CHAP. I. The Character of Boldness.

IF it be true, The Elo­gy of B [...]ld­ness. that Love is the Queen of the Passions, we must beleeve that its birth, and not its desert hath given it that advan­tage; it being the first which is raised in the Heart, those which are formed af­terwards, finding her in the Throne, finde themselves obliged to submit themselves to her, and to give place to their elder, a right which they might contest, were Rea­son and not Nature judge of the differ­ence.

In effect, so turbulent and so factious a state as that of the Passions, ought not to be governed by one that is blind or effemi­nate, who is born to serve, and which would cease to be what she is, did she but cease to command. Boldness were the ra­ther to be imployed, which is a noble and generous Passion, which is the Mother of Valor, and the onely one which can fight, which can overcome, which can triumph.

It's she who hath established all the Powers and all the Empires of the World, who hath made all the great Princes, and all the Hero's, who first opened the way to glory and immortality, and who onely lawfully dispenseth Victories; For al­though Fortune vaunts to be the Mistris of them, to give them when and to whom she pleaseth, they become shameful, if Bold­ness makes them not meritorious: And those who conquer without her, yield to the conquered the honor of the combate, and leave them the fairest part of the Vi­ctory.

To conclude, it's she inspires Vertue with that noble ardor which makes her under­take the high & most difficult things, which lends her arms to combate Vice, which af­fords her strength to quell the Passions, and which after she hath made her triumph [Page 3]over all the Monsters of the Earth, opens Heaven with that holy violence w [...]e­with it would be violenced, and [...] her in possession of those immortal Crowns which to be justly possest ought to be ra­vished. For we must not beleeve that the most noble imployments of Boldness are to gain Battels, to take Towns, and to conquer Kingdoms: Nature thinks not of these disorders, when she sows the seeds of this Passion in the Soul. She minds more important Combates and Conquests which are far more useful, and much more glorious.

Knowing that Man is destined for Fe­licity, that there are a thousand kindes of Enemies which defend his entry, and that himself most commonly opposeth himself most of all, against his own good; She gives him Boldness, as a necessary succor to overcome obstacles, and to enter into the enjoyment of those goods for which they contested him.

So that we may say without her, he would be exposed to the violence of all both within and without himself; That his life would be but a continual sence of fear and of despair. In a word, that he were the most impotent and most unhappy of all creatures. For although he boasts to have a [Page 4]more perfect composition of body, clearer knowledges, more noble Appetites then all other Animals: And that he is not sub­ject to that corruption which destroys all other things; yet when we have well ex­amined these advantages, they would be useless to him, yea they would be perni­tious if he were without Boldness; since the perfect temper which he hath, renders him weak and delicate, that his Reason is naturally timerous and suspitious, that his Passions are base and effeminate, and that immortality without a good issue is a mis­cheif without end, and without measure: So that Boldness bereaving him of Weak­ness and Fear, raising him to generous actions, and conducting him to Felicity, we cannot doubt but it's she who corrects the defects of our birth, which makes it enjoy prerogatives which she affords it, and to which it ows all its nobility, all its excellency, and all its good fortune.

But as this Passion follows the destiny of the most perfect things, whose disorders are always the greatest, and their corrupti­ons the most dangerous: So it happeneth also, that when she passeth the bounds she ought to keep, none causeth greater disor­ders, nor is more an Enemy to Man, and to Civil Society.

It's from her that Vice, which of it self is timerous, and loves to hide it self, takes heart and strength, becomes insolent and proud, that it shews it self brasen-fac'd, and appears in publick: All those detestable crimes which have ruined so many Fami­lies, and so many Republicks, had never en­tered into the thoughts of those who com­mitted them, or at least would have re­mained in them without effect, had not Boldness been a Complice of their wicked­ness.

No, without her there had never been seditious persons, nor Rebells; Usurpers, nor Tyrants; Parricides, nor committers of Sacriledge; without her we had never seen so many Armies defeated, so many Provinces desolate, so many People ruined, so many Empires destroyed without her. In fine, Pride and Ambition which are the sources of all our mischiefs, and of all publick ca­lamities, had been unknown or impotent Passions; And if we may so speak, perhaps Peace and Justice had never retired out of the World, had Boldness never enter­ed in.

So that if we rightly consider the goods and the ills she brings, she may fitly be compared to the heat which the Sun defuseth on the Universe; for like it she heats and stirs up [Page 6]all languishing Vertues, she inspires strength and vigor into all the world, she causeth the noblest effects which are to be found therein, and if she produceth not gold and precious stones, yet we may say she makes Scepters and Crowns.

But like the same heat also she commonly corrupts all the best of things; she brings forth monsters and prodigies, she forms thunders and tempests; and there are whole Climates which she hath turned into De­serts and Solitudes. Even she so much the more resembles it, that as that quality makes use of the light to produce its dan­gerous effects, this Passion also makes use of glory to execute its evil designs. At least she fancies to her self that honor is still to be acquired in all those undertake­ings; and although they are criminal or unhappy, yet she imagins, that the shame to have committed a crime, or to have had an ill success, is far short of the glory to have dared much.

But neither is this a place to defend or condemn her; we must onely therefore de­scribe her, and according to our proposed order, make those Characters appear which she imprints in the Soul and Body of those who are sensible of her.

To design the picture of Boldness, a [Page 7]man had need of the Art and Pensil of those great Painters, The De­scription of a Bold Man. who represented one­ly Gods and Hero's; for it's a Passion al­together heroick, and which at all times hath been placed in the rank of Enthusi­asms, and of divine Furies. In effect, when it enters the Soul it fills it with so much splendor and majesty, it inspires such noble sentiments, and gives it such wonderful motions and transports, that it seems as if it were for us to wrong it, to seek its birth here below, and that with reason we may beleeve that Nature is [...]oo weak to produce a thing that is so excellent.

But whether it be a present from Hea­ven or no, it is certain it is the greatest and most advantagious that the Soul could ever hope for: It compleats all its glory and all its riches; and if it be true that the Sun hath Houses, where he is sensible that his power and forces increase, we may say that Bold­ness is the Throne where the Soul findes its greatness and its elevation, where she placeth her self above all those Powers which assault her, and where she despiseth all those dangers wherewith she may be threatned.

And to speak truth, it's matter of asto­nishment, to see that a man should have none at the sight of precipices, shipwracks [Page 8]and of all the most frightful things in the world; Danger environs him on all sides, his Enemies press him on all parts, Death presents it self to him in a thousand places, and in a thousand manners; all these things astonish him not; nay, he often takes them for illusions, and laughs at them as vain fantasms, which in his opinion are fit one­ly to terrifie timerous minds. But if he ex­pects to find resistance, and that he judg­eth it to be an honor to combate or to o­vercome them; then his Courage swels, his Vigor awakes, his whole Soul seems to increase with his Forces, and as if in effect she were grown greater, he entertains him­self only with great thoughts, he forms none but great designs, and suffers himself to be moved with none but by the most noble and most generous of the Passions; For his spirit is silled with nothing but the glory and the immortality which he intends to acquire. He imagins that all the World makes ready Crowns for him alone to deserve, and as if the approach of the Ene­my did hasten him the Victory, he sees him with pleasure, he accosts him with assu­rance, and beleeves that the beginning of the Combate is but the commencement of his riumph.

You must not at that time think of with­holding [Page 9]him; the advice you give will be cowardly counsel, the ill omens which you observe will be superstitions or weak­nesses. In fine, all the cares we take to withdraw him from the danger wherein he is going to cast himself, are injurious to him, and those that take them are esteem­ed timerous Souls, or Enemies of Glo­ry.

The forbiddings of a Father, the tears of a Family, nor the reverence of the Laws are not able to stop him; he tramples all manner of respects under his feet, and like a torrent which is irritated by obstacles, which throws down Dams, and becomes more rapid by resistance, it adds fury to his passion, he makes way with force; and what is opposed against him serves but to make him with the more impetuosity run to the place of combate. He will not there spend his time in unprofitable dis­course; he speaks, but at the same time he strikes, and his words rather serve to express his Courage then his thought; for he imploys them not in injuries, nor in re­proaches, nor in clearing himself, nor in vain threats; they are but interfering words and short exclamations, which his trans­port wherein he is, draws from the mouth; they are as if they were the boylings of [Page 10]that ardor which agitates him within, or to say better, they are like the claps of thunder which come pouring down on his Enemy.

And truly it can be better compared to nothing then Thunder; like that, at the same time it causeth the lightning, the noise, and the blow; like that, at the same time it strikes, it pierceth, it casts down all that resists it; and if it be true that it dis­dains to touch dead Bodies, and spares those which sleep, it's still the more like un­to it; never assaulting those who have lost heart, or are not in a condition able to de­fend themselves. For although in the heat of the Battel he seems onely to breath cru­elty, and that his fury ought not to be glut­ted with ought but blood and slaughter, yet it's very certain that none make use of Victory more moderately: He never pro­ceeds to insolency, and we may say he at the same time disarms his Passion when he disarms his Enemy; As soon as he sees him on the ground he raiseth him up, he em­braceth him, and not remembring the blows he received, he complains onely of those which he hath given; he speaks mo­destly of the advantage he had over him, and how great soever a lover of glory he is, he yeelds to the chance of Arms, the [Page 11]greatest part of what he hath acquired. It is not that in his Soul he beleeves not but that his Valor made his Fortune good, but that he ardently seeks the praises and the ho­nors which Victory hath made him merit, and but that he esteems all those stupid or envious who admire not the wonders which he thinks he hath done: But it's the nature of the Passion which moves him to flye unto glory, by such noble and civil ways, and to cover his ambition by free and ge­nerous proceedings and by a modest ei­ther discourse or silence: In a word, his freeness is ambitious, his generosity is in­terest, and his modesty is proud.

And in effect, there are a thousand en­counters wherein he loseth his discretion, and cannot hide that high and imperious humor which accompanies him. For if he hath any design in hand, he will al­ways be cheif of the Councel, and of the enterprise; He beleeves and speaks high, that he is the onely man, who knows the means to make it succeed, and it's he one­ly can execute it. And as if Prudence and good Fortune could do nothing without him, he confidently assures that the suc­cess cannot but be unhappy unless he hath the conduct of it, or at least if he be not of the party.

In the mean time, it's certain that com­monly there is no man less capable to give or to follow good counsel then he; Pre­sumption makes him despise the best ad­vice, precipitation bereaves him of fore­sight, and the great confidence which he hath in himself, exposeth him to all man­ner of dangers, and makes him fall in­to all the ambushes which are prepared for him.

It's true, that he perisheth nobly in them, and that the proofs which he gives of his Courage, may wipe away the shame of his temerity or of his imprudence; for although he be surprised by his Enemy, that he sees very well that resistance is useless, and that all what presents it self before his eyes declare his loss; yet all this makes him not lose Courage nor Judgement, after having without trouble, and without appre­hension, considered the greatness of the dan­ger, a certain generous choler and a noble despair seizeth on him, which transports him beyond himself, and carries him through fire and sword, and makes him perform such wonderful efforts, that they seem to surpass his natural strength. He strikes, he casts down, he kills all those whom his sword can reach; and after a long fight finding himself rather cast down [Page 13]then conquered, he leaves a sad Victory to the Victor, and an ample cause of admirati­on and of jealousie.

But we labor in vain in one picture to represent all the motions which this Passi­on can form in the Soul; they are so dif­ferent amongst themselves, that its impos­sible they should be found in one and the same subject. And we may say that Bold­ness is a fire which produceth as many seve­ral sorts of heat and flame, as it is taking in several matters. There is no inclination nor profession which hath not its own par­ticular; and although this Passion be natu­rally generous and modest, and be far e­stranged from choler or cruelty, and be im­compatible with fear or astonishment; yet some are found to be base and insolent, some which are Bragadocio's, brutal and cru­el. Choler almost always accompanies that of Women and Children; and many of those who boldly run into danger lose their courage as soon as it presents it self before them. But that which is most strange is, Fear often devanceth the most noble Bold­ness; those often who are most valiant in fight, dare not speak in publick; and as the most furious Beasts are frighted at the sight of Spectra's, and of the feeblest a­mongst Beasts there are some who with­out [Page 14]cause are afraid at the first encounter of some persons, who cannot endure the presence of some things, and even with­out horror cannot so much as walk in the dark: We will here examine the cause of these differences. We will now therefore see whether Boldness hath as much power over the body, as in hath over the soul, and whether she can imprint out wardly as fair characters as those which she forms within.

Certainly we must confess that no Passi­on gives so advantagious a Mind, nor so noble and becoming a port to a man as this doth; all others corrupt that masculine beauty which he naturally ought to have; some render him fierce and savage, as Anger and Despair, others make him soft and effeminate, as Love and Joy; Bold­ness onely gives him that majestical air, that graceful stateliness, and that bold pride, which becomes his Nature and his Sex.

In effect, can we behold any thing more august, more full of pompe, then a man whom Boldness leads into danger? That generous coldness which appears in his face, that setled look, his proud march, and the noble efforts which he makes in fight, inspire in the mind I cannot tell [Page 15]what kind of veneration, and in my opini­on, make the most magnifick representati­on of vertue which can be imagined. For it is not only in the progress of this Passion that it takes this heroick air; it forms it self from the first motions it makes in the heart, and he no sooner perceives the danger, but we may see in his eyes the resolution which he takes, and the confidence he hath to overcome it.

He coldly considers it, without emo­tion, without changing colour; and if some­times he trembles, and grows pale at the encounter thereof, we may beleeve it is not that he fears it, but it's the greatness of his own Courage which astonisheth him. Neither doth this trouble last long; he pre­sently recomposeth and reassureth himself, and looking through and through his Ene­my with a severe smile, he makes us judge that he at once both scorns and threatens him.

If he thinks he ought to assault him, he marcheth towards him with large paces, but gravely, with an erect and stable sta­ture, with his brow lifted up, and his spark­ling eyes seem as if they would go out of their place, and begin the Combate before they come to handy blows. For without winking, and without heeding any thing [Page 16]else, he keeps them always fixed on him; he considers his port, his pace, his arms; he measures him, and seems to seek afar off those places which are weakest, and marks those which are to receive his first blows. Afterwards he accosts him with a silence both fierce and disdainful, with his forehead shriveled up betwixt his brows, stooping his head, and all his body bowed and short­ned in it self; he assaulteth him, he thrust­eth him, he presseth him; and calling to his succor that noble fury which reigns in Combates, he suffers himself to be carried away by it, and at last abandons himself to all the turbulency and impetuosity whereof it is capable.

Then it is that fire flies up into his face, that his looks become terrible, and that all his air, his port, and his mind render them­selves formidable. His hairs stand on end, his Forehead wrinkles, his Nostrils widen, and all his veins are swoln and extended. Sometimes he blows with impetuosity; sometimes he keeps in his breath, and shut­ing his Lips and his Teeth, he displaies his Arms, and dischargeth his greatest and most heavy blows; Sometimes he sighs under the endeavors he makes, and from time to time he sends forth the short and penetrating lightnings of his Voyce where­with [Page 17]it seems he would provoke his Cou­rage, and startle his Enemy. He stamps the ground with his Feet, he puts forth him­self, he leaps, he bows himself; and the sweat running from all the parts of him mixeth it self with the blood and dust wherewith he is covered, and forms I know not what frightful colour which renders him still the more formidable, whilst his Brest all red and inflamed, raiseth up it self with grievous secourses, and causeth a strong and fond respiration; his heart beats with violence, and did you feel his Pulse, you would easily judge by the greatness, swift­ness and vehemency of it, that the Soul hath none of its powers which are not em­ployed in this Passion. But let us finish his Picture with this Combate, neither is there ought else to be described therein, but ei­ther his Victory or his Loss, which can add nothing to the Characters of Boldness, but those of Joy or of Grief. Let us therefore seek the causes of all these effects in the Na­ture of this Passion.

CHAP. II. Of the Nature of Boldness.

THe Soul proposeth not more difficul­ties in forming Boldness, The Dif­ficulty that is in defining of Bold­ness. then the Minde encounters for attaining the know­ledge thereof. It must combate monsters, and assault whole Armies to acquire this knowledge; and at a less rate then to be of its party; it's impossible to resist so many opinions, and so many errors which have hid or corrupted its Nature. In effect, there is none of the Passions which hath more divided mens minds, which hath been more diversly defined, and of which more strange and more different pictures have been made. For there have been some so extravagant that they would not have placed it in the rank of Passions; beleeving, that to be bold was nothing but to despise danger, or not at all to fear it. And that Scorn being an effect of Judgment, and want of Fear, a privation, neither of them could be a motion of the Appetite; but who can be­lieve that a man that assaults his Enemy, scorns him? Contrariwise, if he scorned him, he would not assault him, since we never assault but those things which may [Page 19]hurt us, and we despise those onely which can do neither good nor hurt. And again, who will beleeve, that not to fear is to be bold, since stupidity and sleep take away fear without making us bold. Others af­firm it to be onely a powerful desire to as­sault and overcome what is hurtful; but since we do not desire to assault any more, when we have once effectually done it; in such an encounter Boldness must cease to be, since then even the desire ceaseth; yet it's certain, that Boldness continues and augments its self even in fight.

Others will have it nothing but a great and a strong Hope; but besides that, there are great hopes often found without any Boldness; what would you say of a Slave whose Masters goodness hath given him a very great and most assured hope of his li­berty, would he then have a very great Boldness? To what purpose should he im­ploy his Courage? must it be to combate his good fortune, or to assault his succeed­ing ill hap?

There are others which call it a resolu­tion of Courage, which makes a man pro­mise himself power enough to overcome the mischiefs which threatens him, that he without astonishment sees them come, nei­ther is he frighted when they are come; [Page 20]But besides that resolution is an effect of judgment, and not of the Appetite, and that often without being bold we are not a­stonished at the danger because we know it not; All the utmost endeavor of this Bold­ness seems to be imployed to bear misfor­tues without daring to assault them; and yet this is the most noble, and perhaps the onely imployment it can have.

Besides this, they will have, that one of the Passions of the Soul must fortifie it, and render it assured against all those ills which are to be shunned with most diffi­culty, and encourage it to pursue those goods which are acquired with the great­est pains: But force and assurance belong not to the Appetite, and instead of being the effects of Boldness, they are rather the causes of it; for the Soul must feel it self strong and assured before she engage herself in Boldness.

To say also with the Schools, that it is a motion which the Appetite makes to obtain a good which is to be acquired with difficultie; it's to be ignorant of the true object of Boldness, which obligeth it self to peril and danger. It is to confound it with Hope and with Anger, even also with Fear, which according to their Maxims, are also motions of the Soul to obtain a dif­ficult good.

To conclude, what definition soever may be given, if it express not the parti­cular motion which the Appetite suffers in this Passion, it doth disguise it, instead of making it known; and rather presents us with the shadow and fantasm of Boldness, then shews what it truly is. Let's therefore endeavor to discover it, and without stay­ing to observe the ill ways, let's conduct the Reader into that which is the best and most assured.

To this purpose we must suppose a thing known to all the World, That Ill is the ob­ject of Boldness? That true Bold­ness is stirred up at the sight of danger; that Combates, Shipwracks, Precipices, and death it self, are the most worthy ob­jects which imploy it. In short that she ap­pears most where the difficulties are great­est, and where she thinks to finde most resistance.

Now as we said in the discourse of Hope, the difficulties and the ills appear unto the Soul either greater or lesser then her for­ces; if they are greater, she flies them; if less, she scorns or else she assaults them. And truly the Schools say not enough when they establish it for a Maxime, That the Soul hath but two sorts of motions, the one by which she pursues good, and the other whereby she flies ill; for she is [Page 22]not in a worse condition then other things of Nature, which have not onely an incli­nation to seek what is fit for them, and flye what is hurtful, but they also have that to destroy what is contrary unto them. How­ever it be, it's certain that the Soul flies not all kinds of ill, that there are some which it assaults; and that if there be any Passi­on which it employs to execute so noble a design, it ought to be Boldness.

Now because that when an assault or a combate is to be made, That the Ill must be present. the ill must needs be present, otherwise the endeavor which were to be made would be vain and useless: It thence follows, that the difficulties and dangers ought to be present, which stir up this Boldness; for if we consider them as absent, they may then perhaps oblige the Soul to prepare it self, and to put it self in a condition to resist it, when it pre­sents it self. But they cannot draw from her any endeavor to assault them; for as much as the presence of the Enemy is ab­solutely necessary when we ought to fight; then indeed it may be an Assurance, a Con­fidence, a Resolution of Courage, but not a Boldness.

In effect, the order which the Soul ob­serves to form this Passion, is to consider the evil to come, and to compare its for­ces [Page 23]with her own, and then having found hers great enough to surmount them, she forms a desire of fighting, and a hope of Victory; and at the same time she pre­pares herself for the assault by the assurance and certainty which she takes of the success of her undertaking, by the resolution she makes to employ all those Faculties which ought to obey her, and by the command which she gives them to prepare themselves for the Combate; then the Appetite obey­ing her orders, strengthens it self, stiffening and settling it self in it self, that the Ene­my may not surprise it, and that it may be in a condition to resist it, if it happen it should present it self.

Yet hitherto there hath been no Bold­ness, there are onely the dispositions which go before her. For even then when the ill suffers it self not to be foreseen, and that it presents it self all on a sudden, these acti­ons must still precede the assault which she ought to make, and there must be some moments which give the Soul time to make all those preparatives which are necessary for her; otherwise in this encounter she would endure no other Passion but that of Astonishment, of Fear, or of De­spair.

In a word, all what precedes the assault [Page 24]which the Appetite makes, Objections which shew that ab­sent ill may raise Boldness. is not Boldness, no more then the preparatives for War are the Battel▪ And truly, as the presence of good raiseth in the mind different motions from those which its absence produceth therein; the presence of ill must also cause other Passions then its absence causeth: Now so it is that she assaults the present ill, and that there no Passion employed for that effect but Boldness; And therefore all those which she forms in absence of the ill, and which she raiseth before she combat it, de­serve not the name of Boldness, or at least the same name must be given to Passions which are altogether different: I know that some will say, that we are often sen­sible of the motion and of the effects of Boldness, although the Enemy appear not; That Anger which is never without her, is sometimes raised against those that are ab­sent; That Hope always accompanies it, which respects onely the future: In fine, that our common way of speaking affords not onely the name of Bold to him who affronts danger, but even to him who propo­seth himself to combate it, even to him who hath already fought it. So that there is no likelihood to restrain Boldness to nothing but the assault, nor to require the presence of the ill as a necessary condition to pro­duce it.

Answ. 1 But all these Reasons do not destroy the truth which we have established; for it's certain, that when Boldness and Anger rise in the absence of ill, the Imagination fan­cies it to it self as present; that strong and lively apprehension she hath found thereof having bereaved it of the remembrance of its absence. Neither is this difficult to conceive if we do but consider the manner with which she works, which makes her ea­sily fall into this error; forasmuch as not seeing the things but by their Images, which being present with it, ought also always to represent the things as present unto it; did she not make reflexion on their absence, which is but a stranger and exterior condi­tion of the body of the image, so that be­ing no party of the principal figure, the Imagination cannot be never so little diver­ted, but she must lose the remembrance thereof, if Sence and Reason call it not back and stop it not, that they may consi­der it; whence it happens that in Sleep and in all the strong Passions, wherein their guids are wont to abandon it, all the things which she imagineth seem unto her as if she saw them, and communicating its error to the Appetite, she causeth it to make the same motions for them, as if they were truly present. When therefore the ills ap­pear [Page 26]not, and that Boldness and Anger forbear not to rise in the Soul; yet for that are they not absent from her, seeing they are present to her thoughts, and of neces­sity we must beleeve, that to raise such kind of Passions that she fancies to her self, that her Enemies are at hand, that they are fal­ling on her, and that she is going to be op­prest by them, unless she assault them.

Answ. 2 As for Hope, its true, that Boldness is never without it; that a bold man always hopes, and that still there is some good to come which seems to be the motive of his under­takings: But from thence it follows not that the present ill should not be the true object of Boldness, or that he is obliged to do ought else but to assault and com­bate it.

For there is a great deal of difference in saying, That Hope always keeps company with Boldness, and in saying, That Hope and Boldness have one and the same object, one end, and one employment; they both of them serve as well as the rest of the Pas­sions to attain the end which the Soul pro­poseth it self; but its an end which is strange to them, and concerns them not; every one hath his own proper and peculiar one, which it at first encounters, and whereto it naturally tends, without taking care for [Page 27]the general which concerns the Soul; they properly are Souldiers which march and fight without knowing the design of the Head which conducts them. But to un­derstand this, we must observe, that the end of actions is that which terminates them, and that they are terminated by their effects. Now there are effects which are near hand, and which are produced first, and others which are made in pursuit of them, and which for the same reason are farther off. In the actions also there is an end which is near, and another which is farther off; that is uniform and changeth not; the other is several and inconstant, according to the divers use whereto the principal cause hath destinated it. So the first effect and the nearest and natural end of Heat, is to warm; the rest which follow for example, are to rost or to burn, accord­ing to the Design which Nature or Art propose.

As the Passions therefore are actions and motions of the Appetite, they have also two kinds of End, the one which is near, and which is nothing but the first effect which is produced by them; so Union is the proper and true end of Love; the ap­proaching to the Good is that of Desire; the Enjoyment is that of Joy; the Com­bate [Page 28]is that of Boldness, and so of the rest. All those other ends which follow this first belong not at all to the Passion, but onely to the principal cause which is the Soul, which destines it to what use it pleaseth her. So that the Combate being the first effect of Boldness, is also the only and true end: And if there be any good which it af­terwards expects, it is not she that consi­ders it, but Hope, or rather the Soul, which stirs up the most generous Passions to sight with those difficulties which hinder her the possession thereof.

The present Ill is then the onely object of Boldness; What the end of Boldness is. the Combate is the only End she tends to; and if that afterwards serves to obtain some good, 'tis a success which hap­pens unknown to it, and which she did not at all propose herself; otherwise we must say, that Hatred and Fear, and the rest of the Passions which flye from ill, have good al­so for their object, since we flie not from ill but for some good which may thereby accrew.

But if any man ask what good and pro­fit the Soul may make by this Combate, in a word, what the principal motive is which engageth her to assault ill: There is no man but will readily answer, That its to overcome it. But this is not to give a [Page 29]full Answer to the Question; we would know what she pretends to by this Victo­ry; for it is not sufficient to say that it's to defeat or chase away an enemy, that it's to have preheminence over him, or to ac­quire the glory to have overcome him: For­asmuch as these latter motions touch not the Sensitive Appetite, and that the other two leave the difficulty intire: Since we may further demand, why the Soul would defeat or drive away an Enemy? and what ever we should say, that it were to flie from ill: besides that this Reason is too loose and too general, and befits all the angry Passions; It's certain, that in flying she estrangeth herself from it in another manner then when she drives it away; so that we must enquire the particular which in this encounter she proposeth herself: Now he that will consider that the Soul stirs up for­ces in Boldness, and that she imploys them only when she thinks that her enemy makes use of her own to ruine her; it's to be beleev­ed that she hath no other design in assaulting it, but to take away from it the power and strength of ill-doing: For which cause we are not satisfied to see our Enemies flie, but we pursue them, that making them lose ei­ther their life or liberty, we may bereave them of all their wreacking power. But we [Page 30]shall insist upon this matter in the Chapter of Constancy.

After which, What the Nature of Boldness is. we believe we shall have sa­tisfied all the proposed difficulties; for as to what concerns the common manner of speaking, which gives the title of Bold to him who is no longer in danger, it's suffi­cient to say that we speak not here of Bold­ness as of a Habit which keeps its name, even when it acts not, but as of a Passion, which is altogether in motion, and out of which it no longer is the Passion of Bold­ness.

Let's then conclude, that Boldness is no­thing else but the motion which the Ap­petite makes in assaulting ill. But how doth it assault it? It can be by no other way but by that whereby all things use to assault their Enemies; for as they fortifie themselves, raise themselves up, and throw themselves on them; the Appetite doth the same, stiffens and fastens it self in it self, it animates, it lifts it self up, and shoots out it self against ill. In effect, either we must not fancy motions in the Soul, nor qualifie the Passions with the name of Mo­tions, or of necessity we must confess that that of Boldness is such as we have said it to be. It's so natural, and so conformable to Reason, that we cannot'assure that the [Page 31]Soul pursues good, and that she runs after it, that she estrangeth her self from ill and flies it, but we must be forced to confess, that seeing she ought to combate it, she is also obliged to raise up, and throw her self against it.

And did not Reason perswade this, let's but consider the motions of the Body, which provokes it, with which hers must necessarily have a correspondence; for it's impossible to see the putting forward of the Head, the startings out of the Eyes, the elevation of the Muscles, the motions of the Arms, the precipitate course, and im­petuous fallies which all the parts perform in this Passion, but we must presently fancy, that it's the Soul which raiseth up it self, that throws it self abroad, and even goes out of it self, to joyn and fight against her Enemy, so that we cannot err in saying, That Boldness is a motion of the Appetite, by which the Soul throws it self forth against ill, to combate it.

For this shooting forth is the different motion which distinguisheth it from all the rest of the Passions in which the Soul shoots not herself forth, as in that of Love and of Hatred, of Joy and of Grief, of Hope and of Despair; and the motive of this springing forth, which is to assault ill, [Page 32]and to combate it, renders it different from Desire and Aversion, from Fear and from Anger; forasmuch as if the Soul cast it self forth in Aversion or in Fear, its to estrange it self from ill, and not to assault it: In Desire it's to approach the Good, and in Anger it's to revenge it self, as in its place shall be declared.

It's true this definition is very different from that which Aristotle gave us in his Rhetorick, where he says, That Boldness is nothing else but a Hope which comes from the opinion which we have that expected Goods are near, and that things, which we fear are far off. But who fees not that it is the true portraicture of Confidence, which is a kinde of Hope; and that A­ristotle in that place pretended not to de­fine that of Boldness? seeing that in that place where he was obliged most carefully to observe it's Nature, he says in express terms, That dangers ought to be very near to provoke this Passion. Beyond all, what de­finition soever he hath given it, he consider­ed it not as a Passion, but onely as a Habit. Without stopping therefore at these things, which concern us not, let's fall on those which are more important; and first, let us see whether it be true, That the Soul hath a design to assault and combate ill in all sorts of Boldness.

There are two things which make us doubt this proposition, the first is, Whether all sorts of Boldness assault ill. That Boldness is not onely employed in assault­ing of ill, but also in resisting and sustain­ing it: Since a man may support a mis­chief, and suffer even death with a Cou­rage. The second is, that there are certain Boldnesses, wherein there is no combate to be made, there being no apparent ill: As when a man runs into danger without knowing it, when he is impudent or ambi­tious; for this considers nothing but ho­nors, and boldly pursues them, and the o­ther is bold, and takes delight to commit dishonest actions, where it seems he hath no enemy to fight.

But these Reasons are easily answered, for as for the first, although we may say, that resistance is a kinde of combate, since the Soul cannot resist but by opposition, and that to oppose, she must stiffen herself a­gainst ill, which in some sence is to assault and combate it; Yet it's certain, that simply to resist ill, or constantly to suffer its en­counters and violence, without making any other effort, properly are not the effects of Boldness, but of another Passion which we call Constancy, or staiedness of Courage, of which in the following Chapter.

As for the second, it's most certain, that [Page 34]there are those which run into dangers without knowing it, and that in such an encounter the Soul needs not assault the ill, seeing it sees it not; but neither then is there Boldness: For as no man will say, that a blind man is bold when he passeth a precipice which he thinks not of; nor that a Childe is couragious that will touch the flame and take up coals of fire, being ig­norant of the effects thereof: It's the same of any other, who goes or lights into dan­gers which are unknown to him: He will onely appear Bold to such as are like him, blind, or ignorant. In a word, the Appe­tite moves not it self but through know­ledge; and when that enlightens it not, it remains immoveable, and forms no Passion. It must have an object to raise it; and if there be any which it knows not of, it is no more touched with it then if it were not at all. So that the danger which is unknown to him, is to him no danger, and therefore he nei­ther flies nor assaults it, and hath neither Fear nor Boldness for it.

It's true, that those who are in that con­dition do often seem to be bold, because we see them in the midst of dangers without a­stonishment, that difficulties stop them not, and that they march with assurance through those obstacles which present [Page 35]themselves before them, but indeed are not such as they appear, and they are rather possest with blindness and stupidity then with true Boldness.

Yet it's that wherein we are most com­monly deceived, forasmuch as it is nothing easie to discern those deceitful signs from those which are true, and chiefly when the Soul is agitated by some ardent Passion; for carrying her with precipitation whether she would go, she takes from her the thought of all what may cross her, and makes her run after her object, without re­garding the lets and dangers she meets in her way. Now it's certain, that then it seems to be Boldness, which inspires her with that ardor, and which gives her those noble motions. Although in truth it is not she, but the impetuosity of the Passion which transports her; And it is thus, that the ambitious, the proud, and the volup­tuous seem bold in several occasions, where­as in effect they are nothing so, because that not considering the difficulties which are in the pursuit which they make afree Honors and Pleasures, they neither see them, nor do they assault them. And with­out doubt, we are to place in this rank the most part of those who fear not dangers being accustomed thereunto as Souldiers [Page 36]and Seamen, or having never tried them, like those who engage themselves in great undertakings, the difficulties whereof they never foresaw, or because they beleeve that they are not threatned by them, as such as think themselves far off, such as are happy, such as are good men, forasmuch as honest men fear nothing. For it's certain, that in the most part of those encounters Boldness is not, if you take it for a Passion. For­asmuch as to some dangers are not known to be so, and to others they are reputed so, although they be absent. Now so it is, that unknown or absent ill raiseth not Boldness, and therefore it is not really to be found in those we have now observed, unless as a disposition or a Habit. But we will have another touch upon this Subject. How Im­pudence assaults ill

Let's now see how Boldness which is to be found in Impudence may assault ill, since we cannot now say what we have said be­fore, that it may be taken for a Habit, or for a disposition, since Impudence is a Pas­sion composed of the other two, to wit, Pleasure and Boldness: So that if there be nothing to be fought against in Impudence, there is some Boldness, which as a Passion is not obliged to assault it.

Certainly to be Impudent, we must know the action we do, is contrary to ci­vility [Page 37]and honesty, otherwise it were folly, or brutality, and not Impudence: For a Childe, a Blockhead, one that is senceless, is never esteemed impudent, forasmuch as they know not what actions are un­civil.

He therefore that knows them, and hath an intention to do them, at that time feels in himself the reason which opposeth it, and the honor which defends him to execute it. Now all what opposeth it self to the Ap­petite, is an obstacle against it, and seems unto it as an evil; and yet Reason, Honor, and Modesty are the Enemies which Im­pudence assaults, which she fights with, which she triumphs over. But we will ex­amine this more particularly in discovering of this Passion. It's sufficient to shew, That there is no Boldness which assaults not true or apparent ill.

We have nothing more to enquire, What the ill is which Soldness asaults. but whether all sorts of ill can raise this Pas­sion; for besides that it is not said, that there is Boldness in fighting with Enemies which are weak, nor that any ought to accuse his ignorance, impudence, or other defects which may be numbered amongst the greatest ills which can happen; Besides these, and many other such like reasons which might be produced on this subject: [Page 38]I say there is no likelihood, that what is properly ill should move this Passion, since that is nothing but a privation of perfecti­on, and that the soul nor ought, nor can as­sault what is not.

To resolve this difficulty, we must ob­serve, that the Soul acknowledgeth not on­ly this privation which we have spoken of, to be an ill, but even all the causes which it produceth, and all those disorders which customarily follow it. For there ever is some weakness or some inconvenience which follows the privation or absence of a perfection; and this weakness or impoten­cy is a real quality, as the Schools teach us; we may therefore say, that Privation which is a Non ens, is not an object which can excite Boldness, because the Soul cannot assault what is not, unless she fancy it as if it were a real thing, as it is with Children who conceive death as a fantasm. That if there be any ill which she ought to com­bate, it's those causes which she brings forth, and the inconveniences which fol­low. And truly, she commonly confounds those two things with the ill it self; for when we say, a man suffers death with courage, we do not precisely understand it of death, for as yet it is not, but of the action of those causes which destroy life, [Page 39]and of the grief which they raise; and when with constancy we support the loss of goods, of honor, or of health, it is not pro­perly the loss which occupies the constancy, but the impotency, the imcommodity and the affliction which are derived from thence.

It's therefore certain, that all true ills are capable to stir up Boldness, so as they be proportionable to our forces; for there are ills which of themselves and by the common consent of men, are so weak, that without fear or fight we ought to despise them; and others which are so powerful that its imprudence to assault them, and which in reason we ought to flie. That if the Soul conceives them otherwise then they are, and esteems those great which are little, and those weak which are very powerful, there indeed the combate which she undertakes against those she ought to slight, is a motion of Boldness; but this Boldness passeth for cowardise, and the as­sault which she makes against those which are above her strength is Temerity; As it is audacity when she slights, chief­ly if she witnesseth it by word or gesture. But we shall elsewhere have another touch upon these differences, which being not essential concern not this discourse, where­in [Page 40]we are onely to examine the Nature and Essence of Boldness. She therefore consists in the assault which the Appetite makes a­gainst ill; and this assault is made by darting it self forth against it. Now we are to enqure how this darting forth is performed, and whether it be any way serviceable to the Soul, seeing that in casting forth herself she goes not out of her self, neither doth she approach nearer to her Enemy. But these difficulties have been cleared in the Treatise of Desire, and ought not to be here repeated.

There remains onely one which might make us doubt of all what hath been said, With what pashons Boldness is compa­tible. did we leave it without examination and re­solution. For although we confess that Boldness is a flying up, and a darting forth of the Appetite; yet because it commonly accompanies Love and Pleasure, and is never without Desire nor without Hope; that even Hatred, Grief and Despair do of­ten call it to their succour, and that Anger is never without it; It seems there is no likelihood that this rising up which she makes can subsist with the particular emo­tion of every of these Passions, which ought to be different from hers.

We must then say, That it's nothing dif­ficult to conceive for what concerns Desire [Page 41]and Anger, since in these two the Appetite darts it self forth, as in Boldness, and that there is no other difference, but that Desire requires not the establishment nor the em­ployment of the Minds forces, as the other two do. And that neither that nor Anger have the same motives with Boldness, for Desire casts it self towards the absent good, to get near it; Boldness, against the pre­sent ill, to combate it; and Anger against the cause of the ill to revenge it self.

As for Hope wherein the Appetite stif­fens it self, we have shewed how that hin­dered it not from casting it self forth, and truly it necessarily ought to be agitated with these two kinds of motions in Bold­ness; Since to grapple with the Enemy he must throw himself upon him; and to com­bate him, he must fortifie himself, which he cannot do but by stiffening himself. Nay, even it's certain, that as Hope and Confidence always precede Boldness, the Appetite must necessarily stiffen and settle it self, before it can either lift up, or dart forth it self, as we shall hereafter declare. There is therefore no inconvenience but that these four Passions may mix and sub­sist together. In effect they are all to be found in Anger; for this is never without Boldness, Boldness without Hope, nor [Page 42]Hope without Desire: And although De­sire presuppose Love, yet we cannot say that Love is to be found in Anger, because it hath a contrary motion to the rest. So that commonly neither that nor Hatred at the same moment are to be found with Boldness, but must pass from the one to the other, as hath been already said in the former Discourses. Which is sometimes performed with so much swiftness that it seems as if they mingled together, that they confounded themselves, and never quitted one the other. Let's return to our first Dis­course, and conclude, That Boldness is no­thing but that motion whereby the Appetite stiffens and darts forth it self against ill, that it may combate it.

Now howsoever it be, the true sence which we ought to have of this Passion, and that considering it exactly, and according to the Rules of Philosophy, its essence and form must be all shut up in this motion; yet must we not altogether condemn the common opinion which conceives it not so simple as we make it, and who mix with it Courage, Assurance, Resolution, Confi­dence, and the despising of danger. For although all these things are not essential to it, and are onely Dispositions which serve to produce and preserve it, We may yet [Page 43]say, they are of her train, they make her appear, and that altogether they render this Passion perfect and compleat. They are indeed commonly confounded together, and they are all used to signifie one and the same thing: For we say a man of great heart and of Courage, a confident man, re­solved, that fears nothing, and all to say he is Bold. And although it seems that this rather becomes the Habit of Boldness then the Passion; yet we forbear not to use them for the one and for the other; since we say an action of courage, an assured and resolute look, a man who fears not danger, which are ways of speaking, which undoubt­edly point at the Passion of Boldness. After all, without contradicting the use of terms, yet must we have the knowledge thereof, and distinguish the things which Nature hath separated, and which the people have confounded.

Courage in effect is properly the natural power from which Boldness proceeds, as the Heart is the subject and principal organ of it. And forasmuch as it is the most noble motion which that can have, and that the force of that part appears more in that Passion then in all the rest, as its pre­rogative, it hath gained the name of Heart; for to call a man Bold, we say he is a Man [Page 44]of Heart, for that he that is Bold hath his heart raised up by the most noble of all the Passions. Or else because his heart is as it ought to be; being hot and dry, which as we shall hereafter discourse is its proper and just temper.

Now for Assurance, it's a pure effect of Judgment, which makes us beleeve our selves exempt from danger, and it's no­thing but the certainty we have to be safe. Now because this belief is a great dispositi­on to assault ill, and that he who beleeves himself to be in safety, fears no danger, thence it comes that we confound Assu­rance with Boldness.

Resolution is another effect of Judge­ment, which without hesitation or stopping at those doubts which the Enemies presence inflicts on those who are timerous, readily determines him to fight with him; and be­cause this design thus taken is an effect of Courage, and of the good opinion a man hath of his own strength, which are dis­positions nearly related to Boldness, we confound them together: So that we take Resolution for Boldness, and a resolute man for a bold and couragious person.

Moreover, We call it Boldness to de­spise dangers, and not to fear them, al­though in that there is no Passion; foras­much [Page 45]as to despise an ill is a clear effect of Judgement; and not to Fear it, is nothing but the want and privation of Fear. Ne­vertheless, because it's the property of true Boldness not to value little ills which u­sually affright and astonish weak and ti­morous Spirits; and that in despising of these, and in assaulting the others, she makes it appear that she fears nothing; Hence it is we take that for Boldness which is only the effect of it, or to speak to the purpose, which is onely the sign of it. For not to Fear is no action but a privation; yet it commonly means the presence of its contrary.

But what shall we say of Confidence, which the Greeks and Latins, and we our selves often admit for Boldness? It's cer­tain, it's a kinde of Hope; or to speak bet­ter it's the consummation and perfection of it. For after the Appetite hath found Hope by stiffening it self against the difficulties which environ the good it aspires to; the Soul which sees herself in a condition not to fear them, fortifies herself in the opini­on she had taken that the things she ex­pects help from, will not fail her, and after a manner gives credit to the promises it seems to have made; Thus we trust in our forces, in our goods, in our friends, foras­much [Page 46]as we then beleeve that what we pro­mised our selves of them will succeed.

And because that we think there are no difficulties in this opinion which ought not to be overcome, and in pursuit that we fear not their encounter; thence it is that it hath been confounded with Boldness, which ought to have the same sentiments, al­though it onely is a disposition which pre­cedes it.

However it be, What the Dispositi­ons to Boldness are. and which way soever you will take these things, either as parts of Boldness, or for dispositions which pre­cede or accompany her; they serve to make known those who are most susceptible of this Passion: For Assurance and Resolu­tion to despise, and not to fear dangers, are effects of the good opinion a man hath of his own strength, without which there could neither be Assurance nor Resolution, Cou­rage nor Boldness; lastly, without which the slightest evils move terror; and even those things themselves which can do no harm, possess us every moment with fear.

Now this opinion is grounded on the forces we effectually have, or else believe we have; but because they are of two sorts; the one in us, and which depend from us, as the forces of the Body, and those of [Page 47]the Mind; others which are without us, and which are not absolutely in our power, as Goods, Friends, Honors, &c. Those who are endued with the former are most susceptible of Boldness; so that a strong and robustious man is commonly more bold then he that is not, and if he hath goods and friends also at his devotion.

But yet we must likewise observe that a man may be strong and robustious several ways; for there is a force of Body which is only fit for resistance for to bear; in a word, to suffer; such is that of Camels, of Asses, of Oxen, and proceeds from a thick me­lancholy. The other is purely active, and all of fire, which comes from choler, or from subtile and stirring blood, as is that of young Dogs, and of generous Horses; the last is composed of the two former, and is observable in Lions, Mastiffs, and in wilde Boars.

Those who have this stupid and passive force, such as melancholy persons are, are but little susceptible of Boldness, being deprived of that heat which is as it were the sonl of strength and of courage; the o­thers which are cholerick, which have that which is ardent and active, are easily carri­ed away with this Passion; but it hath this defect, that it quickly passeth away, and [Page 48]that it discerns not those ills which are wor­thy to be combated, from those which are not. The impetuosity wherewith she is car­ried away, precipitating her designs, before Judgment can examine them: But those who have both, and who are Cholerick and Melancholy, have the Boldness of He­ro's, which is not suddenly kindled, but having once taken, it's long lasting; this fears nothing, it scorns little dangers, it assaults great ones with assurance and reso­lution, and often with a transport which makes it to be thought divine.

After the strength of the Body, we must produce the force of the Minde, for those who think they have it, and promise them­selves great help from their address and good Judgment, how weak soever they be, easily undertake great matters, and believe that they can supply the weakness of other things by the force of their Spirits. Last of all, those who are powerful by their Dignities, by their Goods, or by their Friends, those who never endured a dis­grace, and who believe Heaven, Men and Fortune are favorable to them, have al­ways a good opinion of their forces, and are commonly Bold. But to take away all difficulties which may be made concerning these things, and to give that light which [Page 49]is necessary for clearing the following Dis­courses, where at every turn we are to speak of Courage and of Forces, it's fit we should more carefully examine the Nature of those two, and examine wherein it is they consist.

CHAP. III. What courage is, and wherein it consists.

WE must first suppose that Cou­rage is a quality proper to Animals, That Cou­rage is a power of the S [...]ul. that they onely are susceptible of it, and therefore that the Soul is the principle of it, and that its in her it resides, as in its root, and in its first and true subject; we call likewise a Soul couragious, and say, that the Soul must have Courage to assault Vice, and to resist the Passions thereof.

Now if there be as Aristoile will have it, but three things in the Soul; to wit Power, Habit, and Passion, this Courage must be some one of the three: Perhaps its no Passi­on, since it's very true that a man may have Courage, although he be agitated by none of the Passions, and even when he doth [Page 50]nothing; neither is it an Habit, because it's acquired by use, and that a man may be born with Courage; it's therefore necessa­ry it should be a Power.

But we must observe there are two sorts of Powers, the one, first and radical; the other, second, and derived. The first are parts or in­separable accidents of the soul, which for that reason are equal in all the individuals of every Species; So the power of Reasoning considered in it self, and as it is a Faculty of the Soul, is equally divided to all Men. Seconds are nothing but the dispositions of those organs which are necessary to make these first Powers move: Or to speak out, they are the same Powers which the dispo­sition of Organs renders capable to per­form their actions. And as those dispositi­ons are unequal in their particulars, and that the one hath them more or less per­fect then the other, so are they more or less fit to perform those actions; so that we use to say of him who hath them perfect, and who is most proper to act, that he hath the power and natural Faculty to do such a thing; and of him who hath them imper­fect, that he naturally hath an impotency and incapacity of working.

Now Courage is undoubtedly of the number of those derived Powers, because [Page 51]it requires certain dispositions in the Or­gans proper to elevate and stir up the Soul against difficulties; and the principal of these dispositions is nothing but the na­tural heat of the heart capable to kindle and inflame this noble ardor, which is ne­cessary in these encounters.

But we must here consider two things. What that Power is which makes Courage. First, What this radical vertue is, which enters into the Courage, since the natural and derived Powers are nothing else but the radical, in that they are joyned with their dispositions; certainly we must say, that Nature which hath distributed to all Animals as much strength as was necessary for their preservation, hath also given them the vertue to raise up and employ them when they have need of them. And this vertue is nothing but the irascible Faculty, which is the principle, and as it were the form and substance of Courage: Foras­much as inflaming the Heart, and lifting up the Soul, it doth nothing else but move the natural forces of the Animal to oppose them against those difficulties which pre­sent themselves. And indeed these differ­ences, and the effects of Courage are drawn from the quality of the forces; for as there are some which are proper for the Soul, and others which belong to the Body, every one [Page 52]hath its particular Courage, which stirs it up and sets it on work; such a man will be couragious in the greatest dangers of War, who dares not speak in publick, or will suffer himself to be overcome by the least Passion. On the contrary, there are others who in such like occasions have courage, who lose it at the sight of a weak Enemy, or of the least little danger they encounter; and this proceeds from that the Courage being a vertue which stirs up the forces, when they fail it ought also to fail; and therefore those who are deprived of corpo­ral strength ought to be cowards in War, and couragious in the actions of the Mind and Judgment, if they have the forces which belong to those two Faculties. Finally, as the forces are destined to assault or to resist, as we shall make it hereafter appear, the Courage also employs them in both the one and the other of those actions, and in pur­suit brings forth two different Passions, Boldness which assaults evils, and Constan­cy or Strength of Courage which opposeth it self and resisteth their violence.

The second thing which we ought to know is, Why beat is the principal dispositi [...]n of Cou­rage. why Heat is the principal disposition that creates Courage, and what conditions are requisite for to produce it. The first is easie to be decided, because Heat is the [Page 53]most active of all the qualities, that it stirs up all the other natural Vertues, and makes the best part of the Bodies vigor; neither need we to be astonished, if the Soul being joyned to so powerful a quality, and consci­ous of the help she can draw from thence, have a good opinion of its forces, and if she trust in them, and if she readily oppose them to those difficulties which present themselves.

As for the conditions which this Heat requires to form Courage, What that heat ought to be which forms Courage. there must be three principal ones: The first that it must be natural; the Second, that it must be great and strong; the third, that it must be pro­portionable to the greatness of the Heart.

In effect, a strange Heat as that of a Fea­vor, although it inflame the Heart and the Spirits, yet it augments not the Courage, on the contrary it abates it, as not being confor­mable to Nature. Now for it to be thus con­formable, it must have two things; One that it must be born with the life, and that it must be as it were a continuation of that first flame, which was kindled at its first birth; for if it be once extinguished, there is no means left to reinflame it; and how temperate soever that might be which may be substituted in its place, yet would it be strange and useless; The other is, [Page 54]that it must remain within those limits which Nature hath prescribed; forasmuch as every thing hath a certain measure, be­yond which it ought not pass, without breaking that proportion which ought to be betwixt the organs and their principles to perform their Functions; so that that heat which is more violent then the nature of every Animal can bear, is not natural unto it.

But how conformable soever to Nature it may be, unless it be great, it never will be accompanied with Courage. Where­fore those who are of a cold temperature, as Flegmatick and Melancholy persons are, those who are attenuated with long sick­ness, with long griefs, and who by other Passions quench natural heat, are not cou­ragious.

Yet it is to be observed, that natural heat being not a simple quality, as that of Fire is, but a hot and moist substance, which is commonly called Spirits composed of the Humidum Radicale, and of this heat which Nature inspired with life, it may be great two ways; to wit, in quantity and in quality; that's to say, that there may be much of the Radical Humidity in it, or many degrees of that heat: So Children have more of that natural heat, as to the [Page 55]quantity, as those which are older have much more as to the quality. So in the Winter and in cold Climates, the substance of heat is aug­mented, because not dissipated, and exteri­or cold hinders it from issuing out; al­though it be less burning then in Summer, the coldness of the Air somewhat diminish­ing its vivacity. On the contrary the ardor of the Climate, or of the season draws forth a great part of the substance of Heat, and imprints in what remains a certain acrimony which renders it more violent.

Now although all actions are performed by means of natural heat, yet there are some which more depend on its substance, as concoctions and digestions are, being to be made by means of humidity; so that those who have most radical moisture as Chil­dren, perform these operations most per­fectly, although they have a very tempe­rate heat, such as it ought to be for such actions.

But there are also those which more de­pend on the quality of heat, as are the acti­ons of the Imagination, and those which we call Vital; for those who have the most ardent heat, have the strongest respiration, the most vehement heart beatings, and the most fertile Imagination.

Finally, There are those which equally [Page 56]require both, as those which employ mo­tion, and the forces of the Body, and such Courage is. For it is not sufficient to make a man couragious, to have much radical moisture, since Children which have much of it have but little Courage; nor to have a more sharp and and vehement heat, since in the Summer, and in very hot Climates where the humors and spirits are inflamed by the heat of the Sun, men are but little couragious; but he must have both much humidity and much heat: Since in effect, we see that people which inhabit the most temperate Countries are more couragious then those of the South and North, have­ing more radical moisture then those, and a heat more active then theirs. Even a­mongst Beasts, those which are of a hot temperature, and whose blood is thick, are most couragious, for the same reason, because they have much of the substance of Heat, which is not easily dissipated, being shut up and restrained by such humors as are gross; and besides their heat is stronger, as well by reason of the advantage which Nature hath afforded them, as because she raiseth many vapors which render it more sharp, and that she resides in a thicker subject which renders her more ef­ficatious.

And truly according as humors are gross or subtile, heat diversly operates, and also forms several kinds of Courage; for those which have them subtile and moveable, as the Cholerick, are ready to be inflamed, but it's a flame which lasts not, but its pre­sently spent; others which are grosser, and moderately hot, have a Courage which is not easily provoked, but which being heat­ed is with difficulty appeased. To con­clude, those who are violently hot, and whose humors are gross, fall easily in­to fury, and are of an undaunted Cou­rage.

But that which makes the principal diffi­culty in all these things, What the greatness of the Heart ought to be to make Courage. is the greatness or littleness of Heart. For it's observed that all those Creatures, which proportionably to their Bodies have a less Heart, are coura­gious, as the Dog and the Lion; and that those which have a greater, as Deer and Hares, are timerous. Yet there are other experiences which render these observati­ons doubtful; for even Man hath a Heart greater then all other Creatures in propor­tion to his Body, although he be one of the most couragious. It's certain, that large-Chested men have a great Heart, and that the breadth of the Brest is an undoubted mark of the Hearts heat, which causeth [Page 58]Boldness and Courage: Considering also that those, the temperature of whose Heart is cold and dry, have commonly that part very smal, and are the most timerous. To answer to these Reasons which destroy the precedent Proposition, there are some who say that it's only true in the several kinds of Beasts, comparing the one with the o­ther, and not in the individuals of the same Species; So that the Lion compared with the Stag hath a less Heart, and is more cou­ragious; but that amongst Lions he that hath the greatest Heart, hath the greatest advantage over that which hath a less; yet this voids not the difficulty. For although it be true, that amongst every kinde of Creatures which are naturally couragious, the greatest Heart is accompanied with the greatest Courage: It's also certain that in those that are naturally timorous, the great­est Heart denotes also the greatest Timi­dity.

We must then say that the greatness of the Hearts doth nothing of it self, as to the Courage, and that we must add there­unto the abundance of heat and spirits; for if the Heart be great, and that it hath much heat and many Spirits, it will cer­tainly produce a very great Courage. But if the Heart be small, and that it hath as [Page 59]much heat, and as many Spirits, as that which is great, it will make a more boyl­ing, and a more impetuous Courage, be­cause the heat is more active when it's shut up and restrained; but that also is the cause that it is not so noble and generous; foras­much as that constraint makes it easily pass to fury, and that the smalness of the parts is an effect of the weakness of the forma­tive Vertue, or a defect of the matter which in the principal parts is always vitious. On the contrary, if it have but few spirits, and but little heat, it makes Timidity; and in proportion as it is either large or streight, it will render it litile or great. For even as a little fire warms a great Chamber less then the same would do a little one: So likewise a little natural heat, works less ef­fect in a great and large Heart, then in one that's little and restrained. Wherefore al­though Timidity be common to both, it appears less in this, and is greater in the greater.

We have now nothing to add to the un­derstanding of this business, but to resolve two very considerable Doubts which may arise from the former Discourse. For if the Courage consists in the dispositions we have now spoken of, two things will follow which seem to combate Reason and Expe­rience. [Page 60]1. That Courage will onely be in the sensitive part, because those disposi­tions are all material and sensible; although it be true that there be many which out of meer Reason onely are valiant and couragi­ous, without having this heat in the Heart, which we have observed. 2. That that Ani­mal which hath not these dispositions, will never be moved by any Boldness, seeing he will want the Courage which is a power whence this Passion proceeds; and yet it's certain, that the most timorous in divers encounters perform actions of Boldness and of Courage, and that the weakest are most susceptible of choler, which is a kind of Boldness.

We must then say that there are two sorts of Courage, There are two kinds of Bold­ness. the one which belongs to the superior part, and the other which is in the sensitive Appetite. For since the Ira­scible Faculty is the principle, and as it were the substance of Courage, it must needs be that the Will which hath its irascible part, must also have its particular Courage, and must be as much different from that which is in the Appetite, as the Will is from the Appetite it self. It's true, that Courage consists not onely in the irascible vertue, but that it supposeth also in it a certain disposi­tion which makes it the more easily ope­rate; [Page 61]for an Animal is not couragious for having the irascible part, but for having of it such that it easily may move it self against difficulties. But this disposition ever fol­lows the nature of the subject wherein it is; and it must necessarily be, that if it be in the Will, it must be different from that which is in the Appetite, and consequently that there must be two kinds of Courage. Now as the presence of heat which makes the best and most considerable parts of corpo­ral strengths, produceth this disposition in the sensitive Appetite, the force of the Minde and of Reason works the same effect in the Will: It inspires a secret sence of its power, and of the succour she may draw from thence; it fills it with confidence, and leaves it a certain facility and readiness to oppose it self to those difficulties which present themselves wherein Courage con­sists, as hath been already shewed. Such is that which accompanies the excellent qua­lities of the Mind, whether they be natu­ral or acquired. For a knowing man, hath the courage and boldness to speak; he that is vertuous, boldly opposeth himself against his Passions; and an expert Artist under­takes things in his Art, in which others durst not engage themselves, because that every of them have forces necessary to ex­ecute [Page 62]what they undertake, and that the will which knows what they can do, is ready to stir them up and employ them when it pleaseth.

Now although these two kinds of Cou­rage may one subsist without another, yet they are far stronger when they are joyned together, and assist one the other. For a man whom Vertue or Knowledge hath in­spired with Courage, is more bold in un­dertaking any thing, if he have that fair fire which at his birth is kindled in his Heart, then if he had a coldness which ren­ders that part languishing, and causeth a na­tural Timidity; even as he whose tempera­ture hath rendred him couragious, is far more resolute when the qualities of his Mind may second his natural disposition. On the con­trary, were there but one sort of Courage, a man would be very sensible of the ardor it would inspire; we should know the en­deavors it makes in it self, and the many things which it proposeth every moment the performance of. But the cowardliness which would be in the other part of the Soul at the same time, dissipates those fair resolutions. It checks all those noble mo­tions, and corrupts all the good designs it had formed. Thus it is with those who having all the advantages of the Mind, dare [Page 63]never produce themselves; and others who have much Heart, dare undertake no­thing.

But although this be the true sence a man ought to have of this power of the Soul; yet we must confess, that when we speak of Courage, we commonly mean that which our births shed into our hearts, and which is proper to the sensitive Appetite; because it's common to all Creatures, and that its effects are most sensible and most re­markable.

As for the other Doubt which respects Courage; To wit, whether the dispositi­ons we have observed, be always necessary to its production, is no less diffiult to resolve; For if it be true that Boldness is an effect of Courage, contrary to the experience which we have, those Animals which are natu­rally timerous, can never be susceptible of this Passion: Or that contrary to the Max­ims which we have established, Courage should not depend on those dispositi­ons.

Certainly, we must here again say, that the common manner of speaking sits not so well the truth of the thing; for there is no Animal which hath not Courage, be­cause there is none without some heat, for that its necessary to life; and how little so­ever [Page 64]it hath, it's capable to give that dis­position to the irascible Vertue, which is ca­pable to make it undertake something. In effect, there is no Animal which at every moment finds not some difficulty which it's obliged to oppose. And we every day see that the weakest and most timorous make endeavors to surmount the obstacles they encounter; they must therefore have Cou­rage, Since Courage is nothing but the irascible Vertue, which the Natural heat of the Heart hath rendred capable of working. But be­cause this capacity is greater in some, and lesser in others, the greater hath deserved by its prerogative the name of Courage, as the lesser is called Cowardise, or want of Courage. So that even as we say a man hath no wit because he hath but little; we also say an Animal hath no Courage, because he hath but little: And certainly if we should well consider this gender of Qualities which the Schools call Natural Impotencies, un­der which the default of Courage ought to be placed, we should find that it is different from Power only in respect of less or more. And that the word of [Impotency] means onely a weak Power, and not the absolute privation of Power, because it's a quality, and quality is a real thing. So the default of Courage is rightly Courage, but it's little, [Page 65]weak, and hid, which operates but seldom, and undertakes but light Skirmishes, or at least, if it engage in greater matters, it must be very much sollicited thereto; and the difficulties must have powerfully provoked it, as it happens in the Anger of timorous persons.

Last of all, the common way of speaking affords not the name of Courage, but only to him who is most active, who boldly op­poseth himself to the greatest dangers, and who is always ready either ro assault or to defend himself. But to have this Courage, and to be called couragious, a man must have all the dispositions we have spoken of. So that when we said that Boldness was an effect of Courage, we considered Courage in its Nature, and not according as it's u­sed in our Language. For it's true, that this passion cannot proceed but from the irascible Vertue, in that it can operate, and when it operateth it's called Courage; but it is not always that active and boiling Courage, which marks a great facility of operating, for that it is necessary there must be much natural heat in the Heart to give it this faci­lity. All which will be better understood when we shall have examined wherein Force or Strength consists.

CHAP. IV. What the motion of the Spirits, and of the Humors, is in Boldness.

HAving shewn you that the Appetite stiffens and darts it self forth in Bold­ness, The spirits stiffen and dart forth them­selves in Boldness. we need not doubt but the same mo­tions [Page 77]are made in the Spirits, since they usually follow the agitations of the Soul, and that they are the first organs which she employs to execute her designs; they do therefore stiffen and stablish themselves, and then they rise up, and dart themselves out, just as doth the Appetite. Indeed he that will consider the countenance of a man be­fore he assaults ill, but who onely sees it coming, will perceive no sign of this sally of the spirits, forasmuch as he changeth not colour; and that fire which we see after­wards glitter in his eyes, appears not; for it's certain, that if these spirits cast themselves on those parts, they would carry thither red­ness and splendor, and would not leave them that coldness and equality with which he looks upon, and considers dangers.

And truly since we must grapple with the Enemy to assault him, and that the endea­vors we should make against him would be vain and useless, were he out of reach, the Soul would never rise up nor dart it self forth against it, did she fancy it to be still far off, and not near enough to prove her force, and resent the effects of her power. All what she doth in this encounter, is, to fortifie and prepare herself for the combate; First, stiffening her self in her self, and af­terwards inspiring the same motion to the [Page 78]spirits, and the rest of the organs, which may be serviceable to her in this occasion; in pursuit whereof it follows, that a mans color changeth not, that his looks are staid, and that without growing pale or with­out any disturbance he looks on the most formidable things, because the spirits which are mixt with the humors, and which cause all the other parts to move, stiffening them­selves, render them firm and settled, and by that means hinder the blood from shedding it self abroad, or from retiring inwardly, not that those other motions of the Bo­dy either restrain or render themselves im­petuous.

This then is the agitation which the spi­rits suffer in the beginnings of Boldness, or to speak better, in those preparatives which the Sonl makes for this Passion; For Re­solution, Hope, Confidence, and Staiedness of Courage, which are the fore-runners thereof, require this kind of motion, and without it can neither form themselves nor subsist.

But after the Enemies approach, and that the Soul is risen up to assault and fight him, she moves the Spirits in the same manner, and all stiffened as they are, she with impe­tuosity drives them forth to the exterior parts, and so carries redness to the face, ar­dor [Page 79]and vivacity to the eyes, and violence to all the motions, as we shall hereafter de­clare.

Now to explain how this darting forth is made, we ought here to repeat all what hath been said in the Chapter of Desire; for there is no difference in the motions of these two Passions, as to the agitation, since both in the one and the other the Soul issues as it were out of it self, and casts it self to­wards the object which moves it: They are onely unlike in the end she therein propo­seth herself; since in Desire she carries her­self towards good, that she may get near it, and thereby afterwards enjoy it; and in Bold­ness she darts herself towards ill, that she may combate and overcome it. It's there­fore here we must seek that satisfaction which this subject requires. As also in the Discourse of Hope, that which is necessa­ry to make us understand how the spirits settle and dart forth themselves at the same time, we are onely to observe, that when we said, that the motions of Desire and of Boldness were alike, it ought to be under­stood in this darting forth. For its certain, that the Soul never stiffens it self in Desire unless it be accompanied with Hope, with Boldness, or with Anger; forasmuch as she stiffens herself onely to fortifie herself, [Page 80]and that she needs not employ her strength unless difficulties present themselves, which are not in the Passions of the Concupisci­ble part, as elsewhere hath been already said.

Now the first thing which follows this motion, Whence the Heat comes that raiseth up it self in Boldness. is, the heat which sheds it self o­ver all the Body, and which by degrees aug­ments it self, and proportionably as the im­petuosity grows greater. For at first, before the spirits darted themselves forth, when they kept themselves onely firm, this qua­lity was very moderate, as it is to be found in Hope; but when they begin to make their fallies and dartings which drive and throw them forth, it's then that it be­comes violent, and that at last it inflames all the parts. But the difficulty is to know whence this heat proceeds; for although there be an appearance which the agitation of the heart and of the spirits causeth, since it's a Maxim received in the Schools, That Motion hath the vertue to produce; yet besides the experience which we learn, that Air and Water cool themselves by agitati­on; and that the shock and encounter of Bodies, by which we say heat is engendred, hath no place in those which are subtile and fluid, it is certain that there are Passions where the heart and the Spirits have a very [Page 81]quick and impetuous motion, as we see in Fear, yet even in them heat augments not, but even weakens it self.

For my part, I beleeve that without sticking at common opinions, we may say that the Heart being the source of heat, hath also the vertue of producing it; and that being to lose this quality as a general in­strument of all the functions of life, it must have the power to augment it according to the need we may have. Why should we de­ny it this Faculty, since there is no form which produceth not those qualities which are necessary unto it? The Water of it self alone, doth it not take back again the cold which was taken from it? Doth not the Earth also recover the driness it lost? but what is most considerable, Doth not Heat augment it self in presence of its contrary? And if it be true that that which inflames the Heart in violent passions, proceeds not from motion, as we have shewn even now, what other source can it have, but this se­cret vertue we speak of? In fine, since the Soul resides in this part as in its Throne, and that she is therein stronger then in any other part, what need we doubt but she helps this production? She who in her self contains the vertue of all inferior things, as we have shewed in the discourse of Light. [Page 82]We must therefore beleeve, that the Soul and the Heart augment the natural heat when it is necessary, and that in perform­ing their endeavor, and stirring it self to produce it, they cause it to issue out of those principles where she potentially was.

Besides, Since the Soul hath Forces which she imploys when she will, which she awakes and stirs up at her need, she must needs have the same power over natural heat, which is the most considerable part thereof, and that she may raise it up and encrease it when its help is necessary. And certainly as the motive Vertue contains in potentia the motion which it afterwards produceth, when it hath received the orders of the Appetite; So the Vital Faculty hath in it self a secret source of Heat, which it stirs up and brings to light, if we may so speak, when the Soul commands and judgeth it necessary. Now there is no occasion where­in this succour is more profitable for her, then when she expects the ill either to resist or to combate it, because she hath then need of its Forces, which principally con­sists in heat, as we have made it appear in the precedent Discourses: But forasmuch as there needs more Forces to assault then to resist, that is the cause that there is less heat in Hope and in Constancy, where the [Page 83]Soul stands on the defensive, then in Bold­ness and in Anger, where she assaults and destroys ill. As also that in these two lat­ter the agitation of the spirits is greater; for we do confess that their motion serves for something, not of it self, but by acci­dent, as we say in the Schools, because they bring the heat which they have, and that of the humors which they draw after them, to those parts where they light, and ever sollicite the fixed heat which is therein entertained, to awake and to render it active.

As for those Passions which oblige the Soul to flight, they make a quite contra­ry effect, and because the Spirits retire un­to the centre, and the Soul also finding it self too weak to resist the Enemy, loseth all its Courage, nor cares it to repair its strength, and so suffers the natural heat to be extinguished without endeavoring to re­kindle it.

But that we may well conceive what the endeavor is she makes in other Passions, Wh [...]t the quality of heat is in Bold­ness. we must not consider the quality of the heat which accompanies them, and compare it with that which is observed in those Pas­sions which seek good; for in these it is sweet, humid and graceful; and in those it is sharp, dry, and pungent. So that it's very likely that in the first the Soul em­ploys [Page 84]it and sheds it abroad without violence, and in the other she raiseth it and drives it forth with impetuosity, that in those it on­ly needs its ordinary vertue, and in these it must be greater and more active. Finally we may say, That in the one she useth it as a follower accompanying of her to her friends, but in the other it's an Assistant which she leads with her, even against her Enemies.

In Love indeed, in Desire, and in Joy the outward parts receive not heat, be­cause it's sent thither, but because it flies from those spirits which are sent thither, forasmuch as the Soul needs not that quality to approach or unite it self to good, but only the Spirits which force it to the place where it is. On the contrary, when she is to fight, she sends heat as a powerful instrument to act, and to destroy what is contrary unto it; as also in this design she renders it as strong as she can, whether it be by degrees aug­menting it, or stirring up the Spirits by a continual agitation, or in removing the humors when she is most active, as chole­rick are.

And certainly, what the sensitive Facul­ty doth in these encounters, the natural also doth it very often in those ordinary functi­ons, as is easily judged by the Feavor, [Page 85]which is just like Boldness and Anger, the same heat, the same tempest of the Spi­rits and Humors, and the same design which the Soul hath in those Passions it encounters in that disease. For we must not think that the Feavor is kindled in the Heart by some stranger fire. It's the Soul its self, or rather the Vital Facul­ty which reunites its force, which stirs up natural heat, and which lifts it self up to fight those causes which destroy the har­mony and constitution of the Body. This is readily proved by its crisis, which are those fits of the Feavor which the endea­vors of Nature, and not the Disease stirs up; by the inflammation which the com­ing of the spirits and of the blood causeth in the infested parts, by the cessation of the Feavor in the heighth of the sickness, when the Humors are so malignant that Nature is overcome with them, and that she dares no longer assault them; And by a thousand other Reasons which we might produce, had we room for them; by which we might evidently make it appear that the Feavor is nothing but an innitation and a rising up of natural heat to drive away the ill; and that therefore it's a motion like to that of Anger, and that in the lowest part of the Soul, as well as in the highest there is an [Page 86]Appetite which hath its irascible Faculty to raise it self up against those difficulties which present themselves. However it be the Soul encreaseth Heat in Boldness and in Anger, producing and adding new de­grees to what it had, and stirring it up by the continual agitation of the Spirits.

For although they stir themselves impe­tously in Love, Boldness entertains the moti­ons of the Spirits. in Desire and in Joy, yet their motion is not therein maintained; and the Soul takes no care for their entertain­ment, the transport and the ravishment which the approach, or the possession of good affords her, bereaving her of the re­membrance of what she ought to do, for which cause languors and soundings follow these Passions, unless Hope, Boldness, or the like, mix not with them, and call back the Soul to her Duty, as it often happens in Love and in Desire, which being com­monly accompanied with Fear and Hope suffers not such great and violent accidents as those in Joy are; the Soul therefore is more careful to continue the motions of the Spirits in Boldness and in Anger, then in the rest of those Passions, because the dan­ger she is threatned withal keeps her in breath, and continually sollicites her to op­pose new forces, and to make new endea­vors against the pressures of the Enemy, [Page 87]which she cannot do, but by producing every moment new Heat and new Spirits, and sending them to relieve those which made the first assaults.

Nay often, What hu­mors are moved in Boldness. as if she mistrusted her suc­cors, when the ill appears too powerful, she raiseth up the most working and the most malignant Humors that thereby she might the more easily destroy them. From thence it is that Choler is stirred up in the vio­lence of those Passions; and that in veni­mous Beasts, that poison which is quiet and hid in the centre of the Body, casts it self forth into the outward parts, and chief­ly into those which serve them for arms and defence; which may oblige us to judge that it's the Soul which brings it into those places to assault and destroy the ill, and by a very probable consequence, that she doth the like with those others which have any proper quality for that purpose. To con­firm this Truth, we need onely to consider those dreams which are formed when cho­ler predominates; for they evidently make it appear, that the Soul is accustomed to use this humor to assault evils, and that presently as soon as she sees it in a condi­tion to be thereby relieved, she prepares herself for the Combate, and during sleep she forgeth Enemies, Battels and Victo­ries. [Page 88]At least its certain, that Choler be­ing agitated in these Passions, renders the Heat the more strong and pungent. Or because it's naturally dry, and that driness is a quality which gives most efficacy to Heat, or because those sharp fumes which this humor exhales, when it's moved, cast themselves on the parts, prick them and give them that angry sentiment which the heat of those Passions useth to cause.

CHAP. V. The Causes of the Characters of Boldness.

TO follow the same method we have held in our former Discourses, The mo­rol cha­racters of Boldness. we must here examine two sorts of Characters; the one immediately formed in the Soul, which we call Moral, because they consist in those actions which we call Moral, or at least which respect Manners. The other which are Corporal, and which are remarked in the change and alteration which this Passion imprints on the Body. Those of the first order which accompany Boldness, are truly very numerous, as may be seen in the de­scription we have made of a Bold man; but we may reduce them to certain principal Heads, the knowledge of which will easily [Page 89]bring us to that of the rest: For he that shall know why a Bold man Hopes, and why he is a lover of Glory, will at the same instant know the cause of the greatest part of the other effects which Boldness produceth, and which in some sort depend from those two.

Let's then begin with Hope which ever precedes Boldness, and never abandons it; Hope al­ways ac­companies Boldness. Certainly, it's nothing difficult to give the reason thereof; for after having shewn that to form Boldness, the Soul must know and measure its Forces, that she must beleeve them greater and more powerful then those of the Enemy, and afterwards she must employ them against him, that she may vanquish him; It's impossible but she must hope for the Victory, since she desires it, and that in her judgment she hath all what is necessary for the obtaining thereof. Per­haps some will say, that there are many who fight without hope of conquest; it's true, but also Boldness which is employed in such fights, is not found in the sensitive Faculty; nor is it of the common order of the Passions. It's particular to a man whose reason prepareth often other designs then those which Nature and the Sences are wont to inspire in Animals; For its cer­tain that they never assault any thing which [Page 90]they beleeve not they shall conquer; and if sometimes they are forced to combate Enemies, which they did not dare to assault, or even before whom they had already been put to flight, it's the fear they have of falling into a greater danger, which awakes their Courage, reanimates their Force, and so brings to life again the hope of over­coming those to whom they had yeelded before. But it is not so with men, who often engage themselves in Combates, and cast themselves into dangers, out of which they never hope to come with any advan­tage, and even where they know their loss is certain, because Reason proposeth them a more considerable end then the Victory would afford them, and obligeth them to un­dertake impossible things, to gain honor, and other goods,, which always follow ge­nerous actions. But if in these encounters they despair of over-coming the Enemy which assaults them, they still hope to van­quish those difficulties which inviron the glory they aspire unto; and we may say they yeeld a small Victory to gain a greater, and hazard a little to gain much. But in the fol­lowing Chapter we shall again touch this subject. It's sufficient to have here shewn that in Boldness there is still Hope enough, and that a Bold man is never without Hope.

Now the same principle from whence we have drawn this truth, ought also to furnish us with the reason why a Bold man hath so much Confidence and Presump­tion in himself, why he is not astonished at the sight of dangers, that even he is pleased when he encounters them, and that very often he despiseth them; why he is not su­perstitious, cholerick, or dissembling; In fine, why he hates subjection, and will al­ways command.

For if Confidence be nothing but a con­summated Hope, fortified by the opinion we have that those things whose help we expect will not fail us at our need, it's cer­tain that the Soul which knows its forces, and beleeves them more powerful then the difficulties, and employs them against them with Hope to overcome them, must also be assured that they will not fail her in this occasion, and that she hath cause to trust to the help which she promiseth herself from them.

As for Presumption, which is an immo­derate Hope, and proceeds from the too great opinion we have of our Forces, al­though it doth not always accompany Boldness, yet it follows it, because heat encreasing, and kindling it self in this Passi­on, it stirs up the Soul by its vivacity. It [Page 92]troubles it, by its agitation, and afterwards easily perswades it, that its forces are greater then indeed they are, and that they are all in a condition to serve her, although there often be but one part of them; thus it is when Wine, Fury, and Love inspire the weakest and most timorous persons with a blind Confidence, and a temerous Boldness, which engageth them to undertake things above their power; for the Judgement be­ing weakened by the vapors of the Wine, or by the violence of those Passions and heat, being become stronger by the impres­sion it made on the humors, we need not wonder if the Soul finding it self upheld with the most powerful assistance which she can use in her functions, be deceived in the opinion she hath of her strength, and that she believes them greater then indeed they are.

These Reasons make it appear also, A Bold man is not astonished at sight of dangers. that a bold man ought not to be astonished at the sight of dangers, because astonishment be­ing ever accompanied with Fear and with some Despair, cannot be susceptible of those Passions in the belief he is, that his forces are greater then the difficulties, and in the hope he hath to overcome them. On the contrary, as he flatters himself in this thought, and placeth all his happiness in [Page 93]the Victory, all these things which are to contribute thereunto are pleasing to him; he takes a delight to handle Arms, the found of Trumpets animates him, he be­holds the Enemies approach with joy; and if there be any thing which disturbs his contentment, it is the impatience he hath to be at him, and to begin that Combate which is to crown his valor. It's the same with him who is bold to speak or to write, or to undertake any other design whatso­ever it be; he pleaseth himself in the en­counter of those difficulties which are to employ him, and to make his courage ap­pear; the place, the occasion, the subject of his enterprise far from astonishing him, do but the more assure him, and he is never so content, as when he sees himself ready to set his hand to the work.

But if it be true that he runs thus into danger, that he assaults difficulties, A Bold man de­spiseth dangers. and that he will overcome them, how can he despise dangers? For it is not to slight an Enemy when we assault and seek to over­come him. Certainly, we must confess that he despiseth not all manner of dangers, not all sorts of Enemies, but onely those who are far beneath his strength, and that there­fore he judgeth it unworthy for him to ex­ercise his care and Courage; for since in [Page 94]Nature which gives Animals the know­ledge of their strength and weakness, and instructs them to flie when they are too weak, and to assault when they are strong enough; its very likely that being so wise and so just, as she is, she would not engage them in a too unequal combate, and that she would restrain them when they meet an E­nemy incomparably less powerful then they are, and which cannot offend them. In effect we see that among domestick Beasts, those which are naturally strong and of a great size, scorn the assaults of those who are little and weak; a Mastiff grows not angry, nor ever defends himself against a little Cur which barks at him, and snaps at him, as if he scorned his temerity; he goes on without regarding him, or stands still without being disturbed at the endeavors he makes against him. A child securely plays with the most angry Beasts, beats them with impunity, and hurts them with­out moving them, which they would never suffer from another person.

Some say the same of those which are wilde and savage; and some of them have deserved the name of generous, not onely because they disdain to assault those who are not able to resist them but also be­cause they often content themselves to cast [Page 95]down their adversary, as if in that conditi­on it were unworthy for them any more to exercise their strength, and that it were a shame for them to end a Combate which they had made so unequal. It's true that they forbear not often to pursue the most timo­rous creatures; but it is not as Enemies, it's as their prey; and it's not to fight them, but to take them and feed on them; in a word, it's Hunger and not Boldness which animates them; for when they are not pres­sed with this hard and implacable necessity, they never assault but onely those which they think strong enough to harm them, and scorn the rest which have not that power.

Whatever we believe, it's certain that when the Soul is perswaded that the difficul­ties which present themselves are too weak to traverse her designs, she scorns and dis­dains to fight them. Now this perswasion is grounded on the certain knowledge which she hath of the greatness of her forces, or on a false opinion which she hath conceived of them. For although those who are truly strong and powerful, have rea­son to make no reckoning of the greatest part of those things which alarm others; yet when Boldness hath heated a Courage, how weak soever it be, it abuseth it by a vain confidence it gives it, and makes it believe [Page 96]that the obstacles it meets are nothing con­siderable, that there are none which ought to stop its course, or which is able to make the least resistance: This is commonly ob­served in the anger of Women, of Children, and of Men who are naturally timorous; they fear all before they are possest with this Passion; but when this hath gotten mastery, shame, respect nor danger can ne­ver bridle them. They slight all that oppo­seth their fury, and blindly run whereso­ever rage and despair leads them.

Since Boldness scorns the greatest part of difficulties and dangers, A Bold man is not chole­rick. neither can it be Cholerick or Superstitious, because Anger and Superstition are not compatible with the confidence it hath, nor with the despight it hath of most of those things which assault it.

And indeed we are not angry with what we scorn, because this Passion raiseth not it self up but against things which may of­fend, and that scorn supposeth that they are without that power. So that if a Bold man do very much slight Enemies and dan­gers, we may at least say, that he meets not with so many subjects of anger, as he who is not in that condition. Moreover if it be true that Anger comes from the opi­nion we have to have been offended, he that [Page 97]that presumes much of his strength, and values not that of another man, never hath a thought that he can be offended: Thus Magnanimous Men, and those which are naturally strong and couragious, are not ea­sily angry, because Reason perswades the one that most injuries are not so in effect, or that they are so slight that they deserve not to be revenged; and their strength makes others beleeve, that it's impossible, or at least very difficult for any to hurt them. Last of all, if there are Boldnesses which are susceptible of this Passion, it's at least cer­tain, that the true and heroick is not for the Reasons beforesaid.

Neither is it Superstitious, He is not supersti­tious. because Su­perstition proceeds from weakness and fear, with which Boldness could never subsist; and truly it was never seen that a bold man did heed or give any credit to Auguries and to all other vain observations which have been introduced by Superstition. Those great Men of times past, although they were bred and instructed in those errors, did often despise them. And Homer forgot not to say That his Achilles stopped not on the presa­sages which were told him of his death; That Hector mocked the Augurs, and that in heat of fight he scorned both men and gods.

To speak truth, Boldness having so great an opinion of its Forces, beleeves not that it needs foreign help, and its presumpti­on making it forget that natural inclination which Nature hath given to men to have recourse to Heaven in their necessities, far from becoming superstitious, it falls to the despising of divine things, and easily gives it self up to Blasphemy, Sacriledge and to all other impieties, which we see reign a­mongst Souldiers.

On the other side, he that shall consider the source of Superstition, will finde no o­ther but the weakness of Men, and the mistrust they have had of their own Forces. For beleeving themselves exposed to all kinde of injuries, and being instructed by Nature that there was a Power above theirs, they did seek it every where, to gain such relief as was necessary for them: Those who were basest did believe to finde it in mortal and corruptible things, and so ren­dred them the worship which was onely due to the true Divinity. Others indeed ac­knowledged it immortal, but have divided and multiplied it into as many gods as there were things they stood in need of. To con­clude, all men which are born weak, being moved by fear or mistrust, imagined it was hard to be inclined and to be pleased, that [Page 99]there ever was some want in the duties which were rendered unto it, and that to render it exorable, new respects ought to be added to those which Reason had already dictated unto them; and to observe all those extraordinary things which were as Oracles, which it gave them of their good or ill For­tunes, these are the springs whence all I­dolatry hath flown; the vain observations of things to come, and the superfluous Ce­remonies in the true Religion. In fine, these are the undoubted witnesses, that all Su­perstition proceeds from weakness and from fear, and that it's a Vice proper only to weak and timorous persons, as may be judged also by Women and melancholy persons, to whom it's more familiar then to any; By Southern people, who have ever been accused of Cowardise and of Su­perstition, and by persons that are unhappy and over-burthened with misery, who easily fall from Piety to Superstition.

Freeness is also one of the Companions of Boldness, He is free & with­out dissi­mulation. because a man who believes himself strong enough to overcome his E­nemy, will never call Artifice or Treachery to his help, which are signs and common effects of weakness. Indeed all timorous Animals are more cunning and crafty then the rest. Women are naturally more sub­tile [Page 100]then Men, as amongst them the melan­choly are more suspicious and more dis­sembling. Now this happens from that they are conscious of their own weakness, and therefore are obliged to use Artifice and deceit to supply the defects they have. Boldness then is not subject to these Vices, seeing it hath so much confidence in its Forces, and speaks freely and open-hearted; its procedure is free, neither is there any deceit or treachery to be feared from it, be­cause it fears nothing. By reason whereof there have been some Captains, who have often been hardly perswaded to use strata­gems, which are even allowed by the Laws of War, as if they were unworthy of their Courage and of their Valor. We every day see that in the heat of a Battel, and when Boldness is highest, we despise the rules and postures of Fencing; and even those who are naturally weak and timorous, when they are animated with this Passion, or transported with anger, they forget their slights and subtilties, and pursue their Ene­mies with open force.

Finally, It will always command. It hates subjection, and would al­ways command; for having a good opini­on of it self, it's perswaded that it ought never to submit it self, and that it deserves to have the preheminence above all the rest. [Page 101]And certainly, although this inclination be common to all men, who being born free, think that their Liberty ought to be pre­served more intire, and more absolute in command then in subjection; yet there are some to whom it seems more natural and more proper then to others, because they truly have, or think they have those quali­ties which are fit for command. Now if strength be one of the most considerable, and if it be the most powerful, and perhaps the onely Instrument of Dominion, we need not doubt but Boldness which fills the Soul with so much confidence, and gives her such an advantagious opinion of her strength, doth also powerfully imprint this haughty and imperious humor, which makes him take the upperhand in all en­counters, and renders him incapable to submit himself to the advice and conduct of another: Whence it happens that Bold men are commonly haughty, and but little courteous; that they are opinionative in their resolutions, and that they will always be the head both in Councels and in Enter­prises. In fine, its one of the causes which makes Mutineers and Rebells in a State, which make Hereticks and Atheists in Re­ligion, and which fills families with diso­bedience and with licentiousness: For all [Page 102]these disorders can proceed from nothing but a presumptuous Temerity which will not subject it self to lawful Powers, which will be independent in all things, in a word, which will Command.

The second Head which must lead us to the knowledge of the other Characters which we seek, is the Love of Glory; for he that shall well understand the Reason why a Bold man hath this inclination, will at the same time perceive why he affects Praise, why he is modest, generous, &c.

Let's then conclude, Boldness desires honor more then all the rest of the Pas­sions. That there is no Passion which inspires the desire of Honor and Glory like unto Boldness; for if they are recompences or duties which we are ob­liged to give to the excellency of persons, Boldness is the onely one which gives us the right to exact the debt, since it alone gives men the superiority and excellency which they seek so ardently. In effect, all the Passions whose object is good, in some manner subject man to the good he pur­sues; those which flie ill, oblige him to yield to the ill as the more potent; con­stancy indeed resists it, and yet commonly she beleeves not herself stronger then it, so that this onely dares assault it, and hopes to conquer it, which is more powerful, and which ought to inspire the sentiments of [Page 103]excellency and of superiority, whose just price is honor. Now Boldness alone hath this advantage, and if Anger pretends any share, we know it is from that Boldness is always of its company.

But why doth it fancy That there is ho­nor to be gotten in all its undertakings? It fancies honor in all its en­terprises. since its a strange thing, and hardly to be found in the rest of the Passions, that the worst actions it produceth should appear glo­rious and praise-worthy; certainly it is because they are led by Force and by Cou­rage, which are qualities which Nature hath rendred so noble, having destined them to be the foundation of power and of superio­rity, that it's impossible but all their effects must also be so, and but that consequently they must deserve the honor which is due to the nobility and excellency of the things. And this is so true that men have form'd the first knowledges which they had of Vertue on actions of Force and Courage; At first they knew none but that which was em­ployed therein; at least it appears that they gave it the first place, since they honored all the rest with that name, which ought to have been proper and peculiar unto it; for amongst the Grecians, the word which sig­nifies Vertue, draws its original from War; and amongst the Latins, those who spake [Page 104]most purely, did beleeve that the name of Vertue was in the first place due to the Mili­tary Vertue. And this in my opinion hap­pens, from that nature which destined man for a civil life, hath also inspired in him an advantageous sence of all those things which are necessary to maintain it; now because none is more so then that Vertue which conducts Force and Courage, that a­lone having right to command, to establish order in Society, and resist those enemies which would destroy it, it's certain, that naturally we ought to have more esteem of it then of all the rest, whose object is a good less common, and less considerable; for this reason also more care hath been always taken to render it more duties and respects then to any whatsoever. At all times, and in all kindes of States, the most worthy and the most noble rewards have been re­served for it; the first Crowns which ever were, have been consecrated to it, and it's the onely one to which the glory of tri­umphs hath been destined for the reward of its actions, which is the highest top of all the honor of the earth.

As it is then a Vertue which Nature it self obligeth us to respect by reason of its being destined to the government of a civil life, we must not wonder if that Passion [Page 105]which serves for matter and instrument to those actions, pretends the same right, and bearing with it the same destination, it con­ceives that by a just claim it ought to have the same advantage in all its enterprises. For although Reason make it appear, that Temerity, Cruelty and Insolency, and o­ther Vices which sometimes are mixt with it, render it unworthy so noble a recom­pence: yet so it is, that it doth not always hearken to their devices, and that it more willingly follows the inclinations of nature; so that looking at nothing but what is ho­nest, and having no other guide but the in­stinct it hath for glory, it imagines it ought everywhere to encounter it, and that it's a prize due to all its actions, how evill soever they be.

Moderation in victory, Modesty in speech, The ver­tues which accom­panies Boldness. Generosity, Sweetness and Courtesie towards the vanquished, accompanies not all kind of Boldness, but onely that which is conduct­ed by Reason: For Passion alone is not able to produce such perfect actions with­out being guided by vertue. But as regula­ted Passion forbears not to be Passion, we may speak these to be the Characters of Boldness, since they are proper to one kind of Boldness; Add also that there are some seeds and dispositions in the prin­ciples [Page 106]of this Passion, which naturally ren­der it inclined to produce these actions; for there are generous Beasts which content themselves with the Victory, and which hurt not those they have thrown down: we see even that all Bold men although they have not Vertue to regulate their Boldness, and that they propose not honesty to serve them as the motive, forbear not to act the generous and the modest, even like those who have true Valor. And what in­clination soever they have to take all the advantages they can over their Enemies, yet they restrain themselves, and render not their Victory insolent. Now this part­ly happens from that natural Justice we spoke of, which defends Beasts from pursu­ing a Combate which is too unequal, and partly from the violent desire of honor which this Passion inspires in men. For finding himself continually prest with this secret spur, and by experience knowing that insolency and vanity dishonor a victo­ry how brave soever it were; That on the contrary, Moderation, Modesty, and Ge­nerosity render it the more glorious, they easily are moved to those actions which ought to content their desire, and which promise them the richer harvest of ho­nor and of praise, for which cause we had [Page 107]reason to say, that their Modesty was proud and ambitious, because they consider not the Honesty which vertue proposeth therein, but the glory onely which redounds from thence, and that they respect Honor but even for Honors sake.

Besides, Whence those Vi­ces come which mix them­selves with Boldness. although in these occasions they follow this shadow and appearance of vertue in all other ways they commonly are Arrogant and Proud, because esteem­ing themselves more then others, they think all is their due, and will have the preheminence, as we have already said; They boast and speak advantageously of themselves, forasmuch as the heat of the Passion kindles the desire they have of glory, and makes them seek praise even from their own mouths; and certainly we need not doubt but that Boldness is the source of all those defects; but when it appears base, artificial, cholerick, or cruel, we must not lay the accusation of these vices upon it, but the ill inclinations onely whereto it's received; For it is like that of torrents which enter into great Rivers, and seem presently to break the course of the water, and to make a passage from one shore to the other, yet their impetuosity must yeeld to the current of the River, which swallows them up, and carries them away with it. What Passion [Page 108]also soever it be which is mixed with the ill inclinations, must follow the course they take, and suffer it self to be carried away with those defects and vices which are pro­per unto it. Now these inclinations come from the temper, or from custom; for this corrups the best Natures, and there are men whose births have given them all the dispositions which are necessary to true Boldness, yet which have those defects which we even now mentioned, having for a long time been nourished in them; and the habit they have gotten hath changed all those seeds of vertue which Nature had given them.

But besides custom, the general source of their ill inclinations is in the tempera­ture, The effect of weak­ness. and chiefly in that whence weakness proceeds; for it's that which makes men undertake base actions, unworthy of a true courage, perswading them they must fear all things, that no enemies are little, and that we ought even to assault those enemies which are weak, or those which are with­out defence. It's that which makes them become Artificial and Perfidious, forasmuch as it would supply the defects of those forces by cunning and deceit, as hath been al­ready said: It's that which renders them Cholerick and Vindicative, because it is ex­posed [Page 109]to all manner of injuries, that it's easily hurt, and that the vengeance it takes is a necessary means to keep the rest in their duties. Finally, it's that which makes them Cruel and Bloody, because in that mistrust which it hath of it self, what advantage soever it hath over its enemies, it still doubts that it wants strength sufficient to effect its own revenge; so that to put it self in safety, it moves even to extreme violence, and so renders its victory brutal and cruel. But we shall more particularly examine these things in their due place. Let's finish this picture by those shadows which Fear gives unto Boldness.

For we have said, Whence that fear comes which somtimes accompa­nies Bold­ness. that Fear often went before that which was the most noble and the most generous; that on the contrary there were men who went boldly into dan­gers, and presently after lost their courage; that the most part of the most valiant, durst not speak in publick; and that some with­out cause apprehended the encounter of some things which were but little consi­derable.

To give a reason for these extravagant e­vents, we must first remember, that there are two sorts of Boldness; the one which is led by Nature, the other which is regulated by Prudence. The first considers not always [Page 110]the greatness of the danger it's engaged in, or else it wants strength to entertain a long-winded combate; Wherefore when it finds the danger greater then it imagined it to be, it's surprized with astonishment, which makes it take slight; which commonly happens to new Souldiers, and to those who undertake things without having fore-seen the difficulties which there­in were to have been encountred. And if it be upheld by this active and glittering force which accompanies delicate tempers, as those of Children, of Women, and the like, its first fury and first impetuosity is onely to be feared; for its forces being un­able to furnish it for a longer fight, it quick­ly gives ground, and makes way for Fear, unless some new relief arrive. But it hap­pens not so with that Boldness which is conducted by Reason; before that under­take the Combate, it exactly considers the forces of the Enemy, the greatness of the danger it is entering upon, and all those obstacles which may traverse its design; for which cause it hath not at first that impati­ent ardor which is to be observed in the other. On the contrary it appears cold and restrained; and sometimes even paleness, trembling, and such other accidents of Fear which surprise it in these encounters, [Page 111]do so hide it, that a man might beleeve that it was not there at all, or that it was asso­ciated with its enemy. And certainly the Soul might conceive the danger so great that for a time she may not be capable of any motion unless it be that of Fear; and in that case she could not be agitated with the Passion of Boldness, although she might have the habit thereof. Now although we must say, That the image of the danger being carried to the sensitive Faculty by the Knowledge which the Sences or the Judgment may have given her, the Soul will form Fear in the inferior part, whilst the superior will be raised with a true Bold­ness; and then a man will boldly go to the fight, whom we shall see look pale and tremble at the sound of the Trumpet, and at first sight of the Enemies. Its true, this disturbance will not last long, Reason pre­sently getting the mastery either by re­assuring it self, or raising the Courage of its inferior part. Neither after a man hath taken this noble resolution, is he sus­ceptible of Fear or of Astonishment; he meets with no difficulties which seem not less then he fancied they were; and if his strength fails him in this occasion, his ver­tue forbears not to hold fast, and obligeth him rather to perish then to flye, or rather [Page 112]yeeld to undergo the burthen, then quit his undertaking.

As for those who valiant as they are dare not speak in publick, or who fear the encounter of certain things which in ap­pearance ought not to give them the least apprehension, besides that this rather re­spects the habit of Boldness then the Passi­on, it's an examen which more fitly be­longs to the discourse of Fear then to this: We can onely say, That a Bold man is not so in all things, because he hath not, or be­leeveth he hath not competent forces to undertake them, and to surmount the diffi­culties which are therein to be encountred, every profession, & even every action requi­ring its particular forces. Such a man may have the one, and want the other; so he may be bold in those and timerous in these. He who is naturally valiant and couragious, hath not commonly those dispositions which are fit for the great actions of the Mind; Coldness and Quietness which they require, cannot allay themselves with heat, and that tumult which accompanies Cou­rage: So that if he finde himself engaged to speak in publick, or to do any other the like action, astonishment and fear surprize him, being sensible of his own weakness to execute a design beyond his strength.

We are now to examine the Characters which Boldness imprints on the Body, The cor­poral Charact­ers of Boldness. which as in the rest of the Passions, are of two kinds. For some of them are formed by the Souls command, and the others un­knowingly, and out of a necessity, useless to her design, as we shall make it appear in the examen we intend of every particu­lar.

Let us therefore begin with the Eyes, which afford us the sight of all, and which are the Souls Looking-glasses.

An assured Look, although it be com­mon to all the generons Passions of the Irascible Appetite, belongs particularly to Boldness, because she assaults ill, and that she ought to have more assurance then the rest, which do onely expect it; For we have said in the Discourse of Hope, That this Look was made by a wide opening of the lids with a fixed sight, and with vivaci­ty. This opening is that we might see the enemy the more exactly; the steddiness of sight witnesseth that the Soul is not asto­nished, and this vivacity comes from the arrival of the spirits which dart themselves forth to combate it. And to speak truth, it must have at least these three conditions to form this kind of look. Most of the Pas­sions makes us open our eyes to consider [Page 114]the good or ill which is their object, even Fear seems to be most careful of it, being most of all obliged to provide for her safe­ty. But it hath no set look being not able long to suffer the presence of the enemy, the disquiet she is in rendring her incon­stant and startled. A strong meditation settles, the sight but not with vivacity, for­asmuch as the spirits retreat towards their principles, and so leave a dimness in the eyes: These three things therefore ought to meet to form the Look we speak of; and he that will but observe it, will finde that the motion of the Eye-brows, the carriage of the Head, and the rest of the Face con­tribute somewhat thereunto.

However it be a Bold man looks upon danger with assurance, Why a Bold man shuts not his eye­lids. without winking, and this partly is from that the soul stiffen­ing it self in it self, stiffens the Muscles, and so hinders the lid from falling, and partly because she will not lose the sight of her E­nemy, nor so much as one minute inter­rupt the looks she casts on him. Moreover we may say she hath not then so much need of winking as before, having rendred them stronger by the quantity of spirits which she sent thither. For it's certain, that when these parts are strongest, this motion is least necessary, for which cause Birds of [Page 115]prey, and all other Creatures, which have a strong sight, wink seldomer then the rest; as on the contrary, men whose sight is weak wink at every moment. Moreover this motion of the lids moystens the eyes and cleanseth them, and thereby preserves their transparency and mobility; it's chief­ly destinated to asswage and temper by an interposing obscurity which it brings the splendor of the exterior, which continually beats on it. Now so it is, that those who have a strong sight, can longer and more easily endure the light then others, and consequently they are not obliged to close their eye-lids so often. If it be therefore true, that Boldness sends a great quantity of spirits to those parts, and so renders them more strong and vigorous; It must also at the same time dispence with their winking so often as they did formerly. In fine, if weakness and fear cause them to fall, to cover and hide them from the ill which persues them; Boldness which ap­prehends nothing, and sees peril and dan­ger without astonishment needs not this vain precaution, nor to employ an unprofit­able relief.

A thorow Look is also common to many of the Passions, Why he looks thorow. and chiefly to Indig­nation, Anger, and to Boldness; to form [Page 116]it, the Face must have somewhat of severe, the Eyes must impetuously cast themselves towards the Enemy, and the Head must be somewhat turned on the other side. Now severity is necessary, because we may cast our Eyes aside without looking through, as it often happens in all those Passions which pursue good and flie from ill; for Love, Desire, and Fear at every moment cast their Eyes aside, because severity is wanting in some by reason of the pleasure which they inspire, and in the other by reason of the astonishment which accom­panies them: In effect, Severity is a certain rude, pecuish stifness, which the presence of ill imprints in the whole countenance, and which is onely to be found in these Passions which assault ill; forasmuch as the Soul stiffens it self onely in these encoun­ters which we have spoken of; the Eyes impetuously cast themselves against the Enemy, because the Soul having put it self in a posture of fighting, employs its looks as so many darts which she intends to cast on it, but at the same time it turns the Head another way to shew its aversion from it, that it fears it not, and that it disdains to employ greater forces against it; where­fore we commonly use this kinde of look in threatnings, where by the minde, and [Page 117]by words, without coming to handy-blows we seek to stop the ill, esteeming it not strong enough to need to be assaulted with its strongest arms, in Indignation, and in other little Angers, whereto we intend not Vengance to all extremity, and in the be­ginnings of Boldness, before we are come to blows, when we think to decide the combate by little skirmishes. It's true, that it often happens that a man who dares not assault a potent Foe, will look through him; but that is but to hide his weakness, and make him beleeve it is not for want of force that he assaults him not, but rather that is out of generosity, and because he esteems him worthy of so great an endea­vor.

There are other kind of Looks which often happen in this Passion, Why he contracts and rais­eth the Brows. as those which are urgent and unquiet, those which are rude and furious; but the first proceed from De­sire, and from Impatience, whereof we have else-where spoken; others come from Anger and from Fury, which shall be examined in the Discourse of An­ger.

Let's now come to the motion of the Fore­head and Brows. To find the cause, we must learn it from Physick, that Nature hath not given to the Fore-head a proper moti­on, [Page 118]for the muscles which cause it to move belong to the Brows, which ought to be moveable for the preservation of the Eyes, and to help them in their functions; so that the Front never moves but when the Eye­brows move. Now amongst those motions which they are capable of, there are two prin­cipally which are commonly to be observed in Boldness and Anger; the one is to lift them up, and the other to strengthen them; but its very hard to tell what the motive is which the Soul proposeth it self in every of them, nor of what use they might be in the Passions we have now spoken of; It's cer­tain that according to the order which Na­ture hath prescribed to those parts, they lift themselves up, that they may the more freely see the object which presents it self, either by enlarging the circle of the sight, which restrains it self when they abate themselves, or that they serve to the open­ing of the lids, which after a manner they draw after them: And they strengthen themselves to strengthen the eyes, making as it were a rampire before them to stop those things which might fall from on high, and to defend them from the light which comes from without; for that the obscurity it causeth, tempers the splendor, gathers the spirits, and in pursuit renders [Page 119]the sight stronger and more exact. But if we consider these motions in the Passions, the Soul indeed must propose other motives then these. For I grant that the presence of ill obligeth it to seek all the liberty, and all the strength of the eyes, the better to discover the enemy, and assault him the more rightly; yet there are encounters wherein these cares seem useless, or at least where they are greater then they need to be, because it often happens that we that move the Brows and the sight, at such things as never so little displease us, and wherein its nothing necessary to bring the least precaution. Let's therefore conclude, that the disturbance and the blindness which the Passions cast in the Soul, divert it often from those ordinary ways which Nature teacheth, which make her forget the true use for which those organs were destinated, and pursued her, that what ought to serve her for one end may also be useful for another. So in all vehement de­sires she brings water into the mouth, al­though it be only necessary in that of Food; so she makes those that are alone, laugh and speak, although all those actions are reser­ved for Society, and Conversation. As therefore she is accustomed to shrink up the Brows, to fortifie the sight, and to defend [Page 120]the Eyes against what might offend them, she fancies she ought do the same in the encounters of all kinde of Enemies; and by an error, like that of Creatures, which think they have hid all their Bodies when their Heads are covered; so she thinks that fortifying her Eyes she inspires the same strength in the other parts, and then all of them are in a condition to assault ill, having put that upon the defensive. It's even so also, that she raiseth up the Brows, when she raiseth herself; for although that serves her the better to see the Enemy; yet she fancies this elevation helps her rising up, and that it so far advanceth the execu­tion of her design, as to make the organs move so also. Yet we may observe that that which furthers this error is that the parts are extreamly moveable and obedient, and that they are in action sooner then the Soul is aware of it. For the rest which are more heavy, resist these preparations, and require a greater deliberation to oblige them to stir.

We may yet add to this reason, that the Soul will often by these external motions manifest the state and condition she is in. So that she raiseth the Brows, to shew that she raiseth herself and shrinks them up, to witness that she fortifies and gathers her [Page 121]self together; and this is the more likely, for that without being moved with those agitations, she forbears not also to make those parts move when she will dissemble her weakness and her fear, and make us be­leeve she hath a design to fight.

And now in pursuit of those motions which are made by the orders of the Soul, the figure of the Fore-head necessarily changeth and altereth; for of necessity, when the Brows are lifted up, the Fore­head must wrinckle, and when they shrink up, that must gather it self betwixt the eyes; and then certainly if the skin be fleshy, it makes, as it were, a great cloud in the midst of the Forehead, which Ari­stotle calls for the same reason Nebulous, which is proper and natural to Lions and to Bulls, and which is one of the princi­pal signs of the natural disposition a man hath for Boldness, as elsewhere shall be said.

When the hair stands on end, Why the hair stands on end. it is be­cause the skin its rooted in, is moved; but this motion may be made two ways; for those creatures which have a moveable and musculous skin make it move when they please, and when they will assault or de­fend themselves, they shrink it up that they may render it stiffer and stronger, and [Page 122]then necessarily those plights and wrinkles which are formed must make the hair or feathers stare with which it's covered. It is not so with men, their skin being not mus­culous, they cannot voluntarily move it, but onely out of necessity; and that hap­pens when the spirits with precipitation quit the outward parts of the Head, and flye away elsewhere. For the skin which is then forced to restrain and shut up it self, makes the roots of the hair retire, which are commonly obliquely laid in the thick­ness of the skin, and in reverting of it it makes the hairs rise and stand on end. Commonly fear and astonishment cause this flight of the spirits; and which calling them back again to the Heart, render the Face pale, and makes the hair stand: But this is sometimes also done by a great en­deavor of the Courage. For the Soul see­ing it self pressed by a puissant Enemy, gathers the spirits from all parts, in which its principal strength consists, and sends them to the Arms, and so those other parts which are appointed to assault and combate, so that those which are abandoned of them grow pale, and the skin shrivels, and the hair stands on end, even as they do in fear. Now as Boldness and Anger one­ly can cause this endeavor, its onely they [Page 123]which are capable to produce this effect in the manner spoken of. But when that hap­pens, it's a sign that those Passions will rise either to fury or despair; for which cause we commonly say that a Man that looks pale with Anger is terrible, be­cause the Soul never useth these extra­ordinary means, but when she is extream­ly prest, and when she carries her self away to her last violences. To conclude therefore this Discourse, a Bold mans hair may stand upright, from the fear and from the astonishment which may sometimes surprise him at the sight of danger, or by the last effort of Courage, as hath been said.

The Nostrils open and widen themselves, because the heat growing stronger requires a greater respiration, and obligeth the soul therefore to enlarge the passages; by rea­son whereof those who naturally have those parts wide and open, are commonly bold and cholerick.

The Smile comes from the indignation a man hath to see himself assaulted by a te­merous or insolent enemy, or from our despising of his weak endeavors. But if we would know why these Passions cause these effects, we must see what hath been said in the Discourse of Laughter.

Silence is proper to true Boldness, Why he is silent. chief­ly when its going into danger, either be­cause it is then entirely gathered up in it self to consider the greatness thereof, or because it disdains to speak to any body with whom it denies society, either because it hates or scorns them; or last of all, be­cause it knows Words are arms of weak­ness, and with them Combates are not to be decided. And certainly, Boldness a­bounds not in words, unless in such who have their weaknesses, for the Soul which knows its defect, useth all those means which may releive her, and employs besides those endeavors which she makes, threat­nings, cryings out, and reasons to fright the enemy, and hide her own imbecillity; such is the Boldness of Women and Chil­dren, such is that of Bragadocio's: And this Maxime is so general, that even a­mongst Beasts we see that little Dogs con­tinually bark, when Mastiffs and great ones, which are bigger and taller seldom bark, and are readier to fall on then we are awares. A man that is truly Bold doth the like; he is silent when he sees the enemy, he goes towards him, and assaults him with­out speaking a word; but it's a threatning Silence, and which better expresseth his desire he hath to fight, and the confidence [Page 125]he hath in his forces, then even words them­selves.

Yet this hinders not, What the voice of a Bold man is. but that in the heat of the Combate from time to time, some flashes of his Voice, short and piercing, may escape him, which commonly accom­pany the blows he gives, or the steps he takes; and this in my opinion is to astonish the enemy by those exclamations which re­mark Ardor and Courage; or to animate and provoke himself, his cryings out pro­ducing the same effect with that of the sound of Trumpets; Or rather this comes from the endeavors and struggles which the parts make within; which with impe­tuosity driving the air to the Lungs, force it at its issuing out to resound again, and to form a strong and penetrating sound, be­cause its driven out with violence; Great, be­cause the passages are inlarged by heat; and short, because it's made by sallies and shocks; it seems even as if it issued not with liber­ty, and as if the lips and the teeth stop­ping it in its passage would force it to return and retort it on himself, and to seek other passages, in which it's inwardly heard to resound. This appears in the howlings of Mastiffs and Blood-Hounds, in the roar­ing of Lions; for all of these cast onely forth a great sound, of a short and resound­ing [Page 126]voice, which loseth it self in the hol­low of the Throat and Breast, and which they do not redouble but by long intervals, by reason that the Soul which trusts its strengths, thinks not it ought to double its shocks with that eagerness which always accompanies weakness. The voice of a Bold man is then constrained, disturbed, and as it were entangled in it self, [...], as Aristotle calls it, which the Commenta­tors understood not when they said it sig­nified words which precipitated themselves the one or the other, and enterfer'd by the swiftness of the pronuntiation: For this indeed may happen in Anger for these rea­sons we shall note; but not in Boldness, which is neither loud nor talkative, which shortens as much as possibly, not onely its voice, but even its discourse; for be­sides that it never useth any long threats, it cuts them short at first, and leaves al­ways more to be thought then is said. Quos ego?

Somtimes he blows with impetuosity, whether the pantings and shocks he gives his Breast cause the air violently to issue, or that from time to time keeping in his breath, he is afterwards constrained to use more blowing to drive out the fumes of the Heart, which could not get out during this constraint.

But why doth he keep in his breath? Why he keeps in his breath. Doubtless to fortifie the motion of the other parts; for that we commonly never employ this action, but when we intend to give a great blow to do some other great endeavour. The reason of this Effect is drawn from the nature of the Motion, which is to be on some stable thing, where­on the body moving upholds it self. It's thus that Beasts move, that Birds flie, and that Fish swim, and that all other things move; for in all these motions, the Earth, the Air and the Water, or some other Bo­dy remains firm, and resists the thing a­gitated; and in proportion as the resistance and firmness is greater, the motion also is greater and stronger. Now as the parts of Animals lean more the one upon the other, when any of them is to perform any power­ful motion, it's necessary the rest keep close and even to the furthermost which contribute thereunto. It must finde with­out it self somewhat which may sustain it self; otherwise the motion of the first of these will be weak, and their actions will be the less perfect. Whence it comes that Birds are troubled to flye when their Legs are broken; that we run not so well when our Hands are tied, and leap but ill unless we stiffen our Arms, and shut our Fists; [Page 128]because those parts in the condition they then are cannot uphold, as they ought to do the motions of the rest.

The Soul then which hath a secret know­ledge of all what is beneficial unto her, and who knows that in violent endeavors there must be a great and strong support for those organs which are to move, retains the Breath, that that air which is stopped in the Lungs may keep up the Muscles of respi­ration, and that pressing them on all sides, she stiffens them to support the rest which are engaged in the action. So that we are not content onely to stop the breath, but we drive it, and cause it to descend down that the diaphragma may dilate it self, and press the neighboring parts which thereby are rendred more fit to support those which are in motion.

In pursuit he shuts his Lips and his Tteeh, as well the better to stop the passages of respi­ration, as to confirm the parts, whether it be that their confirmation truly contributes to the great designs we have spoken of, or whether the Soul is abused in the choice she makes, as being useless; as it often hap­pens in divers other occasions, wherein she is hindered by Passion to discern things, and to remember the true use of the organs.

That Coldness which is observed in the beginnings of Boldness, Whence comes the coldness of the Face. is nothing but a certain constancy and assurance of coun­tenance, which is not astonished at the sight of danger, and which also witnesseth nei­ther ardor nor impatience to fight. And it hath been so called, because that besides that, it is the property of cold to render things immoveable; defect of heat is commonly called Coldness. Now this con­stancy and outward assurance comes from that which is made in the Soul and in the Spirits, and which retaining the humors and the parts in the posture she findes them in, hinders the blood from retiring or ex­panding it self, and the organs from move­ing. For in this condition the countenance must not change colour, must remain firm and settled, must appear cold and resolute at the encounter of difficulties: But the first cause of all these effects, is, that at that time the Soul raiseth it self not yet up a­gainst the enemy, onely prepares herself for the combate, as hath been said; for when she assaults him, the Spirits must rise up with her, must carry blood and redress to the face, and fill all with vivacity, ardor, and impatience. The fierceness of the Counte­nance.

This Coldness is followed with a noble fierceness, which animates the countenance [Page 130]of a Bold man chiefly when he goes into danger; for it appears not commonly in the first motions of Boldness, nor in the heat of fight, but onely when he is ready for the assault, and marcheth towards the Enemy: So that it seems it is as a mean be­twixt his staiedness at first, and that ardor which transports him at last.

In effect, as this Fierceness is a kind of severe and disdainful Pride, which comes from the presumption and scorn which Boldness useth to inspire: The Soul cannot be susceptible of it before she hath con­ceived a great opinion of her own strength, because that is the ground of her Pride, nor after she hath found any strong resistance, because that makes her perceive the danger greater then she fancied it, and that there­fore she ought not to slight it. It's there­fore onely when she is ready to fight, for then she is full of the esteem which she hath of herself, and then she disdains the ene­my, whose forces she hath not yet experi­mented.

However it be, the Head is then kept erect, and the Brow lifted up, the look quick, and full of assurance, the counte­nance swell'd and double-gorged, and hath I know not what in it, that's rude and dis­dainful. Now all these are the effects and [Page 131]characters of Pride, as in its place shall be said. For the Soul which in this Passion swells it self, raiseth up the Head, lifts up the Brows, and swels the Face, as if she thought more room to enlarge her self, or by those exterior motions she would make that appear which she hath in herself. An assured look comes from that considence which accompanies its Pride, and that se­vere and disdainful countenance from the indignation she hath to finde obstacles in her designs.

The Posture and the Gate contribute also to this Fierceness; for all the Body keeps it self streight and set, and if he stir, his march is haughty and proud. The Stature erects it self, because the Soul raiseth and stiffens it self, in the design which she hath to as­sault, which puts the Body into such a po­sture as is most advantagious for it to act, as we said in the Discourse of Hope.

As for the proud Gate, its that which A­ristotle calls Magnifick, which is natural to Lions, and is a sign of strength and of greatness of Courage. It's performed with great and grave paces, balancing the Body on either side, and at every step lifting in­wards and forewards the Shoulders. But how difficult soever it be to express this action to the life, its yet harder to finde [Page 132]the true cause thereof. Some have sought it in the same temperature which renders the Body robustious, and have said that constitution being more firm and solid, their parts also were more united and shut together, and so they communicated the motion wherewith they were agitated to one another, and in pursuit that when the Legs did lift themselves up, and advance to go, the Shoulders must be moved in the same manner.

Of a truth, if all those who were of that temper walked after that manner, this pro­position would be somewhat probable. But besides that all those who are robustious walk not so: There are those which are not so, to whom this gate is natural, or at least who in some occasions use it, as in Boldness, in Pride, and the like. We must then refer this effect to a more general cause, which must not be constant and un­changeable as the temperature is, but changeth according to its encounters. And truly if it be a Character proper to Bold­ness, it must proceed from the agitation of the Soul, whether it serve its design, or be done out of necessity. Now he that will consider that the Soul which will board the enemy, stiffens herself to fortifie herself, and begins to raise herself, as to make trial of [Page 133]the assault she is going about, will judge for the reasons which we have so often allead­ged, that she ought to inspire the same motions into the organs, and consequently that she stiffens them, and drives them vi­gorously: So that the march and the other actions of the Body must suffer some change and must be performed after another man­ner then they were wont to be, by reason of that new and extraordinary impression which they receive: A man then which is animated with Boldness, marcheth with a stiffer and more vigorous pace, having a greater number of Muscles which stiffen it, and that all his body weighs and rests it self on that foot which upholds it: So that he the more strongly treads the ground when he walks, wherein the stediness of the things supported consists; and because he cannot so readily displace that foot which stands strong under so great a burthen, of necessity his pace must be slow, and he must go the more heavily. But this slow­ness is recompenced by the greatness and largeness of his steps, his strength second­ing the desire he had to get to his Enemy, mixing, if we may so say, haste with gra­vity: In pursuit of those motions, the Shoulders are moved and stirred, as we [Page 134]have said; Because all the Body stiffening it self, and laying all the weight on the foot, it must needs be that changing place, and carrying the same burthen to the o­ther, the Shoulder must advance and weigh down it self on the same side; and this being done with vigor, the impe­tuosity of the motion causeth it to turn somewhat inwardly, and passing so from the one to the other it ballanceth all the body in marching. Thus then Boldness useth this kinde of gate, so that if it be natural and ordinary, in some it's a sign of greatness of Courage, because the Soul which hath a secret knowledge of the motions it ought to make by instinct, bears it self to this kinde of pace, which is proper to Boldness and to Generosity, and marching without minding it, as if she ought alwayes to affront the Ene­my.

Furthermore, Why he stoops his Head when he assaults. when a Bold man is near danger, and upon the point of assaulting his adversary, he stooping his Head, throws himself on him, whether he thinks he should therewith knock against him, or that his desire of fighting makes him advance that part, as it doth the rest of them; Or that stiffening the Arms to [Page 135]strike, the Neck must stiffen it self to support the endeavor of that motion, and in pursuit the Muscles shorten themselves and so cause the Head to stoop, or in fine, because it would cover it self, and not give aim to the enemies blows; for this reason it is that he bows all his Body, that he gathers himself up, that he contracts himself, and puts himself on his guard, to use the terms of Art.

In the heat of the Combate, His Face is inflamed, his Eyes become ardent, and his sweat runs from all parts; Forasmuch as the spirits and the humors cast them­selves impetuously to the outward parts, and that the heat which the Soul stirs up in this encounter, expands it self every way, dissolves the humors, and causeth them to run through the pores which she keeps open. It's thus, That in great en­deavors, we have often seen blood startle out of the Eyes, Lips, and other parts, and sometimes even from all the Body, in form of sweat. But when this last hap­pens, the transport of the Soul must be excessive. For she must be much urged and constrained to do a very extraordinary en­deavor after this manner to drive out of the veins this treasure of life.

He beats the earth with his feet, to make his Force and vigor appear, and to astonish the enemy by the noise and tem­pest which at once his Foot, his Voice and his blows make.

He darts himself forth, and leaps light­ly, his forces being augmented by heat, and by the motion of the spirits which render him lighter and better disposed.

His respiration is strong and impetuous, because heat is encreased, which augments the force of the vital parts, and requires a greater refreshment, for which cause the Breast and the Lungs extend and enlarge themselves the more to attract the greater quantity of fresh air, and they fall with pre­cipitation, the more readily to drive away the fumes which the boiling of the spirits and the humor excite.

The Pulse is great, high, quick, frequent and vehement, for the same reasons; for the Arteries open and extend themselves very much, that they may receive the more air for the refreshing of the spirits; and as this opening satisfies not yet the need which presseth the Heart, the Soul adds to the greatness of its motion, swiftness, and frequency, the more readily to attract re­freshment, and the oftner to discharge those [Page 137]fumes which heat raiseth up. To conclude, Because she gathers together her forces to assault and combate ill, we need not doubt but the vital Faculty grows stronger, but that she more powerfully moves her organs, and that consequently she makes the Pulse more strong and vehement. It's true, that all these divers beatings of it are also in An­ger; but when we speak of that Passion, we will shew the difference she makes therein; Let's go to more pleasing subjects which hither to have been observed by no man, or at least which our ordinary Philosophy hath not yet examined.

CHAP. I. The Characters of Constancy, or of the strength of Courage.

IF it be true that Boldness hath no other function but to assault and combate; Constancy is differ­ent from Boldness. yet is the Soul often obliged to labour in its own defence, and simply to resist those ills without daring to assault them; there must necessarily therefore be a Passi­on which must serve it in this encounter, and must be different from Boldness. And truly fince Passions are motions, there must be several Passions where there is a diversi­ty of motion. Now the motion which the Soul makes in resisting, is altogether different from that which she makes in as­saulting, whether it be in the manner wherewith it's agitated, or in the end which [Page 139]she hath proposed to herself. For in resist­ance she knows nothing but how to stiffen and streng then herself in herself to stop the effort of the Enemy. But in assault she goes out of herself, and casts herself on it to combate it; here she darts and precipi­tates herself, there she stays and remains stable; here she boldly bestows the blow, there she receives them with assurance. In a word, in the one she would overcome, in the other she is content not to be over­come.

But if this Reason will not oblige us to distinguish these Passions which Philoso­phy hath always confounded, let's but fol­low the common opinion of men, and the ordinary way of speaking in such like en­counters; For they never say, That a man with Boldness bears his ill fortune; nor that he suffers Infamy, Grief or Death boldly, but that he endures them, that he suffers with Courage, with Resolution, with Constancy and with Patience.

If it be not Boldness therefore which produceth these effects, and if amongst the Passions mentioned by the Schools, there is none whereto we can refer them, we are constrained to encrease the number of them, and to add to the emotions of the Irascible Appetite, that which serves [Page 140]to support ills, and to resist them.

Now as those who discover a new Land, commonly give it the name of those Coun­tries which are best known unto them, and which have some likeness together: We have by their example taken the liberty to give this Passion the name of Constancy, a vertue known to all the world, and where­to it hath a great conformity.

And truly there are Passions which al­ways carry the name of Vices, because they always appear to be vitious, as Envy and Impudence. It must follow, that those which always appear vertuous, should also bear the name of Vertues. Now this is of this kinde; for in what condition soever we finde her, what defects soever she hath, we still see some image of Vertue in her. And even when she is altogether irregular, we are forced to admire her, and to afford her those praises which are due to fair acti­ons; let's boldly therefore give her the name of Constancy, since she is not un­worthy of those advantages which are due unto Vertue.

But if any man would object, That what we call Passion is nothing but the action of that Vertue; and therefore that it is nothing necessary to introduce a new Passion, since the actions of Vertues are not properly Passions.

We must first say, That all the actions of Constancy cannot be reckoned for actions of Vertue, since some of them may be vi­cious, as when we resist ills, which necessa­rily we should flie, or when we do not resist them as we ought, nor when we ought, nor for that end which Vertue hath proposed to it self. Moreover an action of Constancy may be performed without possessing of the Vertue; forasmuch as Vertue is a habit which is gotten by custom, and that there is no habit acquired till we perform the first actions of Constancy. Now if there are but three things in the Soul, Power, Ha­bit, and Passion, this first action must be a Passion, since it is neither a Power nor an Habit, as it is easie to be judged. In fine, If Constancy is a Vertue, it must needs have a Passion which serves for its sub­ject, and which makes, if we may so speak, the body and the substance of this action; for Vertue, to speak properly, is but an or­der and a rule which Reason gives to the actions and motions of the Soul: So that we must suppose motions before they can be regulated; and these Motions are Pas­sions, which for that cause are called the substance of Vertues. Constancy being then a Vertue, ought to have a Passi­on to work upon, which is no other but [Page 142]that which we have spoken of, for the rea­sons already declared.

Now although we ought not to think it strange that both of them bear the same name, since the word Boldness is com­mon both to the Passion and to the Ver­tue; yet if after all these reasons any shall think its to prophane the name of Constan­cy to assign it to a Passion, I will not oppose him; he may if he please chuse that of Strength of Courage, because the Soul stiffens it self to resist the ill which assaults it, as shall be seen in the following Dis­course. Let's therefore no longer stop at words, but examine the things in that or­der which we have proposed.

You must not think to meet here with an insolent and an ambitious Passion which like Love or Boldness would be Queen and Mistris of the rest. The Ele­gy of Con­stancy. She is too gene­rous to use flatteries and baseness, which the one employs to establish its power; and she is too modest to subject her Compani­ons by force and violence as Boldness doth; what advantage soever she hath over them, she yeelds them the precedence without pretending to command, she con­tents her self not to obey them. And without marching at the head of the Pas­sions, it's sufficient for her to be a follower of the Vertues.

In effect, it's she which maintains and preserves them, it's she which makes them overcome, and which crowns them; and he who would more nearly examine what she doth for them, might boldly say, that if she brings them not forth, yet at least she accomplisheth them, and renders them worthy of the names they bear, and of the recompence they expect; and truly a vertue which yeelds and keeps not firm, which gives up its arms after the first fight, or flies after the victory, is an imperfect Vertue. And the perfection which it wants can be added unto it by nothing but Con­stancy, which alone can consummate com­menced vertues, and make them deserve the glory they aspire unto.

But I say further, that to examine them from their birth, we may see that they wholly owe it unto her, and that after rea­son hath conceived them, it's she that brings them forth, which makes them o­perate, and makes them subsist. For it's certain, that what service soever Vertue draws from the Passions, they are the one­ly enemies which resist her; they alone form those difficulties which cross her, and it's none but they which are capable to stifle her when she comes to light, and to destroy her when she is in her greatest [Page 144]strength. Without doubt, were there no Passions, Vertue would appear in the Soul like a pure light which would have neither vapors nor clouds to overcome. It would be a Star which would direct its course to­wards good without any let, and which would conduct us to felicity without trouble or disquiet. We should no longer speak of those vices and crimes, but as of such mon­sters as were invented by Fables; and all that great croud of ills, which at every moment disturbs the tranquillity of life, would be unknown or impotent; at least if it yet caused any disorders, we should not rescent them, since it's Fear and Grief onely which render them sensible.

But as it's a necessity imposed on Ver­tue to be born and dwell with its enemies; we must also confess that if any thing can defend it from their violence, and stop those endeavors whereby they seek to op­pose it; certainly, it's she alone to whom it's obliged both for its birth and preserva­tion, and to whom its obliged for all the good which happens unto it. Now it's Con­stancy alone which deserves this glory, since it's she onely that is capable of resisting the Passions, stopping those passages where­by they might enter upon the Soul, and which dissipateth them after they are got­ten in.

And truly its herein we are to admire the providence of Nature, who in the ge­neral revolt wherein she sees all these sedi­tions have engaged themselves against rea­son, doth like a wise Politian, who casts division amongst the Rebells, who gains the most powerful, and makes use of their forces to destroy their own Confederates: For she makes Constancy quit the party of the rebellion, and inspires her with that noble perfidiousness, which causeth her to betray her Complices; in a word, she arms one Passion against all the Passions, against all Vices, and against all ills; and this was the onely expedient to yeeld unto Reason that Empire which belonged unto it, and to bring it to the enjoyment of those Ver­tues and of that Felicity which it was de­stined unto: For being she could perform no action without the help of the Passions, had she been abandoned of them all, she must have remained always idle; and it was necessary that some one of them should be faithful upon this occasion, and that it ought to succour it in a design wherein it meets with such great obstacles and such powerful adversaries. Now it will be no­thing difficult to perswade that she whom we have spoken of, is onely one responsible in this expectation, if we consider that all [Page 146]her nature and essence consists in that sta­bility which the Soul gives herself; and that even as water stops and loseth its mo­tion when it freezeth, so also when the Soul settles it self, and that all its motions cease, that those Passions wherewith she was agitated, dissipate themselves, and the ills which assaulted her can no longer make any impression on her.

And indeed, she is in the condition of a rock which remains immoveable against the violence of the winds, waves and tem­pests; she cannot then be moved, neither by the impetuosity of desire, nor by the over-slowings of lusts, nor with the storms of Fortune. She hath an impenetrable Hardness against scorn, against offences, and against injuries; and although she is assaulted with sickness and grief, we may say that they are floods which indeed by degrees undermine the shoar, but which can never overturn her, nor make her change place.

So that these advantages being not dif­ferent from those which accompany Wis­dom, we must necessarily confess, that Constancy is this same Wisdom, or that it is its general and inseparable instrument; and that amongst the Passions some are common to all Creatures, others proper to [Page 147]Men, but that this is onely peculiar to the Wise; for it's she hath formed all the Phi­losophers of Antiquity, which in all Ages hath produced so many wonderful examples of Fidelity, of Temperance, and of great­ness of Courage; which hath made Reli­gion triumph over Vices and Tyrants. Fi­nally, which hath made the Vertues reign on Earth, and which hath crowned them in Heaven.

Yet we must confess that she owes all the glory of these fair actions to the councels of Reason; and were she not enlightened with its light, she would continue in that blindness wherein all the rest of the Passi­ons are born, and cast the Soul into those precipices whereunto her own evill inclina­tions commonly move her: When this wise Guide indeed forsakes her, she takes part with Vices and Crimes, and renders them the same service she is obliged to ren­der to the Vertues; for she upholds them, and strengthens them, she compleats and consummates their malice; and all the du­ration they have is but an effect of the un­happy perseverance which she affords their ill designs. Its she that locks up the Heart from all the perswasions of Prudence, from all the warnings of Heaven, from all the sentiments of Nature, which hardens it, and [Page 148]renders it immoveable against all their en­deavors, and inspiring it with opinionacy in its resolutions, with Hardness of heart towards the miseries of others, and with Obstinacy in all ill, it renders a man un­worthy of civil society, and an enemy to God, to men and to himself.

But we need say no more of it, nor by a long invective dishonor a Passion which is so useful and necessary to Wisdom, and which hath caused no disorders in the World but through the ill use which men have made thereof. Let's pursue our de­sign, and content our selves here to repre­sent those Characters which she useth to imprint in the Soul, and on the Body of those who are sensible of it.

Although at first this design ought to be neither long nor difficult in the execution, The de­scription of a Con­stant man and that this Passion making no change of countenance, and being not susceptible of that variety which is observable in the rest, so that we need but one figure, and as we may say but one simple touch to draw this Picture; yet besides that it's difficult to express any motion, and that that is one of the most secret and most hid which is in the Soul: There are so many other things which are to be brought into the piece, that it's impossible but the work must be [Page 149]greater and more painful then any man could think. In effect, we must here represent shipwracks and precipices, poverty, exile, and slavery; the loss of honor, of parents, of Friends; all what grief, and the most violent sicknesses; all what tortures, and the most cruel torments; all what despair and death have that is frightful and most hideous; and what is yet more formi­dable, all what the charmes of Voluptu­ousness and Ambition have of most de­ceiving: For to conclude, these are the principal enemies which arm themselves a­gainst Constancy, which assault it and en­deavor to overcome it.

Let's therefore fancy a man animated with this Passion, and see what sentiments he may have at the approach of such pow­erful adversaries. Certainly, it's in these encounters that the Soul forms its most noble designs, and takes the most generous resolutions which it is capable of; every­where else where she expects and affronts ill, she thinks to be stronger and more powerful then it, she still hopes for the Victory, and never fights, but she is up­held by some stronger forces; but here she hath an enemy in front who appears invin­cible, whom she dare not assault, and against whom she alone must resist, and that with­out any other help.

In the mean time, she sees him come without fear, and without astonishment; she considers him without trouble and without disquiet, and if she pretend not to conquer him, she at least assures herself that she shall not be overcome; as knowing that the strongest waves break themselves against the rocks, and that the banks hinder the overflowings of the most impetuous Ri­vers; she promiseth herself the same success from her resistance, and believes that the strength of her Courage will break off the violence of the ills, and stop the course of all those mischiefs which come pouring upon her. In her opinion there is no effort strong enough to make her yield; all the Elements would change place, without making her change her station; and were it possible the mass of the Heavens should break, she imagines that she could sustain its ruines without being over-turned.

But what is more wonderful, is, that she often mistrusts her forces, and sees well e­nough that her resistance will be useless, and her loss inevitable. Neither is this ca­pable to make her change her resolution; although even she might escape the danger by flight, she remains firm and expects the shock of the enemy, with the same tran­quillity and with the same confidence, as [Page 151]if she were sure of the Victory. She also believes that a man is never overcome, if he loseth not his heart, if he delivers not up his arms; that yielding to force, we yield not to honor of the Battel; and that in that of Constancy, we have always this ad­vantage, To triumph over the Conque­ror.

She in pursuit hereof represents to her­self the glory which so many great Cou­rages have acquired in torments and in pu­nishments; the Crowns which they have deserved in the most difficult proofs of pa­tience, and the immortal renown of such fair examples, make her hope, if she can but constantly suffer the ills which threaten her; with this thought she encourageth her self, and without hearing those reasons which might make her yield, she puts her­self in a condition to receive the ene­my, and vigorously to maintain his as­saults.

Behold her now grappling with him; behold her either assaulted with the vio­lence of grief, or by the outrages of For­tune, or by the darts of Calumny: as if she were insensible of all their blows, she neither troubles herself to flie from them, or to repel them; and although she be cruelly wounded by them, she suffers not [Page 152]so much as a complaint nor a threat to come from her, which might make the least resentment of hers appear. She sees her body torn with tortures or with sick­ness, as if it did not truly belong unto her, or in effect, were but her Garment: She considers the loss of her Goods as a debt she repays Fortune, and thinks that an injury is ill onely in the opinion of him that suffers it, and can truly offend onely him that doth it.

Whilst by these reasons she seeks to sweeten her ills, they forbear not incessant­ly to perplex her with fresh pangs, which sometimes are so violent that she cannot save the Body from succumbing under their violence, and from betraying its sensible­ness by its weakness, and by that languor which appals it. But for her own part, instead of growing weaker she becomes more strong and vigorous; and as the earth strengthens it self, when its beaten, we may say, that the blows of grief harden her and render her impenetrable against all its attaints; Grief it self, which seems to be the inseparable companion of adversity and misfortune, cannot reach her; at least it ne­ver riseth to that high Region where she forms her designs, and where she entertains a calm and a continual serenity. It's from [Page 153]thence she securely beholds the storms and the tempests which agitate the inferior parts, the troubles and sufferings whereof she with pleasure often considers and sheds abroad a chearfulness in the complaints and tears which the rigor of her ill often extorts from her Mouth and Eyes.

And truly there is cause of astonishment to see her so calm in the midst of chains and fire, in the midst of publick desolati­ons, in the midst of so many things, the thought of which alone produceth horror and terror; but that in these encounters she should witness joy, that she should bless her persecutors, and that she should speak her pains to be pleasing and glorious, it's a thing which seems to combate Reason and Nature, and which is almost uncon­ceivable: We must also confess that this is the last effort of Constancy, and that she then ought to be upheld by some great and noble Passion, to produce some great and wonderful effect: For commonly griefs and misfortunes use to convey into the strongest and most resolute Soul I know not what kinde of bitterness which renders it pecuish and wary, which at every instant forceth from it some secret complaints, and at length bereaves it of its strength, at least of that ardor and vivacity which it had at first.

It's then there that the Soul employs Constancy against Adversaries: It's thus she defends herself from those ills which assault her with open force. Let's now see what she doth against those which under the appearance of good seek to seduce her, which to betray her, flatter her; and to o­vercome her, use no other violence but one­ly those of enticements and charms. I mean Voluptuousness and Ambition, and all those unjust desires which continually present themselves unto her, which at every moment provoke and sollicite her, and which are the more to be feared, the Sen­ces keeping intelligence with them, and forasmuch as they promise felicity to those who suffer themselves to be overcome by their allurements.

We must certainly confess that she useth no other arms to defend herself against such dangerous enemies, but onely those which Constancy in these encounters affords her; she knows that to render their plots and their forces useless, she needs onely to keep herself stiff and firm; and that in that con­dition she cannot be mollified with Plea­sures, nor lifted up with the winde of Ho­nor, nor carried away by the hope of those goods which she hath not; she knows that Pleasure is ever accompanied with Repen­tance, [Page 155]that Ambition never walks but on precipices, and that Desire is not so much a sign as it is the cause of Poverty. More­over she knows that all the contentment, and all the good fortune which those de­ceivers promise are but impoisoned sweets which corrupt Health and Reason, and de­stroy the quiet of the Mind, and the tran­quillity of Life.

On such like Reasons being resolved to hold out against them, she puts herself up­on her guard, and shuts up all the avenues by which they might surprise her affecti­ons; she turns her eyes from the most pleas­ing objects; she shuts her ears to the most charming words and perswasions; she flies the approach of all those things which might tickle or seduce the sence; For it's certain, that she expects not such kinde of enemies in a stedfast posture, and that she receives them not chearfully, as she doth the rest. She commonly defends herself from these by a wise retreat; and when she cannot shun their encounter, she puts on a certain disdainful severity, which checks them, and renders their caresses vain, and their flatteries of no use. We may even say, that as there are things which instead of being molified, harden themselves by heat, it seems that the ardor of these [Page 156]Passions produceth the same effect in her, and that that pleasure which melts and li­quifies hearts, hardens hers. She becomes indeed as if she were stupid towards all those things which are the most desirable, and the most delicious in the world; the charms of Beauty, the splendor of Riches, move her not; Praise and Glory have no allurements for her; but quite contrary to that unhappy man who is feigned to be in­vironed with goods, which flye from him when he seeks to enjoy them, she appears in the midst of delights, which she flies as soon as they become sensible. If it happen that the Sences betray her, and that unknown to her, they taste the poyson which they present them withal, she cha­stiseth them by the grief which she causeth them to suffer; and for fear least she should herself be infected, she keeps herself pe­cuish and austere, and takes a certain dis­gust of all sweets, and against all the entice­ments of Pleasure. It's thus also that she preserves herself from that Pride and Va­nity wherewith Prosperity is commonly puffed up, from the disquiet and impatience which move violent desires, from those lan­guors and transports which follow irregular contentments. In fine it's thus, she main­tains herself in so just a temper, which ren­ders [Page 157]her modest in good Fortune, severe in Pleasure, content in Necessity, and every way equal and like herself. These are the principal touches which Constancy im­prints in the Soul: we must now observe those which she makes on the Face and on the other parts of the Body. But we may at first say that they are so like those which Boldness forms thereon, that did we know them no other ways but as two Sister Ger­mans, we might easily by the likeness of their lineaments judge, that they are of the same family, or at least that they both have the same inclinations.

For as soon as ill presents it self to a Con­stant man, he expects it with the same Eye, with the same Front, and in the same po­sture as if he were ready to assault and com­bate it; his look is firm and assured, his Countenance changeth not colour, and without stirring his Brows or Lids, he coldly considers the danger which threatens him, and seems to brave with a resolved mind the misfortune it self.

You must not expect from him com­plaints of injuries, nor any of those ex­clamations wherewith Fear and Anger un­profitably beat the Air. Silence commonly shuts his mouth; and if he is obliged to speak, its with a tone of Voice which remarks [Page 158]the tranquillity of his Minde, and the strength of his Courage; for his voice is neither weak nor vehement, slow nor im­petuous, it is strong, equal, and settled; and it's upheld with a certain majestical ac­cent which mixeth respect and admiration with the fear we have to see him so near danger. He holds up his Head without im­pudence; his port is noble without Pride; his pace is grave without Haughtiness; and in all his actions there appears a generous coldness, and a modest confidence.

But it is not onely before the assault that he appears thus resolved; he carries the same air and the same assurance into danger and into fight. When he is first prest by the enemy, he stiffens his Nerves, he holds his Breath, and gathering himself up in him­self, he confirms and settles himself in his po­sture. In this condition, without going back, he beats all assaults which are made against him; he feels fire and sword fall on him without looking pale; he sees his blood run from all parts without astonishment; and findes his Body wounded with wounds, and torn in pieces without complaining, and without so much as wrinkling his Brow. If sometimes any man makes him change colour, cast forth crys, or turn up his looks, it passeth so suddenly that we may easily [Page 159]judge, that the violence of the ill surpri­zed him, and that it hath robbed from him, if we may so speak, those motions from his Constancy. For at the same time he sup­presseth his complaints and his sighs; he devoureth his grief, and bringing back a calm in his Countenance with a smile, and with the sweet looks of his eyes he doth not onely reprehend his first resolve, but makes it appear more gay and better plea­sed. In fine, if he perceive the strength of his Body forsake him, and that he must succumb under the effort of the enemy which assaults him, in falling he makes it appear that his Courage is not cast down; that by his fall he raiseth up himself, and that it is not he that yields, but his ill For­tune.

For he suffers all the insolency of the Victor without murmuring or so much as moving. He sees those blows come with­out being frighted, which will be the loss of his life, and he is already sensible of death, yet still hath a care to compose his Countenance, and to leave on his dying body the remains of his Constancy.

But it's time to enquire the cause of all these effects; neither have we any thing more to say of those Characters which this Passion imprints on the body, when she [Page 160]resists those pleasing and deceitful ills of which we have spoken, since she adds no­thing to her settled Countenance but seve­rity, disdain, and frowardness wherewith she arms herself against their Allurements, and that we have already observed them in the first figures of this Picture. Let's now examine what its nature is, since its the source whence all these effects ought to take their original.

CHAP. II. Of the Nature of Constancy, or strength of Courage.

ALthough at our enterance into this Discourse, Why this Passion is necessary. we have made the nature of this Passion appear, having been obliged to distinguish it from Boldness, to observe the difference of its motions, and the end which the Appetite proposeth it self; yet we must say that we have made therein but an imperfect draught wherein we have one­ly traced out the most remarkable parts, and the grossest lineaments, and that now we must add the last touches, and those colours which were wanting thereunto.

For which purpose we must again betake [Page 161]our selves to those principles which we have established in the precedent Discour­ses, and say, that Nature hath inspired in every thing the care of its own preservati­on, having taught them to seek what is fit, and to flie what was hurtful, and to combate what was contrary to them; that the Soul as the most noble and the most excellent, hath this knowledge, and these inclinations most strong and most perfect: And that all those Passions wherewith she is continually agitated; are the means she useth to attain those ends; some of them being appointed to pursue good, others to flie ill, and others to assault it; That in fine she flies or assaults ills according as she believes herself weaker or stronger then they; and that Fear, Timerousness, and Despair are signs of Weakness; as Hope, Boldness and Anger are effects of Power.

But because this division is grounded on more and less, and that amongst these two there is ever a middle, which is equality: It's not sufficient to have shewn that the Soul is stronger and weaker then the Evil. We must yet add, that their forces may be equal; so that if she ought to flie when she is the weaker, and assault when she is the stronger, of necessity when their [Page 162]strengths are equal, and consequently be­ing neither to flie nor assault, she must re­main simply on the defensive, and that without yeilding to the end eavors of the enemy, and without also undertaking any thing against him, she must content her self only to resist. It must needs, I say, be, that as flying she retires with precipitation, and that she darts herself forth with impe­tuosity when she assaults, she must also stop and keep herself stiff when she in­tends onely to resist; and this stiffening having resistance onely for its motive, and proceeding from the equality we have now spoken of, it must make all the Nature and Essence of this Passion, there being no o­ther which this motion in all circumstances befits.

But before we examine more particular­ly the manner wherewith the Soul is then agitated, Objecti­ons to shew that Constancy is formed with this equali­ty of strength. we must clear a difficulty which ariseth from those propositions which we have established; for there is great reason for us to doubt, That equality of forces should be the principle of this Passion, since it's certain, she often forms it when the Soul is stronger or weaker then those ills which assault her. How many have we seen of those noble Courages who have opposed enemies far more powerful then [Page 163]themselves, who have been firm and reso­lute in those dangers, wherein their loss was certain, and who have constantly suf­fered the greatest imaginable ills without hope, even without having a minde to shun them? On the contrary, is it not an ordi­nary effect of Magnanimity not to employ all ones forces against a weak enemy, and to oppose against him a mans own endea­vors, onely without fighting with him, or pretending to a Victory, whereby he might gain honor? The Soul then may be moved with Constancy at the encounter of these ills which she esteems weaker or stronger then herself; and therefore the foundation on which we thought to have so well esta­blished this Passion, cannot sustain it self, and threatens the ruine of all the super­structure.

Answer to the first Ob­jection. To answer to such strong Objections, we must first observe, that the opinion which the Soul hath of her forces is not essential to the Passions, but an action of Judgment, and not of the Appetite. And that it onely is instead of a natural condi­tion towards their production, in that ge­neral order which Nature hath prescribed those Powers; but forasmuch as this order is often changed in particulars, it also hap­pens, that when the Passions form them­selves, [Page 164]this condition is often wanting as all other things which are strangers to them, and enter not into their essence.

Now this general order will have the sensitive Appetite immediately conducted by the imagination, as by a light which is proper and necessary unto it, and destina­ted to shew it all what it ought to do. And as she would in vain propose unto it to do any thing, unless she thought it were in its power, these forces must necessarily be known unto it, and she must know whe­ther they are great enough to oppose those difficulties which present them­selves.

So that if the Faculties be not put out of that road which naturally they ought to keep, the Appetite could never form any motion, but the imagination must first have compared her strength with the diffi­culties; but that she must have thought her self stronger then them, when she ordains them to combate them; but that she must have believed she was weaker when she counsels us to flie them; and finally, but that she must have judged that at least her forces are equal with theirs, when she ob­ligeth it to expect or to resist them. For it sometimes happens that she thinks herself stronger, and yet she will not assault, whe­ther [Page 165]it be because she slights the enemies weakness, or because natural Justice for­bids her to undertake too unequal a Com­bate, as hath been shewed in the Discourse of Boldness. However it be, that order which we have now remarked is ever ob­served in Beasts, in whom these two Fa­culties absolutely command, and are not hindered in their Functions by any superi­or Power which they are subject to. But it is not so with Man, in whom Reason and Will ought to govern the sensitive Ap­petite, and cause it to move as it pleaseth them; for it often happens that these Fa­culties, without having respect to those motives which the imagination proposeth to the Appetite, oblige him to flie when he might assault or defend himself, and to fight and resist when he ought to betake himself to flight: It is not but that Reason sees that the Combate and the re­sistance which she causeth the inferior part to make, are uselsst to overcome those dif­ficulties, or to stop their course. But as unprofitable as they are for these particu­lar motives, they serve for others, which it judgeth more noble and more useful then those. And the vain endeavors which it then moves in the Appetite, are the means which it employs to attain the pro­posed [Page 166]end. Thus she often assaults an ene­my, when she knows not very well who shall be overcome. But it's onely to ac­quire honor and glory wherewith generous actions are rewarded; she suffers couragi­ously grief, torments and death it self, not to avoid the effect which she believes in­evitable, but to merit those Crowns which Heaven and Earth give unto Constancy. In a word, there are divers motives which may engage her in those designs, and which are good or ill, according as she is en­lightned with false or true light. But it is still certain, that in all these encounters she goes against the general order which ought to regulate the motions of the infe­ror part, and which she herself useth to fol­low in her ordinary actions, there being nothing more reasonable then to flye when we are weakest, to assault when strongest, and to resist upon equal terms.

But it is not enough to know that the Soul resists; Why Con­stancy re­sists ill. we must see what the end is of this resistance, and what profit she gets thereby; for it seems as if it would be more advantagious for her to flie those ills which seem invincible, then to expose herself to its violence, and suffer those efforts which may give her, if not much discommodity, yet at least much trouble, considering also [Page 167]her natural aversion towards it, its princi­pal effect being to put it by, and estrange it from her presence, she ought to follow the motion of this Passion, and not expect an enemy she cannot overcome.

Did Reason onely engage her to this re­sistance, it were easie to discover the ad­vantages she pretends to make; those mo­tives of honor and glory which she com­monly proposeth in those encounters, would evidently make it appear, that she aspires to those noble rewards, and that those are the fruits which her Courage pre­tends to gather; but because these motives are extraordinary, and unknown to the fan­cy, as hath been shewn, that they are not in beasts; and that in our selves Reason doth not always force the inferior part, but suffers it to go its common road; we must seek some other end proper and natural unto it, and see what she pretends unto, when she takes a resolution to resist those ills which assault her.

To speak to the purpose, it's not so easie to be discovered as some may think. And we must confess, that that light which en­lightens the Soul in those occasions, is of the rank of those which Nature sheds a­broad in all those things, which without knowing, know whereto they ought to [Page 168]tend, and which without perceiving it moves to their end. The Soul indeed knows that she ought to assault ill, and that she ought to overcome it; that she ought to resist it, and that she must oppose violence; but she knows not why; and the understanding it self, which often doth the same actions, is not always advised of the true motion which made it undertake them.

Upon this ground we may say, that as the Soul assaults her enemy out of hope to overcome him, and that she seeks to over­come him; to take from him the power of doing ill; that she also resists him not to take away his power, but onely to stop the course thereof, and hinder it from produ­cing its effect; that the advantage she pre­tends to make from this hinderance, is to retard her own loss as long as she resists; or to cause the enemy to lose its will to contuinue his assaults, letting of him know that with the strength she hath, she cannot be overcome. And last of all, to shun the danger wherein she would be engaged, did she but yield or take flight; for she can never slye but she must forsake and quite abandon her Strength and Courage, and to augment those of her enemy, or at least give him free­dom to do all the ill he is capable of.

In effect, did we not oppose grief, fear, and other evils which are in us, they would overflow all the parts of the soul, and would bring her to languish and to despair: Did we not constantly suffer injuries, adversi­ties, and other mischiefs which come from without the imagination, seeing no means whereby to stop their course, would fansie them greater then they are, and make them always appear extream and insufferable; did we not even sometimes stiffen under the burthen of our sufferings, we should be op­prest by their weight; and those parts which yielded to the violence thereof, fall­ing on those which upheld them, would batter them by their fall, and fill them with grief. In a word, whatsoever ill the Soul would flie, she is in the same danger that a Souldier casts himself into who falls before his enemy, or that a whole Army incurs when it flies the sight of a Conqueror, who comes pouring down upon it.

Let's then conclude, that the motive which she proposeth in Boldness, is to be­reave the enemy of the power of doing ill, that in Constancy she onely suspends its ef­fect, and that in Fear she seeks to shun it by flight. Now as there is more security to have no enemy, then to have one who doth harm us; and neither is this so much to [Page 170]be feared as one who puts himself in po­sture to do it: So it's also true, that the Soul is more secure in Boldness which de­stroys ill, then in Constancy which hinders onely its effect: As for the same reason, she ever thinks to fight before she thinks of her own defence, and never resolves to flye but at her greatest extremity, that be­ing her worst condition and the saddest posture she can be reduced unto, leaving the enemy with full power and liberty to work her ruine.

The soul then resists the ills which assault her, Why Con­stancy re­sists ill. to stop the course of them; Let's now see how she resists them. For we question not here that exterior resistance, which is performed by the action of the parts which oppose themselves against the efforts of those things which might harm them. Be­sides that, there ate ills, against which the motions of the Soul would in vain employ this resistance, as those which are purely spi­ritual are; for it resists not afflictions by the opposition of corporal forces, but by her own proper strength. Besides that, the motions of the Appetite do not always de­scend to the organs, whether it be because they are restrained by Reason, or because they are sometimes formed so quickly, and move so readily that it's impossible they [Page 171]should have time to communicate them­selves with the Body. It's certain that all these exterior motions, which are observed in the Passions, are the effects and sequels of those which are formed within the Soul; so that if the Body resist outwardly, the Soul also must within herself perform the same action, or to speak it better, she must of herself resist before she can resist by the Bodies means. So that we are ob­liged to seek in what manner she makes this secret and inward resistance, which she employs against spiritual ills and which is the source and cause of that which she causeth to be made in the organs. This will be nothing difficult, having so often shewn that the agitations of the body are the ima­ges and the Characters of those which are made in the Appetite; that there is some relation and some resemblance betwixt them; and that the Soul exciting both of them, its very likely she would render them as uniform as she can.

Now we experiment it in our selves, that when we must make an outward re­sistance against a puissant Adversary, we stop and remain firm; and to fortifie our selves against his assaults, we stiffen our Muscles and our Nerves, and there is no part about us which becomes not harder, [Page 172]and more solid by the effort which we give our selves: Somewhat therefore like this must be done in the Soul, and consequent­ly she must necessarily stop and confirm herself, that gathering her forces together she must stiffen herself in herself: In a word, she must take, as it were, a kinde of a con­sistence, which yields not easily to the shock and assault of the enemy. The stif­fening of the Soul stops the course of ill, and how.

We are now to see how she can stiffen herself, and of what nature this Firmness is, which she makes use of in this occasion; but because this hath been already done in the Discourse of Hope, and that in that place the Reader may finde wherewith to satisfie his curiosity, It will be sufficient to examine here what it is that makes this stifness, and whether it be a means able to stop the course and violence of the ills which assault the soul.

For it seems at first, that this firmness serves to this purpose onely but in corpo­ral things, which being unable to pene­trate one another are constrained to stop when they meet with any which yields not to their motion; so that in stiffening the Body, and keeping of it firm, we sustain the weight of a burthen, we break the current of a wave and of a torrent; we stop the impetuosity of an enemy which [Page 173]presseth upon us, and would overthrow us.

But in those things which have no Bo­dies, as the Will and Appetite, the stif­ness which either of them takes, cannot in all likelihood stop the course nor the mo­tion of ill, whether corporal or spiritual, the reason of penetration having no place in those things. In effect, let the soul stiffen and strengthen it self as much as she can, she cannot stop the least corporal motion, unless she also stiffen the parts and the or­gans of the Body she animates. And if she assaults those ills which are truly or any way spiritual, such as are injuries, mishaps, afflictions, and the like; this stiffening we have spoken of seems to be a means altoge­ther useless to resist it.

Let's first therefore say, Two forts of Firm­ness. that there is two sorts of Firmness; the one which pro­ceeds from material qualities, and is onely to be found in hard and solid Bodies; the other comes from the impetuosity of the motion, and is common to all things which move, whether corporal or spiritual. Thus Water, Air, and Wind which are of a flu­id nature, and yield easily, acquire a firm­ness by their agitation, which stops the most solid Bodies. Thus Angels, De­mons, and all separated substances restrain [Page 174]one the other, according as their motions are more powerful, as we have elsewhere manifested it. Now the Firmness which the Appetite hath is of this kinde; for it proceeds from the only motion it makes in stiffening it self, even as the members be­come firm by the tonick motion, of which we have spoken in the Discourse of Hope. And as by the first stiffening the bodies re­sist, because they are hard and impenetrable; so also by the latter, all other things resist by reason of the motion which they make, which stops what it encounters, and is in­compatible with it. So that the Appetite resists ills, by making a contrary to what they make.

But because there are some which are corporeal, and other spiritual; it's certain, that the Firmness which this part of the soul takes in stiffening it self, cannot of it self alone stop corporal motions, how weak soever they are, but necessarily the exterior organs must contribute thereunto, and that if it be formed without them, it would prove a vain and useless violence, and an imperfect motion, which would not move to that end which Nature had pre­scribed it. For she hath afforded the Ap­petite the power to stiffen it self at the en­counter of corporal and sensible ills, but [Page 175]onely to inspire the same motion in those Faculties which are under its direction, and cause the organs to make that resist­ance, which is necessary in those encoun­ters.

As for those ills which truly, or in some manner are spiritual, we must consider whether they have motion, as Grief, Fear, and the rest of the Passions; for it's cer­tain, that these may be stopped and restrain­ed by the resistance onely which the Ap­petite makes by stiffening it self in it self. Forasmuch as water loseth its rapidity, and even its fluidity when it settles and con­geals; so when the Appetite stiffens it self, the motions of the rest of the Passions must cease or diminish. If the Soul indeed shut it self up in Grief, if it dilate it self in Joy, if it retire it self in Fear, we need not doubt but Constancy foreseeing these motions, or arriving afterwards must needs hinder or restrain them, bereaving the Appetite of the liberty or facility of moving it self by that stifness which she imprints in it.

But when the ills are without motion, as injuries, exiles, poverty, in a word, all those which are not in the rank of Passions, we cannot say that the Appetite properly and immediately resists them; for that it [Page 176]cannot resist those things which move not, as hath been said; consequently those ills must then have had some motion; but it resists them onely by opposing it self to those Passions which they usually cause. Truly he that constantly suffers Poverty, doth not properly resist Poverty, but the grief, the impatience, the peevishness which follows after it. And he that suffers death with a courage, cannot truly resist death, since it as yet is not, but onely Fear, Grief and Despair which the image of so fright­ful an ill raiseth up in the Soul. Neither are all these things Ills in effect, but onely as we know that they are so; forasmuch as a Man who thinks not himself poor suffers not the Ills of Poverty; and that there are many who effectually are so, and who have the knowledge of it, yet place it not in the ranck of Evils. So that ill is not ill but from the knowledge and the resentment we have of it. Now the knowledge is no true motion, there being no part of the Soul which moves but the Appetite, and there­fore there is no resistance to be made against ill, when it continues in the Knowledge, but onely when it descends in the Appe­titive part, where it forms those Passions which the Soul may resist, as hath been said.

Let's return to our former Discourse, and say, That after having cleared all those dfficulties, it seems as if nothing could hinder us from defining Constancy to be a motion of the Appetite, whereby the Soul settles and stiffens herself in herself, to resist those ills which assault her.

But this definition raiseth new doubts; Wherein Hope and Constan­cy consist. for if the Soul settle and stiffen it self in hope to resist difficulties; and if this stiffen­ing is the difference of the motion which distinguisheth this Passion from the rest, as hath been said; Constancy, to which we give the same definition, is nothing differ­ent from Hope, or that neither of them are well defined. If indeed we ought to con­sider in the Passions nothing but the simple agitation which the Appetite gives it self, this consequence certainly were infallible; but it is not the onely thing which specifies the Passion; there is another motive which regulates this motion, which is as it were the form of it, and restrains it to such or such a species. So that according as the corporal motions are different the one from the other, by the difference of the term and end which they tend unto; those of the Soul are diversified by the several mo­tives she proposeth to herself. So we have observed, that she equally darted herself [Page 178]forth in Desire and in Boldness, and that notwithstanding she suffered two different Passions; forasmuch as in the one she dart­ed herself forth towards the good, that she might draw near it; and that in the o­ther she casts herself forth against ill, that she might assault and combate it. We may also say, that in Hope and in Constancy she moves after the same manner; that she stiffens herself in both to resist the difficul­ties; but that there are different motives which distinguish them from one the other. For in Hope she stiffens herself not actually to resist difficulties, but onely to put her­self in a condition to resist them, if it hap­pen she be assaulted by them; Forasmuch as she considers not the ill but by the way, as a thing far off, as an enemy she can master; but in Constancy she stiffens her­self effectually to resist it, because it's present that assaults her, and seems invin­cible: So that we may say, that the Soul in both these Passions, doth like the Gene­ral of an Army when he passeth through an enemies Country, and when he finds him­self surprized in some Ambuscado; in the one being doubtful of meeting the enemy, he marcheth in good order, he keeps his guards, and puts himself in posture of re­sistance if he should be assaulted; in the [Page 179]other he findes himself engaged amongst them before he was aware of them; and of necessity, unless he will flie, he must defend himself: Even so when the Soul hopes for any good, she marcheth towards it through all those difficulties which environ it; and be­ing in doubt of being assaulted by them, she stands on her guard, fortifies & prepares her self to fight if they should come and assault her; but in Constancy she finds herself surpri­zed by the ill, which perhaps she had never expected, had she but had time to have disco­vered it; nor dares she assault it, being un­able to do ought else but oppose herself to its violence, and bear its effort.

Having cleared this doubt, another a­riseth far more important, which also is more difficult to resolve; for if the Soul stiffens herself in Constancy, and if by its means she resists Grief, and Joy, and the rest of the Passions, the Appetite must be agitated with contrary motions; and for example, opposing it self to Joy, it must stiffen it self at the same time when it di­lates it self, How Con­stancy may be compati­ble with the rest of the Passions. and consequently suffer two op­posite and incompatible motions.

It seems very easie to answer this Ob­jection, if it were true, That Beasts were not able to resist their Passions, and that this kinde of Constancy were proper and [Page 180]peculiar unto Man, forasmuch as we might then say, that these opposite motions would not be found together, and that resistance must be formed in the Will, whilst the other Passion did agitate the inferior parts; yet were it true that Man alone were capa­ble of Constancy, as it is very likely, the difficulty would still remain entire, since its certain that the Will may resist its own motions; and that being susceptible of all the Passions which touch at the Sences, and there being some of them particular which are unknown to the inferior parts, such are Envy, Ambition and Impudence: Neceslarily in opposing the Passion of Constancy, she must at the same time suf­fer these contrary motions, even commu­nicate them to the Appetite, when she is constrained by its to resist those motions which agitate it.

Let's first therefore say, that the Will and the Appetite may engage themselves in so great a resistance, and settle and stif­fen themselves so strongly, that they will not be able to suffer any other motion; and that in this condition if they have not hitherto received a Passion, they will alto­gether hinder it from forming it self; or if it already be there, they will stifle it and stop its course by the firmness which they [Page 181]have confirmed themselves in. And it is certainly so, that a strong and magnanimous man so streng thens his Courage against injuries, losses, and other accidents of For­tune, that they make no impression in his Soul; or if he be surprised by them, he pre­sently stifles the resentment of vengeance, and of the affliction which they give him. Now in this case it's certain, that the in­convenience proposed is not to be feared, because that then the Will and the Appe­tite are agitated with one motion onely, and that they are moved by no other Passion but this, Constancy and strength of Cou­rage; but when they stiffen not themselves so much, and that their Firmness is not so great but that they may also suffer some other motion; then you must imagine that the same thing happens to them as unto the Air, when it's agitated with contrary winds, or the Sea when it suffers in some streights the encounter of several currents and the shock of the encountring waves; for as in those Bodies which are fluid, and yield easily, there are parts which make way through others, which are driven by a contrary motion; It's very likely that the Will and the Appetite have also several parts which may be agitated with different motions, and that in some of them the ef­fusion [Page 182]which Joy requires, will be made whilst the rest stiffen themselves to resist it; And this may easily be perswaded, if we consider that the reasonable Soul and the intelligence which are altoge­ther undivisible, have, as it were, divers parts, wherein we may receive different a­gitations.

Or we must say, that even as the impres­sion of two opposite motions makes not the Bodies which receive them move at the same time forwards and backwards; but it confounds these two motions, so that if they are of an equal strength, the body moves neither this way nor that, or else it moves but on that side whereto the strongest com­pells it, but more weakly then it would have done, had it not been kept back by the other: So when the Will and the Ap­petite are agitated with any motion, if ano­ther contrary thereunto happen, a certain mixture is made which weakens them both, and which also diminisheth those Passions which are formed of it. And indeed by ex­perience we know, that Constancy weak­ens affliction, but that this also abates very much of her force, and that from time to time the Soul had need to reanimate its Courage, and to take up new Arms for to continue her own defence, and not suffer herself to be overcome.

Now for the rest, The Will onely can resist the Passions. how strange soever it seem that we have placed the Will and the Appetite as parallels to one another; yet it's certain that the inferior part alone is not able to resist these Passions, but that the superior must inspire it with the design and motion; otherwise the imagination which proposeth to the Appetite designs which it ought to take in its motions, must at the same time make unto it two contrary pro­positions, the one to form the Passion, and the other to stop it, which is above the power of a material and determinate Facul­ty; Nay, even the Understanding how separate soever it be from matter, and how universal soever it be, would never go so far, had she not those several stages, and those several degrees which its known to have.

For those who have most curiously ex­amined the nature thereof, confess that there are, as it were, two parts in it; the one of which is low, next to the sensitive Soul, and which by reason of that neigh­borhood suffers it self to be easily carried away, and corrupted by the sences; the other is more pure and raised up higher, which for that cause is called the top and height of the Understanding, wherein God hath effused the light of true Reason, and the seeds of all the vertues; and it's that [Page 184]also which inspires the Will to resist those Passions which the other hath raised there, unknown or contrary to its advice; thus these contrary designs whereof we have spoken, are not formed by one and the same power, since that which serves for Con­stancy is formed in the highest part of the Understanding, and that which serves to that Passion to which it is to be opposed, is made in the lower region.

But we have marched too far on preci­pices and on thorns; The Soul resists not ill but by Constancy let's leave these by­ways, and these subjects, which with their difficulty astonish the mind: Let's onely observe, that Constancy and strength of courage, is alone the only means by which the Soul truly resists the Passions; for al­though ordinary Philosophy proposeth o­thers unto us, as to divert our thoughts from the object which raiseth them, to weaken their power by Ratiocination, to fall upon other contrary Passions, and the like. Yet to consider it well, therein there is no true resistance; they are rather flights or fights then a simple defence. For when we will not consider the injury which we receive, that is not to defend our selves from Anger, it's to flie it; even as it is to assault it, when we employ a contrary Pas­sion for to destroy it.

But yet to deserve the honor to have re­sisted them, in what way soever it were, we must have had the design; for we may divert a man from being angry; we may also inspire another Passion in him which may appease his fury, and fear may fall up­on him, which may take from him that fence of vengeance which he may have con­ceived. And yet a man will not say that in these encounters he resists his Passion, for that he had it not in his intention. It is even so with Beasts, in whom one Passion may weaken and destroy another, in whom the same Appetite may stiffen it self, and by its stiffening hinder it self from taking the impression of another motion: No, they do not for that resist their Passions, be­cause besides that they cannot, as I have said, form the design of it; it must needs be that they must be able to reflect on their actions, against those maxims which we have elsewhere established. Let's then conclude, that Constancy is a motion of the Appetite, by which the Soul confirms and stiffens it self in it self, with an intention to resist those ills which assault it.

To examine now those ills, would be to fall into useless and impertinent repetiti­ons; for they are the same which move Boldness, and all what we have said of them [Page 186]in that place, may be here applied. It will suffice if we remember that under the noti­on of ill, we understand not onely a pure privation, but also the causes which pro­duce it, and the incommodities which fol­low it; and that the two latter are the true ills which the Soul resists. The dif­ferences of Con­stancy.

We should have nothing more to say on this subject, did not the method which we have followed in the rest of the Passions ob­lige us to observe the most remarkable dif­ferences of Constancy, and chiefly those which may serve to afford us a reason for those Characters which she imprints in the Soul and in the Body. Let's then say, that there are none essential, forasmuch as the motion and the motive which cause all the essence of this Passion, are equally to be found in all sorts of Constancy; as for those which we call accidental, the most remarkable are drawn from the subject wherein she is found, or from the object which raiseth it, or from the relation which it hath with Reason: For if we consider its subject, it hath one which is in the Will, and another which is in the sensitive Appo­tite: In respect of the Object there are di­vers sorts, according to the several sorts of ill which assault the Soul; but the most considerable is that which resists the Passi­ons, [Page 187]and that which opposeth it self to the violence and endeavors of exterior ills; this is common to all Animals, and depends altogether on corporal strength, namely on those which are most proper to suffer, such as are to be found in the melancho­ly temperature, of which we have spoke in the Discourse of Boldness; the other is proper and peculiar for Men, and princi­pally for those which are most reasonable, because it's commonly Reason which moves us to oppose the Passions, so that herein there needs no other strength but that of the Soul; wherefore those whose spirits are strong by nature or by study, are most susceptible of it: It's true, that the force of the minde depends often from the temperature; whence it is that young peo­ple and Women whose spirits by reason of their constitution are less strong, are troubled to resist their Passions.

Finally, There are some that are vertu­ous, others vicious, according as they are conformable or contrary to right Reason, and so serve for the matter of Vertues or Vices. In effect, Justice borroweth from this Passion Firmness which is necessary unto it to resist Love, Hatred and such o­ther things as might corrupt it; Temper­ance could not moderate the motions of [Page 188]the concupiscible Appetite but by its means; and those Vertues which force produceth by resistance, such as are Pati­ence, Constancy and Perseverance, are maintained onely by it. On the contrary, when she straggles out of the right way, and abandons the conduct of Reason, there is no Vice which she doth not encourage and assist, because she alone resists those motions which the Conscience inspires al­ways in those who undertake or execute any evil design: But although she may be found in all vicious actions, there are some where­in she appears more, as in Temerity, in Hard-heartedness, and in Opiniastrecy, as we shall hereafter make it appear.

Now all those terms wherewith we use to express Boldness, are also employed for Constancy; For to say a man hath suffered death Constantly, we use to say he hath suffered it with a Courage, with Resoluti­on, with Assurance, without fear, and without apprehension; and this happens from that Constancy is as it were a demy Boldness, at least it is instead of it, when it hath no cause to fight, whether we de­spise the enemy, or because its forces are not sufficient to assault it. Wherefore the same causes and the same preparatives which serve the one do also serve the other. [Page 189]And certainly, after the Soul hath found its forces to be equal with those of the ene­mies which assaults her, she assures herself that she shall not be conquered, and con­sequently she hath no cause to be affraid: In pursuit whereof she takes a Resolution to resist him, and for that cause she raiseth her forces, that she may stiffen and con­firm herself in herself, and if it be necessa­ry, she causeth the same motion to be made in the outward organs. As for Courage it's certain that it's in common with Boldness, and with Constancy, for the Reasons alleadged in the former Chap­ter.

CHAP. III. What the motion of the Spirits and of the Humors is in Constancy.

SInce the spirits follow the motions of the Soul, How the Spirits stiffen them­selves. and that they always move as she moves; if it be true that she stiffens herself in Constancy, they must needs also suffer the same agitation; so that since we have treated of their stiffening in the Discourse of Hope, it seems that we should have no­thing more to say here, unless we should [Page 190]repeat those things which we have there al­ready examined. Yet besides that, the na­ture of this motion is extreamly hid, nei­ther is the repetition of these obscure and difficult things useless, and that it would be troublesom to seek far off what ought to be here known; it's fit we should repeat a part of the things which we have said, adding thereunto some new considera­tions for the better clearing of the Sub­ject.

We must first therfore remember that the Spirits stiffen themselves not by congeal­ing themselves, as it happens in some dis­eases, forasmuch as that would render them immoveable, and that this Passion hinders them not from being carried to those pla­ces where they are necessary, nor restrain­ing and taking themselves up in themselves, for that they cannot restrain themselves but they must retire inwardly, and then it must needs be that contrary to the nature of Constancy the face must look pale and change colour, the blood with which they are mixed being forced to follow them, and as they do, to abandon the exterior parts. They therefore stiffen themselves by the intermission of the Soul, which subjects their parts to a certain order under which it restrains them, without being more free [Page 191]or Vagabonds, as before they were. But to conceive this kinde of motion, which is extreamly hid, and most difficult to be con­ceived, we must make use of the same ex­ample, which we formerly made use of, and imagine that it herein happens near upon as water which settles and congeals: For those parts which before were fluid, being seised by the cold which is insinuated a­mongst them, stop and become firm without confounding or mixing themselves together: whilst all the body of the water so settled may be transported from one place to another; and the current of Rivers often draws along with it great pieces which tear down those Bridges and Dams which they meet in their way: But with what rapidity soever they are then carried away, their parts change neither the posi­tion nor the order which they keep amongst themselves without penetrating; they a­mongst one another maintain themselves; and they remain firm without confounding themselves, just as long time as the cold keeps them bound and captivated.

The Soul doth the same in the Spirits; she sheds and slides herself into all their parts, and being she may place them as she pleaseth, she stops them in what order she will, and lead them as it were by the [Page 192]hand to the place she assigns them; so that how fluid soever they be, the one can­not be mixed with the rest; and what agi­tation soever they suffer, they remain stable in that rank wherein they are placed.

Now although this comparison may give us some knowledge of the condition, wherein the spirits are in this Passion; yet it shews us not what is most difficult to be known; for it supposeth, and it's true, that the parts of congealed water are no longer in motion, and we pretend that the spirits have one which entertains this stiffen­ing. We must therefore seek another ex­ample which may make this truth ap­pear, and have more relation to the Soul then cold hath, or any other sensible qua­lity.

Without doubt, How the Angels stiffen Bodies. this is to be found in the firmness which the Angels may give to the Air, and to some other fluid bodies; for besides that they are substances which have a great natural conformity with the Soul; it's certain, that they agitate their Bodies after the same manner as she doth the spirits, and that the stiffness which she imprints on them excludes not motion, as it happens to congealed water.

Let's then suppose with the consent of the Schools, that a certain space of Air be [Page 193]occupied by an Angel, and that the Wind or some other Body seeks to move or pene­trate it; it's a certain thing that the Angel may so stiffen it that he may stop all its en­deavors so that he cannot be shaken or pe­netrated by them.

To know now how he can impose this firmness, we must believe with the common opinion of Philosophers, that the Angels have a motive vertue by which they move themselves, and may also remove bodies, and transport them from one place to another, as all prophane and sacred Histories teach us. In effect it must needs be, that those things which work the one on the other, must have some proportion together, and there must be a­mongst them some common nature, which must serve for the foundation and princi­ple of their action: Now there is nothing which can be common betwixt spiritual and corporeal substances, but the motive Ver­tue, and the Motion; and therefore if they work the one on the other, it must be by that means; which being so, the Angel cannot stiffen the Air but by the motion which it imprints in all its parts, since it's that onely which gives him power over bodies: And to shew that this is true, it is that he is able to be present with all those [Page 194]parts without stiffening them; so that it's necessary that he should raise up his vigor, and agitate them, thereby to imprint on them this quality.

If any should say, that being thus moved, they must needs either be driven, be drawn, be born, or be turned, because these are the several ways by which one thing may be moved by another; and howsoever it may be done, they must necessarily change place; so that herein not changing it, and remaining still in the same situation, there is no probability to beleeve that they suffer any motion.

We must answer, that it's true, that when the Angel imprints any motion in the Bodies, he necessarily makes them change place unless there happen some ob­stacle which hinders them: Now there is nothing which can hinder them but a con­trary motion, because there is nothing common betwixt them but motion, and consequently if there be no contrary mo­tion in the parts of the Air, it's certain that the impression which the Angel will make on them will cause them to change si­tuation: If it happen that after having re­ceived it, that they remain in the same con­dition they were, they must have had a contrary motion which resists this impres­sion, [Page 195]and which being of equal force with it, puts them in aequilibrio, and keeps them as it were suspended without stiring from one side to the other, wherein this firmness consists.

But what? continuing thus firm and stable, and not changing place, can they be in motion? Certainly, We need not doubt it, since it is by motion that they keep this situation, and that we cannot deny but that the impression of the motion must be received therein, but that it agi­tates on them, and that she resists not the first motion which they made, like as a great weight which we hold lifted up or high; for although it still remain in the same place, yet would it not forbear to have that motion which its weight gives it, and we should be sensible of the effort it would make, falling and returning to its centre. Finally, as it were nothing probable to say that a thing which were powerfully drawn on both sides by equal forces, should suffer no motion because it would neither move on the one or on the other side; nor that the arm we stiffen should be at rest, because it still remains in the same place: Philoso­phers and Physitians being all agreed, that these are the most violent motions which bodies can suffer; we must necessarily con­clude [Page 196]that those parts of the Air which are stiffened by contrary motions are in moti­on, although they remain stable and change not their situation.

Let us now apply this Doctrine to our subject and say, that what the An­gel doth in this encounter, the Soul doth it on the spirits; for although she be present to all their parts, yet she renders them not stiff; she must also move them, and before that they also must be moved by a contrary motion; so that being equally driven from one and another, they can nei­ther advance nor go back, but remain im­movable betwixt these endeavors and vio­lences. Now this firm motion which they ought to have, may proceed from the Pas­sions which agitate them; Constancy sel­dom forming herself unless she be prece­ded by some other Passion, or from the im­petuosity they are driven unto in ships; for being very moveable, she easily makes them straggle from one the other, as it happens to all fluid Bodies, when they are a­gitated; and then the Soul giving them a contrary motion proportionable to the first they had, they retain it, and stop them in a certain order which they change not, un­less one or the other cease. But although in this condition they appear immoveable [Page 197]because they remain in the same situati­on, they forbear not to be in motion, as hath been already sufficiently demonstra­ted.

This is what the motion of the spirits is in Constancy. Why the Spirits stiffen them­selves. Let's now enquire the end and profit which the Soul proposeth it self in this firmness. We must not doubt but she desires them for her defence, and em­ploys them to resist those ills which assault her; but at first it seems as an unprofitable means for that design: For if ills have no motion, as Exile, Infamy, and Slavery, this stifness were against them to no pur­pose for the reasons before alleadged; and if they have any, either they are Passions which are formed in the Appetite, whose motions the spirits cannot hinder, or they are Bodies whose violence they cannot stop. In effect, what can this stiffening do against the effort of Grief, against the force of a blow, against the weight of a burthen which falls on them? No, being so easily overcome as they are, it seems that the Soul in vain useth them in these encoun­ters, and that in vain she opposeth herself against such powerful things, against which she is not able to resist. We must undoubt­edly confess, that she often abuseth herself in the motion which she gives those organs, [Page 198]and that she doth not always get those suc­cors which she ought to expect from them, and that she even sometimes agitates them without any need. For when she resists the Passions, it's certain that neither the stif­fening of the Spirits, nor any other moti [...] on of the Body whatsoever, can be either necessary or useful unto her, since they are actions proper unto her, who never goes out of herself, and so consequently is a­bove all the efforts of the corporal organs: Yet if she then ceaseth not to agitate them, it is from that that the Appetite which stirs up these motions, is a blind power, which cannot judge when she ought to make use of those parts; and they are de­stined to obey unto it; it rather in this oc­casion commands them out of custom, then out of design; and they also are so obedi­ent, that we may say that at the least solli­citation it makes them that they put them­selves in a readiness to assist it, and that even they seem to prevent its orders and com­mands.

It is not so when the violence of corpo­ral things is to be resisted; the stifness of the spirits is therein so absolutely necessary, not onely because they are bodies which may work powerfully on those things of the same Nature; but also because they [Page 199]are the first which receives the Souls com­mands, and carrieth them to all the rest of the parts; for being employed in this com­mission, they must needs take that esmoti­on which they ought to inspire in the rest of the organs; and as an Ambassador ought to carry with him the sence of him who sent him, and be throughly perswaded of what he is to make others beleeve; they ought to be agitated with the same moti­ons which the Appetite suffers, and of those which they would imprint on the rest of the parts; so that they stiffen not themselves immediately to resist the forces of the ene­my, but that they may stiffen the Muscles and the Nerves against them, and so powerfully resist their violence. And tru­ly we may consider the body as a great Ma­chine wherein are several Springs which move one another: The first go slowly, and seem almost not to move, although it is they which make the great Wheels to turn, and cause those great motions which are observeable in them: The Spirits are the same thing; we hardly feel their moti­on, neither is it they which perform the last actions, yet they lead the dance to all the rest of the organs; and did that Spring but fail, all the Machine would become im­moveable, neither could the Body act any more.

But the principal reason for the which, in my opinion they thus move, is, that their stiffening contributes to maintain the Mus­cles which in this occasion ought to be stiff; for the Soul which knows that all motion is to be made on somewhat which is stable, stiffens as much as it may the parts upon which those which are agitated are supported; so that often she holds back the breath, that that air which is stopped in the Lungs may serve to uphold the in­struments of respiration, which thereby the better support the rest, as hath been else­where shewed. She therefore affords this stiffening of the Spirits to uphold those vessels wherein they are inclosed, and af­terwards they support those parts which touch them, and they again the rest, to the very last, which serves for a foundation and basis to the principal motion which is made; for although it seems that such frail and moveable things are not very fit for that use, yet as the number of the Wheels and Springs augments the force of the mo­tions; so the number of Butteresses and Upholders renders the resistance the stron­ger; and sometimes for want of the least, a whole Building falls to the ground. It's true that if all the stifness of the Body were onely grounded on the Spirits, it would [Page 201]be very doubtful and suspitious: But as all the rest of the parts also stiffen themselves of themselves, or at least by the intermissi­on of the Soul, if the spirits contribute ne­ver so little, it still helps to make the resist­ance stronger; and this small succour be­ing joyned with several others, produceth at last a great effect. Let us hereunto add, that being in this condition, those which carry with them natural heat where­in the force of the parts principally re­sides, they retain and fix it, if we may so speak, in those places where such actions are to be performed, and not suffering it to re­tire inwardly, nor dissipating it outwardly, they stop and preserve it in those organs which have need of its service.

These are the Reasons for which the spi­rits in Constancy stiffen themselves, What change Constancy brings in natural heat. but the last gives us occasion to examine what change this Passion brings to the natural heat; for if the spirits stop, as we have now said, it seems as if it should be the more quiet and the more moderate; yet this ought not to hinder us from following the general maxims which we established in the Discourse of Boldness, and from saying that when the Soul hath need of its forces, she raiseth them and ren­ders them as vigorous as shee can; [Page 203]that there is no occasion in which they can be more necessary unto her, then when she assaults or defends herself. And that heat being the most considerable part, she must augment it, and stir it up in those Passions, which are to serve these designs; and con­sequently, she must render it greater and stronger in Constancy then it naturally ought to be. This principally appears to be in those which are of a cold and dull complexion, or which are moved by some timerous Passion; for when this comes to animate them, they feel themselves warm­ed with I know not what kinde of extraor­dinary flame; their pulse and respiration encreaseth, their face takes a more lively colour, and all their parts become more agile, and more robustious then they were before. It's true, that heat is not so active nor pungent in this as in Boldness and An­ger, having not the liberty to diffuse it self through the organs, being restrained by the spirits, which are stiffened, and because it is not necessary it should be so strong in a Passion which is not undertaking, and which keeps it self onely upon the defen­sive. We may perhaps say, that if the Soul ought to augment its forces propor­tionable to the need she hath, she ought herein to render the heat stronger then in [Page 202]any other occasion whatsoever, having an enemy in front which appears invincible, which also hath the advantage to be the Assailant under whose efforts she often be­lieves she must succumb. But we may an­swer, that it's true, that she hath here need of all her forces, that she raiseth them, and employs them for her defence; but it's onely those which are fit for that purpose, since she would in vain use others which are destined to assault, being not in a condi­tion to do so, and having neither the Will nor the Courage; now the violence of heat is onely proper the more strongly to work and to destroy the power of the enemy, in which consists the end of the Combate and of Boldness; and therefore it's nothing ne­cessary in Constancy, which hath no such great pretentions, and which hath nothing else to do but to keep the Soul stiff, and to render the organs firm against those e­vils which assault it: It's certain that heat is encreased therein, but it is but to a cer­tain degree proportionable to the design, and capable to give the organs that force which is necessary for them to execute it. For it is not here as with those Passions which tend to good, in which heat en­creaseth without order and without con­duct; because it is not therein ordered by [Page 204]the Soul; that is, it is not called thither as a useful thing for her end, and that it is but an effect which happens to the agitation of the spirits. But in this and in all the rest which assault, the Soul herself takes care to pro­duce heat, she proposeth to herself to use it profitably, and she regulates it as she thinks fit. So that we may say that in this occasion she doth like a subtil Artist, who knows how to order his fire for his works; for some he makes it slow and moderate, for others strong and violent, and some­times he forceth it to the height: the Soul doth the same, she knows to what degree of heat she ought to rise in every of the Pas­sions; in Constancy, she makes it mode­rate, strong in Boldness, but in Anger she drives it to all extremity.

This is what we had to say on the motion of the Spirits; for to know how they can pre­serve their stifness when they are agitated by other Passions, is what we have exami­ned in the Discourse of Hope. As for the motion of the Humors, it necessarily follows that of the Spirits which are ever mixt with them; and it's impossible to fancy that they should stiffen themselves in Constancy, but we must presently judge they also ought to suffer the same agitation.

CHAP. IV. The causes of the Characters of Con­stancy.

WE have said that Constancy and Boldness were Sisters, whose fea­tures and lineaments were so like, that a man might often take the one for the other; and indeed they have many Characters which are common to either, as Hope, Confi­dence, Assurance in dangers, Presumpti­on, Temerity, Desire of glory, and the like; but they also have some which are particular; for Constancy is not as Bold­ness is, Imperious, neither is she subject to Anger, to Insolency, nor to Cruelty, which the other is often carried away with­al: She hath this property also to make men Patient, Persevering, Opinionated, In­sensible, Modest in good Fortune, Severe in Pleasures, Content in Necessity; and these latter we must carefully examine without minding the others, of which we have al­ready discoursed in the former Chapter. And for these it will be sufficient to say, that although they are common to both these Passions, yet they in every one of them have a difference in respect of the end [Page 206]which it proposeth it self; for Constancy hopes as well as Boldness; but this hopes to overcome, and the other to stop onely the course of the evil; both have confi­dence in their forces; but that promiseth its self help to assault it, and this onely to defend it self; both of them may be Te­merous, but the one hath the Temerity to assault an enemy that is too powerful, and the other onely to resist him: Neither of them fears danger; that, because it believes it self stronger then the difficulties which present themselves; And this judgeth her­self as strong as they can be. Finally, both of them propose Glory in all their designs; but that aspires to it by fighting and taking advantages over the enemy, and this by opposing his endeavors, and not yielding unto him. For it's certain, that who will not suffer himself to be overcome, renders himself equal to him who assaults him, and consequently deserves as much honor as is due unto the other; and even that in some encounters it's more glorious to resist then to assault; either when the enemy is pow­erful and formidable; for then it's Temeri­ty to assault, and yet to resist his power we had need of a great deal of Courage; or when he is too weak; for that were Cow­ardice and Injustice to take the advantage [Page 207]which we have over him, and that it's to slight him, not to measure our forces with his. Thus it is that there is more glory to resist Pleasure and Ambition, or with small Troops to oppose himself against a power­ful Army, then if we should assault or would force them: It's thus that Lyons and Ma­stiffs often suffer the assaults of little Crea­tures without being moved, and that mag­nanimous and generous men scorn the weakness of their enemies, without seeking a victory which would but be shameful unto them.

To return to our former Discourse: this Passion is no more subject then Bold­ness to those defects which proceed from weakness and from fear, such as are Super­stition, Deceit, Cowardise, &c. Constancy is not im­perious. because it is couragious and hath a good opinion of its strength. But she hath this particularly, that she is not imperious as the other is, nei­ther is she carried away with Anger, Fury, or Cruelty; the reason is, that seeing she pretends not to conquer, she seeks not that preheminence nor superiority which is ne­cessary for command; but also being she will not be overcome, she will also be in­dependent; and without pretending to com­mand she will neither yield nor obey: whence it is that she renders not men [Page]haughty and proud but opiniated and un­teachable, as we shall hereafter shew. As for Anger, Fury, and Cruelty, being turbu­lent and impetuous Passions, they are not not compatible with this which is reserved and moderate. It's true, there is a kinde of Cruelty which it easily falls into; to wit, Hard-heartedness and insensibility of other mens sufferings; but it is not an active Cruelty, as that is which persecutes, which triumphs, and which exacts punishments; it's rather a defect then an excess; and if the Soul suffers not herein, yet she less acts, as we shall shortly make it appear.

One of the first effects of Constancy is to render Men Patient. She is Patient. But to understand this, we must know what we understand by the word Patience; for some confound it with Constancy; others reduce it to the suffer­ing of injuries, others extend it to all ills which may be resented. In effect, we say that a man hath patiently suffered an injury, a sickness, or even death it self; that with patience he hath suffered Exile, Slavery, the loss of Goods, and of Friends; but we can never say that he hath patiently suffer­ed Pleasure, Ambition, or good Fortune, although we may say he hath constantly resisted them; thus Constancy ought to be more general then Patience, since she re­spects [Page 209]good and ill, and that the other con­cerns only troublesom things; now ills have this property, that besides that they shed abroad in the Concupiscible part of the Soul, Hatred, Aversness and Grief, they also raise up in the Irascible part generous Passions to overcome them to Riot, Bold­ness and Anger, or the timerous to flie them, as Fear and Despair; those of the Concupiscible part may subsist with Pati­ence, seeing a man may be patient, al­though he hate him who hath offended him, have an aversion against him, and be sen­sible of the wrong which he hath done him; but we can never say that he is so, if he seek to revenge himself, if he appear af­fraid, and if he abandon himself to De­spair: So that to speak properly, a Patient Man is he that suffers ill without being moved by any of those motions which ill useth to stir up in the Irascible part, so as it happens not out of stupidity; for we never say, that he who hath lost his Understand­ing, or is senseless, is Patient, although he suffers his ill without any resentment of revenge, without disquiet, and without apprehension; but he must know that he feels it, and that he resists it; And conse­quently Patience is a kinde of Constancy; or to say better, it is but its effect, foras­much [Page 210]much as this stiffening the Soul hinders the enterance in of the Passions, or dissipates them when they are entred. And their absence which is the effect of this stiffening, is what we call Patience; whence we must conclude, that as it happens from that re­sistance which the Soul makes against the Passions, it's proper and peculiar to men, because Beasts are not able to resist their Passions, as hath been declared.

She renders men persevering, She is perseve­ring.Perseve­rance being a kind of Constancy, by which the Soul stiffens herself against that diffi­culty which the length of time produceth: For whether it be that the Faculties which she employs are tired, or that the novelty of the objects obligeth her to alter her design, she cannot long remain in the same action without trouble and digust, and then proposing to herself the good which ought to happen unto her, if she do not change she fortifies herself against the difficulty which this length might cause, and stiffen­ing herself in her first design she continues the action to the last. But that we may not confound things, we must remember that we speak not here of Constancy, Patience, nor of Perseverance as they are Habits; we consider them onely as the actions of those same Habits, or to say better, as the [Page 211]motions of the Soul which cannot be con­tinued when difficulties are encountred withal, but onely by this stiffening which we speak of, which yet lasts not so long as Habits do, as the Schools teach us. Be­sides we must not believe that Perseverance properly and immediately resists the length of time, because it's an ill which is of the rank of those which we have called im­moveable, as are Poverty, Exile, Death, and the like, against which the Souls resist­ance is vain and useless; but it opposeth it self against Frowardness, Fear, Disquiet, and such other Passions as she usually raiseth up; so that it is not to be found in Beasts, who know neither the parts nor differences of time, and which never resist their Pas­sions; yet this may be doubted; for Dogs do a long while entertain the heat they have in hunting; and there are exercises which are taught them, wherein they are so dili­gent either out of Fear or out of Hope, that it's very probable these two Passions ob­lige them to stiffen themselves in their first design to shun the ill, or to enjoy the good proposed unto them. But to speak to the purpose, it is but a shadow or fantasm of Perseverance, forasmuch as to persevere tru­ly, we must know the length of the time to be employed in the performance of a [Page 212]thing, be sensible of those Passions which accompany it, and afterwards take a reso­lution to resist them. Now this cannot be but by great abstractions which Beasts are incapable of, as hath been shewed; they may indeed continue a commenced action, and persist a long while in the labor; but it's the other Passions which keep them in breath, and drive them to that end which they aim at, without any necessity of the Souls stiffening it self to continue them in the action, and to resist those difficulties which the length of time might pro­duce.

To be Opinionate is another kind of Con­stancy, She is O­pinionate by which she remains firm and stable in her resolutions, by unadvisedly opposing another mans reasons, and perswasions: Now a man may several ways unadvisedly oppose himself to ill, either when he knows they are best, and yet he will not follow them; or when he flatters himself in his own opinion, and perswades himself it's most reasonable, although it be nothing so; or even when indeed it is the best, and we persist against it unreasonably; for there are occasions, and places, and persons which oblige us to yield, and which ought to make us quit our resentments and pretences. How ever it be, a constant man easily falls [Page 213]into all those kindes of Opinionateness; for that Confidence having stiffened the Soul against those difficulties which assault her, there is no further perswasion which can take place, so that by the same resist­ance whereby she seeks to stop ill, she op­poseth Truth and Reason; so that she doth like a besieged Town, where the gates which are shut to the enemies, hinder all friends and releif from entring in. More­over this Opinionastrecy commonly comes from Presumption which will not yield nor submit to another mans judgement; and consequently that Constancy which hath a great opinion of its forces, and believes it self invincible, is easily abased by the Con­fidence it hath in it self, which causing it to despise all advice and help from others, renders it incredulous, indocible and Opi­nionasted.

Sometimes she advanceth even to Hard­heartedness, and to Insensibility; She is in­sensible of ano­thers ill. for in the power that she hath to stop all the rest of the Souls motions, she may hinder herself from being sensible of the miseries of another, which is, as hath been said, a kinde of cru­elty and inhumanity. For Nature which takes care for society, gives us a certain tenderness to resist the ills of those which are afflicted, that we might relieve them: [Page 214]And when a man hath so hardened his heart that he cannot be mollified by the resent­ments of pitty, certainly we may say, that he wants not onely the Heart of a Man, but that he is of Marble or of Iron. Beyond all, we must not wonder if Constancy easily falls into this defect, since its principal em­ployment is to resist Grief, which is a good part of Compassion, as in its place we shall declare.

She is Modest in good Fortune, She is modest in prosperity because with the stifness which she gives herself it's almost impossible for her to suffer her­self to be swelled with Pride, or blown a­way with Vanity; and that Insolency which is commonly bred from one of those two Passions, may render its prosperity odious.

She is Severe in Pleasures, She is se­vere in Pleasure. not onely be­cause that in stiffening herself she stops those motions which they might raise, and that they serve her as a bank to hinder them from over-flowing: but also because she findes herself in their presence seised with a certain frowardness, and with I know not what bitterness of mind, which mix­ing it self with the joy which they give, weaken her, and take from her those trans­ports, those raptures, and those sweets which are wont to accompany her, ren­dring [Page 215]her Serious, Reserved and Severe. But how can such sweet and charming things cause peevishness▪ 'Tis without doubt, that she considers them as ills; now the pre­sence of ill is unpleasant, and although it cast not the Soul always into grief, yet it gives her I know not what kinde of di­staste, which renders her wary and peevish; and truly as liking is the first thing which good inspires, which is not, as we have al­ready declared, a Passion, or at least, which is but a breeding Joy: so before ill pro­duceth hatred and sadness in the Soul, it produceth therein a certain angry sence, which is not a motion of the Appetite, be­cause it remains simply in the Understand­ing, which observes the disproportion which is betwixt it and the Object; yet forbears not to disquiet it, and to give it this secret peevishness which we speak of, which is neither Hatred nor Grief; at least, if we may so call it, it is but the com­mencement thereof. Howsoever it be, when the Soul resists Pleasures, they no longer are graceful objects unto her; she looks on them as on poysons to corrupt her, and conceives the same aversion for them which she hath for all such as may destroy her; for which cause we must not think it strange if they render her Severe and [Page 216]peevish, since they are the sence which the presence of ill is always accustomed to im­print.

But if this be so, How Joy is to be found with Grief. How is Joy to be found in the violence of Grief, of Scorn, and of Infamy, with all those evills which so often exercise Constancy? For if it be true, that evils alwayes bring peevishness with them, those which are the greatest we can suffer, must needs fill the Soul with Grief, nor permit never so little a Joy to have any place in her; and yet it is true, that the most part of Lovers take plea­sure in suffering for those they love; that the Ambitious bravely support those traverses which they meet with in the way to Glory; and that Martyrs have always had contentment in their Souls, and vi­gor in their Looks in the greatest of their torments and sufferings. Yet this difficulty is easily resolved, if we do but remember that there are two Appetites in Man, which at the same time may be moved with two contrary Passions; and that in the Will it self there are, as it were, two parts, which may be agitated with several motions; for these truths being supposed, it's easie to conceive how Grief assaults the Sences, whilst Joy sheds it self abroad in the Mind, and how Sadness disturbs the lower region [Page 217]of the Will, whilst the higher is quiet, as ravished with those pleasures which Love, Ambition, or some other noble Desire proposeth unto it. Yet I will not say that Joy and Grief move to that height in Con­stancy. No, it is impossible that either of them can be very great by reason of the stiffening of the Soul which hinders their motion; but this signifies that if when strong they are compatible together, they may more easily be so when they are weakened; and consequently Frowardness which commonly accompanies Constancy, and is but the commencement of Sadness, may subsist with that gayity which is often observed in this Passion; not but that transports and ravishments of Joy may cause soundings and faintings of Grief; neither is there then any Constancy left, and in that very moment the Appetite must release it self to follow the violence of those Passions. It's true that she afterwards stiffens herself, but yet it would be but an interrupt­ed Constancy, and which continues but by several efforts which are sometimes so quick, that the Passions which interrupt­ed them, confounded themselves with this, as we have said it often happens in all the rest of them.

For the rest, from the insensibility which [Page 218]she hath for the ills of another, She is in­different to all. and from the severity she takes in the use of goods, an Indifferency springs which she is subject unto; forasmuch as he who is not touched with those ills which he sees others suffer, and resists all the pleasures of life, is cer­tainly free from all those things which may the most powerfully stop the Mind and en­gage it in the duties of civil society: we are not from him to expect the sweets of friendship, nor those succors which com­passion promiseth to those that are miser­able; the good and ill of particulars and of the publick are indifferent to him, so that rendring himself useless to all the world, he becomes rude, austere and sa­vage.

These indeed are those vices which have been observed in the Sect of the Stoicks, who studied nothing but to exercise Con­stancy; since all their Philosophy consisted to abstain, and to sustain, which are the two employments this Passion is destinated un­to; so that it is no wonder if they fell in­to those defects which usually follow her when we use her not as we ought. Yet we must observe that the indifferency we speak of respects not those things which Con­stancy is not tied unto; for if she oppose a difficulty, she hath no indifferency for it. [Page 219]On the contrary, she stiffens herself, opi­nionates and obstinates herself against it; but beyond that, all is indifferent to her, and she cares neither what may happen nor what concerns the rest.

And again, She is e­qual and content. it's for the same reason that she always appear Equal and Content, for­asmuch as that indifferency which she hath for all things, she hath no desires nor ap­prehensions for them, and is exempt from those cares and disquiets which those Passi­ons breed; add hereunto that equally stif­fening herself at the encounter of goods and of ills, good and ill fortune finde her always in the same plight, and without be­ing carried away by that, or being cast down by this, she always remains in one posture, and ever appears like herself.

But we have strayed too long to finde Reasons, which are easie to be drawn from the principles we have established, and which present themselves unto the Mind as soon as a man would but know them. Let's turn to those Characters which this Passion imprints on the Body.

We shall not be much troubled in this en­quiry, there being but few whereof we have not spoken in the former Discourse, since in the Chapter of Boldness we have exa­mined the causes of an assured Look, of [Page 220]the motion of the Lids and Brows, of silence, of coldness of the face, and of the retention of the breath, as in the Chapter of Hope we have observed, whence was the strength of the Voice and of the Pulse, why the Face changed not its colour, why the Head and Stature were streight; for Constancy hath these effects common with them, and useth the same motives and the same means which they employ to produce them; we shall only remark some little differences, which are to be encountred in them.

For it's certain, What the Looks are in Con­stancy. that this Assured Look is here formed with a large opening of the Lids, a firm Sight, and with vivacity: But its vivacity is not so great as in Boldness, because that in the design which this hath to assault ill, she drives the Spirits out, and so abundantly fills the Eyes with them, that they become altogether sparkling; instead of which Constancy, which stands upon the defensive, stiffens them only with­out driving them forth with impetuosity, so that she renders the Eyes quick, be­cause she stops the Spirits which give them force and vigor; but they glister not be­cause they come not thither in any quantity, and that they want that active motion which makes them glister and sparkle. On the other side, this firmness of sight is [Page 221]accompanied with a certain severity which is not to be found in Hope, because the Soul considers here onely the Ill, the presence whereof makes her peevish, and that even there she looks on the Good, the expectation whereof sweetens the pain which springs from the difficulties which she encounters.

When the Brows are lifted up, What kinde of motion the Brows have. it's onely the better to behold the Enemy, and not to help the rasing up of the Soul, as it happens in Boldness; For which cause they lift not themselves up so much nor so often as in that Passion; because the Soul keeping herself firm and stiff to defend herself, sollicites not the or­gans to make those great and frequent sallyes which follow that impetuosity which she suffers herself to be carried a­way withall in assaulting. So that she lifts up the Brows no more then the ne­cessity of the sight requires, and not to serve the motion wherewith she is agi­tated: She also represseth them for the same reason as in Boldness. For she thinks herself fortified when she hath provided for the securing of her Eyes, as hath been shewed in the former Chapter. But it sometimes happens that in the strongest assaults of Ills, she keeps them unmovable, [Page 222]and that a Constant Man will see the greatest dangers, and suffer most cruel pains without bending his Brow. Now this comes either from his great attention in considering the ill; for it makes him the more to open his eyes, and consequently to lift up his Brows, which then cannot be restrained; or from the confidence he hath of his forces, which defends him from thinking on such small precautions; or from the design he hath by this outward immobility to make it appear that his Cou­rage is not to be shaken. What his Silence is.

Silence is not here fierce and disdainful as it is in Boldness, because fierceness and disdain are effects of Pride, which are sel­dom to be found in true Constancy; But it's modest and serious, and proceeds meer­ly from the attention the Soul is in for to defend herself, and from the confidence she hath of her own strength; for that makes her forget words, and this defends them, since, as we have already said, they are arms of weakness.

As for the rest of the Characters which we have now spoken of, such as are the coldness of the Face, the strength of the Voice and Pulse, holding the Breath, having the Head and Stature erect, there is no difference neither in their effect nor in their [Page 223]cause, from those which accompany Hope and Boldness, for which cause we send back the Reader to those places where we have carefully observed them, and where it doth appear, that if they follow those two Pas­sions, it's because they are always upheld by Constancy, and strength of Cou­rage.

But if she hath such a contexture and conformity with them, Why Con­stancy hath not the rest of the Cha­racters of Hope. why hath she not also all their other Characters? Certainly it's because besides the stifness which they give the Soul, they inspire also other mo­tions which are not to be found in Constan­cy; for Hope indeed stiffens it self against difficulties, but at the same time she aspires to the good which she seeks, and still ex­pects some help which may deliver her up the possession, which makes her unquiet and impatient; she sighs and casts up her eyes, which happens not in Constancy, because she hath no other design but to re­sist Ill. The same happens in Boldness, which stiffens it self also to strengthen it self, but besides that darts it self forth, and throws it self on the Enemy. So that all what follows this darting forth belongs not to Constancy, which when she is alone never suffers this agitation; so the thorow Looks, the widening of the Nostrils, the [Page 224]thunder of the Voyce, the fierceness of the Countenance, a vehement respiration, the redness and heat of the parts, and the like, which proceed from the raising up of the Soul, and from the violence where­with it is agitated, are not to be met withal in all in that Constancy which is ex­empt from those great storms. It's true, that its Pace is like that of Boldness, be­cause that in stiffening herself, she makes the Body weighty and march the more heavily. But she balanceth it not as that doth, forasmuch as she hath not that im­petuosity which causeth the shoulders to turn inwardly, in which this ballancing of the body chiefly consists, and this bold Gate. We may say as much of the Post which is Noble without Pride; for the Head is lifted up without any fierceness, the Stature is streight without lifting up the Shoulders, and the motion of all the parts without constraint or violence is equal and modest: Now all this is conformable to that condition which the Soul is in in this Passion, for that in stiffening herself she stiffens the parts also, which consequently become streight, and that this posture is most safe, and least exposed to injuries, see­ing she can the better see the enemy, and is every way the readier to resist him. But the [Page 225]fierceness of the Countenance, the lifting up of the Shoulders, which are principal marks of Pride, as shall be shewn in its place; they are to be found therein, be­cause the Soul nor ought, nor can extend or lift it self up, nor make any violent motion being stiffened as she is.

The stifness of the Body and parts is a pro­per and particular effect of this Passion; When com [...] stiffness of the Body. for if it be in some other of them, we may say that it's by her means, and because that she accompanies them; but she employs it not when she is to resist any thing which is cor­poreal; otherwise she abuseth herself, and makes a useless endeavor, as hath been said. Now to know wherein this stifness con­sists, and how it's made, we must observe besides what hath been said hereupon in ge­neral, That a thing may be two ways stiff; either because it resists the touch, or that it cannot be staggered; now it may resist the touch by being hard; and it's hard ei­ther because it's dry and solid, as a stone; or because it's extended as a Baloon, or be­cause its parts are shut up and gathered to­gether, as those are which are prest and crowded; neither can it be shaken, either because its weighty, or because it hath a motion contrary to that which would over­turn it. Thus a Column stands firm on its [Page 226]own weight, a building supports it self by its props and butteresses, the Members stiffen themselves being equally drawn by the opposing muscles, which being sup­posed, it's certain that Constancy useth all these means to stiffen the parts, if we ex­cept that hardness onely which comes from driness, forasmuch as there needs a long time to produce that quality. Yet must we make some distinction, for that some stiffen themselves in one way, others in another; the Spirits and the Members which move voluntarily become firm by the opposition of their motions, the Muscles by compression, the Body by its weight and props, which we must particularly ex­amine.

We have shewn how the Spirits stif­fen themselves, and how they communi­cate their stifness to the parts; but there is this difference, That the stiffening of the Spirits comes from the contrariety of motions, and that which is communica­ted is performed by their upholding of them; for being stiffened, it must neces­sarily be that they support the parts which touch them, especially if they be fluid as the Humors are.

Those Members which are destined for voluntary motion, as the Head, the Eyes, [Page 227]the Arms, and the Legs render themselves also stiff by the contrariety of motions; for being composed of several Muscles, some of which cause them to move up­wards, and others downwards, some to the right hand, some to the left, when they are all agitated at once, they must needs re­main firm and stiff and without going ei­ther way, and then they must suffer that motion which is called Tonick, which is the most violent of all, and which makes us most weary. For which cause we are more weary standing upright then walking up and down; and it's more troublesom to look long upon a fixed and settled look, or continually to keep ones Arms stiff, then if we used them to different motions, because that all the Muscles agitate therein, with­out taking any rest; and herein there is but a part engaged, which rests also when the other is in action.

Every muscle in particular grows stiff when its work operates, but that is because it grows hard; now it hardens by pressing and contracting the parts together; for having no other action but to contract and shut up it self, to bring towards it the mem­bers it ought to move, it must needs take up less room, and therefore its parts must [Page 228]be the more streightned, whence this hard­ness comes. Which although it happens out of necessity, forbears not also to be sought for by the Soul, as a thing which may render the body stronger, and the less exposed to injuries; and it is for the same reason, that the skin of Animals streight­ens it self, when they will defend them­selves, whence it follows that their hair and feathers stand on end, as we have else­where declared.

Besides this stifness, the Muscles and the skin may also acquire another by ten­tion. But because there are two sorts of it, the one which is made by drawing strong­ly those things which may be extended as a rope or parchment; the other of filling them with some body, as a baloon; it's certain, that Constancy cannot render those parts firm and strong by this, but onely by the former. And this happens when the Muscles cause a member to bend very much; for those which are opposed to them, and which do not agitate are constrained to lengthen out and extend themselves; and by this extention they become firm, and so render the skin hard. It's thus, that this Passion sometimes extends the hands, that the inside which they oppose to the [Page 229]danger, may become harder, and conse­quently more fit to resist ill.

As for the Body, it grows stiff not onely when all its parts are stiffened, but also by the support and weight which it giveth it self. Now it may be upheld by some exteri­or prop; for the Soul which puts it self on the defensive, seeks both in and out of it self all what can stiffen it. So that when a man is assaulted, he who hath somewhat at his back to stay him up and help to support him against the effort of his enemy, may make the better resistance. The body also up­holds it self by the situation and posture which it takes; for by advancing a foot, or widening a little the legs, it makes for it self, as it were, a prop or a butteress to support it self, which hinders it from being overturned on that side it rests on. Add also how it also enlargeth its Basis, and doth that which Art ordains for great pil­lars, which are better upheld, the larger and greater the pedestal is. Lastly, by making it self weighty, its less subject to be shaken, because that augmenting its weight, it the better resists the motion of those things which beat against it, and so ren­ders it more firm and more stable in its si­tuation. But how can it make it self heavy? [Page 230]Certainly, it is not that it hath more weight then it had, but it is that it makes it more efficient by the motion which it gives it self; for weighty things have much more strength, and make incomparably a great­er impression when they are moved; when the Body therefore stiffens it self, it bur­thens all the superior parts on the lower, and those pressing the earth, by the motion of the Muscles, which are destined for that purpose, they make an effort which aug­ments the force of the weight which they sustain, and so render the Body more firm, and less easie to be shaken.

Besides these motions this Passion em­ploys also that of the Hands, to oppose her­self against the shock she is threatened with­al; for as they are parts destined to the ser­vice of the body, she freely exposeth them, and hazards them to save it from danger, and useth them as Barriers to stop the ene­my, or as a Buckler to receive the assaults, for which cause she opens them that she may cover and defend a greater space; she ex­tends them to render them stronger and har­der, and she advanceth them that she may break and dead the violence of the blows, which she cannot hinder from falling on it.

This is what we had to say of the Cha­racters [Page 231]of Constancy; for the rest which we have observed in its description, they be­long unto her onely by reason of those Pas­sions which sometimes mix themselves with her. So Cries, Sighs, Tears, Groans, the weakness of the Body, proceed all from Pain; Indignation, Threatnings, Blows fol­low Boldness or Anger. The sweetness of the Eyes, the gayness of the Countenance arise from the contentment which Love, Desire and Hope propose.

CHAP. I. The Characters of Anger.

ALthough Anger be a flame which Na­ture kindles in the soul of all Animals, The Elogy of Anger. and that it may be compared to that fire which shines in the Stars, for the preserva­tion of the Universe; It's strange that it's almost never considered but as a frightful Comet, which declares and produceth no­thing but fire and sword; and that Humane Reason should be so unjust as always to condemn a Passion which always fights for Reason and for Justice: Yes without doubt, since she is onely raised in the Soul to repel injuries, and to chastise those she believes have unjustly offended her, we may boldly say, that she never arms herself but against Violence, and ever sides with Rea­son and Equity.

It is not but that men which abuse all the most useful presents of Nature, do often make it serve evill designs; but besides that, to judge according to Reason of the price and value of things, we must not con­sult concerning the abuses which are found in them, nor the ill use which may be made of them. It's certain, that when she ap­pears most unjust, she hath motives which seem equitable, that she must at least have the appearance of Justice to oblige her to take arms; and that if she be deceived therein, it is not she that is to be accused, but rather Malice and Error, who call her to their releif: As we do not blame Soul­diers who are of a Princes Guard when they follow him in temerous enterprises; and that it's sometimes the duty of a good Sub­ject to obey a Tyrant; neither must we condemn Anger which was submitted to Reason to serve for its guard and defence, when she follows it in its irregularities, and obeys its orders how unjust soever they be. In a word, it is not in corruption we are to seek the purity of Anger; we must go back to its source, and enquire in the first channels wherein it runs, if it hath Vertues and Qualities useful for life, and worthy the praise we have given it.

If it be then true, that she comes from [Page 234]Nature, and that this Nature is nothing else but the Art of God, and the effusion of his goodness and wisdom in all his works: we must not doubt that she is not sensible of so excellent an origine, and but that the admirable motions of this Passion are raised by the same spirit which animates and rules the Universe; It's what would imprint in all Creatures the image of his power, and render them as near as possible like unto him, which hath signed in all A­nimals the strokes of his Justice, and hath given them the knowledge of the wrong which may be done them, and the just desire they have of revenging them­selves.

And truly, as if it were the last touch which were to finish their perfection, and his liberality, it seems that there was more care employed to inspire this Passion in them, then for any whatsoever. That there is none which it hath made so common and so natural; and that all the rest are particular to some one, or so imperfect that it's dif­ficult to finde them therein. Love and Pleasure indeed, which seem to be the most necessary and the most general, are hardly to be remarked in the most part of Beasts; Boldness is onely to be found in those which are strong and couragious; Fear [Page 235]surpriseth onely those which are weak; and even there are those which are so fit for certain ages, and for some conditions, that they seldom pass to others: But it is not so with Anger, which makes it self be resented by all in general; the least suffer its esmotions as well as the greatest, and the weak as well as the strong, and there are none which are not provided with arms which may serve for their revenge. Final­ly, she knows no priviledges, and makes no difference amongst men; she agitates Children, as old Men; sick, as she doth the sound; poor, as rich; Kings, as she doth the Subjects; and without confining herself, as the rest do, to some particulars, she animates Families, Nations and whole Kingdoms. But as in the order of Nature, the most necessary things are, the more common they are; we must beleeve that this Passion should not have been so gene­rally dispersed in all Animals, had it not been most important and most necessary for their preservation; and that it would not have been so sensible, and so imperfect in all those which are most imperfect, were it not most profitable and of greater use then all the rest, which for the most part are un­polished and confused in them.

And certainly since all have far more ills [Page 236]to fear, then goods to desire, and that ill it self is more powerful to destroy, then good is to preserve; it was from the wis­dom of him, who exposed them to so ma­ny dangers, to give them stronger Pas­sions to safeguard themselves, then for to seek what was for their use; since it was more advantagious to overcome ill then to flie from it, and that all could not have the Boldness destined to conquer it: It must needs I say be, that to supply this de­fect he must have inspired another Passion to warm the courage of the weakest, and stir up the forces of the most timerous to engage them to fight those Enemies which flight or patience would have rendred ter­rible.

Moreover, since they were all to defend themselves, not onely from such as do ill unwittingly, but also from those who do it out of malice: It was fit they should have lights to discern them, and means to de­stroy not onely their power but also their ill designs; for it had not been sufficient to have provided for their security, if after having overcome them they could not have bereft them also of the desire of ta­king up arms again, and of convincing their unjust untertakings.

It's therefore Anger which causeth them [Page 237]to get the better of such dangerous ene­mies, which stop the course of their vio­lence, and making them lose the will of do­ing hurt, tear up ill by the roots, and shelter themselves from whatsoever they might fear. And indeed Revenge which this Passion employs to that purpose hath no o­ther end but to chastise him that offends, that the punishment he suffers make take from him the desire to continue the injury, and that he who hath received it may not again fall into the like danger. Is there any thing in the world so equitable and so ne­cessary? Is there any thing wherein the providence of Nature is more resplendent? And were it not to be ungrateful towards it to slight so useful a relief, and to condemn so just a defence?

For we must not believe that none but Beasts may lawfully make use of it, that it is incompatible with Reason, & that its never kindled in man, but that at the same time it extinguisheth that divine light which in all its actions ought to enlighten it. No, no, it is in us, and for the same purpose, and for the same necessity that it is in the rest of A­nimals; we have the same enemies which they have, we are exposed to the same dan­gers; and the cares for our own safeguard can be no less innocent then theirs are; [Page 238]whatever we may say, Reason and Anger are not in the number of those Stars which never look on, or meet with one the other without imparting their vertue or bright­ness, or causing some troubles in the world. On the contrary they fortifie one another when they are united, and their conjuction breeds that celestial light in the Soul which raiseth up those languishing vertues, which give heat to those which fight, and inspires them with that divine fury with which they are animated against Vice. Whence can you fansie proceeds that noble Indignation which the Soul conceives for unjust things, but from that Anger which cannot suffer injustice without an alarm? Whence springs that vertuous Frowardness, and that holy Impatience which seiseth upon us at the sight of crimes, but from this Passi­on which hath no other care but to chastise the Authors of them? And whence can that just Despight come wherewith Vertue is provoked at the encounter of such ob­jects as cross her, but from the same source whence she draws those forces which are necessary for to overcome them? To con­clude, the most excellent Vertues would at every moment be lessened, were they not raised up by this Passion: Justice would never proceed to revenge crimes with that [Page 239]zeal wherewith she is so often transported, did she not call it to her assistance. Valor would very rarely produce those great acti­ons which render it formidable, were it not sollicited by it. In a word, there is none to whom she is not as a spur to advance them in the way of glory; and he that would bereave civil life of her, would un­doubtedly leave in it onely Weakness, Lan­guor, and Cowardliness.

But notwithstanding these great ser­vices, we must at last confess, it is the most to be feared of all the Passions, as that which causeth the greatest disorders in the world: By a strange mishap, scarce concei­vable, the commerce it hath with Reason, instead to render it more perfect, hath cor­rupted it; and innocent as she was in Beasts, she is become criminal in men; So that we may say she is in some manner like the va­pors of the Earth, which change into thun­ders and storms when they come near the Sun; and that if she did not rise into the highest Region of the Soul, she could never be able to produce those thunders and tem­pests, which have caused so many publike calamities, and have desolated so many Pro­vinces, and so many Kingdoms.

For we must not believe that the ill it doth, falls onely on some particulars, as [Page 240]that which proceeds from the Anger of Beasts, and from the most part of humane Passions; besides that it renders Cities and whole Nations furious, it never strikes one person onely, but the blow threatens and offends all civil Society: For which cause the Laws which often tolerate the ill use of the rest of the Passions, have never suffered that of Anger, how just soever it were; they ever reserved the revenging of injuries; and whosoever hath usurped that power, commits a crime justly to be resented, and hath most commonly ad­ded to the infamy of the punishment, the shame of the outrage. In effect, they could not have left to particulars a power which onely belongs to the publick, and put the arms of Justice into the hands of a furious person, without abandoning the life and fortune of all men to insolency and cruelty, and without breaking those sa­cred bonds which unite them together in the forms of Communities and Repub­licks.

But what severity soever hath been practised, what restraint soever they have bridled this wilde and untameable Passion withal, they could never hinder it from bringing disorder and confusion where ever it came. It hath made the wisest lose their [Page 241]Judgment and their Reason, brought confu­sion amongst the best friends, filled the most illustrious families with blood and slaugh­ter; and we may say that the earth reaks every where still with the broils it hath raised in the greatest Cities, and in the fairest Provinces. Those things which were ever had in veneration amongst men, are violated by this insolent Passion, which tramples under foot all the respects which Nature inspires with our lives; and its impi­ety raiseth it self even against Heaven, and against the Divinity it self. In fine, if we should speak all the ill it causeth, perhaps we should learn all the ill which is done up­on earth. But the better to shew the disor­ders it causeth, we need but represent a man who hath suffered himself to be car­ried away with these excesses, and consider the strange change which it makes in his Minde and in his Countenance.

Anger is none of those Passions which sweetly insinuates it self into the soul, Descrip­tion of a man in Anger. which flatters it at first, and by weak beginnings takes from it the suspition of its violence; it enters with impetuosity and with open arms; or to speak better, it enters it not; it falls like thunder which strikes unawares, and there is no distinction of time between its fall and the burnings it causeth; for as [Page 242]soon as a man is possest with it he perceives himself inflamed with despight and disdain. Vengeance like a torrent of fire disperseth it self in all its thoughts; Fury prevails over his Reason and his Judgment, and like a devouring flame it runs and crackles in his Veins, it sparkles in his Eyes, thunders in his words; they are nothing but com­plaints, reproaches, and injuries; nothing but threatnings, and imprecations, and blasphemies. The more sweetness and weakness he naturally hath, the more sharp and impetuous his Passion is, the more stormy and insolent. Neither respects nor considerations can restrain him; he ac­knowledgeth neither Masters, nor Friends, nor Parents; Silence provokes him, Ex­cuses commit an outrage, and often inno­cency it self is no less insufferable then in­juries.

As if he minded nothing but to torment himself, he is not able to hear any reason which might calm the disturbance he is in, but he is very ingenious to find out all those which may encrease it: He fancies the of­fence greater then indeed it is; he remarks the least circumstances that may aggravate it; and if it happens that words and effects offend him not in the tone of the voice, or in the motions of the Eyes, he findes great [Page 243]causes of wrath and revenge. Neither doth he stop there, he calls to mind all the for­mer good offices he hath done his Enemy, and the ill usage he hath received from him; even those actions which were before indif­ferent to him, do then seem injurious; the smallest of his faults appear sensible affronts and bitter injuries: And being astonished that he foresaw not his ill designs, he ac­cuseth himself of impudence and of stupi­dity, and adds to his first fury the indigna­tion and despight which he conceived a­gainst himself: Whereupon after having made his resentment sparkle by the extra­vagancy of his discourse, and by all those exclamations which grief and rage drive forth, he all at once falls into a profound silence, and walking with large paces, with a wilde and frightful mind, by the frequent shakings of the Head, and by the grinding of the Teeth, and by his furious Looks he declares that he revolves in his mind the designs of some great and terrible revenge. In effect, there is no ill which a man could make his enemy suffer, which presents not it self to his desires; infamy, punishments, tortures, are the sweetest chastisements he prepares for him; the sword and poison are the meanest instruments which he means to employ; he thinks which blows may [Page 244]be the rudest to be inflicted, what places are most sensible, what death might be most cruel. And to glut his rage, he proposeth to himself nothing less then to strangle him himself, to tear in peeces, and to feed on his very Heart and Bowels. After a thousand such like designs which most commonly destroy one the other, he would that some disorder might happen in Nature for his de­struction, that the earth would open and swallow him up, that the plague might stifle him, that he might be thunder-struck. Finally, he makes vows for his ill fortune that they may supply his own impotency, and sollicites the wrath of Heaven and Hell to perfect the punishment which he hath commenced. But should all this happen, yet would not he be satisfied unless all men did believe that it was he who was the cause of all these mschiefs, that he drew them on his Adversary, and that even he also suffers them far rather for his particular satisfaction, then for the chastisement of his crime.

Whilst he feeds his Passion with these cruel thoughts, we hear long and scalding sighs which at every moment are fetched from the bottom of his Soul; confused and interrupted words, which from time to time escape his fury; and the noise he [Page 245]makes by beating all what he meets with under hand or feet. At last breaking out of his silence, he detestss, he threatens, he blasphemes and discovers all what he hath on his heart, and betraying his secret, he renders the revenge which he meditated of­ten useless, sometimes pernitious.

These are near upon the motions he hath in the absence of his enemy, but this is nothing in respect of those which he suffers in his presence. At first it seems as if he en­deavored to shun his encounter, as if he were unwilling to see him, and in a proud and disdainful way turning his back to­wards him, he grumbles, he murmurs, and forms betwixt the teeth words of indigna­tion and of disdain. But he remains not long in that condition; the flame growing more violent when it's shut up; his wrath is provoked by this restraint, and changing it self altogether into fury, it transports him out of himself, and renders him like a wilde and furious beast; he cries out, he runs, he strikes, and without fear or know­ledge of the danger he casts himself through fire and sword, he drives his friend into them, and cares not to lose what is most dear unto him, so as he may lose him who hath offended him. Like one in despair, he throws himself into a precipice that he [Page 246]may draw him therein along with him; he seeks shipwrack so as he might perish with him; he calls him to fight, wherein the chance of Arms is doubtful; and common­ly the ardor he hath to revenge himself, bereaves him of his revenge; all his skill and address is then useless, most of his blows are vain, he hath no ward against those which are given him; he blindly ex­poseth himself to danger, and like those ruines which break themselves on what they fall, he often locks himself in the arms of him whom he casts down.

If it happen that he hath the advantage, and that he thinks he hath satisfied his Pas­sion, he adds insolency to cruelty; he out­rageth his enemy conquered as he is, he laugheth at his misfortune, and feeding his eyes on the slaughter which he hath made, he feels a certain malignant joy break forth in his heart, which afterward disperseth it self over his face, and which he makes appear in all his actions. But if he believes that he is not revenged, he de­spairs, he rageth, he accuseth insensible things, his Friends, God, and himself; he breaks his sword for not having given the desired blow, he is angry with those who would have appeased him, he strikes the ground, he rails against Heaven, he [Page 247]beats his own face, and tears his hair; at last when he cannot hurt the person, he as­saults the reputation; his enemy hath no de­fects which he publisheth not, he bringeth the vices of his Ancestors out of their graves, and if truth cannot furnish him with reproa­ches and injuries, he borrows them from lyes and calumnies. In a word, to describe all the actions of a man in his wrath, we must fancy, all what temerity, cruelty and fury can effect.

Not that all those who are touched with this Passion, suffer themselves to be carried away to this excess: There are dumb and disdainful Angers, there are those which are quite vapored away in words; there are some that are weak and timorous, others that are noble and generous; and without doubt those are not so extravagant as that which we now described: Yet there is none which raiseth not a great disturbance in the mind, which drives not out of it sweetness and humanity, and which bereaves not a man of the best part of himself. But we shall elsewhere speak of all these kindes of An­ger; let's now see the effects which the vio­lence of this Passion commonly produceth on the Body.

It's most certain, that there is none which so strangely alters the Face as this doth: There is no man whom Anger will not ren­der [Page 248]unknown both to his and to himself; his Eyes are red and inflamed, their moti­on is peircing and rapid; sometimes they look through, sometimes they fix, and seem as if they would go out of their places; we may observe a sparkling driness in them, a wilde and savage disquiet. The Eyebrow is sometimes cast down and sometimes lift­ed up, and after they restrain themselves. The Forehead is wrinkled and gathered be­twixt the Eyes, the Hair stands on end, the Nostrils open and widen themselves; the Lips thinken and lowr themselves, they tremble, they press themselves, and some­times they form a cruel and disdainful smile. He grinds his Teeth, he foams, he blows, his mouth grows dry, his breath stinking, his voice more vehement and sharp then it was at first, at last becomes terrible, and ratling. It often stops all at once, and when it chanceth to form any words, the Tongue faulters, his words in­terfere, and his discourse is intangled: If he holds his tongue, it's an enraged silence, which at every moment is interrupted with sighs, with groans, and the frightful out­cries which he makes; his Face grows pale, inflames and swells; the veins of his Fore­head, of his Temples and Neck are swelled and extended; his Pulse beats quick & vehe­ment; [Page 249]his Breast which is redned is lifted up with great throbs, and he breaths with a violent and precipitate respiration. But who can describe the shakings of the Head, the clappings of his Hands, the throwing about of his Arms, the trampling of his Feet, all his brisk and bold motions; In fine, that continual agitation, which ac­companies Anger. It's sufficient to say that his Countenance, his Minde, his Ge­sture, is an assembling together of all what is most deformed in most cruel Sicknesses, and of what is most horrible in the wildest of Beasts. Let's now seek the cause of all these effects in the Nature of this Pas­sion.

CHAP. III. Of the Nature of Anger.

ALthough Philosophy hath more spoken of Anger then of any of the Passions, The diffi­culty to define Anger. either because it's more easily known, or because its moderation is more important to a civil life then the rest; yet neither hath it succeeded in the definition thereof, better then of those which we have examined. For besides that it ob­serves [Page 250]not the motion proper for it, which is a part of its essence: it is in doubt what gender to give it, what object raiseth it, and the true motive which it hath. Some indeed say it's an effect of vengeance; others that it is not an Appetite, but a rising up of the Soul; some will have it the slighting of that object which moves it; others add thereto injury; othersome there are who deny that vengeance is the true and proper motion of this Passion, see­ing as they suppose, it pretends always to re­venge it self, and that Hatred hath often the same design without being advised by this.

In a word, of all the definitions which have been given it, there is not one which expresseth all the Nature of Anger, which leaves not other difficulties which are hard to be resolved by those principles which we commonly suppose in this business; and truly that of Alexander which seems to be the most exact, hath its defects as well as the rest: For in saying that it's a desire of vengeance, caused by the grief we have of seeing ones self unjustly slighted; be­sides that Beasts are not touched with scorn, who nevertheless are susceptible of this Passion; there are a thousand encoun­ters wherein we may be provoked to An­ger, [Page 251]without having cause to believe we have been slighted; as when we are angry with our selves, or against insensible things. If instead of this slighting you put Injury, the same difficulty remains entire; since it's very probable that Beasts know not in­justice, nor consequently Injury; and that there are many things which make us an­gry at which we cannot justly be offended. Add also, that a man may have the grief to see himself offended, and the desire of being revenged without being angry; for the motion of Grief, and that of De­sire, which belongs to the Concupiscible Appetite, seem not as if they should enter into the essence of this Passion; besides they should tell us what Vengeance is, and why we desire it; for if to revenge ones self be nothing but to retort the ill on him who afflicted it, causing him to suffer the same pains: There is no likelihood that a man should be angry with himself or insen­sible things, seeing no man would be re­venged on himself, and that it is impossible and useless against those things that are without sence.

To say likewise that it's a rising in the Soul, whereby she overcomes those diffi­culties which traverse her designs; This definition would be too general, seeing it [Page 252]befits also Boldness, and that therein the Soul may raise it self without being moved by Anger; for I mind not those who say that this rising up is not an Appetite; since it's a received maxime, That all motion of the Appetitive part is called the Ap­petite.

To conclude, the worst of all those, is that which raiseth it to an ebullition or fix­ing the blood about the heart; for it it not therein that the essence of Anger consists; that is only its effect; it being certain that all Passions are impermanent actions, which are formed in the Soul before she agitates the Body, and principally the humors which are no parts of it.

These are the difficulties which are en­tertained in common opinion; the method which we hold, and the principles which we have established, render not the thing the more easie. For after having shewed that the Soul which will not flye before the enemy, hath but two courses to take, to wit, Resistance and Assault, which are Con­stancy and Boldness; it seems as if we had exhausted all the springs whence An­ger might proceed, as if we were obliged to confound it with one or other of these two Passions. Indeed it raiseth it self up against ill, it assaults it, it would overcome [Page 253]it, even as Boldness; so that they seem both to have but the same object, the same motive, and the same motion, and there­fore to be but one Passion, since these three things which make the difference of all the esmotions of the Soul, render them equal, and every way alike.

Yet since it's undoubted that they are different, and that by experience we know there are ills which move Boldness and not Anger; that this is more impetuous and turbulent then the other, and that there are many persons which are cholerick, as Children, Women, and those that are sick, which we cannot call Bold; there must ne­cessarily be some circumstances, and some conditions in their causes which must make the difference; let's first therefore examine the matter and the object of this Passion, and consider whether it be truly the same which raiseth Boldness.

In the former Discourse we have shewn, What ill is Angers object. That the word Ill did not onely signifie the effect which properly is ill, but also the cause which produceth it. And this di­stinction is so necessary for the knowledge of the Passions, that there are some which have no other object but the ill it self, as Grief; others which consider onely the cause, as Anger, Hope, and Despair. Lastly, [Page 254]others which confound them together, as Boldness, Hatred, Aversion, and Fear.

Now Anger assaults nothing but the cause onely of ill; for a man cannot be an­gry with an injury which he may have re­ceived, but with him who did it: Quite contrary, Boldness looks on the danger without often considering whence it hap­pens.

But as there are causes which produce ill without knowledge, as others which ef­fect it without design, if we considerately examine those which Anger assaults, we shall always finde them agitating with de­sign; for we are not provoked to anger against a stone which hurts us, but against him who threw it. And what ill soever we suffer, it will never raise this Passion, if we do not imagine that there is some cause which had an intention to make us suf­fer it.

Yet because he who chastiseth with a purpose to do ill, doth not always pro­voke Anger, there must be one kinde of ill proper to move this Passion, which being properly moved, may cause the Soul to rise against that which is the cause thereof.

Others as we have already said, will have it be Scorn; there being nothing more [Page 255]powerful to provoke Anger, nor any ill which a man more impatiently suffers; yet since Children and Beasts are not sensible of it, who nevertheless are often touched with this Passion; and that we every day see very many who patiently suffer Scorn, who are all in a fury if you do but take from them what they believe is their due. Finally, we are angry with our selves, with chance, with insensible things, by which we can no ways be despised; so that we must confess there must be some other ill which moves Anger.

Others will have it to be an Injury; men indeed are never so angry as against those by whom they think they have been unjust­ly offended. And when we think the of­fence hath been done without design, or believe that we have deserved it, we no longer seek to revenge it. On the other side, it seems as if Beasts cannot know in­juries, since they know not unjust things: and so we must say that they are not suscep­tible of Anger, could injuries onely pro­voke it.

But if we consider that Children who have not the use of Reason, and whose knowledge is not much different from that of Beasts, forbear not to know when they are unjustly offended; that a Lyon is not [Page 256]angry with a stone or a thorn which hurts it; that there are Beasts fierce enough which in play suffer ill without seeking revenge, and are seldom angry with Children: It's very probable that there is some kinde of justice amongst them, that they know there are ills which they ought not suffer, and that they know who offends them out of design; not that they have the knowledge of things so clear and so distinct as men may have; but the same instinct which guides them to their end without their pre­tending to arrive thereunto, affords them also the knowledge of the wrong which is done them, without discerning it. It's true, there is a great difference in this knowledge, and it's more or less perfect according as Creatures have more or less perfection. A Bee casts out its sting against a stone as well as against an Animal; but a Dog, unless he be furious will never assault any but him who purposely hath hurt him: Beasts are therefore capable of knowing injuries, and therefore we may say, that there is no other ill but that which ought to move Anger.

Now there may be as many kindes of in­juries as there are things which may unjust­ly offend; Scorn is a great injury. but amongst us there is none which so commonly and generally doth it [Page 257]as Despight. And Nature hath given so great an Aversion to the Mind of man a­gainst it, it endures no ill whatsoever more impatiently then that, nor is it more easily or more violently born away by any to re­venge; And this in my opinion, happens from that that Scorn is nothing else but the opinion which we have that a thing merits not consideration, having no con­siderable quality, and that we judge it can do neither good nor hurt; for we ought to honor excellent things, love those which are profitable, and fear those which are hurtful: so that those are to be despised which deserve not honor, and are capable of neither love nor fear: But besids, that man is naturally a lover of himself, that de­sire of vengeance is born with him, and out of that consideration he believes him­self amiable, and that if he be offended he can be hurtful: he hath a secret sence of the dignity of his being, and thinks that he commits an injustice who renders him not the honor which is due unto him. That to despise him is in a manner to contest the advantages which Nature hath given him. Finally, as there is no good which is more his own then that, there is also nothing which can transport him more then for any to seek take it away.

If this original excellency is accompa­nied with those which birth, study, or for­tune may advance, such as are the natural and acquired qualities of the Mind, the strength and beauty of the Body, Honors, Riches, and Friends; it's then that the sence of Scorn is more common, and most insufferable, because that those who think to excel in any thing, believe also that there is honor due unto them, and that in seve­ral occasions many are wanting to give it them. Whence it happens that Great, Rich and Young men, those who have many Friends, Honor, or Beauty, are easily moved to wrath; yet I also know that such as are deprived of these excellent qualities, as are Poor, Old, and Sick persons, in a word, all those who have any defect are Chole­rick, beleeving at every moment that they are despised by reason of their imperfecti­ons; and although they think not that they ought to be esteemed for them, yet they do beleeve it's to commit an injustice, whe­ther it be because their defects seem to de­serve compassion rather then scorn, or whether every one thinks they have suffi­cient store of other good qualities to coun­ter-ballance those wants. Whence the great­ness of an injury.

Now although the kind and the nature of the injury ought to render it more or less [Page 259]sensible, yet neither is it that which mea­sures its greatness: it's the opinion alone of him that suffers it; for how great soever the offence may be, it would never kindle Anger unless we acknowledge and resent it. And often an indifferent thing will grow to a gross injury, if we but imagine it to be so. Now there are two causes which may form this opinion; Truth, and Error; this comes from the precipitation and weakness of the Mind, which commonly follows the temperature and custom; wherefore Chil­dren, Women and sick people are easily moved; whereas a judicious and magnani­mous man seldom grows angry. As for the Truth, it proceeds from the just value we have of the offence, examining the greatness of the ill, the persons, the places, the times, and the causes; for if the ill be great indeed, if he who receives it is a per­son of quality, and he that offends is his in­ferior, or is obliged unto him in any kinde of duty, if it were in publick, if for a slight cause, or that malice was the onely motive, we cannot doubt but the resentment must be the greater. In a word, the further he that offends errs from justice, and from his duty, so much greater effectually the inju­ry is, and the esmotion which it raiseth up in the Mind, must also be the more violent.

He therefore who doth an injury is the object of Anger, Why it riseth up against the cause of ill. and the onely enemy a­gainst whom it imploys all its efforts. Let's now enquire the reason why the Soul riseth up against him, and the design she hath when she assaults him.

All the world is agreed, That it is to re­venge herself; for there is no body agitated by this Passion who respires not venge­ance, who speaks not of it, and with plea­sure executes it not, unless he be divert­ed.

In effect, To revenge ones self on any man, is to make him suffer a punishment proportionable to the ill he hath done; so God revengeth himself on the wicked by punishing them; the Laws revenge crimes by those chastisements which they ordain; and Men revenge particular injuries, by the ill which they inflict on those which have offended them: Anger therefore hath no other design, but that it intends onely to seek satisfaction for the offence received, to chastise him who hath committed it, and to cause him to suffer an equal or pronorti­onable punishment to the ill which he hath done.

But what profit or benefit can accrew unto it by this chastisement? For the inju­ry is done, is received, is resented; and [Page 261]were there any remedy to be applied, it were to be employed for the taking away or sweetning of the ill, and not against the cause which can nothing ease it, and can no ways undo what it hath done.

Were it true that this Passion had no o­ther object but Scorn, we might say that revenge were a necessary means to take a­way the stain and the shame, because that doing ill to him who despiseth us, we should make him know that we were no­thing despicable, since scorn is nothing but the opinion which we have that a thing can do neither good nor hurt. But besides that Scorn is not the universal object of Anger, the revenge it seeks hath a more general end then that; for we are not content to do ill to him who scorns us, to make him lose that conceit, since there are other means to perswade him to it, without lo­sing the desire of our revenge; but necessa­rily Revenge must be a punishment where­with this Passion seeks to chastise those who offend it.

Now all pains and all chastisements are the remedies which Justice employs against Malice; but throughly to examine them, What the motive and the end of chastise­ments is. they are onely preservative remedies. For although we say that the ill committed may be repaired by chastisement, that the equa­lity [Page 262]of Justice demands punishments for those who have offended, as well as rewards for those which have done well. And finally, That it's just that he who hath lift up him­self above that degree wherein the Law hath placed him, should be cast down by it, and suffer pains for the pleasure he took in do­ing it. Yet the question remains still unre­solved, What the punishment doth against that fault which is committed, since it takes not away the ill which is done, nor the blemish or deformity it may have left in the Soul, since even those sufferings have not that power.

And truly all the difficulty is, concern­ing those punishments that God inflicts in the life to come; for as for those which the natural and civil Law have prescribed, we may say with the greatest men of Antiqui­ty that they respect the future onely, having no other end then to make him better who did the ill, or to restrain others in their du­ty by the example, or to provide for the safety of him who may be offended. But all these motives have no place in those cha­stisements which the wicked suffer after death, since they will then be no longer in a capacity to correct them, and that they last to eternity, wherein the example will be useless, and where those whom they [Page 263]would offend need no longer have any thing to fear.

What design therefore hath Divine Ju­stice proposed it self in those long and se­vere punishments? For we must have a a care that we fall not into the error of those who say, God hath no other design in punishing, but to punish; it were to of­fend his Wisdom and his Justice, to make them act without being guided by that so­veraign Equity, which renders to every man according to his deserts. It's true, that those he punishes, deserve to be punished; but why do they deserve it? because they have offended him. And why doth the of­fence deserve punishment, since we cannot hinder the ill from having been done, and that the pain hath no proportion with the offence, nor with the satisfaction which God may require; there being no likeli­hood that the ill which he inflicts on them can or ought to satisfie?

I know that in the design I have to en­deavor to resolve such great difficulties by my particular sentiments; some will say it's a great temerity to seek to fathom the pro­fundity of the Counsels and Judgments of God; that they are mysteries which are ra­ther to be adored with humility, then ex­amined with presumption; and that those [Page 264]who dare enquire after reasons for their chastisements, are in danger of such punish­ments as that Equitable Judge prepares for them. Moreover, if we are obliged to speak of it, we must follow the already re­ceived Maxims, and go by the ordinary road, without taking by-ways, which in all such cases are always dangerous. But I shall oppose this advice onely with the re­spect and submission wherewith I undertake to speak of things which are towards men ineffable and incomprehensible: The neces­sity which this subject imposeth on me to seek all the motives of punishments, that so I might find that which Anger proposeth to its self in Revenge, and the liberty which every man takes to speak what he thinks on questions which admit of no certain decision: Whereupon I suppose I may with security propose my opinion hereupon, since others do not satisfie the difficulties which are to be found therein; and that even according to mine advice they do not sufficiently make known that soveraign Equity which God observes in his judgements.

We may therefore say, That when God hath ordained Punishments, he considered the future no more then the civil Laws do, and had no other design but to keep men in [Page 265]their duty by the severity of punishments, and to hinder them by the terror of suffer­ings from offending him, and rendring themselves unworthy of his grace. But be­cause this forewarning were useless, unless he executed what he hath ordained, he at last makes the guilty suffer the punishment wherewith he before had justly threatned them; not that he would thereby repair the ill committed, or satisfie the offence done him, but because he is faithful and true; so that threatning and establishment of the Law is a work of his Justice, which ought to hinder ill; but the execution is an effect of his faithfulness, which ought to maintain his Justice. For which cause when the holy Scripture, wherein we ought to learn the manner how we are to speak of divine things, says that God is just, it com­monly adds that he is true and faithful; all its pages are full of the fidelity of his Laws and of his Judgements; and when it re­presents the history of things which hap­pen after they were foretold, it precisely observes that they happened that the pro­phecy might be fulfilled; As if the event were onely to render God in his word true and faithful, and to shew that his Justice and his Goodness cause him to make Laws and Decrees; but that after they are made, [Page 266]it's his fidelity which obligeth him to put them in execution.

And truly did Justice exact punishment, and that it were necessary to repair an of­fence by its chastisement, we could never be pardoned without offending Justice; and he who would remit the pain due to crimes, would remain responsible to the Justice which of right belongs unto it. And con­sequently Clemency, Mercy, and Lenity how excellent soever those Vertues are, would be useless, and contrary to reason. To avoid these inconveniencies, we must conclude, that it is not the Justice but the Fidelity of the Law which exacts punish­ments, and so neither is pardon contrary to Justice; and if there be ought else which it seems to clash withal, it's the Fidelity of the Law which the Legislator in parti­culars may dispence withal, since the Law is a floating general thing, which is not determined to any in particular. In effect, the Prince hath power to diminish or change chastisements; he sometimes suf­fers an innocent to suffer punishment for the guilty, and believes he hath satisfied the Law, when the punishment it ordained hath been executed on him, who imputed on himself the crime of the guilty.

Finally, this reason to me seems the [Page 267]more receivable, because it easily resolves that great difficulty which Theology hath always held of the eternity of pain; for to say that pain ought to be infinite, because it respects an infinite object, this and all other reasons which are commonly given, do not fully satisfie the Mind, and still leave some doubt why Divine Justice should exact an eternal punishment for a crime committed in a moment; what necessity is there the chastisement should be infinite, because the object is infinite; and what sa­tisfaction can God have of an offence which most commonly hurts onely him who com­mitted it?

But if it be true, that God ordains pu­nishments but for preservative remedies, it must necessarily follow, that having impo­sed eternal pains to hinder men from of­fending him, he must inflict such as he hath ordained, when they become guilty, or else he could not be faithful, and his forewarn­ing would be useless. Now it was fit to impose these pains; for unless men had been threatned with an eternal punishment, there had been no way to keep them in or­der; and for what time soever God had li­mited their pains, the hope of being af­terwards released would have encouraged them to ill; and with the little sence they [Page 268]had of another life, they would have ha­zarded millions of years for some moments of this, as they might have but contented their evil inclinations. It's certainly evident that a less severity could not have been; since with all the terror which it gives, yet doth it not perform so full an effect as might have been hoped, and that no body can with reason complain of it, since those who do well are not subject to it, and the guilty voluntarily submit themselves there­unto.

When we have said all, we must say of Pu­nishment what is faid of Reward, since there is a proportion betwixt them; now it's certain that the Reward which we expect from heaven, is only grounded on the fide­lity of the Promises of God, and not on his absolute Justice, which was no ways obliged to give us glory, which is a good which fur­passeth all natural capacity, which hath no proportion with created things, and where­to we can pretend nothing, but altogether from the pure grace of the Divine good­ness, which of our selves we can by no means deserve.

But I shall yet go further, to consider man in his natural condition; he cannot of right demand so much as any temporal reward unless it be by vertue of the promises made [Page 269]unto him by divine and humane Laws; for besides that vertue is satisfied in herself, and that the pleasure which accompanies good actions, is the last perfection, and if we may so speak, the only recompence they can as­pire unto; God is not obliged to give man more then to the rest of the Creatures, but onely what is necessary for the accomplish­ment and preservation of his being; nei­ther do men ow themselves to one another, but as they are obliged to render them­selves out of the rigor of Justice; now Re­wards before they were promised, are not of that order; they may pass in the rank of Graces. For to render what is due is no re­compence; it's a payment, and reward is somewhat more then payment: So when we pay a Servant for the service he hath done we reward him not; to reward him, you must give him more then your obliga­tion bore, neither could your gift have been exacted for him by the rigor of Justice, un­less by vertue of the promises which were made unto him: For which cause some have had reason to say, that Honor was not the reward of vertue, because it's a right due to its excellency. It's true, that this duty hath its bounds and measures, beyond which it may pass for a reward, as titles and badges of Honor are which Laws [Page 270]and Princes bestow on those who per­form fair actions, forasmuch as they go beyond the obligation they have to ho­nor Vertue, and that they bestow them not as things due out of necessity, but one­ly by vertue of their promises, whereby they oblige themselves to recompence such as performed such like actions: those also who perform them, render themselves worthy of the effect of those promises, and that is what we call to deserve a re­ward.

Yet this imports not that promises which Princes and Laws make upon these occa­sions, are not inspired by Justice: it's the same as concerning those pains wherewith they threaten those who perform evil acti­ons; for as there are preservative reme­dies to hinder Vice, those are as nourish­ment to entertain Vertue; and it's as just to encourage and provoke men to do well out of hope of reward, as to intimidate and withdraw them from ill by threatning of punishment; As also the exacting of pu­nishments is not the work of pure Justice, but of the fidelity of the Law; after the same manner, the reward a man receives is not an effect of Justice, but of the faithfulness of the promiser; for that besides that a vertuous action is out of duty and obliga­tion, [Page 271]it can pretend to a reward only but as from an expectative grace; the Justice of the Law having considered the future one­ly, and being not destined for things done, unless for example sake, and to render the promises true and faithful.

But it's to carry the matter we treat too high; Let's satisfie our selves in saying, that what concerns punishments ordained by na­tural and civil Laws, the greatest men of antiquity have been of my opinion, and have beleived as we do, that they are on­ly preservative remedies destined to make those better who have erred, to serve for an example to other men, and to provide for the security of those who have been offended.

If this be so, Why An­ger will cha [...]ise him who hath done the inju­ry. Anger which employs Re­venge as a chastisement must have some of these motives. Now its design is not to correct the defects of others, nor to give examples, because Beasts which are subject to this Passion can have no such thought. Neither aims it at the severity of him who hath been offended; as all the rest of the Passions, she respects her own particular preservation onely, and being unable to hinder the offence from having been done, it will at least hinder its continuance. In a word, it endeavors to take away the [Page 272]power of doing ill from him who hath done the injury, that he may do it no more.

And indeed, since Anger is a kind of Boldness, and that Boldness assaults ill to take away its power, Anger which assaults the cause of the ill must needs endeavor to take from him the power of doing ill; and because that in those causes which act with design, the Will is the best part of this power; it's certain, that taking the Will from them, the power is also taken away, or at least it's rendred useless.

Now there is nothing which can better take away the will of doing ill but by making him suffer ill who hath already done it, forasmuch as the remembrance of the pain he suffers must needs hinder him from falling another time into the like dan­ger.

So that the Soul hath no other end when she will revenge herself in Anger, but to hinder him who hath done the injury, from continuing to do him the like: we find it certain by experience that whatsoever stops the course or the continuation of the offence, appeaseth the Anger. So we are satisfied when he who hath done us an injury, hath been hurt, when he re­pents, when he flies, when he makes it [Page 273]appear that he offended us not out of de­sign. Forsmuch as we believe that the pain of his wounds will make him afraid to fall into the like fault; that his repentance hath changed his design of ill doing; that flying he hath lost the power of it; and that ha­ving offended us unawares he did it unvo­luntarily.

On the other side, he who is angry will himself execute his revenge, or if any do it for him, he will have it known that it was he that procured it, as if that know­ledge served to hinder the other from con­tinuing any more to offend him; instead that he who simply hates, cares not for that, and so his enemy suffers ill, he cares not whence he believes it comes. In fine, it's for this cause that those calamities and great miseries, extremety of sickness and death it self, which happens to those who have injured us, take away from us that desire of revenge, although they take not away the hatred and the aversion which we have against them; forasmuch as in the condition in which they are they have not as it seems the power to offend us, and that Anger pretends not to do ill simply to in­commodate him who suffers it, but to guard it self from that violence which a man may afterwards receive.

This is the general end which Nature proposeth to this Passion in respect of ven­geance, which it inspires in all creatures, and which consequently in its source and original is an effect of this primary Justice, which moves every thing to its own preser­vation. The policy and opinion of men hath added thereunto other particulars as Correction and Example, the re­paration of Honor offended, and the preservation of that excellency and su­periority wherewith they flatter them­selves.

For although man considered in himself, may as well as the rest of Creatures re­venge himself of those injuries which he hath received: Yet having been destined for a civil life and society, having reserved to it self the right of revenge, as a matter belonging to the publick, he cannot law­fully exercise it without the help of Laws, unless the danger be very urgent, that he wants time to expect or seek their assist­ance; when therefore they revenge the in­juries of particulars, it's first to provide for their security, because it's the natural end of the Passion, and then to correct those who have offended, and by their examples to keep others in their duties; they accom­modate themselves even to the opinions of [Page 275]men who think their honor receives some diminution when they suffer an injury with­out resenting it, and that Vengeance a­lone can repair it; wherefore the Laws labor to give them this satisfaction, when they take upon them to revenge them; for although this opinion is a vicious fonn­dation, and proceeds from that pride which is born with us; yet nevertheless having past into a custom, and being in some man­ner upheld by Nature, the Law which ac­commodates it self to out weakness tole­rates it, and will not take away from those who have been offended, the consolati­on they have to believe that their ho­nor hath had reparation by revenge.

In effect, Man who is naturally proud, and placeth one part of his glory neither to yeeld nor submit himself, cannot suffer an injury without resenting it, but he must at the same time confess his impotency and his submission; for if he get no satisfaction, it's out of weakness; if he will not seek it, it's out of respect: both ways he yields that preheminence which he pretends to with so much Passion: But when he revengeth himself, he makes it appear that he is not less powerful, nor less considerable then he who hath offended him, and thereby he thinks to change the opinion which [Page 276]might have been conceived in prejudice of his excellency. Its therefore self-love which casts him in this error, and bereaves him of knowing himself destined for a civil life, wherein he may not exercise his revenge, but by the authority of the Laws, which after having made use of punishments for the publick good, doth also leave this be­lief in those who have been offended, that by that means they have preserved their rights and advantages. However it be, this satisfaction is a particular end belong­ing to human revenge, since Beasts cannot pretend unto it, nor are they capable to seek reparation for an honor which they can neither acquire nor preserve.

Beyond this, we can say no more on this subject, In all An­ger there is a desire of venge­ance. but onely to clear the difficul­ty which we proposed at the beginning of this Discourse; to wit, when a man grows angry with himself, with his fortune, or with insensible things, since it's unlikely a man should seek to revenge himself on him­self, and that Fortune is an imaginary thing, which is no more capable of suffering grief then all the rest of insensible things; cer­tainly we need not doubt but in all these encounters there is a desire of vengeance, but its a blind and mad Appetite which the precipitation and impetuosity of Anger [Page 277]stirs up in the Soul; for this Passion raiseth it self so quick that it often prevents all the lights of Reason, and then we need not wonder if it know not those things which move it, and if it often vary its de­signs. We may indeed call it a kinde of Drunkenness, which makes trees appear like men, which represents all things double, and which fancies to it self Chi­mera's to combat them withal; for he who is angry at his chance, doth he not fashion out a fantasm for an enemy? doth he not divide himself when angry with him­self, and is not his sight troubled when he knows neither Parents nor Friends, & takes insensible things as if they were capable of sence? These are therefore the effects of an offended Fancy, like those which dreams or melancholy raise, and which make us believe that it's in these encounters that Anger is the commencement of folly, as says one of the most antient of all the Latin Poets.

Let's therefore conclude, Wherein Anger is different from Boldness. That an of­fence received is the ground of this Passi­on, that who hath committed it is the e­nemy it assaults, and that it riseth up against it to procure its revenge. But for all this we have not yet found the principal differ­ence which ought to be in this definition, [Page 278]and which distinguisheth it from all the rest; for the Soul may rise up against him who hath offended her, assault and combate him to revenge herself, without being moved by Anger; doth not this happen every day in War, wherein we assault our enemies, or we revenge the injuries we have received without accusing this Passi­on of bearing part? Wisdom it self, Mag­nanimity and Justice do they not often seek revenge of wrongs done them, with­out being suspected of having followed the counsels or motions of Anger. Certain­ly we must confess this is that rock where­on we may be afraid to lose our selves; for after all this long discourse we seem con­strained to say, that Anger and Boldness are but one and the same Passion, seeing they have ill for their object, they both assault it, and both would take away its power of doing ill. And although we may say that the Object of Boldness is more u­niversal then that of Anger, since this as­saults onely the cause of ill, and the other assaults it what ill soever it be; that their End admits of the same difference, Anger having no other design but to take away the power of ill doing from that cause which hath already done it; and Boldness endeavoring to take it away without con­sidering [Page 279]whether it be done or no; yet all this would onely serve to conclude, that Anger is a species and a difference onely of Boldness: And without doubt if we respect the end and the object onely of these two Passions, we must be forced to fall into this error; so that there remains the motion onely, whereby the diver­sity which is betwixt them is observe­able.

But what? What the motion of the Soul is in An­ger. Both of them rise up against ill, and it signifies nothing to say that this rising up of Anger is more impetuous then that of Boldness; for besides that it often happens that this is moved with as much or more violence, and more readily then the other, less and more cannot cause an essential difference in the Passions. Must it not then be Grief which ever accompa­nies Anger, which causeth some diversity in these motions? for it's she alone we can fancy is able to contribute any thing there­unto. And indeed this conjecture would be very likely, did not Grief very often joyn with Boldness, without moving Wrath; we may indeed resent the ill, and repel it without being moved by this Pas­sion; and we see daily in single combates that the grief for the wounds we have received, or the displeasure we might have [Page 280]to see ones enemy have the advantage, accompanies often Boldness without any esmotion of Anger: We cannot say a Judge is moved with it when he compas­sionates him who hath suffered an injury, and will revenge him according to Law; and that a Father may not chastise his Children who have offended him without being sensible of the motions of this Pas­sions. Finally, is it to be believed that a man always makes himself angry with sick­ness, with a Beast that bites him, or a Serpent that stings him, when he drives them away, or assaults them? and yet in all these encounters Grief and Boldness are both met.

Yet must we not upon these considera­tions renounce our proposed conjecture; Anger is a mix­ture of Grief and Bold­ness. for since Grief is so strictly conjoyned with Anger, that it can never be separated, and that it is but by chance it mixeth with Boldness; It's to be believed, that it unites it self with this after another manner then it doth with the other, and that this diver­sity causeth an essential difference in their motions. And certainly the Passions may mix together two ways; the one is by con­founding their motions, so that the Soul at the same time suffers two Passions as Hope and Boldness, Boldness and Anger; the [Page 281]other is by making the motion of the one succeed the other, so that two Passi­ons remain not together, but so swiftly follow one another that they seem to be but one, as Love and Desire, Joy and Hope.

Grief therefore may joyn with Boldness both these ways; and without doubt, in the examples proposed they do but follow one the other at several reprisals without uniting their motions. But when they con­found themselves together they cause this Passion of Anger, which is nothing but the union and the confusion of the for­mer; for which cause Anger is never without them, because they are the essen­tial parts whereof it is composed. To confirm this truth, we need onely consider, that the same offence raiseth up in Anger a far more sharp and fretful grief then in Boldness; for there is no other reason of this diversity but that Grief and Boldness have contrary motions; and that the Soul being at the same time agitated by both, cannot but suffer a great violence, and that the displeasure she conceives for the injury received must needs be augmented by the pain she is sensible of in the com­bate of these two Passions. Nature in effect which loves order and equality in [Page 282]all, flies as much as it may this contrari­ety of motions, and if she finde herself engaged in it she suffers it with pain and disquiet; and if it be lawfull to say so, she groans under so heavy a burthen which she cannot long support without being overwhelmed, which is the reason why Anger is not long lasting, and that it presently changeth into other Passions, as into Hatred, Sadness, and into Despair.

But when Grief joyns wsth Boldness so that their motions are not confounded, and that they do but follow and succeed one another, the Soul is not constrained, and tortured, and suffers not that turbulent and painful agitation wherewith she is necessa­rily moved in the encounter of two oppo­site motions. For which cause Grief is not so pungent, nor doth it admit of that en­crease which the pain and trouble of the Soul in Anger suffers.

Its true, that in this occasion these two Passions follow one another so close that they may easily be confounded, and so form Anger, as in fight it often happens, and after the same manner as Grief there­in becomes more pungent; Boldness also becomes more impetuous by reason of the endeavor the Soul makes in the con­straint which those two contrary moti­ons [Page 283]cause in it, as we shall say hereaf­ter.

What may be objected against this do­ctrine, may be, Whether any An­ger may be found without any cause of offence that to form Anger there must be a cause which offends with intenti­on; and that it may happen that Grief and Boldness might confound themselves, were it not for that cause, and therefore altoge­ther without their moving of Anger. But we may boldly answer, that it's impossible it should so happen, and that if Grief and Boldness unite, when no cause hath cau­sed an injury, still the Soul fancies one, as when a man is angry with himself, with fortune, and with insensible things; be­cause the Soul which is instructed by na­ture, in all what is necessary for the pro­duction of the Passions, knows what mo­tion is proper for every one of them, what object ought to move them, and what end she ought to propose herself in them; and not one of these things presents it self so soon to our knowledge, but it presently adds two others, so that in the same man­ner as when she resents an injury, she at the same time forms the design of revenging herself, and afterwards agitates herself by that motion which is proper for Anger; so when she findes herself agitated with this motion, the cause which ought to move [Page 284]this Passion not occurring therein, knowing it is that she is accustomed to make use of in Anger, she forms to herself the cause and object of Anger, and so perfects that Passion which this motion had onely com­menced: And this is the more easie to be believed, for that the motion of the spirits which makes no part of the Passion as that of the Appetite doth, causeth the same effect. For if it happen that the spirits are agitated with a motion proper to a Passion, the Soul which sees what passeth in her or­gans, and knows after what manner she is accustomed to stir them up, presently fan­cies that object which ought to excite this motion; and at last agitates it self con­formably to that motive which this object inspires it withall, and so that esmotion which it meets within the spirits. It's thus that Musick produceth Passion; it's thus that Love out of inclination is formed, as we have shewed in the Treatise we have made thereof. It's then true that An­ger is nothing else but Grief and Bold­ness united and confounded together, and that the turbulent and unequal agitation which the Soul is constrained to suffer in the encounter, and in the shock of these two opposite Passions, makes that differ­ence of motion which is proper unto it, [Page 285]and which distinguisheth it from all the rest. In effect, we cannot conceive that the Appetite in Grief retires it self, and that at the same time Boldness raiseth it up, but we must fancy we see a Sea agita­ted with contrary winds and waves, for the same combate which is made amongst the waves, the same boylings which it rais­eth up, the same efforts with which it beats upon the shoar. Finally, the same trouble and confusion which this great Main suf­fers during the tempest, are in the Soul when she is stirred up by these two violent Passions.

So that it is not without reason that we say the Sea grows angry, and that Anger is a tempest, since there is the same agi­tation in either of them, and that both of them spring from the contrariety of motions which shake these two great depths.

But we may say That if Anger be a mix­ture of Grief and of Boldness, it cannot be in the rank of simple Passions, as we have hitherto conceived, and as at the be­ginning of this work we our selves resol­ved. Certainly, there needs no contest hereupon, and it were to fight against the truth to defend the common opinion; for if there is a Passion which is mixt and com­posed, [Page 286]it's chiefly this, where Grief and Boldness, Desire and Hope are all met to­gether. That if we proposed it as a simple Passion, besides that we did not then de­duce those reasons which ought to oblige us to shun the errors of the School, we may freely confess that upon the way we often discovered those things which at first we never thought to have met withal, and that considering more nearly the nature of this Passion, Reason and Truth have made it appear unto us to be altogether compo­sed, that is to say, of Grief and Boldness, as of its essential parts, and of Desire and Hope as of inseparable accidents or ne­cessary conditions which accompany it. For it's certain, that he that is angry ought to desire and hope for revenge. Yet the Mind may separate these two Passions from Anger without destroying its Nature, for­asmuch as without considering them it may conceive the Soul may be touched with Grief for the injury received, and that she assaults the cause which caused it, wherein all the Essence of Anger con­sists.

So that now we may define it to be A turbulent Agitation which Grief and Bold­ness move in the Appetite,Definiti­on of An­ger.whereby the Soul retires in herself, to estrange herself from the [Page 287]injury received, and at the same time rais­eth herself up against the cause which caused it to be done, for to revenge herself of it. Whence we may judge, that as this Passi­on is mixed, its causes and effects are also of the same nature; for it hath indeed two objects, to wit the Injury and him who did it: It hath two ends, the one to estrange it self from ill, and the other to revenge it self. Lastly, it's composed of two motions, which being united cause this turbulent agitation, wherein we have said the principal difference of this Passion consists.

Yet we are to observe, that as common­ly Boldness vapors more in Anger then in Grief, and yet that there are some Angers in which Grief appears stronger then Boldness; Its certain, that in these encounters the motions of these two Passi­ons are proportionably stronger or weak­er, and that it often happens that its rising up is greater then its contraction; and that sometimes also its contraction is more then its lifting up; but if they are equal, Boldness always appears more then Grief, because in that the Soul produceth and casts it self forth, and in Grief she hides and inwardly retires herself, as we shall make it more particularly appear in the [Page 288]Chapter, wherein we shall examine the na­ture of that Passion.

We must conclude this long Discourse with a resolution of an important difficulty which may here be made: Who those are which are incli­ded to Anger. For perhaps some will say, that if Boldness makes a part of Anger, it will follow that those who are naturally bold, will also be most inclined to this Passion. On the contrary, those who are timorous, should never be sensible of it. Although experience teach­eth us, that those who are truly Bold, are seldom provoked to Anger, and that Children, Women and sick persons which are weak and timorous, are easily moved thereunto. But this objection is easily an­swered, if we remember that Boldness a­lone never produceth this Passion, but that Grief must also meet with it, that these mix and confound themselves toge­ther. In a word, that a man must be sen­sible of injuries, and have a quick and agile Boldness to be susceptible of Anger. Now those who have an heroick Boldness, are not sensible of injuries unless they are very cousiderable, because they despise most of those things which assault them, and that that Melancholy which is in their temperature retains the fury of their spi­rits, giving them time to examine the of­fences, [Page 289]and to consider whether they de­serve to be chastised. On the contrary, those who are weak of body or of mind, and who have a very agile heat, as Chil­dren and Women, and those who have any remarkable defect, finding themselves more exposed to injuries, are easily born away with a desire of vengeance, because their weakness makes them ap­prehend every thing, and the subtile heat which they have is so quickly inflamed, that they have not time enough to consi­der whether they are truly injured, and whether they ought to revenge themselves, or whether indeed they have the power; and that is the reason why the Cholerick are the most angry of all, because they have an ardent and active heat, which ren­ders all their actions precipitate, and be­reaves them of time and means to judge rightly of things; For it's certain that there is no quality so much an enemy to Reason as Heat, and a violent agitation; all the functions of Sence, and principally those of Judgment, being not to be per­formed but when the Soul enjoys a great Tranquillity, as Aristotle says. Whence it also happens that Nature hath placed the brain so far from the principle of heat, that its quiet might not be disturbed by the [Page 290]neighborhood of that active and turbulent quality, as we shall more amply hereafter declare.

CHAP. III. Of the Motion of the Spirits and of the Humors in Anger.

AS Rivers which run into the Sea are sensible of those storms wherewith it is agitated; The spi­rits in Anger have con­trary mo­tions. those spirits which like Rivers take their source from the Soul, and dis­charge themselves there also, must needs suffer part of that great tempest which An­ger raiseth therein: And they must be shaken with the same violence and agita­tion which she resents in herself. If it be therefore true, that she is then moved with two contrary motions, and that at the same time when Grief makes her retire, Bold­ness raiseth her up and drives her forth; it's necessary that the spirits to whom she com­municates all her commotions must be agi­tated after the same manner; and that as she doth, they must restrain and retreat themselves at the same instant, when she raiseth and darts herself forth against ill.

And certainly did not Reason force the mind to confess this Truth, the effects which Anger produces would sufficiently prove it. For besides that a man often grows pale when he is carried away with this Passion, that his voice is vehement and sharp, and that commonly we see in his Face sadness mix and confound it self with fury, which can proceed from nothing but this contrariety of motions; it's impossible to doubt it, if we consider the different pulse which is proper for Anger, and the consistence which the Heart and the Lungs have when it's kindled in those parts; for it hath this in particular, That it makes the pulse higher, and more elevated, then large and extended; And that it retires the Heart and Lungs in themselves, although it then swells them and raiseth them up; now this can be but from these two oppo­site motions we have spoken of, as we shall more fully declare when we enquire into the causes of those effects.

But although this be most certain, yet we must confess that it's harder to conceive how such bodies as the spirits are, can at the same time suffer motions which seem incompatible; for although there are ma­ny examples in Nature which make it ap­pear that a body may be moved in such a [Page 292]manner; that Fish which swims against the course of the water, are insensibly carried away with the force of the stream; that a man may walk in a ship contrary to the course he shapes, and that the heavens themselves, are, as they say, carried towards the West by the Primum mobile, whilst by their natural inclination they tend to­wards the East. Yet this clears not the dif­ficulty, but leaves still a great difference betwixt these motions, and those where­with the spirits are agitated in this Passion; for that there is but one motion in the former proper to the body moved; the other is as a stranger, and as the School says, happens by accident; but here these two motions which the spirits suffer are proper unto them, it's the same mover which produceth them, it's the same sub­ject which receives them; and it seems a contradiction, that at the same time a thing should advance it self and go backwards, that it should tend to two opposite places. In a word, that it should be and not be, in the place where it is.

We must therefore fay, that there are two ways whereby the spirits may receive these contrary motions; How the spirits suffer contrary motions. The first suppo­sing them to have divers parts, some of which are agitated after one manner, and [Page 293]others after another; just as it happens in the Streights, where contrary Currents and Seas meet; for as there are some waves which enter into one another, some which justle and cause the beatings they give one another to boil exceedingly; the same thing certainly is here done, where one part of the Spirits which follows the motion of Grief, and another which is carried away with that of Boldness, and which meeting on the way causeth this turbulent and un­equal agitation which is observable in this Passion; the same way is like that which is performed in Boldness, wherein the spirits stiffen themselves in themselves, and yet forbear not to dart themselves forth. For seeing the parts of a body may amongst themselves suffer a motion which may be different from that wherewith the whole body is agitated, as it happens to the Arm, when at the same time we stiffen and stretch it forth. So it may also be that the spi­rits may retire in themselves, and at the same time be violently driven into the ex­terior parts. And truly as Grief makes its impression before Boldness, because we must resent an injury before we will our re­venge; it's certain, that at that instant the spirits restrain themselves; so that Bold­ness coming after, and not driving Grief [Page 294]away, it must raise the Spirits restrained as they are, and without making them lose the disposition it finds them in, drive them to those places where they are neces­sary.

Now although in little Angers it may happen that the Spirits will be moved onely after the latter manner, yet com­monly they are by both sorts at once, and it must necessarily be. The better to conceive this great storm which they raise in the veins, we must fancy to our selves that they do not onely restrain themselves, as we have said; but that there are some which run and flie to the heart, and others which issue out and impetuously cast them­selves forth, and that in this encounter which is thereby made, they embroyl and confound themselves, they justle and raise themselves up, and so they make a current full of boilings and of foam; it's true, that according as Grief or Boldness predo­minates in this Passion, the ebbing and flowing of the spirits is stronger or weaker; for when Grief is greater, which is pro­perly what we say is to be vexed, there are more spirits which retire to the heart then there are which are darted forth. On the contrary, when Boldness is greater, as when Anger is violent, and turns even into [Page 295]Fury, there are more spirits which dart themselves forth then retire; and then al­though the shock which they give them­selves cannot be so great, and seems to be unable to cause this agitation, which is when they are of equal force; yet this hinders not that trouble and tempest to be therein formed with the same violence which the excess of this Passion requires; forasmuch as if the shock is not then per­formed by the encounter of these opposite motions; yet it's made by the frequent ar­rival of the spirits, which like impetuous floods precipitate themselves on one ano­ther, and making haste to follow the first, finding them in their way dash against them, and drive them as if they indeed op­posed their course.

For it's the property of Boldness and Anger to move the Soul and the Spirits by sallies and by swinges; The Spi­rits move them­selves by sallies. forasmuch as the danger they are threatned withal continually sollicites them to make new endeavors to surmount them, which commonly happens not to those Passions which tend to good, where the Soul having nothing to fear a­bandons herself to every object which pleaseth, and as if she would cast herself whole, and all at once before it; she drives the Spirits thereunto like a flood, without [Page 296]minding to recreate them, whence after­wards follow Languors, Swoonings and o­ther accidents which we have treated of in our Discourse of Joy.

But although these sallies are common to Boldness and Anger; it's certain, that they are more frequent and more readily doubled in this then in the other; because Grief which always accompanies it, pro­vokes, and at every moment urgeth the Soul; and that weakness often meets with it, which renders it the more diligent and careful; instead that in Boldness, seeing onely the ill comes without resenting it, and confiding in her own strength, she believes that this crowding of them together is no ways necessary.

Let's therefore conclude, that Grief re­strains the Spirits, and makes them re­treat to the Heart; that Boldness stiffens and drives them forth, that the forcings of the Soul cause them to make these sallies, which at every moment precipitates them one on another, and that from the com­bate of so many different motions this turbulent ebullition and agitation proceeds wherewith the Spirits are agitated in this Passion.

To seek now what the end of all these motions is, and what the Souls motives is [Page 297]when she excites them, were a useless thing, at least in respect of the stiffening and darting forth of the Spirits, which have been curiously examined in the precedent Chapters: And as for those which Grief causeth, we shall then propose them, when we treat of that Passion; for as concerning the shock, the ebullition, and the trouble which here happens, they are effects which are done out of necessity, without the Souls intention of producing them, being altogether useless for her design.

Yet not to leave the Reader in doubt concerning those two kindes of motions which in Grief we assigned the spirits, it shall suffice to say by way of advance, that the soul is not at that time content to cause the Spirits to retire to the heart, but that she also causeth them to shut themselves up in themselves, and in the design which she hath to estrange herself from the ill which urgeth her, she conceives slight is not able to save her from the danger, unless she shut herself up in herself, if she stop not the Enemies passage, and if as much as she possibly can she hide not herself from him.

After this it will be nothing difficult to declare how Hope and Desire which are al­ways with Anger, may finde in the esmo­tion [Page 298]she causeth that which is proper for them, and causeth their subsistence; for since the spirits dart themselves forth in de­sire, and stiffen themselves in hope; Bold­ness which causeth both of these motions, must needs favor the birth and preservation of these two Passions; even so it is with Hate and Aversion, which commonly ac­company Anger, forasmuch as their agita­tion being conformable to that Grief rais­eth up as in its place we shall make known, it's nothing strange that they are found with it, that they dwell together and main­tain one the other.

What is most difficult herein, How the motion of the spi­rits in Anger can suffer that of Joy. is, to ex­plicate how all these motions may accom­modate themselves with that of Joy; for it's certain, that in the hight of danger, the hope of revenge alone satisfies the Mind, and even we have an extream pleasure to imagine we are revenged, and that Venge­ance executed is sweeter then hony, as the Poet says. Now if Joy dilates and sweetly disperseth the Spirits, how is it possible it can subsist with Anger, which restrains and drives them forth with impetuosity? We may hereupon say, that Joy may form it self in the superior part of the Soul, whilst Anger agitater the inferior, and that when the Spirits which serve these two Powers [Page 299]are moved with contrary motions without incompatibility, because it's performed in several places. But if Joy descends into the inferior part, we must necessarily be­lieve that in the same instant she drives a­way Anger, that the storm which this raised dissipates it self at the arrival of a Passion which always brings with it a calm and se­renity. In effect, when a man flatters him­self with the pleasure which he shall reap in his revenge, he resents not the same agita­tion and those transports which possest him before, his looks are more sweet, his countenance is calm, and all his actions are more modest. I confess that this may be very suddenly changed, but yet it's still true that at that instant he resents it not, and that Pleasure and Anger are two Passi­ons which may succeed one another, but yet are incompatible as well by reason of the contrary motions which they produce, as of the opposite motives which they have. This clearly appears when we have effectually revenged our selves, for then Anger quite ceaseth, and the Joy of the Victory we have obtained remains alone, and those Passions which usually follow it, as Vanity, Insolency, &c. What kind of heat pro­duceth Anger.

We should now speak of that Heat which accompanies these motions, and the ardor [Page 300]which this Passion kindles in all the parts. But this hath been amply done in the dis­course of Boldness, wherein we did shew that the Soul and the Heart have power to augment the natural heat when it's necessa­ry, and that she hath no occasion where­in its assistance is more useful then in those Passions which are to assault ill. For as this quality is the most agile of all, and most fit to destroy what is hurtful, it's also the most powerful instrument which the Soul hath to employ in its combates, where­in the first design she hath is to bereave the enemy of his power of doing ill. For which reason in these encounters she raiseth it up, she augments it, and entertains it in the Heart, which is its natural source, and from thence by a particular priviledge which these two Passions have, she sends it to those organs which she intends to employ. If in effect there are others in which she is dispersed to the outward parts, it is not that it is sent thither because it is useless; it's because it follows those Spirits which are sent thither; but herein both of them are led by the Soul, being necessary for the de­sign which she proposeth herself; the Spi­rits to conveigh strength to the parts, and heat to destroy the ill which presents it self.

Now ill is more urgent in Anger then in Boldness, for those Reasons which we have deduced, we need not doubt but the heat renders it self therein also more violent, as well out of the greatness of the endeavour it makes to produce it, as for that of the agi­tation of the spirits, and the rising up of those pungent humors which it incites. In effect it is certain that it separates Choler, and all what is most malignant in the veins, and that it useth them as offensive arms, the more easily to destroy the enemy. Whence it happens that the bitings of all kinde of creatures are in some sort venemous when they are angry, and the more irritated they are, the more dangerous, and hard to be cured; which ought to make us judge that their teeth are then infected with some ma­lignant humor which Nature brings into those parts, after having separated it from the rest, to render it the more mischevous and fitter to effect what she intends: It's also true, that the separation of the hu­mors renders them more active, giving them liberty, and restoring them that strength which mixture had weakened. But that we may the better clear the Truth of so new a proposition, we must examine whether the Soul hath the power thus to separate the humors; and if after having [Page 302]separated them she can remix them again, and reinstate them as they were before.

As for the first, a man must be very ig­norant of what is done in Nature, and of what is performed in our selves, to doubt of so certain and so evident a thing. The choice which the Soul makes of what is fit for every part, so many kindes of hu­mors as she at every moment drives out of the most healthful bodies, so many evacua­tions as she causeth in sickness, make it suf­ficiently appear that she hath the power to separate what is profitable from what is not so, and that if she have a design to em­ploy venom or choler to execute her re­venge, she may draw them from the mass and places where they are, and afterwards send them to those places where she intends to use them.

The other point is more difficult to be resolved; Whether Nature can reu­nite the Humors which she hath se­parated. for it seems that the order which Nature observes is to drive out what it hath separated, and never to remingle ill humors with good, when she hath once di­vided them from one another; so that if in Anger she separate venom and choler to em­ploy them against ill, she must drive them out without remixing them any more with the rest. And yet we cannot doubt but that when Anger is over, the Humors retake [Page 303]their former places, and but that the Body returns to his pristine constitution. We must therefore say that there are useful and useless Humore, that both of them may be within and without the Veins, and that that order which Nature observes is different according as she is free or con­strained. When she acts freely, after having separated the Humors, and driven them out of the veins, she recalls them thither no more, and how good soever they be, she must needs drive them out of the Body: So the Serosity which is in the Bladder, Choler which is in the bag of the Gall, Blood it self being out of its vessels, never returns into that Mass from whence they were drawn, but she quite expels them; but whilst these Humors remain in the veins, she may separate them from the rest, and after remingle them together, as she commonly doth in Passions, in Feavors, and in those Crisis's which are imperfect; for when Choler is driven by Anger into the surface of the Body, after the storm is over, it resumes the place again which it had in the mass of the blood, and remix­eth it self with it as it was before. It's true that this is not done in a moment, and that time is requisite to resettle it; for which reason a man that is let blood, at [Page 304]his going out of the violence of this Passi­on, his blood commonly appears altogether changed, and a diversity of colours ap­pears, which would make a man believe it were corrupted, were one not assured that after the return of a calm no such thing is to be seen, and that it proceeded onely from this disunion of the Humors, which uniting themselves again return to the blood its former colour.

This reunion is also to be found in Fea­vors which are commonly caused by the se­paration which is made in the veins of those ill Humors which are there gather­ed together; for although it be Nature which separates them that she may drive them out, it often happens that they are so malignant that she dares not undertake it, and leaving them thus in their vessels, she endeavors to repair the error which she had committed by raising up heat to over­come them, remixing them with the rest to temper and sweeten them; and lastly labor­ing for their decoction, the first effect where­of is to reassemble divided things; but if we observe what is done in these crisis [...]s, we need no longer doubt of this Truth; for it sometimes happens that Nature being disposed to terminate a sickness by sweat, after even having already begun, she all at [Page 305]once stops and retains that humor which was ready to issue out. Now it's im­possible it should be left in the veins, but it must embroyl it self with the rest of the blood, since she often retains it the better to concoct it; that she reassumes her design of driving it out many days after, and that there is no likelihood that in so long a time so fluid and penetrating a Humor should preserve it self in its paucity, without mix­ing it self with the rest. To conclude, if the spirits issue out of their vessels, to in­sinuate themselves not onely in the parts but in the Humors themselves which are corrupted, and that after having perform­ed their function they retire to their prin­ciples, and reunite themselves with those spirits which they had left, as we have shew­ed in our Discourse of Digestion, why should not those parts of the blood which go not out of the veins do the same thing? For when we say Choler riseth in Anger, we mean nothing else but the most subtile and the hottest part of the blood, and not that Choler which is an excrement and without the veins; it being true that the Soul never causeth this to remount when she acts freely, and follows her ordinary course, if it happen that she is prest and [Page 306]constrained by the violence of a Passion, or of some disease, it's true then there are no Humors how malignant soever they be, and in what place soever they may be, but she can raise them up, and force them to re-enter the veins, and the most considerable parts. It's thus that vehement Anger is sometimes followed with the Jaundise, with an Apoplexy, with Con­vulsion fits, trembling of the Nerves, and other such like Diseases, which are caused by that violent transport of Hu­mors we have spoken of.

It's thus that in malignant Feavers we see so many sad and unlook'd for acci­dents happen, which astonish the Physi­tian, and overthrow the Patient: But this Discourse concerns Physick; let us pur­sue our design, and seek the causes of those Characters which are proper to this Pas­sion.

CHAP. IV. The Causes of the Characters of An­ger.

ALthough Anger be composed of Grief and Boldness, and for the same cause its probable it should have no other Characters, but those which those two Passions separately produce; yet as in all other things mixture affords new vertues, or so confounds those which are princi­pal, that it makes them appear altoge­ther different from what they were; it also happens that Anger besides those Cha­racters which are common to her with Boldness and Grief, it hath others parti­culars added unto it, which are not at all to be found in the other, if at least they encounter it is with very great differ­ence.

Indeed if we do but consider these which it forms in the Soul, it hath even as Bold­ness, Hope, Confidence and Freeness; it hath just as Grief, Peevishness, Impatience and Heaviness: But Pride, Fury and De­spair are far different herein from those which accompany those two Passions; for if Boldness is proud, it hath strength to [Page 308]maintain its Pride, if it be carried away with Fury, it's after great strivings, and it never happens at its beginning: If final­ly Grief easily fall into Despair, it's a timo­rous, base, heedless despair; but Anger hath a Boldness which is commonly vain, and without any ground, a precipitate fu­ry kindled at the instant of its birth; and when it is in despair of revenge, it's a te­merous, violent and enraged Despair; Be­sides which, it in particular makes great threatnings, speaks much, discovers its se­crets; it's credulous, impudent and opinionate; it's base, cruel, and insolent: But this di­versity appears also in the corporal Cha­racters, as we shall make it known af­ter we have examined the causes of these.

Let's therefore begin with Hope, Why Hope devance­eth Anger which ever gives a beginning to Anger; for it's certain that this Passion is never kindled in the heart, what injury soever a man hath received, or what desire soever to retort it, but first he hopes to have his revenge: So that we are seldom angry with those that are extreamly above us; Demons or dead bodies although they may offend us, will never provoke us; and it hath seldom been seen that a man of a low condition hath been carried away with [Page 309]wrath against his King or against his Lord, forasmuch as such persons are so high that they seem to be out of reach, and that it is, as it were, impossible to do them any harm, and that so having no hope of be­ing revenged, they find it's to no end to be angry with them.

But since this Hope cannot be founded but on those forces which we believe we have, How weak persons hope to be reven­ged. and that Natures which are most weak, such as are Women, and Children, and sick persons, are extreamly susceptible of Anger; how is it possible they should hope to be revenged, having not the power, and carrying always about them a secret sence of their own weakness, as hereafter we shall make it appear?

Certainly it's easie to judge by those vain endeavors which they make in these encounters, that it's from the error of their thoughts, and that the Soul suffers it self often to be deceived in the Judgment she makes of her forces. Now this error commonly proceeds from the motion of heat which awakens and augments it self in this Passion; for as we have said in the Discourse of Boldness, this quality taking part with the corporal forces, being seated in the Heart, and being, if we may so speak, nearest the Irascible Appetite, it [Page 310]cannot be irritated nor increased without the Souls being abused with a vain opinion which it perswades that she is strong enough to undertake great matters.

It's as with a Prince who hearkens onely to generous counsels, to whom his power and greatness are onely re­presented, and who sees no man that pro­vokes him not to take up arms. For how weak soever he is, incessantly finding himself sollicited by those violent Mini­sters, having his ears always filled with their flatteries, he at last suffers himself to be perswaded, and without considering his impotency engageth himself in temerous undertakings; the Soul often doth the like in the weakest bodies, when natural heat kindles it self it the Heart, seeing nothing about it, if we may so speak, but this float­ing and unquiet quality, being every mo­ment provoked by its ardor and by its vi­vacity, and suffering it self to be surprised by the ostentation she makes of her power and vertue, she at last imagines her forces are greater then indeed they are, and with­out remembring her weakness she resolves to combate the ill, and flatters herself with the hope of obtaining the Victo­ry.

But it may be enquired, what it is which [Page 311]then thus irritates and augments this heat, What it is that ir­ritates heat in weak per­sons. forasmuch as if it be the Soul, as we have said, which employs it to destroy the ill, she must needs hope to overcome it, before she will offer to make use of it, since the de­sign always goes before those means which are proper to execute it, and that in effect the Passions are immanent actions, which form themselves in the Soul before the Bo­dy resents them; for there is no question but Hope accompanies strong and robu­stious constitutions; where it is not ne­cessary that heat should be irritated to raise up this Passion, it's enough for them that they know their forces, and are assured of them; but here where weakness is whereof the Soul hath the knowledge, and which consequently ought to make her mistrust herself, there must needs be something to animate her courage. In a word, it's ne­cessary Heat should be augmented before Hope can be therein formed: And yet we see nothing which can raise it, since we sup­pose that there is nothing in the Soul but Grief which proceeds from the injury re­ceived, and that this Passion far from en­creasing heat, is that which diminisheth and at last extinguisheth it.

To resolve this difficulty, we must dis­cover a secret which hath not hitherto been [Page 312]discovered in the Passions, That there are Passions in the lowermost part of the Soul. and say, that in all Animals there are two Appetites, the one which is sensitive, and the other which is natural; that both pursue what is pro­fitable, and flie what is ill; And that both of them again raise themselves up against what is contrary unto them to overcome it.

For it's certain that in sickness Nature irritates herself against ill, and stirs up her forces to drive it away, and that this moti­on is answerable to Anger and to Boldness, which form themselves in the sensitive Soul.

So that all motion of the Appetite making a Passion, this natural Appetite which hath its particular motions, must al­so have its particular Passions. It's true, they are not so perfect, nor in so great a number as the others, being led by a know­ledge less exact, and which discerns not the objects so well as the imagination, for which cause there are few, unless it be Plea­sure, Grief, Boldness and Fear, which are observed to be in this lower part of the Soul; they are likewise so imperfect that we may see they are but gross unfinished images, or the roughcasts of the rest; for the pain which Nature suffers, and I know not what kind of peevishness which follows [Page 313]the indispositions of the Body, are to speak truly, but feeble beginnings of true Grief; like as those secret glimmerings, and those pleasant resentments which accompany na­tural actions, are but the shadows of Joy and of Pleasure; And although Nature provokes and insensibly raiseth herself up against ill, and that we also often see that she is astonished and loseth Courage in the conflict, they are motions which indeed have relation to the Boldness and fear of this sensitive part, but are very far from their perfection, as it is very easie to judge.

All what can be said hereupon is, that these motions deserve not the name of Pas­sions, being not conducted by any know­ledge which is absolutely necessary to form the Passions; but besides that there is a hidden knowledge in all the things of Na­ture, it's most certain that it's more di­stinct and more apparent in some then in others; and that this natural Appetite is more enlightned in Animals then in Plants; for besides this obscure and secret know­ledge, which it hath for vegetative acti­ons; it's also conducted by the vital fa­culty which acts with so much light and dis­cerning, that divers did believe it was the springe of the sensitive Soul; Now al­though [Page 314]Philosophy hath restrained the name of Passions to such motions as are made by the direction of sence, yet we may perceive that its a far fetched circumstance which comes not near the essence of the thing, and that the motion of the Soul for­bears not to be a true motion, although it follows not the orders of the sensitive Soul, so that if it hath not all the conditions of Passion exactly so taken, yet at least it hath, if we may so speak, the body and substance thereof: In a word, it's so like it that as the name of Passions hath been given to the esmotions of the Will by reason of the resemblance which they nave with those of the sensitive Appetite, for want of terms more fit, we may call the motions of the natural Appetite Passions, although they are not so perfect, and that even perhaps they are of another order, and of another gender.

However it be these two Appetites which may sometimes, move separately, as we may experiment it in our selves, when Nature combates sickness, and we are nothing sensible of any of the sensitive Passions, they commonly relieve one the other, and communicate their motions when they are powerfully agitated; whence it happens that violent Passions cause such [Page 315]great disorders in the body, that the pee­vishness and secrer contentment which we have now spoken of ends at last in sadness or in real joyes; and that Grief cannot be very strong in the sensitive part, but that it must be sensible to the natural Faculties, and particularly to the vi­tal.

Now Nature hath this property, when the ill is come to her knowledge, to raise up herself against it, and endeavor to o­vercome it, stiring up the natural heat, and with the spirits conveighing it into those parts where she thinks it is. Thus inflam­mations happen to wounds; thus pain en­creaseth when the impostumes ripen, and that a Feavor breeds in a corrupt body; for all these accidents are effects of this Heat which Nature stirs up, and renders strong­er to combate the ills she resents.

This being true, we need not doubt that when weak and timorous persons suffer a very sensible injury, the grief it causeth in the sensitive Appetite can never de­scend to the natural Appetite: And then this power following its inclination must needs rise up against the ill, and according to its custom stir up natural heat to overcome it; for its undoubted­ly from thence the redness proceeds which [Page 316]appears in the countenance upon the ar­rival of a great grief, and which com­monly accompanies those first tears which grief makes us shed, as in its place shall be more fitly exprest.

If it be therefore true, that Heat a­wakens and augments it self in Grief, she may form Hope for the Reasons al­ready related; so that we can no ways doubt but that Anger is ever devanced by this Passion, even in the weakest and most timorous Natures.

Yet we must here remember what we said before; That that disposition which was necessary to produce this ef­fect, is, that we are very sensible of in­juries, and that heat is very agile, as without doubt it is in the Temperature of Women and Children who are composed of an agile and subtile humidity, wherein heat and the spirits are easily agitated without encountring any obstacle; Be­cause that in that weakness wherein the Soul perceives her self, she hath no time to consider it, so that she must needs be surprised, and as it were drawn away by the precipitate motion of heat; She would otherwise never engage herself in fight, nor ever believe she could over­come her Enemy.

Thence it is that Natures in whom Me­lancholy and Phlegm are thick and gross, are hardly made angry what ill soever you do them, because the Spirits move themselves with pain under the weight of such heavy Humors, and that the Soul hath time enough to consider its weakness before they can make their way or free themselves: So that what en­deavor soever the Natural Appetite can make afterwards, it is not capable to make her change the resolution which she had taken to suffer the ill, and with­out being touched with the least hope of being able to surmount it, resolving herself to Patience, or abandoning her­self to Grief, and to those Passions which follow it. But it's to stop too long on those Subjects which must be handled again in o­ther places.

Let us onely clear two Doubts which may arise from the precedent proposition; for if we often grow angry without Hope of ever getting satisfaction for the inju­ry received; And if even then when we are agitated with this Passion, we grow furious when we despair of our revenge, it must necessarily follow That Hope ought not alwayes to go [Page 318]before or accompany Anger, as we have said.

To answer to the first of these Reasons, Every man that is angry hopes to revenge himself. we must remember that in the order of Na­ture, Vengeance is a chastisement whereby we would take away from him who hath done us an injury the means to continue it. Now as no body makes himself an­gry, but he believes he hath that power; so neither is there any man but hopes to be revenged. And truly, all those actions which proceed from this Passion, how slight soever they be, are punishments by which we pretend to chastise him who hath offended us, since there is not any but af­fords him Grief or Fear; for a bold and brasen-faced mind, an action full of dis­dain, and despight, and injurious words are able to displease persons even that are of the highest condition, and threats are for no other purpose but to fright those against whom we make them.

Now if Grief and Fear are ills, and con­sequently punishments with which the Soul intends to chastise him who hath commit­ted an injury, that he may do so no more, believing that they are able to change his mind; and that it's sufficient to witness our Courage and resentment, to make him even lose the desire of continuing his ill [Page 319]design, and that he may imagine that their little essays are but the beginnings of a greater vengeance: It's thus that the wilde Beasts commonly bound their anger with a slight snap, or a weak blow, and that they often content themselves by affronting those who pursue them, looking through them, shew­ing their teeth onely, and putting them­selves in posture of assaulting them: And although the weakness the Soul is in checks her often from undertaking more, she had rather act thus weakly then to take flight, which would be far more disadvan­tagious; and by these motions which seem bold and generous, she would hide her im­potency and her defects, as in other occa­sions she useth to do. How ever it be, she never makes herself angry but she hopes to be revenged, and to make him who hath offended her suffer some kinde of ill. But it follows not that she ought always to hope for full satisfaction of the injury which she thinks she hath received, be­cause it commonly depends on the opini­on of men, and not in the intention of Na­ture; in effect, the means and the degrees of revenge are commonly different accord­ing to the humor and the condition of the persons, and according to the customs of the Country. A Prince or a Gentleman re­vengeth [Page 320]himself after another manner then doth a Clown; a cruel and bloody minded Man is not so easily satisfied as another; and there are places where we believe with­out a single Duel no satisfaction can be had for an offence; and others where poison and assassination are commonly imployed. Now as it often happens that a man hath not the power to use those means nor to pursue his vengeance to that height; it's most certain that then we despair to re­venge it after that manner, but not absolute­ly to be unrevenged for the reasons afore­said; and it's therefore true, that the hope of revenge always precedes Anger.

As for Despair, What kind of Despair it is hap­pens in Anger. which sometimes hap­pens and renders it more violent, neither is that an absolute loss of hope, nor doth conclude against the Doctrine already pro­posed. For we shall shew in the Discourse destined for that Passion, what the word Despair signifies in our Language as well as in the Greek and Latine; two Passions altogether different; to wit, the common despair wherein we lose all hope, and wherein the Soul gives back and loseth courage, perceiving that she cannot obtain that good which she expected; and that despair, or desperateness which is particu­lar to Anger and Boldness, which instead [Page 321]of mollifying or abating the courage, stif­fens it against all difficulties with a greater impetuosity and transport then it had be­fore. For it's certain, that in this the Soul which findes obstacles which she never foresaw, loseth the hope of effecting what she proposed; but at the same time she conceives another, and forms new designs which engage her in those transports and fougadoes, which are commonly called actions of despair, as shall more fully ap­pear when we throughly discourse on that subject.

Let's now take a view of the other Cha­racters of this Passion, and without stop­ing at Confidence and at Presumption, which have been examined in the Discourse of Boldness, and depend on the same causes which produce Hope, let's enquire the nature and source of Fury, which so often mixeth it self with Anger; for although they are often confounded together and that we commonly give the latter the name of Fury; yet they are two very different things, since there are Angers which are nothing furious, and that Fury is to be found in other Passions and in other acti­ons wherein there is no suspition of An­ger.

There are indeed divers sorts of Furie, What fu­ry is. [Page 322]some have been called Divine, others Bru­tal, and others have been placed in the rank of Diseases. But all have this in com­mon, that they put the Soul out of its na­tural place, and transport it as it were out of it self; some making it perform actions beyond the ordinary strength of men, and which for the same cause seem to have something that's divine; the other causing him to lose his Reason, and embasing him to the nature of the wildest beasts. It's not a place here to examine by retail all these differences; it shall be sufficient to say, that this violent transport wherein the es­sence of this Fury in general consists, may proceed either from the Soul which raiseth up and animates herself, or from that heat which pricks her up, and irritates her; the fury of Love, and the Poetick Fury, are a­mongst those which are divine, those which commonly acknowledge no other cause but the Soul alone, which of herself raiseth herself up, and makes those miraculous sallies which are as Enthusiasms and di­vine inspirations; for having the power to move herself, she in those encounters darts herself forth with so much ardor that she carries herself away; and as he which runs with too much impetuosity cannot stop himself, and often goes further then [Page 323]he willingly would, she abandons herself to the loose which she giveth herself, and so passeth beyond her ordinary limits: But it's not so in Martial and Bacchick Furies, nor in those others which follow Anger or cor­poral sicknesses. For it is not the Soul which begins this motion, wherewith she is in these encounters carried away; it's the heat which the Wine, Boldness, or the di­stemper of the body imprints in the spi­rits, which being agitated by this turbu­lent quality, at every moment strikes against the seat of the Animal Faculties, which drives them forth, and casts them into these extraordinary motions. This there­fore is the general reason whereby Anger passeth into Fury; for a man need not doubt but that this Passion kindles a great fire in the bowels, but that it violently a­gitates in the spirits, and that the quiet which those noble operations of the Soul require, must needs be trouled by that tem­pest which she raiseth in their principal or­gans; so that the Faculties which conduct the Animal, act no longer conformably to the Laws of Nature or of Reason, and having no longer a bridle to restrain them, are hurried away with the rapidity of the spirits and the Passion which drives them, and so perform all their actions [Page 324]with disorder and temerity. But what contributes much to this precipitation, it is Grief which is the first cause of Anger, and weakness which commonly accom­panies it; for both of them are natural­ly impatient and constrained, and eagerly sollicite the Soul to provide for her se­curity; that by reason that the ill is pre­sent; this because it wants forces to resist it, and that there is no time to be lost in so dangerous and urgent an occasion; and from thence it comes, that Anger is most impetuous in the weakest Natures; and that Fury kindles not it self so sud­denly in all the rest of the Passions as in this, for that they are commonly exempt from Grief and weakness, and that con­sequently there can be no cause for the Soul to hasten its endeavors for her defence; its true, that although robust Natures are not so soon transported as the rest, as well for the reasons already alleadged, as for that they are of a stronger and more so­lid complexion, wherein heat is not so ea­sily catching: yet when once Fury hath seized on them, besides that it is more ve­hement and more dangerous, it's also of a longer continuance, because the heat is stronger, and is longer preserved in gross and massive subjects, then in such as are [Page 325]subtile and moveable, such as are women and Children, and all those who are of such like a temperature.

Pride is so proper to Anger that there is no Passion it more often accompanies, Anger is proud. nor with which it's so familiar; and certainly it's a strange thing, that as soon as it's con­ceived in the weakest and vilest Mind that may be, it takes away from it the know­ledge of its baseness and impotency, making it lose all the respect it ought to others, and perswading it neither to yield nor submit to whatsoever it be. We need not go far for an example, since at every moment we may see that from its coun­sels Servants dare confront their Masters, Children their Parents, Subjects their Lords, and what is most frightful, such vile creatures as men are, spare not the most holy things, but often wrack it on God himself; and although this discord appear not so great in persons of a high conditi­on, when they grow angry with their in­feriors, yet they cannot forbear being guil­ty of a very and unjust and odious Pride, when they will hear neither Reason nor de­fences, when silence or excuses provoke them the more, and when a discovered in­nocency is to them but as a new injury; for all this proceeds from the haughty [Page 326]and proud Nature of this Passion which will always be in the right, and have rea­son on its side, which will never yield to any body, and will never acknowledge him for innocent, from whom it believes it hath received an offence, without ever accusing it self of impudence or inju­stice.

But whence may this Pride come, which is often so ill grounded, and is commonly upheld neither by strength nor reason? Certainly, we must not seek the source else­where then in the motion of heat, which troubles the judgment, and drives the Soul out of her ordinary limits, as is before said. For Pride being nothing but a swelling, and as it were an immoderate extention of the Soul, whereby she raiseth herself up more then she ought to do, and in pursuit esteems her self grearer then indeed she is, it is impossible that heat should be pro­voked without giving her a very great confidence, without transporting her out of herself, and consequently without cau­sing this excessive elevation wherein Pride Consists.

Moreover, the secret sence which e­very man hath of the excellency of his be­ing, which awakens him by the despight he believes he suffers by having been offend­ed, [Page 327]for to repair this wrong which he thinks he hath received by being despised, he would lift himself up above him who abased him, and filling himself with a great opinion of himself, finds himself thus puft up with Arrogance and Vani­ty.

Anger abounds in Words and in Threats, Anger is talkative and rail­ing. because the Fancy which is heated by the ardor she kindles in the spirits, and which is full of such thoughts as Pride and Ven­geance inspire, is forced to cast them out on the Tongue, and in its words; and truly we may say, that it is in some man­ner like liquor which the heat of the fire causeth to rise up in great boilings; for the fuller the vessel is of it, the more ea­sily it riseth above the brims, and so the more, and the more abundantly they issue out and shed themselves. It's true, that Grief which is always to be found with this Passion, very much helps this ef­fect by that precipitation, and by that im­patience which it gives the Soul; for which cause Boldness alone loves not to talk so much as Anger, and we may see the same person who boldly without speaking one word will go to fight, who having been offended cannot forbear to cry out and threaten, because Grief at that time mix­eth [Page 328]it self with Boldness, which is as a spur unto it which stimulates it, and af­fords it a useless Fury: But if Weakness joyns also with them, Anger becomes so highly brawling, and riseth to such an ex­cess of words and threats, that we may say that its at that time a torrent, which it's impossible to stop, as is to be observed in that of Women, of Children, and the like. Now this happens from that the Soul which knows its defect, hath a design to hide it by such actions as seem coura­gious, and whereby she thinks she ought to fright her enemy; or from that Grief and weakness which are as we have said, naturally unquiet and urgent, not giving her time to tempt more powerful means to revenge herself, cause her to have re­course to these first arms of Nature, and cause her to dissipate her courage in these vain assaults. And without doubt, he that will but consider that Beasts which are couragious, and Men who are bold and generous, use not to brawle or to talk much when they have been offended by any man, and that they seek their revenge, may well judge that cryings out, reasons and threatnings are the natural defences of provoked weakness, and that those who employ them, mistrust their own forces, [Page 329]and resemble those thunders, which onely make a noise and are heard a long time after their lightnings vanish; for when a Bolt falls, the fire, the noise and the blow are resented at once; and such is that Anger which is kindled in great Courages and in strong and robustious Constitutions, as hath been said in the Discourse of Boldness.

From the same source whence the abun­dance of words comes, Anger is indis­creet. this indiscreet Frank­ness proceeds, which renders it so facile to discover its most secret thoughts; for there is no Passion which is so ill a Guardian of a secret as Anger; and although Love and Joy also are alike unfaithful as that is, yet they commit not the same vio­lence on the Heart; they rather open it then cast it forth, and if they shed it a­broad, it's rather because they fill it, then that they empty it; but Anger suffers no­thing there which she drives not out with force; it exhausts it, by breaking it, and as a fire kindled in a Mine, it tears up and dis­covers all what is hid therein. In effect, it's impossible to conceive the impetuosity with which heat and the spirits issue out of the heart, and the violence with which the Soul throws herself forth for her revenge: but we must also fancy we see an effusion and scat­tering abroad of all her thoughts, and of all [Page 331]her designs; and chiefly of those which have conformity or alliance with Anger, as conspiracies made with or against an E­nemy, those secret good offices which have been done, and the like; which to satisfie its revenge, this Passion discovers. For when a man in anger reveals a conspi­racy, in which his enemy was one of the complices, it's to bring him in danger; when he publisheth an enterprise which he had formed against him, it's a threat; and when he reproacheth him, it's to convince him of wrong, and render him odious: They also are commonly the weakest which fall in this default, whether it be because they speak more, and that it's hard but that in many words much folly must needs be, or whether they would hide their weak­ness by the liberty they take to speak all they know, and all what they have a mind to do.

Yet there are some Angers which are Dumb, Some An­gers are dumb. and yet forbear not to be violent, although they make no noise; often even those which are lowdest, stop on the sud­den, and fall into a silence wherein Fury appears as high as in threatnings. Now this silence happens either from the confi­dence we have in our own strength, which seeks a more noble and a more solid re­venge [Page 331]then that of words, as we have said in the Discourse of Boldness, or from the despight we have of seeing our selves of­fended by persons from whom we expected not we could have received an injury, or from the scorn wherewith we pretend to chastise their insolency; or from that strong intention which the Soul gives her­self to find out means of revenge to dis­cover the motive of the wrong done her, or for such other like designs which Passion casts into the thoughts.

It's impatient and constrained, Anger is impatient not onely by reason of the Grief it resents, and of the desire it hath of Revenge, which are two Passions naturally very unquiet, but also because of the heat and of the agitation which it causeth in the spirits; for it's im­possble that these organs which serve the motions of the Soul and of the Body, should suffer this great ebullition without powerfully agitating both of them, and in pursuit without causing trouble or preci­pitation in the thoughts, strugling in the discourse or in the looks, and a continual change of posture and place which is ob­served in anger.

All Passions are credulous in those things which favor their design, Anger is opiniona­ted. and opinionated in those which resist them, because it's [Page 332]easie to drive the Soul whether she would go, and dfficult to make her take a new course: But as there is none so impetuous nor so rapid as Anger, there is none also in which perswasions are more easily re­ceived to hasten its course, or wherein such as would oppose it are more strong­ly reputed. Indeed we can propose no­thing to a man agitated with this Passion which may render the injury which he hath received greater or more sensible, which may advance or encrease his revenge, and which flatters his design and proceedings, but he greedily receives it, and affords it a ready approbation. On the contrary, he stiffens himself against all those reasons which endeavor to sweeten his resentment and his fury; and although he acknowledg the truth and justice of them, yet he is ob­stinate to combate them, and believes that his opinionacy is able to justifie his An­ger.

Yet he that would near-hand but consider all their actions, will perceive that Pride bears a great part in them, and that besides this general cause which we have now ob­served, this also particularly contributes thereunto: For Pride loves to be flatter­ed, will always be in the right, and never yields to whomsoever it be. So that we [Page 333]need not wonder if Anger which is natu­rally proud, easily hearkens to those who approve and favor its designs, if it repulse those who condemn it, and if it continue sledfast in its resolutions, when even it ac­knowledgeth them unjust.

Cowardliness, Anger is cowardly, insolent and cruel.Insolency and Cruelty sel­dom abandon this Passion, whether it be that the impetuosity and blindness it is in cause it always to pass beyond those bounds which Nature and Reason have as­signed unto Revenge: Or because that Pride causeth it to abuse those advantages which it hath over an enemy: Or lastly, for that weakness which often accompanies it, gives it such counsel, and perswades it that to secure it self against all those acci­dents which it may fear, it's obliged to use the height of the victory, and to car­ry it to extreme violence, as hath been said in the Discourse of Boldness. For which cause Women and those who are natu­rally weak and timerous, are more insolent cruel in their Anger then others are; and when those who have offended them fall under their power, they suffer all the in­dignities, all the outrage, and all the excess which rage and cruelty can in­flict.

Indignation, Disdain and Despight are [Page 334]not properly effects of this Passion, they are rather kindes and differences of it; for they are light Angers which seem to keep themselves almost quite shut up in the Soul, and which never fall into those ex­travagancies and violences which are ob­serveable in the others. All three have this in common, That Grief is always mixt with them, and that they stir up the Soul against those things which give them any displeasure. But there is this differ­ence, that Disdain is never without Scorn, although we have a despight and an indig­nation against such things as we esteem. On the other side, Indignation never is but in Men, although the other two are also to be found in Beasts. To conclude, it's certain that there are persons whom we de­spise without having any disdain or indig­nation against them.

And certainly the word Indignation means, What in­dignation is. that to raise this motion in the Soul, something must happen to a man which he deserves not, and which he is un­worthy of; now as we may grieve for the good or ill which so happens, the difficul­ty will be to know whether either of them be capable to raise it, or whether it be good onely, as Aristotle believes; For his thought is that the Grief we have to see [Page 335]him who deserves it not to suffer ill, cau­seth compassion; and that which we have to see those prosper which are unworthy of it, causeth ndignation. But this seems not to agree with that signification which all Languages give that word, nor even with the Nature of the thing: Forasmuch as the Soul may two ways grieve for the ill it sees those suffer who deserve it not, to wit by compassionating onely their suf­ferings, without employing its forces to combate the ill; or else by raising and lift­ing it self up against it to repell it. Now it's certain that Compassion is altogether without this commotion, taking care one­ly to flye the ill and being quite plunged in Grief and Fear, as we shall shew in its place; And therefore if the Soul makes any effort when she is angry with the ill which happens to any man undeservedly, since this motion can neither be compassi­on nor pity, it must needs be a kinde of indignation. Indeed the common manner of speaking teacheth us that there are per­sons who cannot see their enemies without indignation. That their words are full of indignation and threatnings; that God chastiseth the wicked in the Anger of his Indignation, and even that we are some­times in indignation against our selves. O­ther [Page 336]Languages also use the word in the same sence, for the [...] of the Greci­ans which Aristotle hath placed for this, hath a larger signification then he hath given it, and may be as well applied to the indignation which we conceive seeing a man too ill used, as for that we may have for him who is used but too well. In ef­fect himself confesseth that this Passi­on is attributed to God, who yet ought not to be in indignation for the prosperity of the wicked, because it's he who dis­penseth it to them, but justly because they abuse it and use it unvvorthily by their crimes and by their ingratitude. And truly we must not stick at all at what this incom­parable Author hath said of the Passions in his Rhetorick, in vvhich he hath treat­ed of them but superficially and in most common notions. For its certain, that had he throughly examined them, he vvould have made tvvo sorts of Indigna­tion, the one vvhich the good of another begets in us, and that vvhich happens from the ill vvhich vve suffer or see others suf­fer; and that the true and onely motive vvhich provokes them is Indignity; for vvithout that there can be no Indignation; it's Despight, it's Envy, or the like. So vvhen vve are angry at the good vvhich [Page 337]happens to a man, if vve do not consider him as unvvorthy of it, it's Envy; and al­though the ill must be alvvays unjust vvhich moves us to Anger, if we do not particu­larly look on it as an indignity, it may well beget Despight, or such a kind of an An­ger, but never Indignation: for which cause the motion which the Soul suffers in this encounter, runs not into those violen­ces and excesses which true Anger is carri­ed away withal; because the real ill which causeth Grief consists not in this Indignity, but in the Injustice which out of that con­sideration being a stranger unto it aug­ments it. So that if the Injury for ex­ample-sake is not great, what indignity soever you may conceive, it obligeth not the Soul to make any great endeavors, forasmuch as it is but as a colour which she gives herself to the body and sub­stance of the ill, which in some manner renders it more sensible, though not the greater. And it's also for this reason that Beasts are not susceptible of it, being un­able to make such reflections as are neces­sary to know whether one is not worthy of a thing; Besides men are in indigna­tion to see good or ill happen to those who deserve it not, because it is a thing which [Page 338]seems unjust, and that naturally we have an aversion against what is opposite to Reason and Justice; but how ever we interess our selves so much for them, we often abandon them in the Judgement which we make of the merit of persons, whom we often esteem worthy or unwor­thy of things according as Pride, Love, or Hatred counsel it.

For which reason Ambitious persons and Lovers are extreamly subject to this Passion, for as much as Vanity easily per­swades those that all other men are un­worthy of those Honors which they as­pire unto; and that Love gives a high esteem to those of the person beloved, and a great opinion of their service, for in that, though at every moment they find cause of offence, or are not suffici­ently esteemed, or else from that they are not well used, or that others are bet­ter used, who as they think deserve it not so well: On the contrary, those who are of a servile mind, or base spirit, and are not capable of any noble desire, they do al­most never resent the motions of Indig­nation. What Disdain is.

Disdain is also a kind of Anger, see­ing that to provoke it there must be some­thing [Page 339]which displeaseth, and must cause the Soul to rise up against it. But what renders it different from the rest is, that Scorn which ever accompanies it; for we never disdain any man but we scorn him, although we scorn many things which we do not disdain. So that we may say Dis­dain is a scornful Anger; and thence it is that it never is violent or impetuous, because those things which we scorn deserve not that we should trouble our selves for them: Not that what we disdain is always scorn­ful, or else the Soul would never care to rise up against it, since Scorn is nothing but the opinion which we have that a thing is unworthy of our esteem and of our care, not judging it capable to do good or hurt, as is before said. And therefore it must needs be, that what we ought to disdain may do some ill, but that its power is not so great, or at least that we feign we fear it not: For it often happens in these Passions, that the Soul which knows its weakness endeavours to hide it by actions, which seem outragious, as hath been said.

As for Despight, What De­spight is it hath nothing par­ticular which distinguisheth it from An­ger, as the former have; for it's but a [Page 340]weak Anger, and as it were a slight throw which the Soul to oppose ill gives it self, whether it be because it's of small concern­ment, or because she dares not or will not strongly assault it: For weakness common­ly restrains it and hinders it from driving the Passion whether it ought to go; And Rea­son which is not Mistris of the first motions of the Appetite suffers Despight well e­nough as the beginnings of Anger, but per­mits it not to go any further; for which cause timerous persons, and those who are moderate despise those things which in o­thers would kindle Anger it self.

The Characters which Anger imprints on the body, The cor­poral Charact­ers of Anger. mark out also the same mix­ture of those two Passions of which we have shewn they were composed: For we can­not doubt but a sad and crabbed mind which it sheds over the face, sighs and crys which at every moment it casts forth, and those tears which it so often vents, proceed from Grief; and that the ar­dor which appears in the Eyes, in the voice, and in all its motions, proceeds from Boldness; it's true, that this com­monly produceth those which are most sen­sible and more in number then the other, because it causeth the Soul to issue out, and [Page 341]to discover it self; instead whereof Grief making her retire within herself, causeth al­so the greater parts of its effects to re­main hid, and not to appear as the o­thers do. And certainly, in that number of corporal Characters which are obser­ved in Anger, there are but three or four which depend on Grief, all the rest comming from Boldness and from Fu­ry.

But from what source soever they de­duce their origine, we must not forget that some are made by the order and command of the Soul, and that the rest happen out of a meer necessity, she having no design nor intention to produce them, as is the paleness and redness of the Face, the wrinckles of the Forehead, the swelling of the parts, stammering, &c. For they serve for no other purpose in the design of Anger, and they are onely formed in pur­suit of the motion of the spirits, and of the rest of the parts.

Now as there being many of both of these which have been examined in the foregoing Discourses, which we intend not to touch any more; It shall suffice to let the Reader know that in the Chapter of Boldness he may finde the causes of that [Page 342]through-look, the motion of the Lids, Brows and Forehead, the widening of the Nostrils, the standing of the Hair, and that paleness which sometimes happens in the beginning of Anger; That in the Chapter of Love, he may see whence sighs spring, and why the ruddiness which that Passion raiseth begins at the Eyes; He shall in that of Constancy know whence the firmness of the parts proceeds. As for Tears, and other effects of Grief, we shall speak of them in the Dis­course which we have destined for that Passion.

Besides the Through-look there are two others which are familiar to Anger, to wit, a Fierce Look, and a Furious Look. Both of which have that in com­mon, that they are made with force and vivacity. But the Fierce one hath some­what that is sad and severe, which is not always to be encountred in the Furious, ad­ding also that it is not so ardent and wan­dering as is this.

To render the Look Fierce, Whence the fierce look comes. the Brows must lowre, and gather themselves toge­ther, the Eye must be quick and piercing, and the Sight firm and assured; Such is that of Lions, of Leopards, and of Ma­stiffs, [Page 343]for they naturally have their Eye­brows cast down and restrained, which makes as it were a great cloud in the Forehead, and their Eyes have a certain ardor which seem to breath forth blood and slaughter. And certainly there needs no less then these three conditions to compose such a kinde of Look: foras­much as an Impudent man may well have firmness and vivacity in his looks; but because he archeth up his Brows, and that rude and severe air which proceeds from the contraction of the Brows and Fore­head is wanting to him, he therefore can­not have a fierce look. On the other side, Frowardness and a strong attention of mind may cause this severity to appear in the Face; but because they take away vivacity from the Eyes, they never render the Look fierce. That piercing splendor indeed which appears in the Eyes, and chiefly in those which are blew, which the Latins call Cae­sios, inspires somewhat of cruel and fright­ful in the look, for which cause Tacitus calls the Germans eyes Truces; and we are taught that Panthers and Leopards, have I know not what kind of fierceness in theirs, which the Lyons have not; by reason that they have that colour, and that [Page 344]the Eyes of these are altogether red, which colour is more obscure and less splendent.

However it be, Anger casts down and bonds the Brows to fortifie it self against the Grief it resents, and against the Ene­my which assaults it, as hath been said else­where. It's Look is quick and assured, by reason of that splendor and strength which it casts into the eyes by the quantity of spirits which it sends thither. For we can­not doubt but that the firmness of the sight must be an effect of the strength of the parts, and that the spirits must make the greatest part of their strength, since they become languishing when they receive them no more. To know wherein this firmness of sight consists, we must consider what hath been said concerning it in the Chapter of Boldness.

Although the Furious Look is often taken for the fierce, What a furious Look is. yet is it not the same; for there is a great difference betwixt the ordi­nary looks of a Lyon, and those which he hath when he is provoked: Betwixt the look of a man who is yet Master of his Anger, and that he hath when madded and enraged; that is fierce, but this is furious, and witnesseth an extream trans­port, and a very straggling away of the Soul; [Page 345]it's made also with red and sparkling eyes, which shout forth and seem to go out of the Head, and which rowling from the one side to the other cause a wilde and wan­dering sight; and as in the other the brows are bent downwards, in this they are commonly lifted up, and drawing their lids after them they make the open­ing of the eyes to be wider and rounder, and so discover almost all the white of the eye. Now all these Characters are so pro­per to Fury, that even Physitians make use of them to know when the sick person will fall into such a fit, and that it's impos­sible to consider the state wherein the soul then is without perceiving that necessarily she must produce an effect.

For as the blood boils in the vessels, Red Eys. and impetuously casts it self on all the ex­terior parts, all the veins of the Eyes are filled therewith, and consequently become thicker and redder, for which cause Aristotle says, that those who naturally have theirs so, are subject to that kind of furious Anger whereof we speak, and that this relates to the proper character of this Passion; but you must observe that this redness ought principally to be understood of the Eye, and not of the Lids, & that the veins which are [Page 346]dispersed in the blew of the Eye are those which are swelled, and which cause that redness, which also is a sign of raving in sickness, when it proceeds not from any particular vice of those or­gans.

The Eyes are sparkling, Spark­ling Eyes. not onely by reason of that splendor which the spirits bring with them, but also by reason of the approach of those vapors which the Hu­mors casts on those organs, which exten­ding the Membrane which environs them, render it more united, more polished, and more fit to reverberate the light which they receive. Add also that the continual mo­tion wherewith they are agitated makes them sparkle and glister the more: to which we may also add, that their Driness renders their brightness more quick and peircing; it being certain that humidity dims the light, and that the refraction it makes there weakens the rayes, instead that on dry and polished bodies it's reflected and reverberated all whole and pure; for which cause in Love and in Joy, how sparkling soever the eyes be, by reason of their humidity, yet they have not so strong and so penetrating a splendor as these have.

But whence doth this driness proceed? Is it not from the vehemency of the heat which consumes all the humour which runs over the Eyes, or rather sharp and drying vapors which rise from that cholerick hu­mour which is agitated? for where-ever they arrive, they render the skin dry and parched, as is observable in burning Feavors and in cholerick constitutions.

Besides this, Fiery Eyes. the splendor we have spoken of, mixing it self with that colour which the blood brought to those parts, produceth an enflamed redness, which ren­ders the Eyes fiery, even like unto coals of fire.

They cast themselves forth, The Eyes advance outwards whether be­cause they receive a great quantity of spi­rits, of vapor, and of blood, they swell, and so are constrained to occupy the great­er room; or because the spirits which issue out with impetuosity, drive those parts out of their natural scituation; or finally, because the Soul which is carried out of her self draws them along with her, and causeth them to make a sally like her own.

Wandering Eyes, The Eyes are wandering. which continually move their sight here and there, without fixing on any object, make a part of this furi­ous look, and it's principally what renders [Page 348]them frightful and formidable, for which cause those who have treated of the Na­ture of Beasts, say, that the Panther which after this manner always rowls its Eyes, hath a more terrible and frightful look then any other, and that there is no Beast how fierce or bold soever it be, which it doth not fright and terrifie therewithal. However when the sight becomes thus wandering in sickness, it's a certain sign that the party is falling in­to fury. Yet we must observe, that fear also produceth the same effect, and often renders the looks wilde and inconstant; but besides that the air of the Face which accompanies those Passions, may alone ob­serve a great difference betwixt those looks, it's most certain that they are effectually different from one the other, neither are they made in the same manner. For fear causeth us to cast our eyes on this and on that side; but how light or quick soever the motion it affords them is, it for a while stops them on those objects which present them­selves, and it appears clearly, that it seeks them to consider them, and to see whether it be from them the ill must happen which she fears. But fury without design carries the sight here and there, and without heed­ing what it encounters, casts the eyes on [Page 349]things without seeing them, and all its looks are lost looks, and truly wandering. Now these motions partly come from heat, which is a moving quality, and when it's provoked it puts all in disorder, partly from that agitation which the spirits suffer, which easily communicates it self to the Eyes, being as they are moving, partly from the Souls transport which abandons the conduct of those organs, and suffers them to move at the pleasure of the tempest which she raised. The Brows are not knit.

And according to my opinion its also the reason why the Brows are not shrunk up, as in the fierce look; for since their con­traction is an effect of that care which the Soul takes to fortifie herself, which she al­ways also preserves so long as she is herself, when she is once carried away with fury, and that she is as it were out of herself, she then loseth the remembrance of her pre­servation, and hath no other motions but those which the blindness and madness of the Passion gives: For which cause when she darts & impetuously casts herself out of her natural situation, she draws with her the most movable parts, and so causeth the Brows and Lids to lift themselves up, in pursuit wherof the openings of the eyes must not onely be greater, but they must also-become rounder, [Page 350]because the Lid cannot open much but its angles must be widened, which must also be drawn the nearer to one another to fa­cilitate this extention which is made in the circumference. Now besides that this causeth a round figure, a greater part of the white of the Eye must also appear, which renders the look more strange and dreadful.

Tears which are sometimes shed in An­ger may come from the Grief which we suf­fer by reason of an injury; Whence Tears in Anger. yet common­ly they have no other source but the de­spight we have for not being revenged; for which cause Women and Children are more subject to weep in the strength of this Passion then Men; because they then acknowledge their weakness, and are for­ced to suffer the wrong which was done them without seeking satisfaction. To know now how these tears are formed, and what the motive of the Soul is, when upon these occasions she sheds them, its what in its place must be examined, and to which we have destined a particular Dis­course, which shall follow that of Grief. But we have sufficiently spoken of the Charact [...] which Anger imprints on the Eyes; [...] now consider those which she forms on the other parts of the Face.

The Lips grow thick by reason their sub­stance is soft and spungy, The Lips grows thick. which easily im­bibes the blood which runs thither. And being filled therewith they overturn them­selves, their bounds being free, and being not restrained by the neighboring parts.

But whence comes their trembling, The Lips tremble. and principally that of the lower Lip? Is it not that the spirits crackle in those parts, and cause that part which is extreamly movable to tremble? or that the Choler which is mo­ved, pricks the stomack, which hath a great sympathy with the neather Lip; whence it is that in sickness the trembling of that part is a sign of vomiting. The Lips press one another.

Sometimes they joyn and press one the other, to retain breath, and thereby to render the motion the more strong; or to fortifie those parts which grow hard and stiff by the contraction of the Muscles, as hath been said in the Chapter of Bold­ness.

They also sometimes retire themselves, The Lips retire them­selves. and discover the teeth, which most part of Beasts usually do when they are angry, because those are their natural Arms, which they discover to fright those who vvould offend them, or to be the readier to make use of them. This is also observed in some persons, vvhen they fall into a rage, [Page 352]and fasten on the flesh of any one, whether it be that the Soul makes this endeavor, thinking to fortifie herself, as she doth by knitting the Brows, or whether in effect she would with her teeth tear in peices, and if she could even devour her enemy. For there are men who grind their teeth, who in their anger bite what they meet withal, and who would eat the heart and bowels of those who have done them an injury.

The Voice is sharp and vehement because Anger being composed of Grief and Bold­ness, What the Voice is in Anger. this with impetuosity driving the air which is in the Lungs, and Grief restrain­ing the Muscles, and streightning the pas­sages, so that the voice must needs become shrill, passing through so streight a channel, and being driven out with vehemency, must needs also be strong. But there are two Propositions, which Aristotle hath made in his Physionomy, which may make us doubt whether this voice be that which principal­ly belongs to Anger. The first is that which is gross at first, and at last grows sharp, is the sign of a cholerick person, and this re­lates to Oxen, and to the likeness of their voice. Indeed when these Beasts bellow, their voice at last grows sharp, and hath somewhat in it which is sad and languish­ing, and even in men, affliction and grief [Page 353]in complaints form the same air, and the same languor. Now if this be so, the voice of Anger is not as we said strong and vehement.

The second is, That those who have a sharp and vehement Voice are cholerick, and that this relates to Goats; But besides that these creatures have not that kind of Voice, they were never observed to be incli­ned to that Passion: we must therefore say, that there is an error in those two propo­sitions by the fault of the Translators: for in the first, the word [...], signifies not Anger, as they have translated it, but sad languishing, cast down for matter of courage, and in that sence it's true, that the Voice which is grosse at first and sharp at last, is a sign of sadness, as we shall shew in the Chapter of Grief. In the last there is also the same fault in the word [...], which signifies not Anger, but rather Lasciviousness, which is indeed a quality proper to Goats. Add also that the word [...], signifies not sim­ply a strong and vehement Voice, but a forced and constrained Voice, such as is the bleating of Goats, as shall be said in its place.

The Voice becomes hoarse by the ine­quality [Page 354]of its organs; The Voice is hoarse. for heat melting the humors and making them run on those parts, it renders them moist and unequal, and the voice which it utters is rude, and sounds not; and because that vehemency is joyned with this sharpness thence it is it becomes terrible and fright­full.

Lastly, The Voice stops all at once. Sometimes it stops all at once in despight of ones teeth, whether it be that the violence wherewith it drives the breath, quickly clears the Lungs and de­prives the Heart of its refreshings; and that in this necessity the Soul making haste to cause a new attraction of the air, the Voice is constrained to stop to give it passage. Or whether the Nerves which help to form it, suffer a kind of convul­sion being pricked by those Humors which heat agitates, as it happens to children which cry, whose voice and respi­ration leaps, and so cut and suddenly stop themselves.

The Tongue faulters, The Tongue faulters. either by reason of the quantity of blood which thickens it, or renders it heavy, or by reason of driness which hinders its motion; or by reason of the Souls transport which sends [Page 355]the Spirits elsewhere, and hinders them from having recourse to those parts.

The Words interfare by the hast and im­petuosity which the Soul causeth, The Words imerfare which precipitates the words and thoughts one up­on another.

The Discourse is entangled from the dis­order of reason, The Dis­course is entangled and from the several de­signs it weaves and confounds together.

The Breathing is vehement, Respira­tion is ve­hement. and proceeds from the impetuous respiration which the heat of the Heart and the endeavor of the Soul causeth: For the principal end of Respiration is to refresh the Heart and the Spirits; wherefore when they are heated, it is at the same time augmented. But because also this action is partly volunta­ry since it will advance or retard even as the Soul desires it should, thence it is that the endeavor she makes in all her actions, ap­pears in this, rendring it violent and pre­cipitate.

The same heat renders the Mouth dry, The Mouth is dry. and gives it an ardent Thirst which is not so easily satisfied as that which happens [Page 356]in Fear; as shall be said elsewhere.

Those malignant humors which are moved and heated cause a Sticking Breath.

Laughter is often an effect of Indigna­tion or of Scorn, Laughter in Anger. which are mixed with Anger, as we said it happened to Bold­ness; but commonly it comes from the malignant pleasure we have in Revenge; yet the Temperature contributes much to this effect: For Septentrional people have almost the same air in fight, and we may see them assault their Enemies with a certain insolent Fierceness, and with I know not what kind of scoffing Laughter; instead whereof the Southern people car­ry on their Countenance a fierce Frow­ardness, and a sharp and cruel Sadness; the reasons whereof shall in its place be discovered.

The Redness which this Passion com­monly raiseth up in the Face is not alto­gether like that which Joy, The Face becomes red. Shame and some other Passions shed abroad in it; it is far more clear and less vermilion then in this, for that it proceeds from a cho­lerick blood, whose colour is more pale, by reason the tincture of the Gall which [Page 357]weakens the splendor and Vermilion of the Blood, and causeth this inflamed Red­ness which is visible in the Face and Breast of those who are angry. It also some­times happens that it becomes obscure and blackish, and this chiefly is when Anger is turned into Fury; for the agitation is then so great that the thickest blood is cast on the outward parts which affords it its natural colour, and paints them of that black and livid colour which is to be ob­served on the Cheecks and on the Lips, because they are the most sanguine parts of the Face. As for that paleness which sometimes happens at the beginning of this Passion, we have spoken of it in the Chapter of Boldness.

We must not stay long on the most part of the rest of the Characters which this Passion imprints on the body; the reasons are easily found by those principles which we have established. For we can­not remember the impetuosity and the boilings wherwith the blood and spirits are agited, but we must presently judge, that that is the cause which makes the Veins and Arteries swelled and extended, and that all the rest of the parts are full and puf­fed [Page 358]up, and whosoever shall represent to himself the impatience and the transport wherein the Soul is, will nothing wonder at these motions which in this Passion the Body suffers.

The Head is lifted up, and the Stature grows erect, for as much as the Soul rais­eth up herself to assault the Enemy. And although he be absent she forbears not to put herself into this posture, as if she were ready to throw herself on him, for that the violence of those Passions which trouble her represent him to her thought as if he were truly present, and as if he ought in effect to feel the blows she intends to in­flict.

The frequent flinging out of the Arms, The mo­tion of the parts in Anger. a light and quick pace, a continual change of posture and place, are effects which note the endeavors and sallies of the Soul, the precipitation and impatience she hath to revenge herself.

But whence comes it that we set up our Hands by our sides, when with anger and threatnings we quarrel with any man? it is without doubt to confirm the parts that [Page 359]the Muscles of respiration which they up­hold may the more powerfully operate, and by that means the voice may have the more force and be the longer lasting. For which cause we are never content to place our hands thus on our sides, but that we also advance the Arms and the Elbows, whereby enlarging and extending the Shoulders we render them for the same purpose more stiff.

As for those blows wherewith a man in Anger beats the ground, and all what comes under his hands or under his feet, it's very likely that they are such means as the soul useth to give a repulse to those diffi­culties which traverse her designs; and that the trouble and blindness she is in causing her to take all things for true ob­stacles which stop her, she strikes against, she drives, and she beats them, as it were to break them and to put them by, or else they are the effects of a precipita­ted Vengeance which Anger doth dis­charge on the first Objects it meets, having not either the patience or the power to make them be rescued by its real Enemy. It's thus that Dogs bite the stones which are thrown at them; it is [Page 360]thus we break the Sword which wounded us; in a word, it is thus we revenge our selves on our selves, and above all, its what concerns those from whom we have re­ceived an injury.

But what reason can we give for all those shakings of the Head which are remark­able in this Passion? Whence the sha­kings of the Head. What can oblige the Soul to move it one while to the right, and then to the left, sometimes up and sometimes down, and sometimes on one side onely? And to what end doth she cause these so extravagant motions, and so different the one from another? For to conclude that they are signs and natural effects which Anger produceth in all men of what Nation or of what constitution soever they are; So that if Nature doth nothing in vain, she must herein have her causes and reasons as well as in her great­est and most considerable actions. It is true, in my judgement, they are very hard to be known, and it is with them as with most part of things which hide them selves so much the more unto the Mind, the more they discover themselves unto the Sences, and which are as difficult to be comprehended as they are easily re­markable. [Page 361]And certainly as all natural things are made for some end, or out of necessity; we cannot say but that the al­teration of the Body, or the agitation of the Humors must cause these motions by a necessary consequence, as it happens in the redness of the Face, in the wrinckles of the Forehead, in the splendor of the Eyes, and the like, which are formed by necessity, without being destined for any use; and if we would place them in the rank of actions which are performed for some end: it is nothing easie to observe what motive the Soul therein proposeth it self, no, what service she pretends to draw from thence.

To give further light to these obscu­rities, you must first know whether these motions are not in other Passions, and afterwards seek those motives for the which they were therein formed; and last­ly to see whether they may be applied to Anger.

It is certain that we use to shake the Head and to give it readily two or three turns about, when any thing displeaseth, Why we toss the Head. as e­specially when we refuse or disapprove of [Page 362]any thing, when we are sensible of an ungrateful smel, or when we tast ought that is disgustful. For which cause the vulgar commonly call Wine when it is not good, Wine with two ears, because it makes those two parts move when we turn the Head from one side to the other, and that by that motion we would signifie that we found it to be naught. But what relation can this action have with these sentiments? Is it not that the Soul would turn away the face where the organs of the sences are, from those objects which are displeasing to it, as she useth to fix them on those which please; Or that she seeks by that endeavor to estrange from her what is troublesome? At least it is thus, that when any thing incommodates those parts we shake them about to drive them away; for although this in these encounters we speak of be useless unto it, yet are they nothing extraordinary, since she often de­ceives herself in the same manner upon o­ther occasions, wherein she abuseth those means which Nature hath prescribed her to attain her ends, employing them in o­thers where they are of no use, as hath been shewed, speaking of that water which Desire causeth in the Mouth, and of the [Page 363]motion of the Brows at the sight of di­stasteful things. Or we may rather say, that this shaking of the Head is a mark the Soul would make of the impression which some kind of objects make on her, and that it is an outward image of that action which she performs in herself: For it is her custom that when she would have that appear outwardly which is done with­in, she causeth those motions of the organs which have some relation and resemblance with her own, as we may judge by the laughter of the looks, and by all those o­ther effects whereof we have spoken in this Work.

And certainly, since that at the en­counter of pleasant things she makes par­ticular signs which make known the sence she hath of them, she must needs also have some for those which are displeasing. So that if she sweetly casts down the Head when good presents it self unto her (as it hap­pens when we meet a friend, when we approve a good action, or when we con­sent to the will or advice of another) to signifie by this casting down that she sub­mits herself to the good which by reason of its excellency, and because it always [Page 364]communicates it self with some empire, can never be but with some submission and allowance; it must needs be I say by the reason of contraries, that when she per­ceives any ill, she who hath a natural a­version from it, which in its presence al­ways disquiets its self, and with which she can never have any society or com­munication, must also make some outward motion which represents her impatience, and the endeavor she makes to estrange herself from it. Now he that shall consi­der the shaking of the Head which we speak of, will easily confess that there is none which can better express her averse­ness, her disquiet, and the care she takes not to unite herself with it; for aversion causeth the turn away of the Head; impa­tience makes the change of posture, and those contrary and redoubled motions make it appear that she will not unite with it, since union in natural things, is al­ways made by a simple and uniform mo­tion, if there be no obstacle which hin­ders it.

Besides this it will be nothing difficult to declare why Anger produceth the same effect, since it hath the same object which [Page 365]the rest of the Passions have, and that it cannot consider its enemy but as a vexati­ous ill, for the which it hath an aversion, and whereunto it will ever witness the ha­tred it bears, and the impatience it hath to revenge it self. In effect, this shaking of the Head, is a kind of threat whereby we intend to fright people, and which is not made use of in fight, or when we come to blows; threatnings being then useless, as hath been said.

As for the other motion of the Head upwards, Why we lift up the Head. it is but little observable in this Passion, unless when it would witness the scorn which it conceives of advice given it, or of the designs and threatnings of the e­nemy. In effect, it is a Character fit for Scorn, for him to whom we propose a thing which he slights, usually to lift up his Nose, to witness thereby that he rejects and repels it as unworthy of his esteem and care.

Finally, Why we turn the Head. Anger often causeth a man to turn and lift his Head on one side, chiefly when he cannot or will not be revenged: For when we receive an injury from a powerful person, and have not the power [Page 366]to demand satisfaction we cause our resent­ment to appear by that action, which is familiar to children that have a courage, after they have been ill used, as also those who form a design to revenge themselves when their enemy is absent or far off; Because those are not then in a capacity to execute their revenge by reason of their weakness, nor these by reason of the ab­sence, or far distance of him who hath of­fended them. On the other side, when for some certain consideration a man will not revenge himself although he may, as when we esteem the injury not very consider­able, or that those who have done it de­serves a more severe chastisement, we con­tent our selves with this motion of the Head to cause some fear in them. And certainly it is in the rank of those acti­ons which serve for threatnings, where­by the Soul intends a displeasure or an ap­prehension in those who have offended her, making them believe that those slight punishments are but the beginnings of a greater vengeance, as hath been said: However it be she intends thereby to make known that the injury toucheth her; and that she means to retort it; but that she retains this Passion, and gives it not the [Page 367]liberty to go further; for it turns the head to witness aversion; it lifts it up to signifie its endeavor, and presently brings it into its first posture to shew that it hath no more to do, and that its enough for it to have witnessed its courage and resent­ment.

Some perhaps may say, That we often perform the same action, when we finde a thing to be excellent, as when we would declare that a thing is well done, that a man hath some eminent vertue, that Wine is extreamly good.

To which we must answer, That there is a great deal of difference betwixt these two; For besides that in this we never turn the Head, it is not thrown, but as we have said it is rather drawn and raised up, neither falls it again so soon as in Anger; because its admiration which cau­seth this motion, which raising up the Soul and keeping it in suspence to consider the wonder she incounters, disposeth of the organs conformable to the condition she is then in: Whereunto must also be ad­ded, that the subject of admiration which here occupies the Mind is but mean; for when its very great, it not onely causeth a man to lift up the Head on one side; [Page 368]but he lifts it up altogether, he opens al­so his Eyes and his Mouth, raiseth and extends his Arms and all his parts take such an extatick figure which usually ac­companies those great transports and rap­tures of the Soul, as shall be said else­where. But let us conclude this enquiry which to many may seem of no use, or too much scruple; and let us see whether Anger may be lulled asleep, and whether it affords any release to the Mind, whilst the Body is at rest.

We cannot doubt but that if Sleep can hardly insinuate it self in those Pas­sions which are least violent, it is as it were impossible that it should ever surprise this which is altogether in excess and ve­hemency; The calm it is accompanied withal, cannot agree with the tempest it raiseth; and whether it be formed by the intermission of the Soul which knits and stops the spirits, or by means of those sweet vapors which digestion sends up, which like pleasant clouds tempers the heat of the Brain, and shuts the passage of the sences; we ought not to expect that any of these causes should produce it here wherein there are none but sharp and burn­ing [Page 369]vapors, which heated Choler causeth to rise up in the Brain; and wherein the Soul is so powerfully agitated, that far from being able to stop the Spirits, she cannot retain even herself. Yet this ought to be understood of the time when this Passion is in its rage, and in its greatest ardor; for when it is a little appeased it suf­fers sleep to benum the sences, to repair those losses which its watchings and labour hath caused.

But what rest soever it affords, it forbears not to preserve in the Soul and in the Humors the remains of that storm which Anger had raised in them. For it is commonly disturbed with a thou­sand kinde of Dreams which sometimes represent fires and burnings, sometimes threatnings, and Combates, and Victo­ries; now the cause of all these Dreams comes either from the imagination, which being still full of those species which Pas­sion had there left, and feeling also, if we may so speak, the shake which the desire of Vengeance had given it, it insensibly suffers it self to be carried away, and so continues its first designs, which it al­ways causeth happily to succeed, being no [Page 370]longer conducted by the Sences, nor by Reason, nor taking any other counsel but such as self-love and Pride which Anger brings along with it, affords it. For it is from thence these advantages come which a man who sleeps upon his wrath, believes he receives in all his Dreams; it seems to him that he is alwayes the stronger, of the better address; he never sees his Ene­my but he represents him unto himself ei­ther weak or submitting, and he in them undertakes no combate but he comes off with the Victory and in Triumph.

But it may also happen, that the Soul may be altogether in a calm, and that no remains of the trouble which the Passion had before brought, may stay behind; and yet all these illusions will not forbear to happen, and then it is no longer a conti­nuation of its first designs, but a new mo­tion which the Spirits and the Humors raise in the fancy; for whether their agi­tation subsists after that of the Soul, the impression of the motion, preserving it self longer in these bodies then in the Ap­petite, whether by reason Choler being se­parated from the mass of blood, cannot so soon resume its just place; both are able [Page 371]to form all these violent Dreams which we have spoken of: The difficulty is to know how this may be done, since these things touch not the sences, which are benummed; nor consequently the imagination, which works onely on those images which it hath thence received. And were they even at liberty, there is no likelihood that they should know what passeth thus in the se­cret of the Veins; What then is it which can raise in the Soul all these Chimera's and Phantasms, which have so much re­lation with that Motion which the spirits then suffer, and so much resemblance with that humor which is in disorder?

We must certainly confess, that besides this exterior knowledge which the Sences afford her, she hath another which is inte­rior and secret, which Nature hath inspi­red, by means whereof she sees and knows all what is done in her organs, and that with that light she who is present with all the parts, easily observes what is done in them, and afterwards communicates it to the imagination, which is as it were the center of all her knowledge. But foras­much as this is obscure and confused, she instructs not this Faculty clearly, and af­fords [Page 372]it onely a general view of those ob­jects which concern her; it's for the same reason also that she forms no perfect ima­ges which respect things as they are, but which onely have some relation and agree­ment together. So when choler is moved, although the Soul distinctly knows not the nature nor the species, yet she knows it to be a humor which is hot and ardent, and upon the report which she hath made there­of to the imagination, this fancies to it self sparkling colours, flames and burn­ings, which have a conformity with that general notion which she had received of them. And because that she also knows that this Humor serves Anger and Bold­ness to destroy the Enemy which they as­sault, seeing herself in such a condition as in these Passions she useth to be in, she pre­sently thereupon proposeth such objects and designes, and so forms Enemies, Assaults, and Combates. We may say as much of the agitation which remains in the Spirits after the esmotion of the Soul is at an end. For observing it during sleep, she who knows that it's the motion which in Anger she makes use of, reingageth herself afresh in this Passion, and sleeping reassum the desires and designs of reven [...] which [Page 373]waking she had already given over. She doth the like also proportionably, when the other humors are irregular; when the spirits finde themselves agitated with the motion of some other Passion; in a word, it is thus, that she forms all Dreams which come from the good or ill disposition of the body, as we have shewed in the Trea­tise of Love out of Inclination.

There remains two effects onely to be examined, concerning which we must consult Physick; for it is from her we must learn What Pulse there is in Anger, and in what disposition the Heart and the Lungs are when it is kindled in those parts.

As for the first, All Physicians are a­greed, That the Pulse herein is great, high, quick, frequent, and vehement, and that the violence of the heat, and force of the vital Faculty, are the principal causes of all these differences.

But although all this be true, yet we may say that this kinde of Pulse is not proper and particular to Anger, since it is also to be found in Boldness, as we decla­red [Page 374]treating of that Passion; and that cer­tainly there must be somewhat which hi­therto hath not been observed, which di­stinguisheth it from this, there being no probability that these two Passions should diversly agitate the Soul and the Spirits, without causing also in the Heart and in the Arteries different motions: It is there­fore certain, that in both of them the pulse is great and high; but in Boldness it is full and extented, and we may feel the Ar­tery under our fingers which swells every way; instead that in Anger it puts all her endeavor forwards, and without enlarging it self it darts it self outwardly, making the pulse thereby high, which seems ra­ther streight then large. And certainly as the Spirits follow the design of the Soul which throws herself out of herself to as­sault the Enemy, their sally must needs be made as hers is, from the center to the cir­cumference, and that if the Arteries are to be restrained as it is necessary, and as we shall hereafter demonstrate, it ought to be by the sides, that the Spirits may be left at liberty to dart themselves forth; but there is no question to be made of this effect nor of its cause, if we remember that Grief and Boldness are here mingled together, [Page 375]and that at the same time both of them agitate the Heart and the Arteries with a motion proper to them; for if Grief ought to restrain it, that Boldness at the same time might open it, they must be streightned in some of the parts, and enlarged in others, in pursuit whereof, the Pulse appears high without being extended, as hath been said; yet we must observe that it is principally so in the motions of Anger, or that when it is in the ardor of Vengeance, or that it turns into Fury, this contraction is no more felt but it is found to be altogether large and full, as it is in Boldness; or whether the sence of Grief be stifled, or its effect suspended by the violence of other Passi­ons; or whether the Soul which is then as it were out of herself, minds no lon­ger her preservation, and without having a care of sheltering her self, she blindly exposeth her self to danger, and aban­dons her self to all the rage which posses­seth her.

The Respiration in this is just as it is in Boldness; for although it proceeds from the same causes the Pulse doth, that it is of the same use, and that its motions have the same relation: yet hath it not all the [Page 376]differences, or at least it hath not made them known, because we are not sensible by the touch of the Body of the Lungs where it is formed, as we are sensible of that of the Arteries, and that there is not such a tie betwixt that and the rest of the exterior organs which renders it sensible, as there is betwixt the Heart and these kind of Veins; for which cause there is neither hardness nor softness in the Respiration, as is in the pulse, nor can we observe any thing which comes near this kind of beat­ing, which we said was proper to Anger; although the Lungs suffer the same chan­ges, and be in the same condition as the Heat then is; for Hippocrates assures us, that in this Passion both the one and the other retire and restrain themselves in themselves, [...], although heat at the same time swells them and lifts them up. Now although we cannot doubt but these contrary motions come from the mixture of these two Passions whereof we have spoken; yet it is not easie to observe how they may be compatible together, nor what parts are destined for their re­ception, it being not probable that the same should be agitated by both together. For we cannot herein say of the Heart and [Page 377]Lungs, what we have said of the Arteries, their natural constitution and the action which they are obliged to perform, suffers them not to be restrained, as they are to be lift up: It must necessarily be that they must extend when they open them­selves.

But if they extend themselves so, how can they restrain themselves? Certainly, we must say that their flesh and substance gathers comprench and restrains it self, and that their cavities enlarge themselves, instead that in Joy all the parts release and soften themselves, having not that need to fortifie themselves as here they have; in effect, the pulse which appears harder in Anger then in Boldness, is a certain sign that the substance of the Arteries restrains and hardens it self; and we can­not doubt but that the hardness of these parts comes from the contraction of the Soul, since it is for that onely reason that the pulse becomes hard in Fear.

All the difficulty remaining is, To know why the Arteries which borrow the vertue of moving themselves from the Heart, have not a motion like his, and that they streighten their cavity on the sides, [Page 378]although that enlargeth his own on all sides.

To resolve this difficulty, we must ob­serve that the beating of the Arteries is not the same which is in the Heart, since those open and lift themselves up, whilst this fall and shuts it self. So that they must needs be too different motions, and conse­quently proceed from two different ver­tues. And if this be true, there is no ne­cessity that they should resemble in all things, and the Heart in any sence may enlarge it self without any necessity for the Arteries to do the same; now as the Heart hath its Ventricles placed on the right and left which necessarily ought to open themselves to receive blood and air which enters therein, it's impossible the Soul should cause it to make a motion conformable to the Passions wherewith it is agitated, as is made in the Arteries where this impediment is not, and where she hath all the liberty to satisfie Grief by restraining them, and Boldness by rais­ing them up, as hath been said. As for the Lungs, there is a particular reason for which they cannot restrain themselves as the o­thers do; for they have not the power to move themselves, and of themselves they [Page 379]lift themselves not up to give place to the air which enters. It is the muscles of re­spiration, which extending themselves widen the capacity of the Breast, and con­strain the Lungs to open, to hinder a va­cuum; for which cause waving the mo­tive Faculty, they have not those kinds of motion, which depend therefrom.

But it is to pry too far into the secrets of Physick, and the further clearing hereof would be useless to those who know it, and those who are ignorant of it would never be sufficiently informed. Let us onely say, That although Anger causeth often very great disorders in the Soul and in the Body, Anger is profitable to health. yet it is not always an enemy to Reason, nor to Health. It is absolutely necessary for weak and idle minds, and for cold and gross constitutions; and even in all others it may be compared to winds, which how impetuous soever they are drive away va­pors and mists, clearing the air, and ren­dring it the more pure and wholesom. In effect, if we seek to hinder its course, or that we would restrain it, without suffering it so much as to exhale it self by words, it preserves it self a long time in the Soul, and at last alters the humors, whence of­ten happen great and pernicious sicknesses. [Page 380]For as the inferior part is deaf to the coun­sels of Reason, and that she proposeth to herself revenge as the end she tends unto, she will cause her motion to cease untill she is at least in some manner revenged. So that the Will may then hinder those actions over which it hath a power, such as are words, blows, and the like; but for those which are not under its direction, as are the motions of the Heart, and the agi­tation of the Humors, they must necessa­rily be continued, they must even by this restraint be rendred the more violent, and they must last the longer time, since we de­lay our revenge, which is the end which ought to terminate them.