SUBSECT. XI.—Concupiscible Appetite, as Desires, Ambition, Causes.
These concupiscible and irascible appetites are as the two twists of a rope, mutually mixed one with the other, and both twining about the heart: both good, as Austin, holds, l. 14. c. 9. de civ. Dei, [1802]“if they be moderate; both pernicious if they be exorbitant.” This concupiscible appetite, howsoever it may seem to carry with it a show of pleasure and delight, and our concupiscences most part affect us with content and a pleasing object, yet if they be in extremes, they rack and wring us on the other side. A true saying it is, “Desire hath no rest;” is infinite in itself, endless; and as [1803]one calls it, a perpetual rack, [1804]or horse-mill, according to Austin, still going round as in a ring. They are not so continual, as divers, felicius atomos denumerare possem, saith [1805]Bernard, quam motus cordis; nunc haec, nunc illa cogito, you may as well reckon up the motes in the sun as them. [1806]“It extends itself to everything,” as Guianerius will have it, “that is superfluously sought after:”' or to any [1807]fervent desire, as Fernelius interprets it; be it in what kind soever, it tortures if immoderate, and is (according to [1808] Plater and others) an especial cause of melancholy. Multuosis concupiscentiis dilaniantur cogitationes meae, [1809]Austin confessed, that he was torn a pieces with his manifold desires: and so doth [1810] Bernard complain, “that he could not rest for them a minute of an hour: this I would have, and that, and then I desire to be such and such.” 'Tis a hard matter therefore to confine them, being they are so various and many, impossible to apprehend all. I will only insist upon some few of the chief, and most noxious in their kind, as that exorbitant appetite and desire of honour, which we commonly call ambition; love of money, which is covetousness, and that greedy desire of gain: self-love, pride, and inordinate desire of vainglory or applause, love of study in excess; love of women (which will require a just volume of itself), of the other I will briefly speak, and in their order.
Ambition, a proud covetousness, or a dry thirst of honour, a great torture of the mind, composed of envy, pride, and covetousness, a gallant madness, one [1811]defines it a pleasant poison, Ambrose, “a canker of the soul, an hidden plague:” [1812]Bernard, “a secret poison, the father of livor, and mother of hypocrisy, the moth of holiness, and cause of madness, crucifying and disquieting all that it takes hold of.” [1813]Seneca calls it, rem solicitam, timidam, vanam, ventosam, a windy thing, a vain, solicitous, and fearful thing. For commonly they that, like Sisyphus, roll this restless stone of ambition, are in a perpetual agony, still [1814] perplexed, semper taciti, tritesque recedunt (Lucretius), doubtful, timorous, suspicious, loath to offend in word or deed, still cogging and colloguing, embracing, capping, cringing, applauding, flattering, fleering, visiting, waiting at men's doors, with all affability, counterfeit honesty and humility. [1815]If that will not serve, if once this humour (as [1816]Cyprian describes it) possess his thirsty soul, ambitionis salsugo ubi bibulam animam possidet, by hook and by crook he will obtain it, “and from his hole he will climb to all honours and offices, if it be possible for him to get up, flattering one, bribing another, he will leave no means unessay'd to win all.” [1817]It is a wonder to see how slavishly these kind of men subject themselves, when they are about a suit, to every inferior person; what pains they will take, run, ride, cast, plot, countermine, protest and swear, vow, promise, what labours undergo, early up, down late; how obsequious and affable they are, how popular and courteous, how they grin and fleer upon every man they meet; with what feasting and inviting, how they spend themselves and their fortunes, in seeking that many times, which they had much better be without; as [1818]Cyneas the orator told Pyrrhus: with what waking nights, painful hours, anxious thoughts, and bitterness of mind, inter spemque metumque, distracted and tired, they consume the interim of their time. There can be no greater plague for the present. If they do obtain their suit, which with such cost and solicitude they have sought, they are not so freed, their anxiety is anew to begin, for they are never satisfied, nihil aliud nisi imperium spirant, their thoughts, actions, endeavours are all for sovereignty and honour, like [1819]Lues Sforza that huffing Duke of Milan, “a man of singular wisdom, but profound ambition, born to his own, and to the destruction of Italy,” though it be to their own ruin, and friends' undoing, they will contend, they may not cease, but as a dog in a wheel, a bird in a cage, or a squirrel in a chain, so [1820]Budaeus compares them; [1821]they climb and climb still, with much labour, but never make an end, never at the top. A knight would be a baronet, and then a lord, and then a viscount, and then an earl, &c.; a doctor, a dean, and then a bishop; from tribune to praetor; from bailiff to major; first this office, and then that; as Pyrrhus in [1822]Plutarch, they will first have Greece, then Africa, and then Asia, and swell with Aesop's frog so long, till in the end they burst, or come down with Sejanus, ad Gemonias scalas, and break their own necks; or as Evangelus the piper in Lucian, that blew his pipe so long, till he fell down dead. If he chance to miss, and have a canvass, he is in a hell on the other side; so dejected, that he is ready to hang himself, turn heretic, Turk, or traitor in an instant. Enraged against his enemies, he rails, swears, fights, slanders, detracts, envies, murders: and for his own part, si appetitum explere non potest, furore corripitur; if he cannot satisfy his desire (as [1823]Bodine writes) he runs mad. So that both ways, hit or miss, he is distracted so long as his ambition lasts, he can look for no other but anxiety and care, discontent and grief in the meantime, [1824]madness itself, or violent death in the end. The event of this is common to be seen in populous cities, or in princes' courts, for a courtier's life (as Budaeus describes it) “is a [1825]gallimaufry of ambition, lust, fraud, imposture, dissimulation, detraction, envy, pride; [1826]the court, a common conventicle of flatterers, time-servers, politicians,” &c.; or as [1827] Anthony Perez will, “the suburbs of hell itself.” If you will see such discontented persons, there you shall likely find them. [1828]And which he observed of the markets of old Rome,
SUBSECT. XII.—Φιλαργυρία, Covetousness, a Cause.
Plutarch, in his [1829]book whether the diseases of the body be more grievous than those of the soul, is of opinion, “if you will examine all the causes of our miseries in this life, you shall find them most part to have had their beginning from stubborn anger, that furious desire of contention, or some unjust or immoderate affection, as covetousness, &c.” From whence “are wars and contentions amongst you?” [1830]St. James asks: I will add usury, fraud, rapine, simony, oppression, lying, swearing, bearing false witness, &c. are they not from this fountain of covetousness, that greediness in getting, tenacity in keeping, sordidity in spending; that they are so wicked, [1831]“unjust against God, their neighbour, themselves;” all comes hence. “The desire of money is the root of all evil, and they that lust after it, pierce themselves through with many sorrows,” 1 Tim. vi. 10. Hippocrates therefore in his Epistle to Crateva, an herbalist, gives him this good counsel, that if it were possible, [1832] “amongst other herbs, he should cut up that weed of covetousness by the roots, that there be no remainder left, and then know this for a certainty, that together with their bodies, thou mayst quickly cure all the diseases of their minds.” For it is indeed the pattern, image, epitome of all melancholy, the fountain of many miseries, much discontented care and woe; this “inordinate, or immoderate desire of gain, to get or keep money,” as [1833]Bonaventure defines it: or, as Austin describes it, a madness of the soul, Gregory a torture; Chrysostom, an insatiable drunkenness; Cyprian, blindness, speciosum supplicium, a plague subverting kingdoms, families, an [1834]incurable disease; Budaeus, an ill habit, [1835]“yielding to no remedies:” neither Aesculapius nor Plutus can cure them: a continual plague, saith Solomon, and vexation of spirit, another hell. I know there be some of opinion, that covetous men are happy, and worldly, wise, that there is more pleasure in getting of wealth than in spending, and no delight in the world like unto it. 'Twas [1836]Bias' problem of old, “With what art thou not weary? with getting money. What is most delectable? to gain.” What is it, trow you, that makes a poor man labour all his lifetime, carry such great burdens, fare so hardly, macerate himself, and endure so much misery, undergo such base offices with so great patience, to rise up early, and lie down late, if there were not an extraordinary delight in getting and keeping of money? What makes a merchant that hath no need, satis superque domi, to range all over the world, through all those intemperate [1837]Zones of heat and cold; voluntarily to venture his life, and be content with such miserable famine, nasty usage, in a stinking ship; if there were not a pleasure and hope to get money, which doth season the rest, and mitigate his indefatigable pains? What makes them go into the bowels of the earth, an hundred fathom deep, endangering their dearest lives, enduring damps and filthy smells, when they have enough already, if they could be content, and no such cause to labour, but an extraordinary delight they take in riches. This may seem plausible at first show, a popular and strong argument; but let him that so thinks, consider better of it, and he shall soon perceive, that it is far otherwise than he supposeth; it may be haply pleasing at the first, as most part all melancholy is. For such men likely have some lucida intervalla, pleasant symptoms intermixed; but you must note that of [1838]Chrysostom, “'Tis one thing to be rich, another to be covetous:” generally they are all fools, dizzards, madmen, [1839]miserable wretches, living besides themselves, sine arte fruendi, in perpetual slavery, fear, suspicion, sorrow, and discontent, plus aloes quam mellis habent; and are indeed, “rather possessed by their money, than possessors:” as [1840]Cyprian hath it, mancipati pecuniis; bound prentice to their goods, as [1841]Pliny; or as Chrysostom, servi divitiarum, slaves and drudges to their substance; and we may conclude of them all, as [1842]Valerius doth of Ptolomaeus king of Cyprus, “He was in title a king of that island, but in his mind, a miserable drudge of money:”
SUBSECT. XIII.—Love of Gaming, &c. and pleasures immoderate; Causes.
It is a wonder to see, how many poor, distressed, miserable wretches, one shall meet almost in every path and street, begging for an alms, that have been well descended, and sometimes in flourishing estate, now ragged, tattered, and ready to be starved, lingering out a painful life, in discontent and grief of body and mind, and all through immoderate lust, gaming, pleasure and riot. 'Tis the common end of all sensual epicures and brutish prodigals, that are stupefied and carried away headlong with their several pleasures and lusts. Cebes in his table, St. Ambrose in his second book of Abel and Cain, and amongst the rest Lucian in his tract de Mercede conductis, hath excellent well deciphered such men's proceedings in his picture of Opulentia, whom he feigns to dwell on the top of a high mount, much sought after by many suitors; at their first coming they are generally entertained by pleasure and dalliance, and have all the content that possibly may be given, so long as their money lasts: but when their means fail, they are contemptibly thrust out at a back door, headlong, and there left to shame, reproach, despair. And he at first that had so many attendants, parasites, and followers, young and lusty, richly arrayed, and all the dainty fare that might be had, with all kind of welcome and good respect, is now upon a sudden stripped of all, [1866]pale, naked, old, diseased and forsaken, cursing his stars, and ready to strangle himself; having no other company but repentance, sorrow, grief, derision, beggary, and contempt, which are his daily attendants to his life's end. As the [1867]prodigal son had exquisite music, merry company, dainty fare at first; but a sorrowful reckoning in the end; so have all such vain delights and their followers. [1868]Tristes voluptatum exitus, et quisquis voluptatum suarum reminisci volet, intelliget, as bitter as gall and wormwood is their last; grief of mind, madness itself. The ordinary rocks upon which such men do impinge and precipitate themselves, are cards, dice, hawks, and hounds, Insanum venandi studium, one calls it, insanae substructiones: their mad structures, disports, plays, &c., when they are unseasonably used, imprudently handled, and beyond their fortunes. Some men are consumed by mad fantastical buildings, by making galleries, cloisters, terraces, walks, orchards, gardens, pools, rillets, bowers, and such like places of pleasure; Inutiles domos, [1869]Xenophon calls them, which howsoever they be delightsome things in themselves, and acceptable to all beholders, an ornament, and benefiting some great men: yet unprofitable to others, and the sole overthrow of their estates. Forestus in his observations hath an example of such a one that became melancholy upon the like occasion, having consumed his substance in an unprofitable building, which would afterward yield him no advantage. Others, I say, are [1870] overthrown by those mad sports of hawking and hunting; honest recreations, and fit for some great men, but not for every base inferior person; whilst they will maintain their falconers, dogs, and hunting nags, their wealth, saith [1871]Salmutze, “runs away with hounds, and their fortunes fly away with hawks.” They persecute beasts so long, till in the end they themselves degenerate into beasts, as [1872]Agrippa taxeth them, [1873]Actaeon like, for as he was eaten to death by his own dogs, so do they devour themselves and their patrimonies, in such idle and unnecessary disports, neglecting in the mean time their more necessary business, and to follow their vocations. Over-mad too sometimes are our great men in delighting, and doting too much on it. [1874]“When they drive poor husbandmen from their tillage,” as [1875]Sarisburiensis objects, Polycrat. l. 1. c. 4, “fling down country farms, and whole towns, to make parks, and forests, starving men to feed beasts, and [1876]punishing in the mean time such a man that shall molest their game, more severely than him that is otherwise a common hacker, or a notorious thief.” But great men are some ways to be excused, the meaner sort have no evasion why they should not be counted mad. Poggius the Florentine tells a merry story to this purpose, condemning the folly and impertinent business of such kind of persons. A physician of Milan, saith he, that cured mad men, had a pit of water in his house, in which he kept his patients, some up to the knees, some to the girdle, some to the chin, pro modo insaniae, as they were more or less affected. One of them by chance, that was well recovered, stood in the door, and seeing a gallant ride by with a hawk on his fist, well mounted, with his spaniels after him, would needs know to what use all this preparation served; he made answer to kill certain fowls; the patient demanded again, what his fowl might be worth which he killed in a year; he replied 5 or 10 crowns; and when he urged him farther what his dogs, horse, and hawks stood him in, he told him 400 crowns; with that the patient bad be gone, as he loved his life and welfare, for if our master come and find thee here, he will put thee in the pit amongst mad men up to the chin: taxing the madness and folly of such vain men that spend themselves in those idle sports, neglecting their business and necessary affairs. Leo Decimus, that hunting pope, is much discommended by [1877]Jovius in his life, for his immoderate desire of hawking and hunting, in so much that (as he saith) he would sometimes live about Ostia weeks and months together, leave suitors [1878]unrespected, bulls and pardons unsigned, to his own prejudice, and many private men's loss. [1879]“And if he had been by chance crossed in his sport, or his game not so good, he was so impatient, that he would revile and miscall many times men of great worth with most bitter taunts, look so sour, be so angry and waspish, so grieved and molested, that it is incredible to relate it.” But if he had good sport, and been well pleased, on the other side, incredibili munificentia, with unspeakable bounty and munificence he would reward all his fellow hunters, and deny nothing to any suitor when he was in that mood. To say truth, 'tis the common humour of all gamesters, as Galataeus observes, if they win, no men living are so jovial and merry, but [1880]if they lose, though it be but a trifle, two or three games at tables, or a dealing at cards for two pence a game, they are so choleric and testy that no man may speak with them, and break many times into violent passions, oaths, imprecations, and unbeseeming speeches, little differing from mad men for the time. Generally of all gamesters and gaming, if it be excessive, thus much we may conclude, that whether they win or lose for the present, their winnings are not Munera fortunae, sed insidiae as that wise Seneca determines, not fortune's gifts, but baits, the common catastrophe is [1881]beggary, [1882]Ut pestis vitam, sic adimit alea pecuniam, as the plague takes away life, doth gaming goods, for [1883] omnes nudi, inopes et egeni;
I may not here omit those two main plagues, and common dotages of human kind, wine and women, which have infatuated and besotted myriads of people; they go commonly together.
That other madness is on women, Apostatare facit cor, saith the wise man, [1900]Atque homini cerebrum minuit. Pleasant at first she is, like Dioscorides Rhododaphne, that fair plant to the eye, but poison to the taste, the rest as bitter as wormwood in the end (Prov. v. 4.) and sharp as a two-edged sword, (vii. 27.) “Her house is the way to hell, and goes down to the chambers of death.” What more sorrowful can be said? they are miserable in this life, mad, beasts, led like [1901]“oxen to the slaughter:” and that which is worse, whoremasters and drunkards shall be judged, amittunt gratiam, saith Austin, perdunt gloriam, incurrunt damnationem aeternam. They lose grace and glory;
SUBSECT. XIV.—Philautia, or Self-love, Vainglory, Praise, Honour, Immoderate Applause, Pride, overmuch Joy, &c., Causes.
Self-love, pride, and vainglory, [1903]caecus amor sui, which Chrysostom calls one of the devil's three great nets; [1904]“Bernard, an arrow which pierceth the soul through, and slays it; a sly, insensible enemy, not perceived,” are main causes. Where neither anger, lust, covetousness, fear, sorrow, &c., nor any other perturbation can lay hold; this will slyly and insensibly pervert us, Quem non gula vicit, Philautia, superavit, (saith Cyprian) whom surfeiting could not overtake, self-love hath overcome. [1905]“He hath scorned all money, bribes, gifts, upright otherwise and sincere, hath inserted himself to no fond imagination, and sustained all those tyrannical concupiscences of the body, hath lost all his honour, captivated by vainglory.” Chrysostom, sup. Io. Tu sola animum mentemque peruris, gloria. A great assault and cause of our present malady, although we do most part neglect, take no notice of it, yet this is a violent batterer of our souls, causeth melancholy and dotage. This pleasing humour; this soft and whispering popular air, Amabilis insania; this delectable frenzy, most irrefragable passion, Mentis gratissimus error, this acceptable disease, which so sweetly sets upon us, ravisheth our senses, lulls our souls asleep, puffs up our hearts as so many bladders, and that without all feeling, [1906]insomuch as “those that are misaffected with it, never so much as once perceive it, or think of any cure.” We commonly love him best in this [1907]malady, that doth us most harm, and are very willing to be hurt; adulationibus nostris libentur facemus (saith [1908] Jerome) we love him, we love him for it: [1909]O Bonciari suave, suave fuit a te tali haec tribui; 'Twas sweet to hear it. And as [1910]Pliny doth ingenuously confess to his dear friend Augurinus, “all thy writings are most acceptable, but those especially that speak of us.” Again, a little after to Maximus, [1911]“I cannot express how pleasing it is to me to hear myself commended.” Though we smile to ourselves, at least ironically, when parasites bedaub us with false encomiums, as many princes cannot choose but do, Quum tale quid nihil intra se repererint, when they know they come as far short, as a mouse to an elephant, of any such virtues; yet it doth us good. Though we seem many times to be angry, [1912] “and blush at our own praises, yet our souls inwardly rejoice, it puffs us up;” 'tis fallax suavitas, blandus daemon, “makes us swell beyond our bounds, and forget ourselves.” Her two daughters are lightness of mind, immoderate joy and pride, not excluding those other concomitant vices, which [1913]Iodocus Lorichius reckons up; bragging, hypocrisy, peevishness, and curiosity.
Now the common cause of this mischief, ariseth from ourselves or others, [1914]we are active and passive. It proceeds inwardly from ourselves, as we are active causes, from an overweening conceit we have of our good parts, own worth, (which indeed is no worth) our bounty, favour, grace, valour, strength, wealth, patience, meekness, hospitality, beauty, temperance, gentry, knowledge, wit, science, art, learning, our [1915] excellent gifts and fortunes, for which, Narcissus-like, we admire, flatter, and applaud ourselves, and think all the world esteems so of us; and as deformed women easily believe those that tell them they be fair, we are too credulous of our own good parts and praises, too well persuaded of ourselves. We brag and venditate our [1916]own works, and scorn all others in respect of us; Inflati scientia, (saith Paul) our wisdom, [1917]our learning, all our geese are swans, and we as basely esteem and vilify other men's, as we do over-highly prize and value our own. We will not suffer them to be in secundis, no, not in tertiis; what, Mecum confertur Ulysses? they are Mures, Muscae, culices prae se, nits and flies compared to his inexorable and supercilious, eminent and arrogant worship: though indeed they be far before him. Only wise, only rich, only fortunate, valorous, and fair, puffed up with this tympany of self-conceit; [1918]as that proud Pharisee, they are not (as they suppose) “like other men,” of a purer and more precious metal: [1919]Soli rei gerendi sunt efficaces, which that wise Periander held of such: [1920]meditantur omne qui prius negotium, &c. Novi quendam (saith [1921]Erasmus) I knew one so arrogant that he thought himself inferior to no man living, like [1922]Callisthenes the philosopher, that neither held Alexander's acts, or any other subject worthy of his pen, such was his insolency; or Seleucus king of Syria, who thought none fit to contend with him but the Romans. [1923]Eos solos dignos ratus quibuscum de imperio certaret. That which Tully writ to Atticus long since, is still in force. [1924]“There was never yet true poet nor orator, that thought any other better than himself.” And such for the most part are your princes, potentates, great philosophers, historiographers, authors of sects or heresies, and all our great scholars, as [1925]Hierom defines; “a natural philosopher is a glorious creature, and a very slave of rumour, fame, and popular opinion,” and though they write de contemptu gloriae, yet as he observes, they will put their names to their books. Vobis et famae, me semper dedi, saith Trebellius Pollio, I have wholly consecrated myself to you and fame. “'Tis all my desire, night and day, 'tis all my study to raise my name.” Proud [1926]Pliny seconds him; Quamquam O! &c. and that vainglorious [1927]orator is not ashamed to confess in an Epistle of his to Marcus Lecceius, Ardeo incredibili cupididate, &c. “I burn with an incredible desire to have my [1928]name registered in thy book.” Out of this fountain proceed all those cracks and brags,—[1929]speramus carmina fingi Posse linenda cedro, et leni servanda cupresso—[1930]Non usitata nec tenui ferar penna.—nec in terra morabor longius. Nil parvum aut humili modo, nil mortale loquor. Dicar qua violens obstrepit Ausidus.—Exegi monumentum aere perennius. Iamque opus exegi, quod nec Jovis ira, nec ignis, &c. cum venit ille dies, &c. parte tamen meliore mei super alta perennis astra ferar, nomenque erit indelebile nostrum. (This of Ovid I have paraphrased in English.)
Another kind of mad men there is opposite to these, that are insensibly mad, and know not of it, such as contemn all praise and glory, think themselves most free, when as indeed they are most mad: calcant sed alio fastu: a company of cynics, such as are monks, hermits, anchorites, that contemn the world, contemn themselves, contemn all titles, honours, offices: and yet in that contempt are more proud than any man living whatsoever. They are proud in humility, proud in that they are not proud, saepe homo de vanae gloriae contemptu, vanius gloriatur, as Austin hath it, confess. lib. 10, cap. 38, like Diogenes, intus gloriantur, they brag inwardly, and feed themselves fat with a self-conceit of sanctity, which is no better than hypocrisy. They go in sheep's russet, many great men that might maintain themselves in cloth of gold, and seem to be dejected, humble by their outward carriage, when as inwardly they are swollen full of pride, arrogancy, and self-conceit. And therefore Seneca adviseth his friend Lucilius, [1945]“in his attire and gesture, outward actions, especially to avoid all such things as are more notable in themselves: as a rugged attire, hirsute head, horrid beard, contempt of money, coarse lodging, and whatsoever leads to fame that opposite way.”
All this madness yet proceeds from ourselves, the main engine which batters us is from others, we are merely passive in this business: from a company of parasites and flatterers, that with immoderate praise, and bombast epithets, glossing titles, false eulogiums, so bedaub and applaud, gild over many a silly and undeserving man, that they clap him quite out of his wits. Res imprimis violenta est, as Hierom notes, this common applause is a most violent thing, laudum placenta, a drum, fife, and trumpet cannot so animate; that fattens men, erects and dejects them in an instant. [1946] Palma negata macrum, donata reducit opimum. It makes them fat and lean, as frost doth conies. [1947]“And who is that mortal man that can so contain himself, that if he be immoderately commended and applauded, will not be moved?” Let him be what he will, those parasites will overturn him: if he be a king, he is one of the nine worthies, more than a man, a god forthwith,—[1948]edictum Domini Deique nostri: and they will sacrifice unto him,