“I hear moral demands in scripture. I take the imperatives with dead seriousness. I am a common man listening to the Word of God. I’m sure Dr. Forde means to make no case for antinomianism. But the Lutheran notion of sanctification as no more than “getting used to justification” looks to this Pentecostal like a clear steer down that road.”—
Russell P. Spittler, “A Pentecostal Response to the Lutheran View,” in Christian Spirituality: Five Views, ed. Donald L. Alexander (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 1988), 43.
“Explicit secunda pars summe fratris thome de aquino ordinis fratrum predicatorum, longissima, prolixissima, et tediosissima scribenti: Deo gratias, Deo gratias, et iterum Deo gratias.”—Scribal colophon at the end of a (handwritten) fourteenth century manuscript. The translation: “Here ends the second part of the Summa of brother Thomas Aquinas of the Order of Preaching Friars, the longest, wordiest, and most tedious thing ever written: thank God, thank God, and again thank God.” (via magnicifent)
We do not rest satisfied with the present. We anticipate the future as too slow in coming, as if in order to hasten its course; or we recall the past, to stop its too rapid flight. So imprudent are we that we wander in the times which are not ours and do not think of the only one which belongs to us; and so idle are we that we dream of those times which are no more and thoughtlessly overlook that which alone exists.
For the present is generally painful to us. We conceal it from our sight, because it troubles us; and, if it be delightful to us, we regret to see it pass away. We try to sustain it by the future and think of arranging matters which are not in our power, for a time which we have no certainty of reaching.
Let each one examine his thoughts, and he will find them all occupied with the past and the future. We scarcely ever think of the present; and if we think of it, it is only to take light from it to arrange the future.
The present is never our end. The past and the present are our means; the future alone is our end. So we never live, but we hope to live; and, as we are always preparing to be happy, it is inevitable we should never be so.
Historians are often blamed for writing as if the History of Kings and Princes were the whole history of the world. ‘Why do you tell us,’ is said, ‘of nothing but the marriages, successions, wars, characters, of a few Royal Races? We want to know what the people, and not the princes, were like. History ought to be the history of the masses, and not of kings.’
The only answer to this complaint seems to be, that the defect is unavoidable. The history of the masses cannot be written, while they have no history; and none will they have, as long as they remain a mass; ere their history begins, individuals, few at first, and more and more numerous as they progress, must rise out of the mass, and become persons, with fixed ideas, determination, conscience, more or less different from their fellows, and thereby leavening and elevating their fellows, that they too may become persons, and men indeed. Then they will begin to have a common history, issuing out of each man’s struggle to assert his own personality and his own convictions. Till that point is reached, the history of the masses will be mere statistic concerning their physical well-being or ill-being, which (for the early ages of our race) is unwritten, and therefore undiscoverable.
The early history of the Teutonic race, therefore, is, and must always remain, simply the history of a few great figures. Of the many of the masses, nothing is said; because there was nothing to say. They all ate, drank, married, tilled, fought, and died, not altogether brutally, we will hope, but still in a dull monotony, unbroken by any struggle of principles or ideas. We know that large masses of human beings have so lived in every age, and are living so now—the Tartar hordes, for instance, or the thriving negroes of central Africa: comfortable folk, getting a tolerable living, son after father, for many generations, but certainly not developed enough, or afflicted enough, to have any history.
”—Charles Kingsley, The Roman and the Teuton (via zerogate)
AS ANY CHURCHMAN will tell you, there are few things worse than wandering into an unfamiliar Episcopal church on a Sunday morning, hopeful that the service will be marked by dignity and quiet joy, and, instead, finding that the first words of the service are “Good morning!” It gets worse if a response is expected, or even worse, requested.
Several scenes from the work are presented, and on the following pages in the book, a key (‘An Explication of the Emblemes of the frontispice’) is given to the various passages, with verses written by Laurence Whitaker (later MP for Peterborough) and the famous playwright Ben Jonson.
The frontispiece and the verses make much fun of Thomas Coryat, no doubt on instigation of the author himself, who is often described as an eccentric. Thus, on one emblem, the author is presented as the fount of more than wisdom alone. ‘Here, like Arion, our Coryate doth draw / All sorts of fish with Musicke of his maw’:
But projectiles don’t only emit from the author, they are also directed towards him, in abundance. ‘A Punke [i.e., a prostitute] here pelts him with egs. How so? / For he did but kisse her, and so let her go’:
'Here France, and Italy both to him shed / Their hornes, and Germany pukes on his head':
Among the many dedicatory verses which follow the key to the frontispiece, is also a verse by Michael Drayton (see below).
John Selden, who would around this same time be asked to contribute a prose commentary to Michael Drayton’s Poly-Olbion (or be busy preparing it), was reputed to be a drinking buddy of Ben Jonson; thus, through Hole’s, Jonson’s and Drayton’s participation in the publication of Coryat’s Crudities we are reminded that London’s literary world in the early seventeenth-century was a tightly connected network.
Incipit Michael Drayton.
A briefe Prologue to the verses following.
Deare Tom, thy booke was like to come to light, Ere I could gaine but one halfe howre to write; They go before whose wits are at their noones, And I come after bringing Salt and Spoones.
Many there be that write before thy Booke, For whom (except here) who could euer looke? Thrice happy are all wee that had the Grace To haue our names set in this liuing place. Most worthy man, with thee it is euen thus, As men take Dottrels, so hast thou ta’n vs. Which as a man his arme or leg doth set, So this fond Bird will likewise counterfeit: Thou art the Fowler, and doest shew vs shapes And we are all thy Zanies, thy true Apes. I saw this age (from what it was at first) Swolne, and so bigge, that it was like to burst, Growne so prodigious, so quite out of fashion, That who will thriue, must hazard his damnation: Sweating in panges, sent such a horrid mist, As to dim heauen: I looked for Antichrist Or some new set of Diuels to sway hell, Worser then those, that in the Chaos fell: Wondring what fruit it to the world would bring, At length it brought forth this: O most strange thing; And with sore throwes, for that the greatest head Euer is hard’st to be deliuered. By thee wise Coryate we are taught to know, Great, with great men which is the way to grow. For in a new straine thou com’st finely in, Making thy selfe like those thou mean’st to winne: Greatnesse to me seem’d euer full of feare, Which thou found’st false at thy arriuing there, Of the Bermudos, the example such, Where not a ship vntill this time durst touch; Kep’t as suppos’d by hels infernall dogs, Our Fleet found their most honest wyld courteous hogs. Liue vertuous Coryate, and for euer be Lik’d of such wise men, as are most like thee.
“Modern man calls walking more quickly in the same direction down the same road “change.”
The world, in the last three hundred years, has not changed except in that sense.
The simple suggestion of a true change scandalizes and terrifies modern man.”—Nicolás Gómez Dávila (Don Colacho) (via thecounterrevolutionary)