Which loss Labienus could not endure nor brook to survive those his dear and highly-esteemed issues; [63] and therefore caused himself to be carried and shut up alive within his ancestors’ monument where, with a dreadless resolution, he at once provided both to kill himself and be buried together. [64] It is hard to show any more vehement fatherly affection than that. Cassius Severus, a most eloquent man and his familiar friend, seeing his books burnt, exclaimed that by the same sentence he should therewithal be condemned to be burned alive, for he still bare [65] and kept in mind what they contained in them.
A like accident happened to Geruntius Cordus, who was accused to have commended Brutus and Cassius in his books. That base, senile, and corrupted Senate, and worthy of a far worse master than Tiberius, adjudged his writings to be consumed by fire; and he was pleased to accompany them in their death, for he pined away by abstaining from all manner of meat.
That notable man Lucan, being adjudged by that lewd varlet Nero to death at the latter end of his life, when all his blood was well-nigh spent from out the veins of his arm, which by his physician he had caused to be opened to hasten his death and that a chilling cold began to seize the uttermost parts of his limbs and approach his vital spirits, the last thing he had in memory was some of his own verses, written in his book of the Pharsalian wars, which with a distinct voice he repeated and so yielded up the ghost, having those last words in his mouth. What was that but a kind, tender, and fatherly farewell which he took of his children, representing the last adieus and parting embracements, which at our death we give unto our dearest issues? And an effect of that natural inclination, which in that last extremity puts us in mind of those things which in our life we have held dearest and most precious?
Shall we imagine that Epicurus who (as himself said), dying tormented with the extreme pain of the colic, had all his comfort in the beauty of the doctrine which he left behind him in the world, would have received as much contentment of a number of well-born and better-bred children (if he had had any) as he did of the production of his rich compositions? And if it had been in his choice to leave behind him either a counterfeit, deformed, or ill-born child or a foolish, trivial, and idle book, not only he but all men in the world besides of like learning and sufficiency would much rather have chosen to incur the former than the latter mischief. It might peradventure be deemed impiety in Saint Augustine (for example-sake) if on the one part one should propose unto him to bury all his books, whence our religion receiveth so much good, or to inter his children (if in case he had any) that he would not rather choose to bury his children or the issue of his loins than the fruits of his mind.
And I wot not well whether myself should not much rather desire to beget and produce a perfectly well-shaped and excellently-qualitied infant by the acquaintance of the muses than by the acquaintance of my wife.
Whatsoever I give to this, [66] let the world allow of it as it please, I give it as purely and irrevocably as any man can give it to his corporal children. That little good which I have done him is no longer in my disposition. He may know many things that myself know no longer and hold of me what I could not hold myself and which (if need should require) I must borrow of him as of a stranger. If I be wiser than he, he is richer than I.
There are few men given unto poesy that would not esteem it for a greater honour to be the fathers of Virgil’s Æneidos than of the goodliest boy in Rome and that would not rather endure the loss of the one than the perishing of the other. For, according to Aristotle, Of all workmen, the Poet is principally the most amorous of his productions and conceited of his labours.
It is not easy to be believed that Epaminondas, who wanted to leave some daughters behind him which unto all posterity should one day highly honour their father (they were the two famous victories which be had gained of the Lacedemonians), would ever have given his free consent to change them with the best-born, most gorgeous, and goodliest damsels of all Greece, or that Alexander and Cæsar did ever wish to be deprived of the greatness of their glorious deeds of war for the commodity to have children and heirs of their own bodies, how absolutely-perfect and well accomplished so ever they might be.
Nay, I make a great question whether Phidias or any other excellent statuary [67] would as highly esteem and dearly love the preservation and successful continuance of his natural children as he would an exquisite and matchless-wrought image that with long study and diligent care he had perfected according unto art. And as concerning those vicious and furious passions which sometimes have inflamed some fathers to the love of their daughters or mothers towards their sons, the very same and more partially-earnest is also found in this other kind of child-bearing and alliance. Witness that which is reported of Pygmalion who, having curiously framed a goodly statue of a most singularly-beauteous woman, was so strange-fondly and passionately surprised with the lustful love of his own workmanship that the gods through his raging importunity were fain in favour of him to give it life.
Tentatum mollescit ebur, positoque rigore
Subsidit digitis.
As he assayed it, th’ ivory softened much,
And (hardness left) did yield to fingers’ touch. [68]
An Apology of Raymond Sebond
(selections)
2.12
IS IT POSSIBLE to imagine anything so ridiculous as this miserable and wretched creature, which is not so much as master of himself, exposed and subject to offences of all things, and yet dareth call himself master and emperour of this universe?
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Presumption is our natural and original infirmity. Of all creatures, man is the most miserable and frail, and therewithal the proudest and disdainfulest. Who perceiveth and seeth himself placed here amidst the filth and mire of the world, fast tied and nailed to the worst, most senseless, and drooping part of the world, in the vilest corner of the house, and farthest from heavens’-cope, [1] with those creatures that are the worst of the three conditions. [2] And yet dareth imaginarily place himself above the circle of the moon and reduce heaven under his feet. It is through the vanity of the same imagination that he dare equal himself to God, that he ascribeth divine conditions unto himself, that he selecteth and separateth himself from out the rank of other creatures. To which his fellow-brethren and compeers, he cuts out and shareth their parts and allotteth them what portions of means or forces he thinks good. How knoweth he by the virtue of his understanding the inward and secret motions of beasts? By what comparison from them to us doth he conclude the brutishness he ascribeth unto them?
When I am playing with my cat, who knows whether she have more sport in dallying with me than I have in gaming with her? We entertain one another with mutual apish tricks. If I have my hour to begin or to refuse, so hath she hers. Plato in setting forth the golden age under Saturn, amongst the chief advantages that man had then, reporteth the communication he had with beasts, of whom inquiring and taking instruction, he knew the true qualities and differences of every one of them; by and from whom, he got an absolute understanding and perfect wisdom, whereby he led a happier life than we can do. Can we have a better proof to judge of man’s impudence touching beasts? This notable author [3] was of opinion that in the greatest part of the corporal form which nature hath bestowed on them she hath only respected the use of the prognostications which in his days were thereby gathered.
The defect which hindreth the communication between them and us, why may it not as well be in us as in them? It is a matter of divination to guess in whom the fault is that we understand not one another. For we understand them no more than they us. By the same reason, may they as well esteem us beasts as we them. It is no great marvel if we understand them not: no more do we the Cornish, the Welsh, or Irish. [4] Yet have some boasted that they understood them, as Apollonius Thyaneus, Melampus, Tiresias, Thales, and others. And if it be (as cosmographers report) that there are nations who receive and admit a dog to be their king, it must necessarily follow that they give a certain interpretation
to his voice and moving. We must note the parity that is between us. We have some mean understanding of their senses; so have beasts of ours, about the same measure. They flatter and fawn upon us, they threat and entreat us, so do we them.
Touching other matters, we manifestly perceive that there is a full and perfect communication amongst them and that not only those of one same kind understand one another, but even such as are of different kinds.
Et mutæ pecudes, et denique secla ferarum
Dissimiles fuerunt voces variasque cluere,
Cum metus aut dolor est, aut cum iam gaudia gliscunt.
Whole herds (though dumb) of beasts, both wild and tame,
Use diverse voices, different sounds to frame,
As joy, or grief, or fear,
Upspringing passions bear. [5]
By one kind of barking of a dog, the horse knoweth he is angry; by another voice of his, he is nothing dismayed. Even in beasts that have no voice at all, by the reciprocal kindness which we see in them, we easily infer there is some other mean of intercommunication: their gestures treat, [6] and their motions discourse.
Non alia longe ratione atque ipsa videtur
Protrahere ad gestum, pueros infantia linguæ.
No otherwise, then, for they cannot speak,
Children are drawn by signs their minds to break. [7]
And why not, as well as our dumb-men dispute, argue, and tell histories by signs? I have seen some so readie, and so excellent in it, that (in good sooth) they wanted nothing to have their meaning perfectly understood. Do we not daily see lovers with the looks and rolling of their eyes plainly show when they are angry or pleased, and how they entreat and thank one another, assign meetings, and express any passion?
E’l silentio ancor suole
Haver prieghi e parole.
Silence also hath a way,
Words and prayers to convey. [8]
What do we with our hands? Do we not sue and entreat, promise and perform, call men unto us and discharge them, bid them farewell and be gone, threaten, pray, beseech, deny, refuse, demand, admire, number, confess, repent, fear, be ashamed, doubt, instruct, command, incite, encourage, swear, witness, accuse, condemn, absolve, injure, despise, defy, despite, [9] flatter, applaud, bless, humble, mock, reconcile, recommend, exalt, show-gladness, rejoice, complain, wail, sorrow, discomfort, despair, cry-out, forbid, declare silence and astonishment, and what not? With so great variation and amplifying, as if they would contend with the tongue. And with our head, do we not invite and call to us, discharge and send away, avow, disavow, belie, welcome, honour, worship, disdain, demand, direct, rejoice, affirm, deny, complain, cherish, blandish, chide, yield, submit, brag, boast, threaten, exhort, warrant, assure, and inquire? What do we with our eyelids? And with our shoulders? To conclude, there is no motion nor jesture that doth not speak, and speaks in a language very easy and without any teaching to be understood. Nay, which is more, it is a language common and public to all; whereby it followeth (seeing the variety and several use it hath from others) that this must rather be deemed the proper and peculiar speech of human nature. I omit that which necessity, in time of need, doth particularly instruct and suddenly teach such as need it; and the alphabets upon fingers and grammars by gestures; and the sciences, which are only exercised and expressed by them; and the nations Pliny reporteth to have no other speech.
An ambassador of the city of Abdera, after he had talked a long time unto Agis, King of Sparta, said thus unto him: “O King, what answer wilt thou that I bear back unto our citizens?” “Thus” (answered he) “that I have suffered thee to speak all thou wouldest and as long as thou pleasedst, without ever speaking one word.” Is not this a kind of speaking silence and easy to be understood?
And as for other matters, what sufficiency is there in us that we must not acknowledge from the industry and labours of beasts? Can there be a more formal and better ordered policy, divided into so several charges and offices, more constantly entertained, and better maintained, than that of bees? Shall we imagine their so orderly disposing of their actions and managing of their vacations [10] have so proportioned and formal a conduct without discourse, reason, and forecast?
His quidam signis at que hæc exempla sequuti,
Esse apibus partem divinæ mentis, and haustus
Æthereos dixere.
Some by these signs, by these examples moved,
Said that in bees there is and may be proved
Some taste of heav’nly kind,
Part of celestial mind. [11]
The swallows which at the approach of spring-time we see to pry, to search, and ferret all the corners of our houses—is it without judgement they seek or without discretion they choose from out a thousand places that which is fittest for them to build their nests and lodge in? And in that pretty-cunning contexture and admirable framing of their houses would birds rather fit themselves with a round than a square figure, with an obtuse than a right angle, except they knew both the commodities and effects of them? Would they (suppose you) first take water and then clay, unless they guessed that the hardness of the one is softened by the moistness of the other? Would they floor their palace with moss or down, except they foresaw that the tender parts of their young ones shall thereby be more soft and easy? Would they shroud and shelter themselves from stormy weather and build their cabins toward the East, unless they knew the different conditions of winds and considered that some are more healthful and safe for them than some others? Why doth the spider spin her artificial web thick in one place and thin in another? And now useth one, and then another knot, except she had an imaginary kind of deliberation, forethought, and conclusion?
We perceive by the greater part of their works what excellency beasts have over us and how weak our art and short our cunning is, if we go about to imitate them. We see notwithstanding, even in our grossest works, what faculties we employ in them and how our mind employeth the uttermost of her skill and forces in them. Why should we not think as much of them? Wherefore do we attribute the works which excel whatever we can perform, either by nature or by art, into a kind of unknown, natural, and servile inclination? Wherein unawares, we give them a great advantage over us to infer that nature, led by a certain loving kindness, leadeth and accompanieth them (as it were by the hand) unto all the actions and commodities of their life. And that she forsaketh and leaveth us to the hazard of fortune, and by art to quest and find out those things that are behooveful and necessary for our preservation. And therewithal denieth us the means to attain by any institution and contention of spirit to the natural sufficiency of brute beasts. So that their brutish stupidity doth in all commodities exceed whatsoever our divine intelligence can effect.
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Truly, when I consider man all naked (yea, be it in that sex which seemeth to have and challenge the greatest share of eye-pleasing beauty [12]) and view his defects, his natural subjection, and manifold imperfections, I find we have had much more reason to hide and cover our nakedness than any creature else. We may be excused for borrowing those which nature had therein favored more than us with their beauties, to adorn us and under their spoils of wool, of hair, of feathers, and of silk to shroud us.
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That which is told of those that inhabit Brazil, who die only through age, which some impute to the clearness and calmness of their air, I rather ascribe to the calmness and clearness of their minds, void and free from all passions, cares, toiling, and unpleasant labours, as a people that pass their life in a wonderful kind of simplicity and ignorance, without letters, or laws, and without kings or any religion.
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The participation which we have of the knowledge of truth, whatsoever she is, it is not by our own strength we have gotten it. God hath sufficiently taught it us, in that he hath made choice of the simple, common, and ignorant to teach us his wonderful secrets. Our faith hath not been purchased by us: it is a gift proceeding from the liberality of others. It is not by our dis
course or understanding that we have received our religion; it is by a foreign authority and commandment. The weakness of our judgment helps us more than our strength to compass the same, and our blindness more than our clear-sighted eyes. It is more by the means of our ignorance than of our skill that we are wise in heavenly knowledge. It is no marvel if our natural and terrestrial means cannot conceive the supernatural or apprehend the celestial knowledge. Let us add nothing of our own unto it but obedience and subjection. For, (as it is written), I will confound the wisdom of the wise and destroy the understanding of the prudent. Where is the wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the disputer of this world? [13] Hath not God made the wisdom of this world foolishness? For seeing the world by wisdom knew not God in the wisdom of God, it hath pleased him by the vanity of preaching to save them that believe.
Yet must I see at last whether it be in man’s power to find what he seeks for and if this long search, wherein he hath continued so many ages, hath enriched him with any new strength or solid truth.
Shakespeare's Montaigne Page 19
