Essays. Michel de Montaigne
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Название: Essays

Автор: Michel de Montaigne

Издательство: John Wiley & Sons Limited

Жанр: История

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isbn: 9780857089342

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СКАЧАТЬ the same manner that study is a torment to an idle man, abstinence from wine to a drunkard, frugality to the spendthrift, and exercise to a lazy, tender-bred fellow, so it is of all the rest. The things are not so painful and difficult of themselves, but our weakness or cowardice makes them so. To judge of great, and high matters requires a suitable soul; otherwise we attribute the vice to them which is really our own. A straight oar seems crooked in the water it does not only import that we see the thing, but how and after what manner we see it.

      After all this, why, amongst so many discourses that by so many arguments persuade men to despise death and to endure pain, can we not find out one that helps us? And of so many sorts of imaginations as have so prevailed upon others as to persuade them to do so, why does not everyone apply someone to himself, the most suitable to his own humour? If he cannot digest a strong-working decoction to eradicate the evil, let him at least take a lenitive to ease it:

       It is an effeminate and flimsy opinion, nor more so in pain than in pleasure, in which, while we are at our ease, we cannot bear without a cry the sting of a bee. The whole business is to commend thyself.

      —Cicero, Tusculum Disputations, ii. 22.

      As to the rest, a man does not transgress philosophy by permitting the acrimony of pains and human frailty to prevail so much above measure; for they constrain her to go back to her unanswerable replies: “If it be ill to live in necessity, at least there is no necessity upon a man to live in necessity”: “No man continues ill long but by his own fault.” He who has neither the courage to die nor the heart to live, who will neither resist nor fly, what can we do with him?

      Cicero says “that to study philosophy is nothing but to prepare one's self to die.” The reason of which is, because study and contemplation do in some sort withdraw from us our soul, and employ it separately from the body, which is a kind of apprenticeship and a resemblance of death; or, else, because all the wisdom and reasoning in the world do in the end conclude in this point, to teach us not to fear to die. And to say the truth, either our reason mocks us, or it ought to have no other aim but our contentment only, nor to endeavour anything but, in sum, to make us live well, and, as the Holy Scripture says, at our ease. All the opinions of the world agree in this, that pleasure is our end, though we make use of divers means to attain it: they would, otherwise, be rejected at the first motion; for who would give ear to him that should propose affliction and misery for his end? The controversies and disputes of the philosophical sects upon this point are merely verbal:

       Transcurramus solertissimas nugas.

      [Let us skip over those subtle trifles.

      —Seneca, Epistles, 117.]

      —there is more in them of opposition and obstinacy than is consistent with so sacred a profession; but whatsoever personage a man takes upon himself to perform, he ever mixes his own part with it.

       Omnes eodem cogimur; omnium

       Versatur urna serius ocius

       Sors exitura, et nos in aeternum

       Exilium impositura cymbae.

      [We are all bound one voyage; the lot of all, sooner or later, is to come out of the urn. All must to eternal exile sail away.

      —Horace, Odes, ii. 3, 25.]

      and, consequently, if it frights us, it is a perpetual torment, for which there is no sort of consolation. There is no way by which it may not reach us. We may continually turn our heads this way and that, as in a suspected country:

       Quae, quasi saxum Tantalo, semper impendet.

      [Ever, like Tantalus stone, hangs over us.

      —Cicero, De Finibus, i. 18.]

       Non Siculae dapes

       Dulce melaborabunt saporem:

       Non avium cyatheaceae cantus

       Somnum reducent.

      [Sicilian dainties will not tickle their palates, nor the melody of birds and harps bring back sleep.

      —Horace, Odes, iii. 1, 18.]

      Do you think they can relish it? and that СКАЧАТЬ