No More Learning

" That was the year when the final breach took place in the
whig party, and when Pitt initiated his brief and ill-fated policy of
conciliation in Ireland. It was also the year of two works of enormous
influence over thought, Paley's Evidences and Paine's Age of Reason. Among
these great movements Knox's work had but little chance of appealing to a
wide audience. "Sed quid ad nos? " the bitter motto on the title-page,
probably expressed the feelings with which it was generally regarded. A
version of the treatise against war, made from the Latin text of the
Adagia with some omissions, is the main substance of the volume; and Knox
added a few extracts from other writings of Erasmus on the same subject.
It does not appear to have been reprinted in England, except in a
collected edition of Knox's works which may be found on the dustiest
shelves of old-fashioned libraries, until, after the close of the
Napoleonic wars, it was again published as a tract by the Society for the
Promotion of Permanent and Universal Peace. Some half dozen impressions of
this tract appeared at intervals up to the middle of the century; its
publication passed into the hands of the Society of Friends, and the last
issue of which any record can be found was made just before the outbreak
of the Crimean war. But in 1813 an abridged edition was printed at New
York, and was one of the books which influenced the great movement towards
humanity then stirring in the young Republic.

At the present day, the reactionary wave which has overspread the world
has led, both in England and America, to a new glorification of war. Peace
is on the lips of governments and of individuals, but beneath the smooth
surface the same passions, draped as they always have been under fine
names, are a menace to progress and to the higher life of mankind. The
increase of armaments, the glorification of the military life, the
fanaticism which regards organized robbery and murder as a sacred imperial
mission, are the fruits of a spirit which has fallen as far below the
standard of humanism as it has left behind it the precepts of a still
outwardly acknowledged religion. At such a time the noble pleading of
Erasmus has more than a merely literary or antiquarian interest. For the
appeal of humanism still is, as it was then, to the dignity of human
nature itself.

J. W. Mackail




AGAINST WAR




DULCE BELLUM INEXPERTIS


It is both an elegant proverb, and among all others, by the writings of
many excellent authors, full often and solemnly used, Dulce bellum
inexpertis, that is to say, War is sweet to them that know it not. There
be some things among mortal men's businesses, in the which how great
danger and hurt there is, a man cannot perceive till he make a proof. The
love and friendship of a great man is sweet to them that be not expert: he
that hath had thereof experience, is afraid. It seemeth to be a gay and a
glorious thing, to strut up and down among the nobles of the court, and to
be occupied in the king's business; but old men, to whom that thing by
long experience is well known, do gladly abstain themselves from such
felicity. It seemeth a pleasant thing to be in love with a young damsel;
but that is unto them that have not yet perceived how much grief and
bitterness is in such love. So after this manner of fashion, this proverb
may be applied to every business that is adjoined with great peril and
with many evils: the which no man will take on hand, but he that is young
and wanteth experience of things.

Aristotle, in his book of Rhetoric, showeth the cause why youth is more
bold, and contrariwise old age more fearful: for unto young men lack of
experience is cause of great boldness, and to the other, experience of
many griefs engendereth fear and doubting. Then if there be anything in
the world that should be taken in hand with fear and doubting, yea, that
ought by all manner of means to be fled, to be withstood with prayer, and
to be clean avoided, verily it is war; than which nothing is either more
wicked, or more wretched, or that more farther destroyeth, or that never
hand cleaveth sorer to, or doth more hurt, or is more horrible, and
briefly to speak, nothing doth worse become a man (I will not say a
Christian man) than war. And yet it is a wonder to speak of, how nowadays
in every place, how lightly, and how for every trifling matter, it is
taken in hand, how outrageously and barbarously it is gested and done, not
only of heathen people, but also of Christian men; not only of secular
men, but also of priests and bishops; not only of young men and of them
that have no experience, but also of old men and of those that so often
have had experience; not only of the common and movable vulgar people, but
most specially of the princes, whose duty had been, by wisdom and reason,
to set in a good order and to pacify the light and hasty movings of the
foolish multitude. Nor there lack neither lawyers, nor yet divines, the
which are ready with their firebrands to kindle these things so
abominable, and they encourage them that else were cold, and they privily
provoke those to it that were weary thereof. And by these means it is come
to that pass that war is a thing now so well accepted, that men wonder at
him that is not pleased therewith. It is so much approved, that it is
counted a wicked thing (and I had almost said heresy) to reprove this one
thing, the which as it is above all other things most mischievous, so it
is most wretched. But how more justly should this be wondered at, what
evil spirit, what pestilence, what mischief, and what madness put first in
man's mind a thing so beyond measure beastly, that this most pleasant and
reasonable creature Man, the which Nature hath brought forth to peace and
benevolence, which one alone she hath brought forth to the help and
succour of all other, should with so wild wilfulness, with so mad rages,
run headlong one to destroy another? At the which thing he shall also much
more marvel, whosoever would withdraw his mind from the opinions of the
common people, and will turn it to behold the very pure strength and
nature of things; and will apart behold with philosophical eyes the image
of man on the one side, and the picture of war on the other side.

Then first of all if one would consider well but the behaviour and shape
of man's body shall he not forthwith perceive that Nature, or rather God,
hath shaped this creature, not to war, but to friendship, not to
destruction, but to health, not to wrong, but to kindness and benevolence?
For whereas Nature hath armed all other beasts with their own armour, as
the violence of the bulls she hath armed with horns, the ramping lion with
claws; to the boar she hath given the gnashing tusks; she hath armed the
elephant with a long trump snout, besides his great huge body and hardness
of the skin; she hath fenced the crocodile with a skin as hard as a plate;
to the dolphin fish she hath given fins instead of a dart; the porcupine
she defendeth with thorns; the ray and thornback with sharp prickles; to
the cock she hath given strong spurs; some she fenceth with a shell, some
with a hard hide, as it were thick leather, or bark of a tree; some she
provideth to save by swiftness of flight, as doves; and to some she hath
given venom instead of a weapon; to some she hath given a much horrible
and ugly look, she hath given terrible eyes and grunting voice; and she
hath also set among some of them continual dissension and debate--man
alone she hath brought forth all naked, weak, tender, and without any
armour, with most soft flesh and smooth skin. There is nothing at all in
all his members that may seem to be ordained to war, or to any violence. I
will not say at this time, that where all other beasts, anon as they are
brought forth, they are able of themselves to get their food. Man alone
cometh so forth, that a long season after he is born, he dependeth
altogether on the help of others. He can neither speak nor go, nor yet
take meat; he desireth help only by his infant crying: so that a man may,
at the least way, by this conject, that this creature alone was born all
to love and amity, which specially increaseth and is fast knit together by
good turns done eftsoons of one to another. And for this cause Nature
would, that a man should not so much thank her, for the gift of life,
which she hath given unto him, as he should thank kindness and
benevolence, whereby he might evidently understand himself, that he was
altogether dedicate and bounden to the gods of graces, that is to say, to
kindness, benevolence, and amity. And besides this Nature hath given unto
man a countenance not terrible and loathly, as unto other brute beasts;
but meek and demure, representing the very tokens of love and benevolence.
She hath given him amiable eyes, and in them assured marks of the inward
mind. She hath ordained him arms to clip and embrace. She hath given him
the wit and understanding to kiss: whereby the very minds and hearts of
men should be coupled together, even as though they touched each other.
Unto man alone she hath given laughing, a token of good cheer and
gladness. To man alone she hath given weeping tears, as it were a pledge
or token of meekness and mercy. Yea, and she hath given him a voice not
threatening and horrible, as unto other brute beasts, but amiable and
pleasant. Nature not yet content with all this, she hath given unto man
alone the commodity of speech and reasoning: the which things verily may
specially both get and nourish benevolence, so that nothing at all should
be done among men by violence.

She hath endued man with hatred of solitariness, and with love of company.
She hath utterly sown in man the very seeds of benevolence. She hath so
done, that the selfsame thing, that is most wholesome, should be most
sweet and delectable. For what is more delectable than a friend? And
again, what thing is more necessary? Moreover, if a man might lead all his
life most profitably without any meddling with other men, yet nothing
would seem pleasant without a fellow: except a man would cast off all
humanity, and forsaking his own kind would become a beast.

Besides all this, Nature hath endued man with knowledge of liberal
sciences and a fervent desire of knowledge: which thing as it doth most
specially withdraw man's wit from all beastly wildness, so hath it a
special grace to get and knit together love and friendship. For I dare
boldly say, that neither affinity nor yet kindred doth bind the minds of
men together with straiter and surer bands of amity, than doth the
fellowship of them that be learned in good letters and honest studies.
And above all this, Nature hath divided among men by a marvellous variety
the gifts, as well of the soul as of the body, to the intent truly that
every man might find in every singular person one thing or other, which
they should either love or praise for the excellency thereof; or else
greatly desire and make much of it, for the need and profit that cometh
thereof. Finally she hath endowed man with a spark of a godly mind: so
that though he see no reward, yet of his own courage he delighteth to do
every man good: for unto God it is most proper and natural, by his
benefit, to do everybody good. Else what meaneth it, that we rejoice and
conceive in our minds no little pleasure when we perceive that any
creature is by our means preserved.

Moreover God hath ordained man in this world, as it were the very image of
himself, to the intent, that he, as it were a god on earth, should provide
for the wealth of all creatures. And this thing the very brute beasts do
also perceive, for we may see, that not only the tame beasts, but also the
leopards, lions, and other more fierce and wild, when they be in any great
jeopardy, they flee to man for succour. So man is, when all things fail,
the last refuge to all manner of creatures. He is unto them all the very
assured altar and sanctuary.

I have here painted out to you the image of man as well as I can. On the
other side (if it like you) against the figure of Man, let us portray the
fashion and shape of War.

Now, then, imagine in thy mind, that thou dost behold two hosts of
barbarous people, of whom the look is fierce and cruel, and the voice
horrible; the terrible and fearful rustling and glistering of their
harness and weapons; the unlovely murmur of so huge a multitude; the eyes
sternly menacing; the bloody blasts and terrible sounds of trumpets and
clarions; the thundering of the guns, no less fearful than thunder indeed,
but much more hurtful; the frenzied cry and clamour, the furious and mad
running together, the outrageous slaughter, the cruel chances of them that
flee and of those that are stricken down and slain, the heaps of
slaughters, the fields overflowed with blood, the rivers dyed red with
man's blood. And it chanceth oftentimes, that the brother fighteth with
the brother, one kinsman with another, friend against friend; and in that
common furious desire ofttimes one thrusteth his weapon quite through the
body of another that never gave him so much as a foul word. Verily, this
tragedy containeth so many mischiefs, that it would abhor any man's heart
to speak thereof. I will let pass to speak of the hurts which are in
comparison of the other but light and common, as the treading down and
destroying of the corn all about, the burning of towns, the villages
fired, the driving away of cattle, the ravishing of maidens, the old men
led forth in captivity, the robbing of churches, and all things
confounded and full of thefts, pillages, and violence. Neither I will not
speak now of those things which are wont to follow the most happy and most
just war of all.

The poor commons pillaged, the nobles overcharged; so many old men of
their children bereaved, yea, and slain also in the slaughter of their
children; so many old women destitute, whom sorrow more cruelly slayeth
than the weapon itself; so many honest wives become widows, so many
children fatherless, so many lamentable houses, so many rich men brought
to extreme poverty. And what needeth it here to speak of the destruction
of good manners, since there is no man but knoweth right well that the
universal pestilence of all mischievous living proceedeth at once from
war. Thereof cometh despising of virtue and godly living; thereof cometh,
that the laws are neglected and not regarded; thereof cometh a prompt and
a ready stomach, boldly to do every mischievous deed. Out of this fountain
spring so huge great companies of thieves, robbers, sacrilegers, and
murderers. And what is most grievous of all, this mischievous pestilence
cannot keep herself within her bounds; but after it is begun in some one
corner, it doth not only (as a contagious disease) spread abroad and
infect the countries near adjoining to it, but also it draweth into that
common tumult and troublous business the countries that be very far off,
either for need, or by reason of affinity, or else by occasion of some
league made. Yea and moreover, one war springeth of another: of a
dissembled war there cometh war indeed, and of a very small, a right great
war hath risen. Nor it chanceth oftentimes none otherwise in these things
than it is feigned of the monster, which lay in the lake or pond called
Lerna.

For these causes, I trow, the old poets, the which most sagely perceived
the power and nature of things, and with most meet feignings covertly
shadowed the same, have left in writing, that war was sent out of hell:
nor every one of the Furies was not meet and convenient to bring about
this business, but the most pestilent and mischievous of them all was
chosen out for the nonce, which hath a thousand names, and a thousand
crafts to do hurt. She being armed with a thousand serpents, bloweth
before her her fiendish trumpet. Pan with furious ruffling encumbereth
every place. Bellona shaketh her furious flail. And then the wicked
furiousness himself, when he hath undone all knots and broken all bonds,
rusheth out with bloody mouth horrible to behold.

The grammarians perceived right well these things, of the which some will,
that war have his name by contrary meaning of the word Bellum, that is to
say fair, because it hath nothing good nor fair. Nor bellum, that is for
to say war, is none otherwise called Bellum, that is to say fair, than
the furies are called Eumenides, that is to say meek, because they are
wilful and contrary to all meekness. And some grammarians think rather,
that bellum, war, should be derived out of this word Belva, that is for to
say, a brute beast: forasmuch as it belongeth to brute beasts, and not
unto men, to run together, each to destroy each other. But it seemeth to
me far to pass all wild and all brute beastliness, to fight together with
weapons.

First, for there are many of the brute beasts, each in his kind, that
agree and live in a gentle fashion together, and they go together in herds
and flocks, and each helpeth to defend the other. Nor is it the nature of
all wild beasts to fight, for some are harmless, as does and hares. But
they that are the most fierce of all, as lions, wolves, and tigers, do not
make war among themselves as we do. One dog eateth not another. The lions,
though they be fierce and cruel, yet they fight not among themselves. One
dragon is in peace with another. And there is agreement among poisonous
serpents. But unto man there is no wild or cruel beast more hurtful than
man.

Again, when the brute beasts fight, they fight with their own natural
armour: we men, above nature, to the destruction of men, arm ourselves
with armour, invented by craft of the devil. Nor the wild beasts are not
cruel for every cause; but either when hunger maketh them fierce, or else
when they perceive themselves to be hunted and pursued to the death, or
else when they fear lest their younglings should take any harm or be
stolen from them. But (O good Lord) for what trifling causes what
tragedies of war do we stir up? For most vain titles, for childish wrath,
for a wench, yea, and for causes much more scornful than these, we be
inflamed to fight.

Moreover, when the brute beasts fight, then war is one for one, yea, and
that is very short. And when the battle is sorest fought, yet is there not
past one or two, that goeth away sore wounded. When was it ever heard that
an hundred thousand brute beasts were slain at one time fighting and
tearing one another: which thing men do full oft and in many places? And
besides this, whereas some wild beasts have natural debate with some other
that be of a contrary kind, so again there be some with which they
lovingly agree in a sure amity. But man with man, and each with other,
have among them continual war; nor is there league sure enough among any
men. So that whatsoever it be, that hath gone out of kind, it hath gone
out of kind into a worse fashion, than if Nature herself had engendered
therein a malice at the beginning.

Will ye see how beastly, how foul, and how unworthy a thing war is for
man? Did ye never behold a lion let loose unto a bear? What gapings, what
roarings, what grisly gnashing, what tearing of their flesh, is there? He
trembleth that beholdeth them, yea, though he stand sure and safe enough
from them. But how much more grisly a sight is it, how much more
outrageous and cruel, to behold man to fight with man, arrayed with so
much armour, and with so many weapons? I beseech you, who would believe
that they were men, if it were not because war is a thing so much in
custom that no man marvelleth at it? Their eyes glow like fire, their
faces be pale, their marching forth is like men in a fury, their voice
screeching and grunting, their cry and frenzied clamour; all is iron,
their harness and weapons jingling and clattering, and the guns
thundering. It might have been better suffered, if man, for lack of meat
and drink, should have fought with man, to the intent he might devour his
flesh and drink his blood: albeit, it is come also now to that pass, that
some there be that do it more of hatred than either for hunger or for
thirst. But now this same thing is done more cruelly, with weapons
envenomed, and with devilish engines. So that nowhere may be perceived any
token of man. Trow ye that Nature could here know it was the same thing,
that she sometime had wrought with her own hands? And if any man would
inform her, that it were man that she beheld in such array, might she not
well, with great wondering, say these words?

"What new manner of pageant is this that I behold? What devil of hell hath
brought us forth this monster. There be some that call me a stepmother,
because that among so great heaps of things of my making I have brought
forth some venomous things (and yet have I ordained the selfsame venomous
things for man's behoof); and because I have made some beasts very fierce
and perilous: and yet is there no beast so wild nor so perilous, but that
by craft and diligence he may be made tame and gentle. By man's diligent
labour the lions have been made tame, the dragons meek, and the bears
obedient. But what is this, that worse is than any stepmother, which hath
brought us forth this new unreasonable brute beast, the pestilence and
mischief of all this world? One beast alone I brought forth wholly
dedicate to be benevolent, pleasant, friendly, and wholesome to all other.
What hath chanced, that this creature is changed into such a brute beast?
I perceive nothing of the creature man, which I myself made. What evil
spirit hath thus defiled my work? What witch hath bewitched the mind of
man, and transformed it into such brutishness? What sorceress hath thus
turned him out of his kindly shape? I command and would that the wretched
creature should behold himself in a glass. But, alas, what shall the eyes
see, where the mind is away? Yet behold thyself (if thou canst), thou
furious warrior, and see if thou mayst by any means recover thyself again.
From whence hast thou that threatening crest upon thy head? From whence
hast thou that shining helmet? From whence are those iron horns? Whence
cometh it, that thine elbows are so sharp and piked? Where hadst thou
those scales? Where hadst thou those brazen teeth? Of whence are those
hard plates? Whence are those deadly weapons? From whence cometh to thee
this voice more horrible than of a wild beast? What a look and countenance
hast thou more terrible than of a brute beast? Where hast thou gotten this
thunder and lightning, both more fearful and hurtful than is the very
thunder and lightning itself? I formed thee a goodly creature; what came
into thy mind, that thou wouldst thus transform thyself into so cruel and
so beastly fashion, that there is no brute beast so unreasonable in
comparison unto man? "

These words, and many other such like, I suppose, the Dame Nature, the
worker of all things, would say. Then since man is such as is showed
before that he is, and that war is such a thing, like as too oft we have
felt and known, it seemeth to me no small wonder, what ill spirit, what
disease, or what mishap, first put into man's mind, that he would bathe
his mortal weapon in the blood of man. It must needs be, that men mounted
up to so great madness by divers degrees. For there was never man yet (as
Juvenal saith) that was suddenly most graceless of all. And always things
the worst have crept in among men's manners of living, under the shadow
and shape of goodness. For some time those men that were in the beginning
of the world led their lives in woods; they went naked, they had no walled
towns, nor houses to put their heads in: it happened otherwhile that they
were sore grieved and destroyed with wild beasts. Wherefore with them
first of all, men made war, and he was esteemed a mighty strong man, and a
captain, that could best defend mankind from the violence of wild beasts.
Yea, and it seemed to them a thing most equable to strangle the
stranglers, and to slay the slayers, namely, when the wild beast, not
provoked by us for any hurt to them done, would wilfully set upon us. And
so by reason that this was counted a thing most worthy of praise (for
hereof it rose that Hercules was made a god), the lusty-stomached young
men began all about to hunt and chase the wild beasts, and as a token of
their valiant victory the skins of such beasts as they slew were set up in
such places as the people might behold them. Besides this they were not
contented to slay the wild beasts, but they used to wear their skins to
keep them from the cold in winter. These were the first slaughters that
men used: these were their spoils and robberies. After this, they went so
farforth, that they were bold to do a thing which Pythagoras thought to be
very wicked; and it might seem to us also a thing monstrous, if custom
were not, which hath so great strength in every place: that by custom it
was reputed in some countries a much charitable deed if a man would, when
his father was very old, first sore beat him, and after thrust him
headlong into a pit, and so bereave him of his life, by whom it chanced
him to have the gift of life. It was counted a holy thing for a man to
feed on the flesh of his own kinsmen and friends. They thought it a goodly
thing, that a virgin should be made common to the people in the temple of
Venus. And many other things, more abominable than these: of which if a
man should now but only speak, every man would abhor to hear him. Surely
there is nothing so ungracious, nor nothing so cruel, but men will hold
therewith, if it be once approved by custom. Then will ye hear, what a
deed they durst at the last do? They were not abashed to eat the carcases
of the wild beasts that were slain, to tear the unsavoury flesh with their
teeth, to drink the blood, to suck out the matter of them, and (as Ovid
saith) to hide the beasts' bowels within their own. And although at that
time it seemed to be an outrageous deed unto them that were of a more mild
and gentle courage: yet was it generally allowed, and all by reason of
custom and commodity. Yet were they not so content. For they went from the
slaying of noisome wild beasts, to kill the harmless beasts, and such as
did no hurt at all. They waxed cruel everywhere upon the poor sheep, a
beast without fraud or guile. They slew the hare, for none other offence,
but because he was a good fat dish of meat to feed upon. Nor they forbare
not to kill the tame ox, which had a long season, with his sore labour,
nourished the unkind household. They spared no kind of beasts, of fowls,
nor of fishes. Yea, and the tyranny of gluttony went so farforth that
there was no beast anywhere that could be sure from the cruelty of man.
Yea, and custom persuaded this also, that it seemed no cruelty at all to
slay any manner of beast, whatsoever it was, so they abstained from
manslaughter. Now peradventure it lieth in our power to keep out vices,
that they enter not upon the manners of men, in like manner as it lieth in
our power to keep out the sea, that it break not in upon us; but when the
sea is once broken in, it passeth our power to restrain it within any
bounds. So either of them both once let in, they will not be ruled, as we
would, but run forth headlong whithersoever their own rage carrieth them.
And so after that men had been exercised with such beginnings to
slaughter, wrath anon enticed man to set upon man, either with staff, or
with stone, or else with his fist. For as yet, I think they used no other
weapons. And now had they learned by the killing of beasts, that man also
might soon and easily be slain with little labour. But this cruelty
remained betwixt singular persons, so that yet there was no great number
of men that fought together, but as it chanced one man against another.
And besides this, there was no small colour of equity, if a man slew his
enemy; yea, and shortly after, it was a great praise to a man to slay a
violent and a mischievous man, and to rid him out of the world, such
devilish and cruel caitiffs, as men say Cacus and Busiris were. For we see
plainly, that for such causes, Hercules was greatly praised. And in
process of time, many assembled to take part together, either as affinity,
or as neighbourhood, or kindred bound them. And what is now robbery was
then war. And they fought then with stones, or with stakes, a little
burned at the ends. A little river, a rock, or such other like thing,
chancing to be between them, made an end of their battle.

In the mean season, while fierceness by use increaseth, while wrath is
grown great, and ambition hot and vehement, by ingenious craft they arm
their furious violence. They devise harness, such as it is, to fence them
with. They invent weapons to destroy their enemies with. Thus now by few
and few, now with greater company, and now armed they begin to fight. Nor
to this manifest madness they forget not to give honour. For they call it
Bellum, that is to say, a fair thing; yea, and they repute it a virtuous
deed, if a man, with the jeopardy of his own life, manly resist and defend
from the violence of his enemies, his wife, children, beasts, and
household. And by little and little, malice grew so great, with the high
esteeming of other things, that one city began to send defiance and make
war to another, country against country, and realm against realm. And
though the thing of itself was then most cruel, yet all this while there
remained in them certain tokens, whereby they might be known for men: for
such goods as by violence were taken away were asked and required again by
an herald at arms; the gods were called to witness; yea, and when they
were ranged in battle, they would reason the matter ere they fought. And
in the battle they used but homely weapons, nor they used neither guile
nor deceit, but only strength. It was not lawful for a man to strike his
enemy till the sign of battle was given; nor was it not lawful to fight
after the sounding of the retreat. And for conclusion, they fought more to
show their manliness and for praise, than they coveted to slay. Nor all
this while they armed them not, but against strangers, the which they
called hostes, as they had been hospites, their guests. Of this rose
empires, of the which there was never none yet in any nation, but it was
gotten with the great shedding of man's blood. And since that time there
hath followed continual course of war, while one eftsoons laboureth to put
another out of his empire, and to set himself in. After all this, when the
empires came once into their hands that were most ungracious of all other,
they made war upon whosoever pleased them; nor were they not in greatest
peril and danger of war that had most deserved to be punished, but they
that by fortune had gotten great riches. And now they made not war to get
praise and fame, but to get the vile muck of the world, or else some other
thing far worse than that.

I think not the contrary, but that the great, wise man Pythagoras meant
these things when he by a proper device of philosophy frightened the
unlearned multitude of people from the slaying of silly beasts. For he
perceived, it should at length come to pass, that he which (by no injury
provoked) was accustomed to spill the blood of a harmless beast, would in
his anger, being provoked by injury, not fear to slay a man.

War, what other thing else is it than a common manslaughter of many men
together, and a robbery, the which, the farther it sprawleth abroad, the
more mischievous it is? But many gross gentlemen nowadays laugh merrily at
these things, as though they were the dreams and dotings of schoolmen, the
which, saving the shape, have no point of manhood, yet seem they in their
own conceit to be gods. And yet of those beginnings, we see we be run so
far in madness, that we do naught else all our life-days. We war
continually, city with city, prince with prince, people with people, yea,
and (it that the heathen people confess to be a wicked thing) cousin with
cousin, alliance with alliance, brother with brother, the son with the
father, yea, and that I esteem more cruel than all these things, a
Christian man against another man; and yet furthermore, I will say that I
am very loath to do, which is a thing most cruel of all, one Christian man
with another Christian man.
Oh, blindness of man's mind! at those things
no man marvelleth, no man abhorreth them. There be some that rejoice at
them, and praise them above the moon: and the thing which is more than
devilish, they call a holy thing. Old men, crooked for age, make war,
priests make war, monks go forth to war; yea, and with a thing so devilish
we mingle Christ. The battles ranged, they encounter the one the other,
bearing before them the sign of the Cross, which thing alone might at the
leastwise admonish us by what means it should become Christian men to
overcome.

But we run headlong each to destroy other, even from that heavenly
sacrifice of the altar, whereby is represented that perfect and ineffable
knitting together of all Christian men. And of so wicked a thing, we make
Christ both author and witness. Where is the kingdom of the devil, if it
be not in war? Why draw we Christ into war, with whom a brothel-house
agreeth more than war? Saint Paul disdaineth, that there should be any so
great discord among Christian men, that they should need any judge to
discuss the matter between them. What if he should come and behold us now
through all the world, warring for every light and trifling cause,
striving more cruelly than ever did any heathen people, and more cruelly
than any barbarous people? Yea, and ye shall see it done by the authority,
exhortations, and furtherings of those that represent Christ, the prince
of peace and very bishop that all things knitteth together by peace and of
those that salute the people with good luck of peace. Nor is it not
unknown to me what these unlearned people say (a good while since) against
me in this matter, whose winnings arise of the common evils. They say
thus: We make war against our wills: for we be constrained by the
ungracious deeds of other. We make war but for our right. And if there
come any hurt thereof, thank them that be causers of it. But let these men
hold their tongues awhile, and I shall after, in place convenient, avoid
all their cavillations, and pluck off that false visor wherewith we hide
all our malice.

But first as I have above compared man with war, that is to say, the
creature most demure with a thing most outrageous, to the intent that
cruelty might the better be perceived: so will I compare war and peace
together, the thing most wretched, and most mischievous, with the best and
most wealthy thing that is. And so at last shall appear, how great madness
it is, with so great tumult, with so great labours, with such intolerable
expenses, with so many calamities, affectionately to desire war: whereas
agreement might be bought with a far less price.

First of all, what in all this world is more sweet or better than amity or
love? Truly nothing. And I pray you, what other thing is peace than amity
and love among men, like as war on the other side is naught else but
dissension and debate of many men together? And surely the property of
good things is such, that the broader they be spread, the more profit and
commodity cometh of them. Farther, if the love of one singular person with
another be so sweet and delectable, how great should the felicity be if
realm with realm, and nation with nation, were coupled together, with the
band of amity and love? On the other side, the nature of evil things is
such, that the farther they sprawl abroad, the more worthy they are to be
called evil, as they be indeed. Then if it be a wretched thing, if it be
an ungracious thing, that one man armed should fight with another, how
much more miserable, how much more mischievous is it, that the selfsame
thing should be done with so many thousands together? By love and peace
the small things increase and wax great, by discord and debate the great
things decay and come to naught. Peace is the mother and nurse of all good
things. War suddenly and at once overthroweth, destroyeth, and utterly
fordoeth everything that is pleasant and fair, and bringeth in among men a
monster of all mischievous things.

In the time of peace (none otherwise than as if the lusty springtime
should show and shine in men's businesses) the fields are tilled, the
gardens and orchards freshly flourish, the beasts pasture merrily; gay
manours in the country are edified, the towns are builded, where as need
is reparations are done, the buildings are heightened and augmented,
riches increase, pleasures are nourished, the laws are executed, the
common wealth flourisheth, religion is fervent, right reigneth, gentleness
is used, craftsmen are busily exercised, the poor men's gain is more
plentiful, the wealthiness of the rich men is more gay and goodly, the
studies of most honest learnings flourish, youth is well taught, the aged
folks have quiet and rest, maidens are luckily married, mothers are
praised for bringing forth of children like to their progenitors, the good
men prosper and do well, and the evil men do less offence.

But as soon as the cruel tempest of war cometh on us, good Lord, how great
a flood of mischiefs occupieth, overfloweth, and drowneth all together.
The fair herds of beasts are driven away, the goodly corn is trodden down
and destroyed, the good husbandmen are slain, the villages are burned up,
the most wealthy cities, that have flourished so many winters, with that
one storm are overthrown, destroyed, and brought to naught: so much
readier and prompter men are to do hurt than good. The good citizens are
robbed and spoiled of their goods by cursed thieves and murderers. Every
place is full of fear, of wailing, complaining, and lamenting. The
craftsmen stand idle; the poor men must either die for hunger, or fall to
stealing. The rich men either stand and sorrow for their goods, that be
plucked and snatched from them, or else they stand in great doubt to lose
such goods as they have left them: so that they be on every side
woebegone. The maidens, either they be not married at all, or else if they
be married, their marriages are sorrowful and lamentable. Wives, being
destitute of their husbands, lie at home without any fruit of children,
the laws are laid aside, gentleness is laughed to scorn, right is clean
exiled, religion is set at naught, hallowed and unhallowed things all are
one, youth is corrupted with all manner of vices, the old folk wail and
weep, and wish themselves out of the world, there is no honour given unto
the study of good letters. Finally, there is no tongue can tell the harm
and mischief that we feel in war.

Perchance war might be the better suffered, if it made us but only
wretched and needy; but it maketh us ungracious, and also full of
unhappiness. And I think Peace likewise should be much made of, if it were
but only because it maketh us more wealthy and better in our living. Alas,
there be too many already, yea, and more than too many mischiefs and
evils, with the which the wretched life of man (whether he will or no) is
continually vexed, tormented, and utterly consumed.

It is near hand two thousand years since the physicians had knowledge of
three hundred divers notable sicknesses by name, besides other small
sicknesses and new, as daily spring among us, and besides age also, which
is of itself a sickness inevitable.

We read that in one place whole cities have been destroyed with
earthquakes. We read, also, that in another place there have been cities
altogether burnt with lightning; how in another place whole regions have
been swallowed up with opening of the earth, towns by undermining have
fallen to the ground; so that I need not here to remember what a great
multitude of men are daily destroyed by divers chances, which be not
regarded because they happen so often: as sudden breaking out of the sea
and of great floods, falling down of hills and houses, poison, wild
beasts, meat, drink, and sleep. One hath been strangled with drinking of a
hair in a draught of milk, another hath been choked with a little
grapestone, another with a fishbone sticking in his throat. There hath
been, that sudden joy hath killed out of hand: for it is less wonder of
them that die for vehement sorrow. Besides all this, what mortal
pestilence see we in every place. There is no part of the world, that is
not subject to peril and danger of man's life, which life of itself also
is most fugitive. So manifold mischances and evils assail man on every
side that not without cause Homer did say: Man was the most wretched of
all creatures living.

But forasmuch these mischances cannot lightly be eschewed, nor they happen
not through our fault, they make us but only wretched, and not ungracious
withal. What pleasure is it then for them that be subject already to so
many miserable chances, willingly to seek and procure themselves another
mischief more than they had before, as though they yet wanted misery? Yea,
they procure not a light evil, but such an evil that is worse than all the
others, so mischievous, that it alone passeth all the others; so abundant,
that in itself alone is comprehended all ungraciousness; so pestilent,
that it maketh us all alike wicked as wretched, it maketh us full of all
misery, and yet not worthy to be pitied.

Now go farther, and with all these things consider, that the commodities
of Peace spread themselves most far and wide, and pertain unto many men.
In war if there happen anything luckily (but, O good Lord, what may we say
happeneth well and luckily in war? ), it pertaineth to very few, and to
them that are unworthy to have it. The prosperity of one is the
destruction of another. The enriching of one is the spoil and robbing of
another. The triumph of one is the lamentable mourning of another, so that
as the infelicity is bitter and sharp, the felicity is cruel and bloody.
Howbeit otherwhile both parties wept according to the proverb, Victoria
Cadmaea, Cadmus victorie, where both parties repented. And I wot not
whether it came ever so happily to pass in war, that he that had victory
did not repent him of his enterprise, if he were a good man.

Then seeing Peace is the thing above all other most best and most
pleasant, and, contrariwise, war the thing most ungracious and wretched of
all other, shall we think those men to be in their right minds, the which
when they may obtain Peace with little business and labour will rather
procure war with so great labour and most difficulty?

First of all consider, how loathly a thing the rumour of war is, when it
is first spoken of. Then how envious a thing it is unto a prince, while
with often tithes and taxes he pillageth his subjects. What a business
hath he to make and entertain friends to help him? what a business to
procure bands of strangers and to hire soldiers?

What expenses and labours must he make in setting forth his navy of ships,
in building and repairing of castles and fortresses, in preparing and
apparelling of his tents and pavilions, in framing, making, and carrying
of engines, guns, armour, weapons, baggage, carts, and victual? What great
labour is spent in making of bulwarks, in casting of ditches, in digging
of mines, in keeping of watches, in keeping of arrays, and in exercising
of weapons? I pass over the fear they be in; I speak not of the imminent
danger and peril that hangeth over their heads: for what thing in war is
not to be feared? What is he that can reckon all the incommodious life
that the most foolish soldiers suffer in the field? And for that worthy to
endure worse, in that they will suffer it willingly. Their meat is so ill
that an ox of Cyprus would be loath to eat it; they have but little sleep,
nor yet that at their own pleasure. Their tents on every side are open on
the wind. What, a tent? No, no; they must all the day long, be it hot or
cold, wet or dry, stand in the open air, sleep on the bare ground, stand
in their harness. They must suffer hunger, thirst, cold, heat, dust,
showers; they must be obedient to their captains; sometimes they be
clapped on the pate with a warder or a truncheon: so that there is no
bondage so vile as the bondage of soldiers.

Besides all this, at the sorrowful sign given to fight, they must run
headlong to death: for either they must slay cruelly, or be slain
wretchedly. So many sorrowful labours must they take in hand, that they
may bring to pass that thing which is most wretched of all other. With so
many great miseries we must first afflict and grieve our own self, that we
may afflict and grieve other!

Now if we would call this matter to account, and justly reckon how much
war will cost, and how much peace, surely we shall find that peace may be
got and obtained with the tenth part of the cares, labours, griefs,
perils, expenses, and spilling of blood, with which the war is procured.
So great a company of men, to their extreme perils, ye lead out of the
realm to overthrow and destroy some one town: and with the labour of the
selfsame men, and without any peril at all, another town, much more noble
and goodly, might be new edified and builded. But you say, you will hurt
and grieve your enemy: so even that doing is against humanity.
Nevertheless, this I would ye should consider, that ye cannot hurt and
grieve your enemies, but ye must first greatly hurt your own people. And
it seemeth a point of a madman, to enterprise where he is sure and certain
of so great hurt and damage, and is uncertain which way the chance of war
will turn.

But admit, that either foolishness, or wrath, or ambition, or
covetousness, or outrageous cruelty, or else (which I think more like) the
furies sent from hell, should ravish and draw the heathen people to this
madness. Yet from whence cometh it into our minds, that one Christian man
should draw his weapon to bathe it in another Christian man's blood? It is
called parricide, if the one brother slay the other. And yet is a
Christian man nearer joined to another than is one brother to another:
except the bonds of nature be stronger than the bonds of Christ. What
abominable thing, then, is it to see them almost continually fighting
among themselves, the which are the inhabitants of one house the Church,
which rejoice and say, that they all be the members of one body, and that
have one head, which truly is Christ; they have all one Father in heaven;
they are all taught and comforted by one Holy Spirit; they profess the
religion of Christ all under one manner; they are all redeemed with
Christ's blood; they are all newborn at the holy font; they use alike
sacraments; they be all soldiers under one captain; they are all fed with
one heavenly bread; they drink all of one spiritual cup; they have one
common enemy the devil; finally, they be all called to one inheritance.
Where be they so many sacraments of perfect concord? Where be the
innumerable teachings of peace? There is one special precept, which Christ
called his, that is, Charity. And what thing is so repugnant to charity as
war? Christ saluted his disciples with the blessed luck of peace. Unto his
disciples he gave nothing save peace, saving peace he left them nothing.
In those holy prayers, he specially prayed the Father of heaven, that in
like manner as he was one with the Father, so all his, that is to say,
Christian men, should be one with him. Lo, here you may perceive a thing
more than peace, more than amity, more than concord.

Solomon bare the figure of Christ: for Solomon in the Hebrew tongue
signifieth peaceable or peaceful. Him God would have to build his temple.
At the birth of Christ the angels proclaimed neither war nor triumphs, but
peace they sang. And before his birth the prophet David prophesied thus of
him: Et factus est in pace locus ejus, that is to say, His dwelling place
is made in peace. Search all the whole life of Christ, and ye shall never
find thing that breathes not of peace, that signifieth not amity, that
savoureth not of charity. And because he perceived peace could not well be
kept, except men would utterly despise all those things for which the
world so greedily fighteth, he commanded that we should of him learn to be
meek. He calleth them blessed and happy that setteth naught by riches, for
those he calleth poor in spirit. Blessed be they that despise the
pleasures of this world, the which he calleth mourners. And them blessed
he calleth that patiently suffer themselves, to be put out of their
possessions, knowing that here in this world they are but as outlaws; and
the very true country and possession of godly creatures is in heaven. He
calleth them blessed which, deserving well of all men, are wrongfully
blamed and ill afflicted. He forbade that any man should resist evil.
Briefly, as all his doctrine commandeth sufferance and love, so all his
life teacheth nothing else but meekness. So he reigned, so he warred, so
he overcame, so he triumphed.

Now the apostles, that had sucked into them the pure spirit of Christ, and
were blessedly drunk with that new must of the Holy Ghost, preached
nothing but meekness and peace. What do all the epistles of Paul sound in
every place but peace, but long-suffering, but charity? What speaketh
Saint John, what rehearseth he so oft, but love? What other thing did
Peter? What other thing did all the true Christian writers? From whence
then cometh all this tumult of wars amongst the children of peace? Think
ye it a fable, that Christ calleth himself a vine tree, and his own the
branches? Who did ever see one branch fight with another? Is it in vain
that Paul so oft wrote, The Church to be none other thing, than one body
compact together of divers members, cleaving to one head, Christ? Whoever
saw the eye fight with the hand, or the belly with the foot? In this
universal body, compact of all those unlike things, there is agreement. In
the body of a beast, one member is in peace with another, and each member
useth not the property thereto given for itself alone, but for the profit
of all the other members. So that if there come any good to any one member
alone, it helpeth all the whole body. And may the compaction or knitting
of Nature do more in the body of a beast, that shortly must perish, than
the coupling of the Holy Ghost in the mystical and immortal body of the
Church? Do we to no purpose pray as taught by Christ: Good Lord, even as
thy will is fulfilled in heaven, so let it be fulfilled in the earth? In
that city of heaven is concord and peace most perfect. And Christ would
have his Church to be none other than a heavenly people in earth, as near
as might be after the manner of them that are in heaven, ever labouring
and making haste to go thither, and always having their mind thereon.

Now go to, let us imagine, that there should come some new guest out of
the lunar cities, where Empedocles dwelleth, or else out of the
innumerable worlds, that Democritus fabricated, into this world, desiring
to know what the inhabitants do here. And when he was instructed of
everything, it should at last be told him that, besides all other, there
is one creature marvellously mingled, of body like to brute beasts and of
soul like unto God. And it should also be told him, that this creature is
so noble, that though he be here an outlaw out of his own country, yet are
all other beasts at his commandment, the which creature through his
heavenly beginning inclineth alway to things heavenly and immortal. And
that God eternal loved this creature so well, that whereas he could
neither by the gifts of nature, nor by the strong reasons of philosophy
attain unto that which he so fervently desired, he sent hither his only
begotten son, to the intent to teach this creature a new kind of learning.
Then as soon as this new guest had perceived well the whole manner of
Christ's life and precepts, would desire to stand in some high place, from
whence he might behold that which he had heard. And when he should see
all other creatures soberly live according to their kind, and, being led
by the laws and course of nature, desire nothing but even as Nature would;
and should see this one special creature man given riotously to tavern
haunting, to vile lucre, to buying and selling, chopping and changing, to
brawling and fighting one with another, trow ye that he would not think
that any of the other creatures were man, of whom he heard so much of
before, rather than he that is indeed man? Then if he that had instructed
him afore would show him which creature is man, now would he look about to
see if he could spy the Christian flock and company, the which, following
the ordinance of that heavenly teacher Christ, should exhibit to him a
figure or shape of the evangelical city. Think ye he would not rather
judge Christians to dwell in any other place than in those countries,
wherein we see so great superfluity, riot, voluptuousness, pride, tyranny,
discord, brawlings, fightings, wars, tumults, yea, and briefly to speak, a
greater puddle of all those things that Christ reproveth than among Turks
or Saracens? From whence, then, creepeth this pestilence in among
Christian people? Doubtless this mischief also is come in by little and
little, like as many more other be, ere men be aware of them. For truly
every mischief creepeth by little and little upon the good manners of men,
or else under the colour of goodness it is suddenly received.

So then first of all, learning and cunning crept in as a thing very meet
to confound heretics, which defend their opinions with the doctrine of
philosophers, poets, and orators. And surely at the beginning of our
faith, Christian men did not learn those things; but such as peradventure
had learned them, before they knew what Christ meant, they turned the
thing that they had learned already, into good use.

Eloquence of tongue was at the beginning dissembled more than despised,
but at length it was openly approved. After that, under colour of
confounding heretics, came in an ambitious pleasure of brawling
disputations, which hath brought into the Church of Christ no small
mischief. At length the matter went so farforth that Aristotle was
altogether received into the middle of divinity, and so received, that his
authority is almost reputed holier than the authority of Christ. For if
Christ spake anything that did little agree with our life, by
interpretation of Aristotle it was lawful to make it serve their purpose.
But if any do never so little repugn against the high divinity of
Aristotle, he is quickly with clapping of hands driven out of the place.
For of him we have learned, that the felicity of man is imperfect, except
he have both the good gifts of body and of fortune. Of him we have
learned, that no commonweal may flourish, in which all things are
common. And we endeavour ourselves to glue fast together the decrees of
this man and the doctrine of Christ--which is as likely a thing as to
mingle fire and water together. And a gobbet we have received of the civil
laws, because of the equity that seemeth to be in them. And to the end
they should the better serve our purpose, we have, as near as may be,
writhed and plied the doctrine of the gospel to them. Now by the civil law
it is lawful for a man to defend violence with violence, and each to
pursue for his right. Those laws approve buying and selling; they allow
usury, so it be measurable; they praise war as a noble thing, so, it be
just. Finally all the doctrine of Christ is so defiled with the learning
of logicians, sophisters, astronomers, orators, poets, philosophers,
lawyers, and gentles, that a man shall spend the most part of his life,
ere he may have any leisure to search holy scripture, to the which when a
man at last cometh, he must come infected with so many worldly opinions,
that either he must be offended with Christ's doctrines, or else he must
apply them to the mind and of them that he hath learned before. And this
thing is so much approved, that it is now a heinous deed, if a man presume
to study holy scripture, which hath not buried himself up to the hard ears
in those trifles, or rather sophistries of Aristotle. As though Christ's
doctrine were such, that it were not lawful for all men to know it, or
else that it could by any means agree with the wisdom of philosophers.
Besides this we admitted at the beginning of our faith some honour, which
afterward we claimed as of duty. Then we received riches, but that was to
distribute to relieve poor men, which afterwards we turned to our own use.
And why not, since we have learned by the law civil, that the very order
of charity is, that every man must first provide for himself? Nor lack
there colours to cloak this mischief: first it is a good deed to provide
for our children, and it is right that we foresee how to live in age;
finally, why should we, say they, give our goods away, if we come by them
without fraud? By these degrees it is by little and little come to pass,
that he is taken for the best man that hath most riches: nor never was
there more honour given to riches among the heathen people, than is at
this day among the Christian people. For what thing is there, either
spiritual or temporal, that is not done with great show of riches? And it
seemed a thing agreeable with those ornaments, if Christian men had some
great jurisdiction under them. Nor there wanted not such as gladly
submitted themselves. Albeit at the beginning it was against their wills,
and scantly would they receive it. And yet with much work, they received
it so, that they were content with the name and title only: the profit
thereof they gladly gave unto other men. At the last, little by little
it came to pass, that a bishop thought himself no bishop, except he had
some temporal lordship withal; an abbot thought himself of small
authority, if he had not wherewith to play the lordly sire. And in
conclusion, we blushed never a deal at the matter, we wiped away all
shamefastness, and shoved aside all the bars of comeliness. And whatever
abuse was used among the heathen people, were it covetousness, ambition,
riot, pomp, or pride, or tyranny, the same we follow, in the same we match
them, yea, and far pass them. And to pass over the lighter things for the
while, I pray you, was there ever war among the heathen people so long
continually, or more cruelly, than among Christian people? What stormy
rumblings, what violent brays of war, what tearing of leagues, and what
piteous slaughters of men have we seen ourselves within these few years?
What nation hath not fought and skirmished with another? And then we go
and curse the Turk; and what can be a more pleasant sight to the Turks,
than to behold us daily each slaying other?

Xerxes doted, when he led out of his own country that huge multitude of
people to make war upon the Greeks. Trow ye, was he not mad, when he wrote
letters to the mountain called Athos, threatening that the hill should
repent except it obeyed his lust? And the same Xerxes commanded also the
sea to be beaten, because it was somewhat rough when he should have
sailed over.

Who will deny but Alexander the Great was mad also? He, the young god,
wished that there were many worlds, the which he might conquer--so great a
fever of vainglory had embraced his young lusty courage. And yet these
same men, the which Seneca doubted not to call mad thieves, warred after a
gentler fashion than we do; they were more faithful of their promise in
war, nor they used not so mischievous engines in war, nor such crafts and
subtleties, nor they warred not for so light causes as we Christian men
do. They rejoiced to advance and enrich such provinces as they had
conquered by war; and the rude people, that lived like wild beasts without
laws, learning, or good manners, they taught them both civil conditions
and crafts, whereby they might live like men. In countries that were not
inhabited with people, they builded cities, and made them both fair and
profitable. And the places that were not very sure, they fenced, for
safeguard of the people, with bridges, banks, bulwarks; and with a
thousand other such commodities they helped the life of man. So that then
it was right expedient to be overcome. Yea, and how many things read we,
that were either wisely done, or soberly spoken of them in the midst of
their wars. As for those things that are done in Christian men's wars they
are more filthy and cruel than is convenient here to rehearse. Moreover,
look what was worst in the heathen peoples' wars, in that we follow them,
yea, we pass them.

But now it is worth while to hear, by what means we maintain this our so
great madness. Thus they reason: If it had not been lawful by no means to
make war, surely God would never have been the author to the Jews to make
war against their enemies. Well said, but we must add hereunto, that the
Jews never made war among themselves, but against strangers and wicked
men. We, Christian men, fight with Christian men. Diversity of religion
caused the Jews to fight against their enemies: for their enemies
worshipped not God as they did. We make war oftentimes for a little
childish anger, or for hunger of money, or for thirst of glory, or else
for filthy meed. The Jews fought by the commandment of God; we make war to
avenge the grief and displeasure of our mind. And nevertheless if men will
so much lean to the example of the Jews, why do we not then in like manner
use circumcision? Why do we not sacrifice with the blood of sheep and
other beasts? Why do we not abstain from swine's flesh? Why doth not each
of us wed many wives? Since we abhor those things, why doth the example of
war please us so much? Why do we here follow the bare letter that killeth?
It was permitted the Jews to make war, but so likewise as they were
suffered to depart from their wives, doubtless because of their hard and
froward manners. But after Christ commanded the sword to be put up, it is
unlawful for Christian men to make any other war but that which is the
fairest war of all, with the most eager and fierce enemies of the Church,
with affection of money, with wrath, with ambition, with dread of death.
These be our Philistines, these be our Nabuchodonosors, these be our
Moabites and Ammonites, with the which it behooveth us to have no truce.