built, in good repair, of solid stuff; but a bad tenant lets it rain
in, and for want of reparation, fall to decay, &c. Our parents, tutors,
friends, spare no cost to bring us up in our youth, in all manner of
virtuous education; but when we are left to ourselves, idleness as a
tempest drives all virtuous motions out of our minds, et nihili sumus,
on a sudden, by sloth and such bad ways, we come to nought.
Cousin german to idleness, and a concomitant cause, which goes hand in
hand with it, is [1558]nimia solitudo, too much solitariness, by the
testimony of all physicians, cause and symptom both; but as it is here
put for a cause, it is either coact, enforced, or else voluntary.
Enforced solitariness is commonly seen in students, monks, friars,
anchorites, that by their order and course of life must abandon all
company, society of other men, and betake themselves to a private cell:
Otio superstitioso seclusi, as Bale and Hospinian well term it, such as
are the Carthusians of our time, that eat no flesh (by their order),
keep perpetual silence, never go abroad. Such as live in prison, or
some desert place, and cannot have company, as many of our country
gentlemen do in solitary houses, they must either be alone without
companions, or live beyond their means, and entertain all comers as so
many hosts, or else converse with their servants and hinds, such as are
unequal, inferior to them, and of a contrary disposition: or else as
some do, to avoid solitariness, spend their time with lewd fellows in
taverns, and in alehouses, and thence addict themselves to some
unlawful disports, or dissolute courses. Divers again are cast upon
this rock of solitariness for want of means, or out of a strong
apprehension of some infirmity, disgrace, or through bashfulness,
rudeness, simplicity, they cannot apply themselves to others' company.
Nullum solum infelici gratius solitudine, ubi nullus sit qui miseriam
exprobret; this enforced solitariness takes place, and produceth his
effect soonest in such as have spent their time jovially, peradventure
in all honest recreations, in good company, in some great family or
populous city, and are upon a sudden confined to a desert country
cottage far off, restrained of their liberty, and barred from their
ordinary associates; solitariness is very irksome to such, most
tedious, and a sudden cause of great inconvenience.
Voluntary solitariness is that which is familiar with melancholy, and
gently brings on like a Siren, a shoeing-horn, or some sphinx to this
irrevocable gulf, [1559]a primary cause, Piso calls it; most pleasant
it is at first, to such as are melancholy given, to lie in bed whole
days, and keep their chambers, to walk alone in some solitary grove,
betwixt wood and water, by a brook side, to meditate upon some
delightsome and pleasant subject, which shall affect them most;
amabilis insania, et mentis gratissimus error: a most incomparable
delight it is so to melancholise, and build castles in the air, to go
smiling to themselves, acting an infinite variety of parts, which they
suppose and strongly imagine they represent, or that they see acted or
done: Blandae quidem ab initio, saith Lemnius, to conceive and meditate
of such pleasant things, sometimes, [1560]present, past, or to come, as
Rhasis speaks. So delightsome these toys are at first, they could spend
whole days and nights without sleep, even whole years alone in such
contemplations, and fantastical meditations, which are like unto
dreams, and they will hardly be drawn from them, or willingly
interrupt, so pleasant their vain conceits are, that they hinder their
ordinary tasks and necessary business, they cannot address themselves
to them, or almost to any study or employment, these fantastical and
bewitching thoughts so covertly, so feelingly, so urgently, so
continually set upon, creep in, insinuate, possess, overcome, distract,
and detain them, they cannot, I say, go about their more necessary
business, stave off or extricate themselves, but are ever musing,
melancholising, and carried along, as he (they say) that is led round
about a heath with a Puck in the night, they run earnestly on in this
labyrinth of anxious and solicitous melancholy meditations, and cannot
well or willingly refrain, or easily leave off, winding and unwinding
themselves, as so many clocks, and still pleasing their humours, until
at last the scene is turned upon a sudden, by some bad object, and they
being now habituated to such vain meditations and solitary places, can
endure no company, can ruminate of nothing but harsh and distasteful
subjects. Fear, sorrow, suspicion, subrusticus pudor, discontent,
cares, and weariness of life surprise them in a moment, and they can
think of nothing else, continually suspecting, no sooner are their eyes
open, but this infernal plague of melancholy seizeth on them, and
terrifies their souls, representing some dismal object to their minds,
which now by no means, no labour, no persuasions they can avoid, haeret
lateri lethalis arundo, (the arrow of death still remains in the side),
they may not be rid of it, [1561]they cannot resist. I may not deny but
that there is some profitable meditation, contemplation, and kind of
solitariness to be embraced, which the fathers so highly commended,
[1562] Hierom, Chrysostom, Cyprian, Austin, in whole tracts, which
Petrarch, Erasmus, Stella, and others, so much magnify in their books;
a paradise, a heaven on earth, if it be used aright, good for the body,
and better for the soul: as many of those old monks used it, to divine
contemplations, as Simulus, a courtier in Adrian's time, Diocletian the
emperor, retired themselves, &c., in that sense, Vatia solus scit
vivere, Vatia lives alone, which the Romans were wont to say, when they
commended a country life. Or to the bettering of their knowledge, as
Democritus, Cleanthes, and those excellent philosophers have ever done,
to sequester themselves from the tumultuous world, or as in Pliny's
villa Laurentana, Tully's Tusculan, Jovius' study, that they might
better vacare studiis et Deo, serve God, and follow their studies.
Methinks, therefore, our too zealous innovators were not so well
advised in that general subversion of abbeys and religious houses,
promiscuously to fling down all; they might have taken away those gross
abuses crept in amongst them, rectified such inconveniences, and not so
far to have raved and raged against those fair buildings, and
everlasting monuments of our forefathers' devotion, consecrated to
pious uses; some monasteries and collegiate cells might have been well
spared, and their revenues otherwise employed, here and there one, in
good towns or cities at least, for men and women of all sorts and
conditions to live in, to sequester themselves from the cares and
tumults of the world, that were not desirous, or fit to marry; or
otherwise willing to be troubled with common affairs, and know not well
where to bestow themselves, to live apart in, for more conveniency,
good education, better company sake, to follow their studies (I say),
to the perfection of arts and sciences, common good, and as some truly
devoted monks of old had done, freely and truly to serve God. For these
men are neither solitary, nor idle, as the poet made answer to the
husbandman in Aesop, that objected idleness to him; he was never so
idle as in his company; or that Scipio Africanus in [1563]Tully,
Nunquam minus solus, quam cum solus; nunquam minus otiosus, quam quum
esset otiosus; never less solitary, than when he was alone, never more
busy, than when he seemed to be most idle. It is reported by Plato in
his dialogue de Amore, in that prodigious commendation of Socrates, how
a deep meditation coming into Socrates' mind by chance, he stood still
musing, eodem vestigio cogitabundus, from morning to noon, and when as
then he had not yet finished his meditation, perstabat cogitans, he so
continued till the evening, the soldiers (for he then followed the
camp) observed him with admiration, and on set purpose watched all
night, but he persevered immovable ad exhortim solis, till the sun rose
in the morning, and then saluting the sun, went his ways. In what
humour constant Socrates did thus, I know not, or how he might be
affected, but this would be pernicious to another man; what intricate
business might so really possess him, I cannot easily guess; but this
is otiosum otium, it is far otherwise with these men, according to
Seneca, Omnia nobis mala solitudo persuadet; this solitude undoeth us,
pugnat cum vita sociali; 'tis a destructive solitariness. These men are
devils alone, as the saying is, Homo solus aut Deus, aut Daemon: a man
alone, is either a saint or a devil, mens ejus aut languescit, aut
tumescit; and [1564]Vae soli in this sense, woe be to him that is so
alone. These wretches do frequently degenerate from men, and of
sociable creatures become beasts, monsters, inhumane, ugly to behold,
Misanthropi; they do even loathe themselves, and hate the company of
men, as so many Timons, Nebuchadnezzars, by too much indulging to these
pleasing humours, and through their own default. So that which
Mercurialis, consil. 11, sometimes expostulated with his melancholy
patient, may be justly applied to every solitary and idle person in
particular. [1565]Natura de te videtur conqueri posse, &c. Nature may
justly complain of thee, that whereas she gave thee a good wholesome
temperature, a sound body, and God hath given thee so divine and
excellent a soul, so many good parts, and profitable gifts, thou hast
not only contemned and rejected, but hast corrupted them, polluted
them, overthrown their temperature, and perverted those gifts with
riot, idleness, solitariness, and many other ways, thou art a traitor
to God and nature, an enemy to thyself and to the world. Perditio tua
ex te; thou hast lost thyself wilfully, cast away thyself, thou thyself
art the efficient cause of thine own misery, by not resisting such vain
cogitations, but giving way unto them.
SUBSECT. VII.—_Sleeping and Waking, Causes_.
What I have formerly said of exercise, I may now repeat of sleep.
Nothing better than moderate sleep, nothing worse than it, if it be in
extremes, or unseasonably used. It is a received opinion, that a
melancholy man cannot sleep overmuch; Somnus supra modum prodest, as an
only antidote, and nothing offends them more, or causeth this malady
sooner, than waking, yet in some cases sleep may do more harm than
good, in that phlegmatic, swinish, cold, and sluggish melancholy which
Melancthon speaks of, that thinks of waters, sighing most part, &c.
[1566]It dulls the spirits, if overmuch, and senses; fills the head
full of gross humours; causeth distillations, rheums, great store of
excrements in the brain, and all the other parts, as [1567]Fuchsius
speaks of them, that sleep like so many dormice. Or if it be used in
the daytime, upon a full stomach, the body ill-composed to rest, or
after hard meats, it increaseth fearful dreams, incubus, night walking,
crying out, and much unquietness; such sleep prepares the body, as
[1568]one observes, to many perilous diseases. But, as I have said,
waking overmuch, is both a symptom, and an ordinary cause. It causeth
dryness of the brain, frenzy, dotage, and makes the body dry, lean,
hard, and ugly to behold, as [1569]Lemnius hath it. The temperature of
the brain is corrupted by it, the humours adust, the eyes made to sink
into the head, choler increased, and the whole body inflamed: and, as
may be added out of Galen, 3. de sanitate tuendo, Avicenna 3. 1.
[1570]It overthrows the natural heat, it causeth crudities, hurts,
concoction, and what not? Not without good cause therefore Crato,
consil. 21. lib. 2; Hildesheim, spicel. 2. de delir. et Mania,
Jacchinus, Arculanus on Rhasis, Guianerius and Mercurialis, reckon up
this overmuch waking as a principal cause.
MEMB. III.
SUBSECT. I.—_Passions and Perturbations of the Mind, how they cause
Melancholy_.
As that gymnosophist in [1571]Plutarch made answer to Alexander
(demanding which spake best), Every one of his fellows did speak better
than the other: so may I say of these causes; to him that shall require
which is the greatest, every one is more grievous than other, and this
of passion the greatest of all. A most frequent and ordinary cause of
melancholy, [1572] fulmen perturbationum (Picolomineus calls it) this
thunder and lightning of perturbation, which causeth such violent and
speedy alterations in this our microcosm, and many times subverts the
good estate and temperature of it. For as the body works upon the mind
by his bad humours, troubling the spirits, sending gross fumes into the
brain, and so per consequens disturbing the soul, and all the faculties
of it,
[1573]———Corpus onustum,
Hesternis vitiis animum quoque praegravat una,
with fear, sorrow, &c., which are ordinary symptoms of this disease: so
on the other side, the mind most effectually works upon the body,
producing by his passions and perturbations miraculous alterations, as
melancholy, despair, cruel diseases, and sometimes death itself.
Insomuch that it is most true which Plato saith in his Charmides, omnia
corporis mala ab anima procedere; all the [1574]mischiefs of the body
proceed from the soul: and Democritus in [1575]Plutarch urgeth,
Damnatam iri animam a corpore, if the body should in this behalf bring
an action against the soul, surely the soul would be cast and
convicted, that by her supine negligence had caused such
inconveniences, having authority over the body, and using it for an
instrument, as a smith doth his hammer (saith [1576]Cyprian), imputing
all those vices and maladies to the mind. Even so doth
[1577]Philostratus, non coinquinatur corpus, nisi consensuanimae; the
body is not corrupted, but by the soul. Lodovicus Vives will have such
turbulent commotions proceed from ignorance and indiscretion. [1578]All
philosophers impute the miseries of the body to the soul, that should
have governed it better, by command of reason, and hath not done it.
The Stoics are altogether of opinion (as [1579]Lipsius and
[1580]Picolomineus record), that a wise man should be ἀπαθής, without
all manner of passions and perturbations whatsoever, as [1581]Seneca
reports of Cato, the [1582] Greeks of Socrates, and [1583]Io. Aubanus
of a nation in Africa, so free from passion, or rather so stupid, that
if they be wounded with a sword, they will only look back.
[1584]Lactantius, 2 instit., will exclude fear from a wise man: others
except all, some the greatest passions. But let them dispute how they
will, set down in Thesi, give precepts to the contrary; we find that of
[1585]Lemnius true by common experience; No mortal man is free from
these perturbations: or if he be so, sure he is either a god, or a
block. They are born and bred with us, we have them from our parents by
inheritance. A parentibus habemus malum hunc assem, saith
[1586]Pelezius, Nascitur una nobiscum, aliturque, 'tis propagated from
Adam, Cain was melancholy, [1587]as Austin hath it, and who is not?
Good discipline, education, philosophy, divinity (I cannot deny), may
mitigate and restrain these passions in some few men at some times, but
most part they domineer, and are so violent, [1588]that as a torrent
(torrens velut aggere rupto) bears down all before, and overflows his
banks, sternit agros, sternit sata, (lays waste the fields, prostrates
the crops,) they overwhelm reason, judgment, and pervert the
temperature of the body; Fertur [1589] equis auriga, nec audit currus
habenas. Now such a man (saith [1590]Austin) that is so led, in a wise
man's eye, is no better than he that stands upon his head. It is
doubted by some, Gravioresne morbi a perturbationibus, an ab humoribus,
whether humours or perturbations cause the more grievous maladies. But
we find that of our Saviour, Mat. xxvi. 41, most true, The spirit is
willing, the flesh is weak, we cannot resist; and this of [1591]Philo
Judeus, Perturbations often offend the body, and are most frequent
causes of melancholy, turning it out of the hinges of his health. Vives
compares them to [1592]Winds upon the sea, some only move as those
great gales, but others turbulent quite overturn the ship. Those which
are light, easy, and more seldom, to our thinking, do us little harm,
and are therefore contemned of us: yet if they be reiterated, [1593]as
the rain (saith Austin) doth a stone, so do these perturbations
penetrate the mind: [1594]and (as one observes) produce a habit of
melancholy at the last, which having gotten the mastery in our souls,
may well be called diseases.
How these passions produce this effect, [1595]Agrippa hath handled at
large, Occult. Philos. l. 11. c. 63. Cardan, l. 14. subtil. Lemnius, l.
1. c. 12, de occult. nat. mir. et lib. 1. cap. 16. Suarez, Met. disput.
18. sect. 1. art. 25. T. Bright, cap. 12. of his Melancholy Treatise.
Wright the Jesuit, in his Book of the Passions of the Mind, &c. Thus in
brief, to our imagination cometh by the outward sense or memory, some
object to be known (residing in the foremost part of the brain), which
he misconceiving or amplifying presently communicates to the heart, the
seat of all affections. The pure spirits forthwith flock from the brain
to the heart, by certain secret channels, and signify what good or bad
object was presented; [1596]which immediately bends itself to
prosecute, or avoid it; and withal, draweth with it other humours to
help it: so in pleasure, concur great store of purer spirits; in
sadness, much melancholy blood; in ire, choler. If the imagination be
very apprehensive, intent, and violent, it sends great store of spirits
to, or from the heart, and makes a deeper impression, and greater
tumult, as the humours in the body be likewise prepared, and the
temperature itself ill or well disposed, the passions are longer and
stronger; so that the first step and fountain of all our grievances in
this kind, is [1597]laesa imaginatio, which misinforming the heart,
causeth all these distemperatures, alteration and confusion of spirits
and humours. By means of which, so disturbed, concoction is hindered,
and the principal parts are much debilitated; as [1598]Dr. Navarra well
declared, being consulted by Montanus about a melancholy Jew. The
spirits so confounded, the nourishment must needs be abated, bad
humours increased, crudities and thick spirits engendered with
melancholy blood. The other parts cannot perform their functions,
having the spirits drawn from them by vehement passion, but fail in
sense and motion; so we look upon a thing, and see it not; hear, and
observe not; which otherwise would much affect us, had we been free. I
may therefore conclude with [1599]Arnoldus, Maxima vis est phantasiae,
et huic uni fere, non autem corporis intemperiei, omnis melancholiae
causa est ascribenda: Great is the force of imagination, and much more
ought the cause of melancholy to be ascribed to this alone, than to the
distemperature of the body. Of which imagination, because it hath so
great a stroke in producing this malady, and is so powerful of itself,
it will not be improper to my discourse, to make a brief digression,
and speak of the force of it, and how it causeth this alteration. Which
manner of digression, howsoever some dislike, as frivolous and
impertinent, yet I am of [1600]Beroaldus's opinion, Such digressions do
mightily delight and refresh a weary reader, they are like sauce to a
bad stomach, and I do therefore most willingly use them.
SUBSECT. II.—_Of the Force of Imagination_.