Shakespeare's Montaigne

by Michel de Montaigne

  And to say that the senses’ passions refer the quality of strange subjects by resemblance unto the soul, how can the soul and the understanding rest assured of that resemblance, having of itself no commerce with foreign subjects? Even as he that knows not Socrates, seeing his picture, cannot say that it resembleth him.

  And would a man judge by appearances, be it by all, it is impossible, for by their contrarieties and differences they hinder one another, as we see by experience. May it be that some choice appearances rule and direct the others? This choice must be verified by another choice, the second by a third; and so shall we never make an end.

  In few, there is no constant existence, neither of our being nor of the objects. And we, and our judgement, and all mortal things else do uncessantly roll, turn, and pass away. Thus can nothing be certainly established, nor of the one nor of the other, both the judging and the judged being in continual alteration and motion.

  We have no communication with being, [174] for every human nature is ever in the middle between being born and dying, giving nothing of itself but an obscure appearance and shadow, and an uncertain and weak opinion. And if perhaps you fix your thought to take its being, it would be even as if one should go about to poyson [175] the water: for how much the more he shall close and press that which by its own nature is ever gliding, so much the more he shall lose what he would hold and fasten. Thus, seeing all things are subject to pass from one change to another, reason, which therein seeketh a real subsistence, finds herself deceived, as unable to apprehend anything subsistent and permanent; forsomuch as each thing either commeth to a being and is not yet altogether, or beginneth to die before it be born.

  Plato said that bodies had never an existence but indeed a birth, supposing that Homer made the Ocean Father and Thetis Mother of the gods, thereby to show us that all things are in continual motion, change, and variation. As he sayeth, a common opinion amongst all the philosophers before his time, only Parmenides excepted, who denied any motion to be in things, of whose power he maketh no small account. Pythagoras, that each thing or matter was ever gliding and labile. The Stoics affirm there is no present time and that which we call present is but conjoining and assembling of future time and past. Heraclitus averreth that no man ever entered twice in one same river.

  Epicarmus avoucheth that who erewhile borrowed any money doth not now owe it, and that he who yesternight was bidden to dinner this day cometh today unbidden, since they are no more themselves but are become others. And that one mortal substance could not twice be found in one self [176] state. For, by the suddenness and lightness of change, sometimes it wasteth and othertimes it reassembleth; now it comes, and now it goes. In such sort that he who beginneth to be born never comes to the perfection of being. For this being born cometh never to an end, nor ever stayeth as being at an end, but after the seed proceedeth continually in change and alteration from one to another. As of man’s seed there is first made a shapeless fruit in the mother’s womb, then a shapen child; then, being out of the womb, a sucking babe; afterward he becometh a lad; then consequently a stripling [177]; then a full-grown man; then an old man; and in the end an aged, decrepit man. So that age and subsequent generation goeth ever undoing and wasting the precedent.

  Mutat enim mundi naturam totius ætas,

  Ex alioque alius status excipere omnia debet,

  Nec manet illa sui similis res, omnia migrant,

  Omnia commutat natura et vertere cogit.

  Of th’universal world, age doth the nature change,

  And all things from one state must to another range,

  No one thing like itself remains, all things do pass,

  Nature doth change, and drive to change, each thing that was. [178]

  And when we others do foolishly fear a kind of death, when as we have already passed and daily pass so many others. For not only (as Heraclitus said) the death of fire is a generation of air, and the death of air a generation of water; but also we may most evidently see it in ourselves. The flower of age dyeth, fadeth, and fleeteth, when age comes upon us, and youth endeth in the flower of a full-grown man’s age; childhood in youth; and the first age dyeth in infancy. And yesterday endeth in this day, and today shall die in tomorrow. And nothing remaineth or ever continueth in one state.

  For, to prove it, if we should ever continue one and the same, how is it then that now we rejoice at one thing, and now at another? How comes it to pass, we love things contrary, or we hate them, or we love them, or we blame them? How is it that we have different affections, holding no more the same sense in the same thought? For it is not likely that without alteration we should take other passions, and What admitteth alterations, continueth not the same, and if it be not one self-same, then it is not; but rather with being all one, the simple being doth also change, ever becoming other from other. And by consequence nature’s senses are deceived and lie falsely, taking what appeareth for what is, for want of truly-knowing what it is that is.

  But then what is it, that is indeed? That which is eternal: that is to say, that which never had birth, nor ever shall have end; and to which no time can bring change or cause alteration. For time is a fleeting thing, and which appeareth as in a shadow, with the matter ever gliding, always fluent, without ever being stable or permanent. To whom rightly belong these terms, Before and After, and it Hath been or Shall be. Which at first sight doth manifestly show that it is not a thing which is; for it were great sottishness [179] and apparent falsehood to say that that is which is not yet in being, or that already hath ceased from being. And concerning these words, Present, Instant, Even-now, by which it seems that especially we uphold and principally ground the intelligence of time, reason discovering the same doth forthwith destroy it; for presently it severeth it asunder and divideth it into future and past-time, as willing to see it necessarily parted in two.

  As much happeneth unto nature which is measured, according unto time which measureth her. For no more is there anything in her that remaineth or is subsistent; rather all things in her are either born, or ready to be born, or dying. By means whereof, it were a sin to say of God, who is the only that is, that he was or shall be. For these words are declinations, [180] passages, or vicissitudes of that which cannot last nor continue in being. Wherefore we must conclude that only God is, not according to any measure of time, but according to an immovable and unmoving eternity, not measured by time nor subject to any declination; before whom nothing is, nor nothing shall be after, nor more new or more recent; but a real being, which by one only Now or Present filleth the Ever, and there is nothing that truly is but he alone. Without saying he hath been or he shall be—without beginning and sans ending. [181]

  To this so religious conclusion of a heathen man I will only add this word, taken from a testimony of the same condition, for an end of this long and period of this tedious discourse, which might well furnish me with endless matter. Oh, what a vile and abject thing is man (sayeth he) unless he raise himself above humanity! [182]

  Observe here a notable speech and a profitable desire, but likewise absurd. For to make the handful greater than the hand, and the embraced greater than the arm, and to hope to straddle more than our legs’ length, is impossible and monstrous. Nor that man should mount over and above himself or humanity; for he cannot see but with his own eyes, nor take hold but with his own arm.

  He shall raise himself up, if it please God extraordinarily to lend him His helping hand. He may elevate himself by forsaking and renouncing his own means and suffering himself to be elevated and raised by mere [183] heavenly means.

  It is for our Christian faith, not for his Stoic virtue, to pretend or aspire to this divine metamorphosis or miraculous transmutation.

  We Taste Nothing Purely

  2.20

  THE WEAKNESS of our condition causeth that things in their natural simplicity and purity cannot fall into our use. The elements we enjoy are altered, metals likewise, yea gold must be empared [1] with some other stuff to make i
t fit for our service.

  Nor virtue so simple which Ariston, Pyrrho, and Stoics made the end of their life hath been able to do no good without composition, [2] nor the Cyrenaic sensuality or Aristippian voluptuousness. [3] Of the pleasures and goods we have, there is none exempted from some mixture of evil and incommodity. [4]

  ——medio de fonte leporum

  Surgit amari aliquid, quod in ipsis floribus angat.

  From middle spring of sweets some bitter springs,

  Which in the very flower smartly stings. [5]

  Our exceeding voluptuousness [6] hath some air of groaning and wailing. Would you not say it dyeth with anguish? Yea, when we forge its image in her excellency, we deck it with epithets of sickish and dolorous qualities: languor, effeminacy, weakness, fainting, and Morbidezza, [7] a great testimony of their consanguinity and consubtantiality. [8]

  Excessive joy hath more severity than jollity; extreme and full content, more settledness than cheerfulness. Ipsa felicitas, se nisi temperat, premit. Felicity itself, unless it temper itself, distempers us. [9] Ease consumeth us.

  It is that which an old Greek verse sayeth of such a sense: “The gods sell us all the goods they give us.” That is to say, they give us not one pure and perfect, and that which we buy not with the price of some evil. Travell [10] and pleasure, most unlike in nature, are notwithstanding followed together by a kind I wot not what natural conjunction. Socrates sayeth that some god attempted to huddle up together and confound sorrow and voluptuousness, but being unable to effect it, he bethought himself to couple them together, at least by the tail.

  Metrodorus said that in sadness there is some alloy of pleasure. I know not whether he meant anything else, but I imagine that for one to inure himself to melancholy, there is some kind of purpose of consent and mutual delight; I mean besides ambition, which may also be joined unto it. There is some shadow of delicacy and quaintness which smileth and fawneth upon us, even in the lap of melancholy. Are there not some complexions [11] that of it make their nourishment? [12]

  ——est quædam flere voluptas.

  It is some pleasure yet

  With tears our cheeks to wet. [13]

  And one Attalus in Seneca sayeth the remembrance of our last friends [14] is as pleasing to us as bitterness in wine that is over old—

  Minister veteris puer falerni

  Ingere mi calices amariores:

  Sir boy, my servitor of good old wine,

  Bring me my cup thereof bitter, but fine. [15]

  —and as of sweetly-sour apples.

  Nature discovereth this confusion unto us: Painters are of opinion that the motions and wrinkles in the face which serve to weep serve also to laugh. Verily, before one or other be determined to express which, behold the pictures success; you are in doubt toward which one inclineth. And the extremity of laughing intermingles itself with tears. Nullum sine auctoramento malum est. There is no evil without some obligation. [16]

  When I imagine man fraughted with all the commodities may be wished—let us suppose all his several members were for ever possessed with a pleasure like unto that of generation, even in the highest point that may be—I find him to sink under the burden of his ease and perceive him altogether unable to bear so pure, so constant, and so universal a sensuality. [17] Truly, he flies when he is even upon the nick [18] and naturally hasteneth to escape it, as from a step whereon he cannot stay or contain himself, and feareth to sink into it.

  When I religiously confess myself unto myself, I find the best good I have hath some vicious taint. [19] And I fear that Plato in his purest virtue (I that am as sincere and loyal an esteemer thereof, and of the virtues of such a stamp, as any other can possibly be), if he had nearly listened unto it (and sure he listened very near), he would therein have heard some harsh tune of human mixture, but an obscure tune, and only sensible unto himself. Man all in all is but a botching and parti-coloured work. [20]

  The very laws of justice cannot subsist without some commixture of injustice. And Plato sayeth, They undertake to cut off Hydra’s heads that pretend to remove all incommodities and inconveniences from the laws. Omne magnum exemplum habet aliquid ex iniquo, quod contra singulos utilitate publica rependitur. Every great example hath some touch of injustice, which is requited by the common good against particulars, sayeth Tacitus. [21]

  It is likewise true that for the use of life and service of public society there may be excess in the purity and perspicuity of our spirits. This piercing brightness hath overmuch subtlety and curiosity. They should be made heavy and dull to make them the more obedient to example and practice, and they must be thickened and obscured to proportion them to this shady and terrestrial life. Therefore are vulgar and less-wire-drawn [22] wits found to be more fit and happy in the conduct of affairs. And the exquisite and high-raised opinions of philosophy, unapt and unfit to exercise. This sharp vivacity of the spirit, and this supple and restless volubility, [23] troubleth our negotiations. Human enterprises should be managed more grossly and superficially and have a good and great part of them left for the rights of fortune. Affairs need not be sifted so nicely and so profoundly. A man loseth himself about the considerations of so many contrary lusters and diverse forms. Volutantibus res inter se pugnantes, obtorpuerant animi. Their minds were astonished while they revolved things so different. [24]

  It is that which our elders report of Simonides: because his imagination concerning the question Hieron the King had made unto him [25] (which the better to answer he had diverse days allowed him to think of it) presented sundry subtle and sharp considerations unto him, doubting which might be the likeliest, he altogether despaireth of the truth.

  Whosoever searcheth all the circumstances and embraceth all the consequences thereof, hindereth his election. A mean engine [26] doth equally conduct and sufficeth for the executions of great and little weights. It is commonly seen that the best husbands [27] and the thriftiest are those who cannot tell how they are so, and that these cunning arithmeticians [28] do seldom thrive by it. I know a notable pratler [29] and an excellent blazoner [30] of all sorts of husbandry and thrift who hath most piteously let ten thousand pound sterling a year pass from him. I know another who sayeth he consulteth better than any man of his council, and there cannot be a properer man to see unto, or of more sufficiency. Notwithstanding, when he cometh to any execution, his own servants find he is far otherwise. This I say without mentioning or accounting his ill luck.

  Of a Monstrous Child

  2.30

  THIS DISCOURSE shall pass single, [1] for I leave it to physicians to treat of. I saw two days since a child whom two men and a nurse (which named themselves to be his father, his uncle, and his aunt) carried about with intent to get some money with the sight of him, by reason of his strangeness. In all the rest he was as other children are. He stood upon his feet, went, [2] and prattled in a manner as all others of his age. He would never take nourishment but by his nurse’s breast; and what in my presence was offered to be put in his mouth, he chewed a little, and put it all out again. His puling [3] differed somewhat from others. He was just fourteen months old.

  Under his paps [4] he was fastened and joined to another child but had no head, and who had the conduit of his back [5] stopped, the rest whole. One of his arms was shorter than the other and was by accident broken at their birth. They were joined face to face, and as if a little child would embrace another somewhat bigger. The joining and space whereat they were closed together was but four inches broad or thereabouts; in such sort that if you thrust up the imperfect child, you might see under the other’s navel. And the seam was between the paps and his navel. The navel of the imperfect one could not be seen, but all the rest of his belly might. Thus, what of the imperfect one was not joined, as arms, buttocks, thighs, and legs, did hang and shake upon the other, whose length reached to the middle-leg of the other perfect. His nurse told me he made water by both privities. The members of the little one were nourished, living, and in the same state as th
e others, except only they were less and thinner.

  This double body [6] and these different members having reference to one only head might serve for a favorable prognostication [7] to our king, to maintain the factions and differing parties of this our kingdom under a unity of the laws. [8] But lest the success should prove it contrary, it is not amiss to let him run his course. For in things already past there need no divination. Ut quum facta sunt, tum ad conjecturam aliquid interpretatione revocantur. So as when they are done, they then by some construction should be revoked to conjecture. [9] As it is reported of Epimenides, who ever divined contrary. [10]

  I come now from seeing of a shepherd at Medoc, of thirty years of age or thereabouts, who had no sign at all of genitorie [11] parts. But where they should be are three little holes by which his water doth continually trill from him.

  Those which we call monsters are not so with God, who in the immensity of his work seeth the infinity of forms therein contained. And it may be thought that any figure doth amaze us hath relation unto some other figure of the same kind, although unknown unto man. From out his all-seeing wisdom proceedeth nothing but good, common, regular, and orderly; but we neither see the sorting nor conceive the relation. Quod crebro videt, non miratur, etiam si, cur fiat, nescit. Quod ante non videt, id, si evenerit, ostendum esse censet. That which he often seeth, he doth not wonder at, though he know not why it is done. But if that happen which he never saw before, he thinks it some portentous wonder. [12]

  We call that against nature which cometh against custom. There is nothing, whatsoever it be, that is not according to her. [13] Let therefore this universal and natural reason chase from us the error and expel the astonishment which novelty breedeth and strangeness causeth in us.

  Of Repenting