The present publication is intended to supply a recognised deficiency in our literature — a library edition of the Essays of Montaigne. This great French writer deserves to be regarded as a classic, not only in the land of his birth, but in all countries and in all literatures.
But, at the same time, estimating the value and rank of the essayist, we are not to leave out of the account the drawbacks and the circumstances of the period: Montaigne freely borrowed of others, and he has found men willing to borrow of him as freely. We need not wonder at the reputation which he with seeming facility achieved. He was, without being aware of it, the leader of a new school in letters and morals.
His book was different from all others which were at that date in the world. It diverted the ancient currents of thought into new channels. Above all, the essayist uncased himself, and made his intellectual and physical organism public property. He took the world into his confidence on all subjects. Of all egotists, Montaigne, if not the greatest, was the most fascinating, because, perhaps, he was the least affected and most truthful.
What he did, and what he had professed to do, was to dissect his mind, and show us, as best he could, how it was made, and what relation it bore to external objects. He investigated his mental structure as a schoolboy pulls his watch to pieces, to examine the mechanism of the works; and the result, accompanied by illustrations abounding with originality and force, he delivered to his fellow-men in a book.
Eloquence, rhetorical effect, poetry, were alike remote from his design. He did not write from necessity, scarcely perhaps for fame. But he desired to leave France, nay, and the world, something to be remembered by, something which should tell what kind of a man he was — what he felt, thought, suffered — and he succeeded immeasurably, I apprehend, beyond his expectations.
It was reasonable enough that Montaigne should expect for his work a certain share of celebrity in Gascony, and even, as time went on, throughout France; but it is scarcely probable that he foresaw how his renown was to become world-wide; how he was to occupy an almost unique position as a man of letters and a moralist; how the Essays would be read, in all the principal languages of Europe, by millions of intelligent human beings, who never heard of Perigord or the League, and who are in doubt, if they are questioned, whether the author lived in the sixteenth or the eighteenth century.
This is true fame. A man of genius belongs to no period and no country. He speaks the language of nature, which is always everywhere the same. In the earliest impression the errors of the press are corrected merely as far as page of the first volume, and all the editions follow one another. That of —6 was the only one which the translator lived to see. He died in , leaving behind him an interesting and little-known collection of poems, which appeared posthumously, 8vo, A Life of the Author and all his recovered Letters, sixteen in number, have also been given; but, as regards the correspondence, it can scarcely be doubted that it is in a purely fragmentary state.
Nor is redundancy or paraphrase the only form of transgression in Cotton, for there are places in his author which he thought proper to omit, and it is hardly necessary to say that the restoration of all such matter to the text was considered essential to its integrity and completeness. By the favour of Mr F. It has his autograph and copious MSS. His father, Pierre Eyquem, esquire, was successively first Jurat of the town of Bordeaux , Under—Mayor , Jurat for the second time in , Procureur in , and at length Mayor from to To associate closely his son Michel with the people, and attach him to those who stand in need of assistance, he caused him to be held at the font by persons of meanest position; subsequently he put him out to nurse with a poor villager, and then, at a later period, made him accustom himself to the most common sort of living, taking care, nevertheless, to cultivate his mind, and superintend its development without the exercise of undue rigour or constraint.
Michel, who gives us the minutest account of his earliest years, charmingly narrates how they used to awake him by the sound of some agreeable music, and how he learned Latin, without suffering the rod or shedding a tear, before beginning French, thanks to the German teacher whom his father had placed near him, and who never addressed him except in the language of Virgil and Cicero.
The study of Greek took precedence. At six years of age young Montaigne went to the College of Guienne at Bordeaux, where he had as preceptors the most eminent scholars of the sixteenth century, Nicolas Grouchy, Guerente, Muret, and Buchanan. At thirteen he had passed through all the classes, and as he was destined for the law he left school to study that science. He was then about fourteen, but these early years of his life are involved in obscurity.
The next information that we have is that in he received the appointment of councillor in the Parliament of Bordeaux; in he was at Bar-le-Duc with the court of Francis II, and in the year following he was present at Rouen to witness the declaration of the majority of Charles IX. We do not know in what manner he was engaged on these occasions. Between and an important incident occurred in the life of Montaigne, in the commencement of his romantic friendship with Etienne de la Boetie, whom he had met, as he tells us, by pure chance at some festive celebration in the town.
From their very first interview the two found themselves drawn irresistibly close to one another, and during six years this alliance was foremost in the heart of Montaigne, as it was afterwards in his memory, when death had severed it. Although he blames severely in his own book [Essays, i. The history of his early married life vies in obscurity with that of his youth.
His biographers are not agreed among themselves; and in the same degree that he lays open to our view all that concerns his secret thoughts, the innermost mechanism of his mind, he observes too much reticence in respect to his public functions and conduct, and his social relations.
Michael, which was, as he informs us himself, the highest honour of the French noblesse. According to Lacroix du Maine, Montaigne, upon the death of his eldest brother, resigned his post of Councillor, in order to adopt the military profession, while, if we might credit the President Bouhier, he never discharged any functions connected with arms. However, several passages in the Essays seem to indicate that he not only took service, but that he was actually in numerous campaigns with the Catholic armies.
DE ILLVSIONE ABBATIS IOHANNIS.
Let us add, that on his monument he is represented in a coat of mail, with his casque and gauntlets on his right side, and a lion at his feet, all which signifies, in the language of funeral emblems, that the departed has been engaged in some important military transactions. However it may be as to these conjectures, our author, having arrived at his thirty-eighth year, resolved to dedicate to study and contemplation the remaining term of his life; and on his birthday, the last of February , he caused a philosophical inscription, in Latin, to be placed upon one of the walls of his chateau, where it is still to be seen, and of which the translation is to this effect: At the time to which we have come, Montaigne was unknown to the world of letters, except as a translator and editor.
We may suppose that he began to compose the Essays at the very outset of his retirement from public engagements; for as, according to his own account, observes the President Bouhier, he cared neither for the chase, nor building, nor gardening, nor agricultural pursuits, and was exclusively occupied with reading and reflection, he devoted himself with satisfaction to the task of setting down his thoughts just as they occurred to him. Those thoughts became a book, and the first part of that book, which was to confer immortality on the writer, appeared at Bordeaux in Montaigne was then fifty-seven; he had suffered for some years past from renal colic and gravel; and it was with the necessity of distraction from his pain, and the hope of deriving relief from the waters, that he undertook at this time a great journey.
As the account which he has left of his travels in Germany and Italy comprises some highly interesting particulars of his life and personal history, it seems worth while to furnish a sketch or analysis of it. The passage of Montaigne through Switzerland is not without interest, as we see there how our philosophical traveller accommodated himself everywhere to the ways of the country. The hotels, the provisions, the Swiss cookery, everything, was agreeable to him; it appears, indeed, as if he preferred to the French manners and tastes those of the places he was visiting, and of which the simplicity and freedom or frankness accorded more with his own mode of life and thinking.
In the towns where he stayed, Montaigne took care to see the Protestant divines, to make himself conversant with all their dogmas. He even had disputations with them occasionally. He then passed through Brunsol, Trent, where he put up at the Rose; thence going to Rovera; and here he first lamented the scarcity of crawfish, but made up for the loss by partaking of truffles cooked in oil and vinegar; oranges, citrons, and olives, in all of which he delighted.
After passing a restless night, when he bethought himself in the morning that there was some new town or district to be seen, he rose, we are told, with alacrity and pleasure. His secretary, to whom he dictated his Journal, assures us that he never saw him take so much interest in surrounding scenes and persons, and believes that the complete change helped to mitigate his sufferings in concentrating his attention on other points. When there was a complaint made that he had led his party out of the beaten route, and then returned very near the spot from which they started, his answer was that he had no settled course, and that he merely proposed to himself to pay visits to places which he had not seen, and so long as they could not convict him of traversing the same path twice, or revisiting a point already seen, he could perceive no harm in his plan.
As to Rome, he cared less to go there, inasmuch as everybody went there; and he said that he never had a lacquey who could not tell him all about Florence or Ferrara. He also would say that he seemed to himself like those who are reading some pleasant story or some fine book, of which they fear to come to the end: We see that Montaigne travelled, just as he wrote, completely at his ease, and without the least constraint, turning, just as he fancied, from the common or ordinary roads taken by tourists.
The good inns, the soft beds, the fine views, attracted his notice at every point, and in his observations on men and things he confines himself chiefly to the practical side. The consideration of his health was constantly before him, and it was in consequence of this that, while at Venice, which disappointed him, he took occasion to note, for the benefit of readers, that he had an attack of colic, and that he evacuated two large stones after supper.
He pronounced the Florentine women the finest in the world, but had not an equally good opinion of the food, which was less plentiful than in Germany, and not so well served. He lets us understand that in Italy they send up dishes without dressing, but in Germany they were much better seasoned, and served with a variety of sauces and gravies. He remarked further, that the glasses were singularly small and the wines insipid. After dining with the Grand—Duke of Florence, Montaigne passed rapidly over the intermediate country, which had no fascination for him, and arrived at Rome on the last day of November, entering by the Porta del Popolo, and putting up at Bear.
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But he afterwards hired, at twenty crowns a month, fine furnished rooms in the house of a Spaniard, who included in these terms the use of the kitchen fire. What most annoyed him in the Eternal City was the number of Frenchmen he met, who all saluted him in his native tongue; but otherwise he was very comfortable, and his stay extended to five months.
A mind like his, full of grand classical reflections, could not fail to be profoundly impressed in the presence of the ruins at Rome, and he has enshrined in a magnificent passage of the Journal the feelings of the moment: The world, jealous of her, prolonged empire, had in the first place broken to pieces that admirable body, and then, when they perceived that the remains attracted worship and awe, had buried the very wreck itself. Again, he was apprehensive, seeing the space which this grave occupied, that the whole might not have been recovered, and that the burial itself had been buried.
How newspapers, despite decline, still influence the political process
And, moreover, to see a wretched heap of rubbish, as pieces of tile and pottery, grow as it had ages since to a height equal to that of Mount Gurson, 3 and thrice the width of it, appeared to show a conspiracy of destiny against the glory and pre-eminence of that city, affording at the same time a novel and extraordinary proof of its departed greatness. He Montaigne observed that it was difficult to believe considering the limited area taken up by any of her seven hills and particularly the two most favoured ones, the Capitoline and the Palatine, that so many buildings stood on the site.
He believed that an ancient Roman would not recognise the place again. It often happened that in digging down into earth the workmen came upon the crown of some lofty column, which, though thus buried, was still standing upright. The people there have no recourse to other foundations than the vaults and arches of the old houses, upon which, as on slabs of rock, they raise their modern palaces.
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It is easy to see that several of the ancient streets are thirty feet below those at present in use. Sceptical as Montaigne shows himself in his books, yet during his sojourn at Rome he manifested a great regard for religion. He saw a Jewish child circumcised, and wrote down a most minute account of the operation. The court of Muscovy had at that time such limited relations with the other powers of Europe, and it was so imperfect in its information, that it thought Venice to be a dependency of the Holy See.
Of all the particulars with which he has furnished us during his stay at Rome, the following passage in reference to the Essays is not the least singular: I begged him, on the contrary, to abide by the opinion of the person who had criticised me, confessing, among other matters, as, for example, in my use of the word fortune, in quoting historical poets, in my apology for Julian, in my animadversion on the theory that he who prayed ought to be exempt from vicious inclinations for the time being; item, in my estimate of cruelty, as something beyond simple death; item, in my view that a child ought to be brought up to do everything, and so on; that these were my opinions, which I did not think wrong; as to other things, I said that the corrector understood not my meaning.
How newspapers, despite decline, still influence the political process | Media | The Guardian
The Master, who is a clever man, made many excuses for me, and gave me to suppose that he did not concur in the suggested improvements; and pleaded very ingeniously for me in my presence against another also an Italian who opposed my sentiments. Such is what passed between Montaigne and these two personages at that time; but when the Essayist was leaving, and went to bid them farewell, they used very different language to him. To excuse themselves for what they had said against my book, they instanced works of our time by cardinals and other divines of excellent repute which had been blamed for similar faults, which in no way affected reputation of the author, or of the publication as a whole; they requested me to lend the Church the support of my eloquence this was their fair speech , and to make longer stay in the place, where I should be free from all further intrusion on their part.
It seemed to me that we parted very good friends. Before quitting Rome, Montaigne received his diploma of citizenship, by which he was greatly flattered; and after a visit to Tivoli he set out for Loretto, stopping at Ancona, Fano, and Urbino. He arrived at the beginning of May , at Bagno della Villa, where he established himself, order to try the waters.
There, we find in the Journal, of his own accord the Essayist lived in the strictest conformity with the regime, and henceforth we only hear of diet, the effect which the waters had by degrees upon system, of the manner in which he took them; in a word, he does not omit an item of the circumstances connected with his daily routine, his habit of body, his baths, and the rest.
It was no longer the journal of a traveller which he kept, but the diary of an invalid, 4 attentive to the minutest details of the cure which he was endeavouring to accomplish: Montaigne gives it as his reason and justification for enlarging to this extent here, that he had omitted, to his regret, to do so in his visits to other baths, which might have saved him the trouble of writing at such great length now; but it is perhaps a better reason in our eyes, that what he wrote he wrote for his own use.
We find in these accounts, however, many touches which are valuable as illustrating the manners of the place. The minute and constant watchfulness of Montaigne over his health and over himself might lead one to suspect that excessive fear of death which degenerates into cowardice. But was it not rather the fear of the operation for the stone, at that time really formidable?
Or perhaps he was of the same way of thinking with the Greek poet, of whom Cicero reports this saying: For reason prescribes that we should joyfully accept what it may please God to send us. Therefore the only remedy, the only rule, and the sole doctrine for avoiding the evils by which mankind is surrounded, whatever they are, is to resolve to bear them so far as our nature permits, or to put an end to them courageously and promptly.
He was still at the waters of La Villa, when, on the 7th September , he learned by letter that he had been elected Mayor of Bordeaux on the 1st August preceding. This intelligence made him hasten his departure; and from Lucca he proceeded to Rome. He again made some stay in that city, and he there received the letter of the jurats of Bordeaux, notifying to him officially his election to the Mayoralty, and inviting him to return as speedily as possible. He passed by Padua, Milan, Mont Cenis, and Chambery; thence he went on to Lyons, and lost no time in repairing to his chateau, after an absence of seventeen months and eight days.
We have just seen that, during his absence in Italy, the author of the Essays was elected mayor of Bordeaux. I excused myself; but they gave to understand that I was wrong in so doing, it being also the command of the king that I should stand. I have had the agreeable duty of confirming the selection, and I did so the more willingly, seeing that it was made during your distant absence; wherefore it is my desire, and I require and command you expressly that you proceed without delay to enter on the duties to which you have received so legitimate a call. And so you will act in a manner very agreeable to me, while the contrary will displease me greatly.
Montaigne, in his new employment, the most important in the province, obeyed the axiom, that a man may not refuse a duty, though it absorb his time and attention, and even involve the sacrifice of his blood. Placed between two extreme parties, ever on the point of getting to blows, he showed himself in practice what he is in his book, the friend of a middle and temperate policy. Affectionately attached to the repose of his country, an enemy to changes and innovations, he would have preferred to employ what means he had towards their discouragement and suppression, than in promoting their success.
He applied himself, in an especial manner, to the maintenance of peace between the two religious factions which at that time divided the town of Bordeaux; and at the end of his two first years of office, his grateful fellow-citizens conferred on him in the mayoralty for two years more, a distinction which had been enjoyed, as he tells us, only twice before.
In the midst of the cares of government, Montaigne found time to revise and enlarge his Essays, which, since their appearance in , were continually receiving augmentation in the form of additional chapters or papers. Two more editions were printed in and ; and during this time the author, while making alterations in the original text, had composed part of the Third Book.
He went to Paris to make arrangements for the publication of his enlarged labours, and a fourth impression in was the result. He remained in the capital some time on this occasion, and it was now that he met for the first time Mademoiselle de Gournay. Gifted with an active and inquiring spirit, and, above all, possessing a sound and healthy tone of mind, Mademoiselle de Gournay had been carried from her childhood with that tide which set in with sixteenth century towards controversy, learning, and knowledge.
She learnt Latin without a master; and when, the age of eighteen, she accidentally became possessor of a copy of the Essays, she was transported with delight and admiration. She quitted the chateau of Gournay, to come and see him. We cannot do better, in connection with this journey of sympathy, than to repeat the words of Pasquier: Montaigne, on leaving Paris, stayed a short time at Blois, to attend the meeting of the States—General. We do not know what part he took in that assembly: His political life is almost a blank; but De Thou assures us that Montaigne enjoyed the confidence of the principal persons of his time.
De Thou, who calls him a frank man without constraint, tells us that, walking with him and Pasquier in the court at the Castle of Blois, he heard him pronounce some very remarkable opinions on contemporary events, and he adds that Montaigne had foreseen that the troubles in France could not end without witnessing the death of either the King of Navarre or of the Duke of Guise.
He had made himself so completely master of the views of these two princes, that he told De Thou that the King of Navarre would have been prepared to embrace Catholicism, if he had not been afraid of being abandoned by his party, and that the Duke of Guise, on his part, had no particular repugnance to the Confession of Augsburg, for which the Cardinal of Lorraine, his uncle, had inspired him with a liking, if it had not been for the peril involved in quitting the Romish communion. The author of the Essays was now fifty-five. The malady which tormented him grew only worse and worse with years; and yet he occupied himself continually with reading, meditating, and composition.
He employed the years , , and in making fresh additions to his book; and even in the approaches of old age he might fairly anticipate many happy hours, when he was attacked by quinsy, depriving him of the power utterance. Pasquier, who has left us some details his last hours, narrates that he remained three days in full possession of his faculties, but unable to speak, so that, in order to make known his desires, he was obliged to resort to writing; and as he felt his end drawing near, he begged his wife to summon certain of the gentlemen who lived in the neighbourhood to bid them a last farewell.
When they had arrived, he caused mass to be celebrated in apartment; and just as the priest was elevating the host, Montaigne fell forward with his arms extended in front of him, on the bed, and so expired. He was in his sixtieth year. It was the 13th September Montaigne was buried near his own house; but a few years after his decease, his remains were removed to the church of a Commandery of St.
Antoine at Bordeaux, where they still continue. His monument was restored in by a descendant. It was seen about by an English traveller Mr. On the other hand, Malebranche and the writers of Port Royal were against him; some reprehended the licentiousness of his writings; others their impiety, materialism, epicureanism. Even Pascal, who had carefully read the Essays, and gained no small profit by them, did not spare his reproaches. But Montaigne has outlived detraction. As time has gone on, his admirers and borrowers have increased in number, and his Jansenism, which recommended him to the eighteenth century, may not be his least recommendation in the nineteenth.
Here we have certainly, on the whole, a first-class man, and one proof of his masterly genius seems to be, that his merits and his beauties are sufficient to induce us to leave out of consideration blemishes and faults which would have been fatal to an inferior writer. Walpole to Sir Horace Mann, June 8, John, , 2 vols.
I well foresaw that, if his illness permitted him to express himself, he would allow nothing to fall from him, in such an extremity, that was not replete with good example. I consequently took every care in my power to treasure what was said. True it is, Monseigneur, as my memory is not only in itself very short, but in this case affected by the trouble which I have undergone, through so heavy and important a loss, that I have forgotten a number of things which I should wish to have had known; but those which I recollect shall be related to you as exactly as lies in my power.
For to represent in full measure his noble career suddenly arrested, to paint to you his indomitable courage, in a body worn out and prostrated by pain and the assaults of death, I confess, would demand a far better ability than mine: For I am sure that I never knew him give birth to such fine conceptions, or display so much eloquence, as in the time of his sickness.
If, Monseigneur, you blame me for introducing his more ordinary observations, please to know that I do so advisedly; for since they proceeded from him at a season of such great trouble, they indicate the perfect tranquillity of his mind and thoughts to the last.
On Monday, the 9th day of August , on my return from the Court, I sent an invitation to him to come and dine with me. He returned word that he was obliged, but, being indisposed, he would thank me to do him the pleasure of spending an hour with him before he started for Medoc.
Shortly after my dinner I went to him. He had laid himself down on the bed with his clothes on, and he was already, I perceived, much changed. He complained of diarrhoea, accompanied by the gripes, and said that he had it about him ever since he played with M. I advised him to go as he had proposed, but to stay for the night at Germignac, which is only about two leagues from the town.
I gave him this advice, because some houses, near to that where he was ping, were visited by the plague, about which he was nervous since his return from Perigord and the Agenois, here it had been raging; and, besides, horse exercise was, from my own experience, beneficial under similar circumstances. He set out, accordingly, with his wife and M. Early on the following morning, however, I had intelligence from Madame de la Boetie, that in the night he had fresh and violent attack of dysentery.
She had called in physician and apothecary, and prayed me to lose no time coming, which after dinner I did. He was delighted to see me; and when I was going away, under promise to turn the following day, he begged me more importunately and affectionately than he was wont to do, to give him as such of my company as possible. I was a little affected; yet was about to leave, when Madame de la Boetie, as if she foresaw something about to happen, implored me with tears to stay the night.
When I consented, he seemed to grow more cheerful. I returned home the next day, and on the Thursday I paid him another visit. He had become worse; and his loss of blood from the dysentery, which reduced his strength very much, was largely on the increase. I quitted his side on Friday, but on Saturday I went to him, and found him very weak. He then gave me to understand that his complaint was infectious, and, moreover, disagreeable and depressing; and that he, knowing thoroughly my constitution, desired that I should content myself with coming to see him now and then.
On the contrary, after that I never left his side. It was only on the Sunday that he began to converse with me on any subject beyond the immediate one of his illness, and what the ancient doctors thought of it: But, on the Sunday, he had a fainting fit; and when he came to himself, he told me that everything seemed to him confused, as if in a mist and in disorder, and that, nevertheless, this visitation was not unpleasing to him.
He had had no regular sleep since the beginning of his illness; and as he became worse and worse, he began to turn his attention to questions which men commonly occupy themselves with in the last extremity, despairing now of getting better, and intimating as much to me. On that day, as he appeared in tolerably good spirits, I took occasion to say to him that, in consideration of the singular love I bore him, it would become me to take care that his affairs, which he had conducted with such rare prudence in his life, should not be neglected at present; and that I should regret it if, from want of proper counsel, he should leave anything unsettled, not only on account of the loss to his family, but also to his good name.
He thanked me for my kindness; and after a little reflection, as if he was resolving certain doubts in his own mind, he desired me to summon his uncle and his wife by themselves, in order that he might acquaint them with his testamentary dispositions. I told him that this would shock them. I replied, that it was of no importance, being incidental to the complaint from which he suffered.
I should also regret it on account of such as have, in my lifetime, valued me, and whose conversation I should like to have enjoyed a little longer; and I beseech you, my brother, if I leave the world, to carry to them for me an assurance of the esteem I entertained for them to the last moment of my existence. My birth was, moreover, scarcely to so little purpose but that, had I lived, I might have done some service to the public; but, however this may be, I am prepared to submit to the will of God, when it shall please Him to call me, being confident of enjoying the tranquillity which you have foretold for me.
As for you, my friend, I feel sure that you are so wise, that you will control your emotions, and submit to His divine ordinance regarding me; and I beg of you to see that that good man and woman do not mourn for my departure unnecessarily. For without it God seems to have no coexistence with his creatures but all within. To say, that God only truly is, is one of the paradoxes. But that God only, truly is, I never read but in your writings. In him we live, and moove, and have our being saythe Saint Paul: In him we live but not truly; in him we moove but not truly, in him we have our being but not truly.
That God conteynes all things, and is not conteyned in any thing, we easily grant. And yet certeinly, there is no Spheare conteynes so much, but that a square figure may conteyne as much, thoughe not under the same limits. And can any man make doubt, but God coulde make a World of a square figure, that shoulde conteyne as much as this World dothe, thoughe in this case the Circumference of the World shoulde be greater then now it is? But because that all thinges cannot comprehend God, therfore you say, He is rightly resembled to a spheare, whose Circumference is no where.
Secondly it is impossible, that a body infinite should be Sphericall. If you aske, of what figure then shoulde it be? For I doe not thinke you looke to finde spheares any other where then among bodies. Your former discourse about the Spheare, together with the Center and Circumference spoken of of Gods immensitie, you perceave is likely to rayse some Spirits; and therfore aforehand, you shewe a course how to lay them. The first is, How a Center should be conceaved to be every where? The second How the indivisibility of Gods praesence should be compared to a Center?
For that an infinite body should exist, is not only by Aristotle and Aquinas prooved, but most generally helde to be impossible. For to coexist with that which is impossible to exist, what is it, but not to exist at all? By the same reason we must say, it agreeth not to God to be every were, so as that the infinity of his substance, is unto him the reason of his being every where. But you doe not love to betray your Authors.
For God the Author of the World is infinite.
Translated by Charles Cotton
But yet I professe I never heard or read before of any that maynteyned the possibility of a Spheare to be infinite, as that which implyes a manifest contradiction. For figures beinge the boundes of quantities it shoulde imply a bounded quantitie without boundes. Nowe consider a direct line passinge over S. From dover Eastward is infinite, and from Saint Michaels Eastward is but infinite.
So then these two are equall that is the part is equall to the whole. For the line from, Dover Eastward is but a part of the line from Saint Michaels Eastward in infinitum. Touching the second difficultie, to witt, how the indivisibility of Gods presence in every place may be compared to a Center: You say, this comparison is right, in as much as God hath no diversitie of parts.
Now consider I pray, How will you make the Majestie of God amendes, for these your injurious comparisons, to witt, in comparing him, to magnitude actually infinite, which indeede is just nothing? And marke withall, how you contradict your selfe. But for the most part I have ever shunned those trifling subtilties.
But consider we the particulars, which here you give us a part. Now I pray consider this: As Mathematicall quantitie is herein distinct from quantity Physicall, because that is abstract from matter, this is not: Now quantity, and poincts Mathematicall thus abstract from matter, are but only in imagination. Wherfore you may be advised, to let the question runne rather of a point physicall, then of a point Mathematicall, unles you looke for some succour, from that rule of course Mathematici abstrahunt, nec mentiuntur. Yet that woulde proove but a broken toothe and sliding foote, to keepe you from errour in this.
But I thinke the Nominalls are those most subtile Schoolemen you speake of; I envy not the glory which you give them, be it as great as that which Scaliger passethe upon Scot, Occam, and Sincet. The nominalls are much magnified by Hurtado di Mendosa. Secondly, there cannot be given the least place of an Angell, in such sort that he cannot define himselfe within a lesse. For my part I utterly dislike all these conceytes of an Angells power to extend or confine his owne essence: But we are not hitherunto come to the point; you point at; yet neyther Physicall nor Mathematicall, but that which I meane is your point Philosophicall.
Now you see we are upon the matter; and withall quite off from your assertion. For even these Nominalls doe not holde it to be a point irresoluble, as you speake, but resoluble, and they actually resolve it for the affirmative, to witt Gabriel Biel, after Occam. And indeede they resolve it bothe wayes: And yet it may be, some such there are. Now Occam and Biel propose certeyne termes, and they are these, si locus punctualis possibilis esset. I professe I cannot finde any other thinge in the notion of such a point, but negatio ulteriorie tendentiae, and what neede hathe this of the divine power to conteyne it?
And surely the point which continueth a line, is nothing more then the center of the earthe, and of that you professe in the next chapter and second section, that it is a matter of nothing. If God were more in a great place then in a lesse; then it would followe that an Asses head shoulde participate the essentiall presence of the deitie I speake in your owne instance and phrase in greater measure, then a mans heart dothe. And doe not you affect some popular applause in this discourse of yours, the vulgar sort being apt to conceave the contrary, namely that a mans heart participates the essentiall presence of the deitie in greater measure, then an Asses head: But it is manifest herby, more then enoughe, that your care is not so much for the investigation of truthe, as to give satisfaction unto vulgar conceyte.
But if we goe about to satisfie imagination, we shall never come to an ende. For Imagination transcends not that which is continuall, and hathe extension of parts; and all your courses of illustration hitherunto have inclined this way. You speake in your owne phrase when you say that all these before mentioned, to witt, unitie, infinitie, immensity, perfection, power are branches of quantitie; wheras we have more just cause to professe that no quantitie is to be found in God, no more then materiall constitution is to be found in him.
It is true, that if God were not, nothing could be, for as much as all other thinges have their being from him. For immensitie is rather magnitude infinite then multitude. And is this a proper course, to runne out to the imagination of thinges impossible to represent God by? Yet such courses, all they must needes take, that seeke out to satisfie imagination.
For imaginatio as we commonly say in Schooles non transcendit continuum. Besides this; the whole frame of your argument is unsound. As for example if he gives himselfe to study and meditate, there is no necessary use of other then of the inward faculties of his minde. If he playeth upon the Lute, there is no use of his legges and feete. Indeede if God were not as he is, he coulde not be so omnipotent as he is, we neede no paynes at all to proove this.
And the Scriptures represent his being every where in respect of two thinges. My way is hid from the Lord, and my judgement is passed over my God. Let me take the winges of the Morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the Sea, yet thither shall thine hand lead me, and thy right hand hold me. In hoc tamen excellit ordo in Spiritibus fitum in corporibus, quia persitum se habet anum corpus ad aliud immendiate, quoad sui extremum: Esse autem ubique non est esse in loco infinito.
I conclude with those old verses. Dic ubi tunc esset, cum praeter eum nihil esset, Tune, ubi nunc, in se, quoniam sibisufficit ipse. Of Eternity, or of the branch of absolute infinities, whereof Successive Duration of the imaginary infinity of time is the modell. But to be every where supposeth the creations, but to be semper alwayes, doth not: For God was alwayes ever before the world: And ere you turne over a new leafe, your self make doubt, whether Time hath the same proportion to eternity, as magnitude created hath to Divine Immensity.
You say we cannot properly say God was in time before the world was made; I say such a speech in my judgement seemes to be neyther proper nor improper; but directly false, even as false, as to say God was in place before he made the world: For before the world was made there was neyther time nor place: I willingly professe, that if it be a subtlety, it is of so subtle a sense, as quite passeth mine intelligence: I had thought it might be avouched of every thing that is past, that it is before all times to come: And that all future things are behind the things that are past.
Neyther had I thought any reason needfull to be given of this: Yet you seeme to make this a peculiar propertie of God, that like as he is before all times past, so allso he is before all times to come. Yet I gesse at your meaning: This mystery I seeme to find by your subsequentd iscourse and I wonder what you meane to carry your selfe so in the cloudes, when you might have exprest your selfe playnly.
This is to equivocate like the Iesuites. In the next place you propose a conclusion which is this. His eternity then is the inexhaustible founteyne or Ocean, from which time or Duration successive doth perpetually flow. But I can neither justifie this inference, nor the truth of the proposition inferred: For I know not from what premises of yours, it can be inferred. That, which went immediately before, was this: God is before all times future, as well as all times past; Now to inferre that God was before all time, therfore all time flowes from his eternity, is no good consequence.
God was before all place, therfore all places flowes from Gods eternity. We our selfes are before all times that are to come; but herehence it followes not, that all times to come flow from our eternity, or from us. Suppose Angells had bene made before the World, yet would it not thence followe that the World did flow from them. Now for the proposition it selfe inferred, it is subject to exceptions divers wayes. But nothing created doth in such sort flow from God. Agayne it is untrue that eternity produceth time or duration of things created: We no where read, that by the eternitie of God all things were made, Angells and Men, Heaven and Earth.
And so likewise as by his word he made all things, so by the power of his mighty word he supports all things. But that they depend upon his eternity, we have no ground to affirme; though it is true that both God, and his Word, and Spirit are eternall, otherwise he could not be the Creator of the World. Vpon the back of this, you come in with a new Paradox, namely that From all eternity, there was a possibility for us to be; as if it were possible for a creature to be from all eternity.
Yet I know some Scholemen have maynteyned it as what will not wild witts dare to undertake: I hold it to be impossible, and Durands reasons to the contrary are more pregnant, in my judgement, then any that are brought for it: By this let every sober man judg to what shifts this great Schoolman was put to salve this opinion of a possibilitie, of the worlds being eternall from contradiction. But the particular appetite being satisfied with the forme, it no longer remayneth, nor the capacity to receave it, that time being now past.
But rather an appetite there is in the matter to a new forme, by corruption of the present compound, which is the naturall ground of mans mortality. Ex tribus principiis Homo generatur? For Gods almighty power was able to make it out of nothing. So it was possible that Angells should be before they were. In like sort it was possible, that man should be, before he was. But as touching this power by your leave, I take it not to be spoken inrespect of the potentiallity going before the Act, which you saye is actuated, but rather in respect of a potentiallity consequent to the Act, or concomitant with it, as we conceave it of such a nature as may cease to be, or be destroyed.
For to be filled, presupposeth the existence of that which is to be filled. Whereas existence, in my judgement, is rather the actuation formall of essence, then is composed thereof. I think there is a liberall errour in this, and insteed of life sensitive, as I take it, there should be life vegetative. Now this doctrine of yours is wonderous strange. Neyther hath the existence of any vegetable, much lesse man, any degrees: And if our existence be present, as you call it, how can it be suckt in? For we suck in that which we have not; not that which we allready have.
So then, not existence, simply, but of quantity rather; nor the existence of quantity neyther, but a greater extension thereof is sucked-in by things that growe: The next point, I confesse, is no Paradox, when you saye, Except the vegetables by which our life is continued, had existence before they become our nutriment, they could not possibly nourish us. This, I say, is most true: Naye, if they had not theyr being before, they should have no being at all: For you propose this of life vegetative, which is found in plants as well as men; and the matter of theyr nourishment is only the moysture or fatues of the earth; which fatnes of the earth, how it drawes existence or continuance of its being so much as in your sense, I cannot conceave; sc.
But, by your leave, they doe not draw theyr continuance from God; God gives it rather, and that by naturall meanes, whereby things are preserved from putrefaction, which is the destruction of theyr being: For I have read, that the Crow liveth out nine mens lives measuring every age to be an Perhaps you will say, yes, in respect of Gods eternity: Why but herein, your selfe shalbe brought to plead against your selfe; For in the eight sect: Michaells mount, though the whole bredth of England lye between them.
In the next place, as by waye of inference, you adde: So that future times and all things conteyned in time it selfe, presuppose a fountaine of life. Surely you cannot; ergo: Hence you proceede whether by following on, or falling of, lett the Reader judge to censure that common saying, Tempus edax rerum, as relishing more of poeticall witt, then of Metaphysicall truth. For which kind of censure delivered by you, I find no just reason; For what? And why you should make such an opposition I know not; as if what I ever relished not of Metaphysicall truth, were no truth, but rather of Poeticall witt: You maye as well censure Aristotles Physicks, and Ethicks, and Politiques, and Rhetoricks, for surely they doe not relish of Metaphysicall truths; no nor Euclides Mathematicks; no nor of Poeticall witt neyther; belike they are liable to a double censure.
Yet what think you? Nec fingunt omnia Cretes. No nor Poets neyther. And as for this saying, Tempus edax rerum: I never knew any sober man or other except against the truth of it before: But if you will put a construction upon it at your pleasure, to shew your witt in refuting it; you shall therein play the part of a Poet rather then the Philosopher; for some of them have taken a course to shape stories, according to the use they had to make of them, and not to followe the direct truth: And abstracting a line from the matter of it, they may adde to it, or take from it what they list: And though time did consume them, yet some thing els might contnue them; For theyr owne natures wherein God hath made them, are for a time apt to resist that which laboureth to corrupt them.
As man by using meanes for his preservation may hold out longer then he which useth none; neither did the Authors or approvers of that saying, Tempus edax rerum, ever conceit that any thing should desire the destruction of it selfe, as you are pleased to rove in impugning it: And look in what sense time doth not destroy, but things are destroyed in time; in the same sense, things temporall have not the continuation of their being from time, but from somewhat els in time; For when things are preserved, by the witt and industry of man from putrefaction, they doe not receave this preservation of theyrs from time, but from the wit and industry of man: Nay, how will you make it good in man?
Some die by course of nature, and that eyther through age or sicknes; when a man of When God sent apestilence among the Israelites, that in the space of 3. Nay, when any disease proves mortall, how can it appeare that when one man died of an Ague, another of the Dropsie, another of the squinancy, another of the plurisie, another of the consumption, that all of them died of a certeyn disease, called theyr motions and endeavours to enjoy and enterteyne time approching: I should think the desease of Pastime should wast us more then the desease of enjoying Time.
Others come to theyr ends by violent deathes, some in warre, some by course of justice, others by private malice: Not altogeather so wild is that conceyt of yours which followeth, in saying we naturally seeke to catch time. Yet wild enough; for it is untrue that men catch. Now opportunity is only an advantage of doing something conveniently offered to us in the course of Time. Who they are, who acknowledge no difference between Time and Motion, I know not; I should think no man so blockish as to confound them, seing motion it selfe may be of more or lesse continuance in respect of Time, as well as any thing els, And in the same Time somethings more or lesse slowly, something more swiftly, some in one kind of motion, some in another: Aristotle I confesse, defines time to be numerus motus secund.
As you beganne, so you proceed to acquaint us with your subtleties in Philosophie concerning time, Motion you say in true observation goes one waye, and drives time another way, as the streame which runnes Eastward, turnes the wheele West-ward. Before you told us that Motion notifies Time, here you say, It drives Time; but how? Not the same waye, but another waye as the streames which runnes Eastward, drives the wheele West-ward: I pray doth Time passe: As there is a motion of the heavens, that makes the daye, which is from East to west; so there is a motion of the Sun which makes the yeare, and that motion is from West to East; doth each motion drive time a different waye or the same waye?
Let us see whether we can have any help from your comparison. First I saye it is not true: For the wheele by the streame is turned neyther East-ward nor West-ward but round; Now to move Eastward or Westward is to move motu recto a streight motion, but to move round is not to move motu recto, but orbiculari, not by a streight motion, but circular: But all this while we have not found which waye Time is driven in your opinion: And my reason is this: And as litle reason to drive time another waye, in respect of direct motion.
For though the streame run directly Eastward, and turne a wheele round; 'tis nothing strang, sith both are bodies apt to moove, and the streame apt to run downward, and a wheele apt to be turned round. But time is not a bodie that it can move ane waie. And by your leaves motion drives it no more then rest: If the Heavens should stand still, yet might things continue still the same time that God hath appointed them, as well as in the case of theyr motion.
And as for capacity of being, I see no reason why that should have any place where being allready is: As for substantiall actuation of capacity of Being which you make to be continuall after a man hath his being I know none; Neyther am I conscious of any such desire; and it is strang to me, that you should be more privy to my desires then my selfe. But of any desire of actuation or replenishment as you speak of the capacity of being, I am nothing conscious to my selfe: Neyther can I acknowledge any new coexistence with time approaching in respect of any mutation of my existence, but in regard that times doe change and succeed one another, I may be sayd to coexist anew with them, because they coexist anew with me.
No mervayle that you could not brook that time should be accounted edax rerum: Take the most sovereigne remedies to repayr such ruines, to cure such deseases, and the duration or time thereof hath no power to repayr or cure it, but the nature of that remedie applied may; which nature and the application therof, is not time, but the remedie hath a duration, which is the time therof, whether it be applied or no.
Yet these observations which you so magnifie in a Platonick, such as they are wee will consider them. Is not this an excellent observation, thinck you? Now whereas you say, Our being is a continuall draught of being from the inexhaustible founteyne of life: I find no mention at all of any fountayne of life in Plotinus, His words as you cite them are, Videtur in rebus generabilibus id potissimum essentia esse, scilicet tractus quidam ab ipso esse, this is all he hath concerning the inexhaustible founteyne of life as you paraphrase it ex generationis initio, quousque ad temporis extrema perveniat.
And to my understanding his meaning is no other, then that the essence of things generable is as it were esse fluens, like as we say, linea est fluxus puncti in longitudinem. And to things that are not such, if you add erit to them, it shall befall them a sede ipfiue esse labe, to slide from the seate of being; All which are but odd streynes of expressions of that which to know is worth just nothing, if at all there be any sound truth in theyr subtleties: But hence he concludes indeed that the being of a thing generable is not naturall unto it; and therefore you will say he must have it from something, and what can that be, but from the founteyne of life; as it is well knowne Plato first, and accordingly Platonickes maynteyned, that the world was made by God.
Now, whereas he confines this to things generable, doe you magnifie that also! But proceed we to take notice of the rest of his so excellent observation: Nature sayth he hastens unto that being which is to come, nor can it rest, seing it drawes or sucks in that being which it hath, by doing now this and now that, being moved as it were in a circle, with the desire of essence, or of being what it is. By this I perceive where you dipt your pen that dropt forth such wild conceits as before in this very section I have encountred with; to witt, in Plotinus his Philosophy, fitt lettice for such lips as like them.
So when Plotinus sayth, that esse sibi haurit, it drawes unto it selfe being; you render it thus, It sucks in what it hath; whereas indeed it is a thing impossible for any man to suck in that which he hath, but rather he sucks in that which he hath not. A man may make hast to be rich, and such a one sayth Salomon can not be innocent: But our essentiall being we hast not unto, it is the same still; for Socrates being old differs not essentially from himselfe being a child: Why then, all creatures generable have a list to drawe or sucke more of their proper being from the fountayne of eternity, then they doe or can suck: And as for my selfe amongst reasonables, one though a poore one, having some knowledge both of eternity in the waye of Christian Divinity, and of my proper being in the waye of naturall Philosophy; yet what it is to suck more of my portion of being at once then God think fitt, I am utterly ignorant, and therefore cannot be conscious to my selfe of any such transgression: Suppose the durance of my being in the appoyntement of God be betwene I grant the knowledge and goodnes I have arrived unto by Gods grace in the space of Yet am I not conscious of any desire I had of this: But this is only my accidentall being, and therefore deserveth not simplie to be accompted my proper being.
The like may be as touching the Qualities or Quantitie of my bodie: And which implies, that God could, if it had pleased him, have made us enjoy the whole space of our life at once; For that were to make time past, present and to come, to exist alltogeather, which, I think, every wise man will judge to be impossible: Yet this case being put; how were it possible to the contrary, but that we must needs spend it all at once? For like as the space of life of So if we had all this space togeather in one day, or one yeare, we wust needes spend it togeather in the space of a day, or a yeare: In a word, sith this cannot be true of our essentiall being, which we have all at once undoubtedly; nor of our accidentall being; for that cannot be properly accoumpted our being; it remaynes to be understood onely of the continuance of our being: And to desire to have all this at once, is to desire to have at 7.
We rather desire in old-age to be young, like unto Moses who being an This piercing of time, or reduction of many yeares into a small space being as utterly impossible as the penetration of dimension in magnitude, if not much more. In the next Section you are more popular; I doe not say more true: For you give me no cause to say so. For first, in my Judgement, it is a manifest untruth to say, that time is a participation of eternity: For as immensity is to place or magnitude, so is eternity unto time: Perhaps you may say, that when things are, they may desire continuance: But what mysterie, the deciphering of this actuation or perpetuation doth conteyne, so avaylable to the definition of the severall of time, I therefore know not, because you have not vouchsafed the enucliation hereof unto your Reader.
I find no sense in that which followeth, as when you say the motion of the Heavens is more uniforme then time which you call the duration of things temporall: For every part of time is still uniforme, and that in such sort as it impossible to be otherwise; be the motion never so deficient in uniformity.
So is the moneth, so is the yeare most uniforme, taking it to consist of how many dayes and howres soever you will: This was a cunning trick to fill his countrey mens mouthes with empty spoones: In the same time wherein one it sick, another is not; one in pleasure, another in payne; it is manifest, the time may be the same, though the condition much different.
In grife or payne to thrust time from us, is but to wish it were shorter then it is; as it is signified Deut. In the morning, thou shalt say, would God it were evening. And yet the meaning hereof in effect, is but this, to wish that our payne were shorter, then would we not care though the time were longer.
And so our joy to be continued, we desire not the moments of our time to be fixed. Still you confound a mans condition with the time, as if time it selfe were sweet or sowre. Let every sober man judg, whether it be not an absurd conceyt to affirme, that men desire to prolong theyr dayes by living the same time over and over againe.
Whereas it is manifest, that in one and the same time, one man may be in case and joy, another in payne and sorrow. Yet you pleased your selfe not a litle in your former popular discourse of this nature. For this scrupulous hicetie ariseth from no other ground, then the being measured with time, theyr duration is partly past, partly future, and but a moment present: And judge whether this conceit of but a moment present, be not a vayne conceit: For I pray, what is that which followes this present moment immediately? Is it a moment only, or no? And you may as well say, that magnitude consists of nothing but points, which were indeed, to consist of nothing.
How the Angells doe accoumpt the continuation of theyr duration, I know not; but surely we have no better meanes to accoumpt theyr duration past, then by the making of the World, and the number of yearely revolutions of the Heavens, that have bene since. Yet I have no cause to think that theyr duration is a participation of eternity more then time: But seing both theyrs, and ours had a beginning; therefore it is impossible that it should ever grow to be eternall. The Divell I am sure is still compassing the earth.
This were to cast us upon the deniall of Gods continuance; For like as our time being upon supposition of But is most necessary to exist, and most necessary to continue, without loosing of ought that is in himselfe, no not so much as a thought; nor receaving any thing into himselfe, no not so much as a new thought, or a new affection: And as existence is an accident to such essences according to our conceit of them; so is continuance an accident to such existences.
But it is quite otherwise with God; For as his existence is all one with his essence; because it is absolutely impossible his essence should not exist: But of this, and of the indivisible nature of Gods continuance more hereafter. I willingly confesse, that because Angells were made of nothing, therefore theyr continuance is meerly at the pleasure of God, and have parts divisible, in regard that God can set an end to them, whensoever it pleaseth him.
But I know no cause to denie, that they enjoy an entire self-fruition; For though they have not all theyr continuance at once, yet seing theyr continuance is no part of their essence, which is a thing indivisible, I see no reason why they should be denied, entirely to enjoy themselfes. But it is not so with Angells; yet may they acquire something unto themselfes accidentally, which before they had not. God can acquire nothing: For this, in my judgement, is incident to glorified creatures: Yet no doubt, theyr duration notwithstanding shalbe divisible; God is not.
Perhaps you will say, they loose the former dayes existence, and gayne the following dayes existence: It is incident to God, yet is he still the same in duration: And that 'tis incident to God, I prove thus; God himselfe was yesterday coexistent to yesterday, and now he is not; for if he were, then yesterday should now exist, which is not only untrue, but impossible to be true, for then time past should be present: In that which followes you manifestly betray your cause: For as in a bodie infinite, though there cannot be a middle nor extreame; yet there are parts without parts by waye of extension; So in infinite life, though it hath, no extremes, as being without beginning and without end, yet this hinders not but that it may have parts going before, and parts comming after by way of succession.
Or if in respect of natures subject to time, which are perfected by time, or rather in the course of time; thus, as it is sometimes true, so sometimes it is notoriously false: As for this state, 'tis well knowne, that as there is a time of repayring and encreasing, so there is a time of impayring and decaying: Even created Angells and Saints shall have no want of continuance in the Kingdome of Heaven; much lesse God the Author of theyr continuance, more then of his owne; Yet shall he continue and that by necessity of nature, both to the worlds end, and after that without end.
Yet nothing in him is to come to him; nor nothing from without can come to him; For who should give it him? But the duration both of men and Angells is maynteyned unto them by the will and pleasure of God: What doe you meane by the degrees or acts of life, an infinitie whereof you place in God?
We commonly accoumpt three sorts of life, and no more, to witt, vegetative, sencitive, and rationall; Of an infinitie I never hard before in this kind: And as for the degrees of these, I doubt not but there may be degrees in any; as in each kind some may be more quick and vivacious then other. In like sort God by reason of his eternity should fill all times, and coexist with all times, and all things that hereafter shall exist in time. But the fallacie of this comparison, and the error of this assertion hath now long agoe bene discovered by Ioannes Scotus: As if the world were twice at bigge as it is, God should coexist in every part of it; But yet God doth not coexist with any such, because, as yet there is not any such to coexist with him: In like sort God shall coexist with all times, and all things existing in all Times; but when?
Not till these times and the things therein shalbe found to exist: Now all Times, and all things conteyned in all times doe not exist but by waye of succession, magnitudes exist otherwise, even all togeather and in like sort God shall coexist with them, to witt, by waye of succession: Here your attentive reader would expect what is answerable to this not only, and when you come in with but also; but here he must hold his breath till you have dispatched your parenthesis; and if he hold his breath till you come to make up this your imperfect sentence, he is likely never to draw it againe: But consider we what you insert in your parenthesis; For so might time or motion be held interminable, could the heavens have bene created from everlasting: But God, you sayd was indivisibly infinite, and interminable, not terminable: Yet herein they should be nothing like unto God in being indivisibly infinite, and interminable; whereof notwithstanding proceeds your comparison: For God can make the continuance of any creature to cease this daye and houre; but it is impossible Gods continuance should cease; for he is of necessary being: And you may remember that your excellent M r.
Plotinus, whome you so much magnifie, confines his discourse of time to things generable, as if he meant the Angells were free from such a division of duration as is made by prius and posterius; How much more God? But before time and place had course, though God did exist, yet did he not coexist with them; So likewise before time to come doth exist, and the things that are to exist therein, it is impossible that God should coexist with them.
Secondly you say all things conteyned in their circuit should have gotten somewhat which before they had not, and this something, you say is eyther addition of duration, or which is all one continuance of theyr first existence, or new acts of life, or sence, or reason. It is more useful, he writes, to view media in an "environmental" context: In pursuing this argument, he cites an article I wrote prior to the general election last year, What influence do newspapers have over voters? In that piece, I questioned the assumption that voters act as newspapers tell them.
And Goldstein says "similar disconnects between newspaper editorial support and election outcomes can be found in Canada and the US. On the other hand, it is certainly not as neutral and lacking in influence as proprietors and editors tend to say. I'll come back to an important final sally by Goldstein in a moment. But I need to take my argument on further because I think I need to make my position crystal clear, lest it be suggested that I deny the continuing, and baleful, influence of Britain's press proprietors and editors.
I agree with Goldstein about the the importance of setting press influence on the political process within the context of other influences. We do not live - as journalists and politicians tend to do - in a newspaper bubble. However, and this is particularly true of the British experience, we he should not underestimate the way in which the national press - despite falling sales - retains an influence over the totality of the media agenda.
Broadcasters and bloggers tend to respond to the stimulus of a news and comment schedule that originates in newspapers. The material that appears most often in the main current affairs programmes on TV and radio, plus radio phone-in shows, is almost always based on follow-ups to stories in the national press.