on all matters that come before it.
Descartes, Rules for Direction of the Mind, I
34 The end ... of learning is to repair the ruins of
our first parents by regaining to know God aright,
and out knowledge to love him, to imitate
of that
him, to be like him, as we may the nearest by
possessing our souls of true virtue, which being
united to the heavenly grace of faith, makes up
the highest perfection.
Milton, Of Education
35 I ... a complete and generous education,
call
thatwhich fits a man to perform justly, skilfully,
and magnanimously all the offices, both private
and public, of peace and war.
Milton, Of Education
36 There is nothing by which a person can better
show how much skill and talent he possesses than
by so educating men that at last they will live
under the direct authority of reason.
Spinoza, Ethics, IV, Appendix IX
when they come first into it, are sur-
37 Children
18 rounded with a world of new things, which, by a
constant solicitation of their senses, draw the mind
constantly to them; forward to take notice of new,
and apt to be delighted with the variety of chang-
ing objects. Thus the first years are usually em-
ployed and diverted in looking abroad. Men’s
business in them is to acquaint themselves with
what is to be found without; and so growing up in
a constant attention to outward sensations, seldom
make any considerable reflection on what passes
 522 Chapter 8. Education

within them, till they come to be of riper years; 41 From frequently reflecting upon the course and
and some scarce ever at all. method of educating youth in this and a neigh-
Locke, Concerning Human Understanding, bouring kingdom, wdth the general success and
Bk. II, I, 8 consequence thereof, I am come to this detemu-
nation, that education is alwa^-s the worse in pro-
38 A sound mind
in a sound body is a short but full portion to the wealth of and grandeur of the par-
description ofa happy state in this world. He that ents.
has these two hzts little more to wish for; and he Swift, Essay on Modem Education
that w’ants either of them will be but little the
better for anything else. Men’s happiness or mis- 42 A little
learning is a dangerous thing;
ery is most part of their own maldng. He whose Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.
mind directs not wisely will never take the right
There shallow' draughts intoxicate the brain.
w'ay;and he whose body is crazy and feeble w^ill And drinking largely sobers us again.
never be able to advance in it. I confess there are Fired at first sight 'with W'hat the Muse imparts,
some men’s constitutions of body and mind so vig- In fearless youth we tempt the heights of arts,
orous and well framed by nature that they need While from the bounded level of our mind
not much assistance from others; but by the Short view's w'e take, nor sec the lengths behind;
strength of their natural genius they arc from But more advanced, behold with strange surprise
their cradles carried tow^ards what is excellent; New' distant scenes of endless science rise!
and by the pri\'ilege of their happy constitutions
Pope, Essay on Criticism, 11, 215
arc able to do wonders. But examples of this kind
arc but few; and I think I may say that of all the
43 The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read,
men we meet with, nine parts of ten are what they
With loads of learned lumber in his head.
arc, good or or not, by their education.
evil, useful
With his owm tongue still edifies his ears.
*Tis that w'hich makes the great difference in
And always list’ning to himself appears.
mankind.
Pope, Essay on Criticism, III, 612
Locke, Some Thoughts Concerning Education, I

39 ’Tis virtue . w'hich is the hard and valuable

. ,
44 The mere philosopher is a character, w'hich is

part to be aimed at in education, and not a for- commonly but acceptable in the world, as
little
w'ard pertness or any little arts of shifting. All being supposed to contribute nothing either to the
other considerations and accomplishments should advantage or pleasure of society; while he lives
give way and be postponed to this. This is the remote from communication w’ith mankind, and
solid and substantial good which tutors should not is wrapped up in principles and notions equally
only read lectures and talk of, but the labor and remote from their comprehension. On the other
art of education should furnish the mind w'ith and hand, the mere ignorant is still more despised; nor
fasten there, and never cease till the young man is anything deemed a surer sign of an illiberal
had a true relish of it, and placed his strength, his genius in an age and nation where the sciences
glory, and his pleasure in it. flourish, than to be entirely destitute of all relish
The more this advances, the easier >vay will be for those noble entertainments. The most perfect
made for other accomplishments in their turns. character is supposed to lie benvecn those e.x-
For he that is brought to submit to virtue will not tremes; retaining an equal ability and taste for
be refractorj', or restive, in anything that becomes books, company, and business; preserving in con-
him; and therefore I cannot but prefer breeding of versation that discernment and delicacy which
a young gentleman at home in his father’s sight, arise from polite letters; and in business, that
under a good governor, as much the best and saf- probity and accurac)' which arc the natural result
est way to this great and main end of education, of a just philosophy.
when it can be had, and is ordered as it should be. Hume, Concerning Human Understanding, I, 4
Locke, Some Thoughts Concerning Education, 70

40 He that at any rate procures his child a good

45 W'hatever propensity one may have to vice, it is

not easy for an education, w'ith which love has

mind, well -principled, tempered to virtue and
mingled, to be entirely throw'n away.
usefulness, and adorned wath civility and good
breeding, makes a better purchase for him than if
Rousseau, Origin of Inequality,
Dedication
he laid out the money for an addition of more
earth to his former acres. Spare it in toys and
play^-games, in silk and ribbons, laces, and other 46 From the first moment of men ought to begin
life,

useless expenses, as much as you please; but be learning to deserve to live; and, as at the instant
not sparing in so neecssarj' a part as this. ’Tis not of birth W’e partake of the rights of citizenship,
good husbandry to make his fortune rich, and his that instant ought to be the beginning of the exer-
mind poor. cise ofour duty. If there are laws for the age of
Locke, Some Thoughts Concerning Education, 90 maturity, there ought to be laws for infancy’.
 8.L The Ends and Means of Education j
523

teaching obedience to others: and as the reason of can encourage, and can cs*en impose upon almost
each man is not left to be the sole arbiter of his the whole body of the people the necessity of ac-
duties, govxmmcnt ought the less indiscriminately quiring those most essential parts of education.
to abandon to the intelligence and prejudices of Adam Smith, Wealth of Nations, V, 1
fathers the education of their children, as that
education is of still greater importance to the 52 A man without the proper use of the intcllcciual
State than to the fathers: for, according to the faculties ofa man, is, if possible, more contempt-
course of nature, the death of the father often de- ible than even a co\vard, and seems to be mutilat-
prives him of the final fruits of education; but his ed and deformed in a still more essential part of
country’ sooner or later perceives its effects. Fami- the character of human naturx. Though the state
lies dissolve, but the State remains. w'as to derive no advantage from the instruction of
Rousseau, Political Economy the inferior ranks of people, it would still deserve

its attention that they should not be altogether

47 All that we lack at birth, all that we need when uninstructed. The state, however, derives no in-
we come to man’s estate, is the gift of education. considerable advantage from their instruction,
Rousseau, EmilCf I TTic more they arc instructed the less liable (hey
arc to the delusions of enthusiasm and supersti-
48 Education comes to us from nature, from men, or tion, which, among ignorant nations, frequently
from things. Tlie inner growth of our organs and occasion the most dreadful disorders. An instruct-
faculties is the education of nature, the use we ed and intelligent people, besides, arc always
learn to make of this gro\vth is the education of more decent and orderly than an ignorant and
men, what we gain by our experience of our sur- stupid one. They feel themselves, each individu-
roundings is the education of things. ally, more respectable and more likely to obtain
Thus we arc each taught by three masters. 1/ the respect of their lawful superiors,and thej" arc
their teaching conflicts, the scholar is ill-educated therefore more disposed to respect those superiors.
and will nc^'cr be at peace with himself; if their They arc more disposed to examine, and more
teaching agrees, he goes straight to his goal, he capable of seeing through, the interested com-
lives at peace with himself, he is well-educated. plaints of faction and sedition, and they arc, upon
Rousseau, Emile, I that account, less apt to be misled into any w’an-
ton or unnecessary opposition to the measures of
49 Johnson, While learning to read and w'ritc is a dis- government. In free countries, w’hcrc the safety of
tinaion, tlic few who have that distinction may be government depends very' much upon the favour-
the less inclined to work; but when everj' body able judgment which the people may form of its
learns to read and write, it is no longer a distinc- conduct, it must surely be of the highest impor-
tion. tance that they should not be disposed to judge
Boswell, Life of Johnson (Apr. 14, 1772) rashly or capriciously concerning it.
Adam Smith, UVa/t/i of Nations, V, 1

50 He [Johnson] allowed \eiy great influence to edu-

cation. “I do not deny, Sir, but there is some origi- 53 Education is the art of making men ethical. It
nal difference in minds; but it is nothing in com- begins with pupils whose life is at the instinctive
parison of formed by education. We may
what is lc\xl and shows them the way to a second birth,
instance the science of numhers, which all minds the way to change their instinctive nature into a
arc equally capable of attaining; yet we find a second, intellectual, nature, and makes this intel-
prodigious difference in the powers of different lectual level habitual to them. At this point the
men, in that respect, after they arc grown up, be- clash bctw’ccn the natural and the subjective will
cause their minds have been more or less exercised disappears, the subject’s internal struggle dies
in it: and I think the same cause will explain the away. To this extent, habit is part of ethical life as
difference of excellence in other things, gradations it is of thought also, since such
philosophic
admitting always some difference in the first prin- thought demands that mind be trained against ca-
ciples.** pricious fancies, and that these be destroyed and
Boswxll, Life of Johnson (Mar. 16, 1776) overcome to leave the way clear for rational
thinking. It is true that a man
is killed by habit,

51 l*hough the common

people cannot, in any civi- i.c. ifhe has once come to feel completely at home
lised society, be so well instructed as people of in life, if he has become mentally and physically
some rank and fortune, the most essential parts of dull, and if the clash bctwxen subjective con-
education, howc\xr, to read, write, and account, sciousness and mental activity' has disappeared;
can be acquired at so early a period of life that the for man is active only in so far as he has not at-
greater part c\xn of those who are to be bred to tained his end and wills to dc\'clop his potentiali-
the lowest occupations have time to acquire them ties and vindicate himself in struggling to attain
before ihc>’ can be employed in those occupations. it. When this has been fully achic\’cd, activity and
For a %*cr\' small expense the public can facilitate. vitality arc at an end, and the result — loss of in-
 —
524 I
Chapter 8. Education

terest in life — is mental or physical death. 56 No child under the age of fifteen should
recent
Hegel, Philosophy of Right, instruction in subjects which may possibly be the
Additions, Par. 151 vehicle of serious error, such as philosophy,
reli-
gion, or any other branch of knowledge where it
U
54 Man has to acquire for himself the position w'hich necessary to take large Wews; because wrong
no-
he ought to attain; he is not already in possession tions imbibed early can seldom be rooted out,
and
of it by instinct. It is on this fact that the child’s of all the intellectual faculties, judgment is the last

right to education based. Peoples under patriar-

is to arrive at maturity. The cWId should give its

chal government are in the same position as chil- attention cither to subjects w'here no eiror is posa-
dren; they arc fed from central stores and not re- ble at all, such as mathematics, or to those in
garded as self-subsistent and adults. The services which there is no particular danger in making
a
which may be demanded from children should mistake, such as languages, natural science, histo-
therefore have education as their sole end and be ry and so on.
relevant thereto; they must not be ends in them- Schopenhauer, Edi^atiai

selves, since a child in slavery is in the most uneth-

ical of all situations whatever- One of the chief 57 If we think of it, all that a University, or final

factors in education is discipline, the purport of highest School can do for us, is still but what the
which is to break down the child’s self-'will and first School began doing —teach
us to read \Vc
thereby eradicate his purely natural and sensuous learn to read, in various languages, in various sci-
self.We must not expect to achieve this by mere ences; we learn the alpha^t and letters of all
goodness, since it is just the immediate will which manner of Books, But the place where we arc to
acts on immediate fancies and caprices, not on get knowledge, even theoretic knowledge, is the
reasons and representative thinking. If we ad- Books themselves! depends on what we read,
It
vance reasons to children, we leave it open to after all manner of Professors have done their best
them to decide whether the reasons arc weighty or for us. The true University of these days is a Col-
not, and thus we make everything depend on their lection of Books.
whim. So far as children are concerned, univer- Carlyle, The Hero as Man of Letters
sality and the substance of things reside in their
parents, and this implies that children must be 58 Man is thus metamorphosed into a thing, into
obedient. If the feeling of subordination, produc- many things. The planter, w’ho is Man sent out
ing the longing to grow up, is not fostered in chil- into the field to gather food, is seldom cheered by
dren, they become forward and impertinent. any idea of the true dignity of his ministry. He
Hegel, Philosophy of Right, sees his bushel and his cart, and nothing bey-ond,
Additions, Par, 174 and sinks into the farmer, instead of Man on the
farm. The tradesman scarcely ever gives an ideal
55 A man sees a great many things when he looks at worth to his w'ork, but is ridden by the routine of

the world for himself, and he sees them from his craft, and the soul is subject to dollars. The
many sides; but this method of learning is not priest becomes a form; the attorney a statute-
nearly so short or so quick as the method which book; the mechanic a machine; the sailor a rope
employs abstract ideas and makes hasty generali- of the ship.
zations about everything. Experience, therefore, In this distribution of functions the scholar is

will be a long time in correcting preconceived the delegated intellect. In the right state he is Man
ideas, or perhaps never bring its task to an end; Thinking. In the degenerate state, when the victim
for where%'er a man finds that the aspect of things of society, he tends to become a mere thinker, or
seems to contradict the general ideas he has still worse, the parrot of other men’s thinking.

formed, he will begin by rejecting the evidence it In this view of him, as Man Thinking, the theo-
offers as partial and one-sided; nay, he will shut ry of his office is contained. Him Nature solicits
his eyes to it altogether and deny that it stands in with all her placid, all her monitory pictures; him
any contradiction at all with his preconceived no- the past instructs; him the future inrites.
tions, inorder that he may thus preserve them Emerson, The American Scholar
uninjured. So it is that many a man carries about
a burden of wrong notions all his life long 59 Books are good only as far as a boy is ready for
crotchets, whims, fancies, prejudices, which at last them. He sometimes gets ready very slowly. You
become fixed ideas. The fact is that he has never send your child to the schoolmaster, but ’t is the
tried to form his fundamental ideas for himself out schoolboys who educate him. You send him to the
of hisown experience of life, his own way of look- Latin class, but much of his tuition comes, on his
ing at the world, because he has taken over his way from the shop-%rindows. You like
to school,
ideas ready-made from other people; and this it is the strict rules terms; and he finds
and the long
that —
makes him as it makes how many others! his best leading in a by-way of his own, and refus-
so shallow and superficial. es any companions but of his own choosing. He
Schopenhauer, Education hates the grammar and Gradus, and loves guns.
 8,1. The Ends and Means of Education 525

fishing-rods, horses and boats. Well, the boy is them, equally liable to carry such failures into
it is

right, and you are not fit to direct his bringing-up other matters of life. The proof of deficient judg-

ifyour theory leaves out his gymnastic training.
Archery, cricket, gun and fishing-rod, horse and
boat, arc all educators, liberalizers; and so arc
dancing, dress and the street talk; and provided
only the boy has resources, and is of a noble and
ingenuous strain, these will not serve him less than
the books.
Emerson,
ment in one department shows the habit of mind,
and the general want, in relation to others. I am
persuaded that all persons may find in natural
things an admirable school for self-instruction,
and a field for the necessary mental exercise; that
they may easily apply their habits of thought, thus
formed, to a social use; and that they ought to do
Culture this, as a duty to themselves and their generation.

Faraday, Observations on Mental Education

60 One of the benefits of a college education is to
show the boy its little avail. 64 As for me, if, by any possibility, there be any as
Emerson, Culture yet undiscovered prime thing in me; if I shall ever
deserve any real repute in that small but high
61 We are students of words: we are shut up in hushed world which I might not be unreasonably

schools, and and recitation -rooms, for ten

colleges, ambitious of; if hereafter I shall do anything that,
or fifteen years, and come out at last with a bag of upon the whole, a man might rather have done
wind, a memory of words, and do not know a than to have left undone; if, at my death, my ex-
thing. ecutors, or more properly my creditors, find any
Emerson, New England Reformers precious MSS. in my desk, then here I pro-
spectively ascribe all the honour and the glory to
62 At Mr. Wackford Squeers's Academy, Dotheboys whaling; for a whale ship was my Yale College
Hall, at the delightful village of Dotheboys, near and my Harvard.
Greta Bridge in Yorkshire, Youth are boarded, Melville, Moby Dick, XXIV
clothed, booked, furnished with pocket-money,
provided with all necessaries, instructed in all lan- 65 The mode of founding a college commonly, to
is,

guages living and dead, mathematics, orthogra- get up a subscription of dollars and cents, and
phy, geometrys astronomy, trigonometry, the use then, following blindly the principles of a division
of the globes, algebra, single stick (if required), of labor to its extreme —
a principle which should
writing, arithmetic, fortification, and every other never be followed but with circumspection to —
branch of classical literature. Terms, twenty guin- call in a contractor who makes this a subject of
eas per annum. No extras, no vacations, and diet speculation, and he employs Irishmen or other op-
unparalleled. eratives actually to lay the foundations, while the
Dickens, Nicholas Nickleby, III students that are to be are said to be fitting them-
selves for it; and for these oversights successive
63 Perhaps many who watch
over the interests of the generations have to pay. I think that it would be
community, and are anxious for its welfare, wll better than this, for the students, or those who desire
conclude that the development of the judgment to be benefited by it, even to lay the foundation
cannot properly be included in the general idea of themselves. The student who secures his coveted
education; that as the education proposed must, leisure and retirement by systematically shirking
to a very large degree, be of self, it is so far incom- any labor necessary to man obtains but an ignoble
municable; that the master and the scholar merge and unprofitable leisure, defrauding himself of the
into one, and both disappear; that the instructor experience which alone can make leisure fruitful,
is no wiser than the one to be instructed, and thus ‘But,’ says one, ‘you do not mean that the students
the usual relations of the two lose their power. should go to work with their hands instead of their
Still, Ibelieve that the judgment may be educated heads?’ I do not mean that exactly, but I mean
to a very large extent, and might refer to the fine something which he might think a good deal like
arts, as giving proof in the affirmative; and that; I mean that they should not play life, or study
though, as respects the community and its im- it merely, while the community supports them at
provement in relation to common things, any use- this expensive game, but earnestly live it from be-
ful education must be of self, I think that society, ginning to end. How could youths better learn to
as a body, may act powerfully in the cause. Or it live than by at once trying the experiment of liv-
may still be objected that my experience is imper- ing? Methinks this would exercise their minds as
fect, is chiefly derived from exercise of the mind much as mathematics. If I wished a boy to know
within the precincts of natural philosophy, and something about the arts and sciences, for in-
has not that generality of application which can stance, I would not pursue the common course,
make it of any value to society at large. I can only which is merely to send him into the neighbor-
repeat my
conviction, that society occupies itself hood of some professor, where anything is pro-
now-a-da)’s about physical matters, and judges
them
fessed and practised but the art of life; to survey —
as common things. Failing in relation to the world through a telescope or a microscope.
 526 Chapter 8. Education

and never with his natural eye; to study chemis- able to refute the reasons on the opposite side-
if

tr>% and not learn how his bread is made, or me-
chanics, and not learn how it is earned; to discov-
er new satellites to Neptune, and not detect the
motes in his eyes, or to what vagabond he is a
satellite himself; or to be devoured by the mon-
sters that swarm all around him, while contem-
plating the monsters in a drop of vinegar.
would have advanced the most at the end of a
month —the boy who had made his own jackknife
from the ore which he had dug and smelted, read-
ing as much as would be necessary for this or the
boy who had attended the lecture on metallurgy
at the Institute in the meanwhile, and had re-
ceived a Rodgers penknife from his father? Which
would be most likely to cut his fingers? To
my astonishment I was informed on leaving col-
lege that I had studied navigation! why, if I had —
taken one turn down the harbor I should have
known more about it. Even the poor student stud-
ies and is taught only political economy, while that
economy of living which is synonymous with phi-
he does not so much as know what they arc he
has no ground for preferring either opinion,
rational position for him would be suspension
of
judgment, and unless he contents himself \s*ith
that, he is cither led by authority, or adopts, like
the generality of the world, the side to whi^ he
Which feelsmost inclination. Nor is it enough that he
should hear the arguments of adversaries from his
own teachers, presented £is they state them, and
accompanied by what they offer as refutations.
— That is not the way to do justice to the arguments
or bring them into real contact with his own
mind. He must be able to hear them from persons
who actually believe them; who defend them in
. . . earnest, and do their vcr>" utmost for them. He
must know them in their most plausible and per-
suasive form; he must feel the whole force of the
difficulty which the true view of the subject has to
encounter and dispose of; else he will never really
possess himself of the portion of truth which meets
and removes that difficulty-.

losophy not even sincerely professed in our col-

is
leges. The consequence is, that while he is reading
Adam Smith, Ricardo, and Say, he runs his father
in debt irretrievably.
Thorcau, IValdm: Economy
66 Education is the instruction of the intellect in the
laws of Nature, under which name
merely things and their forces, but men and their
ways; and the fashioning of the affections and of
the will into an earnest and loving desire to
in harmony with those laws.
T. H. Huxley, A
67 From the Factory system budded the germ of .
the education of the future, an education that
will, in the case of ever)' child over a given age,
combine productive labour with instruction and
gymnastics, not only as one of the methods of add-
ing to the efficiency of production, but as the only
Ninety-nine in a hundred of what arc called
educated men are in this condition; even of those
who can argue fluently for their opinions. Their
conclusion may be true, but it might be false for
anything they know; they have never thrown
themselves into the mental position of those who
think differently from them, and considered what
I include not such persons may have to say; and consequently
they do not, in any proper sense of the word, know
the doctrine which they themselves profess. They
move do not know those parts of it ^vhich explain and
69 justify the remainder; the considerations which
Liberal Education show that a fact which seemingly conflicts with
another is reconcilable with it, or that, of t^vo ap-
. .
parently strong reasons, one and not the other
ought to be preferred. All that part of the truth
which turns the scale, and decides the judgment of
a completely informed mind, they are strangers
to; nor is it ever really known, but to those who
have attended equally and impartially to both

method of producing fully developed human sides, and endeavoured to see the reasons of both
beings. in the strongest light. So essential is this discipline

Marx, Capital, Vol. I, IV, 15 to a understanding of moral and human sub-

real
jects, that if opponents of all important truths do

68 When we turn to subjects infinitely more compli- not exist, it is indispensable to imagine them, and
cated, to morals, religion, politics, social relations,
supply them with the strongest arguments which
and the business of life, three-fourths of the argu-
the most skilful devil’s advocate can conjure up.
ments for every disputed opinion consist in dispel- Mill, On Libnp, II

ling the appearances w'hich favour some opinion

different from it. The greatest orator, save one, of A cultivated mind—I do not mean that of a phi-
antiquity, has left it on record that he always losopher, but any mind
which the fountains of
to
studied his adversary’s case with as great, if not knowledge have been opened, and which has been
still greater, intensity than even his own. What taught, in any tolerable degree, to exercise its fac-
Cicero practised as the means of forensic success ulties — finds sources of inexhaustible interest in
requires to be imitated by all who study any sub- all that surrounds it; in the objects of nature, the
ject in order to arrive at the truth. He who knows achievements of art, the imaginations of poetry,
only his own side of the case, knou-s little of that. the incidents of history-, the w-ay-s of mankind, past
His reasons may be good, and no one may have and present, and their prospects in the future. It is

been able to refute them. But if he is equally un- possible, indeed, to become indifferent to all this,
 6.1. The Ends and Means of Education 527

and that too without having exhausted a thou- of all many-sided subjects, it isthe one which has
sandth part of it; but only when one has had from the greatest number of sides. Not only does it in-
the beginning no moral or human interest in these clude whatever we do for ourselves, and whatever
things, and has sought in them only the gratifica- is done for us by others, for the express purpose of

tion of curiosity. bringing us somewhat nearer to the perfection of

Now there is absolutely no reason in the nature our nature; it does more: in its largest accepta-
of things why an amount of mental culture suffi- tion, it comprehends even the indirect effects pro-

cient to give an intelligent interest in these objects duced on character and on the human faculties,
of contemplation, should not be the inheritance of by things of which the direct purposes are quite
every one bom in a civilised country. different; by laws, by forms of government, by the
Mill, Utilitarianism, II industrial arts, by modes of social life; nay even by
physical facts not dependent on human will; by

70 It has often been said, and requires to be repeated climate, soil, and local position. Whatever helps to

still oftener, that books and discourses alone are
not education; that life is a problem, not a theo-
rem; that action can only be learned in action.
child learns to write its name only by a succession
and is a man to be taught to use his mind
of trials;
shape the human being; to make the individual
what he is, or hinder him from being what he is
A —
not is part of his education. And a very bad edu-
cation it often is; requiring all that can be done by
cultivated intelligence and will, to counteract its

and guide his conduct by mere precept? What can tendencies.

be learned in schools is important, but not all- Mill, Inaugural Address at St. Andrews
important. The main branch of the education of
human beings is their habitual employment, 72 Men are men before they are lawyers, or physi-
which must be either their individual vocation or cians, or merchants, or manufacturers; and if you
some matter of general concern, in which they are make them capable and sensible men, they will
called to take a part. The private money-getting make themselves capable and sensible lawyers or
occupation of almost everyone is more or less a physicians. What professional men should carry
mechanical routine; it brings but few of his facul- away with them from an University, is not profes-
ties into action, while its exclusive pursuit tends to sional knowledge, but that which should direct
and interest exclusively upon
fasten his attention the use of their professional knowledge, and bring
himself,and upon his family as an appendage of the light of general culture to illuminate the tech-
—
himself making him indifferent to the public, to nicalities of a special pursuit. Men may be compe-
the more generous objects and the nobler inter- tent lawyers without general education, but it de-
ests,and, in his inordinate regard for his personal pends on general education to make them
comforts, selfish and cowardly. Balance these philosophic lawyers —who demand, and are capa-
tendencies by contrary ones; give him something ble of apprehending, principles, instead of merely
to do for the public, whether as a vestryman, a cramming their memory with details. And so of
juryman, or an elector; and in that degree, his allother useful pursuits, mechanical included.
ideas and feelings are taken out of this narrow Education makes a man a more intelligent shoe-
circle. He becomes acquainted with more varied maker, if that be his occupation, but not by teach-
business and a larger range of considerations. He ing him how to make shoes; it docs so by the
is made to feel that besides the interests which mental exercise it gives, and the habits it im-
separate him from his fellow citizens, he has inter- presses.
ests which connect him with them; that not only Mill, Inaugural Address at St. Andrews
the common weal is his weal but that it partly
depends upon his exertions. Whatever might be 73 It has always seemed to me a great absurdity that
the case in some other constitutions of society, the history and geography should be taught in
spirit of a commercial people will be, we are per- schools; except in elementary schools for the chil-
suaded, essentially mean and slavish wherever dren of the labouring classes, whose subsequent
public spirit is not cultivated by an extensive par- access to books is limited. Who ever really learnt
ticipation of the people in the business of govern- history and geography except by private reading?
ment in detail: nor will the desideratum of a gen- and what an utter failure a system of education
eral diffusion of intelligence among either the must be, if it has not given the pupil a sufficient
middle or lower classes be realized, but by a corre- taste for reading to seek for himself those most
sponding dissemination of public functions, and a attractive and easily intelligible of all kinds of
voice in public affairs. knowledge? ... Of the mere facts of history, as
Mill, Review of Tocqueville^s commonly accepted, what educated youth of any
^^Democrary in America” mental activity does not learn as much as is neces-
sary, if he is simply turned loose into an historical
71 Education ... is one of the subjects which most library? What he needs on this, and on most other
essentially require to be considered by various matters of common information, is not that he
minds, and from a variety of points of view. For, should be taught it in boyhood, but that abun-
 528 Chapter 8. Education

dance of books should be accessible to him. Indeed, all paths lead to knowledge; because even
Mill, Inaugural Address at St. Andrews the vilestand stupidest action teaches us some-
thing about vileness and stupidity, and may acci-
74 Health is a good in itself, though nothing came of dentally teach us a good dc^ more.
it, and is especially worth seeking and cherishing: Sha^v, Doctor's Dilemma, Pref.
yet, after all, the blessings which attend its pres-
ence arc so great, while they arc so close to it and 79 In truth, mankind cannot be saved from without
so redound back upon it and encircle it, that we by schoolmasters or any other sort of masters: it
never think of it except as useful as well as good, can only be lamed and enslaved by them. It is
and praise and prize it for what it does, as well as said that if you wash a cat it will never again wash
forwhat it is, though at the same time we cannot itself. This may or may not be true: what is cer-
point out any definite and distinct work or pro- tain is that if you teach a man anything he will
duction which it can be said to effect. And so as never learn it; and if you cure him of a disease he
regards intellectual culture, I am far from deny- will be unable to cure himself the next time it
ing utility in this large sense as the end of Educa- attacks him. Therefore, if you want to sec a cat
tion, when I lay it down, that the culture of the
clean, you throw a bucket of mud over it, when it
intellect is a good in itself and its own end; I do will immediately take extraordinary pains to lick
not exclude from the idea of intellectual culture mud and finally be cleaner than
the off, it W 2ks

what cannot but be, from the very nature of

it
before. In the same way doctors svho arc up-to-
things; I only deny that we must be able to point
date (say .00005 per cent of all the registered
out, before we have any right to call it useful,
practitioners, and 20 per cent of the unregistered
some art, or business, or profession, or trade, or
ones), when they want to rid you of a disease or a
work, as resulting from it, and as its real and com-
symptom, inoculate you with that disease or give
plete end. The parallel is exact: As the body may you a drug that produces that symptom, in order
be sacrificed to some manual or other toil, wheth- to provoke you to resist it as the mud provokes the
er moderate or oppressive, so may the intellect be
cat to wash itself.
devoted to some specific profession; and I do not
Shaw, Back to Methuselah, Pref.
call this the culture of the intellect. Again, as some
member or organ of the body may be inordinately
80 Culture is activity of thought, and reccptivcncss to
used and developed, so may memory, or imagina-
beauty and humane feeling. Scraps of information
tion, or the reasoning faculty; and this again is not
have nothing to do with it, A merely well-in-
intellectual culture. On the other hand, as the
formed man is the most useless bore on God’s
body may be tended, cherished, and exercised
earth. What we should aim at producing is men
with a simple view to its general health, so may
who and expert knowledge in
possess both culture
the intellect also be generally exercised in order to
some special direction. Their expert knowledge
its perfect state; and this is its cultivation.
will give them the ground to start from, and their
Newman, Idea of a Universifyj Discourse VII
culture will lead them as deep as philosophy and

75 Culture is indispensably necessary, and culture is

as high as art. We
have to remember that the
valuable intellectual development is self-devel-
but reading with a purpose to guide it,
reading;
opment, and that it mostly takes place between
and with system. He does a good work who does
the ages of sixteen and thirty. As to training, the
anything to help this: indeed, it is the one essen-
most important part is given by mothers before
tial service now to be rendered to education.
the age of twelve.
Arnold, Literature and Dogmoy Pref.
Whitehead, Aims of Education
76 Soap and education are not as sudden as a massa-
cre, but they arc more deadly in the long run. 81 There is only one subject-matter for education,
Mark Twain, The Facts Concerning and that is Life in all its manifestations. Instead of
the Recent Resignation
this single unity, we offer children —Algebra, from
which nothing Geometry, from which
follows;

77 Education in the long run is an affair that works
itself out betw'cen the individual student and his
opportunities. Methods of which we
play but a minor part. Offer the opportunities,
leave the student to his natural reaction on them,
and he will work out his personal destiny, be it a
high one or a low one.
William James, Stanford's Ideal Destiny
78 There are many paths to knowledge already dis-
nothing follows; Science, from which nothing fol-
lows; History, from which nothing follows; a Cou-
talk so much, ple of Languages, never mastered; and lastly,
most dreary of all. Literature, represented by
plays of Shakespeare, with philological notes and
short analyses of plot and character to be in sub-
stance committed to memory. Can such a list be
said to represent Life, as it is known in the midst
of the living of it? The best that can be said of it is,
that it is a rapid table of contents w'hich a deity

covered; and no enlightened man doubts that might run over in his mind while he was thinking
there arc many more waiting to be discovered. of creating a world, and had not yet determined
 8,1. The Ends and Means of Education 529

how to put it together. done to kill it during education.

Whitehead, Aims of Education Russell, Education

82 The merit of this study [of Roman history] in the 85 A community of men and women possessing vital-
education of youth is its concreteness, its inspira* ity, courage, sensitiveness, and intelligence, in the
tion to action, and the uniform greatness of per- highest degree that education can produce, would
sons, in their characters and their staging. Their be very different from anything that has hitherto
aims were great, their virtues were great, and existed. Very few people would be unhappy. The
their vices were great. They had the saving merit main causes of unhappiness at present are: ill-
of sinning with cart-ropes. Moral education is im- health, poverty, and an unsatisfactory sex-life. All
poKible apart from the habitual vision of great- of these would become very rare. Good health
ness. If we are not great, it does not matter what could be almost universal, and even old age could
we do or what is the issue. Now the sense of great- be postponed. Poverty, since the industrial revolu-
ness is an immediate intuition and not the conclu- tion, is only due to collective stupidity. Sensitive-
sion of an argument. It is permissible for youth in ness would make people wish to abolish it, intelli-
the agonies of religious conversion to entertain the gence would show them the way, and courage
feeling of being a worm and no man, so long as would lead them to adopt it. (A timid person
there remains the conviction of greatness suffi- would rather remain miserable than do anything
cient to justify the eternal wrath of God. The unusual.) Most people’s sex-life, at present, is
sense of greatness is the groundwork of morals. more or less unsatisfactory. This is partly due to
We are at the threshold of a democratic age, and bad education, partly to persecution by the au-
it remains to be determined whether the equality thorities and Mrs. Grundy. A generation of wom-
of man is to be realised on a high level or a low en brought up without irrational sex fears would
level. There was never a time in which it was soon make an end of this. Fear has been thought
more essential to hold before the young the vision the only way to make women “virtuous,” and
of Rome: in itself a great drama, and with issues they have been deliberately taught to be cowards,
greater than itself. both physically and mentally. Women in whom
Whitehead, The Place of Classics in Education love is cramped encourage brutality and hypocri-
sy in their husbands, and distort the instincts of
83 Education is, as a rule, the strongest force on the their children. One generation of fearless women
side of what exists and against fundamental could transform the world, by bringing into it a
change: threatened institutions, while they are generation of fearless children, not contorted into
powerful, possess themselves of the education-
still unnatural shapes, but straight and candid, gener-
al machine, and instill a respect for their own ex- ous, affectionate, and free. Their ardor would
cellence into the malleable minds of the young. sweep away the cruelty and pain which we en-
Reformers retort by trying to oust their opponents dure because we are lazy, cowardly, hard-hearted
from their position of vantage. The children and stupid. It is education that gives us these bad
themselves are not considered by either party; qualities, and education that must give us the op-
they arc merely so much material, to be recruited posite virtues. Education is the key to the new
into one army or the other. If the children them- world.
selveswere considered, education would not aim Russell, Aims of Education
at making them belong to this party or that, but
at enabling them to choose intelligently between 86 The educability of a young person as a rule comes
the parties; would aim at making them able to
it to an end when sexual desire breaks out in its final
think, not at making them think what their teach- strength. Educators know this and act according-
ers think. Education as a political weapon could ly; but perhaps they will yet allow themselves to
not exist if we respected the rights of children. If be influenced by the results of psycho-analysis so
we respected the rights of children, we should ed- that they will transfer the main emphasis in edu-
ucate them so as to give them the knowledge and cation to the earliest years of childhood, from the
the mental habits required for forming indepen- suckling period onward. The little human being is
dent opinions; but education as a political institu- frequently a finished product in his fourth or fifth
form habits and to circumscribe
tion endeavors to year, and only gradually reveals in later years
knowledge in such a way as to make one set of what lies buried in him.
opinions inevitable. Freud, General Introduction
Russell, Education to P^cho-AnalysiSy XXII

84 The joy of mental adventure is far commoner in 87 We may reject knowledge of the past as the end of
the young than in grown men and women. education and thereby only emphasize its impor-
Among children it is very common, and grows tance as a means. When we do that we have a
naturally out of the period of make-believe and problem that is new in the story of education:
fancy. It is rare in later life because everything is How shall the young become acquainted with the
 530 Chapter 8. Education

past in such a way that the acquaintance is a po- that it is the chief business of life at evety* point to
tent agent in appreciation of the living present? make living thus contribute to an enrichment of
Dewey, Expmcnct and Education, I its own perceptible meaning.

We thus reach a technical definition of educa-

88 Education as growth or maturit)- should be an tion: It is that reconstruction or reorganization
of

ever-present process. experience which adds to the meaning of experi-

90
Dewey, Experience and Education, III ence, and which increases ability to direct the
course of subsequent experience.
89 In its contrast with the ideas both of unfolding of Dewey, Democracy and Education, VI
latent powers from within, and of formation from
without, whether by physical nature or by the cul-
The only adequate training for occupations is
tural products of the past, the ideal of grovslh re-
training through occupations. The principle . . .
sults in the conception that education is a con-
that the educative process is its ONsm end, and that
stant reorganizing or reconstructing of experience.
the only sufficient preparation for later responsi-
It has all the time an immediate end, and so far as
bilities comes by making the most of immediately
activity is educative, it reaches that end —
the di-
present life, applies in full force to the vocational
rect transformation of the quality' of experience.
phases of education. The dominant vocation of all
same
Infancy, youth, adult lifc^all stand on the
educative level in the sense that what is really
human beings at all times is living — intellectual
and moral growlh.
learned at any and ever)' stage of experience consti-
tutes the value of that experience, and in the sense Dewey, Democracy and Education, XXIII

8.2 Habit

The ancient saying that habit is a kind of ence between habits of mind (of thought

second nature explains the significance of and knowledge) and habits of character (of
habit and habit-formation for the process of action and of emotion). This, of course, has
education. If men were born with their na- a bearing on the distinction between intel-
tures perfected, with no room
for improve- lectual and moral training the effort, on —
ment, with no potentialities to be realized, the one hand, to form or inculcate good in-
they would not need and could not use edu- tellectual habits; and the effort, on the other
cation. Precisely because they are born udth hand, to instill good moral habits. The dis-
room for improvement, they can be and cussion here tends to move from the domain
need to be educated, and this usually takes of psychology to that of ethics, for the quali-
the form of giving them a “second na- fication of habits as good and bad intro-

ture” —a set of acquired habits that, once duces the notions of virtue and vice.

they are well established, operate as smooth- Learning would be fruitless if what is
ly as their original nature. learned were not retained. One aspect of
Some of the passages quoted deal with the such retention, especially when the learning
psychology of habit and habit-formation, is verbal, is discussed under the head of

and with the conditions under which habits memory, in Section 5.3 of Chapter 5 on
are acquired, strengthened, weakened, and Mind. The other, and much broader, aspect
changed. Other passages present distinctions is discussed here.
among kinds of habit, especially the differ-
 A

9. 2.
( Habit 531

1 Those things which one has been accustomed to by nature to receive them, and are made perfect
for a long time, although worse than things which by habit.
one is not accustomed to, usually give less distur- Again, of the things that come to us by na-
all

bance; but a change must sometimes be made to ture wc acquire the potentiality and later ex-
first

things one is not accustomed to. hibit the activity (this is plain in the case of the
Hippocrates, Aphorisms, II, 50 senses; for it was not by often seeing or often hear-
ing that wc got these senses, but on the contrary
we had them before we used them, and did not
2 Socrates. Is not the bodily habit spoiled by rest and
come to have them by using them); but the vir-
idleness, but preserved for a long time by motion
tues we get by first exercising them, as also hap-
and exercise?
pens in the case of the arts as well. For the things
Theaetetus. True.
we have to learn before we can do them, we learn
Soc. And what mental habit? Is not the
of the
5 by doing them, for example, men become builders
soul informed, and improved, and preserved by
by building and lyre-players by playing the lyre;
study and attention, which are motions; but when
so too we become just by doing just acts, temper-
at rest, which in the soul only means want of at-
ate by doing temperate acts, brave by doing brave
tention and study, is uninformed, and speedily
acts. . . .

forgets whatever she has learned?

Thus, in one word, states of character arise out
TheaeL True. 6
of like activities. This is why the activities we ex-
Plato, Theaetetus, 153
hibit must be of a certain kind; it is because the
7 states of character correspond to the differences
3 The effect which lectures produce
on a hearer de- between these. It makes no small difference, then,
pends on his habits; for we demand the language whether we form habits of one kind or of another
we arc accustomed to, and that which is different from our very youth; it makes a very great differ-
from this seems not in keeping but somewhat un- 8 ence, or rather all the difference.
intelligible and foreign because of its unwonted- Aristotle, 1103^14
ness. For it is the customary that is intelligible.
The force of habit is shown by the laws, in which
9
the legendary and childish elements prevail over
By abstaining from pleasures we become temper-
our knowledge about them, owing to habit. Thus ate, and it is when we have become so that we are
some people do not listen to a speaker unless he
most able from them; and similarly too
to abstain
speaks mathematically, others unless he gives in-
in the case of courage; forby being habituated to
stances, while others expect him to cite a poet as
despise things that are terrible and to stand our
witness. And some want to have everything done
ground against them we become brave, and it is
accurately, while others are annoyed by accuracy,
when we have become so that we shall be most
either because they cannot follow the connexion
able to stand our ground against them.
of thought or because they regard it as pettifog-
Aristotle, fS'/Anrr, 1104^33
gery. For accuracy has something of this charac-
ter, so that as in trade so in argument some people

think it mean. Hence one must be already trained

to know how to take each sort of argument. Habit is a kind of second nature.
Aristotle, Metaphysics, 994*^31 Cicero, De Fin thus, V

4 Virtue, then, being of two kinds, intellectual and

moral, intellectual virtue in the main owes both Every habit and faculty is maintained and in-

its birth and its growth to teaching

which rea-
(for creased by the corresponding actions: the habit of
son it requires experience and time), while moral walking by walking, the habit of running by run-
virtue comes about as a result of habit, whence ning. If you would be a good reader, read; if a
also its name is one that is formed by a slight writer, write.
variation from the word habit. From this it is also Epictetus, Discourses, II, 18
plain that none of the moral virtues arises in us by
nature; for nothing that exists by nature can form
a habit contrary to its nature. For instance the
Ifyou would make anything a habit, do it; if you
stone which by nature moves downwards cannot
w'ould notmake it a habit, do not do it, but accus-
be habituated to move upwards, not even if one
tom yourself to do something else in place of it.
tries to train it by throwing it up ten thousand
Epictetus, Discourses, II, 18
times; nor can fire be habituated to move down-
\vards, nor can anything else that by nature be-
haves in one way be trained to behave in another.
Neither by nature, then, nor contrary to nature Some habits are infused by God into man, for two
do the virtues arise in us; rather we are adapted reasons. The first reason is because there are some
 532 Chapter 8, Education

habits by which man is well disposed to an end 12 Virtue is a habit by w’hich we work well.
which exceeds the power of human nature, name- Aquinas, Summa Thet^ogicOy l-II, 56 ,

ly, the ultimate and perfect happiness of man.

/ . And since habits mu$t be in proportion with
. 13 Habit a violent and treacherous schoolm'mrcss.
is

that to which man is disposed by them, therefore She establishes in us, little by little, stealthily, the
it is necessary that those habits, which dispose to foothold of her authority; but having by this mild
this end, exceed the powxr of human nature. and humble beginning settled and planted it with
Hence such habits can no’er be in man e.xcept by the help of time, she soon uncovers to us a furious
Divine infusion, as is the case with all gratuitous and t)'rannical face against which we no longer
virtues. have the liberty’ of even raising our eyes. \Vc see
The other reason is, because God can produce her at every' turn forcing the rules of nature,
the effects of second causes without these second Montaigne, Essaysy I, 23, Of Custom
causes. . . . Just as, therefore, sometimes, in order
to show' His pow'cr. He causes health without its 14 I find that our greatest vices take shape from our
natural cause, but which nature could have icndcrest childhood, and that our most important
caused, so also, at times, for the manifestation of training is hands of nurses. It is a pastime
in the
His power, He infuses into man even those habits for mothers to see a child wring the netde of a
w'hich can be caused by a natural po\ver. chicken or amuse itself by hurting a dog of a cat;
Aquinas, Sumina Theologicay I-II, 31, 4 and there are fathers stupid enough to take it as a
good omen of a martial soul when they see a son
10 A habita second nature, and yet it falls
is like unjustly striking a peasant or a lackey’ who is not
short of And
so it is that while the nature of a
it. defending himself, and as a charming prank when
thing cannot in any w'ay be taken aw'ay from a they see him trick his playunate by a bit of mali-
thing, a habit is removed, though with difficulty. cious dishonesty and deceit. Nevertheless these arc
Aquinas, Svmi^ci Thtologica, 53, 1 the true seeds and roots of cruelty, t)’ranny, and
treason; they sprout there, and afterward shoot up
lustily, and
flourish mightily in the hands of habit.
11 The destruction or diminution of a habit results
And a very dangerous educational polity’ to
it is
through cessation from act, in so far, that is, as w'C
excuse our children for these ugly inclinations on
cease from exercising an act v\rhich overcame the
the grounds of their tender age and the triviality
causes that destroyed or w’cakened that habit. For
of the subject. In the first place, it is nature speak-
. habits are destroyed or diminished directly
. .

ing, whose voice then is all the purer and stronger

through some contrary agencyi Consequently all
because it is more tenuous. Second, the ugliness of
habits that arc gradually undermined by contrary'
cheating does not depend on the difference bc-
agencies w'hich need to be counteracted by acts
nvecn crown pieces and pins: it depends on itself.
proceeding from those habits are diminished or
even destroyed altogether by long cessation from
I find it much more just to come to this conclu-

act, as is clearly seen in the case both of science

sion: "Why would he not cheat for crow’ijs, since
he cheats for pins?’’ than, as they do: "It is only
and of vdrtue. For iv is evident that a habit oi
he w'ould never do it for crow’ns.” Chil-
for pins,
moral virtue makes a man ready to choose the
dren must be carefully taught to hate vices for
mean in deeds and passions. And w’hen a man
their owm sake, and taught the natural deformity
fails to make use of his virtuous habit in order to
of vices, so that they will shun them not only in
moderate his own passions or deeds, the necessary
their actions but above all in their heart, so that
result is that many passions and deeds occur out-
side the mode of virtue, by reason of the inclina-
the very thought of them may be odious, whatever
mask they ^vear.
tion of the sensitive appetite and of other external
agencies. Therefore virtue is destroyed or lessened
Montaigne, Essaysy I, 23, Of Custom
through cessation from act. —^The same applies to
15 Habituation puts to sleep the eye of our judgment.
the intellectual habits, w'hich render man ready to
judge rightly of those things that are pictured by Montaigne, Essays, I, 23, Of Custom
his imagination. Hence w’hen man ceases to make
use of his intellectual habits, strange fancies, 16 Habit is a second nature, and no less pow'crful

sometimes in opposition to them, arise in his \Vhat my hold that I lack. And I
habit lacks, I

imagination, so that unless those fancies be, as it would almost as soon be deprived of life as have it
kept back by frequent use of his
w’erc, cut off or reduced and cut dowm very’ far from the state in
intellectual habits,man becomes less fit to judge which I have lived it for so long.

rightly and sometimes is even wholly disposed to Montaigne, Essays, III, 10, Of Husbanding
the contrary’; and thus the intellectual habit is di- Your Will

minished or even wholly destroyed by cessation

from act. 1 7 Hamlet Assume a virtue, if you have it not.
Aquinas, Stemfna Theotogiaiy I-II, 53, 3 That monster, custom, w’ho all sense doth cat,
 534 j
Chapin 8. Education

cape than his coat-slccvc can suddenly fall into a 32 We may say that an “instinctive" movement
is a
new set of folds. On the whole, he should
it is best vital movement performed by an animal the first
not escape. It is well for the world that in most of time that it finds itself in a novel situation;
or
31 us, by the age of thirty, the character has .set like more correctly, one which it would perform if
the
plaster, and will never soften again. situation were novel. . . .

William James, P^choto^Y, IV On the other hand, a movement is "learnt," or

embodies a "habit," if it is due to previous experi-
The physiological study of mental conditions is ence of similar situations, and Is not what it would
thus the most powerful ally of hortator>’ ethics. be if the animal had had no such experience.
The hell tobe endured hereafter, of which theolo- Russell, The Analysis of Mind, II

gy tells, no worse than the hell we make for

is

ourselves in this world by habitually fashioning 33 The basic characteristic ol habit is that every- ex-
our characters in the wrong way. Could the young perience enacted and undergone modifies the one
but rcalirc how soon they will become mere walk- who acts and undergoes, while this modification
ing bundles of habits, they would give more heed affects, whether we wish it or not, the quality of
to their conduct while in the plastic stale. We arc subsequent experiences. For it is a somewhat dif-
spinning our own fates, good or evil, and never to ferent person who enters into them. The principle
be undone. Every* smallest stroke of virtue or of of habit so understood obviously goes deeper than
vice leaves its never so little scar. The drunken the ordinary- conception of a habit as a more or
Rip Van Winkle, in Jefferson’s play, excuses him- less fixed w,ay of doing things, although it includes

self for every fresh dereliction by saying, *'I won't the latter as one of its special cases. It cosers the
count this lime!" Well! he may not count it, and a formation of attitudes, attitudes that arc emo-
kind Heaven may not count it; but it is being tional and intellectual; it covers our basic sensitiv-
counted none the less. Down among his nerve- ities and ways of meeting and responding to all

ccUs and fibres the molecules arc counting it, reg- the conditions which we meet in living.
istering and storing it up to be used against him Dewey, Pixpcnence and Educalion, III

when the next temptation comes. Nothing we ever

do is, in strict scientific literalness, wiped out. Of 3't It is a significant fact that in order to appreciate
course, this has its good side as well as its bad one. the peculiar phacc of habit in activity we have to
As we become permanent drunkards by so many betake ourselves to had habits, foolish idling, gam-
separate drinks, so we become saints in the moral, bling, addiction to liquor and drugs. When we
and authorities and experts in the practical and think of such habits, the union of habit with desire
scientific spheres, by so many separate acts and and with propulsive po^^*cr is forced upon us.

hours of work. Let no youth have any anxiety When we think of habits in terms of walking,
about the upshot of his education, whatever the playing a musical in.strumcnt, typewriting, sve arc
line of it may be. If he keep f.aithfully busy each much given to thinking of habits as technical abil-
hour of the working-day*, he may safely leave the ities existing apart from our likings and as lacking
final result to itself. He can with perfect certainty- in urgent impulsion. We think of them as passive
count on waking up some fine morning, to find tools waiting to be called into action from with-
himself one of the competent ones of his genera- out. A
bad habit suggests an inherent tendency to
tion, in whatever pursuit he may have singled out. action and also a hold, command over us. It
Silently, between all the details of his business, the makes us do things we arc ashamed of, things
power ofjudging in all that class of matter will have which we tell ourselves we prefer not to do. It
built itself up within him as a possession that will overrides our formal resolutions, our consdous de-
never pass away. Young people should know this cisions. When we arc honest with ourselves we ac-
truth in advance. The ignorance of it has proba- knowledge that a habit has this power because it
bly engendered more discouragement and faint- is so intimately a part of ourselves. It has a hold
heartedness in youths embarking on arduous ca- upon us because we arc the habit.
reers than all other cau.scs pul together. Dewey, Human Nahije and Conduct, 1, 2
William James, Psychology, IV
 536 Chapter
planting of the seed in the ground at the proper
season; the place where the instruction is conunu-
nicated is like the food imparted to vegetables by
the atmosphere; diligent study is like the cultiva-
tion of the fields; and it is time which imparts
strength to all things and brings them to maturity,
Hippocrates, The Law, 3
3 Socrates. We arc enquiring, which of us is skilful or
successful in the treatment of the soul, and which
of us has had good teachers?
Laches. Well but, Socrates; did you never ob-
serve that some persons, who have had no teach-
ers, are more skilful than those who have, in some
things?
Soc. Yes, Laches, I have observed that; but you
would not be very willing to trust them if they
only professed to be masters of their art, unless
they could show some proof of their skill or excel-
lence in one or more works.
La. That is true.
Soc. And Laches and Nicias, as Lysi-
therefore,
machus and Mclesias, in their anxiety to improve
the minds of their sons, have asked our advice
about them, we too should tell them who our
teachers were, if we say that we have had any,
and prove them to be in the first place men of
merit and experienced trainers of the minds of
youth and also to have been really our teachers.
Or if any of us says that he has no teacher, but
that he has works of his own to show; then he
should point out to them what Athenians or
strangers, bond or free, he is generally acknowl-
edged to have improved. But if he can show nei-
ther teachers nor works, then he should tell them
to look out for others; and not run the risk of
spoiling the children of friends, and thereby in-
curring the most formidable accusation which can
be brought against any one by those nearest to
him. As for myself, ... I am the first to confess
that I have never had a teacher of the art of vir-
tue; although I have always from my earliest
youth desired to have one. But I am too poor to
give money to the Sophists, who are the only pro-
fessors ofmoral improvement; and to this day I
have never been able to discover the art myself,
though I should not be surprised if Nicias or
Laches may have discovered or learned it; for
they are far wealthier than I am, and may there-
fore have learnt of others. And they are older too;
so that they have had more time to make the dis-
covery. And I really believe that they are able to
educate a man; for unless they had been confident
in their own knowledge, they would never have
spoken thus decidedly of the pursuits which arc
advantageous or hurtful to a young man.
Plato, Laches, I85B
4 Socrates. not a Sophist, Hippocrates, one who
Is
deals wholesale or retail in the food of the soul?
To me that appears to be his nature.
8. Education
Hippocrates. And what, Socrates, is the food of
the soul?
Surely, knowledge is the food of the soul-
. . .
and we must take care, my friend, that the Soph-
ist docs not deceive us when he praises what he
sells, like the dealers wholesale or retail who sell
the food of the body; for they praise indiscrimi-
nately all their goods, without knowing what arc
really beneficial or hurtful; neither do their cus-
tomers know, with the exception of any trainer or
physician who may happen to buy of them. In
like manner those who carry about the wares of
knowledge, and make the round of the cities, and
sell or retail them to any customer who is in want
of them, praise them all alike; though I should not
wonder, O
my friend, if many of them were really
ignorant of their effect upon the soul; and their
customers equally ignorant, unless he who bu)^ of
them happens to be a physician of the soul. If,
5 therefore, you have understanding of what is good
and evil, you may safely buy knowledge of
Protagoras or of any one; but if not, then, O my
friend, pause, and do not hazard your dearest in-
terests at a game of chance. For there is far great-
er peril in buying knowledge than in buying meat
and drink: the one you purchase of the wholesale
or retail dealer, and carry them away in other
vessels, and before you receive them into the body
as food,you may deposit them at home and cal! in
any experienced friend who knows what is good to
be eaten or drunken, and what not, and how
much, and when; and then the danger of purchas-
ing them is not so great. But you cannot buy the
wares of knowledge and carry them away in an-
other vessel; when you have paid for them you
must receive them into the soul and go your way,
either greatly harmed or greatly benefited; and
therefore we should deliberate and take counsel
with our elders; for we are still young too young —
to determine such a matter,
Plato, Protagoras, 313B
Meno. How will you enquire, Socrates, into that
which you do not know? What will you put forth
as the subject of enquiry? And if you find what
you want, how will you ever know that this is the
thing which you did not know?
Socrates. I know, Meno, what you mean; but just
see what a tiresome dispute you are introducing.
You argue that a man cannot enquire either
about that which he knows, or about that which
he does not know; for if he knou-s, he has no need
to enquire; and if not, he cannot; for he does not
know the very subject about which he is to en-
quire.
Men. Well, Socrates, and is not the argument
sound?
Soc. I think not.
Men. Why not?
Soc. I will tell you why: I have heard from cer-
tain wise men and women who spoke of things
 83. The Arts of Teaching and Learning 537

divine that spects like theirs; but differs, in that I attend men
Men. What did they say? and not w'omcn, and I look after their souls when
Soc. They spoke of a glorious truth, as 1 con- they are in labour, and not after their bodies: and
ceive. the triumph of my art is in thoroughly examining
Men. What was it? and who were they? whether the thought which the mind of the young
Soc. Some of them were priests and priestesses, man brings forth is a false idol or a noble and true
who had studied how they might be able to give a birth. And like the midwives, I am barren, and
reason of their profession: there have been poets the reproach which is often made against me, that
also, who spoke of these things by inspiration, like I ask questions of others and have not the wit to

Pindar, and many others who were inspired. And ans^vc^ them myself, is very' just —
the reason is,
they say that the soul of man is immortal,
. . , that the god compels me to be a midwife, but docs
and one time has an end, which is termed
at not allow me to bring forth. And therefore I am
dying, and
at another time is born again, but is not myself at nor have I anything to show
all wise,

never destroyed. The soul, then, as being im-

. . . ^vhich is tlic invention or birth of my own soul,
mortal, and having been born again many times, but those who converse w'ith me profit. Some of
9 them appear dull enough at first, but afterwards,
and having seen all things that exist, whether in
this world or in the world below, has knowledge of as our acquaintance ripens, if the god is gracious
them all; and it is no wonder that she should be to them, they all make astonishing progress; and
able to call to remembrance all that she ever this in the opinion of others as well as in their
knc%v about virtue, and about cvcry'lhing; for as ow'n. It is quite clear that they never learned any-
all nature is akin, and the soul has learned all thing from me; the many fine discoveries to which
things, there is no difficulty in her eliciting or as they cling arc of their own making. But to me and
men say learning, out of a single recollection all the god they owe their delivery. And the proof of
the rest, if a man is strenuous and docs not faint; my words is, that many of them in their igno-
for all enquiry and all learning is but recollection. rance, either in their self-conceit despising me, or
And therefore we ought not to listen to this sophis- falling under the influence of others, have gone
tical argument about the impossibility of enquiry': away too soon; and have not only lost the children
for it will make us idle, and is sweet only to the of whom I had previously delivered them by an ill

sluggard; but the other saying will make us active bringing up, but have stifled whatever else they
and inquisitive. had in them by evil communications, being fond-
Pfato, Meno, 80B er of lies and shams than of the truth; and they'

have at last ended by seeing themselves, as others

6 Soaates. As
little foundation is there for the report see them, to be great fools.
that I am
a teacher, and take money; this accusa- Plato, Theaetetus, 150A
tion has no more truth in it than the other. Al-
though, if a man were really able to instruct man- I imagine there is nothing to prevent a man in

kind, to receive money for giving instruction one sense knowing W'hai he is learning, in another
would, in my opinion, be an honour to him. not know'ing it. TIic strange thing would be, not if
V\ci\o, Apolo^\ 19B in some sense l»c knew what he war, learning, but
if he were to know it in that precise sense and

7 Socrales. Tlic power and capacity of learning exists manner in which he was learning it.
in the soul already; and just as the eye was
. . , Aristotle, Posterior Analytics, 71^
unable to turn from darkness to light without the
whole body, so too the instrument of knowledge 10 In general it is a sign of the man w'ho know’s and
can only by the movement of the whole soul be of the man who docs not know, that the former
turned from the w'orld of becoming into that of can teach, and therefore w'c think art more truly
being, and learn by degrees to endure the sight of knowledge than experience is; for artists can
being, and of the brightest and best of being, or in teach, and men of mere experience cannot.
other w'ords, of the good. Aristotle, Metaphysics, 981^7
Plato, Republic, VII, 518B
11 Learning proceeds for all in this w'ay through —
8 Socrates. Such arc the midwives, whose task is a that which is less knowablc by nature to that
very important one, but not so important as mine; which is more knowablc; and just as in conduct
for women do not bring into the world at one time our task is to start from w'hat is good for each and
real children, and at another time counterfeits make what is without qualification good good for
which arc with difficulty distinguished from them; each, so it is our task to start from what is more
If they did, then the discernment of the true and knowablc to oneself and make what is knowablc
false birth would be the crowning achievement of by nature knowablc to oneself. Now what is know'-
the art of midwifery you would think so?
Theaeietus. Indeed I should.
— ablc and primary for particular sets of people is
often knowablc to a very small extent, and has
Soc. Well, my art of midwifery is in most re- little or nothing of reality. But yet one must start
 538 Chapler 8. Education

from that which is barely knowable but knowable speak. Our children grow up riding in sedan
to oneself, and try to know what is knowable with- touch the ground, they cling to the
chairs. If they
out qualification, passing, as has been said, by hands of attendants who support them on each
way of those very things which one docs know. side.Wc arc delighted if they utter something im-
Aristotle, MttapkysicSf 1029M modest, Expressions which would not even be tol-
erated from the effeminate youths of Alexandria,
12 The pleasures arising from thinking and learning wc hear from our own young people with a smile
will make us think and learn all the more, and a kiss. And hardly amazing, for we are
this is

Aristotle, 1153*22 the ones who have taught them. They have heard
such language from ourselves. They see our mis-
13 The authority wielded by teachers is often a real tr^cs and our male objects of affection. Every
hindrance to those who want to learn. Students banquet hall rings with impure songs. Things that
fail to use their own judgment and rely on the are shameful to talk about arc on public display.
opinions of their master to settle issues. From such practices spring habit, and out of habit
Cicero, De Natura Deorum, I, 5 character is formed. The unfortunate children
know that they arc
learn these vices before they
14 Whosoever hcarcth these sayings of mine, and vices.Thus they arc made effeminate and luxury-
doeth them, I will liken him unto a wise man, loving. They do not imbibe immorality from the

which built his house upon a rock: schools; they carry it to school with them.

And the rain descended, and the floods came, Quintilian, fnstitutio Oratona, I, 2
and the winds blew, and beat upon that house;
and it fell not; for it was founded upon a rock. 17 There nothing to prevent a “one pupil-one
is

And every one that hearcth these sayings of teachcri* relationshipfrom being put into practice
mine, and doeth them not, shall be likened unto a in the classroom. But even if this situation cannot
foolish man, which built his house upon the sand: be developed in school, I still prefer the daylight
And the rain descended, and the floods came, of a good school to the dark solitude of a private
and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; education. Every eminent teacher delights in hav-
and it fell: and great was the fall of it. ing a large number of pupils, and he thinks him-
And it came to pass, when Jesus had ended self worthy of an even larger hearing than he gels.

these sayings, the people were astonished at his But inferior teachers are conscious of their lack of
doctrine: ability and do not hesitate to fasten themselves on
For he taught them as one having authority, single pupils if they can get them. But they
and not as the scribes. amount to nothing more than pedant-babyritters.
Matthew 7:24—29 Quintilian, Institutio Oratorio, I, 2

15 In education, most important to lake care

it is 18 A good schoolmaster should not encumber himself
that the child docs not come to despise working at with a greater number of pupils than he can ade-
lessons for which he has as yet developed no real quately handle. Wc also feel it vitally important
appreciation. For then he will continue to dread that the teacher be a real friend to his pupils, so
them well beyond the years of childhood. Make that he will turn his task from a performance of
his lessons an amusement for him. Question him duty into a labor of love.
on them and praise him for his work. Let him Quintilian, Institutio Oratorio, I, 2
never be made to feel that he does not know a
thing. Sometimes, if he is unwilling to learn, teach 19 Narrow-necked vessels reject a great deal of any
someone else first, and he may become envious. liquid that is poured over them, but are filled up
Let him be occasionally competitive and allow with whatev’cr is gradually poured into them.
him to feel successful in his attainments. Appeal Likewise, it is for us to ascertain how much the
to his abilities by offering rewards that are attrac- minds can receive at any one time. What
of boys
tive to him. is too much for their minds to grasp 'ivill not enter

Quintilian, Jnstiiutio Oratorio, I, 1 at all, because their minds arc not sufficiently ex-
panded to accept it. It is a real advantage for any
16 Would that wc ourselves did not corrupt the mor- boy to have classmates whom he may imitate, and
als of our children. We enervate their very infancy eventually surpass. By this means he w4U gradu-
with luxuries. That delicacy of education which ally come to hope to reach higher excellence.
we call fondness, weakens all their powers, both of Quintilian, Institutio Oratorio, 1, 2
body and mind. What luxury will he not covet in
his manhood, who has crawled about on purple as 20 I do not believe that boys should have to suffer
a child. He cannot yet articulate his first words, corporal punishment, even though it has long
when he can already distinguish scarlet and wants been an accepted custom. First of all, it is a dis-
his purple finery. Wc
prompt the palate of the grace and a punishment fit for slaves, and (if you
child to develop fine tastes, before we teach him to can imagine it being inflicted at a later age) an
 83. The Arts of Teaching and Learning 539

affront. Secondly, if a boy’s disposition is so abject that he constantly laid Homer’s Iliad according to
that he cannot be corrected by reproof, he is only the copy corrected by Aristotle, called the casket
likely to be hardened, as a slave would be, by a copy, with his dagger under his pillow, declaring
whipping. And lastly, if the teacher really knows that he esteemed it a perfect portable treasure of
how be a disciplinarian, there will not be the
to all military virtue and knowledge. . . .

least need of any such chastisement. There cur- For a while he loved and cherished Aristotle no
rently seems to be so much negligence among less, as he was wont to say himself, than if he had

teachers, that boys are not obliged to do what is
right, yet they are punished whenever they have
not done it. But consider, after you have coerced a
boy with punishment, how will you treat him
when he has become a young man to whom a
threat of such punishment is meaningless, but
whose studies are even more difficult? On top of
all this, you realize that many unpleasant things
often happen to boys as they are punished, things
which they later recall with shame. Such shame
been his father, giving this reason for it, that as he
had received life from the one, so the other had
taught him to live well. But afterwards, upon
some mistrust of him, yet not so great as to make
him do him any hurt, his familiarity and friendly
kindness to him abated so much of its former force
and affectionateness, as to make it evident he was
alienated from him. However, his violent thirst
after and passion for learning, which were once
implanted, still grew up with him, and never de-

depresses and enervates the mind, makes them cayed.

23
shun other people, and feel constantly uneasy. Plutarch, Alexander
Moreover, if there has been too little care taken in
choosing teachers and tutors of reputable charac- 22 The teachers we our children must live
select for
ter, I am ashamed tomention how scandalously lives immune be irreproachable in
to scandal,
unworthy men may abuse their privilege of in- conduct, and conversant with respectable society.
flicting punishment, as well as what opportunities The fountain and root of gentlemanliness is the
may be offered to others in the terrors of unhappy acquisition of traditional education.
children. Plutarch, Education of Children
Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria, I, 3
23 The memorizing aspect of learning contributes no
Looking upon the instruction and tuition of his small share not only to education but also to the
youth to be of greater difficulty and importance practical conduct of life, for the memory of past

than to be wholly trusted to the ordinary masters deeds provides examples in taking good counsel
in music and poetry, and the conunon school sub- for the future.

jects ... he [Philip] sent for Aristotle, the most Plutarch, Education of Children
learned and most celebrated philosopher of his
time, and rewarded him with a munificence pro- 24 Each schoolboy, in turn, gets up, and, standing,
portionable to and becoming the care he took to delivers
instruct his son. For he repeopled his native city What he’s just read sitting down, in the most mo-
Stagira, which he had caused to be demolished a notonous singsong.
little before, and restored all the citizens, who This is the kind of rehash that kills unfortunate
were in exile or slavery, to their habitations. masters.
As a place for the pursuit of their studies and Juvenal, Satire VII
exercise, he assigned the temple of the Nymphs,
near Mieza, where, to this very day, they show 25 It is no easy task to keep your eye on the students,
you Aristotle’s stone seats, and the shady walks Watching the hands and the eyes of the impudent
which he was wont to frequent. mischievous devils.
It would appear that Alexander received from “That’s your job,” they say, and your pay, at the
him not only his doctrines of morals and of poli- end of a twelve-month.
tics, but also something of those more abstruse Equals a jockey’s fee if he’s ridden only one win-
and profound theories which these philosophers, ner.
by the very names they gave them, professed to Juvenal, Satire VII
reserve for oral communications to the initiated,
and did not allow many to become acquainted 26 Not even wisdom perhaps is enough to enable a
with. ... man to take care of youths: a man must have also
Doubtless also it was to Aristotle that he owed a certain readiness and fitness for this purpose,
the inclination he had, not to the theory only, but and a certain quality of body, and above all
likewise to the practice of the art of medicine.
For things he must have God to advise him to occupy
when any of his friends he would often
were sick, this office, as God advised Socrates to occupy the
prescribe them their course of diet, and medicines place of one who confutes error, Diogenes the of-
proper to their disease, as we may find in his epis- fice of royalty and reproof, and the office of teach-
tles. He was naturally a great lover of all kin(i of ing precepts.
learning and reading; and Onesicritus informs us Epictetus, Discourses, III, 21
 540 Chapter 8, Education

27 He whose purpose is to know anything better than what they already know, and to bring their fed.
the multitude do must far surpass all others both ings into harmony with the truths they admit
as regards his nature and his early training. And greater vigour of speech is needed. Here entreaties
when he reaches early adolescence he must be- and reproaches, exhortations and upbraidings
come possessed with an ardent love for truth, like and all the other means of rousing the emotions*
one inspired; neither day nor night may he cease are necessary.
to urge and strain himself in order to learn Augustine, Christian Doctrine, IV 4
thoroughly all that has been said by the most il-

lustrious of the Ancients. And when he has learnt 31 To strive about words is not to be careful about
then for a prolonged period he must test and
this, the way overcome error by truth, but to be
to
prove it, observing what part of it is in agreement, anxious that your mode of expression should be
and what in disagreement with obvious fact; thus preferred to that of another. The man who docs
he will choose this and turn away from that, not strive about words, whether he speak quietly,
Galen, Natural Faculties, III, 10 temperately, or vehemently, uses words with no
other purpose than tomake the truth plain, pleas-
28 I disliked learning and hated to be forced to it. ing, and effective.

But I was forced to it, so that good was done to me Augustine, Christian Doctrine, IV, 28
though it was not my doing. Short of being driven
to it, I certainly would not have learned. But no 32 Do teachers profess that it is their thoughts which
one does well against his will, even if the thing he are perceived and grasped by
the students, and
docs is a good thing to do. not the sciences themselves which they convey
Augustine, Confessions, I, 12 through speaking? For who is so stupidly curious
as to send his son to school in order that he may
29 The drudgery of learning a foreign language learn what the teacher thinks? But all those sci-

sprinkled bitterness over all the sweetness of the ences w'hich they profess to teach, and the science
Greek talcs. I did not know a word of the lan- of virtue itself and wisdom, teachers explain
guage: and I was driven with threats and savage through words. Then those who are called pupils
punishments to learn. There had been a time of consider within themselves whether what has been
infancy when I knew no Latin either. Yet I learnt explained has been said truly; looking of course to
it without threat or punishment merely by keep- that interior truth, according to the measure of
ing my and ears open, amidst the Batterings
eyes which each is able. Thus they learn, and when the
of nurses and the jesting and pleased laughter of interior truth makes known to them that true
elders leading me on, I learnt it without the pain- things have been said, they applaud, but without
ful pressure of compulsion, by the sole pressure of know’ing that instead of applauding teachers they
my own desire to express what was in my mind, are applauding learners, if indeed their teachers

which would have been impossible unless I had know what they arc saying. But men arc mistak-
learnt words: and I learnt them not through peo- en, so that they call those teachers who are not,
ple teaching me but simply through people speak- merely because for the most part there is no delay
ing: to whom I was striving to utter my own feel- beuveen the time of speaking and the time of cog-
ings. All this goes to prove tliat free curiosity is of nition. And since after the speaker has reminded
more value in learning than harsh discipline. them, the pupils quickly learn within, they think
Augustine, Confessions, I, 14 that they have been taught outwardly by him who
prompts them.
30 It is the duty ... of the interpreter and teacher of Augustine, On the Teacher, XIV
Holy Scripture, the defender of the true faith and
the opponent of error, both to teach what is right 33 Progress in knowledge occurs in two ways. First,
and to refute what is wrong, and in the perfor- on the part of the teacher, be he one or many,
mance of this task to conciliate the hostile, to who makes progress in knowledge as time goes on.
rouse the careless, and to tell the ignorant both And this is the kind of progress that takes place in

what is occurring at present and what is probable sciences devised by man. Secondly, on the part of

in the future. But once that his hearers are friend- the learner; thus the master, has perfectwho
ly, attentive, and ready to learn, whether he has knowledge of the art, does not deliver it all at once
found them so, or has himself made them so, the to his disciple from the very outset, for he w’ould
remaining objects are to be carried out in whatev- not be able to take it all in, but he condescends to
er way the case requires. If the hearers need the disciple’s capacity and instructs him little by
teaching, the matter treated of must be made fully little.

known by means of narrative. On the other hand, Aquinas, Summa Theologica, II-II, 1, 7
to clearup points that are doubtful requires rea-
soning and the exhibition of proofs. If, how'ever, 34 Since there is a twofold way of acquiring knowl-
the hearers require to be roused rather than in- —
edge by discovery and by being taught the —
structed, in order that they may be diligent to do way of discovery is the higher, and the way of
 542 Chapter 8. Education

we know rightly we dispose of, without looking at and natures are most apt and proper for what
the model, without turning our eyes toward our sciences.
book. Sad competence, a purely bookish compe- Bacon, Advancement of Learning
tence! Bk. II, XIX, 2
Montaigne, Essays, I, 26, Education of
Children
49 Practise all things chiefly at two several times the
one when the mind is best disposed, the other
42 I condemn all violence in the education of a ten- when it is worst disposed; that by the one you may
der soul which is being trained for honor and lib-
gain a great step, by the other you may work out
erty. There a sort of servility about rigor and
is
the knots and stonds of the mind, and make the
constraint; and I hold that what cannot be done middle times the more easy and pleasant.
by reason, and by wisdom and tact, is never done
Bacon, Advancement of Learning,
by force,
Bk. II, XXII, 10
Montaigne, Essays, II, 8, Affection of
Fathers
50 But all animals which along with memory have
the faculty of hearing are susceptible of education.
43 There is still more intelligence needed to teach
Other creatures, again, live possessed of fancy and
others than to be taught.
Montaigne, Essays, II, 12, Apology for
memory, but they have little store of experience;
Raymond Sebond the human kind, however, have both art and rea-
soning, Now experience comes to man through
memory; for many memories of the same thing
44 The study of is a languishing and feeble
books
have the force of a single experience: so that expe-
activity that gives no heat, whereas discussion
rience appears to be almost identical with certain
teaches and exercises us at the same time.
Montaigne, Essays, III, 8, Of the Art of
kinds of art and science; and, indeed, men acquire
both art and science by experience: for experi-
Discussion
ence, as Polus rightly remarks, begets art, inexpe-
rience is waited on by accident.
45 As regards the academies, they are established in
By this he plainly tells us that no one can truly
order to regulate the studies of the pupils and arc
be entitled discreet or well-informed, who does
concerned not to have the program of teaching
not of his own experience, i.e., from repeated
change very often: in such places, because it is a
memory, frequent perception by sense, and dili-
question of the progress of the students, it fre-
gent observation, know that a thing is so in fact.
quently happens that the things which have to be
Without these, indeed, we only imagine or be-
chosen are not those which arc most true but those
lieve, and such knowledge is rather to be account-
which are most easy.
ed as belonging to others than to us. The method
Kepler, Epitome of Copemican Astronomy,
of investigating truth commonly pursued at this
IV, To the Reader
time, therefore, is to be held as erroneous and al-
most foolish, in which so many inquire what
46 a good divine that follows his own in-
Portia. It is
others have said, and omit to ask whether the
I can easier teach twenty what were
structions:
things themselves be actually so or not; and single
good to be done, than be one of the twenty to
universal conclusions being deduced from several
follow mine own teaching.
premises, and analogies being thence shaped out,
Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, I, ii, 15
we have frequently mere verisimilitudes handed
down to us instead of positive truths.
47 Disciples do owe unto masters only a temporary
belief and a suspension of their own judgement till
William Harvey, Animal Generation, Intro.

they be fully instructed, and not an absolute resig-

nation or perpetual captivity. 31 When we wish to correct with advantage and to

Bacon, Advancement of Learning, Bk.
48 There is no defect in the faculties intellectual, but
seemeth to have a proper cure contained in some
studies: as, for example, if a child be bird -wilted,
I, IV, 12 show another that he errs, we must notice from
what side he views the matter, for on that side it is
usually true, and admit that truth to him, but
reveal to him the side on w'hich it is false. He is
satisfied with that, for he sees that he was not mis-

that is, hath not the faculty of attention, the taken and that he only failed to see all sides. Now,
mathematics giveth a remedy thereunto; for in no one is offended at not seeing everything; but
them, if the wit be caught away but a moment, one docs not like to be mistaken, and that perhaps
one is new to begin. And as sciences have a pro- arises from the fact that man naturally cannot sec

priety towards facultiiK for cure and help, so fac- everything, and that naturally he cannot err in
ulties orpowers have a sympathy towards sciences the side he looks at, since the perceptions of our
for excellency or speedy profiting: and therefore it senses arc always true.
is an inquiry of great wisdom, what kinds of wits Pascal, Pensees, I, 9
 83, The Arts of Teaching and Learning
52 People arc generally better persuaded by the rea-
sons which they have themselves discovered than
by those which have come into the mind of others.
Pascal, Pensees, I, 10
53 Discerning minds know how much difference
there is between two similar remarks, depending
upon the place and accompanying circumstances.
Will anyone really believe that two persons who
have read and learned by heart the same book
know it equally well, if one understands it in such
a way that he know’s all its principles, the force of
its conclusions, the replies to the objections that
can be made, and the entire organization of the
work, whereas in the other the book is dead words
and seeds which, though the same as those that
produced such fertile trees, have remained dry
and unfruitful in the sterile mind which received
them in vain?
Pascal, Geometrical DemomtTation
54 The usual lazy and short way by chastisement
and the rod, which is the only instrument of gov-
ernment that tutors generally know or ever think
of, is the most unfit of any to be used in education.
Locke, Some Thoughts Concerning Education, 47
55 Esteem and disgrace arc, of all others, the most pow-
erful incentives to the mind, when once it
brought to relish them,. If you can once get into
children a love of credit, and an apprehension of
shame and disgrace, you have put into *em the
true principle, which will constantly work and
cline them to the right.
Locke, Some Thoughts Concerning Education, 56
56 Children arc not to be taught by rules which will
be always slipping out of their memories. What
you think necessary for them to do, settle in them
by an indispensable practice, as often as the occa-
sion returns; and if it be possible, make occasions.
This will beget habits in them which being once
established, operate of themselves easily and natu-
rally, without the assistance of the memory.
Locke, Some Thoughts Concerning Education, 66
57 God has stamped certain characters upon men^s
minds, which like their shapes, may perhaps be a
mended, but can hai^ly be totally altered
little
and transformed into the contrary. He therefore
that is about children should well study their na-
tures and aptitudes, and see by often trials what
turn they easily take, and what becomes them;
observe what their native stock is, how it may be
improved, and what it is fit for: he should consid-
er what they want, whether they be capable of
having it wrought into them by industry, and in-
corporated there by practice; and whether it be
worth while to endeavor it. For in many cases, all
that we can do, or should aim at, is to make the
best of what nature has given, to prevent the vices
543
and faults to which such a constitution is most
inclined, and give it all the advantages it is capa-
ble of. Everyone^s natural genius should be car-
ried as far as it could; but to attempt the putting
another upon him will be but labor in vain; and
what is so plastered on will at best sit but unto-
wardly, and have always hanging to it the un-
gracefulncss of constraint and affectation.
Locke, Some Thoughts Concerning Education, 66
58 Of all the ways whereby children are to be in-
structed, and their manners formed, the plainest,
easiest, and most efficacious, is to set before their
eyes the examples of those things you would have
them do or avoid; which, when they arc pointed
out to them, in the practice of persons within their
knowledge, with some reflections on their beauty
and unbecomingness, are of more force to draw or
deter their imitation than any discourses which
can be made to them. Virtues and vices can by no
words be so plainly set before their under-
standings as the actions of other men will show
them, when you direct their observation, and bid
them view this or that good or bad quality in their
practice. And the beauty or uncomeliness of many
things, in good and ill breeding, will be better
learnt and make deeper impressions on them, in
the examples of others, than from any rules or
is instructions can be given about them.
Locke, Some Thoughts Concerning Education, 82
59 As the example must teach the child re-
father’s
in- spect for his tutor, so the tutor’s example must
lead the child into those actions he would have
him do. His practice must by no means cross his
precepts, unless he intend to set him wrong. It will
be to no purpose for the tutor to talk of the re-
straint of the passions whilst any of his own arc let
loose; and he will in vain endeavor to reform any
vice or indecency in his pupil which he allows in
himself.
Locke, Some Thoughts Concerning Education, 89
60 In all the whole business of education, there is
nothing like to be less hearkened to, or harder to
be well observed, than what I am now going to
say; and that is, that children should, from their
first beginning to talk, have some discreet, sober,
nay, wise person about them, whose care it should
be to fashion them aright, and keep them from all
ill, especially the infection of bad company, I
think this province requires great sobriety, tem-
perance, tenderness, diligence, and discretion;
qualities hardly to be found united in persons that
are to be had for ordinary salaries, nor easily to be
found anjnvhcre.
Locke, Some Thoughts Concerning Education, 90
61 The great skill of a teacher is to get and keep the
attention of his scholar; whilst he has that, he is
sure to advance as fast as the learner’s abilities
 — —
544 Chapter 8, Education

will carry him; and without that, all his bustle 64 It isvery strange that ever since people began
to
and pother will be to little or no purpose. To at- think about education they should have hit
upon
tain this, he should make the child comprehend, no other way of guiding children than emulation,
as much as may be, the usefulness of what he jealousy, envy, vanity, greediness, base cowardice*
teaches him, and let him see, by what he has all the most dangerous passions, passions ever
learned, that he can do something which he could ready to ferment, ever prepared to corrupt the
not do before; something which gives him some soul even before the body is full-grown. With ev-
power and real advantage above others who are ery piece of precocious instruction which you try
ignorant of it. To this he should add sweetness in to force into their minds you plant a vice in the
all his instructions, and by a certain tenderness in depths of their hearts; foolish teachers think they
his whole carriage make the child sensible that he are doing wonders when they arc making their
loves him and designs nothing but his good, the scholars wicked in order to teach them what good-
only way to beget love in the child, which will ness is, and then they tell us seriously, “Such is
make him hearken to his lessons, and relish what man.” is man, as you have made him.
Yes, such
he teaches him. Rousseau, Emile, II
Locke, Some Thoughts Concerning
Education^ 167 65 In the country of the blind the one-eyed arc kings;
I passed for a good master, since all the rest were
62 There are a thousand unnoticed openings, contin- bad.
ued my father, which let a penetrating eye at once Rousseau, Confessions, V
into a man’s soul; and I maintain it, added he,
that a man of sense does not lay down his hat in 66 Johnson, upon all occasions, expressed his appro-
—
coming into a room, or take it up in going out of bation of enforcing instructions by means of the
it, but something escapes, which discovers him. rod. “I would rather (said he) have the rod to be
It is for these reasons, continued my father, that the general terrour to all, to make them learn,
the governor I make choice of shall neither lisp, or than tell a child, if you do thus, or thus, you will
squint, or wink, or talk loud, or look fierce, or be more esteemed than your brothers or sisters.
foolish; —or bite his Ups, or grind his teeth, or The rod produces an effect which terminates in
speak through his nose, or pick it, or blow it with itself, A child is afraid of being whipped, and gets

his fingers. and there’s an end on’t; whereas, by ex-

his task,
He shall neither walk fast, —or slow, or fold his citingemulation and comparisons of superiority,
arms, —for that is laziness; —or hang them you lay the foundation of lasting mischief; you
down, — for that is folly; or hide them in his pock- make brothers and sisters hate each other.”
et, for that is nonsense. Boswell, Life ofJohnson (1719)
He shall neither strike, or pinch, or tickle, —or
bite, or cut his nails, or hawk, or or or
spit, snift, 67 Johnson, “In my early years I read very hard. It is
drum with his feet or company; —nor
fingers in a sad reflection, but a true one, that I knew al-
(according to Erasmus) shall he speak to any one most as much at eighteen as I do now. My judge-
in making water, —
nor shall he point to carrion or ment, to be sure, was not so good; but I had all
excrement. Now this is all nonsense again, the facts. I remember very well, when I was at
quoth my uncle Toby to himself. Oxford, an old gentleman said to me, ‘Young
I will have him, continued my father, cheerful, man, ply your book diligently now, and acquire a
facete, jovial; at the same time, prudent, attentive stock of knowledge; for when years come upon
to business, vigilant, acute, argute, inventive, you, you will find that poring upon books \vill be
quick in resolving doubts and speculative ques- but an irksome task.’ ”
tions; —^he be wise, and judicious, and
shall Boswell, Life ofJohnson (July 21, 1763)
learned: —And why
not humble, and moderate,
and gentle- tempered, and good? said Yorick: 68 We talked of the education of children; and I

And why not, cried my uncle Toby, free, and gen- asked him what he thought was best to teach
erous, and bountiful, and brave? He shall, my them first. Johnson. “Sir, it is no matter what you
dear Toby, replied my father, getting up and teach them first, any more than what leg you shall
shaking him by his hand. put into your breeches first. Sir, you may stand
Sterne, Tristmm Shandy, VI, 5 disputing which is best to put in first, but in the
mean time your breech is bare. Sir, while you arc

63 Contrary to the received opinion, a child’s tutor considering which of two things you should teach
should be young, as young indeed as a man may your child first, another boy has learnt them
well be who is also wise. Were it possible, he both.”
should become a child himself, that he may be the Boswell, Life ofJohnson (July 26, 1763)
companion of his pupil and win his confidence by
sharing his games. 69 Johnson, The government of a schoolmaster is

Rousseau, Emile, I somewhat of the nature of military government;

 S3, The Arts of Teaching and Learning 545

that is must be arbitrary, it must be exer-

to say, it ture endeavours of reformation or instruction to-
cised by the one man, according to particu-
will of Obstinacy, therefore, must never
tally ineffectual.

lar circumstances. You must shew some learning
upon this occasion. You must shew, that a school-
master has a prescriptive right to beat; and that
an action of assault and battery cannot be admit-
ted against him, unless there is some great excess,
some barbarity. This man has maimed none of his
boys. They are with the full exercise of
all left
their corporeal faculties. In our schools in Eng-
70
land, many boys have been maimed; yet I never
heard of an action against a schoolmaster on that
account. Puffendorf, I think, maintains the right
of a schoolmaster to beat his scholars.
be victorious. Yet, it is well known, that there
sometimes occurs a sullen and hardy resolution,
that laughs at all common punishment, and bids
defiance to all common degrees of pain. Correc-
tion must be proportioned to occasions. The flexi-
ble will be reformed by gentle discipline, and the
refractory must be suMued by harsher methods.
The degrees of scholastick, as of military punish-
ment, no stated rules can ascertain. It must be
enforced till it overpowers temptation; till stub-
bornness becomes flexible, and perverseness regu-
lar.”

Boswell, Life of Johnson (Mar. 23 ^ 1772) Bosw'cll, Life of Johnson (Apr, //, 1772)

On Saturday, April 11, he [Johnson] appointed 71 Johnson. A child should not be discouraged from
me to come to him in the evening, when he should reading any thing that he takes a liking to, from a
be at leisure to give me some assistance for the notion that it is above his reach. If that be the
defence of Hastie, the schoolmaster of CampbclI- case, the child will soon find it out and desist; if

town, for whom I was to appear in the House of not, he of course gains the instruction; which is so
Lords. When I came, I found him unwilling to much the more likely to come, from the inclina-
exert himself. I pressed him to write down his tion with which he takes up the study.
thoughts upon the subject. He said,“There’s no Boswell, Life ofJohnson (1780)
occasion for my writing. I’ll talk to you.” He was,
however, at last prevailed on to dictate to me, 72 It has been considered as of so much importance
while I wTOte as follows: that a proper number of young people should be
“The charge is, that he has used immoderate educated for certain professions, that sometimes
and cruel correction. Correction, in itself, is not the public and sometimes the piety of private
cruel; children, being not reasonable, can be gov- founders have established many pensions, schol-
erned only by fear. To impress this fear, is there- arships, exhibitions, bursaries, etc., for this pur-
fore one of the first duties of those who have the pose, which draw many more people into those
care of children. It is the duty of a parent; and has trades than could otherwise pretend to follow
never been thought inconsistent with parental them. In all Christian countries, I believe, the
tenderness. It is the duty of a master, who is in his education of the greater part of churchmen is paid
highest exaltation when he is loco parentis. Yet, as for in this manner. Very few of them arc educated
good things become evil by excess, correction, by altogether at their own expense. The long, te-
being immoderate, may become cruel. But when dious, and expensive education, therefore, of those
is correction immoderate? When it is more fre- who arc, will not always procure them a suitable
quent or more severe than is required ad monendum reward, the church being crowded with people
et docendum, for reformation and instruction. No who, in order to get employment, arc willing to
severity is cruel which obstinacy makes necessary; accept of a much smaller recompense than what
for the greatest cruelty would be to desist, and such an education would otherwise have entitled
leave the scholar too careless for instruction, and them to. . . .

too much hardened for reproof. Locke, in his trea- [The greater part of] that unprosperous race of
tise of Education, mentions a mother, with ap- men commonly called men of letters arc pretty
plause, who whipped an infant eight times before much in the situation which lawyers and physi-
she had subdued it; for had she stopped at the cians probably would be in upon the foregoing
seventh act of correction, her daughter, says he, supposition. In every part of Europe the greater
would have been ruined. The degrees of obstinacy part of them have been educated for the church,
in young minds are very different; as different but have been hindered by different reasons from
must be the degrees of persevering severity. A entering into holy orders. They have generally,
stubborn scholar must be corrected till he is sub- therefore, been educated at the public expense,
dued. The discipline of a school is military. There and their numbers arc everywhere so great as
must be either unbounded licence or absolute au- commonly to reduce the price of their labour to a
thority. The who punishes, not only con-
master, very paltry recompense.
happiness of him who is the imme-
sults the future Before the invention of the art of printing, the
diate subject of correction; but he propagates only employment by which a man of letters could
obedience through the whole school; and estab- make anything by his talents was that of a public
by exemplary justice. The victori-
lishes regularity or private teacher, or by communicating to other
ous obstinacy of a single boy would make his fu- people the curious and useful knowledge which he
 546 Chapter 8. Education

had acquired himself: and this is still surely a are given. Force and restraint may, no doubt,
be
more honourable, a more useful, and in general in some degree requisite in order to oblige
duU
even a more profitable employment than that dren, or very young boys, to attend to those
pam
other of writing for a bookseller, to which the art of education which it is thought necessai>-
for
of printing has given occasion. The time and them to acquire during that early period of Ufe-
study, the genius, knowledge, and application but after twelve or thirteen years of age, prorided
requisite to qualify an eminent teacher of the sci- the master does his duty, force or restraint can
ences, are at least equal to what is necessary for scarce ever be necessary to carry on any pan of
the greatest practitioners in law and physic. But education. Such is the generosity of the greater
the usual reward of the eminent teacher bears no part of young men, that, so far from being dis-
proportion to that of the lawyer or physician; be- posed to neglect or despise the instructions of their
cause the trade of the one is crowded with indi- master, provided he shows some serious intention
gent people who have been brought up to it at the of being of use to them, they are generally in-
public expense; whereas those of the other two are clined to pardon a great deal of incorrectness in
encumbered with very few who have not been the performance of his duty, and sometimes even
educated at their own. . . . to conceal from the public a good deal of gross
This inequality is upon the whole, perhaps, negligence.
rather advantageous than hurtful to the public. It Adam Smith, Wealth of Nations, V, 1

may somewhat degrade the profession of a public

75 In England becomes every day more and more
it
teacher; but the cheapness of literary education is
the custom to send young people to travel in for-
surely an advantage which greatly overbalances
eign countries immediately upon their fearing
this trifling inconveniency.
school, and without sending them to any universi-
Adam Smith, Wealth of Nations^ I, 10
Our young people, it is said, generally return
ty.
home much improved by their travels. A young
73 In [some] universities the teacher is prohib-
. . .
man who goes abroad at seventeen or eighteen,
ited from receiving any honorary or from his fee
and returns home at one and twenty, returns
pupils, and his salary constitutes the whole of the
three or four years older than he was when he
revenue which he derives from his office. His in-
went abroad; and at that age it is very difficult
terest is, in this case, set as directly in opposition
not to improve a good deal in three or four years.
to his duty as it is possible to set it. It is the interest
In the course of his travels he generally acquires
of every man to live as much at his ease as he can;
some knowledge of one or two foreign languages;
and if his emoluments are to be precisely the
a knowledge, however, which is seldom sufficient
same, whether he does or does not perform some
to enable him either to speak or write them with
very laborious duty, it is certainly his interest, at
propriety. In other respects he commonly returns
least as interest is vulgarly understood, cither to
home more conceited, more unprincipled, more
neglect it altogether, or, if he is subject to some dissipated, and more incapable of any serious ap-
authority which will not suffer him to do this, to
plication cither to study or to business than he
perform it in as careless and slovenly a manner as
could well have become in so short a time had he
that authority will permit. If he is naturally active
lived at home. By travelling so very young, by
and a lover of labour, it is his interest to employ spending in the most frivolous dissipation the most
that activity in any way from which he can derive
precious years of his life, at a distance from the
some advantage, rather than in the p>er{ormance
inspection and control of his parents and rela-
of his duty, from which he can derive none.
tions, every useful habit which the earlier parts of
If the authority to which he is subject resides in
his education might have had some tendency to
the body corporate, the college, or university, of
form in him, instead of being riveted and con-
which he himself is a member, and which the
firmed, is almost necessarily either weakened or
greater part of the other members are, like him-
effaced. Nothing but the discredit into %vhich the
self, persons who either are or ought to be teach-
universities are allowing themselves to fall could
ers, they are likely to make a common cause, to be
ever have brought into repute so very absurd a
all very indulgent to one another, and every man
practice as that of travelling at this early period of
to consent that his neighbour may neglect his
life. By sending his son abroad, a father delivers
duty, provided he himself is allowed to neglect his
himself at least for some
time, from so disagree-
own. In the university of Oxford, the greater part
able an object as that of a son unemployed, ne-
of the public professors have, for these many glected, and going to ruin before his eyes.
years, given up altogether even the pretence of
Adam Smith, Wealth of Nations, V, 1
teaching.
Adam Smith, Wealth of Nations^ V, 1 76 The power of instruction is seldom of much effica-
cy, except in those happy dispositions where it is

74 No ever requisite to force attendance

discipline is almost superfluous.
upon lectures which are really worth the attend- Gibbon, Decline and Fall of the Roman
ing, as is well known wherever any such lectures Empire, IV
 83. The Arts of Teaching and Learning |
547

77 Although education may furnish, and, as it were, making the knowledge of many learned persons to
engraft upon a limited understanding rules bor- consist in mere verbiage.
rowed from other minds, yet the power of employ- Schopenhauer, Education
ing these rules correctly must belong to the pupil
himself; and no rule which we can prescribe to
81 The memory should be specially taxed in youth,
him \rith this purpose is, in the absence or defi- since then that it is strongest and most tena-
it is
ciency of this gift of nature, secure from misuse. A cious. But in choosing the things that should be
physician therefore, a judge or a statesman, may
commited to memory the utmost care and fore-
have in his head many admirable pathological, thought must be exercised; as lessons well learnt
juridical, or political rules, in a degree that may in youth are never forgotten.
enable him to be a profound teacher in his partic-
Schopenhauer, Education
ular science, and yet in the application of these
rules he may very possibly blunder—cither be-
82 The Socratic dialectics, so magnificently exempli-
cause he is wanting in natural judgement (though
not in understanding) and, whilst he can compre-
fied in the dialogues of Plato, were a contrivance
hend the general in abstracto, cannot distinguish . . . [for making the difficulties of a question
present to the learner’s consciousness]. They were
whether a particular case in concreto ought to rank
essentially a negative discussion of the great ques-
under the former; or because his faculty of judge-
ment has not been sufficiently exercised by exam- tion of philosophy and life, directed with consum-

ples and real practice. Indeed, the grand and only

mate skill to the purpose of convincing any one
use of examples, is to sharpen the judgement. For
who had merely adopted the common-places of

and precision of the in- received opinion that he did not understand the
as regards the correctness
sight of the understanding, examples are com- subject —
that he as yet attached no definite mean-
ing to the doctrines he professed; in order that,
monly injurious rather than otherwise, because, as
casxxs in Urminis, they seldom adequately fulfil the becoming aware he might be put
of his ignorance,

conditions of the rule. Besides, they often weaken in the way a stable belief, resting on a
to obtain

apprehend clear apprehension both of the meaning of doc-

the power of our understanding to
rules or laws in their universality, independently
trines and of their evidence. The school disputa-

of particular circumstances of experience; and tions of theMiddle Ages had a somewhat similar
more as for- object. They were intended to make sure that the
hence, accustom us to employ them
mulae than as Examples are thus the
principles. pupil understood his own opinion, and (by neces-

go-cart of the Judgement, which he who is natu- sary correlation) the opinion opposed to it, and

rally deficient in that faculty cannot afford to dis-

could enforce the grounds of the one and confute
pense with. those of the other.

Kant, Critique of Pure Reason^ Mill, On liberty, II

Transcendental Analytic
83 It is but a poor education that associates igno-
78 not to the history of the science, or of the
It is rance with ignorance, and leaves them, if they
human mind, that we are to attend in an elemen- care for knowledge, to grope their way to it with-
tary treatise: our onlyaim ought to be ease and out help, and to do without it if they do not. What
perspicuity and with the utmost care to keep ev- is wanted is, the means of making ignorance

erything out of view which might draw aside the aware of itself, and able to profit by knowledge;
attention of the student; it is a road which we accustoming minds which know only routine to
should be continually rendering more smooth, act upon, and feel the value of, principles: teach-
and from which we should endeavour to remove ing them to compare different modes of action,
every obstacle which can occasion delay. and learn, by the use of their reason, to distin-
Lavoisier, Elements of Chemistry^ guish the best. When we desire to have a good
Pref. school, we do not eliminate the teacher. The old
remark, “as the schoolmaster is, so will be the
79 Instead developing the child^s own faculties of
of school,” is as true of the indirect schooling of
discernment, and teaching it to judge and think grown people by public business as of the school-
for itself, the teacher uses all his energies to stuff ing of youth in academies and colleges.
its head full of the ready-made thoughts of other Mill, Representative Government, XV
people.
Schopenhauer, Education 84 A pupil from whom nothing is ever demanded
which he cannot do, never does all he can.
80 The fatal tendency to be satisfied with words in-
Mill, Autobiography, I
stead of trying to understand things to learn —
phrases by heart, so that they may prove a refuge 85 I do not believe that boys can be induced to apply
in time of —
need exists, as a rule, even in chil-
dren; and the tendency lasts on into manhood,
themselves with vigour, and what is so much more
difficult, perseverance, to dry and irksome studies.
 548 Chapter 8. Education
by the sole force of persuasion and soft words.
Much must be done, and much must be learnt, by
children, for which rigid disdpline and known lia-
bility to punishment are indispensable as means.
It is, no doubt, a very laudable effort, in modem
teaching, to render as much as possible of what
the young are required to learn easy and interest-
ing to them. But when this principle is pushed to
the length of not requiring them to learn anything
but what has been made easy and interesting, one
of the chief objects of education is sacrificed. I
rejoice in the decline of the old bmtal and tyran-
nical system of teaching, which, however, did suc-
ceed in enforcing habits of application; but the
new, as it seems to me, is training up a race of
men who will be incapable of doing anything
which is disagreeable to them. I do not, then, be-
lieve that fear, as an element in education, can be
dispensed wth; but I am sure that it ought not to
be the main element; and when it predominates
so much as to preclude love and confidence on the
part of the child to those who should be the unre-
serv'edly trusted advisers of after-years, and per-
haps to seal up the fountains of frank and sponta-
neous communicativeness in the child’s nature, it
is an evil for which a large abatement must be
made from the benefits, moral and intellectual,
which may flow from any other part of the educa-
tion.
Mill, Autobiography, II
86 There is a need for educators who are themselves
educated; superior, noble spirits, who prove them-
selves every moment by what they say and by
what they do not say: cultures grown ripe and
—
sweet and not the learned boors which granunar
school and university offer youth today as ‘higher
nurses.’
Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols:
^Vhat the Germans Lack
87 Things learned thus in a few hours, on one occa-
sion, for one purpose, cannot possibly have formed
many associations with other things in the mind.
Their brain-processes are led into by few paths,
and are relatively little liable to be awakened
again. Speedy oblivion is the almost inevitable
fate of all that is committed to memory in this
simple way. Whereas, on the contrary, the same
materials taken in gradually, day after day, recur-
ring in different contexts, considered in various
relations, associated with other external incidents,
and repeatedly reflected on, grow into such a sys-
tem, form such connections with the rest of the
mind’s fabric, lie o{>en to so many paths of ap-
proach, that they remain permanent possessions.
This is the intellectual reason why habits of continu-
ous application should be enforced in educational
establishments. Of course there is no moral turpi-
tude in cramming. If it led to the desired end of
secure learning it would be infinitely the best
method of study. But it does not; and
students
themselves should understand the reason why.
William James, P^xholog^', XVI
88 As the art of reading (after a certain stage in one’s
education) is the art of skipping, so the art of
being wise is the art of knowing what to overlook.
The first effect on the mind of growng cultivated
isthat processes once multiple get to be perfonned
by a single act. Lazarus has called this the pro-
gressive “condensation” of thought. But in the
psychological sense it is less a condensation than a
loss, a genuine dropping out and throwing over-
board of conscious content. Steps really sink from
sight. An advanced thinker sees the relations of
his topics in such masses and so instantaneously
that when he comes to explain to younger mini
it is often hard to say which grows the more per-
plexed, he or the pupil. In every university there
are admirable investigators who are notoriously
bad lecturers. The reason is that they never spon-
taneously see the subject in the minute articulate
way in which the student needs to have it offered
They grope for the links, but
to his slow reception.
the links do not come. Bowditch, who translated
and annotated Laplace’s Mecanique celeste, said that
whenever his author prefaced a proposition by the
words “it is evident,” he knew that many hours of
hard study lay before him.
William James, P^'chology, XXII
89 In all pedagogy the great thing is to strike the iron
while hot, and to seize the wave of the pupil’s
interest in each successive subject before its ebb
has come, so that knowledge may be got and a
—
habit of skill acquired a headway of interest, in
short, secured, on which afterivard the individual
may float. There is a happy moment for fixing
skill in drawing, for making boys collectors in nat-
ural history, and presently dissectors and bota-
nists; then for initiating them into the harmonies
of mechanics and the wonders of physical and
chemical law. Later, introspective psycholog)’ and
the metaphysical and religious mysteries take
their turn; and, last of all, the drama of human
affairs and worldly wisdom in the widest sense of
the term. In each of us a saturation -point is soon
reached in all these things; the impetus of our
purely intellectual zeal expires, and unless the
topic be one associated with some urgent personal
need that keeps our wits constantly whetted about
it, we settle into an equilibrium, and live on what
w’e learned when our interest was fresh and in-
stinctive, without adding to the store. Outside of
their owm business, the ideas gained by men be-
fore they are twenty-five are practically the only
ideas they shall have in their lives. They cannot get
anything new. Disinterested curiosity is past, the
mental grooves and channels set, the power of as-
similation gone. If by chance w’e ever do learn
anything about some entirely new topic w’c are
 S3, The Arts of Teaching and Learning 549

afflicted \Wth a strange sense of insecurity, and we 95 A teacher ought to have only as much teaching a.n
fear 10 advance a resolute opinion. But with can be done, on most days, with actual plca.surc in
things learned in the plastic da)'$ of instinctive the work, and with an awareness of the pupil’s
curiosity we never lose entirely our sense of being menial needs. Tlic result would l)c a relation of
at home. There remains a kinship, a sentiment of friendliness instead of hostility bctwxcn teacher
intimate acquaintance, which, even when \sx and pupil, a realization on the part of most pupils
know wx have keep abreast of the sub-
failed to that education serves to develop their ovs'n lives
ject, flatters US with a sense of powxr o\xr it, and and is not merely an outside imposition, interfer-
makes us feel not altogether out of the pale. ing with play and demanding many hours of sit-
William James, P^<holor;y, XXIV ting still.

Russell, Education
90 He who can, docs. He who cannot, teaches.
Shaw, Man and Suprman^ Maxims for 96 Passive acceptance of the teacher’s wisdom is ctisy
Rc\’olutionis;s to most boy's and girls. It involves no effort of in-
dependent thought, and seems rational because
91 The result of teaching small parts of a large num- the teacher knows more than his pupils; it is
ber of subjects is the passive reception of discon- moreover the way to win the favxr of the teacher
nected ideas, not illumined with any spark of vi- unless he is a very exceptional man. Yet the habit
the main ideas which arc introduced
tality. Ijci of passive acceptance is a disastrous one in later
into a child’s education be few’ and important, life. It causes men to seek a leader, and to accept
and let them be throwm into c\xr>’ combination as a leader whocv’cr is established in that position.
possible. Russell, Educaticm
Whitehead, Atns of Education
97 Let us get a clear idea of what the primary' busi-
92 The mind is nc%xr passive; it is a perpetual activi- ness of education is. Tlic child has to learn to con-
ty, delicate, receptive, responsive to stimulus. You trol its instincts. To grant it complete freedom, so
cannot postpone its life until you have sharpened that it obeyT all its impulses without any re-
it-Whatever interest attaches to your subject-mat- striction, IS impossible. It would l>c a very instruc-
ter must be e^•okcd here and nenv; whatever pow- tive experiment for chi Id -psychologists, but it

ers you arc strengthening in the pupil, must be would make life impossible for the parents and
exercised here and now; whatcsxr possibilities of would do serious damage to the children them-
mental life your teaching should impart, must be selves, as wxuld be seen partly at the lime, and
exhibited here and now. Tliat is the golden rule of partly during siilnequcnt years. ’Hie function of
education, and a very difficult rule to follow. education, therefore^ is to inhibit, forbid, and sup-
Whitehead, Aims of Education press, and has at all times carried out this func-
it

tion to admiration. But wx have learnt from anal-

93 A man who educate really well, and is to
is to y'sis that it is this very suppression of instincts that

make the young grow and develop into their full involves the danger of neurotic illness. You will
stature, must be filled through and through wath remember we have gone into the question of
that
the spirit of reverence. It Ls reverence tow'ards how this comes about in some detail. Education
others that is lacking in those who advocate ma- has therefore to steer its way bctwxcn the Scylla of
chine-made cast-iron ty'stcras, . . . Reverence re- giving the instincts free play and the Charylxfis of
quires imagination and vital w'armlh; it requires frustrating them. Unless the problem is altogether
most imagination in respect of those who have insoluble, an optimum of education must be dis-
least actual achicvxmcnt or power. TIic child is covered, which w'ill do the most good and the least
weak and superficially foolish, the teacher is harm. It is a matter of finding out how much one
strong, and in an every-day sense wascr than the may forbid, at which times, and by what methods.
child. The teacher without reverence, or the bu- And then it must further be considered that the
reaucrat without reverence, easily despises the children havx sxry' different consrilut/onni disposi-
child for these outw'ard inferiorities. tions, so that the same educational procedure can-
Russell, Education not possibly be equally good for all children. A
moment’s consideration will show us that, so far,
94 What makes obedience seem necessary in schools education has fulfilled its function very badly, and
is the large classes and overworked teachers de- has done children serious injury'. If wx can find an
manded by a false economy. TJjosc who have no optimum of education which sv'ill carry' out its
experience of teaching arc incapable of imagining task ideally, then we may hope to abolish one of
the expense of spirit entailed by any really living the factors in the aetiology' of neurotic illness, viz.,
instruction. 'I'hcy think that teachers can reason- the influence of accidental infantile traumas. The
ably be expected to work as many hours as bank other factor, the power of a refractory' instinctual
clerks. constitution,can nc\xr be got rid of by education.
Russell, Education WTicn, therefore, one comes to think of the diffi-
 550 I
Chapter
cult tasks with which the educator is confronted;
when one reflects thathe has to recognize the
characteristic constitution of each child to guess»
from small indications what is going on in its un-
formed mind, to give him the right amount of love
and at the same time to preserve an effective de-
gree of authority, then one cannot help saying to
oneself that the only adequate preparation for the
profession of educator is a good grounding in psy-
cho-analysis. The best thing would be for him to
be analy'scd himself, for, after all, without person-
al experience one cannot get a grasp of analysis.
The analysis of teachers and educators seems to be
a more practicable prophylactic measure than the
analysis of children themselves; and there are not
such great obstacles against putting it into prac-
tice-
Freud, New Introductory Lectures on
P^'cho-Analysis, XXXIV
98 No one would question that a child in a slum
tenement has a different experience from that of a
child in a cultured home; that the country lad has
a different kind of experience from the city boy, or
a boy on the seashore one different from the lad
w'ho is brought up on inland prairies. ... A pri-
mary responsibility of educators is that they not
only be aware of the general principle of the shap-
ing of actual experience by environing conditions,
but that they also recognize in the concrete what
surroundings are conducive to having experiences
that lead to growth. Above all, they should know
how to utilize the surroundings, phj'sical and so-
cial, that exist so as to extract from them all that
they have to contribute to building up experiences
that are worthwhile.
Traditional education did not have to face this
problem; could s)'stematically dodge this re-
it
sponsibility.The school environment of desks,
blackboards, a small school yard, was supposed to
suffice. There was no demand that the teacher
should become intimately acquainted with the
conditions of the local community, physical, his-
torical, economic, occupational, etc., in order to
utilize as educational resources. A system of
them
education based upon the necessary connection of
education \vith experience must, on the contrary,
if faithful to its principle, take these things con-
stantly into account. This tax upon the educator is
another reason why progressive education is more
difficult to carry on than was ever the traditional
system.
Dewey, Experience and Education^ III
99 Almost everyone has had occasion to look back
upon his school days and wonder what has be-
come of the knowledge he was supposed to have
amassed during his years of schooling, and why it
is that the technical skills he acquired have to be
learned over again in changed form in order to
stand him in good stead. Indeed, he is lucky who
8. Education
does not find that in order to make progress,
in
order to go ahead intellectually, he does not
have
to unlearn much of what he learned in school
These questions cannot be disposed of by saying
that the subjects were not actually learned,
for
they were learned at least sufficiently to enable
a
pupil to pass examinations in them. One trouble
isthat the subject-matter in question was learned
in isolation; it was put, as it were, in a water-tight
compartment. When the question is asked, then
what has become of it, where has it gone to the
right answer is that it is still there in the special
compartment in which it was originally stowed
away. If exactly the same conditions recurred as
those under which it was acquired, it would also
recur and be available. But it was segregated
when it was acquired and hence is so disconnected
from the rest of experience that it is not available
under the actual conditions of life. It is contrary to
the law's of experience that learning of this kind,
no matter how thoroughly engrained at the time,
should give genuine preparation.
Dewey, Experience and Education, 111
100 The principle that development of experience
comes about through interaction means that edu-
cation is essentially a social process. This quality
is which individuals form
realized in the degree in
a community’ group. It is absurd to exclude the
teacher from membership in the group. As the
most mature member of the group he has a pecu-
liar responsibility for the conduct of the interac-
tions and intercommunications which arc the very
life of the group as a conununity. That children
arc individuals whose freedom should be re-
spected while the more mature person should
have no freedom as an individual is an idea too
absurd to require refutation. The tendency to ex-
clude the teacher from a positive and leading
share in the direction of the activities of the com-
munity' of which he is a member is another in-
stance of reaction from one extreme to another.
VVhen pupils were a class rather than a social
group, the teacher necessarily acted largely from
the outside, not as a director of processes of ex-
change in which all had a share. When education
is based upon experience and educative experi-
ence is seen to be a social process, the situation
changes radically. The teacher loses the position
of external boss or dictator but takes on that of
leader of group activities.
Dewey, Experience and Education, IV
101 That teaching is an art and the true teacher an
artist is a familiar saying. Now the teacher’s omi
claim to rank as an artist is measured by his abili-
ty to foster the attitude of the artist in those who
study with him, whether they be youth or little
children.Some succeed in arousing enthusiasm, in
communicating large ideas, in evoking energy. So
far, well; but the final test is whether the stimulus
 S3, The Arts of Teaching and Learning 551

thus given to wider aims succeeds in transforming training, forms of skill ready to be put indifferent-
itself into power, that is to say, into the attention ly to any end be the result. Such modes
of techni-
to detail that ensures master)’ over means of exe- cal skill may display themselves, according to cir-
cution. If not, the zeal flags, the interest dies out, cumstances, as cleverness in serving scU-intercst,
the ideal becomes a clouded memory. Other as docility in cariy'ing out the purposes of others,
teachers succeed in training facility, skill, mastery or as unimaginative plodding in nits. To nurture
of the technique of subjects. Again it is well so — inspiring aim and executive means into harmony
far. But unless enlargement of mental vision, pow- with each other is at once the difficulty and the
er of increased discrimination of final values, a reward of the teacher,
sense for ideas —
for principles —
accompanies this Dcs>-cy, How Wt 77iwK, Pt. Ill, XVI, 2
 Chapter 9

ETHICS

Chapter 9 is divided into fifteen sections: 9.1 from antiquity to the present day by those
Moral PniLosopm' and Morality', 9.2 Custom, concerned with moral or ethical questions.
9.3 Moral Law, 9.4 Moral Freedom, 9.5 Con- The opening two sections deal with ques-
science, 9.6 Good and Evil, 9.7 Right and tions about the character, scope, and meth-
Wrong, 9.8 EIappiness, 9.9 Duty: Moral Obli- od of ethics or moral philosophy as a disci-
gation, 9.10 Virtue and Vice, 9.11 Courage pline, and questions about the relation of
AND Cowardice, 9. 1 2 Temperance and Intemper- morality to custom. The ne.xt two sections
ance, 9.13 Prudence, 9.14 Honesty, and 9.15 consider subjects that are treated in other
Wisdom and Folly, contexts, such as law and freedom; but here,
An ancient tradition divided philosophy in Sections 9.3 and 9,4, the treatment is spe-
into two principal domains: one called cifically directed to law and freedom in their
“speculative” or “theoretical” because it moral aspects. Conscience, which is involved
was concerned with the nature of things, in the application of the moral law and in
with the order and structure of the cosmos, the exercise of moral freedom, is treated in
and with being and becoming; the other Section 9.5.
called “practical” because it was concerned Next come the four pivotal issues in moral
with action, both on the part of the individ- philosophy, posed by divergent answers to
ual and on the part of society, and, in the questions about good and evil (Section 9.6),
sphere of human action, with what ought to right and wrong (Section 9.7), happiness
be sought or ought to be done, not with (Section 9.8), and duty or moral obligation
what exists or occurs. Practical philosophy (Section 9.9). These four sections, the reader
was divided into two main branches, either will find, contain quotations that often deal
called “ethics” and “politics,” or “moral with two or more of the concepts involved in

philosophy” and “political philosophy.” these issues; the discussion of happiness, for
This chapter is devoted to the persistent example, employs the notions of good and
themes or topics that have been discussed evil; and the discussion of duty or moral
 9,1. Moral Philosophy and Morality 553

obligation cannot avoid considerations of wisdom and folly (Section 9.15). The reader
right and wrong; and there is a cross fire may query the absence of justice and injus-

between passages that emphasize happiness tice from this list. In order to avoid unneces-
and the good and those that stress duty and sary duplication, this virtue and vice, to-
the right. gether with the consideration of what is just
The chapter concludes with six sections and unjust in human conduct, are treated in
that begin with the consideration of virtue Section 9.7 along with right and wrong. Jus-
and vice (Section 9.10) and then take up tice and right are also treated in other con-
particular virtues and vices, such as courage texts in Chapter 12 on Law and Justice. For
and cowardice (Section 9.11), temperance the consideration of matters closely related
and intemperance (Section 9.12), prudence to the subjects of this chapter, the reader is

(Section 9.13), honesty (Section 9.14), and referred to Chapter 20 on Religion.

9.1 I
Moral Philosophy and Morality

The reader will find that some writers use action or conduct, with its ends and means,
the word “ethics” to name the discipline and that, with regard to human conduct
that other writers call “moral philosophy.” and its ends and means, the basic proposi-
Under whichever name it goes, the subject tions of moral philosophy or ethics prescribe
matter and problems being considered are what ought to be sought and what ought to
substantially the same. However, among be done. They do not simply describe how
those who use “ethics” as the name for it, men do in fact behave, or what goals they
some will speak of the discipline as “the sci- seek and how they seek them.
ence of ethics” but their doing so does not However, some of the passages quoted be-
mean that they differ from those who regard low deal with morals and morality in a de-
ethics and politics as branches of moral, scriptive manner, reporting what general
practical, or normative philosophy. They rules of conduct prevail in a particular soci-
are not using the word “science,” as it is ety or culture and discussing the difference
used in Section 17.2 on Science and Scientific between the mores —the established canons
Method, to signify a sphere of knowledge or of behavior —that exist atone time and an-
inquiry that differs in method and subject other, or in one place and another. The rel-
matter from philosophy, as that is discussed ativity of the mores or customary morality is

in Section 17.1 on Philosophy and Philoso- more fully treated in Section 9.2 on Custom.
phers. Other problems touched on here, such as
The statement made above that moral the relation between knowing what it is
philosophy or ethics is a practical and nor- right to do and doing it, or the degree of
mative discipline means that its principles precision with which moral problems can be
and conclusions are concerned with human solved, are commented on in subsequent sec-
 554 Chapter 9. Ethics

tions of this chapter. For the consideration losophy, the reader is referred to Section
of politics as a related branch of moral phi- 10.2 on The Realm of Politics.

1 The whole account of matters of conduct must be much consideration of the various circumstances
given in outline and not precisely the ac- . . . which all arc not able to do carefully, but only

counts we demand must be in accordance with those who are wise, just as it is not possible for all
the subject-matter; matters concerned with con- to consider the particular conclusions of sciences
duct and questions of what is good for us have no but only for those who are versed in philosophy.
fixity, any more than matters of health. The gen- And some matters of which man
lastly there are
eral account being of this nature, the account of cannot judge unless he be helped by Divine in-
particular cases is yet more lacking in exactness; struction, such as the articles of faith.
for they under any art or precept but
do not fall It is therefore evident that since the moral pre-
the agents themselves must in each case consider cepts are about matters which concern good mor-
what is appropriate to the occasion. als, and good morals are those which are in
since
Aristotle, ifJ, 1104^2 accord with reason, and since also every judgment
of human reason must be derived in some way

2 Everything morally right derives from one of four from natural reason, it follows, of necessity, that
sources: it concerns cither full perception or intel- all of the moral precepts belong to the law of na-

ligent development of what is true; or the preser- ture.

vation of organized society, where every man is Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I-II, 100, 1

rendered his due and all obligations are faithfully

discharged; or the greatness and strength of a no- 6 Moral philosophy is nothing else but the science
or order and moderation in
ble, invincible spirit; of what good and evil in the conversation and
is
everything said and done, whereby there is tem- society of mankind. Good and evil arc names that
perance and self-control. signify our appetites and aversions, which in dif-
Cicero, De OJfiais, I, 5 and doctrines of men arc
ferent tempers, customs,
and diverse men differ not only in their
different:
3 In theory, there is nothing which draws us away judgement on the senses of what is pleasant and
from following what is taught; but in the matters unpleasant to the taste, smell, hearing, touch, and
of life, many are the things which distract us. sight;but also of w'hat is conformable or dis-
Epictetus, Discourses, I, 26 agreeable to reason in the actions of common life.
Nay, the same man, in diverse times, differs from
4 It is not by running hither and thither outside of himself; and one time praiseth, that is, calleth
itself that the soul understands morality and right good, what another time he dispraiseth, and cal-
conduct: it learns them of its own nature, in its Icth evil: from whence arise disputes, controver-
contact with itself, in its intellectual grasp of itself, sies, and at last war. And therefore so long as a
seeing deeply impressed upon it the images of its man is in the condition of mere nature, which is a
primal state. condition of war, private appetite is the measure
Plotinus, Fourth Ennead, VII, 10 of good and evil: and consequently all men agree
on this, that peace is good, and therefore also the

5 The moral precepts, distinct from the ceremonial way or means of peace, which (as I have shown

and judicial precepts, are about things pertaining before) are justice, gratitude, modesty, equity, mercy, and
of their very nature to good morals. Now since the rest of the laws of nature, are good; that is to

human morals depend on their relation to reason, say, moral virtues; and their contrary vices, evil.

which is the proper principle of human acts, those
morals are called good which accord with reason,
and those are called bad which are discordant
from reason. And as every judgment of specula-
Now the science of virtue and vice is moral philos-
ophy; and therefore the true doctrine of the laws
of nature is the true moral philosophy. But the
writers of moral philosophy, though they ac-

tive reason proceeds from the natural knowledge
of first principles, so every judgment of practical
reason proceeds from principles known naturally
. . from which principles one may proceed in
.
knowledge the same virtues and vices; yet, not
seeing wherein consisted their goodness, nor that
they come to be praised as the means of peace-
able, sociable, and comfortable living, place them

various ways to judge of various matters. For some in a mediocrity of passions: as if not the cause, but
matters connected with human actions are so evi- the degree of daring, made fortitude; or not the

dent that after very little consideration one is able cause, but the quantity of a gift, made liberality.

at once to approve or disapprove of them by Hobbes, Leviathan, I, 15

means of these general first principles. But some

matters cannot be the subject of judgment without 7 Physical science will not console me for the igno-
 9.L Moral Philosophy and Morality 555

ranee of morality in the time of affliction. But the
science of ethics will always console me for the
ignorance of the physical sciences.
Pascal, PenseeSi II,
8 The best thing ... we can do, so long as we lack
irreconcilable to the understanding as a He.
Locke, Concerning Human Understanding,
Bk. IV, III, 20
67
12 The merit of delivering true general precepts in
ethicsis indeed very small. Whoever recommends

a perfect knowledge of our affects, is to conceive a any moral virtues, really does no more than is
right rule of life, or sure maxims of life to com- — implied in the terms themselves. That people who
mit these latter to memory, and constantly to ap- invented the word charity, and used it in a good
ply them to the particular cases which frequently sense, inculcated more clearly, and much more
meet us in life, so that our imagination may be efficaciously, the precept. Be charitable, than any
widely affected by them, and they may always be pretended legislator or prophet who should insert
ready to hand. such a maxim in his writings.
Spinoza, Ethics, V, Prop. 10, Schol. Hume, Of the Standard of Taste

9 If all its parts, by pursuing

natural philosophy in
this method, shall at length be perfected, the
bounds of moral philosophy will be also enlarged.
For so far as we can know by natural philosophy
what is the First Cause, what power He has over
us, and what benefits we receive from Him, so far
our duty towards Him, as well as that towards one
another, will appear to us by the light of Nature.
And no doubt, if the worship of false gods had not
blinded the heathen, their moral philosophy
would have gone farther than to the four cardinal
virtues; and instead of teaching the transmigra-
tion of souls, and to worship the Sun and Moon,
and dead heroes, they would have taught us to
worship our true Author and Benefactor, as their
ancestors did under the government of Noah and
his sons before they corrupted themselves.
Newton, Optics, III, 1
10 A good in which consist not the least part of
life,
religionand true piety, concerns also the civil gov-
ernment; and in it lies the safety both of men’s
souls and of the commonwealth. Moral actions
belong, therefore, to the jurisdiction both of the
outward and inward court; both of the civil and
domestic governor; I mean both of the magistrate
and conscience. Here, therefore, is great danger,
lest one of these jurisdictions intrench upon the
other, and discord arise between the keeper of the
public peace and the overseers of souls.
Locke, Letter Concerning Toleration
11 Confident I am, that, if men would in the same
method, and with the same indifferency, search
after moral as they do mathematical truths, they
would find them have a stronger connexion one
with another, and a more necessary consequence
from our clear and distinct ideas, and to come
nearer perfect demonstration than is commonly
imagined. But much of this is not to be expected,
whilst the desire of esteem, riches, or power makes
men espouse the well-endowed opinions in fash-
ion, and then seek arguments either to make good
their beauty, or varnish over and cover their de-
formity. Nothing being so beautiful to the eye as
truth is to the mind; nothing so deformed and
13 The end of all moral speculations is to teach us
our duty; and, by proper representations of the
deformity of vice, and beauty of virtue, beget cor-
respondent habits, and engage us to avoid the one,
and embrace the other. But is this ever to be ex-
pected from inferences and conclusions of the un-
derstanding, which of themselves have no hold of
the affections, or set in motion the active powers
of men? They discover truths: But where the
truths which they discover are indifferent, and be-
get no desire or aversion, they can have no influ-
ence on conduct and behaviour. What is honour-
able, what is fair, what is becoming, what is noble,
what is generous, takes possession of the heart,
and animates us to embrace and maintain it.
What is intelligible, what is evident, what is prob-
able, what is true, procures only the cool assent of
the understanding; and gratifying a speculative
curiosity, puts an end to our researches.
Hume, Concerning Principles of Morals, I
14 If morality had naturally no influence on human
passions and actions, ’twere in vain to take such
it; and nothing wou’d be more
pains to inculcate
than that multitude of rules and precepts,
fruitless
with which all moralists abound. Philosophy is
commonly divided into speculative and practical; and
as morality always comprehended under the
is
latter division, ’tis supposed to influence our pas-
sions and actions, and to go beyond the calm and
indolent judgments of the understanding. And
this is confirm’d by common experience, which
informs us, that men are often govern’d by their
duties,and are deter’d from some actions by the
opinion of injustice, and impell’d to others by that
of obligation.
Since morals, therefore, have an influence on
the actions and affections, it follows, that they
cannot be deriv’d from reason; and that because
reason alone, as we have already prov’d, can nev-
er have any such influence. Morals excite pas-
sions, and produce or prevent actions. Reason of
itself is utterly impotent in this particular. The
rules of morality, therefore, are not conclusions of
our reason.
Hume, Treatise of Human Nature, Bk. Ill, I, 1
 556
15 It is then certain that compassion is a natural feel-
ing, which, by moderating the violence of love of
self in each individual, contributes to the preser-
vation of the whole species. It is this compassion
that hurries us without reflection to the relief of
those who are in distress: which in a state
it is this
of nature supplies the place of laws, morals and
virtues, with the advantage that none arc tempted
to disobey its gentle voice: it is this which will
always prevent a sturdy savage from robbing a
weak child or a feeble old man of the sustenance
they may have
\vith pain and difficulty acquired,
if he a possibility of providing for himself by
sees
other means: it is this which, instead of inculcat-
ing that sublime maxim of rational justice, Do to
others as ^‘ou would have them do unto you, inspires
men with that other maxim of natural goodness,
much less perfect indeed, but perhaps more use-
ful; Do good to yourself with as little evil as possible to
others. In a word, it is rather in this natural feeling
than in any subtle arguments that we must look
for the cause of that repugnance, which every
man would experience in doing evil, even inde-
pendently of the maxims of education. Although
it might belong to Socrates and other minds of the
like craft to acquire virtue by reason, the human
race w'ould long since have ceased to be, had its
preservation depended only on the reasonings of
the individuals composing it.
Rousseau, Origin of Inequality,
16 “I have found,” said the prince at his return to
Imlac, *‘a man who can teach all that is necessary
to be known; who, from the unshaken throne of
rational fortitude, looks down on the scenes of life
changing beneath him. He speaks, and attention
watches his lips. He reasons, and conviction closes
his periods. This man shall be my future guide; I
will learn his doctrines, and imitate his life.”
“Be not too hasty,” said Imlac, “to trust or to
admire the teachers of morality: they discourse
like angels, but they live like men.”
Johnson, Rasselas,
17 In every civilised society, in every society
the distinction of ranks has once been completely
have been always two different
established, there
schemes or systems of morality current at the
same time; of which the one may be called the
strict or austere; the other the liberal, or,
will, the loose system. The former is generally
mired and revered by the common people:
latter commonly more esteemed and adopted by
is
what are called people of fashion. The degree of
disapprobation with which we ought to mark the
vices of levity, the viceswhich are apt to arise
from great prosperity, and from the excess of gai-
ety and good humour, seems to constitute the
principal distinction benveen those two opposite
schemes or systems. In the liberal or loose system,
luxury, wanton and even disorderly mirth, the
Chapter 9. Ethics
pursuit of pleasure to some degree of intemper-
ance, the breach of chastity, at least in one of
the
two sexes, etc., provided they are not accompa-
nied with gross indecency, and do not lead
to
falsehood or injustice, arc generally treated with
a
good deal of indulgence, and are easily either ex-
cused or pardoned altogether. In the austere sys-
tem, on the contrary, those excesses arc regarded
with the utmost abhorrence and detestation. The
vices of levity arc always ruinous to the common
people, and a single week’s thoughtlessness and
dissipation is often sufficient to undo a poor work-
man for ever, and to drive him through despair
upon committing the most enormous crimes. The
wiser and better sort of the common people, there-
all fore, have always the utmost abhorrence and
detestation of such excesses, which their experi-
ence tells them are so immediately fatal to people
of their condition. The disorder and extravagance
of several years,on the contrary, will not always
ruin a man of fashion, and people of that rank arc
very apt to consider the power of indulging in
some degree of excess as one of the advantages of
their fortune, and the liberty of doing so without
censure or reproach as one of the privileges which
belong to their station. In people of their own sta-
they regard such excesses with but
tion, therefore,
a small degree of disapprobation, and censure
them cither very slightly or not at all.
I Adam Smith, Wealth of Nations, V, 1
18 A censor may maintain, he can never restore, the
morals of a state. It is impossible for such a magis-
trate to exert his authority wth benefit, or even
with effect, unless supported by a quick sense
he is
of honour and virtue in the minds of the people,
by a decent reverence for the public opinion, and
by a train of useful prejudices combating on the
side of national manners. In a period when these
principles are annihilated, the censorial jurisdic-
tion must either sink into empty pageantry, or be
converted into a partial instrument of vexatious
XVIII oppression.
Gibbon, Decline and Fall of the
where Roman Empire, X
19 We do not need science and philosophy to know
what we should do to be honest and good, yea,
even wise and virtuous. Indeed wc might well
if you have conjectured beforehand that the knowledge
ad- of what every man is bound to do, and therefore
the also to kno^v, would be within the reach of every
man, even the commonest.
Kant, Fundamental Principles of the
Metaphysic of Morals, I
20 Morality, and humanity as capable of it, is that
which alone has dignity. Skill and diligence in
labour have a market value; wut, lively imagina-
tion, and humour, have fancy value; on the other
hand, fidelity to promises, benevolence from prin-
 9J. Moral Philosophy and Morality \
557

ciple (notfrom instinct), have an intrinsic worth. tion; since in that case it would not determine the
Neither nature nor art contains anything which in maxims of actions (which always involve an end),
default of these it could put in their place, for and consequently would cease to be practical rea-
their worth consists not in the effects which spring sons, Pure reason, however, cannot command any
from them, not in the use and advantage which ends a priori, except so far as it declares the same
they secure, but in the disposition of mind, that is, to be also a duty, which duty is then called a duty
the maxims of the will which are ready to mani- of virtue.

fest themselves in such actions, even though they Kant, Introduction to the Metaphysical
should not have the desired effect. These actions Elements of Ethics, IX
also need no recommendation from any subjective
taste or sentiment, that they may be looked on 24 No free communities ever existed without morals,
with immediate favour and satisfaction: they need and . . .morals are the work of woman.
no immediate propension or feeling for them; ToequevilJe, Democracy in America,
they exhibit the will that performs them as an Vol, II, III, 9
object of an immediate respect, and nothing but
reason is required to impose them on the will; not 25 A moral being is one who is capable of comparing
to flatter it into them, which, in the case of duties, his past and future actions or motives, and of ap-
would be a contradiction. This estimation there- proving or disapproving of them. We have no rea-
fore shows that the worth of such a disposition is son to suppose that any of the lower animals have
dignity, and places it infinitely above all value, this capacity; therefore, when a Newfoundland
with which it cannot for a moment be brought dog drags a child out of the water, or a monkey
into comparison or competition without as it were facesdanger to rescue its comrade, or takes charge
violating its sanctity. of an orphan monkey, we do not call its conduct
Kant, Fundamental Principles of the moral. But in the case of man, who alone can with
Metaphysic of Morals, II certainty be ranked as a moral being, actions of a
certain class are called moral, whether performed
21 Morality is not properly the doctrine how we deliberately, after a struggle with opposing mo-
should make ourselves happy, but how we should tives, or impulsively through instinct, or from the
become xvorthy of happiness, effects of slowly-gained habit.
Kant, Critique of Practical Reason, Pt. I, II, 2 Darwin, Descent of Man, I, 4

22 Morality . . . must have the more power over the 26 It was assumed formerly by philosophers of the
human heart the more purely it is exhibited. derivative school of morals that the foundation of
^Vhence it follows that, if the law of morality and morality lay in a form of Selfishness; but more
the image of holiness and virtue are to exercise recently the “Greatest happiness principle” has
any influence at all on our souls, they can do so been brought prominently forward. It is, however,
only so far as they are laid to heart in their purity more correct to speak of the latter principle as the
as motives, unmixed with any view to prosperity, standard, and not as the motive of conduct. Nev-
for it is in suffering that they display themselves ertheless, all the authors whose works I have con-
most nobly. sulted, with a few exceptions, write as if there
Kant, Critique of Practical Reason, 11, must be a distinct motive for every action, and
Methodology of Pure Practical Reason that this must be associated with some pleasure or
displeasure. But man seems often to act impulsive-
23 The supreme principle of ethics (the doctrine of ly, that is from instinct or long habit, without any

virtue) “Act on a maxim, the ends of which are

is: consciousness of pleasure, in the same manner as
such as it might be a universal law for everyone to does probably a bee or ant, when it blindly follows
have.” On this principle a man is an end to him- its instincts. Under circumstances of extreme per-

self as well as others, and it is not enough that he
is not permitted to use either himself or others
merely as means (which would imply that he
might be indifferent to them), but it is in itself a
duty of every man to make mankind in general
his end.
The principle of ethics being a categorical im-
perative does not admit of proof, but it admits of a
justification from principles of pure practical rea-
son. Whatever in relation to mankind, to oneself,
and others, can be an end, that is an end for pure
practical reason: for this is a faculty of assigning
ends in general; and to be indifferent to them,
that is, to take no interest in them, is a contradic-
il, as during a fire, when a man endeavours to
save a fellow-creature without a moment’s hesita-
tion,he can hardly feel pleasure; and still less has
he time to reflect on the dissatisfaction which he
might subsequently experience if he did not make
the attempt. Should he afterwards reflect over his
own conduct, he would feel that there lies within
him an impulsive power widely different from a
search after pleasure or happiness; and this seems
to be the deeply planted social instinct.
Darwin, Descent of Man, I, 4
27 It must not be forgotten that although a high
standard of morality gives but a slight or no ad-
 —
558 Chapter 9. Ethics

vantage to each individual man and his children have it in their power to control him; or because
over the other men of the same tribe, yet that an the attempt to exercise control would produce
increase in the number of well-endowed men and other evils, greater than those which it would pre-
an advancement in the standard of morality will vent. When such reasons as these preclude the en-
certainly give an immense advantage to one tribe forcement of responsibility, the conscience of the
over another. A tribe including many members agent himself should step into the vacant judg-
who, from possessing in a high degree the spirit of ment seat, and protect those interests of others
patriotism, fidelity, obedience, courage, and sym- which have no external protection; judging him-
pathy, were always ready to aid one another, and self all the more rigidly, because the case does not

to sacrifice themselves for the common good, admit of his being made accountable to the judg-
w'ould be victorious over most other tribes; and ment of his fellow creatures.
this would be natural selection. At all times Mill, On Liberty, I
28
throughout the world tribes have supplanted
other tribes; and as morality is one important cle- 29 The creed which accepts as the foundation of
ment in their success, the standard of morality morals, Utility, or the Greatest Happiness Princi-
and the number of well-endowed men will thus ple, holds that actions arc right in proportion as
everywhere tend to rise and increase. they tend to promote happiness, wrong as they
Darwin, Descent Man, I, 5 tend to produce the reverse of happiness. By hap-
of
piness is intended pleasure, and the absence of
pain; by unhappiness, pain, and the privation of
I regard utility as the ultimate appeal on all ethi-
pleasure. To give a clear view of the moral stan-
cal questions; but it must be utility in the largest
dard set up by the theory, much more requires to
sense, grounded on the permanent interests of a
be said; in particular, what things it includes in
man Those interests, I con-
as a progressive being.
the ideas of pain and pleasure; and to what extent
tend, authorise the subjection of individual spon-
this 15 left an open question. But these supplemea-
taneity to external control, only in respect to those
tary explanations do not affect the theory of life
actions of each, which concern the interest of
on which this theory of morality is grounded
other people. If any one does an act hurtful to
namely, that pleasure, and freedom from pain,
others, tliere is a prima facte case for punishing
arc the only things desirable as ends; and that all
him, by law, where legal penalties are not safe-
or,
desirable things (which are as numerous in the
ly applicable, by general disapprobation. There
utilitarian as in any other scheme) are desirable
arc also many positive acts for the benefit of
either for the pleasure inherent in themselves, or
others, which he may be compelled to
rightfully
as means to the promotion of pleasure and the
perform; such as to give evidence in a court of
prevention of pain.
justice; to bear his fair share in the common de-
Mill, Utilitarianism, II
fence, or in any other joint work necessary to the
interest of the society of which he enjoys the pro- 30 It is the business of ethics to tell us what are our
tection; and to perform certain acts of individual duties, or by what test we may know them; but no
beneficence, such as saving a fellow creature’s life,
system of ethics requires that the sole motive of all
or interposing to protect the defenceless against
we do shall be a feeling of duty; on the contrary,
ill-usage, things which whenever it is obviously a
ninety-nine hundredths of all our actions are done
man’s duty to do, he may rightfully be made re- from other motives, and rightly so done, if the rule
sponsible to society for not doing. A person may
of duty does not condemn them.
cause evil to others not only by his actions but by Mill, Utilitarianism, II
his inaction, and in either case he is justly ac-
countable to them for the injur)'. The latter case, 31 Knowledge is one thing, virtue is another; good
it is true, requires a much more cautious exercise sense is not conscience, refinement is not humility,

of compulsion than the former. To make any one nor is largeness and justness of view faith. Philoso-
answerable for doing evil to others is the rule; to phy, however enlightened, however profound,
make him answerable for not preventing evil is, gives no command over the passions, no influen-
comparatively speaking, the exception. Yet there tial motives, no vivifying principles.
arc many cases clear enough and grave enough to Newman, Idea of a University, Discourse V
justify that exception. In all things which regard
the external relations of the individual, he is dejure 32 Then he [Satan] said: “The difference beuveen
amenable to those whose interests are concerned, man and me? The difference between a mortal
and, if need be, to society as their protector. There and an immortal? behveen a cloud and a spirit?”
are often good reasons for not holding him to the He picked up a w’ood-louse that was creeping
responsibility; but these reasons must arise from along a piece of bark: “What is the difference be-
the special expediencies of the case: either because tween Caesar and this?”
it is a kind of case in which he is on the whole X said, “One cannot compare things which by
likely to act better, when left to his own discretion, their nature and by the interval between them are
than when controlled in any way in which society not comparable.”
 9,L Moral Philosophy and Morality 559

"You have answered your own question,** he on the staircase at whose end one is also ashamed
expand it. Man is made of dirt
said. “I will — of one’s morality.
saw him made. I am not made of dirt. Man is a Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, IV, 95
museum of diseases, a home of impurities; he
comes today and is gone tomorrow; he begins as 36 All naturalism in morality, that is all healthy mo-
am of the aristocracy
dirt and departs as stench; I rality, is dominated by an instinct of life some —
of the Imperishables. And man has the Moral commandment of life is fulfilled through a certain
Sense. You understand? He has the Moral Sense. canon of ‘shall’ and ‘shall not’, some hindrance
That would seem to be difference enough between and hostile element on life’s road is thereby re-
us, all by itself.’* moved. Anti~natural morality, that is virtually ev-
Mark Twain, Mysterious Strangery HI ery morality that has hitherto been taught, rever-
enced and preached, turns on the contrary

33 There was a question which we wanted to ask

precisely against the instincts of life it is a now —
secret, now loud and impudent condemnation of
Father Peter, and finally we went there the sec-
these instincts. By saying ‘God sees into the heart’
ond evening, a little diffidently, after drawing
it denies the deepest and the highest desires of life
straws, and I asked it as casually as I could,
and takes God for the enemy of life,
though it did not sound as casual as I wanted,
Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols:
because I didn’t know how:
Morality as Anti-Nature
“What Moral Sense, sir?”
is the
He looked down, surprised, over his great spec-
tacles, and said, “Why, it is the faculty which en- 37 An act has no ethical quality whatever unless it be
chosen out of several all equally possible. To sus-
ables us to distinguish good from evil.”
tain the arguments good course and keep
for the
It threw some light but not a glare, and I was a
them ever before our longing for more
us, to stifle
little disappointed, also to some degree embar-
flowery ways, to keep the foot unflinchingly on
rassed. He was waiting for me to go on, so, in
the arduous path, these are characteristic ethical
default of anything else to say, I asked, “Is it valu-
energies. But more than these; for these but deal
able?”
with the means of compassing interests already
“Valuable? Heavens! lad, it is the one thing
felt by the man to be supreme. The ethical energy
that lifts man above the beasts that perish and
par excellence has to go farther and choose which
makes him heir to immortality!”
out of several, equally coercive, shall be-
interest
Mark Twain, Mysterious Strangery IV
come supreme. The issue here is of the utmost
pregnancy, for it decides a man’s entire career.
34 I was a brutal thing.
said it
When he debates, Shall I commit this crime?
“No, was a human thing [said Satan]. You
it
choose that profession? accept that office, or mar-
should not insult the brutes by such a misuse of
that word; they have not deserved it,” and he
ry this fortune? —
his choice really lies between
one of several equally possible future characters.
went on talking like that. “It is like your paltry What he shall become is fixed by the conduct of this

35
—
race always lying, always claiming virtues which
40
moment. . . The problem with the man is less
.

it hasn’t got, always denying them to the higher

what act he shall now choose to do, than what
animals, which alone possess them. No brute ever
being he shall now resolve to become.
—
does a cruel thing that is the monopoly of those
William James, P^chology, IX
with the Moral Sense. When a brute inflicts pain
he does it innocently; it is not wrong; for him
and
38 It is obvious . , . that the whole idea of good
there is no such thing as wrong. And he does not
bad has some connection with Prima facie, desire.
inflict pain for the pleasure of inflicting it only — anything that we all desire is “good,” and any-
man does that. Inspired by that mongrel Moral
thing that we all dread is “bad.” If we all agreed
Sense of his! A
sense whose function is to distin-
in our desires, the matter could be left there, but
guish between right and wrong, with liberty to
unfortunately our desires conflict. If I say “what I
choose which of them he will do. Now what ad-
want good,” my neighbour will say “No, what /
is
vantage can he get out of that? He is always
want.” Ethics is an attempt though not, I think, —
choosing,
the wrong.
and in nine cases out of ten he prefers
There shouldn’t be any wrong; and
—
a successful one to escape from this subjectivity.
Russell, Religion and Science, IX
\vithout the Moral Sense there couldn’t be any.
And yet he is such an unreasoning creature that
39 The man, if we had got rid of
ideally virtuous
he is not able to perceive that the Moral Sense
would be the man who permits the en-
asceticism,
degrades him to the bottom layer of animated
joyment of all good things whenever there is no
beings and is a shameful possession.”
evil consequence to outweigh the enjoyment.
Mark Twain, Mysterious Stranger, V
Russell, The Conquest of Happiness, I, 7

To be ashamed of one’s immorality —that is a step Morals must be a growing science if it is to be a

 560 Chapter 9. Ethics

science at all, not merely because all truth has not down the human species along the line of
cvolu*
yet been appropriated by the mind of man, but tion, intended it to be sociable, in the same way
as
ijccausc life is a moving affair in which old moral it did the communities of ants and bees; but since
truth ceases to apply. intelligencewas there, the maintenance of social
Dewey, Human Nature and Conduct, III, 7 life had
be entrusted to an all but intelligent
to
mechanism: intelligent in that each piece could
41 There is a peculiar inconsistency in the current be remodelled by human intelligence, yet instinc-
idea that morals ought to be social. The introduc- tive in that man could not, without ceasing to be a
tion of the moral “ought” into the idea contains man, reject all the pieces together and cease to
an implicit assertion that morals depend upon accept a mechanism of preservation. Instinct gave
something apart from social relations. Morals are place temporarily to a system of habits, each one
social. The question of ought, should be, is a ques- of which became contingent, their convergence

tion of better and worse in social affairs. towards the preservation of society being alone
Dewey, Human Nature and Conduct, IV, 4 necessary, and this necessity bringing back in-
stinct with it. The necessity of the whole, felt be-
43
42 Morality comprises two different parts, one of hind the contingency of the parts, is what we call
which follows from the original structure of hu- —
moral obligation in general it being understood
man society, while the other findsexplanation
its that the parts are contingent in the eyes of society

in the principle which explains this structure. In only; to the individual, into whom society incul-

the former, obligation stands for the pressure cates its habits, the part is as necessary as the

exerted by the elements of society on one another whole.

in order to maintain the shape of the whole; a Bergson, Two Sources of Morality

pressure whose effect is prefigured in each of us by and Religion, I

a system of habits which, so to speak, go to meet

it: this mechanism, of which each separate part is A mock feeling and a true feeling are almost in-
a habit, but whose whole is comparable to an in- distinguishable; to decide that I love my mother
stinct, has been prepared by nature. In the sec- and will remain with her, or to remain with her
ond, there is still obligation, if you will, but that by putting on an act, amount somewhat to the
obligation is the force of an aspiration or an impe- same thing. In other words, the feeling is formed
tus, of the very impetus which culminated in the by the acts one performs; so, I cannot refer to it in
human species, in social life, in a system of habits order to act upon it. Which means that I can nei-
which bears a resemblance more or less to in- ther seek within myself the true condition which
stinct: the primitive impetus here comes into play will impel me to act, nor apply to a system of
directly, and no longer through the medium of the ethics for conceptswhich will permit me to act.
mechanisms it had set up, and at which it had . . . No general
can show you what is to be
ethics
provisionally halted. In short, to sum up what has done; there are no omens in the world.
gone before, we should say that nature, setting Sartre, Existentialism

9.2 Custom

The line between conduct that conforms to ples derives from the tendency of sociologists

moral rules and conduct that exemplifies and cultural anthropologists to identify
customary manners is often shadowy. The what they call the “value system” of a com-
word ‘‘mores,” which signifies the estab- munity, and hence its morality, with its
lished customs of a society or culture, has an mores — its customary patterns of conduct, its

obvious etymological connection with the customary standards of approbation, its cus-

word “morals.” A certain brand of skepti- tomary taboos or prohibitions. Since the
cism about the universality of moral princi- mores differ from community to community
 92, Custom 561

and, in a given community, from one time comment on the wide diversity of customs,
to another, the conclusion is easily but, — assess the authority that attaches to or de-

perhaps, illicitly —reached that morality is rives from social conventions, and discuss

relative to the institutions of a particular so- the causes and effects of change in customs.
ciety and varies with the time and place. The consideration of established customs as
Quotations taking the opposite point of having the force of law occurs both here and
view, in defense of universal moral truths, in Section 12.1 on Law and Lawyers. The ef-
will be found in Section 9.1 on Moral Phi- fect ofcustom on standards of taste in the
losophy AND Morality and in Section 9.3 on sphere of art and on the prevalence of cer-
theMoral Law. tain opinions in the sphere of thought is
The quotations collected here discuss cus- touched on here, but it is also discussed in

tom as a conservative force in society, relate Section 16.7 on Criticism and the Standards of
social customs to the stable habits of Taste and in Section 6.5 on Opinion, Belief,
society’s members, call attention to and AND Faith.

1 If one were to offer men to choose out of all the customs or usages come pouring in and lengthen-
customs in the world such as seemed to them the ing out our laws.
would examine the whole number, and
best, they Plato, Laws, VII, 793A
end by preferring their own; so convinced are
they that their own usages far surpass those of all 4 If you are at Rome live in the Roman style; if you
others, arc elsewhere live as they live elsewhere.
Herodotus, History^ III, 38 Ambrose, qu. by Taylor, Ductor
Dubitantiumj I, 1

2 Convention and nature arc generally at

CallicUs.
variance with one another. 5 Ignorant men who apply the tests of their human
Plato, Gorgias, 482B minds, and measure all the conduct of the human
race by the measure of their own custom are . . .

3 Athenian Stranger. All the matters which we are like a man handling armour and not knowing

now describing are commonly called by the gener- what piece is what part of the body and
meant for
al name of unwritten customs, and what are so putting a greave on his head and a helmet on
termed the laws of our ancestors are all of similar his feet and complaining that they do not fit.
nature. And the reflection which lately arose in Augustine, Confessions, III, 7

our minds, that we can neither call these things

laws, nor yet leave them unmentioned, is justified;
for they are the bonds of the whole state, and
come in between the written laws which are or are
hereafter to be laid down; they are just ancestral
customs of great antiquity, which, if they are
rightly ordered and made habitual, shield and
preserve the previously existing written law; but if
they depart from right and fall into disorder, then
they arc like the props of builders which slip away
out of their place and cause a universal ruin one
6 Actions which are against the customs of human
societies are to be avoided according to the variety
of such customs; so that that which is agreed upon
by the custom, or decreed by the law, of state or
people, is not to be violated at the mere pleasure
whether of citizen or alien. For every part is defec-
tive that is not in harmony with the whole.
But when God orders something against the
custom or covenant of a state, though it never had
— been done it must be done; and if it was . . .

part drags another down, and the fair superstruc- allowed to lapse, it must be restored; and if it was
ture falls because the old foundations are under- not a law before, it must be made a law now.
mined. Reflecting upon this, Cleinias, you ought Augustine, Confessions, III, 8
to bind together the new state in every possible
way, omitting nothing, whether great or small, of 7 When men unacquainted with other modes of life
what arc called laws or manners or pursuits, for than their own meet with the record of such ac-
by these means a city is bound together, and all tions, unless they are restrained by authority, they
these things are only lasting when they depend look upon them as sins, and do not consider that
upon one another; and, therefore, we must not their own customs either in regard to marriage, or
wonder if we find that many apparently trifling feasts, or dress, or the other necessities and adorn-
 562 I
Chapter 9, Ethics

ments of human life, appear sinful to the people of The minde by gentle deeds is knowne:
gentle
other nations and other times. And, distracted by For a man
by nothing is so well bewrayd
this endless variety of customs, some . have . . As by his manners, in which plaine is shownc
thought that there was no such thing as absolute Of what degree and what race he is growne.
right, but that every nation took its own custom Spenser, Faerie Queene, Bk. VI, HI,
\

for right;and that, since every nation has a differ-

ent custom, and right must remain unchangeable, 14 King Hfnry. Nice customs curtsy to great kings.
it becomes manifest that there is no such thing as Shakespeare, Henry V, V, ii, 291
right at all. Such men did not perceive, to take
only one example, that the precept, “Whatsoever Those that are good manners
15 Corin. at the court
ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so
are as ridiculous in the country as the behaviour
to them,” cannot be altered by any diversity of
of the country is most mockable at the court.
national customs. And this precept, when it is re-
Shakespeare, As You Like It, III, ii, 46
ferred to the love of God, destroys all vices; when
to the love of one’s neighbour, puts an end to all
16 Polonius. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy.
crimes.
14
But not express’d in fancy; rich, not gaudy;
Augustine, Christian Doctrine, III,
For the apparel oft proclaims the man.
Shakespeare, Hamlet, 70
8 When a thing is done again and again, it seems to I, iii,

proceed from a deliberate judgment of reason. Ac-

cordingly, custom has the force of a law, abolishes 1 7 Where a man will plead a title of prescription of

law, and is the interpreter of law. custom he shall say that such custom hath been
^

Aqu intis, Summa Theologica, I-II, 97, 3 used from time whereof the memory of man run-
neth not to the contrary, that is as much as to say,

9 And what pUilosophy cannot implant in the

all no man then alive hath heard any proof to the

head of the wisest men, does not custom by her contrary.

sole ordinance teach the crudest common herd? Sir Edward Coke, Commentary Upon

Montaigne, Essays, I, 23, Of Custom Littleton, 170

10 The power of custom is to

principal effect of the 18 Men’s thoughts are much according to their incli-
seize and ensnare us in such a way that it is hard- nation; their discourse and speeches according to
ly within our power to get ourselves back out of its their learning and infused opinions; but their
grip and return into ourselves to reflect and rea- deeds are after as they have been accustomed.
son about its ordinances. In truth, because we And therefore as Machiavel well noteth (though
drink them with our milk from birth, and because in an evil-favoured instance,) there is no trusting

the face of the world presents itself in this aspect to the force of nature nor to the bravery of words,
to our first view, it seems that we are born on except it be corroborate by custom.
condition of following this course. And the com- Bacon, Of Custom and Education

mon notions that we find in credit around us and

infused into our soul by our fathers’ seed, these 19 I . . . recognised in the course of my travels that
seem to be the universal and natural ones. all those whose sentiments are very contrary to
Whence it comes to pass that what is off the hing- ours are yet not necessarily barbarians or savages,
es of custom, people believe to be off the hinges of but may be possessed of reason in as great or even
reason: God knows how unreasonably, most of the a greater degree than ourselves. I also considered
time. how very different the self-same man, identical in
Montaigne, Essays, I, 23, Of Custom mind and spirit, may become, according as he is
brought up from childhood amongst the French
1 1 Each man barbarism whatever is not his own
calls or Germans, or has passed his whole life amongst
practice; for indeedit seems we have no other test Chinese or cannibals. I likewise noticed how even
of truth and reason than the example and pattern in the fashions of one’s clothing the same thing
of the opinions and customs of the country we live that pleased us ten years ago, and which will per-
in. haps please us once again before ten years arc
Montaigne, Essays, I, 31, Of Cannibals passed, seems at the present time extravagant and
ridiculous. I thus concluded that it is much more
12 We are nothing but ceremony; ceremony carries custom and example that persuade us than any
us away, and we leave the substance of things; we certain knowledge, and yet in spite of this the
hang on to the branches and abandon the trunk voice of the majority does not afford a proof of
and body. any value in truths a little difficult to discover,
Montaigne, Essays, II, 17, Of Presumption because such truths are much more likely to have
been discovered by one man than by a nation.
13 True is, that whilome that good poet sayd. Descartes, Discourse on Method, II
 92, Custom 563

20 For wc must not misunderstand ourselves; we are 23 How many men have no other ground for their
as much automatic as intellectual; and hence it tenets, than the supposed honesty, or learning, or
comes that the instrument by which conviction is number of those of the same profession? As if hon-
attained is not demonstrated alone. How few est or bookish men could not err; or truth were to
things are demonstrated! Proofs only convince the be established by the vote of the multitude: yet
mind. Custom is the source of our strongest and this with most men serves the turn. The tenet has
most belic\xd proofs. It bends the automaton, had the attestation of reverend antiquity; it comes
which persuades the mind without its thinking to me with the passport of former ages, and there-
about the matter. fore I am secure in the reception I give it: other
Pascal, PenseeSy IV, 252 men have been and arc of the same opinion, (for
that is all is said,) and therefore it is reasonable for
me to embrace it. A man may more justifiably
21 Montaigne is wrong. Custom should be followed
throw up cross and pile for his opinions, than take
only because it is custom, and not because it is
them up by such measures. All men are liable to
reasonable or just. But people follow it for this sole
error, and most men are in many points, by pas-
reason, that they think it Just. Otherwise they
sion or interest, under temptation to it. If we
would follow it no longer, although it were the
could but see the secret motives that influenced
custom; for they will only submit to reason or jus-
the men of name and learning in the world, and
tice. Custom without this would pass for tyranny;
the leaders of parties, we should not always find
but the sovereignty of reason and justice is no
that it was the embracing of truth for its own sake,
more tyrannical than that of desire. They arc
that made them espouse the doctrines they owned
principles natural to man.
and maintained. This at least is certain, there is
would, therefore, be right to obey laws and
It
not an opinion so absurd, which a man may not
customs, because they arc laws; but wc should
receive upon this ground. There is no error to be
know that there is neither truth nor justice to in-
named, which has not had its professors: and a
troduce into them, that wc know nothing of these,
man shall never want crooked paths to walk in, if
and so must follow what is accepted. By this
he thinks that he is in the right way, wherever he
means we would never depart from them. But
has the footsteps of others to follow.
people cannot accept this doctrine; and, as they
believe that truthcan be found, and that it exists Locke, Concerning Human Understandingy
Bk. IV, XX, 17
in law and custom, they believe them and take
their antiquity as a proof of their truth, and not
simply of their authority apart from truth. Thus 24 Custom ... is the great guide of human life. It is
they obey laws, but they are liable to revolt when that principle alone which renders our experience
these are proved to be valueless; and this can be useful to us, and makes us expect, for the future, a
shown of looked at from a certain aspect.
all, which have ap-
similar train of events with those
peared in the past. Without the influence of cus-
Pascal, PenseeSy V, 325
tom, we should be entirely ignorant of every mat-
ter of fact beyond what is immediately present to
22 Ideas that in themselves are not all of kin, come to
the memory and senses. We should never know
be so united in some men’s minds, that it is very
how to adjust means to ends, or to employ our
hard to separate them; they always keep in com-
natural powers in the production of any effect.
pany, and the one no sooner at any time comes
There would be an end at once of all action, as
into the understanding, but its associate appears
well as of the chief part of speculation.
with it; and
they are more than two which are
if

thus united, the whole gang, always inseparable,

Hume, Concerning Human Understandingy V, 36
show themselves together.
This strong combination of ideas, not allied by 25 Since no man
has a natural authority over his
nature, themind makes in itself either voluntarily fellow, and no right, we must con-
force creates
or by chance; and hence it comes in different men clude that conventions form the basis of all legiti-
to be very different, according to their different mate authority among men.
inclinations, education, interests, etc. Custom set- Rousseau, Social Contract, I, 4
tles habits of thinking in the understanding, as
well as of determining in the will, and of motions 26 Most peoples, like most men, arc docile only in
in the body: all which seems to be but trains of youth; <is they grow old they become incorrigible.
motions in the animal spirits, which, once set a When once customs have become established and
going, continue in the same steps they have used prejudices inveterate, it is dangerous and useless
to; which, by often treading, arc worn into
a to attempt their reformation; the people, like the
smooth path, and the motion in it becomes easy, foolish and cowardly patients who rave at sight of
and as it uxrc natural. the doctor, can no longer bear that any one
Locke, Concerning Human Understandingy should lay hands on its faults to remedy them.
Bk. II, XXXIII, 5-B Rousseau, Social Contract, II, 8
 564 Chapters, Ethics

TJ [The] most important [law] of all is not gra-

. . . would involve a principle of a new order, a new
ven on tablets of marble or brass, but on the national spirit.

hearts of the citizens. This forms the real constitu- Hegel, Philosophy of Histoy, Introduction,
3
tion of the State, takeson every day new powers,
when other laws decay or die out, restores them or 31 No way of thinking or doing, however ancient
can be trusted without proof. What everybody
takes their place, keeps a people in the ways in
which it was meant to go, and insensibly replaces echoes or in silence passes by as true today may
authority by the force of habit. I am speaking of turn out to be falsehood tomorrow, mere smoke ol

morality, of custom, above all of public opinion; a opinion, which some had trusted for a cloud that

power unknown to political thinkers, on which would sprinkle fertilizing rain on their fields.

none the less success in everything else depends. What old people say you cannot do, you try and

With this the great legislator concerns himself in find that you can. Old deeds for old people, and
secret, though he seems to confine himself to par- new deeds for new.
ticular regulations; for these are only the arc of Thoreau, Walden: Economy
the arch, while manners and morals, slower to
32 Nobody denies that people should be so taught
arise, form in the end its immovable keystone.
and trained in youth as to know and benefit by
Rousseau, Social Contract, II, 12
the ascertained results of human experience. But
it is the privilege and proper condition of a hu-
28 The great art of living easy and happy in society man being, arrived at the maturity of his faculties,
is to study proper behaviour, and even with our to use and interpret experience in his own way. It
most intimate friends to observe politeness; other- is him to find out what part of recorded expe-
for
wise we will insensibly treat each other with a rience is properly applicable to his own circum-
degree of rudeness, and each will find himself de- stances and character. The traditions and customs
spised in some measure by the other. of other people are, to a certain extent, evidence
Boswell, London Journal (Dec. I, 1762) of what their experience has taught them; pre-
sumptive evidence, and as such, have a claim to
his deference: but, in the first place, their experi-
29 Johnson’s profound reverence for the Hierarchy
made him expect from bishops the highest degree ence may be too narrow; or they may not have
interpreted it rightly. Secondly, their interpreta-
of decorum; he was offended even at their going
to taverns; “A bishop (said he,) has nothing to do
tion of experience may
be correct, but unsuitable
at a tippling-house. It is not indeed immoral in
to him. Customs are made
for customary circum-
stances and customary characters; and his cir-
him to go to a tavern; neither would it be immor-
al in him to whip a top in Grosvenor-square. But,
cumstances or his character may be uncustomary.
Thirdly, though the customs be both good as cus-
if he did, I hope the boys would fall upon him,
toms, and suitable to him, yet to conform to cus-
and apply the whip to him. There are gradations
in conduct; —
morality, decency, pro-
there is
— tom, merely as custom, does not educate or devel-
op in him any of the qualities which are the
priety. None should be violated by a bish-
of these
distinctive endowment of a human being. The hu-
op. A bishop should not go to a house where he
may meet a young fellow leading out a wench.” man faculties of perception, judgment, discrimi-
native feeling, mental activity, and even moral
Boswell, Life of Johnson (March 1781)
preference, are exercised only in making a choice.
He who does anything because it is the custom
30 Mere customaiy life (the watch wound up and going makes no choice. He gains no practice either in
on of itself) is that which brings on natural death. discerning or in desiring what is best. The mental
Custom is activity without opposition, for which and moral, like the muscular powers, are im-
there remains only a formal duration; in which proved only by being used. The faculties arc
the fulness and zest that originally characterized called into no exercise by doing a thing merely
the aim of life are out of the question a merely — because others do it, no more than by believing a
external sensuous existence which has ceased to thing only because others believe it. If the grounds
throw itself enthusiastically into its object. Thus of an opinion are not conclusive to the person’s
perish individuals, thus perish peoples by a natu-
own reason, his reason cannot be strengthened,
ral death; and though the latter may continue in
but is likely to be weakened, by his adopting it:
being, it is an existence without intellect or vitali-
and if the inducements to an act are not such as
ty; having no need of its institutions, because the
are consentaneous to his own feelings and charac-
—
need for them is satisfied a political nullity and ter (where affection, or the rights of others, arc not
tedium. In order that a truly universal interest concerned) it is so much done towards rendering
may arise, the spirit of a people must advance to his feelings and character inert and torpid, in-
the adoption of some new purpose; but whence and energetic.
stead of active
can this new purpose originate? It would be a Mill, On Liberty, III
higher, more comprehensive conception of itself, a
transcending of its principle, but this very act 33 It is important to give the freest scope possible to
 9.2. Custom I
565

uncustomary things, in order that it may in time 36 The girl thought for a time of what he had said.
appear which of these are fit to be converted into “I suppose,” she then said, “that even in your
customs. country you have parties, balls and conversazione?**

Mill, On Liberty, III “Yes,” he said, “we have those.”

“Then you will know,” she went on slowly,
34 A man’s fame, good or bad, and his honor or “that the part of a guest is different from that of a
dishonor, arc names for one of his social selves. host or hostess, and that people do not want or
The particular social self of a man called his hon- expect the same things in the two different capaci-
or is usually the result of one of those splittings of ties?”
which we have spoken. It is his image in the eyes "I thinkyou are right,” said Augustus.
of his own “set,” which exalts or condemns him as “Now God,” she said, “when he created Adam
he conforms or not to certain requirements that and Eve arranged it so that man takes, in
, , .

may not be made of one in another walk of life. these matters, the part of a guest, and woman that
Thus a layman may abandon a city infected with of a hostess. Therefore man takes love lightly, for
cholera; but a priest or a doctor would think such the honor and dignity of his house is not involved
an act incompatible with his honor. A soldier’s therein. And you can be a guest to
also, surely,
honor requires him to fight or to die under cir- many people to whom you would never want to
cumstances where another man can apologize or be a host. Now, tell me, Count, what docs a guest
run away with no stain upon his social self. A want?”
judge, a statesman, arc in like manner debarred “I believe,” said Augustus when he had thought
by the honor of their cloth from entering into pe- for a moment, “that if we do, as I think we ought
cuniar)' relations perfectly honorable to persons in to here, leave out the crude guest, who comes to
private life. Nothing is commoner than to hear be regaled, takes what he wants and goes away, a
people discriminate between their different selves guest wants first of all to be diverted, to get out of
of this sort:“As a man I pity you, but as an offi- his daily monotony or worry. Secondly the decent
cial I must show you no mercy; as a politician I guest wants to shine, to expand himself and im-
regard him as an ally, but as a moralist I loathe press his own personality upon his surroundings.
him”; etc., etc. What may be called “club-opin- And thirdly, perhaps, he wants to find some justi-
ion” is one of the ver)' strongest forces in life. The fication for his existence altogether. But since you
thief must not steal from other thieves; the gam- put it so charmingly. Signora, please tell me now:
bler must pay his gambling-debts, though he pay
What docs a hostess want?”
no other debts in the world. The code of honor of “The hostess,” said the young lady, “wants to
fashionable society has throughout history been be thanked.”
full of permissions as well as of vetoes, the only
Isak Dincsen, The Roads Around Pisa, IV
reason for following cither of which is that so we
best serveone of our social selves. You must not lie
37 The life-history of the individual is first and fore-
in general,but you may He as much as you please
most an accommodation to the patterns and stan-
if asked about your relations with a lady; you
dards traditionally handed down in his communi-
must accept a challenge from an equal, but if
ty. From the moment of his birth the customs into
challenged by an inferior you may laugh him to
which he is born shape his experience and behav-
scorn: these arc examples of w'hat is meant.
iour. By the time he can talk, he is the little crea-
William James, Psychology, X ture of his culture, and by the time he is grown

35 In general, parents and similar authorities follow and able to take part in its activities, its habits arc
his habits, its beliefs his beliefs, its impossibilities
the dictates of their own super-egos in the up-
bringing of children. Whatever terms their ego
his impossibilities.Every child that is born into his
may be on with their super-ego, in the education group will share them with him, and no child
of the child they arc severe and exacting. They born into one on the opposite side of the globe can
have forgotten the difficulties of their own child- ever achieve the thousandth part. There is no so-
cial problem it is more incumbent upon us to un-
hood, and arc glad to be able to identify them-
derstand than this of the role of custom. Until we
with their own parents, who in
selves fully at last
their day subjected them arc intelligent as to its laws and varieties, the
to such severe restraints.
The result is that the super-ego of the child is not
main complicating facts of human life must re-

really built up on the model main unintelligible.

of the parents, but on
that of the parents’ super-ego; it takes over the Benedict, Patterns of Culture, I

same content, it becomes the vehicle of tradition

and of all the age-long values which have been 38 Custom did not challenge the attention of social
handed down in this way from generation to gen- theorists because it was the very stuff of their own
eration. thinking: it was the lens without which they could
Freud, New Introductory Lectures on
not see at all.

Pjycho-Analysis, XXXI Benedict, Patterns of Culture, I

 9.3 Moral Law
When the word ‘'law’’ is used to signify a or the law of reason. Another body of law is
rule of conduct that individuals may obey or —
mentioned here the law of God or the di-
violate, ora prescribed course of behavior to vine law, which to the extent that it lays

which they may or may not conform, such down rules of conduct as contrasted with
expressions as “natural law” and “law of na- prescribing religious rituals or ceremonies
ture” are interchangeable with “moral consists of rules that are often identical in

law.” To characterize a law as natural or as substance with the prescriptions of the natu-

moral is, negatively at least, to say the same ral moral law. The law that, according to
thing; namely, that it represents a rule of the Old Testament, God gave to Moses in-
conduct which is not made by a political rul- cludes, in addition to many ceremonial pre-
er or ruling body and is not enforced by the cepts, the Ten Commandments, at least six
state. On the positive side, the reader will of which prescribe virtuous conduct or pro-
find that whereas some authors regard the hibit iniquitous or unrighteous acts.
moral law as based on the needs or tenden- The reader will find the moral law epito-

cies of human nature (and so they think of it mized in the golden rule and in the categor-

as natural in that sense), other authors re- ical imperative; he will find some quotations
gard it as emanating from the dictates of that indicate the connection between the
reason (and so they think of it as a law of natural law and natural rights, and some
reason rather than as a law of nature). that derive moral duties or obligations from
For the discussion of rules of conduct that the basic oughts and ought-nots of the moral

are man-made and state-enforced, the read- law. For the discussion of these matters in

er is on Law and Law-

referred to Section 12.1 other contexts, the reader is referred to Sec-
yers. Quotations both here and in that sec- tion 1 2.3 —
on Rights Natural and Civil, Sec-
tion consider the relation of positive law or tion 9.9 on Duty: Moral Obligation, and
the law of the state to the natural moral law Section 20.8 on Worship and Service.

1 And God spake all these words, saying, God in vain; for the Lord will not hold him guilt-
I am the Lord thy God, which have brought less that taketh his name in vain.
thee out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy.
bondage. Six days shall thou labour, and do all thy work;
Thou have no other gods before me.
shalt But the seventh day is the sabbath of the Lord
Thou make unto thee any graven im-
shall not thy God: in it thou shalt not do any work, thou,
age, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven nor thy son, nor thy daughter, thy manservant,
above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in nor thy maidservant, nor thy catUc, nor thy
the water under the earth: stranger that is within thy gates:
Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor For Lord made heaven and
in six days the
serve them: for I the Lord thy God am a jealous earth, the sea, and allthem is, and rested
that in
God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the the seventh day: wherefore the Lord blessed the
children unto the third and fourth generation of sabbath day, and hallowed it.
them that hate me; Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy
And shewing mercy unto thousands of them days may be long upon the land which the Lord
that love me, and keep my commandments. thy God giveth thee.
Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy Thou shah not kill.

566
 568 Chapter 9. Ethics

naked is of the natural law, because nature did not upon other men’s words, but every
one from
not give him clothes, but art invented them. In his own reason, must be such as is agreeable
to the
this sense, “the possession of all things in common, reason of all men; which no law can be, but
the
and uniform freedom” are said to be of the natu- law of nature. The laws of nature therefore need
ral law, because, that is, the distinction of posses- not any publishing nor proclamation; as being
sionsand slavery were not brought in by nature, contained in this one sentence, approved by
all
but devised by human reason for the benefit of the world, Do not that to another which thou thinkest

human life. Accordingly the law of nature was not unreasonable to be done by another to thyself

changed in this respect, except by addition. Hobbes, Leviathan, II, 26

Aquinas, Summa Theologica,
I-II, 94, 5 18 That part of the Scripture which was first law was
the Ten Commandments, written in two tables of
13 As to . . . common principles, the natural law, in
stone and delivered by God Himself to Moses, and
its universal character, can in no way be blotted
by Moses made known to the people. Before that
out from men’s hearts. But it is blotted out in the time there was no written law of God, who, as yet
case of a particular action, in so far as reason is having not chosen any people to be His peculiar
hindered from applying the common principle to kingdom, had given no law to men, but the law ol
a particular point of practice, on account of con- nature, that is to say, the precepts of natural rea-
cupiscence or some other passion. . . . But as to
son, written in every man’s own heart.
the other, that is, the secondary precepts, the nat-
Hobbes, Leviathan, HI, 42
ural law can be blotted out from the human
heart, cither by evil persuasions, just as in specula-
tive matters errors occur in respect of necessary
19 To act absolutely in conformity with virtue is
nothing but acting according to the laws of our
conclusions; or by vicious customs and corrupt
habits, as among some men, theft, and even un-
own proper nature. But only in so far as we un-
derstand do we act. Therefore, to act in conformi-
natural vices.
ty with virtue is nothing but acting, living, and
Aquinas, Summa Theologica^
preserving our being as reason directs, and doing
I-II, 94, 6
so from the ground of seeking our own profit.
Spinoza, Ethics, IV, Prop. 24,
14 The goodness of the human will depends on the Demonst.
eternal law much more than on human reason.
And when human reason fails we must have re-
course to the Eternal Reason.
20 The state of Nature has a law of Nature to govern
it, which obliges every one, and reason, which is
Aquinas, Summa Theologica^
I-II, 19, 4 that law, teaches all mankind who will but con-
sult it, that being all equal and independent, no
one ought to harm another in his life, health, li-
15 Natural law is a practical first principle in the
berty ox possessions; for men being all the work-
sphere of morality; it forbids evil and commands
manship of one omnipotent and infinitely vvisc
good. Positive law is a decision that takes circum-
Maker; all the servants of one sovereign Master,
stances into account and conforms with natural
sent into the world by His order and about His
law on credible grounds. The basis of natural law
business; they are His property, whose workman-
is God, who has created this light, but the basis of
ship they are made to last during His, not one
positive law is civil authority.
another’s pleasure. And, being furnished with like
Luther, Table Talkj 3911
faculties, sharing all in one community of Nature,
there cannot be supposed any such subordination
16 The moral law with which I shall begin,
. . . among us that may authorise us to destroy one
being comprised in two leading articles, of which another, as if we were made
for one another’s uses,
one simply commands us to worship God with as the inferior ranks of creatures are for ours. Ev-
pure faith and piety, and the other enjoins us to ery one as he is bound to preserve himself, and not
embrace men with sincere love, this law, I say, is — to quit his station wilfully, so by the like reason,
the true and eternal rule of righteousness, pre- when his own preservation comes not in competi-
scribed to men of all ages and nations, who wish tion,ought he as much as he can to preserve the
to conform their lives to the will of God. For this is mankind, and not unless it be to do justice
rest of
his eternal and immutable will, that he himself be on an offender, take away or impair the life, or
w'orshipped by us all, and that we mutually love what tends to the preservation of the life, the li-

one another. berty, health, limb, or goods of another.

Calvin, Institutes of the Locke, JI Civil Government, H, 6
Christian Religion, IV, 20

21 I think there cannot any one moral rule be proposed

17 Whatsoever men are to take knowledge of for law. whereof a man may not justly demand a reason: which
 9J. j\foral Law |
569

would be perfectly ridiculous and abuird if they mcnt.s arise, either mediately or immediately,

were innate; or so much as self-evident, which ev- from a reflection of these opposite interests,
er)' innate principle must needs be, and not need Hume, Ccncfmw^ I/umnn
any proof to ascertain its truth, nor want any rea- VI 11. BO
son to gain it approbation. He wtJuId l>e thought
void of common sense who asked on the one side, moral laws which
24 I assume that there arc pure
or on the other side svent to give a rra.son trhy “it determine, entirely a pmn (without regard to em-
is impossible for the futme thing to l)e and not to
pirical motives, that is, to happiness), the conduct
be.” It carries its own light and oidence with it,
of a rational l>cing, or in other words, the use
and needs no other proof: )tc ih.it understands the
which it m.ske5 of its freedom, and that these laws
terms assents to it for its own sake or cKe nothing
arc ahjtihuh imperative (not merely hypotheti-
will e\-cr be able to prevail with him to do it. But
cally, on the supposition of otlier empirical ends),
should that most unshaken nilc of morality and and thcicforc am war-
in all respects neervur)'. I
foundation of one shoufd
all social virtue, “'I'hat
ranted in assuming this, not only \ry the argu-
do as he would be done unto.” be propened to one ments of the most enlightened moralists, but by
who nextr heard of it l>cforc, but yet is of capacity the moral judgement of r\xTy man who will make
to understand its meaning; might he not without
the attempt to form a distinct conception of such a
any absurdity ask a reason why? And were not he law,
that proposed it bound to make out the truth and
Kant, Cntit^.ie cf Pure
reasonableness of it to him? Which pl.“ttnly shows
TV.inscendental Method
it not to be innate; for if it were
could neither it

want nor receive aity proof; but must nerds (at

least as soon as heard and undentood) l>c rrceivetJ 25 I call the wsifid it n''*al U’5^V, in to f.sr as it may Ik
and assented to as an unquestionable truth, which in accordance witli all tlie ethical laws— whicli,
a man can by no means doubt of. So th.at the by virtue of fhr /fcc.y:n of reason.'ihle iKi'ngs, it ren

truth of all these moral niles plainly dejynds Ik, and according m the nrcer-s.sr)' I.iv>-5 of r^.cfahtr

upon some other antecedent to them, and from it cu^ht to h But this world must Ik conceived only
which ihc)’ must I>c dfducfJ, whidi could not be if as an intelligible world, inasmuch as abstraction is
cither the)' were innate or to much as self-evident. therein made of all conditions (ends), and e\en of
IxK'ke, //w'lin all imjKdimrnis to rTiorality (the wc.iknrss or

Bk. I, 11. 4 pravity of human nature). So far, then, it is a

mere idea — though still a practical idea — which
may liavr, and ought to liavr, an influence on the
22 That God hasgiven a rule whereby men should world of seme, so as to bring it as far as jxKrible
govern themselves, 1 think there is nolxxly so brut- into conformity with itself, Tlic idea of a moral
ish as to deny. He has a right to do it; we arc his world has. tficreforc, objective re.afity, not as refer-
creatures: he has goodness and wisdom to direct ring to an object of intelligible intuition—for of
our actions to that which is l)est: and he has pow- Midi an object we can fnrm no conception what-
er to enforce by rewards and punishments of
it
ever —
but to the wiirld of seme conceived, how- —
infinite weight and duration in another life; for
es'tr, as an object of pure reason in its practical
nobody can take us out of his hands. This is the use— and to a rnUtoin of ration.al iKings in
only true touchstone of moral rectitude; and, by
it, in so far as the ithrun arfiitnun of the individual
comparing them to this law. it is that men judge is and by siriur of moral l.iiw-s, in
placed, under
of the most considerable moral good or cs-il of complete systematic unity !x)th svith itself and
their actions; that is, whether, as duties or sins,
with the freedom of all other*.
the)' arc like to procure them happinrvt or miscr>‘
Kant, Crtiupir of Pure Ptaten,
from the hands of the Acso/jirrY.
Transerndentaf NfctlKxl
l^ockc, Ccrncnnifi^ Hunnn
Unfinstandir.i;, Bk. II, XXVIH, B
Not only are moral laws svith their principles cs-
iKHtialfy distingtiishcd from exTrv* other kind of
23 The mind of man is no formed by nature that, practical knowledge in which there is anything
upon the appearance of certain characters, dispo- empirical, but all moral plulmopliy rests wholly
sitions, and actions,
immediately feels the semi-
it on its pure part. When applied to man, it does not
mcni of approbation orblame; nor arc there any l>orTow the least thing from the knowledge of man
emotions more essentia! to its frame and constitu- himself (anthropology'), but gives laws n fTwn to
tion. Tlic characters which engage our approba- him as a rational iKing. No
doubt these law** re-
tion are chiefly such as contribute to the j>cacc quire a judgement sharpened by experience, in
and security of human society; as the characters order on the one hand to distinguish In w’hai eases
which excite blame arc chiefly such as tend to they arc applicable, and on the other to procure
public detriment and disturbance: Whence it may for them access to the will of the man and effectu-
reasonably be presumed, that the moral senti- al influence on conduct; since man is acted on by
 570 Chapter 9. Ethics

so many inclinations that, though capable of the 31 Two things fill the mind with ever new
and in-
idea of a practical pure reason, he is not so easily creasing admirarion and awe, the oftener and
the
able to make it effective in concreto in his life. more steadily we reflect on them: the starry heav-
Kant, Fundamental Principles of the ens above and the moral law within.
Metaphysic of Morals, Pref. Kant, Critique of Practical
Reason, II, Conclusion
27 The moral worth of an action does not lie in the
effect expected from it, nor in any principle of 32 Imagine a man at the moment when his mind is

action which requires to borrow its motive from disposed to moral feeling! amid beautiful natu-
If,

this expected effect. For all these effects agree- — ral surroundings, he is in calm and serene enjoy-
ableness of one^s condition and even the promo- ment of his existence, he feels within him a
tion of the happiness of —
others could have been need— a need of being grateful for it to some one.
also brought about by other causes, so that for this Or, at another time, in the same frame of mind
there would have been no need of the will of a he may find himself in the stress of duties which
rational being; whereas it is in this alone that the he can only perform and will perfonn by submit-
supreme and unconditional good can be found. ting to a voluntary sacrifice; then he feels within
The pre-eminent good which we call moral can —
him a need a need of having, in so doing, car-
therefore consist in nothing else than the conception ried out some command and obeyed a Supreme
of law in itself, which certainly is only possible in a Lord, Or he may in some thoughtless manner
rational being, in so far as this conception, and not have diverged from the path of duty, though not
the expected effect, determines the will. This is a so as to have made himself answerable to man;
good which already present in the person
is who yet words of stern self-reproach will then fall upon
acts accordingly, and we have not to wait for it to an inward ear, and he will seem to hear the voice
appear first in the result. of a judge to whom he has to render account. In a
Kant, Fundamental Principles of the word, he needs a moral intelligence; because he
Metaphysic of Morals, I exists for an end, and this end demands a Being
that has formed both him and the world with that
28 There is ... but one categorical imperative, end in view. It is waste of labour to go burrowing
namely, this: Act only on that maxim whereby thou canst behind these feelings for motives; for they are im-
at the same time will that it should become a universal mediately connected with the purest moral senti-
law. ment: gratitude, obedience, and humiliation that is, —
Kant, Fundamental Principles of the submission before a deserved chastisement being —
Metapkysic of Morals, II special modes of a mental disposition towards
duty. ... It may be that such a disposition of the
29 We arc indeed legislative members of a moral mind is but a rare occurrence, or, again, does not
kingdom rendered possible by freedom, and pre- last long, but rather is fleeting and of no perma-

sented to us by reason as an object of respect; but nent effect, or, it may be, passes away without the
yet we are subjects in it, not the sovereign, and to mind bestowing a single thought upon the object
mistake our inferior position as creatures, and so shadowed forth, and wthout troubling to re-

presumptuously to reject the authority of the mor- duce it to clear conceptions. Yet the source of this

already to revolt from disposition is unmistakable. It is the original mor-

al law, is it in spirit, even
though the letter of it is fulfilled. al bent of our nature, as a subjective principle,
Kant, Critique of Practical that ^vill not let us be satisfied, in our review of the
Reason, Pt. I, I, 3 world, with the finality which it derives through
natural causes, but leads us to introduce into it an
30 That in the order of ends, man (and \vith him underlying supreme Cause governing nature ac-
every rational being) is an end in himself, that is, cording to moral laws.
that he can never be used merely as a means by Kant, Critique of Teleological
any (not even by God) without being at the same Judgement, 86

time an end also himself, that therefore humanity

in our person must be holy to ourselves, this fol- 33 The Lord. A good man, though his striving be ob-

lows now of itself because he is the subject of the scure.

moral law, in other words, of that which is holy in Remains aware that there is one right way.
itself, and on account of which and in agreement Goethe, Faust, Prologue

with which alone can anything be termed holy. in Heaven, 328

For this moral law is founded on the autonomy of
his will, as a free ^vill which by its universal laws
must necessarily be able to agree with that to
which it is to submit itself.
Kant, Critique of Practical
Reason, Pt.
34 The sentiment of virtue is a reverence and delight
in the presence of certain divine laws. It perceives
that this homely game of life we play, covers, un-
der what seem foolish details, principles that
I, II, 2 astonish. The child amidst his baubles is learning
 93, Moral Law 571

the action of light, motion, gravity, muscular by means of these influences, be made to act on
force; and in the game of human life, love, fear, the human mind with all the authority of con-
justice, appetite, man, and God, interact. These science.
laws refuse to be adequately stated. They will not Mill, Utilitarianism, III
be wTittcn out on paper, or spoken by the tongue.
They elude our persevering thought; yet we read
36 Since man is endowed w’ith intelligence and de-
them hourly in each other’s faces, in each other’s
termines his own ends, it is up to him to put him-
actions, in our own remorse. The moral traits
self in tunc with the ends necessarily demanded
which arc all globed into every' virtuous act and
by his nature. This means that there by very
—
thought in speech we must sever, and describe
virtue of human nature, an order or a disposition
is,

or suggest by painful enumeration of many partic-

which human reason can discover and according
ulars. Yet, as this sentiment is the essence of all
to w'hich the human will must act in order to at-
religion, let me guide your eye to the precise ob-
tune itself to the ncccssar)' ends of the human
jects of the sentiment. . . .
being. The unwritten law, or natural law, is noth-
The intuition of the moral sentiment is an in-
ing more than that.
sight of the perfection of the law’s of the soul.
Maritain, Highis of Man and Natural Law, II
35 These law’s execute themselves. They arc out of
time, out of space, and not subject to circum-
stance. Thus there is a justice
in the soul of man 37 Natural law is not a written law*. Men know it

whose retributions arc instant and entire. He who w'iih greater or less difficult)’, and in different de-
docs a good deed is instantly ennobled. He who grees, running the risk of error here as elsewhere.
docs a mean deed is by the action itself contract- Tlic only practical knowledge all men have natu-
ed. He who puts off impurity, thereby puts on rallyand infallibly in common is that w’c must do
purity. If a man is at heart just, then in so far is he good and avoid evil. Tliis is the preamble and (he
God. principle of natural law; it is not the law itself.

Emerson, Address to Harvard Dwinity School
If, as is my own belief, the moral feelings arc not
innate, but acquired, they arc not for that reason
the less natural. It is natural to
reason, to build cities, to cultivate the ground,
though these arc acquired faculties. The moral
feelings arc not indeed a part of our nature, in the
sense of being in any perceptible degree present in
all of us; but this, unhappily, is a fact admitted by
those who believe the most strenuously in their
transcendental origin. Like the other acquired ca-
pacities above referred to, the moral faculty, if not
a part of our nature, is a natural outgrowth from
it; capable, like them, in a certain small degree, of
springing up spontaneously; and susceptible of
being brought by cultivation to a high degree of
development. Unhappily it is also susceptible, by
a sufficient use of the external sanctions and of the
force of early impressions, of being cultivated in
almost any direction: so that there is hardly any-
thing so absurd or so mischievous that it may not.
Natural law- is the ensemble of things to do and
not to do which follow therefrom in necessary fash-
ion, and /romthe simple fact that man ts man, nothing
else being taken into account. That ever)' sort of
man to speak, to error and deviation is possible in the determina-
tion of these things merely proves that our sight is
weak and that innumerable accidents can corrupt
our judgment. Montaigne maliciously remarked
that, among certain peoples, incest and thievery
were considered virtuous acts. Pascal was scandal-
ized by this. We arc scandalized by the fact that
cruelty, denunciation of parents, the lie for the
service of the party, the murder of old or sick peo-
ple should be considered virtuous actions by
young people educated according to Nazi meth-
ods. All this proves nothing against natural law,
any more than a mistake in addition proves any-
thing against arithmetic, or the mistakes of cer-
tain primitive peoples, for whom the stars were
holes in the tentwhich covered the w’orld, prove
anything against astronomy.
Maritain, Rights of Man and Natural Law, II
 9.4 Moral Freedom

The image of the man deprived of freedom varying remarkably as one passes from the
as one in chains or behind bars, or as one discussion of it by Plato and the Roman
coerced or intimidated into acting contrary Stoics in antiquity, to what is said on the
to his own wishes, typifies the kind of liberty subject by Spinoza, Rousseau, Kant, and
that is discussed in Section 13.1 on Freedom Hegel, or by Freud and Dewey. However,
IN Society , but not here. The man in prison what is common to them all is the fact that a
and the slave in chains, the poor man lack- man’s possession of moral freedom does not
ing the means of satisfying his desires and in any way depend on the outer circum-
the oppressed subjects of a tyrant, all these stances of his life or upon his inherited na-
can enjoy the kind of inner or moral free- but upon his acquirement of virtue, or
ture,
dom that is discussed here. It is neither free- wisdom or a certain type of moral character,
dom of choice (which is treated in Section or even, as in the case of Freud, a certain
5.7) nor freedom to do as one wills, but rath- type of psychological adjustment. The other
er the freedom that consists in being able to element that is common
moral liberty into
will as one ought. It is sometimes described, all its forms is the moral law or the moral

negatively, as freedom from the passions,' ideal

3 to which a man can conform only by
subjection to which Spinoza characterizes as mastering the intransigent, recalcitrant, or
“human bondage.” It is also described as a antagonistic factors in his own make-up.
liberty that derives from having the will- That is why the morally free man is said to
power do one’s duty or to act in conformi-
to have achieved self-mastery. The reader is,
ty with the moral law. therefore, referred to Section 9.3 on Moral
As the reader will find in the quotations Law for materials relevant to moral free-
below, moral freedom takes many forms, dom.

1 If a man were born so divinely gifted that he
could naturally apprehend the truth, he would
have no need of laws to rule over him; for there is
no law or order which is above knowledge, nor
can mind, without impiety, be deemed the subject
or slave of any man, but rather the lord of all. I
speak of mind, true and free, and in harmony
with nature. But then there is no such mind any-
where, or at least not much; and therefore we
and free. His tasks and conduct begin and end in
himself, because nothing has so much influence
over him as his own counsel and decision. Even
the supreme p>ower of fortune is submissive to him.
The wise poet has reminded us that fortune is
moulded for each man by the manner of his life.
Only the tvise man does nothing against his will,
or with regret and by compulsion. Though this
truth deserves to be discussed at greater length, it

must choose law and order, which are second best. is nevertheless proverbial that no one is free ex-

Plato, Uws, IX, 875B cept the wise. Evil men are nothing but slaves.

Cicero, Paradoxes of the Stoics, V

2 The most learned men have told us that only the
wise man is free. What is freedom but the ability
to live as one will? The man who lives as he wills
is none other than the one who strives for the
right, who does his duty, who plans his life with
forethought, and who obeys the laws because he
knows it is good for him, and not out of fear. Ev-
erything he says, does, or thinks is spontaneous
To conclude that the condition of slavery involves
a personas whole being, is an error. The better
part of the man is exempt. The slave-master has
at his disposition only the body of the slave; but
the mind is its own master. It is free and un-
chained; it is not even the prisoner of the body. It
can use its own powers, follow its owm great aims.

572
 9
9A. Moral Freedom 573

and escape into infinity to keep company with the He is free who lives as he wishes to live; who is

stars. neither subject to compulsion nor to hindrance,

Seneca, On Benefits, III, 20 nor to force; whose movements to action arc not
impeded, whose desires attain their purpose, and
4 Behold the wretched and dismal slavery of him who docs not fall into that which he would avoid.
who is in thrall to pleasures and pains, those utter- Who, then, chooses to live in error? No man. Who
ly capricious and tyrannical masters. We, howev- chooses to live deceived, liable to mistake, unjust,
er, must escape to freedom. But this is only possi- unrestrained, discontented, mean? No man. Not
ble if we arc indifferent to Fortune. Then wc shall one then of the bad lives as he wishes; nor is he,

attain that one overriding blessing the serenity — then, free. And who chooses to live in sorrow, fear,

and cxhaltation of a firmly anchored mind. For envy, pity, desiring and failing in his desires, at-
when error is banished, we shall have the great tempting to avoid something and falling into it?

and satisfying joy that comes from the discovery of Not one. Do we then find any of the bad free from
truth, plus a kind disposition and cheerfulness of sorrow, free from fear, who does not fall into that
mind. The source of our pleasure in these things which he would avoid, and docs not obtain that
will not derive from their being good, but that which he wishes? Not one; nor then do wc find
they emerge from a good that is one’s own. any bad man free.
Seneca, On the Happy Life, IV Epictetus, Discourses, IV, 1

5 So far as I am
concerned that body is nothing
more or than a fetter on my freedom. I place
less 10 The man who is not under restraint is free, to

it squarely in the path of fortune, letting her ex- whom things are exactly in that state in which he
pend her onslaught on it, not allowing any blow wishes them to be; but he who can be restrained
to get through it to my actual self. For that body is or compelled or hindered, or thrown into any cir-
all that is vulnerable about me: within this dwell- cumstances against his will, is a slave. But who is
ing so liable to injury there lives a spirit that is free from restraint? He who desires nothing that
free. Never shall that flesh compel me to feel fear, belongs to others. And what arc the things which
never shall it drive me to any pretence unworthy belong to others? Those which are not in our pow-
of a good man; never shall out of con- I tell a lie er cither to have or not to have, or to have of a
sideration for this petty our
body. I shall dissolve certain kind or in a certain manner. Therefore the
partnership when this seems the proper course, body belongs to another, the parts of the body
and even now while wc arc bound one to the belong to another, possession belongs to another.
other the partnership will not be on equal terms: If, then, you are attached to any of these things as

the soul will assume undivided authority. Refusal your own, you will pay the penalty which it is
to be influenced by one’s body assures one’s free- proper for him to pay who desires what belongs to
dom. another. This road leads to freedom, that is the
Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 65 only way of escaping from slavery, to be able to
say at last with all your soul
6 Then said Jesus to those Jews which believed on
him, If ye continue in my word, then are ye my Lead me, 0 Zeus, and thou 0 destiny.
disciples indeed; The way that I am bid by you to go.
And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall Epictetus, Discourses, IV, 1

make you free.

John 8:31^32
11 Being naturally noble, magnanimous and free,
7 Wc ourselves also were sometimes foolish, disobe- man sees that of the things which surround him
dient, deceived, serving divers lusts and pleasures, some arc free from hindrance and in his power,
living in malice and envy, hateful, and hating one and the other things are subject to hindrance and
another. in the power of others; that the things which arc
But after that the kindness and love of God our free from hindrance arc in the power of the will;
Saviour toward man appeared. and those which are subject to hindrance are the
Not by works of righteousness which we have things which are not in the power of the will. And,
done, but according to his mercy he saved us. for this reason, if he thinks that his good and his

Titus 3:3-5 interest be in these things only which are free

from hindrance and in his own power, he will be
8 No one . . . who lives in error is free. Do you wish free, prosperous, happy, free from harm, mag-
to live in fear? Do you wish to live in sorrow? Do nanimous, pious, thankful to God for all things; in
you wish to live in perturbation? “By no means.” no matter finding fault with any of the things
No one . . . who is in a state of fear or sorrow or which have not been put in his power, nor blam-
perturbation is free; but whoever is delivered from ing any of them. But if he thinks that his good and
sorrows and fears and perturbations, he is at the his interest are in externals and in things which
same time also delivered from servitude. arc not in the power of his will, he must of necessi-
Epictetus, Discourses, II, 1 ty be hindered, be impeded, be a slave to those
 574 Chapter 9. Ethics

who have the which he admires

power over things with freedom as it is to persist in thy error.
and fears; and he must be impious
of necessity Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, VIII,
16
because he thinks that he is harmed by God, and
he must be unjust because he always claims more 16 Soul becomes free when it moves, through Intd-
than belongs to him; and he must of necessity be lectual-Principle, towards The Good; what it docs
abject and mean. in that spirit is its free act; Intellectual-Principle

Epictetus, Discourses, IV, 7 is free in its own right. That principle of Good is

the sole object of desire and the source of self-

disposal to the rest, to soul when it fully attains to
12 Do what thou hast in hand with perfect and sim-
Intellectual-Principle by connate possession.
ple dignity, and feeling of affection, and freedom,
Plotinus, Sixth Ennead, VIII, 7
and justice; and . . .
give thyself relief from all
other thoughts. And thou \vilt give thyself relief, if 1 7 The wise man is always free; he is always held in
thou doest every act of thy life as if it were the honor; he is always master of the laws. The law is
last, laying aside all carelessness and passionate
not made for the just but for the unjust. The just
aversion from the commands of reason, and all man is a law unto himself and he does not need to
hypocrisy, and self-love, and discontent with the
summon the law from afar, for he carries it en-
portion which has been given to thee. Thou scest
closed in his heart. . . .

how few the things arc, the which if a man lays The wise man is free, since one who docs as he
hold of, he is able to live a life which flows in
wishes is free. Not every wish is good, but the wise
quiet, and is like the existence of the gods; for the
man wishes only that which is good; he hates evil
gods on their part will require nothing more from for he chooses what is good. Because he chooses
him who observes these things. what is good he is master of his choice and be-
Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 11, 5 cause he chooses his work is he free. Then, be-
cause he docs what he wishes the free man is wise.
13 Let the part of thy soul which leads and governs The wise man does well ever^'thing that he docs.
be undisturbed by the movements in the flesh, One who docs all things well does all things right-
whether of pleasure or of pain; and let it not unite ly. But one who does all things rightly does ev-

with them, but let it circumscribe itself and limit erything without offense, without blame, \rithout
those affects to their parts. But when these affects loss and disturbance within himself. And one who
rise up to the mind by virtue of that other sympa- does nearly everything without giving offense acts
thy that naturally exists in a body which is all blamelessly and acts \vithout disturbance to him-
one, then thou must not strive to resist the sensa- self, without loss. He docs not act unwisely but
tion, for it is natural: but let not the ruling part of wisely in all things. One who acts with wisdom
itselfadd to the sensation the opinion that it is has nothing to fear, for fear lies in sin. WTiene
either good or bad. there is no fear there is liberty; where there is
Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, V, 26 liberty thereis the power of doing what one

wishes. Therefore, only the wise man is free.

14 It is in thy power from all compulsion

to live free
Ambrose, Letter to Simplicianus (Benedictine 37)

in the greatest tranquillity of mind, even if all the

18 1 was bound not wdth the iron of another’s chains,
world cry out against thee as much as they choose,
but by my own iron wdll. The enemy held my
and even if wild beasts tear in pieces the members
will; and he made a chain and bound me.
of it
of this kneaded matter which has grown around
Because my >sdll was perverse it changed to lust,
thee. For what hinders the mind in the midst of
all this from maintaining itself in tranquillity and
and lust yielded to became habit, and habit not
resisted became necessity. These were like links
in a just judgement of all surrounding things and
in a ready use of the objects which are presented
hanging one on another which is why I have —
to it, judgement may say to the thing
so that the
call^ it a chain —
and their hard bondage held
which falls under its observation: This thou art in me bound hand and foot. The new will which 1

substance (reality), though in men’s opinion thou

now began to have, by which I willed to worship
mayest appear to be of a different kind; and the
You freely and to enjoy You, O God, the only
certain Joy, was not yet strong enough to over-
use shall say to that which falls under the hand:
Thou art the thing that I was seeking; for to me come that earlier will rooted deep through the
that which presents itself is always a material for
years. My two wills, one old, one new, one carnal,
one spiritual, were in conflict and in their conflict
virtue both rational and political, and in a word,
for the exercise of art, which belongs to man or
wasted my soul.
Augustine, Confessions, VIII, 5
God.
Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, VII, 68 19 To the just all the evils imposed on them by unjust
rulers arc not the punishment of crime, but the
15 Remember that to change thy opinion and to fol- test of virtue. Therefore the good man, although
low him who corrects thy error is as consistent he is a slave, is free; but the bad man, even if he
 1

9A, Moral Freedom 575

reigns, is a slave, and that not of one man, but, to the higher principle; and the flesh struggling,

what is far more gric\»ous, of as many masters as not in hatred, but because of the bondage of habit
he has vices- which it has derived from its parent slock, and
Augustine, Cify of God, IV, 3 which has grown in upon it by a law of nature till
it has become inveterate. The spirit, then, in sub-

20 The good will ... is the w'ork of God; for God duing the working as it were to destroy the
flesh, is

created him with it. But the first evil w'ill, which ill-founded peace of an c\*il habit, and to bring
preceded all man’s c\’il acts, was rather a kind of about the real peace which springs out of a good
falling away from the work of God to its own
habit,

vN'orks than any positive work. And therefore the Augustine, Cknztian DoetTine, I, 24
acts resulting w’crc evil, not having God, but the
end; so that the will or the man
will itself for their 22 Our sensual appetite, where the passions reside, is
is bad, w'as as it wxre the
himself, so far as his w'ill not entirely subject to reason; hence at times our
evil tree bringing forth evil fruit. Moreover, the passions forestall and hinder reason’s judgment, at
bad will, though it be not in harmony with, but other times they follow after reason’s judgment,
opposed to nature, inasmucli as it is a vice or accordingly as the sensual appetite obeys reason
blcmbh, yet it is true of it as of all vice, that it to some extent. But in the stale of innocence the
cannot except in a nature, and only in a
exist inferior appetite wras wholly subject to reason, so
nature created out of nothing, and not in that that in that state the passions of the soul existed
which the Creator has begotten of Himself, as He only as consequent upon the judgment of reason.
begot the Word, by \Vhom all things were made. Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 95, 2
For though God formed man of the dust of the
earth, yet the earth itself, and e%’cry earthly mate- 23 Perfection of moral virtue docs not wholly take
rial, is absolutely created out of nothing; and away the passions, but regulates them.
man’s soul, too, God created out of nothing, and Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 95, 2
joined to the body, when He made man. But evils
arc so thoroughly overcome by good that, though 24 In spiritual things there is a twofold sen^itude and
they arc permitted to exist for the sake of demon- a nvofold freedom: for there is the servitude of sin
strating how the most righteous foresight of God and the servitude of justice; and there is likewise a
can make a good use even of them, yet good can twofold freedom, from sin, and from justice. . . ,

exist without evil, as in the true and supreme God
Himself, and as in every invisible and visible ce-
lestial murky atmo-
creature that exists abo\'c this
sphere; but c\il cannot exist w'ilhout good, be-
cause the natures in which evil exists, in so far as
thc>' arc natures, arc good. And evil is removed,
not by removing any nature, or part of a nature,
Now the servitude of sin or justice consists in
being inclined to evil by a habit of sin, or inclined
to good by a habit of justice: and in like manner
freedom from sin is not to be overcome by the
inclination to sin, and freedom from justice is not
to be held back from evil for the love of justice,
Ncv’crthclcss, since man, by his natural reason, is

which had been introduced by the cv’il, but by inclined to justice, while sin is contrary to natural
healing and correcting that which had been viti- reason, it follows that freedom from sin is true

ated and depraved. The will, therefore, is then freedom which is united to the scrv'itudc of justice,
truly free, when it is not tlic slave of vices and sins. since thc>' both incline man to that which is be-
Such w'as it given us by God; and this being lost coming to him. In like manner true servitude is
by its own fault, can only be restored by Him the servitude of sin, w'hich is connected with free-
Who was able at first to give it. And therefore the dom from justice, because man is thereby hin-
truth sap, “If the Son shall make you free, yc dered from attaining that which is proper to him.
shall be free indeed”; which is equivalent to say- Aquinas, Summa Theologica, II-II, 183, 4
ing, “If the Son shall save you, yc shall be saved
indeed.” For He is our Liberator, inasmuch as He 25 It must be observed that so far as men arc con-
is our Saviour.
cerned, in order that any one attain to a state of
Augustine, City of God, XIV, 1 freedom or servitude there is required first of all
an obligation or a release. For the mere fact of
21 As, after the resurrection, the body, having be- serving someone docs not make a man a slave,
come wholly subject to the spirit, will live in per- since even the free scrv’c. . . .Nor again docs the
fect peace to even in this life we must
all eternity; mere fact of ceasing to serve make a man free, as
make it an object to have the carnal habit in the case of a runaway slave. But properly
changed for the better, so that its inordinate affec- speaking a man is a slave if he be bound to serve,
tions may not war against the soul. And until this and a man is free if he be released from service.
shall take place, “the flesh lustcth against the spir- Secondly, it is required that the above obligation
it, and the spirit against the flesh”; the spirit be imposed with a certain solemnity, even as a
struggling, not in hatred, but for the mastery, be- certain solemnity is observed in other matters
cause it desires that what it loves should be subject which among men obtain a settlement in perpetu-
 576 Chapter 9. Ethics

ity. Accordingly, properly speaking, one is said to standing of the first cognitions may come,
nor
be in the state of perfection not through having the inclinadon to the prime objects of appetite,
the act of perfect love, but through binding him- which arc in you, cv'cn as the instinct in
bees to
self in perpetuity and with a certain solemnity to make honey; and this prime v^ill admits no
de-
those things that pertain to perfection. sert of praise or of blame.
Aquinas, 5ummfl Theological II-II, 184, 4 Now' in order that to this will every other may be
related, innate with you is the virtue which giv-
26 One must bear in mind that the sons of God arc cth counsel, and ought to guard the threshold of
driven not as slaves, but as free men. For, since he assent.

is free who is for his own sake, w'c do that freely This is the principle whence is derived the reason
which we do of our vcr>' selves. But this is what we of desert in you, according as it gamen and
do of our will, but svhat w'c do against our will we winnows good and evtil loves.
do not freely but as slaves: be the violence abso- Those who in their reasoning went to the founda-

lute, as when “the w’holc principle is extrinsic, tion, perceived this innate freedom, therefore
with the sufferer contributing nothing’* for in- — they left ethics to the vs-orld.
stance, a man is pushed into motion; or be the Wherefore suppose that cv’cry love which is kin-
violence rnf.-ted vWth the volunlar)' for instance, — dled vriihin you arise of necessity, the power to
when one wishes to do or to suffer what is less arrest it is w'ithin you.

contrary to his will to avoid what is more contrary Dante, Purgatorio^ XWII, 46
to it. But the Holy Spirit so inclines us to act that
He makes us act voluntarily, in that He makes us 29 A Christian man has no need of any work or of
lovers ofGod. Therefore, the sons of God are im- any law* in order to be saved, since through faith
pelled by the Holy Spirit freely out of love, not he is free from cv*cr>' law' and docs all that he docs
slavishly out of fear. out of pure liberty and freely, seeking neither ben-
Aquinas, i'tcmma Contra Gmtilcs, IV, 22 efit nor salv-ation, since he already abounds in all
things and is saved through the grace of God be-
27 Afarco. From his hands who fondly loves her ere cause of his faith, and now’ seeks only to please

she is in being, there issues, after the fashion of God.

a little child that sports, now \\*ccping, now Luther, Freedom of a ChrisUen
laughing,
the simple, tender soul, who knoweth naught 30 All their (the Thelcmitcs] life vs-as spent not in
save that, sprung from a joyous maker, \rilling- law’s, statutes, or rules, but according to their onsu

ly she turnclh to that which delights her. free wtill and pleasure. They rose out of their beds
savour of a trifling good; there
First she tastes the when they thought good: thc^' did cat, drink, la-
she is beguiled and runneth after it, if guide or bour, sleep, w'hcn they had a mind to it, and were
curb turn not her love aside. disptKcd for it. None did awake them, none did
WTiercforc ’twas needful to put law as a curb, offer to constrain them to cat, drink, nor to do any
needful to have a ruler who might discern at other thing; for so had Gargantua established it

least the tow'cr of the true city. In all their rule, and strictest tic of their order,
Lava’S there arc, but who putteth his hand to there was but this one clause to be observed.
them? None; because the shepherd that leads
DO WHAT THOU WILT.
may chew the cud, but hath not the hoofs divid-
ed. Because men that arc free, well -bom, well-bred,
Wherefore the people, that sec their guide aiming and conversant in honest companies, have natu-
only at that good whereof he is greedy, feed on rally an instinct and spur that prompteth them
that and ask no further. unto virtuous actions, and vrithdraws them from
Clearly canst thou sec that evil leadership is the vticc, which is called honour. Those same men,
cause which hath made the world sinful, and W'hcn by base subjection and constraint they arc
not nature that may be corrupted vsdthin you. brought under and kept dowm, turn aside from
Dante, AirgatoriOj XVI, 85 . that noble disposition, by which they formerly
vv’cre inclined to virtue, to shake off and break
28 And he [\^irgil] to me: “So far as reason sees here, that bond of servitude, w’hcrcin they are so tyran-
can tell thee; from beyond that point, ever
I nously enslaved; for it is agreeable with the nature
await Beatrice, for ’tis a matter of faith. of man to long after things forbidden, and to de-
Every substantial form, which is distinct from rircwhat is denied us.
matter and is in union with it, has a specific By this liberty they entered into a vay laudable
virtue contained within itself emulation, to do all of them what they saw’ did
which is not perceived save in operation, nor is please one.
manifested except by its effects, just as life in a Rabelais, Gargantua and Pantagruelj I, 57
plant by the green leaves.
Therefore man knows not whence the under- 31 The children of God are liberated by regeneration
 9A, Moral Freedom 577

from the servitude of sin; not that they have al- not all the freedom of spirit that were to be de-
ready obtained the full possession of liberty, and sired, and we may say with St. Augustine that

experience no more trouble from the flesh, but being subject to sin we have the freedom of a
there remains in them a perpetual cause of con- slave. Yet a slave, slave as he is, nevertheless has
them; and not only to exercise
tention to exercise freedom to choose according to the state wherein
them, but also to make them better acquainted he is, although more often than not he is under
with their own infirmity. And on this subject all the stern necessity of choosing between two evils,
sound writers are agreed —that there still remains because a superior force prevents him from attain-
in a regenerate man a fountain of evil, continually ing the goods whereto he aspires. That which in a
producing irregular desires, which allure and slave is effected by bonds and constraint in us is
stimulatehim to the commission of sin. effected by passions, whose violence is sweet, but
Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, III, 3 none the less pernicious. In truth we will only that
which pleases us: but unhappily what pleases us
32 Since it has pleased God to give us some capacity now is often a real evil, which would displease us
for reason, so that we should not be, like the ani- if we had the eyes of the understanding open.

mals, slavishly subjected to the common laws, but Nevertheless that evil state of the slave, which is
should apply ourselves to them by judgment and also our own, does not prevent us, any more than
voluntary liberty, we must indeed yield a little to him, from making a free choice of that which
the simple authority of Nature, but not let our- pleases us most, in the state to which we are re-
selves be carried away tyrannically by her: reason duced, in proportion to our present strength and
alone must guide our inclinations. knowledge.
Montaigne, Essays, 11, 8, Affection of Leibniz, Theodi(y, 289
Fathers
38 If through defects that may happen out of the

33 True freedom is to have power over oneself for ordinary course of Nature, any one comes not to
everything. such a degree of reason wherein he might be sup-
Montaigne, Essays, III, 12, Of Physiognomy posed capable of knowing the law, and so living
within the rules of it, he is never capable of being
34 Hamlet. Blest are those a free man, he is never let loose to the disposure of
Whose blood and judgement are so well commin- hisown will; because he knows no bounds to it,

gled, has not understanding, its proper guide, but is

That they are not a pipe for fortune’s finger continued under the tuition and government of
To sound what stop she please. Give me that man others all the time his own understanding is inca-
That is not passion’s slave, and I will wear him pable of that charge.
In my heart’s core, ay, in my heart of heart. Locke, II Civil Government, VI, 60
Shakespeare, Hamlet, III, ii, 73
39 A man on the rack is not at liberty to lay by the
35 The impotence of man
govern or restrain the
to idea of pain, and divert himself with other con-
affects I call bondage, for a man who is under templations: and sometimes a boisterous passion
their control is not his own master, but is mastered hurries our thoughts, as a hurricane does our bod-
by fortune, in whose power he is, so that he is ies, without leaving us the liberty of thinking on
often forced to follow the worse, although he sees other things, which we would rather choose. But
the better before him. as soon as the mind regains the power to stop or
Spinoza, Ethics, IV, Preface continue, begin or forbear, any of these motions of
the body without, or thoughts within, according
36 It will easily be seen in what consists the differ- as it thinks fit to prefer either to the other, we
ence between a man who is led by affect or opin- then consider the man as a free agent again.
ion alone and one who is led by reason. The for- Locke, Concerning Human
mer, whether he wills it or not, does those things Understanding, Bk. II, XXI, 12
of which he is entirely ignorant, but the latter
docs the will of no one but himself, and does those 40 Without liberty, the understanding would be to
things only which he knows are of greatest impor- no purpose: and without understanding, liberty (if
tance in life, and which he therefore desires al^ve it could be) would signify nothing. If a man sees
all things. I call the former, therefore, a slave, and what would do him good or harm, what would
the latter free. make him happy or miserable, without being able
Spinoza, Ethics, IV, Prop. 66, Schol. to move himself one step towards or from it, what
ishe the better for seeing? And he that is at liberty
37 We may say that we are immune from bondage in to ramble in perfect darkness, what is his liberty
so far as we act with a distinct knowledge, but better than if he were driven up and down as a
that we
are the slaves of passion in so far as our bubble by the force of the wind? The being acted
perceptions are confused. In this sense we have by a blind impulse from without, or from within.
 578 I
Chapter 9. Ethics

is little odds. The first, therefore, and great use of inclinations under his rule (that of reason);
and
liberty is to hinder blind precipitancy; the princi- this is a positive precept of command over hhnself
pal c.xcrcise of freedom is to stand still, open the which is additional to the prohibition, namely
eyes, look about, and take a vic^s' of the conse- that he should not allow himself to be governed
quence of what we arc going to do, as much as the by his feelings and inclinations (the duty of cpa.
tveight of the matter requires. tfy); since, unless reason takes the reins of govem-
Locke, Concfming Human ment into own hands, the feelings and inclina-
its

Undnstanding, Bk. II, XXI, 69 uons play the master over the man.
Kant, Introduction to the Metaplqsiail
41 When a man gives himself up to the government Elements of Ethics, X\1
of —
a ruling passion, or, in other words, when his
Hobby-Horse gro\N’S headstrong, farcvs'cll cool — 47 The laws of freedom, as distinguished from the
reason and fair discretion! laws of nature, arc moral laws. So far as they refer
Sterne, Tristram Shandj, II, 5 only to external actions and their lawfulness, they
arc called juridical', but if they' also require that, as
42 Moral alone makes [man] truly mas-
liberty . . . laws, they shall themselves be the determining
mere impulse of appetite is
ter of himself; for the principles of our actions, they arc ethical The
slavery, while obedience to a law which we pre- agreement of an action with juridical laws is its
scribe to ourselves is liberty'. legality; the agreement of an action with ethical

Rousseau,
43 In vain do we seek freedom under the power of
the laws. The lau-s! Where is there any law?
is there any respect for law? Under the
Social Contract^ I, 8 laws is its morality. The freedom to which the for-
mer laws refer, can only be freedom in external
practice; but the freedom to which the latter laws
refer is freedom in the internal as well as the ex-
ternal exercise of the actirity of the will in so far

name of law you have cNxr>’%vhcTe seen the rule ol as it is detennined by laws of reason. So, in theo-
self-interest and human passion. But the eternal retical philosophy, it is said that only the objects
laYNS of nature and of order exist. For the wise of the external senses arc in space, but all the ob-
man they take the place of positive law; they are jects both of internal and c-xtcmal sense arc m
written in the depths of his heart by conscience time; because the rcprcscntalioiis of both, as being
and reason; let him obey these laws and be free; representations, so far belong all to the internal
for there is no slave but the evil-doer, for he al- sense. In like manner, whether freedom is riewed
v.'ays docs c\’il not to be
against his will. Libert)' is in reference to the cxtcmal or the internal action
found in any form of government, she is in the of the will, its laws, as pure practical laws of rea-
heart of the free man, he bears her Ns'ith him cv- son for the free acti\nt)’ of the will generally, must
ery'w'hcre. at the same time be inner principles for its deter-
Rousseau, Emile^ V mination, ;il though they may not alw'ays be con-
sidered in this relation.
44 It is . . . the moral law, of which we become di- Kant, General IrJwductisn
rectly conscious (as soon as wc trace for ourselves to the Metaphysic of Morals, I

maxims of the wall), that first presents itself to us,

and leads directly to the concept of freedom, inas- 48 I am free w’hcn my existence depends upon
. . .

much as reason presents it as a principle of deter- mj’sclf.This self-contained existence of spirit is

mination not to be outw'cighcd by any sensible none other than self-consciousness, consciousness
conditions, nay, %s'holiy independent of them. of one’s owTi being. Twx things must be distin-
Kant, Criiiqut of Practical Rcasonj guished in consciousness; first, the fact that I knout;
Vu I, I, 1 secondly, what / know. In self consciousness these
are mci^cd in one; for spirit knows itself. It in\*oK*cs
45 Freedom and the consciousness of it as a faculty of an appreciation of its owm nature, as also an ener-
following the moral Jaw with un^'iclding resolu- gy' enabling it to realize itself; to make itself actual-
tion is independence of inclinations^ at least as modxxs ly that w'hich it is potentially.

determining (though not as affecting) our desire, Hegel, Philosophy of History, Introduction, 3
and so far as I am conscious of this freedom in
following my moral maxims, it is the only source 49 The slave is doomed to worship Time and Fate
of an unaltered contentment w’hich is necessarily and Death, because they' are greater than any-
connected with it and rests on no sp>cdal feeling. thing he finds in himself, and because all his
Kant, Critique of Practical Reason, thoughts arc of things svhich they' devour. But,
Pi. I, n, 2 great as they arc, to think of them greatly, to fed
their passionless splendor, is greater still. And
46 Virtue ... in so far as it is based on internal such thought makes us free men; wx no longer
freedom, contains a positive command for man, bow before the inevi tabic in Oriental subjection,
namely, that he should bring all his pow'crs and but wx absorb it, and make it a part of omselvxs.
 Conscience \
579

To abandon the struggle for private happiness, to tween the ego and the id we find a picture of the
expel eagerness of temporary desire, to burn
all less ideal situation in which the rider is obliged to

with passion for eternal things this is emancipa- — guide his horse in the direction in which it itself
tion, and this is the free man’s worship. wants to go.
Russell, A Free Man*s Worship Freud, New Introductory Lectures on
P^cho-AnalysiSi XXXI
50 Anyone who has successfully undergone the train-
ing of learning and recognizing the truth about 52 Ifwe state the moral law ... as the injunction to
himself henceforth strengthened against the
is each self on every occasion to identify the self with
dangers of immorality, even if his standard of mo- a new growth that is possible, then obedience to
rality should in some respect deviate from the law is one with moral freedom.
common one. Dewey, Ethics, Ft. 11, XV, 5
Freud, General Introduction to
P^cho-Anafysis, XXVII 53 The moral law is that of a pedagogue,
office of the
to protect and educate us in the use of freedom. At
51 One might compare the relation of the ego to the the end of this period of instruction, we are en-
id with that between a rider and his horse. The franchised from every servitude, even from the
horse provides the locomotive energy, and the rid- servitude of law, since Love made us one in spirit

er has the prerogative of determining the goal and with the wisdom that the source of Law.
is

of guiding the movements of his powerful mount Mari tain. Freedom in the Modem World
towards it. But all too often in the relations be-

9.5 Conscience

According to its etymology, the word “con- aspects that might make them exceptions to
science,” deriving as it does from conscire, the rule. Conscience is needed to make the
should have almost the same meaning as judgment that considers the principle or
“conscious,” indicating awareness or knowl- rule in relation to this or that particular
edge. But that is not the meaning of the case, deciding either that the case calls for
word as it has come to be used in discourse conformity to the rule or that the case justi-
about moral problems. In that context, it is fies dispensation from it.

used either to signify a sense of right and One quotation that the reader might ex-
wrong, whether innate or acquired; or to pect to find here —Hamlet’s statement that
signify the inner voice that determines the “conscience doth make cowards of us all”
judgment an individual makes concerning has been placed elsewhere because, when it
what he should or should not do, or approve is read in the context of the whole “To be or
of, in a particular case. not to be” speech, the meaning is clearly
Conscience does not displace but rather that it is a certain kind of knowledge, not
applies the principles or rules of the moral the moral conscience, that causes us to be-
law, which is discussed in Section 9.3. Such come overtimid or overcautious when con-
principles or rules are universal or general templating suicide.
formulations applicable to a wide variety of Among the quotations assembled below,
individual cases, some of which clearly fall the reader will find some that discuss free-
under the rule and some of which involve dom of conscience and the right of private
 580 Chapters. Ethics

judgment in moral matters. These should be science —

remorse and a sense of guilt. Other
read in connection with related passages passages from Freud on the sense of guilt
that have been placed in Section 13.2 on with be found in Section 12.4 on Grime and
Freedom of Thought and Expression: Censor- Punishment. In Freud’s theory of the matter,
SHIP. The
reader will also find, in quotations the reader will learn, the repressive stric-
taken from Freud, the discussion of psycho- tures of the superego represent the voice of
logical phenomena that are related to con- conscience.

1 The best audience for the practice of virtue is the Devised at first to keep the strong in awe:
approval of onc^s own conscience. Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our
Cicero, Disputations^ II, 26 law.
Shakespeare, Richard III, V, iii, 309
2 Where a bad conscience, some circum-
there is

stance or other may provide one with impunity, 7 Macbeth. Better be with the dead,
but never with freedom from anxiety. Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace,
Seneca, Letters to LuciliuSj 105 Than on the torture of the mind to lie
In restless ecstasy.
3 There is nothing so preoccupied, so distracted, so Shakespeare, Macbeth, III, ii, 19
rent and tom by so many and such varied pas-
sions as an evil mind. For when it cherishes some
8 Another doctrine repugnant to civil society is that
dark design, it is tormented with hope, care and
whatsoever a man docs against his conscience is
anguish of spirit, and even when it has accom-
sin;and it dependeth on the presumption of mak-
plished its criminal purpose, it is racked by anxi-
ing himself judge of good and evil. For a man’s
ety, remorse and the fear of all manner of punish-
conscience and his judgement is the same thing;
ments.
and as the judgement, so also the conscience may
Quintilian, Institutio Oratorio, XII, 1
be erroneous. Therefore, though he that is subject
4 Conscience is said to witness, to bind, or stir up,
to no civil law sinneth in all he does against his
and also to accuse, torment, or rebuke. And all
conscience, because he has no other rule to follow
these follow the application of knowledge or sci-
but his own reason, yet it is not so with him that

ence to what we do, which application is made in lives ina Commonwealth, because the law is the
public conscience by which he hath already un-
three ways. One way in so far as we recognize that
we have done or not done something: 77iy con- dertaken to be guided.
science kmweih that thou hast often spoken evil of others,
Hobbes, Leviathan, II, 29

and according to this, conscience is said to wit-

ness. In another way, so far as through the con- 9 God. And I will place within them as a guide
science we judge that something should be done My Umpire whom if they will hear,
Conscience,
or not done, and in this sense, conscience is said to Light after light well us’d they shall attain,
stir up or to bind. In the third way, so far as by And to the end persisting, safe arrive.
conscience we judge that something done is well Milton, Paradise Lost, III, 194
done or ill done, and in this sense conscience is
said to excuse, accuse, or torment. Now, it is clear 10 Adam. O Conscience, into what Abyss of fears
that all these things follow the actual application And horrors hast thou driv’n me; out of which
of knowledge to what we do- I find no way, from deep to deeper plung’d!
Aquinas, Sumrtia TTieologica, I, 79, 13 X, 842
Milton, Paradise Lost,

5 The laws of conscience, which we say are born of

nature, are born of custom. Each man, holding in 1 1 A good conscience is never lawless in the worst
inward veneration the opinions and the behavior regulated state, and will provide those laws for

approved and accepted around him, cannot break itself, which the neglect of legislators hath forgot-
loose from them without remorse, or apply himself ten to supply.
to them without self-satisfaction. Fielding, Tom Jones, XVII, 3

Montaigne, I, 23, Of Custom

12 Surely if there is any thing in this life which a
6 King Richard. Conscience is but a word that cow- man may depend upon, rmd to the knowledge of
ards use. which he is capable of arriving upon the most m-
 —
9.5. Conscience 581

disputable evidence,it must be this very thing, what is is that he pays no heed to its dic-
meant
whether he has a good conscience or no. tates. Forhe really had none, he would not take
if

Sterne, Tristram Shandy^ II, 17 credit to himself for anything done according to
duty, nor reproach himself with violation of duty,

13 Whenever a man talks loudly against religion, al-
ways suspect that it is not his reason, but his pas-
sions, which have got the better of his creed. A
bad life and a good belief are disagreeable and
troublesome neighbours, and where they separate,
depend upon it, 'tis for no other cause but quiet-
and therefore he would be unable even to con-
ceive the duty of having a conscience.
I pass by the manifold subdivisions of con-
science, and only observe what follows from what
has just been said, namely, that there is no such
thing as an erring conscience. No doubt it is possi-

ness’ sake,
ble sometimes to err in the objective judgement

Sterne, Tristram Shandy, II, 17 whether something is a duty or not; but I cannot
err in the subjective whether I have compared it
with my practical (here judicially acting) reason
14 I need only consult myself with regard to what I
for the purpose of that judgement: for if I erred I
wish to do; what I feel to be right is right, what I
would not have exercised practical judgement at
feel to be wrong is wrong; conscience is the best
all, and in that case there is neither truth nor
casuist; and it is only when we haggle with con-
error. Unconscientiousness is not want of conscience,
science that we have recourse to the subtleties of
but the propensity not to heed its judgement. But
argument.
when a man is conscious of having acted accord-
Rousseau, EmiU, IV
ing to his conscience, then, as far as regards guilt
or innocence, nothing more can be required of
15 There is ... at the bottom of our hearts an in- him, only he is bound to enlighten his understanding
nate principle of justice and virtue, by which, in as to what is duty or not; but when it comes or has
spite of our maxims, we judge our own actions or come to action, then conscience speaks involun-
those of others to be good or evil; and it is this tarily and inevitably. To act conscientiously can,
principle that I call conscience, therefore, not be a duty, since othenvise it would
Rousseau, Emile, IV be necessary to have a second conscience, in order
to be conscious of the act of the first.

16 Johnson. Conscience nothing more than a con-

is The duty here is only to cultivate our con-
viction felt by ourselves
of something to be done, science, to quicken our attention to the voice of
or something to be avoided; and in questions of the internal judge, and to use all means to secure
simple unperplexed morality, conscience is very obedience to it, and is thus our indirect duty.
often a guide that may be trusted. But before con- Kant, Introduction to the Metaphysical
science can determine, the state of the question is Elements of Ethics, XII
supposed to be completely known. In questions of
law, or of fact, conscience is very often confound- 18 Conscience is an instinct to pass judgment upon
ed with opinion. No man’s conscience can tell him ourselves in accordance wdth moral lawrs. It is not
the right of another man; they must be known by a mere faculty, but an instinct; and its judgment
rational investigation or historical enquiry. Opin- is not logical, but judicial. We have the faculty to
ion, which he that holds it may call his con- judge ourselves logically in terms of laws of moral-
science, may teach some men that religion would ity; we can make such use as we please of this
be promoted, and quiet preserved, by granting to faculty. But conscience has the power to summon
the people universally the choice of their minis- us against our will before the judgment-seat to be
ters. But it is a conscience very ill informed that judged on account of the righteousness or unrigh-
violates the rights of one man, for the convenience teousness of our actions. It is thus an instinct and
of another. not merely a faculty of judgment, and it is an
Bos^veII, Life ofJohnson (May 1, 1773) instinct to judge, not in the logical, but in the
judicial sense.
17 Conscience not a thing to be acquired, and it is
is Kant, Lectures on Ethics, Conscience
not a duty to acquire it; but every man, as a mor-
al being, has it originally within him. To be 19 He who has no immediate loathing for what is
bound to have a conscience would be as much as morally wicked, and finds no pleasure in what is
to say to be under a duty to recognize duties. For morally good, has no moral feeling, and such a
conscience is practical reason which, in every case man has no conscience. He who goes in fear of
of law', holds before a man his duty for acquittal being prosecuted for a wricked deed, does not re-
or condemnation; consequently it does not refer to proach himself on the score of the wickedness of
an object, but only to the subject (affecting the hismisdemeanour, but on the score of the painful
moral feeling by its own act); so that it is an inevi- consequences which await him; such a one has no
table fact, not an obligation and duty. When, conscience, but only a semblance of it. But he who
therefore, it is said, “This man has no conscience,” has a sense of the wickedness of the deed itself, be
 582 I
Chapter 9, Ethics

the consequences what they may, has a con- sununed up in that short but imperious
word
science. ought, so full of high significance. It is the
most
Kant, Lectures on Ethics, Conscience noble of all the attributes of man, leading
him
without a moment’s hesitation to risk his life
for
20 Conscience is the representative within us of the that of a fellow-creature; or after due delibera-
divine judgment-seat: it weighs our dispositions tion, impelled simply by the deep feeling of
right
and actions in the scales of a law which is holy or duty, to sacrifice it in some great cause.
and pure; we cannot deceive it, and, lastly, we Danvin, Descent of Man, 1, \
cannot escape it because, like the divine omni-
presence, it is always with us. 25 The moral sense follo%vs, firstly, from the enduring
Kant, Lectures on Ethics, Conscience and ever-present nature of the social instincts; sec-
ondly, from man’s appreciation of the approba-
21 We may speak in a very lofty strain about duty,
tion and disapprobation of his
and third-
fello\N's;
and talk of the kind is uplifting and broadens hu-
ly, from the high activity mental faculties,
of his
man sympathies, but if it never comes to anything
with past impressions extremely vivid; and in
specific it ends in being wearisome. Mind de-
these latter respects he differs from the lower ani-
mands particularity and is entitled to it. But con-
mals. Owing to this condition of mind, man can-
is this deepest inward solitude with oneself
science
not avoid looking both backwards and forwards,
where everything external and every restriction
and comparing past impressions. Hence after
has disappeared —
complete withdrawal into
this
some temporary desire or passion has mastered his
oneself. As conscience, man
is no longer shackled
social instincts, he reflects and compares the now
by the aims of particularity, and consequently in
weakened impression of such past impulses with
attaining that position he has risen to higher
the ever-present social instincts; and he then feels
ground, the ground of the modern world, which
that sense of dissatisfaction which all unsatisfied
for the first time has reached this consciousness,
instincts leave behind them, he therefore resolves
reached this sinking into oneself. The more sensu-
ous consciousness of earlier epochs had something
to act differently for the future, —
and this is con-
science.
external and given confronting it, either religion
Darwin, Descent of Man, III, 21
or law. But conscience knows itself as thinking
and knows that what alone has obligatory force
26 not because men’s desires are strong that they
It is
forme is this that I think.
act it is because their consciences are weak.
ill;
When we speak of conscience, it may easily be
There is no natural connection between strong
thought that, in virtue of its form, which is ab-
impulses and a weak conscience. The natural con-
stract inwardness, conscience is at this point with-
nection is the other way. To say that one person’s
out more ado true conscience. But true conscience
desires and feelings are stronger and more various
determines itself to will what is absolutely good
than those of another, merely to say that he has
is
and obligatory and is this self-determination.
more of the of human nature, and is
raw material
Hegel, Philosophy of Right, Additions,
therefore capable, perhaps of more evil, but cer-
Pars. 136-137
tainly of more good. Strong impulses are but an-
other name for energy. Energy may be turned to
22 A man could not have anything upon his con-
science God did not exist, for the relationship
if
bad uses; but more good may always be made of
between the individual and God, the God-rela- an energetic nature, than of an indolent and im-
passive one. Those who have most natural feeling
tionship, is the conscience, and that is why it is so
are always those whose cultivated feelings may be
terrible to have even the least thing upon one*s
made the strongest. The same strong susceptibili-
conscience, because one is immediately conscious
of the infinite weight of God. tieswhich make the personal impulses vivid and
powerful, are also the source from whence are
Kierkegaard, Works of Love, I, 3B
generated the most passionate love of virtue, and
23 The conscience really does not, and ought not to the sternest self-control. It is through the cultiva-

monopolize the whole of our lives, any more than tion of these that society both docs its duty and

the heart or the head- It is as liable to disease as protects its interests: not by rejecting the stuff of

any other part. I have seen some whose con- which heroes are made, because it knows not how
sciences, owing undoubtedly to former indul- to make them.
gence, had grown to be as irritable as spoilt chil- Mill, On Liberty, III

dren, and at length gave them no peace.

Thoreau, The Christian Fable 27 The internal sanction of duty, whatever our stan-
dard of duty may be, is one and the same a feel- —
24 I fully subscribe to the judgment of those writers ing in our own mind; a pain, more or less intense,
who maintain that of all the differences between attendant on violation of duty, which in properly
man and the lower animals, the moral sense or cultivated moral natures rises, in the more serious
conscience is by far the most important. It is . . . cases, into shrinking from it as an impossibility.
 9.6. Good and Evil \
583

This feeling, when disinterested, and connecting where it came from, ie., directed against the ego.
the pure idea of duty, and not with
itself ivith It is there taken over by a part of the ego that
some particular form of it, or with any of the distinguishes itself from the rest as a super-ego,
merely accessory circumstances, is the essence of and now, in the form of conscience, exercises the
Conscience. same propensity to harsh aggressiveness against
Mill, Utilitarianism, III the ego that the ego would have liked to enjoy
against others. The tension between the strict su-

28 I bad conscience as the serious illness

regard the per-ego and the subordinate ego wc call the sense
which man was bound to contract under the stress of guilt; it manifests itself as the need for punish-
of the most radical change which he has ever ex- 30 ment. Civilization, therefore, obtains the mastery
perienced —that change, when he found himself over the dangerous love of aggression in individu-
finally imprisoned within the pale of society and als by enfeebling and disarming it and setting up

of peace. an institution within their minds to keep watch

Nietzsche, Gairalogy of Morals, II, 16 over it, like a garrison in a conquered city.
Freud, Civilization and Its Discontents, VII
29 What means docs civilization make use of to hold
in check the aggressiveness that opposes it, to This increased sensitivity of morals in conse-
make it harmless, perhaps to get rid of it? Some of quence of ill-luck has been illustrated by Mark
these measures we have already come to know, Twain in a delicious little story: The First Melon I
tliough not yet the one that is apparently the most ever Stole. This melon, as it happened, was unripe.

important. Wc can study it in the evolution of the I heard Mark Twain tell the story himself in one

individual. What happens in him to render his of his lectures. After he had given out the title, he

craring for aggression innocuous? Something very stopped and asked himself in a doubtful way:
curious, that we should never have guessed and “Was it the first?” This was the whole story.
that yet seems simple enough. The aggressiveness Freud, Civilization and Its Discontents, VII
is introjcctcd, internalized; in fact, it is sent back

9.6 I
Good and Evil

The terms good and evil are used in other good than a pearl, though a pearl is more
contexts than those of ethical or moral dis- valuable to man.
course. According to Genesis, God surveying As the reader will find in the quotations
his creation judged it to be good, very good. below, the or the good for man
human good
Similar judgments are made by human art- issometimes discussed in the singular and
ists, expressing their estimation of the excel- sometimes spoken of as a class of goods. The
lence or perfection of the work produced. In reader will find passages that consider “the
this meaning of the word, beauty, excel- Good,” or that assert that the only morally
lence, or perfection represents a goodness in- good thing in the whole world is a good will.
herent in the very being of the thing judged On the other hand, the reader will find enu-
good, without regard to its bearing on hu- merations of the variety of goods, discussions
man conduct or its value for human life. of the order of goods and of the relation of
Such goodness sometimes called “ontolog-
is one good to another, and different classifica-
ical,” in contradistinction to the moral tions of goods, such as the threefold division
goodness of the things that are good for man of them into external goods, goods of the
or good in his behavior. It is in this ontologi- body, and goods of the soul.
cal sense that a mouse is said to be more One distinction that is made by the an-
 584 I
Chapter 9. Ethics

dents has great importance for later discus- evil in the world that He created;
our
sion. It is the distinction between the real knowledge of good and evil and the diremp-
and the apparent good. While acknowledg- tion between knowing what is good
and
ing that men always regard as good that seeking it; the inherent or natural goodness
which they in fact desire, Socrates calls at- of man and the sources or origin of his pro-
tention to the fact that they can be mistaken pensities for evil. Other discussions of the
in theirjudgment, for what they desire may theological aspects of this subject will be
in fact not be good for them or to their ad- found in Section 20.5 on God and in Section
vantage. It is generally admitted that the 20.13 on Sin AND Temptation, Psychological
notion of the good and the notion of the de- aspects ofit are treated in Section 4.4 on

sirable are correlative, but the question re- Desire and Section 4.7 on Pleasure and Pain;
mains whether we call something good be- and also in Section 5.7 on Will: Free Choice.
cause we desire it; or ought to desire it, The reader is also referred to Section 16.6
whether we do or not, because it is in fact on Beauty and the Beautiful for the relation
good for us; or both. Fundamental differ- of goodness to beauty; and to Section 11.2
ences in the approach to moral philosophy on Wealth and Poverty for the economic dis-
emerge from different answers to this ques- cussion of value and for the consideration of
tion. economic goods. In this chapter. Section 9.7
The quotations below touch on many on Right and Wrong, Section 9.8 on Happi-
other points: whether pleasure is the only ness, and Section 9.10 on Virtue and Vice
good or just one of the goods; the goodness deal with matters closely related to themes
of God and the problem of the existence of treated here.

1 And God saw every thing that he had made, and, the good, sois the sinner; and he that swearcth, as

behold, it was very good. he that feareth an oath.

Genesis 1:31 This is an evil among all things that arc done
under the sun, that there is one event unto all:
2 So I and considered all the oppressions
returned, yea, also the heart of the sons of men is full of evil,
that are done under the sun: and behold the tears and madness is in their heart while they live, and
of such as were oppressed, and they had no com- after that they go to the dead.
forter; and on the side of their oppressors there Ecclesiastes 9:1-3

was power; but they had no comforter.

Wherefore I praised the dead which are al- 4 Philoctetes. The Gods . . . find their pleasure in

ready dead more than the living which are yet turning back from Death the rogues and trick-
sters, but the just and good they arc always send-
alive.
ing out of the world.
Yea, better is he than both they, which hath not
Sophocles, PhilocteteSj 447
yet been, who hath not seen the evil work that is

done under the sun.

5 Hecuba. Goodness can be taught,
Ecclesiastes 4:1—3
and any man who knows what goodness is
knows evil too, because he judges
3 For all this I considered in my heart even to de- from the good.
and the wise, and
clare all this, that the righteous, Euripides, Hecuba, 600
their works, are in the hand of God: no man
knoweth either love or hatred by all that is before 6 Chorus Leader. I hate all evil men who plot injus-
them. tice,
All things come alike to all: there is one event Then trick it out with subterfuge. I would
to the righteous, and to the wicked; to the good Prefer as friend a good man ignorant
and to the clean, and to the unclean; to him that Than one more clever who is evil too.

sacrificeth, and to him that sacrificeth not: as is Euripides, Ion, 832

 9.6. Good and Evil 585

7 SocraUs. like one another, and

The good are evils, and think that evils are hurtful to the posses-
friends to one another; and the bad, as is . . . know that they
sor of them, will be hurt by them?
often said of them, are never at unity with one Men. They must know it.
another or with themselves; for they are passion- Soc. And must they not suppose that those who

ate and restless, and anything which is at variance are hurt are miserable in proportion to the hurt
and enmity with itself is not likely to be in union which is inflicted upon them?
or harmony with any other thing. Men. How can
be othenvise?
it

Plato, Lysisj 214B Soc. But are not the miserable ill-fated?
Men. Yes, indeed.
8 Socrates. No man voluntarily pursues evil, or that Soc. And does any one desire to be miserable
which he thinks to be evil. To prefer evil to good and ill-fated?

is not in human nature; and when a man is com- Men. should say not, Socrates.
I

pelled to choose two evils, no one will

one of Soc. if there is no one who desires to be
But
choose the greater when he may have the less. miserable, there is no one, Meno, who desires evil;
Plato, Protagoras, 358B for what is misery but the desire and possession of
evil?

9 Mcno. Well then, Socrates, virtue, as I take it, is Men. That appears to be the truth, Socrates,
and I admit that nobody desires evil.
when he, who desires the honourable, is able to
iSbe. And yet, were you not saying just now that
provide it for himself; so the poet says, and I say
too virtue is the desire and power of attaining good?
Men. Yes, I did say so.
Virtue is the desire of things honourable and the power Soc. But if this be affirmed, then the desire of
of attaining them. good is common to all, and one man is no better
than another in that respect?
Socrates. And does he who desires the honour-
Men. True.
able also desire the good?
Soc. And if one man is not better than another
Men. Certainly.
in desiring good, he must be better in the power of
Soc. Then are there some who desire the evil
attaining it?
and others who desire the good? Do not all men,
my dear sir, desire good? Men. Exactly.
Soc. Then, according to your definition, virtue
Men. I think not.
Soc. There arc some who desire evil?
would appear to be the power of attaining good?
Men. Yes. Men. I entirely approve, Socrates, of the man-
Soc. Do you mean that they think the evils
ner in which you now view this matter.
Soc. Then let us see whether what you say is
which they desire, to be good; or do they know
true from another point of view; for very likely
that they are evil and yet desire them?
Men. Both, I think.
you may be right.

Soc. And do you really imagine, Meno, that a Plato, Meno, 77

man knows evils to be evils and desires them not-

withstanding? 10 Socrates. God, if he be good,
is not the author of all

Men. Certainly I do. things, as the many

but he is the cause of a
assert,

Soc. And desire is of possession? few things only, and not of most things that occur
Men. Yes, of possession. to men. For few are the goods of human life, and
Soc. And does he think that the evils will do many are the evils, and the good is to be attribut-
good to him who possesses them, or does he know ed to God alone; of the evils the causes are to be
that they will do him harm? sought elsewhere, and not in him. That God . . .

Men. There are some who think that the evils being good is the author of evil to any one is to be
will do them good, and others who know that they strenuously denied, and not to be said or sung or
willdo them harm. heard in verse or prose by any one whether old or
And, in your opinion, do those who think
Soc. young in any well-ordered commonwealth.
that they will do them good know that they are Plato, Republic, II, 379B
evils?
Men. Certainly not. 11 Socrates. No
one can deny that all percipient
•Soc. Is it not obvious that those who are igno- beings desireand hunt after good, and are eager
rant of their nature do not desire them; but they to catch and have the good about them, and care
desire what they suppose to be goods although not for the attainment of anything which is not
they arc really evils; and if they are mistaken and accompanied by good.
suppose the evils to be good they really desire Protarchus. That is undeniable.
goods? Soc. Now let us part off the life of pleasure from
Aien. Yes, in that case. the life wsdom, and pass them
of in review.
Soc. Well, and do those who, as you say, desire Pro. How do you mean?
 AA

586 Chapter 9, Ethics

Soc. Let there be no wisdom in the life of plea- these in one, or to one that was made out of the
sure, nor any pleasure in the life of wisdom, for if union of the two?
either of them is the chief good, it cannot be sup- Pro. Out of the union, that is, of pleasure with
posed to want anything, but if either is shown to mind and wisdom?
want anything, then it cannot really be the chief Soc. Yes, that is the life which I mean.
good. There can be no difference of opinion; not
Pro.
Pro. Impossible. some but all would surely choose this third rather
Soc, And will you help us to test these two lives? than cither of the other two, and in addidon to
Pro. Certainly. them.
Soc, Then ans^ve^. But do you see the consequence?
Soc.

Pro. Ask. To be sure I do. The consequence is, that

Pro.
Soc. Would you choose, Protarchus, to live all two out of the three lives which have been pro-
your life long in the enjoyment of the greatest posed are neither sufficient nor eligible for man or
pleasures? for animal.
Pro. Certainly I should. Plato, Philebus, 20B
Soc. Would you consider that there was still

anything wanting to you if you had perfect plea- 12 Athenian Stranger. Goods are of two kinds: there arc
sure? human and there are divine goods, and the hu-
Pro. Certainly not. man hang upon the divine; and the state which
Soc. Reflect; would you not want wisdom and attains the greater, at the same time acquires the
intelligence and forethought, and similar qual- less, or,not having the greater, has neither. Of the
ities? would you not at any rate want sight? lesser goods the first is health, the second beauty,
Pro. Why should I? Having pleasure I should the third strength, including swiftness in running
have all things, and bodily agility generally, and the fourth is

Soc. Living thus, you would always throughout wealth. . . . Wisdom is chief and leader of the
your life enjoy the greatest pleasures? divine class of goods, and next follows temper-
Pro. I should. ance; and from the union of these two with cour-
Soc. But if you had neither mind, nor memory, age springs justice, and fourth in the scale of vir-
nor knowledge, nor true opinion, you would in the tue is courage,
first place be utterly ignorant of whether you were Plato, LawSj I, 631
pleased or not, because you would be entirely de-
void of intelligence. 13 Athenian Stranger. The goods of which the many
Pro. Certainly. speak are not really good: first in the catalogue is
Soc. And similarly, if you had no memory you placed health, beauty next, wealth third; and
would not recollect that you had ever been then innumerable others, as for example to have a
pleased, nor would the slightest recollection of the keen eye or a quick ear, and in general to have all
pleasure which you feel at any moment remain the senses perfect; or, again, to be a tyrant and do
with you; and you had no true opinion you
if as you and the final consummation of happi-
like;
would not think that you were pleased when you ness have acquired all these things, and when
is to
were; and if you had no power of calculation you you have acquired them to become at once im-
would not be able to calculate on future pleasure, mortal. . . . While to the just and holy all these

and your life would be the life, not of a man, but things are the best of possessions, to the unjust
of an oyster or puimo marinus. Could this be other- they are all, including even health, the greatest of

wise? evils.
Pro. No. Plato, LawSy II, 661
Soc. But is such a life eligible?
Pro. I cannot answer you, Socrates; the argu- 14 Let us state, in view of the fact that all
. . .

ment has taken away from me the power of
speech.
Soc. We
must keep up our spirits; let us now
take the of mind and examine it in turn.
life
Pro. And what is this life of mind?
Soc. I want to know whether any one of us
would consent to live, having wisdom and mind
and knowledge and memory of all things, but
having no sense of pleasure or pain, and wholly
unaffected by these and the like feelings?
Pro. Neither life, Socrates, appears eligible to
me, or is likely, as I should imagine, to be chosen
by any one else,
Soc. What would you say, Protarchus, to both of
knowledge and every pursuit aims at some good,
what it is that we say political science aims at and
— what is the highest of all goods achievable by ac-
tion.Verbally there is very general agreement; for
both the general run of men and people of superi-
or refinement say that it is happiness, and identify
living well and doing well with being happy; but
with regard to what happiness is they differ, and
the many do not give the same account as the
wise. For the former think it is some plain and
obvious thing, like pleasure, wealth, or honour;
they differ, however, from one another- and often —
even the same man identifies it with different
things, with health when he is ill, with wealth
 9.6. Good and Evil 587

when he is poor; but, conscious of their ignorance,
they admire those who
proclaim some great ideal
that is above their comprehension.
To judge from the lives that men lead, most
men, and men of the most vulgar type, seem (not
without some ground) to identify the good, or
happiness, with pleasure; which is the reason why
they love the life of enjoyment. For there are, we
may say, three prominent types of
mentioned, the political, and thirdly the contem-
or some one virtue our account is in harmony; for
to virtue belongs virtuous activity. But it makes,
. . . perhaps, no small difference whether we place the
chief good in possession or in use, in state of mind
or in activity. For the state of mind may exist
without producing any good result, as in a man
who is asleep or in some other way quite inactive,
but the activity cannot; for one who has the activ-
life —that just be acting, and acting well and
ity will of necessity
as in the Olympic Gamesit is not the most beauti-

plative life. Now the mass of mankind are evi- ful and the strongest that are crowned but those

dently quite slavish in their tastes, preferring a life who compete. ... So those who act win, and
suitable to beasts. ... A
consideration of the rightly wn, the noble and good things in life.
prominent types of life shows that people of supe- Aristotle, Ethics, 1098^13
rior refinement and of active disposition identify
happiness with honour; for this is, roughly speak- 16 It is harder with pleasure than with anger,
to fight
ing, the end of the political life. But it seems too to use Heraclitus* phrase, butboth art and virtue
superficial to be what we are looking for, since it is are always concerned with what is harder; for
thought to depend on those who bestow honour even the good is better when it is harder.
rather than on him who receives it, but the good Aristotle, Ethics, 1105^8
15 we divine to be something proper to a man and
not easily taken from him. . . .
17 It is no easy task to be good. For in everything it is
The money-making is one undertaken
life of no easy task to find the middle, e.g. to find the
under compulsion, and wealth is evidently not the middle of a circle is not for every one but for him
good we arc seeking; for it is merely useful and for who knows; so, too, any one can get angry that —
the sake of something else. And so one might rath- is easy —or give or spend money; but to do this to
aforenamed objects to be ends; for they
er take the the right person, to the right extent, at the right
But it is evident that not
arc loved for themselves. time, with the right motive, and in the right way,
even these are ends; yet many arguments have that is not for every one, nor is it easy; wherefore
been thrown away in support of them. goodness is both rare and laudable and noble.
Aristotle, Ethics^ 1095^13 Aristotle, Ethics, 1109^24

Goods have been divided into three classes, and 18 Those who is the object of wish
say that the good
some are described as external, others as relating must admit consequence that that which the
in
to soul or to body; we call those that relate to soul man who does not choose aright wishes for is not
most properly and truly goods, and psychical ac- an object of wish (for if it is to be so, it must also
tions and activities %ve class as relating to soul. be good; but it was, if it so happened, bad); while
Therefore our account must be sound, at least ac- those who say the apparent good is the object of
cording to this view, which is an old one and wish must admit that there is no natural object of
agreed on by philosophers. It is correct also in wish, but only what seems good to each man. Now
that we identify the end with certain actions and different things appear good to different people,
activities; for thus it falls among goods of the soul and, if it so happens, even contrary things.
and not among external goods. Another belief If these consequences are unpleasing, are we to
which harmonizes with our account is that the say that absolutely and in truth the good is the
happy man lives well and does well; for we have object of wish, but for each person the apparent
practically defined happiness as a sort of good life good; that that which is in truth an object of wish
and good action. The characteristics that are is an object of wish to the good man, while any

looked for in happiness seem also, all of them, to chance thing may be so to the bad man, as in the
belong to what we have defined happiness as case of bodies also the things that are in truth
being. For some identify happiness with virtue, wholesome are wholesome for bodies which are in
some with practical wisdom, others with a kind of good condition, while for those that are diseased
philosophic wisdom, others with these, or one of other things are wholesome—or bitter or sweet or
these, accompanied by pleasure or not without hot or heavy, and so on; since the good man
pleasure; while others include also external pros- judges each class of things rightly, and in each the
perity. Now some of these views have been held by truth appears to him? For each state of character
many men and men of old, others by a few emi- has its own ideas of the noble and the pleasant,
nent persons; and it is not probable that either of and perhaps the good man differs from others
these should be entirely mistaken, but rather that most by seeing the truth in each class of things,
they should be right in at least some one respect or being as it were the norm and measure of them.
even in most respects. In most things the error seems to be due to plea-
With those who identify happiness with virtue sure; for it appears a good when it is not. We
 2

588 I
Chapters, Ethics

therefore choose the pleasant as a good, and avoid our greatest pleasures, and our minds are ONtr-
pain as an evil. come wdth anxiety.
Aristotle, Ills'll? Cicero, Dt Finibus, 1 , 13

23 Here (in HappyGroves] patriots live, who, for

19 Evil dcstro>’S even itself, and if it is complete be-
their country’s good,
comes unbearable. were prodigal
In fighting fields, of blood:
Aristotle, Ethics, 1 1 26® 1
unblemish’d Jives here make abode
Priests of
And poets worthy their inspiring god;
20 Those who have done many terrible deeds and And searching wits, of more mechanic parts,
arc hated for their wickedness even shrink from Who grac’d their age with new-invented arts;
life and destroy themselves. And wicked men seek Those who to w'orth their bounty did extend,
for people with whom to spend their days, and And those who knew that bounty to commend.
shun themselves; for they remember many a grev- The heads of these with holy fillets bound,
ious deed, and anticipate others like them, when And all their temples w’ere with garlands crown’d.
they arc by themselves, but when they arc with Virgil, Aeneid, VI
others they forget. And ha\ing nothing lovable in
them they have no feeling of love to themselves. 24 The most part of us desire what is evil through our
Therefore also such men do not rejoice or grieve strangeness to and ignorance of good.
with themselves; for their soul is rent by faction, Plutarch, Artaxerxa
and one element in it by reason of its wickedness
grieves w’hcn it abstains from certain acts, w’hilc 25 What a man applies himself to earnestly, that he
the other part is pleased, and one draws them this naturally loves. Do men then apply themselves
way and the other that, as if they w'crc pulling earnestly to the things which are bad? By no
them in pieces. If a man
cannot at the same time means. Well, do they apply themselves to things
be pained and all events alter a short
pleased, at which in no w^ay concern themseives? Not to these
time he is pained because he was pleased, and he cither. It remains, then, that they employ them-
could have wished that these things had not been selves earnestly only about things which are good;
pleasant to him; for bad men arc laden with re- and if they arc earnestly employed about things,
pentance. they love such things also.

Therefore the bad man does not seem to be
amicably disposed even to himself, because there
is nothing in him to love; so that if to be thus is
the height of wTctchedncss, w'e should strain every
nerve to avoid w'ickedness and should endeavour
to be good; for so and only so can one be either
Epictetus, Discourses, 11, 22
26 The business of the wise and good man is to use
appearances conformably to nature: and as it is
the nature of every soul to assent to the truth, to
dissent from the false, and to remain in suspense

friendly to oneself or a friend to another. as to that which is uncertain; so it is its nature to

Aristotle, Ethics, 1166^12 be moved tow'ard the desire of the good, and to
aversion from the evil; and with respect to that
which is neither good nor bad it feels indifferent
21 Some think that we are made good by nature,
For as the money-changer is not allowed to reject
others by habituation, by teaching.
others
Cresar’s coin, nor the seller of herbs, but if you
Nature’s part evidently does not depend on us,
show the coin, whether he chooses or not, he must
but as a result of some divine causes is present in
give up what is sold for the coin; so it is also in the
those who are truly fortunate; while argument
matter of the soul. When the good appears, it im-
and teaching, w'c may suspect, are not powerful
mediately attracts to itself; the evil repels from
with all men, but the soul of the student must first
itself. But the soul will ne\'er reject the manifest
have been cultivated by means of habits for noble
appearance of the good, any more than persons
joy and noble hatred, like earth which is to nour-
will reject Casar’s coin.
ish the seed. For he who lives as passion directs
Epictetus, Discourses, III, 3
will not hear argument that dissuades him, nor
understand it if he docs; and how’ can w’C per-
27 Seek not the good in things external; seek it in
suade one in such a state to change his ways? And
yourselves: if you do not, you will not find it.
in general passion seems to yield not to argument
Epictetus, Discourses, III, 24
but to force. The character, then, must somehow
be there already with a kinship to virtue, loring
28 As a mark is not set up for the sake of missing the
what is noble and hating what is base.
aim, so neither does the nature of evil e-xist in the
Aristotle, Ethics, 1 1 79^20
world.
Epictetus, Encheiridion, XXVII
22 Ignorance of good and evil is the most upsetting
factor of human life. Because of mistaken ideas on 29 Nothing is evil which is according to nature.
these two matters, we arc frequently deprived of Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, II, 17
 9.6, Good and Evil 589

30 It is a ridiculous thing for a man not to fly from tend awry but advances continuously towards the
his own badness, which is indeed possible, but to is a halt at the Ultimate, be-
superior: thus there
fly from other men’s badness, which is impossible. yond which no ascent is possible: that is, the First
Marcus Aurelius, MediUitionSj VII, 71 Good, the authentic, the supremely sovereign, the
source of good to the rest of things.
31 No longer talk at all about the kind of man that a Matter would have Forming-Idea for its good,
good man ought to be, but be such. since,were it conscious, it would welcome that;
Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, X, 16 body would look to soul, without which it could
not be or endure; soul must look to virtue; still
32 Health and freedom from pain; which of these has higher stands Intellectual-Principle; above that
any great charm? As long as we possess them, we again is the principle we call the Primal. Each of

set no store upon them. Anything which, present,
has no charm and adds nothing to happiness,
which when lacking is desired because of the pres-
ence of an annoying opposite, may reasonably be
called a necessity but not a Good.
Plotinus, First Ennead, IV, 6
33 As necessarily as there is Something after the
First, so necessarily there is a Last: this Last is
Matter, the thing which has no residue of good in
it: here is the necessity of Evil.
Plotinus, First Ennead, VIII, 7
34 The light streaming from the Soul is dulled, is
weakened, as it mixes with Matter which offers
Birth to the Soul, providing the means by which it
enters into generation, impossible to it if
ent were at hand.
This is the fall of the Soul, this entry into Mat-
ter: thence its weakness: not all the faculties of its
these progressive priors must have act upon those
minors to which they are, respectively, the good:
some will confer order and place, others life,
others wisdom and the good life.
Plotinus, Sixth Ennead, VII, 25
39 It was by Your gift that I desired what You gave
and no more, by Your gift that those who suckled
me willed to give me what You had given them:
for it was by the love implanted in them by You
that they gave so willingly that milk which by
Your gift flowed in the breasts. It was a good for
them that I received good from them, though I
received it not from them but only through them:
since all good things are from You, O God.
Augustine, Confessions, I, 6
no recipi-
40 In goodness of will is our peace.
Augustine, Confessions, XIII, 9

being retain free play, for Matter hinders their 41 Though good and bad men suffer alike, we must
manifestation; it encroaches upon the Soul’s terri- not suppose that there no difference bet\veen
is
tory and, as it were, crushes the Soul back; and it the men themselves, because there is no difference
turns to evil all that it has stolen, until the Soul in what they both suffer. For even in the likeness
finds strength to advance again. of the sufferings, there remains an unlikeness in
Thus the cause, at once, of the weakness of Soul the sufferers; and though exposed to the same an-
and of all its evil is Matter. guish, virtue and vice are not the same thing. For
Plotinus, First Ennead, VIII, 11 as the same fire causes gold to glow brightly, and
chaff to smoke; and under the same flail the straw
35 Each several thing must be a separate thing; there isbeaten small, while the grain is cleansed; and as
must be acts and thoughts that are our own; the the lees are not mixed with the oil, though
good and evil done by each human being must be squeezed out of the vat by the same pressure, so
his own; and it is quite certain that we must not the same violence of affliction proves, purges, clar-
lay any vilcness to the charge of the All. ifies the good, but damns, ruins, exterminates the
Plotinus, Third Ennead, I, 4 wicked.
Augustine, City of God, I, 8
36 This Universe is good not when the individual is a
stone, but when everyone throws in his own voice 42 According to the utility each man finds in a thing,
towards a total harmony, singing out a life thin, — there are various standards of value, so that it
harsh, imperfect, though it be. comes to pass that we prefer some things that have
Plotinus, Third Ennead, 11, 1 no sensation to some sentient beings. And so
strong is this preference, that, had we the power,
37 If we do
not possess good, we cannot bestow it; we would abolish the latter from nature altogeth-
nor can we ever purvey any good thing to one er, whether in ignorance of the place they hold in
that has no power of receiving good. nature, or, though, we know it, sacrificing them to
Plotinus, Fourth Ennead, IV, 45 our own convenience. Who, for excimple, would
not rather have bread in his house than mice, gold
38 To the lowest of things the good is its immediate than fleas? But there is little to wonder at in this,
higher; each step represents the good to what seeing that even when valued by men themselves
stands lower so long as the movement does not (whose nature is certainly of the highest dignity).
 23

590 Chapter 9. Ethics

more is often given for a horse than for a slave, for dentally—that is, in so far as the removal of
an
a jewel than for a maid. Thus the reason of one evil,which can only be removed by non-being,
h
contemplating nature prompts very different desirable. Now the removal of an evil cannot
be
judgments from those dictated by the necessity of desirable except so far as this evil deprives a thing
the needy, or the desire of the voluptuous; for the of some being. Therefore being is desirable of
it-

former considers what value a thing in itself has in and non-being only accidentally, in so far as
self,

the scale of creation, while necessity considers how one seeks some being of which one cannot bear to
it meets its need. be deprived; thus even non-being can be spoken
Augustine, City of God, XI, 16 of as relatively good.
Aquinas, 5umma Thtologica, 1, 5,

43 God, the author of natures, not of vices, created

man upright; but man, being of his own will cor- 49 No being can be spoken of as evil, in so far as it is

rupted and justly condemned, begot corrupted being, but only so far as it lacks being. Thus a
and condemned children. For we all were in that man is be evil because he lacks the being of
said to
one man, since we all were that one man, who fell virtue; and an eye is said to be evil because it
into sin by the woman who was made from him lacks the power to see well.
before the sin. And thus, from the bad use of
. . . Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 5,
free will, there originated the whole train of evil,
which, with its concatenation of miseries, convoys 50 He who has a will is said to be good, so far as he
the human race from its depraved origin, as from has a good will, because it is by our will that we
a corrupt root, on to the destruction of the second employ %vhatcvcr powers we may have. Hence a
death, which has no end, those only being except- man is said to be good, not by his good under-
ed who arc freed by the grace of God. standing, but by his good will. Now the will re-
Augustine, City of God, XIII, 14 lates to the end as to its proper object. Thus the
saying, "we are because God is good” has refer-
44 The possession of goodness is by no means dimin- ence to the final cause.
ished by being shared with a partner cither per- Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 5, 4
manent or temporarily assumed; on the contrary,
the possession of goodness Is increased in propor- 51 The evil which consists in the defect of action is

tion to the concord and charity of each of those always caused by the defect of the agent. But in
who share it. In short, he who is unwilling to share God there is no defect, but the highest perfection.
this possession cannot have it; and he who is most . ..Hence, the evil which consists in defect of
willing to admit others to a share of it will have action, or which is caused by defect of the agent, is
the greatest abundance to himself. not reduced to God as to its cause.
Augustine, City of God, XV, 5 But the evil which consists in the corruption of
some things reduced to God as the cause. And
is

45 Life eternal is the supreme good, death eternal the this appears as regards both natural things and
supreme evil. voluntary things. For some agent, in so far as . . ,

Augustine, City of God, XIX, 4 it produces by its power a form to which follow

corruption and defect, causes by its power that

46 He [God] judged it better to bring good out of evil, corruption and defect. But it is manifest that the
than not to permit any evil to exist. form which God chiefly intends in things created
Augustine, Enchiridion, XXVII is the good of the order of the universe. Now, the

order of the universe requires . . that there .

47 Good and being are really the same, and differ should be some things that can, and do some-
only according to reason, which is clear from the times, fail. And thus God, by causing in things the
following argument. The essence of good consists good of the order of the universe, consequently
in this, that it is in some way desirable. Hence the and as it were by accident, causes the corruptions
Philosopher [Aristotle] says "The good is what all of things. But when we read that God hath not
. . ,

desire.” Now it is clear that a thing is desirable made death, the sense is that God does not will
only in so far as it is perfect; for all desire their death for its own sake. Nevertheless the order o!
owTi perfection. But everything is perfect so far as justice belongs to the order of the imiverse, and
it is in act. Therefore it is clear that a thing is this requires that penalty should be dealt out to
good so far as it is being; for it is being is the sinners. And so God is the author of the e\4I which
actuality of all things. Hence it is clear
. . . that is penalty, but not of the evil which is fault, by
good and being are the same really. But good pre- reason of what is said above.
sents the aspect of desirableness, which being docs Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 49, 2

not present.
Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 5, 1 52 It appears , . is no one first prindplc
. that there
of evil, as there one first principle of good.
is

48 Non-being is desirable not of itself, but only acci- First, indeed, because the first principle of good
 9.6. Good and Evil 591

is essentially good. .But nothing can be essen-

. . ment, it seems to be in our power to disdain them
tially bad. For . . every being, as such, is good,
. or turn them to good use. If things give themselves
and . . . evil can exist only in good as in its sub- up to our mercy, why shall we not dispose of them
ject. and arrange them to our advantage? If what we
Secondly, because the first principle of good is call evil and torment is neither evil nor torment in

the highest and perfect good which contains be- itself, if it is merely our fancy that gives it this
forehand in itself all goodness. . . . But there can- quality, it is change it. And having the
in us to
not be a supreme evU, because . . . although evil choice, if no one forces us, we are strangely insane
always lessens good, yet it never wholly consumes to tense ourselves for the course that is more pain-
it;and thus, since good always remains, nothing ful to us, and to give sicknesses, poverty, and
can be wholly and perfectly bad. Therefore, the a bitter and unpleasant taste if we can give
slights
Philosopher [Aristotle] says that “if the wholly evil them a good one and if, fortune furnishing merely
could be, it would destroy itself,*' because all good the material, for us to give it form. But let us
it is

being destroyed (which it need be for something sec whether this can be maintained: that what we
to be wholly evil), evil itself would be taken away, call evil is not evil in itself —
or at least, whatever
since its subject is good. it is, that it depends on us to give it a different

Aquinas, Summa Theologica^ I, 49, 3 savor and a different complexion; for all this
comes to the same thing.

53 Evil can only have an accidental cause. . . . Montaigne, Essays, I, 14,

Hence reduction to any per se cause of evil is im- That the Taste of Good
possible. And to say that evil is in the greater
number is simply false. For things which arc gen- 57 Confidence in the goodness of others is no slight
erated and corrupted, in which alone can there be testimony to one’s own goodness.
natural evil, are the smaller part of the whole Montaigne, Essays, I, 14,
universe. And again, in every species the defect of That the Taste of Good
nature is in the smaller number. In man alone
docs evil appear as in the greater number, because 58 Antonio. An evil soul producing holy witness
the good ofman as regards the senses is not the Is like a villain with a smiling cheek,
—
good of man as man that is, in regard to reason, A goodly apple rotten at the heart:
and more men follow the senses than the reason. O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!
Aquinas, Summa Theologica^ I, 49, 3 Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, I, iii, 100

54 As being is the first thing that falls under the ap- 59 Fabtaff and sugar be a fault, God help the
If sack
prehension absolutely, so good is the first thing wicked! be old and merry be a sin, then many
if to
that falls under the apprehension of the practical an old host that I know is damned: if to be fat be
reason, which is directed to action; for every agent to be hated, then Pharaoh’s lean kine are to be
acts for an end, which has the aspect of good. loved.
Consequently the first principle in the practical Shakespeare, I Heniy JV, II, iv, 516
reason one founded on the notion of good,
is

namely, that the good is what all desire. Hence 60 King Henry. There is some soul of goodness in
this is the first precept of law, that good is to be things evil.
pursued and done, and evil is to be avoided. All Would men observingly distil it out.
other precepts of the natural law are based upon For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers.
this, so that whatever the practical reason natu- Which is both healthful and good husbandry:
rally apprehends as man’s good belongs to the Besides, they are our outward consciences.
precepts of the natural law as something to be And preachers to us all, admonishing
done or avoided. That we should dress us fairly for our end.
Aquinas, Summa Thealogica^ I-H, 94, 2 Thus may we gather honey from the weed,
And make a moral of the devil himself.
55 Generally it may be stated that what people con- Shakespeare, Henry V, IV, i, 4
sider to be good is really bad and most of the
things that are considered to be bad are really 61 Hamlet. One may smile, and smile, and be a
good. villain.
Maimonides, Preservation of Youth, III Shakespeare, Hamlet, I, v, 108

56 Men, say's an old Greek maxim, are tormented by 62 Hamlet. There is nothing either good or bad, but
the opinions they have of things, not by the things thinking makes it so.
themselves. There would be a great point gained Shakespeare, Hamlet, II, ii, 255
for the relief of
our wretched human lot if some-
one could prove this statement true in every case. 63 Pandarus. O
world! world! world! thus is the poor
For if crils have no entry' into us but by our judg- agent despised! O
traitors and bawds, how ear-
 —
592 I
Chapter 9. Ethics

nestly arcyou set a-work, and how ill requited! wicked, to reclaim them, without the help of
the
why should our endeavour be so loved and the knowledge of evil. For men of corrupted minds
performance so loathed? presuppose that honesty groweth out of simplicity
Shakespeare, TrvUus and Cressida, V, x, 36 of manners, and believing of preachers school-
masters, and men’s exterior language. So as ex-
cept you can make them perceive that you blow
64 Gloucester. Here, take this purse, thou whom the
the utmost reaches of their ow'n corrupt opinions
heavens’ plagues
they despise all morality.
Have humbled to all strokes. That I am Nvrctched
Bacon, Advancement of Learning,
Makes thee the happier. Heavens, deal so still!
Bk, II, XXI, 9
Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man.
That slaves your ordinance, that will not see
71 Whatsoever is the object of any man’s appetite or
Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly;
desire, that is it which he for his part callcth good;
So distribution should undo excess.
and the object of his hate and aversion, and
And each man have enough. evil; of

67 his contempt, vile and inconsiderable. For these

Shakespeare, Lear, IV, i,
words of good, evil, and contemptible arc ever used
wth relation to the person that useth them: there
65 Albany. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem
being nothing simply and absolutely so; nor any
vile;
common rule of good and evil to be taken from
Filths savour but themselves.
the nature of the objects themselves; but from the
Shakespeare, Lear^ IV, ii, 38
person of the man, where there is no Common-
wealth; or, in a Commonwealth, from the person
66 Lady Macduff. WTiithcr should I fly? that representeth it; or from an arbitrator or
I have done no harm. But I remember now judge, whom men disagreeing shall by consent set
I am in this earthly world; where to do harm up and make his sentence the rule thereof.
Is often laudable, to do good sometime Hobbes, Leviathan, I, 6
Accounted dangerous folly. Why' then, alas,
Do I put up that womanly defence. 72 Evil is easy, and has infinite forms; good is almost
To say I have done no harm? unique. But a certain kind of ev'il is as difficult to
Shakespeare, Macbeth^ IV, ii, 73 find as what we call good; and often on this ac-
count such particular evil gets passed off as good.
67 Antony. But when we in our viciousness grow An extraordinary greatness of soul is needed in
hard order to attain to it as well as to good.
Omisery' on’t! —
the %s'ise gods seel our eyes; Pascal, Pensees, VI, 408
In our own filth drop our clear judgements; make
us 73 Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as
Adore our errors; laugh at’s, while we strut when they do it from religious conviction.
To our confusion. Pascal, Pensees, XIV, 895
Shakespeare, Antony and
Cleopatraj II, xiii, 111 74 Nothing is more common than good things; the
only question is how to discern them; it is certain
68 No more be grieved at that which thou hast done: that all of them are natural and within our reach
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud; and even knowm by every one. But w'c do not
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, know how to distinguish them. This is univ'crsal.
And loathsome canker lives in s^veetcst bud. It is not in things extraordinary and strange that
Shakcsp>eare, Sonnet XXXV excellence of any kind is found. We reach up for
it, and we are further away; more often than not
69 Sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; w'e must stoop. The best books arc those whose
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. readers think they could have written them. Na-
Shakes{>care, Sonnet XCIV ture, which alone is good, is familiar and common
throughout.
70 We are much beholden to Machiavcl and others, Pascal, Geometrical Demonstration
that write what men do, and not what they ought
to do. For it is not possible to join serpentine wis- 75 To measure learn thou betimes, and know
life,

dom with the columbine innocency, except men Toward solidgood what leads the nearest way;
know exactly all the con di dons of the serpent; his For other things mild Heav’n a time ordains,
baseness and going upon his belly, his volubility And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
and lubricity, his envy and sdng, and the rest; That with superfluous burden loads the day,
that is, all forms and natures of evil. For without And when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.
this, virtue Ueth open and unfenced. Nay, an hon- Milton, Cyriack, whose Grandsire on the
est man can do no good upon those that are Royal Bench
 9,6. Good and Evil 593

76 Satan. To do ought good never will be our task, can apprehend and consider vice with all her
But ever to do ill our sole delight. baits and seeming pleasures, and yet abstain, and
Milton, Paradise Lost, I, 159 yet distinguish, and yet prefer that which is truly
better, he is the true wayfaring Christian.
77 Whence, Milton, Areopagitica
But from the Author of all ill could Spring
So deep a malice, to confound the race 82 If all things have followed from the necessity of
Of mankind in one root, and Earth with Hell the most perfect nature of God, how is it that so
To mingle and involve, done all to spite mziny imperfections have arisen in nature—cor-
The great Crcatour? ruption, for instance, of things till they stink; de-
Milton, paradise Lost, II, 380 formity, exciting disgust; confusion, evil, crime,
etc,?But, as I have just observed, all this is easily
78 Such Pleasure took the Serpent to behold answered. For the perfection of things is to be
This Flourie Plat, the sweet recess of Eve Judged by their nature and power alone; nor are
Thus carlie, thus alone; her Heavenly forme they more or less perfect because they delight or
Angelic, but more soft, and Feminine, offend the human senses, or because they are ben-
Her graceful Innocence, her every Aire eficial or prejudicial to human nature,
Of gesture or lest action overawd Spinoza, Ethics, I, Appendix
His Malice, and with rapine sweet bereaved
His fierceness of the fierce intent it brought: 83 With regard to good and evil, these terms indicate
That space the Evil one abstracted stood nothing positive in things considered in them-
From his own evil, and for the time remaind selves, nor are they anything else than modes of
Stupidly good, of enmitie disarm’d thought, or notions which we form from the com-
Of guile, of hate, of envie, of revenge; parison of one thing with another. For one and
But the hot Hell that alwayes in him bumes. the same thing may at the same time be both good
Though in mid Heav’n, soon ended his delight, and evil or indifferent. Music, for example, is
And tortures him now more, the more he sees good to a melancholy person, bad to one mourn-
Of pleasure not for him ordain’d: then soon ing, while to a deaf man it is neither good nor
Fierce hate he recollects, and all his thoughts bad. But although things are so, we must retain
Of mischief, gratulating, thus excites. these words. For since we desire to form for our-
Milton, Paradise Lost, IX, 455 selvesan idea of man upon which we may look as
a model of human nature, it will be of service to
79 Good unknown, sure is not had, or had us to retain these expressions in the sense I have
And yet unknown, is as not had at all. mentioned. By good, therefore, I understand . . .

Milton, Paradise Lost, IX, 756 everything which we are certain is a means by
which we may approach nearer and nearer to the
80 Samson. Weakness is thy excuse. model of human nature we set before us. By evil,
And I believe weakness to resist
it, on the contrary, I understzind everything which
Philistian gold: if weakness may excuse,