Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 A STUDr OF SIR JOHN DjyjES'S POEM 
 "NOSCE TEJPSUM" 
 
 BY 
 
 E. HERSHEY SNEATH, Ph.D. 
 
 PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY IN YALE UNIVERSITY 
 
 The proper study of mankind it nun 
 
 Popf , Euay on Man 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 1903
 
 J-ixuxw.rt.rv X 
 
 7^-ZLL^ .UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 SANTA BARBARA 
 
 D2. A/^/ 
 
 Copyright, 1905, 
 Ey Charles Scribner's Sons. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 Published, October, 1903. 
 
 Tf"2r:5r 
 
 UNIVERSITY PRESS . JOHN WILSON 
 AND SON • CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
 
 The acquisition of knowledge is, we conceive, always tome- 
 thing high and honourable : but one form of knowledge is superior 
 to another either in virtue of the self<ontained simplicity of its 
 truths or by the greater dignity and wondrousness of its contents: 
 and on both these grounds the investigation of the soul might 
 with justice claim a torcmost place. 
 
 ARiSTOTtB, Dc Amnui, Uans. by Wallace, Bk. 1., Ch. I., Sec, i. 
 
 .401994
 
 via Preface 
 
 of the subject. Furthermore, it was thought that 
 a statement of the position of the philosopihical 
 contents of the poem in the stream of speculative 
 thought might be of special service to students of 
 English literature. But the introduction of this 
 material, at the close of the various chapters, has, 
 to a certain extent, broken the continuity of the 
 exposition. The only alternatives were to intro- 
 duce this matter either as footnotes, or as notes at 
 the end of the volume. After careful considera- 
 tion, the method adopted seemed less distracting, 
 and more in accord with the aim of the volume 
 than the others. 
 
 The author gratefully acknowledges his obliga- 
 tions to his colleague, Professor Albert S. Cook, of 
 Yale University, for valuable suggestions and criti- 
 cism in the final revision of the work. 
 
 E. H. S. 
 
 Yale University, 
 
 October, 1903.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Paoi 
 
 Introduction i 
 
 Chatter 
 
 I. Biographical Sketch. — Relation to the 
 
 Age and to I'receding Thought . . 22 
 
 II. Of Human Knowledge 49 
 
 III. Means uy which the Soul is known . . 63 
 
 I\'. Reality of the Soul. — Sensation amsm . 80 
 
 V. Reality OF the Soul. — Materialism . . 92 
 
 VI. Nature OF the Soul. — Materialism . . too 
 
 VII. Origin of the Soul in Connection with 
 
 THE Body 115 
 
 \'11I. The Relation of Soul and Body ... 141 
 
 IX. How the Soul exercises its Powers in 
 
 the Body 156 
 
 X. Im.mortality of the Soul 179 
 
 Conclusion 213 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 NOSCE TeIPSU.M . . 221
 
 PREFACE 
 
 SIR JOHN DAVIES'S philosophical poem, 
 Xosce Tcipsum, is regarded by competent 
 critics as one of tl^e firest pieces of philosophi- 
 cal verse in the English language. It is really a 
 masterpiece of metrical philosophy. It is also of 
 importance as furnishing an insight into the psy- 
 chology and philosophy of the period immediately 
 preceding the birth of modern philosophy. How- 
 ever, no interpretation of the poem, tracing its 
 antecedents, unfolding its speculative contents, and 
 giving them an historical setting, has ever been 
 made by historian or essayist, either in English 
 literature or in philosophy. The following Study 
 aims to supply this deficiency. It is, therefore, 
 hoped that it may prove to be a real contribution 
 to the literature of both departments of learning, 
 as well as of interest to the intelligent reader. As 
 the poem is not easily accessible, it was deemed 
 advisable to publish it as an appendix to the Study. 
 The text is taken from Grosart's edition (London, 
 1876). It is to be regretted that a more carefully 
 edited edition of the text is not available. 
 
 A study of the sources of Davies's philosophy 
 was of course necessary for a scholarly treatment
 
 PIIILOSOPIIY IN POETRY 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 TT is an interesting and noteworthy fact that 
 English poetry has, to a very large extent, 
 concerned itself with the problems of philosophy. 
 The careful student of English verse cannot fail 
 to be impressed by the fact that England's greatest 
 poets have been dependent, in no small measure, 
 upon these problems for poetical inspiration and 
 content. Beginning with Spenser, we find that he 
 presents, in the Faery Queen, an elaborate system 
 of social and moral philosoph)'. In a letter to 
 Sir Walter Raleigh he acknowledged this to be his 
 aim. And, as one reads this interesting and beauti- 
 ful poem, noting the impersonation of the virtues 
 in its heroes, he can trace much of the poet's in- 
 spiration to the Nicomacluan Ethics of Aristotle. 
 It would doubtless be drawing upon the imagina- 
 tion to speak of Shakespeare as formulating a sys- 
 tem of philosophy. But it is certainly within the
 
 2 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 bounds of truth to say, that rarely has any psychol- 
 ogist or moral philosopher portrayed the ethical 
 life, and its philosophical implications, with greater 
 accuracy and force than did he. The supremacy 
 of conscience, the absoluteness of moral law, the 
 freedom of the human will, man's responsibility 
 for conduct, the implications of the moral nature 
 with reference to God and Destiny, these are sub- 
 jects which engaged the genius of England's great- 
 est poet, and which he treated with remarkable 
 insight. Milton, like Dante, derived much inspi- 
 ration from the problems of Christian philosophy. 
 Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained show that 
 a philosophy of evil, and a philosophy of redemp- 
 tion, inspired poetry which for grandeur and sub- 
 limity is hardly surpassed in the history of verse. 
 Pope chose the philosophical problems of man's 
 relation to the cosmos, his relation to himself, his 
 relation to society, and his conceptions of human 
 happiness, as the subjects of his ch-ef poetical 
 work — the Essay on Man. Among the main 
 sources of Shelley's early poetical inspiration was 
 an atheistic and anarchistic philosophy. The very 
 soul of Queen Mab is a philosophy of negation. 
 And, later, in Prometheus Unbound, the questions 
 of social philosophy engaged his mind. Words-
 
 IntrOiiuction 3 
 
 worth confessed himself ambitious to be a philo- 
 sophic poet A philosophy of nature as well as 
 a philosoph)' of society seriously commanded his 
 rcllective and xsthotic powers. And Aubrey De 
 \'cre is not far afield in saying: "He is Eng- 
 land's great philosophic, as Shakespeare is her 
 great dramatic, and Milton her great epic, poet."* 
 Coleridge did most of his philosophizing in prose. 
 lUit it is interesting to note how intimately related 
 are the aesthetic and reflective in his mind, and it 
 is difficult to resist the conviction, that they v/ere 
 mutually helpful in his poetizing and philosophiz- 
 ing, drowning as a poet is greatly indebted to 
 the problems of philosophy. Doubtless more of 
 a dramatic psychologist than a philosopher, he 
 nevertheless thought long and seriously on the 
 profound problems of a philosophy of life; and 
 much of his poetry is devoted to an expression 
 of a philosophical optimism which is the result 
 of his reflection. With regard to Tennyson, it has 
 been shown elsewhere^ that the questions of God, 
 Freedom, and Immortality — "the inevitable prob- 
 lems," as Kant calls them — lie at the very roots 
 
 1 Essays chiefly on Poetry. London and New York, 1887, 
 Vol. I. p. 177. 
 
 '* Sncath, "The Mind of Tennyson." New York, 1900.
 
 4 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 of his poetry. They, more than any other sub- 
 ject, engaged his genius. And much of his power 
 over the hearts and minds of men is due to the 
 consummate manner in which he has given poetical 
 expression to his thought on these fundamental 
 questions. 
 
 What is true of English poetry in its relation 
 to the problems of philosophy, is true of the great 
 poetry of the world. The great poets of every 
 age and of every nation deal with the fundamental 
 problems of human thought and life. A careful 
 inquiry into the history of poetry — both ancient 
 and modern — reveals the fact that these vital 
 problems of thought and life have not been the 
 exclusive property of the philosopher and theo- 
 logian, but that the poet also has a legitimate 
 claim upon them, having established it by the 
 fact that these problems have proven to be a 
 prolific source of poetic inspiration; an inex- 
 haustible storehouse of poetic content or subject- 
 matter. 
 
 Now if we examine the method of the poet's 
 dealing with these problems we shall find a two- 
 fold method revealed. The poet may be pos- 
 scssc'l of an intuitive power by which he gains 
 an almost immediate insight into the nature of
 
 hUroJuction 5 
 
 Truth and Reality. Or, like the average philos- 
 oplicr, he may reach a knowledge of such Truth 
 and Reality by a long and carefully sustained 
 process of reasoning. In the first case, we have 
 intuitive philosophy; in the second, reasoned phi- 
 losophy. In the first case, we have merely a 
 rcct)rd of intuitions, clothed often in highly im- 
 aginative and descriptive poetry. In the second 
 case, we have philosophizing in verse — a state- 
 ment of positions, and an elaborate poetical pres- 
 entation of the process of reasoning by which 
 those positions were attained. Undoubtedly the 
 greater portion of philosophical poetry is of the 
 intuitive order. It is an immediate envisagement 
 of Truth and Reality. This is what we should 
 naturally expect. The poet's mind, as a rule, 
 proceeds synthetically rather than analytically and 
 discursively, as do the minds of the scientist and 
 philosopher. He grasps the unity in the manifold, 
 the one in the many, generally by an act of poetic 
 intuition rather than by a long process of analysis 
 and generalization, or by a severe and sustained 
 method of reasoning. As to whether his intuitions 
 arc as valid as arc their generalizations reached by 
 induction and deduction, individual opinions will 
 differ. But some there be who will not deny that
 
 6 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 the heart of Reality may be pierced as truly by 
 such intuition as by logical inference. 
 
 But all philosophical poetry is not of the in- 
 tuitive order. There are poetic minds which, in 
 their pursuit of ultimate Truth and Reality, pro- 
 ceed by the ordinary methods of philosophy — 
 minds that really philosophize — that move by 
 the slow, careful, and toilsome processes of reason- 
 ing to the attainment of knowledge; and, having 
 reached conclusions by such methods, these are 
 embodied in verse. These minds are, more 
 strictly speaking, the philosophical poets. They 
 are, however, undoubtedly aided by the poetic na- 
 ture in their pursuit of truth in some other man- 
 ner than by direct intuition, for cognition is not 
 solely a matter of the intellectual nature of man. 
 The aesthetic nature shares largely in the pursuit 
 of knowledge. There are aesthetic momenta in hu- 
 man knowledge which superficial analysis is wont 
 to overlook. Much of scientific generalization 
 and philosophic conclusion is not mere inference 
 from bare fact of experience. Such generaliza- 
 tion and conclusion frequently carry us beyond 
 what rigid logical inference would justify. Man 
 enters upon the study of phenomena and Reality 
 with conceptions of, and a love for, order, propor-
 
 IntroJihtion 7 
 
 tion, sNinmctry, and harmony — with aesthetic 
 iilcals and fcchnj^s — and insists tliat an inter- 
 pretation of the facts of science, and the Reality 
 of pliilosophy, satisfy these aesthetic elements of 
 human nature. The history of science and philos- 
 opliy bears testimony to the fact. Neitlier science 
 nor philosophy can establish, by strictly logical 
 inference, a world of order and law, of harmony 
 and proportion, a world of system. These are pos- 
 tulates having chiefly an a.'sthctic warrant, rather 
 tlian the warrant of strict logical inference from 
 brute fact. 1 hey are none the less valid for all 
 that. The fact is, that man is not merely logical 
 intellect, but a:sthetic life and feeling; and Truth 
 and Reality reveal themselves to man not merely as^ 
 intellectual, but also as a;sthetical. And, as we dis- 
 tinguish the poet who deals with the problems of 
 philosophy according to the usual methods of the 
 philosopher from the poet who deals with them by 
 intuition ; so we may distinguish the poet-philos- 
 opher from the mere philosopher, not simply by 
 the fact that the former records his reasoning and 
 conclusions with respect to ultimate Truth and 
 Reality in verse instead of prose, but also by the 
 fact, that in his actual pursuit of knowledge the 
 aesthetic life figures more conspicuously in his
 
 8 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 attainment of conclusions than it does in the case 
 of the mere philosopher. 
 
 Now one of the most remarkable examples of 
 actual philosophizing in verse is found in Sir John 
 Davics's poem — Nosce Teipsiim. A sixteenth- 
 century production, to many students of litera- 
 ture and philosophy it belongs almost to the 
 category of " half-forgotten lore." Indeed, it is 
 questionable whether the poem is known at all 
 to the large majority of students of philosophy.^ 
 However, it is worthy of a much better fate. 
 Were an excuse needed for calling attention to 
 this notable production, it could easily be found 
 in the fact that, almost by common consent 
 among competent literary critics, it is pronounced 
 one of the best examples of philosophical poetry 
 in our language. An excuse could be found also 
 in the historical significance of the poem. That 
 the first statement is correct will be apparent 
 from an examination of the following record of 
 critical opinion : — 
 
 Beginning with estimates of some of the earlier 
 writers, Elizabeth Cooper, in her judgment of 
 Davies, says: "[He] left behind Him more val- 
 
 1 Of the many recognized histories of philosophy, the poem 
 b mentioned by only one.
 
 httroJuition p 
 
 liable Witnesses of liis Merit, than all the Titles 
 that Heraldry can invent, or Monarchs bestow: 
 1 lie joint Applauses of Cambden^ Sir John Har- 
 iuj^ioft, Inn Johnson, Seliicn, Von ft, Corbet, &c. I 
 These are great, and iinciuestionable Authorities 
 in Favour of this Author; and I shall only pre- 
 sume to add. That, in my humble Opinion, no 
 Philosophical Writer, I have met with, ever ex- 
 plain'd their Ideas more clearly, or familiarly even 
 in Prose; or any so beautifully or harmoniously 
 in Verse. There is a peculiar Happiness in '"'s 
 Similies, being introduc'd to illustrate, more tl.a»» 
 adorn; which rcn-^ers them as useful, as enter- 
 taining; and distinguishes his from those of every 
 other Author."^ 
 
 In the next place, George Ellis, after referring 
 to the fact that the Thcatrnm Poctartim contains 
 the names of seventy-four poets belonging to the 
 Elizabethan period, and to the further fact that 
 most of them have been " consigned to oblivion," 
 remarks, that " a few, such as Drayton, Fairfax, 
 Warner, Sir John Harrington, Sir Philip Sidney, 
 Sir Walter Raleigh, &c. continue to be cited in 
 deference to their ancient reputation ; but Shak- 
 speare, Jonson, Fletcher, Spenser, and Sir John 
 
 ^ " The Muses' Library," 2d cd. London, Vol. L p. 332.
 
 w Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 Davies, are still confessed to be unrivalled in their 
 several styles of composition, although near two 
 centuries have elapsed, during which the progress 
 of literature and the improvement of our language 
 have been constant and uninterrupted." ^ He 
 further adds with respect to Davies : " His poem 
 on the Immortality of the Soul is a noble mon- 
 ument of his learning, acuteness, command of 
 language, and facility of versification. His sim- 
 ilies (as Mrs. Cooper and Mr. Headley have justly 
 observed) arc singularly happy; always enlivening, 
 and often illustrating his abstruse and difficult 
 subject." 2 
 
 More favorable still is the critical estimate of 
 Hallam. He says: "Perhaps no language can 
 produce a poem, extending to so great a length, 
 of more condensation of thought, or in which 
 fewer languid verses will be found. . . . Lines 
 there are in Davies which far outweigh much 
 of the descriptive and imaginative poetry of the 
 last two centuries, whether we estimate them by 
 the pleasure they impart to us, or by the in- 
 tellectual vigour they display. Experience has 
 
 * "Specimens of tlie Early English I'octs." London, 1811, 
 Vol. II., pp. 157-158. 
 2 Ibid., Vol. II. p. 369.
 
 Introduction it 
 
 shown tliat the faculties peculiarly deemed poet- 
 ical arc frcciuciitly exhibited in a considerable 
 degree, but very few have been able to preserve 
 a perspicuous brevity without stiflfncss or pedantry 
 (allowance made for the subject and the times), 
 in metaphysical reasoning, so successfully as Sir 
 John Davies." ' 
 
 Essentially the same view of Davies is taken 
 b\' Campbell, who sa)'s : " Davies's poem on 
 the Immoitality of the Soul, entitled ' Nosce tcip- 
 sinn,' will convey a much more favourable idea 
 of metaph)-sical poetry than the wittiest effusions 
 of Uonne and his followers, Davies carried ab- 
 stract reasoning into verse with an acuteness and 
 felicity which have seldom been equalled. He 
 reasons, undoubtedly, with too much labour, for- 
 mality, and subtlety, to afford uniform poetical 
 pleasure. The generality of his stanzas exhibit 
 hard arguments interwoven with the pliant mate- 
 rials of fancy so closely, that we may compare 
 them to a texture of cloth and metallic threads, 
 which is cold and stiff, while it is splendidly 
 curious. There is this difference, however, be- 
 tween Davies and the commonly styled metaphys- 
 
 * " Introduction to the Literature of Europe." London, 1839, 
 Vol. IL pp. 314-315.
 
 12 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 ical poets, that Ae argues like a hard thinker, and 
 t/icjf, for the most part, like madmen. If we con- 
 quer the drier parts of Davies's poem, and bestow 
 a little attention on thoughts which were meant, 
 not to gratify the indolence, but to challenge the 
 activity of the mind, we shall find in the entire 
 essay fresh beauties at every perusal : for in the 
 happier parts we come to logical truths so well 
 illustrated by ingenious similes, that we know not 
 whether to call the thoughts more poetically or 
 philosophically just. The judgment and fancy 
 are reconciled, and the imagery of the poem 
 seems to start more vividly from the surrounding 
 shades of abstraction." * 
 
 Again, Professor Craik pays this high tribute 
 to Nosce Tcipsnm and its author : •' [The poem] 
 is written in rhyme, in the common heroic ten- 
 syllable verse, but disposed in quatrains, like the 
 early play of Misogonus already mentioned, and 
 other poetry of the same era, or like Sir Thomas 
 Ovcrbury's poem of The Wife, the Gondibert of 
 Sir William Davenant, and the Annus Mirabilis 
 of Dryden, at a later period. No one of these 
 writers has managed this difficult stanza so suc- 
 
 ' " r.ssay on F.nK'ish Poetry," prefixed to " Specimens of th*? 
 British rocts," 2d cd. London, 1841, Pt. II. p. Ixx.
 
 IntroJuctioK i) 
 
 ccssfuUy as Davics : it has the disadvantage of 
 requiring tlie sense to be in general closed at 
 certain regularly antl (juickly recurring turns, 
 which yet are very ill adapted for an effective 
 pause; and even all the skill of Dryden has been 
 unable to free it from a certain air of monotony 
 and languor, — a circumstance of which that poet 
 may be supposed to have been himself sensible, 
 since he wholly abandoned it after one or two 
 early attempts. Davics, however, has conquered 
 its difficukics ; and, as has been observed, ' per- 
 haps no language can produce a poem, extending 
 to so great a length, of more condensation of 
 thought, or in which fewer languid verses will be 
 found.' ^ In fact, it is by this condensation and 
 sententious brevity, so carefully filed and elab- 
 orated, however, as to involve no sacrifice of 
 perspicuity or fulness of expression, that he has 
 attained his end. Every quatrain is a pointed 
 expression of a separate thought:, like one of 
 Rochcfoucault's Maxims; each thought being, by 
 great skill and painstaking in the packing, made 
 exactly to fit and to fill the same casc."^ 
 
 * Ilallam, " Lit. of F.urojje," II. p. 227. 
 
 2 "A Compendious History of Englibh Literature." New York, 
 1863, Vol. L p. 573.
 
 14 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 An American critic, Edwin P. Whipple, speaks 
 of Davies and his celebrated poem as follows: 
 " It is usual among critics, even such critics as 
 Hallam and Campbell, to decide that the imagi- 
 native power of the poem on the ' Immortality of 
 the Soul ' consists in the illustration of the argu- 
 ments rather than in the perception of the prem- 
 ises. But the truth would seem to be that the 
 author exhibits his imagination more in his insight 
 than in his imagery. The poetic excellence of the 
 work comes from the power of clear, steady be- 
 holding of spiritual facts with the spiritual eye, — 
 of beholding them so clearly that the task of stat- 
 ing, illustrating, and reasoning from them is per- 
 formed with masterly ease." ^ 
 
 George MacDonald also holds our poet's work 
 in high esteem. Referring to Nosce Tcipsiun, he 
 
 ' says: " It is a wonderful instance of what can be 
 
 i 
 
 done for metaphysics in verse, and by means of 
 \ imagination or poetic embodiment generally. . . . 
 
 Sir John Davies's treatise is not only far more 
 j poetic in image and utterance than that of Lord 
 
 Brooke, but is far more clear in argument and firm 
 
 ; in expression as well." ^ 
 
 ^ "The Literature of the Age of Klizalieth." Hoston, 1S69, 
 , p;>- 23y-2.jo. 
 \ ^ " England's Antiphon," pp. 105-106.
 
 Introduction 75 
 
 Grosart, the editor of Davies's works, says: 
 "The nicety and daintiness of workmanship, the 
 involute and nevertheless firmly-completed and 
 manifested imagery of ' Nosce Teipsum ' where- 
 with this nicety and daintiness arc wrought, place 
 Sir John Davies artistically among the finest of 
 our Poets." ^ And again: '** Nosce Teipsum ' as 
 it was practically the earliest so it remains the 
 most remarkable example of deep refiective-mcdi- 
 tative thinking in verse in our language or in any 
 language."^ 
 
 Henry Morlcy, also, joins with the critics in 
 praise of Nosce Tcipsuvi. lie says: " Its stanzas 
 of elegiac verse were so well packed with thought, 
 always neatly contained within the limit of each 
 stanza, that wc shall afterwards have to trace back 
 to this poem the adoption of its measure as, for a 
 time, our ' heroic stanza.*"^ 
 
 Of similar character is the judgment of J. W. 
 Hales: "In the kingdom of poetry, as has been 
 said, are many mansions, and undoubtedly one 
 of these belongs to Sir John Davies, however 
 
 1 "The Complete Poems of Sir John Davies." London, 1876, 
 Vol. I., Mem. Int. p. Ixxxiii. 
 
 2 Ibid., p. Ix. 
 
 ' " A First Sketch of English Literature." London, 1886^ 
 p. 459.
 
 1 6 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 we may describe it, however we may censure its 
 style and arrangement. Far be from us any such 
 critical or scholastic formulae as would prevent us 
 from all due appreciation of such refined, imagi- 
 native thought and subtle, finished workmanship, 
 as mark the first notable philosophical poem of 
 our literature."^ 
 
 Edmund Gosse also accords our author high 
 praise. He says: "Sir John Davics, whose philo- 
 sophical poems were among the most original 
 and beautiful literary productions of the close of 
 Eli/rabeth's reign, was suddenly silenced by the 
 admiration James I. conceived for his judgment 
 in practical affairs, and was henceforth wholly ab- 
 sorbed in politics. But an examination of Davics' 
 work, had we space for it here, would form no 
 ill preparation for the study of several classes of 
 Jacobean poetry. lie was eminently a writer be- 
 fore his time. His extremely ingenious Orchestra^ 
 a poem on dancing, has much in it that suggests 
 the Fletchers on one side and Donne on the other, 
 while his more celebrated magnum opus of the 
 Nosce Tcipsnm is the general precursor of all the 
 school of metaphj'sical ingenuity and argumen- 
 tative imagination." ^ 
 
 1 " Folia Litteraria," p. 163. 
 
 * " The Jacobean Poets." London, 1894, ch. i. pp. 8-9.
 
 Introduction ij 
 
 The number of these favorable critical estimates 
 niij^jlit easily be increased, but those given are 
 enough, and sufficiently representative, to show 
 that Davies is regarded by competent critical 
 thought, not only as an artistic poet, but as one 
 of the foremost writers of philosophy in verse in 
 English poetry. This is no small merit, when we 
 remember how largely poetry is dependent upon 
 philosophy for her inspiration and content. It 
 has been shown, by an appeal to the history of 
 poetry, that the greatest poets have been those who 
 have drunk from the cup of Philosophy. To think 
 clearly on philosophical themes, and to present 
 one's thinking in remarkably perfected verse, is a 
 distinction that any poet might well covet. In 
 the judgment of the critics this is a distinction 
 which Davies undoubtedly possesses. In an elab- 
 orate poem, without diffuseness of thought or 
 language, he proceeds carefully as a thinker and 
 an artist, or rather as an artist-thinker, to work 
 out a solution of some of the profoundest prob- 
 lems that can engage the human mind, and to 
 present, in genuinely artistic form, not only the 
 solution itself, but also the patient steps by which 
 it was attained. A poet who undertakes con- 
 scientiously such a piece of work, and who sue-
 
 }8 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 cessfully accomplishes it, deserves well of every 
 student of literature and philosophy. 
 
 But, in the second place, Davies is by no means 
 unworthy of notice as a philosophic thinker. He 
 was possessed of the spirit of the true philoso- 
 pher — of an earnest love for, and desire to know, 
 tlie truth. In his reasoning he is candid, and, for 
 the most part, free from dogmatism — especially 
 when viewed from the standpoint of the spirit of 
 his age. He stands ready all through the poem 
 to give a reason for the faith within him. He 
 docs not underestimate the force of opposing 
 views, nor attempt to evade them. He meets 
 his antagonist fairly — whether he be sensational- 
 ist, materialist, sceptic, or Christian philosopher. 
 He does not proclaim merely, but philosophizes. 
 Furthermore, he reveals a strong grasp of the 
 problems of philosophy. This is not the case 
 with many of the philosophic poets, and there 
 j is often a deficiency in this respect among phi- 
 losophers themselves. Davies, throughout Nosce 
 Tci/>sinn, seems to apprehend the essential nature 
 of the problems with which he deals. And to this, 
 as much as to anything, do we owe that clear- 
 ness — that perspicacity — which his critics praise 
 so much. This is all the more evident, when we
 
 Introduction ig 
 
 note that he makes himself clearly understood in 
 verse — which docs not lend itself so easily to 
 philosophical expression as prose. And it is still 
 more evident in view of the fact that he deals 
 with an exceedingly difficult stanza. 
 
 But after we have said all this, the real value 
 of his work as a philosopher lies in its historical 
 significance. Dr. Porter has truly stated what this 
 historical significance is. " It gives," he says, " a 
 transcript of that better scholastic doctrine of the 
 soul which combines the teachings of both Aris- 
 totle and Plato, when purified from many of the 
 extreme subtilities ingrafted upon them by the 
 doctors of the schools, and adds the results of 
 the dawning good sense which attended the Ref- 
 ormation and the Revival of Classical Learning. 
 For the history of philosophy it is of great sig- 
 nificance, as it enables the student to understand 
 the psychology and philosophy which were cur- 
 rent before the introduction of the philosophies 
 of Descartes on the one hand and of Hobbes and 
 Locke on the other." ^ 
 
 In somewhat similar vein Professor Morris re- 
 marks: "With considerable appositeness of argu- 
 
 ' Ueberwcg, " History of I'hil()so|)l>y," trans, by G. S. Morris. 
 New York, 1873, Vol. II., Appendix, pp. 35J-353.
 
 20 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 ment, and clearness of exposition, Sir John Davies 
 sets forth his thoroughly spiritualistic psychology, 
 and develops numerous considerations tending to 
 establish the doctrine of the soul's immortality, 
 all founded on the best philosophy the world had 
 produced, and pervaded by an obvious breath 
 of sincere and independent conviction. . . . The 
 poem may stand as a document to prove what 
 was the thoughtful faith of the best type of Eng- 
 lish gentlemen in his day." ^ 
 
 The historical significance of the poem as thus 
 stated is not unimportant to the student of the 
 history of psychology and philosophy. Works 
 on the history of philosophy are not rich in 
 materials to represent the period marking the 
 transition from scholasticism to the birth of mod- 
 ern philosophy. So that any work, like Davies's 
 Nosce Tcipsum, which throws light on the best 
 thought of this period, is of value to the student. 
 The work of a man, then, who is thus highly 
 estimated as a poet and poet-philosopher by com- 
 petent critics, and whose historical significance for 
 students of psychology and philosophy is of such 
 importance, is certainly worthy of careful study. 
 And, as we note the progress of psychology and 
 
 » " Uritish Thought and Thinkers." Chicago, 1880, pp. 67-68.
 
 IntroJuction 21 
 
 philosophy since the poet's day, to the rewards of 
 swell a study will be added the additional recom- 
 pense of which Goethe speaks in the following 
 linos: — 
 
 " A great delight is granted 
 When, in the spirit of the ages planted, 
 We mark how, ere our time, a sage has thought, 
 And then, how far his work, and grandly, we have brought." 
 
 Faust, Scene I. — Bayard Taylor's Translation.
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH.— RELATION TO THE 
 AGE AND TO PRECEDING THOUGHT 
 
 "1 T/E can gain a clearer insight into Davies's 
 philosophical poem by making a brief 
 study of his life, and an inquiry into his relation 
 to his age. His indebtedness to predecessors 
 must also be considered. 
 
 Sir John Davies, poet, poet-philosopher, lawyer, 
 and statesman, was born in Tisbury, Wiltshire, 
 England, in 1569. He was the son of John Davies, 
 of Chisgrove, also a lawyer, and country gentleman. 
 His mother, Mary Bennett, was a member of a 
 distinguished family, Davies " became a com- 
 moner of Queen'? coll. about the beginning of 
 Mich, term in the fifteenth year of his age, an. 
 1585, wherein having laid a considerable founda- 
 tion of academical literature, partly by his own 
 natural parts (which were excellent) and partly 
 by the help of a good tutor, he was removed (hav- 
 ing taken a degree in arts, as it seems) to the
 
 Biographic ill Sketch 2j 
 
 Middlc-Tcmplc, wherein applying himself to the 
 study of the common-law, tho' he had no great 
 geny to it, was in fine (July 1595,) made a bar- 
 rester." ' There are evidences that, although Da- 
 vies was an earnest student, he was nevertheless 
 given to indulgence in the youthful extravagances 
 more or less characteristic of tiic times. He asso- 
 ciated with the wits and poets of the period, and 
 tile character of the epigrams penned by him at 
 this time indicate that the moral tone of society 
 was not very high. Me was admitted to the bar, 
 as has already been stated, in 1595. Two years 
 earlier, his celebrated poem entitled Onhestrn, 
 or a Pocmc of Dauncing, " was licensed to John 
 Harison," although it seems not to have been pub- 
 lished before 15^j6. This poem was dedicated to 
 one Richard Martin, afterward Recorder of Lon- 
 don, and a very dear friend of Davies. This fact 
 is interesting in the light of subsequent events. 
 Later a quarrel occurred between the two friends, 
 the consequences of which completely changed 
 the tenor of the poet's life. For some reason 
 Davies took ofifence at Martin, who is represented 
 as a man " fast of tongue and ribald of wit, with a 
 
 1 Anthony-a-Wood, "Athenx Oxonienses." London, 1815, 
 Vol. II. p. 400.
 
 24 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 dash of provocative sarcasm." * Davies resented 
 the offence by cudgelh'ng him severely while dining 
 at the barrister's table in the Middle Temple. On 
 account of this assault he was expelled from the 
 Bar.^ His disbarment, however, was not, in the 
 end, a misfortune to him or to the world. It, so 
 to speak, brought him to himself. Having been 
 thus humiliated, he returned to Oxford and re- 
 sumed his studies. It proved to be a year of re- 
 pentance and soul-searching — a year of serious 
 study and reflection — which resulted in a complete 
 reformation of life. To this Davies himself testi- 
 fies in the following words descriptive of his own 
 experience : — 
 
 •' Yet if AJJliction once her warres begin, 
 
 And threat the feebler Sense with sword and fire ; 
 The Minde contracts her selfe and shrinketh in, 
 And to her selfe she gladly doth retire : 
 
 "As Spiders toucht, seek their webs inmost part; 
 As bees in stormes vnto their hiues returne ; 
 As bloud in danger gathers to the heart; 
 As men seek towns, when foes the country burn. 
 
 "If ought can teach vs ought, Afflictions lookes, 
 (Making vs looke into our selues so neere,) 
 Teach vs to knotv our selues beyond all bookes, 
 Or all the learned Schooles that euer were. 
 
 1 Grosart, op. cit., Mem. Int. p. xxii. 
 
 '■' For full account of the affair see Stowell, " Archacologia,** 
 Vol. X.Xl.
 
 Biographical Sketch 25 
 
 *• This mistusst lately pluckt me by the eare, 
 And many a golden lesson hath me taught ; 
 Hatli made my Senses quicke, and Reason cleare, 
 Rcform'd my Will and rectifidc my Thought 
 
 " So doc the winds and thunders cleanse the ayrc; 
 So working lees settle and purge the wine; 
 So lop't and pruned trees doe flourish {aire ; 
 So doth the tire the drossie gold refine. 
 
 " Neither Minerua nor the learned Muse, 
 
 Nor rules of Art, nox precepts of the wise ; 
 Could in my braine those beames of skill infuse. 
 As but the glance of this Darnels angry eyes. 
 
 " She within lists my ranging minde hath brought, 
 That now beyond my selfe I list not goe; 
 My selfe am center of my circling thought, 
 Onely tny selfe I studie, learne, and know." 
 
 But a moral reformation of Davics was not the 
 only outcome of this humiliation, with its conse- 
 quent isolation and reflection. His self-contempla- 
 tion led to a serious study of the reality, nature, 
 origin, powers, dignity, and destiny of the human 
 soul, and the uses to which such a spiritual being 
 should be put ; and to the embodiment of his re- 
 flections and conclusions in an elaborate poem 
 entitled Nosce Tcipsum. In other words, Nosce 
 Teipsuui — which is a philosophy of mind in verse 
 — was the fruit of his humiliation and repentance.
 
 26 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 It is quite remarkable that a poem, representing 
 so much literary merit, and requiring so much 
 serious and sustained reflection, should have been 
 produced in less than a year, especially when it is 
 remembered that much of Davies's time was de- 
 voted to the earnest pursuit of his studies. By the 
 persuasion, and through the kind offices, of Lord 
 Mountjoy, the poem was dedicated to Queen Eliza- 
 beth,^ who was so greatly pleased with it that she 
 made him her servant in ordinary, and gave him 
 promises of promotion. Of course, regardless of 
 the merits of the poem, the aged queen could not 
 have been altogether indifferent to the graceful 
 and flattering words of the dedicatory poem: — 
 
 " To that cleere maiestie which in the North 
 Doth, like another Sunne in glory rise ; 
 Which standeth fixt, yet spreads her heauenly worth; 
 Loadstone to hearts, and loadstarre to all eyes. 
 
 " Like Heau'n in all; like th' Earth in this alone. 
 
 That though great States by her support doe stand, 
 Yet she herselfe supported is of none, 
 But by the finger of the Almightie's hand : 
 
 * A MS. copy of the poem, dedicated to Ed. Cooke, Esq., a 
 friend of Davies, is preserved in Holkham Hall. Another MS. 
 copy was dedicated to the Earl of NorthumI)erland. Cf. " Dic- 
 tionary of National Biography," Vol. XIV. p. 141.
 
 Biograpbitral Sketch 2y 
 
 "To tlie diuincst and the ridiest minde, 
 
 Both l)y Art's purchase ami by Nature's dowre, 
 That eucr was from Heau'n to I-^arth confin'd, 
 To shew the vtmost of a creature's power : 
 
 " To that great Spirit, which doth great kingdomes mooue, 
 The sacred spring whence ri^ht and honor streames, 
 Distilling Vertug, shedding Peace and Loue, 
 In euery place, as Cynthia sheds her beames: 
 
 *' I offer up some sparkles of that fire, 
 
 Whereby wee reason, line, and moue, and bej 
 These sparkes by nature cuermore aspire, 
 Which makes them to so hij^h an highnesse ^tt. 
 
 ** Faire Soule, since to the fairest body knit. 
 
 You giue such liuely life, such quickning power, 
 
 Such sweet celestiall influences to it, 
 
 As kecpes it still in youth's immortall flower : 
 
 " (As where the sunne is present all the yeere, 
 And ncucr doth retire his golden ray. 
 Needs must the Spring bee euerlasting there, 
 And euery season like the month of May.) 
 
 ♦' O ! many, many yeeres may you remaine, 
 A happy angell to this happy Land; 
 Long, long may you on Karili our empresse raigne, 
 Ere you in Heauen a glorious angell stand. 
 
 " Stay long (sweet spirit) ere thou to Heauen depart, 
 
 Which mak'bt each place a heauen wherein thou art."
 
 28 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 Nosce Teipsum, more than any other poem of 
 its author, made a reputation for Davies. The 
 same year of its publication came the Hymnes of 
 Astraa — a series of hymns or short poems to 
 Queen Elizabeth. There are twenty-six, flattering 
 and fulsome, ascribing to her almost every human 
 virtue. There is a hymn to her picture; one tell- 
 ing of her mind; others treating respectively " Of 
 the Sun-bcames of her Mind," "Of her Wit," 
 " Of her Will," " Of her Memorie," " Of her Phan- 
 tasie," " Of the Organs of her Minde," " Of the 
 Passions of her Heart," " Of the Innumerable Ver- 
 tues of her Minde," " Of her Wisdome," " Of her 
 Justice," "Of her Magnanimitie," and "Of her 
 Moderation." 
 
 Davies was now conspicuous in the public eye. 
 Jle was on the high road to preferment. Other 
 I)octs recognized his merit. He contributed 
 Minor Poems to Davison's Poetical Rhapsody. 
 Through the intercession of Lord Ellesmere, 
 Keeper of the Great Seal, he was re-admitted to 
 the Bar, having made the proper apologies. His 
 apology to Martin led, at least, to a formal recon- 
 ciliation of the former friends.^ In 1601 he was 
 made a member of Parliament for Corfe Castle. 
 ^ Cf. Grosart, op. cit., Mem. Int. pp. xxx-.\xxi.
 
 Biographical Sketch 2g 
 
 Martin was also in Parliament at this time. Davics 
 was appointed a member of the " Grand Commit- 
 tee " to thank Queen Elizabeth for the withdrawal 
 of certain patents which had led to great abuses. 
 A new and corrected edition of iVi?i^^ Tcipsum was 
 issued in i602. After the death of Queen Eliza- 
 beth in 1603, " he, with the Lord Hunsdon, went 
 into Scotland to congratulate K. James as her 
 lawful successor; and being introduced into his 
 presence, the king enquired the names of those 
 gentlemen who were in the company of the said 
 lord, and he naming John Davies among, who 
 stood behind, them, the king straitway asked, 
 whether he was Nosce Teipsiim ? and being an- 
 swered that he was the same, he graciously em- 
 braced him, and thenceforth had so great a favour 
 for him, that soon after [in 1603,] he made him his 
 solicitor, and then his attorney-general in Ireland." ^ 
 He distinguished himself in the important and diffi- 
 cult office of Solicitor General. His latest biogra- 
 pher gives him almost unmeasured praise for his 
 work in behalf of Ireland and the Government.^ 
 In 1606 he was made Attorney General for Ireland. 
 He was also appointed Sergeant-at-Arms. Davies 
 
 * Anthony-a-Wood, op. cit., Vol. II. p. 401. 
 
 * Grosart, op. cit., Mem. Int. pp. xxxv-xxxvii.
 
 ^o Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 showed exceptional fitness for his work, and his 
 state papers evince a high order of legal ability 
 and statesmanship. In 1607 he was knighted. 
 
 During his career in Ireland he was married to 
 r^ieanor, youngest daughter of George, Lord Aud- 
 Icy. She was a singular woman, given to strange 
 prophecies and superstitions. " What she usually 
 predicted," says Wood, " she folded up for the most 
 part in dark expressions, received from a voice, 
 which she frequently heard, as she used to tell her 
 tlaughtcr Lucy, and the others." ' She wrote The 
 Sfay of the Wise, The Restitution of the Reprobates, 
 The Bride's Preparation, and Tobit's Book. Two 
 children were born of the marriage. One, an 
 idiotic son, died in his youth. The other, Lucy 
 by name, grew up an exceedingly clever woman. 
 She married Ferdinand, Lord Hastings, later Earl 
 of Huntingdon. 
 
 To return to Davics, we find that he performed 
 his official duties in Ireland with exceptional thor- 
 oughness and ability. He made a careful study 
 of the *' Irish question," and in 1612 was pub- 
 lished his admirable book, A Discoverie of the 
 Trve Cavses ivhy Ireland was neuer entirely Sub- 
 dued . . , vntill the Beginning of his Maiesties 
 1 Op. cit., p. 404.
 
 Biographical Sketch ^i 
 
 happie Raigne. This same year saw him made 
 Kinpi's Sergeant. He was also elected a Member 
 of Parlianient for Fermanagh, and later was chosen 
 Speaker of the House. In 1614 he served as 
 Member of Parliament for Newcastle-under-Lyne. 
 Later, in 1619, he moved to England, continuing 
 to represent Ncwcastle-undcr-Lync in the House, 
 and also serving in the capacity of Judge of 
 Assize.^ In 1622 he published for the first time 
 a volume of his collected poems.^ In 1626 he re- 
 ceived the exalted honor of an appointment to the 
 Lord Chief Justiceship. Unfortunately he did not 
 live long enough to enter upon the duties of his 
 office. On December 8 of the same year he died 
 — it was supposed, according to Wood, of apo- 
 plexy. He was buried in St. Martin's Church, 
 London. Shortly after, an elaborate inscription 
 in Latin was placed on a pillar near his grave. 
 Grosart's translation of this inscription, so far as it 
 relates to his character and accomplishments, is as 
 follows: '* To God the Best and Greatest: Sacred. 
 John Davys of knightly rank, having formerly 
 discharged with prudence the highest duties of 
 King's Attorney General in the realm of Ireland : 
 
 i Grosart, op. cit., Mem. Int. p. xliii-xlvii. 
 2 For a list of Davies's prose works cf. Wood, op. cit., Vol. II. pp. 
 402-403. Consult also Grosart's ed. of his collected prose works.
 
 52 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 thence having been recalled to his own country, 
 secured the first place among the servants of his 
 lord the King, at the Law. After various services 
 nobly rendered in each office, being now nom- 
 inated to more distinguished (appointments) he 
 suddenly frustrated the hope of his friends but 
 fulfilled his own — being called away from human 
 honours to celestial glory, in the year of his age 
 57. A man for accomplished genius, for un- 
 common eloquence, for language whether free or 
 bound in verse, most happy. Judicial sternness 
 with elegance of manners and more pleasant 
 learning he tempered. An uncorrupt Judge, a 
 faithful Patron. For love of free-born piety and 
 contempt for fretting superstition alike remark- 
 able. He looked down from on high on the 
 obstinate narrowness of plebeian souls in the 
 matter of religion, pity softening his disdain. 
 Himself magnanimously just, religious, free, and 
 moved by heaven." ^ 
 
 Davies, of course, like every writer, was affected 
 by the spirit of the age. The spirit of the Eliz- 
 abethan age has been so frequently portrayed, 
 and at such great length, in other works, as to 
 make an extended description here unnecessary. 
 1 Op. cit., Mem. Int. pp. liv-lv.
 
 Biographical Sketch ^^ 
 
 A brief reference to it for purposes of undcr- 
 standini^ in what manner Davics in writing Nosce 
 Tiifsunt was aflfccted by it is all that is required. 
 The first results of the Revival of Letters were 
 experienced by ICngland in the latter part of the 
 fifteenth and the first part of the sixteenth centu- 
 ries. Probably the best results in the sixteenth 
 century were reached during the reign of Henry 
 VHI. But throughout the reign of Elizabeth 
 there was considerable interest manifested in clas- 
 sical literature. Professor Craik, in a chapter on 
 "Classical Learning,"' speaking of the sixteenth 
 century, says: "The whole of the sixteenth 
 century, however, will deserve the epithet of a 
 learned age, notwithstanding the state of the 
 schools and universities, and of what are called 
 the learned professions, if we look either to the 
 names of eminent scholars by which every por- 
 tion of it is adorned, or to the extent to which 
 the study of the learned languages then entered 
 into the education of all persons, women as well 
 as men, who were considered to be well edu- 
 cated." ..." The number of very great English 
 scholars, however, in the reign of Elizabeth was 
 not so considerable as in that of her father, when 
 
 * Op. cit., Vol. I. p. 416 sq. 
 3
 
 ^4 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 classical studies were not only cultivated with per- 
 haps a truer appreciation of the highest models, 
 but afforded, besides, almost the only field for 
 intellectual exercise and display. Still this kind 
 of learning continued to be fashionable; and a 
 familiar, if not a profound, acquaintance with both 
 tlic Latin and the Greek languages was diffused 
 to an unusual extent among persons of the high- 
 est rank." ^ I'21i/,abcth herself was a good Greek 
 scholar, and translated Isocrates. Ascham, in 
 the Schoolmaster, speaks well of her knowledge 
 of Latin. She translated a portion of Seneca's 
 Hercules Qitccus. The members of her court 
 were also interested in the classics. Warton, 
 speaking of Elizabeth's reign, says; "It became 
 fashionable in this reign to study Greek at court. 
 The maids of honour indulged their ideas of sen- 
 timental affection in the sublime contemplation of 
 Plato's rhxdo: and the queen, who understood 
 Greek better than the canons of Windsor, and 
 was certainly a much greater pedant than her 
 successor James the First, translated Isocrates." '^ 
 Davies was undoubtedly affected by the literary 
 
 1 Op. cit., Vol. I. pp. 428-429. 
 
 ' "The History of linglish Poetry," etc. London, 1840, Vol. 
 III. p. 20-
 
 Biographical Sketch ^5 
 
 spirit of the ape. Classical training and learning 
 fi'^urcd in his education. Like other poets of the 
 Elizabethan period, he reveals in his poetry a 
 familiarity with Latin and Greek authors. There 
 are numerous allusions to classical mythology in 
 his writings. Not a few of these are to be found 
 in lYoscc Teipsunt. They also indicate some 
 knowledge of classical history. The acquaint- 
 ance of our poet .ith classical literature nat- 
 urally raises the question whether, since Nosce 
 TcipstPH is really the first formally developed 
 system of philosophy in English poetry, its au- 
 thor found a model among the Greek or Latin 
 poets. It has been suggested that he found such 
 a model in the De Reniin Nattira of Lucretius. 
 However, there does not seem to be any substan- 
 tial evidence for such a suggestion. External 
 evidence on this point would only indicate a pos- 
 sibility of a knowledge of Lucretius as a result of 
 Davies's interest in philosophy and classical lit- 
 erature. But internal evidence certainly does not 
 indicate that the poem of Lucretius was the model 
 for Nosce Teipsiim. The two poems are alto- 
 gether unlike, both in form and content. So 
 far as form is concerned, their metrical frame- 
 work is entirely different. So far as content is
 
 ^6 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 concerned, they differ radically. The work of 
 Lucretius is much more comprehensive than is 
 the work of Davies. The former is a philosophy 
 of all reality — of things as well as of minds; the 
 latter is merely a philosophy of mind. The 
 former is a materialistic philosophy; the latter 
 is a spiritualistic philosophy. Furthermore, the 
 materialism which Davies refutes in Nosce Tcip- 
 siiin, which regards the soul as corporeal, is not 
 peculiar to Lucretius, but is common to De- 
 mocritus, the Stoics, and Epicureans as well. 
 Again, in Davics's elaborate consideration of the 
 objections to the immortality of the soul, he does 
 not consider any of the many objections urged 
 by Lucretius^ against the belief Even the idea 
 of writing a philosophical poem does not seem 
 to have been suggested by the work of Lucretius. 
 The most natural explanation of the origin of 
 Nosce Tcipsum is the one already hinted at in 
 the account given in the biographical sketch. 
 Davies's disbarment, with the humiliation and 
 disgrace involved, led him to betake himself to 
 serious introspection and reflection. He him- 
 self tells us what the results of his "affliction" 
 were : — 
 
 * "Dc Rerum Natura," Lib. III.
 
 Biographical Sketch ^y 
 
 " If ought can teach vs ouglit, Afflictions lookcs, 
 (M.ikin;; vs looke into our sclucs so neere,) 
 Teacli vs to know our selues beyond all bookes, 
 Or all tiic learned Schooles that euer were. 
 
 " Tliis tnistresse lately pluckt me by the eare, 
 Anil many a golden lesson hath me taught ; 
 Hath made my Senses quicke, and Reason cleare, 
 Reform'd my Will and rectifide my Thought. 
 
 "She within lists my ranging minde hath brought, 
 That now beyond my sclfe I list not goe ; 
 My selfe am center of my circling thought, 
 Onely tny selfe I studio, karne, and know." 
 
 The conclusions born of such a soul-study Davies 
 desired to communicate to others; and, being a 
 poet, what more natural than that he should 
 choose verse as the means of communication? 
 The result was, a philosophical poem — Nosce 
 Teipsttm. 
 
 But what of Davies's relation to the spirit of his. 
 age so far as the philosophy and theology of his 
 poem are concerned? To what extent was he 
 inHuenccd in his thinking by the philosophical and 
 theological thought of his time? This questioni 
 can best be answered in connection with a more:, 
 general question ; namely. What are the chief j'"-'" 
 sources of Davies's philosophical indebtedness? 
 Philosophical thinkers generally are influenced by 
 
 Kefo, 
 
 IS II
 
 j8 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 their speculative environment and by preceding 
 speculative thought. Davies is no exception to 
 the rule. It is rather difficult to determine by 
 specific external evidence to whom he is specially 
 indebted. Internal evidence, however, seems to 
 point to the influence of four thinkers, — Aristotle, 
 
 I Cicero, Nemesius, and Calvin. 
 
 ; In the first place, a careful comparison of Davies's 
 poem witli Aristotle's ZV Anitna reveals Davies's 
 
 ! 
 
 ( acquaintance with this celebrated work of the great 
 i Greek philosopher. This is manifest in the simi- 
 I larity of their teachings on fundamental points, 
 ,i as, the reality of the soul, the nature of the soul, 
 Ij the soul's relation to the body, the rational soul's 
 [| relation to sense, the powers of the soul, the activ- 
 i ity of the soul, etc. These similarities of teaching 
 j will be' more specifically pointed out in the course 
 Ij of our study, and they will be found sufficiently 
 striking to remove any scepticism concerning the 
 influence of the Stagyritc upon our poet's think- 
 ing. Of course external evidence would seem to 
 indicate this also. Aristotle was a power in Scho- 
 ,;'lastic thought, and the Renaissance and Protestant 
 ,)i Reformation only led to a more direct study of 
 jhis works. Despite the early antipathy of the 
 theologians of the Reformation to Aristotle (as
 
 Biographical Sketch 59 
 
 for example Lutlicr and Mclancthon), later they 
 found it necessary to turn to him for aid in their 
 reconstruction of theology. But they turned to 
 tlic real Aristotle rather than to his Scholastic 
 interpreters. So that Aristotle was influential in 
 the speculative thought of the sixteenth century. 
 And it was quite natural that Davies should seek 
 help from this powerful mind in his study of the 
 human soul, 
 (^ In the second place, internal evidence strongly 
 
 indicates the influence of Cicero upon the thinking 
 of Davies. This is manifest in his argument for 
 the reality of the soul; but more especially in his 
 argument for its immortalit}-. The greater portion 
 of his reasoning on this subject is taken from 
 Cicero's Tnscnlan Disputations. The arguments 
 from universal assent, from contempt of death in 
 righteous souls, the fear of death in wicked souls, 
 the intimations of immortality manifest in the 
 desire for posthumous fame, and in the care for 
 posterity; — all of this, as we shall see later by 
 careful comparison, is taken from the Roman 
 philosopher. 
 
 In the third place, internal evidence points more 
 or less conclusively to the influence of Nemesius 
 upon Davies. Nemesius was one of the early
 
 40 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 Christian Fathers and Bishop of one of the cities 
 in Phoenicia. He wrote a work in Greek on TAg 
 Nature of Man. This work was translated into 
 Engh'sh by George Wither, the poet, and pubh'shed 
 in London, 1636. In Nichols's Literary Illustra- 
 tions^ there is a letter written by one Alexander 
 Dalrymple to a Mr. Herbert in which, after stating 
 that he had recently purchased some old books, 
 he says: "I have also got ' VVither's translation 
 of Nemcsius de Natura hominis' by which I 
 find Sir John Davies's poem on the Immortality 
 of the Soul is chiefly taken from Ncmesius." 
 ..." I have picked up a tract in 4to by Thomas 
 Jenner, with some very good plates, the marginal 
 notes of which seem to be what the heads of 
 Tate's edition of Sir John Davies's are taken 
 from." 2 
 
 To Dalrymplc's accusation of plagiarism on the 
 part of Davics Grosart takes vigorous exception. 
 He says : " Were this true it would utterly take 
 from * Nosce Teipsum ' the first characteristic and 
 merit I claim for it — deep and original thought. 
 But it is absolutely untrue, an utter delusion, as 
 any one will find who takes the pains that I have 
 
 1 Vol. IV. pp. 549-550- 
 
 ' Grosart, op. cit., Mem. Int. p. Ixi.
 
 Biographical Sketch 41 
 
 done to read, cither the original Nemesius, or what 
 tliis sapient book-buyer mentions, Wither's trans- 
 lation. With my mind and memory full of' Nosce 
 Teipsum ' and the poem itself beside me, I have 
 read and re-read every page, sentence and word of 
 Nemesius and Wither (and there is a good deal of 
 Wither in his translation: 1636) and I have not 
 come upon a single metaphor or (as the old margin- 
 notes called them) ' similies,' or even observation 
 in 'Nosce Teipsum' drawn from Nemesius or 
 Wither. The only element in common is that 
 necessarily Nemesius adduces and discusses the 
 opinions of the Heathen Philosophers on the many 
 matters handled by him, and Sir John Davies does 
 the same with equal inevitableness. But to base 
 a charge of plagiarism against ' Nosce Teipsum ' 
 on this, is to reason on the connection between 
 Tenterden Steeple and Goodwin Sands (if the 
 well-worn folly be a permissible reference). . . . 
 Chronologically — Wither's translation was not 
 published until 1636, while * Nosce Teipsum * was 
 published in 1599; but Nemesius' own book no 
 more than Wither's warrants any such preposterous 
 statements as this Alexander Dalrymple makes. 
 Even in the treatment of the 'opinions' of the 
 Heathen Philosophers which come up in Nemesius,
 
 42 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 and in * Nosce Teipsum,' the latter while ' inter- 
 nicdling' with the same returns wholly distinct 
 answers in refutation. The ' opinions ' themselves 
 as being derived of necessity from the same 
 sources are identical ; but neither their statement 
 nor refutation. Nemesius is ingenious and well- 
 Icarned, but heavy and prosaic. Sir John Davies 
 is li^ht of touch and a light of pi glory lies on 
 the lamest ' opinion.' The ' Fathci of the Church ' 
 goes forth to war with encumbering armour: the 
 Poet naked and unarmed beyond the spear where- 
 with he ' pierces ' everything, viz. human conscious- 
 ness. Jenner's forgotten book had perhaps been 
 read by Tate, but that concerns Tate not Sir John 
 Davies. I pronounce it a hallucination to write 
 ' Sir John Davies' poem on the immortality of the 
 Soul is chiefly taken from Nemesius.' Not one 
 line was taken from Nemesius." ^ 
 
 As the view of Davics's indebtedness to Ne- 
 mesius taken in this study dififers materially from 
 the view of Grosart, it is only fair that his view 
 should be presented here in full. Immediately 
 following the words quoted above, he proceeds 
 with equal vigor and firmness of conviction as 
 before : — 
 
 * Op. cit., Mem. Int. pp. Ixi-lxiil.
 
 Biographical Sketch 4) 
 
 " Before passing on it may be well to illustrate 
 here from the ' contents ' of two chapters (repre- 
 sentative of the whole) in Wither's Neniesius, the 
 merely superficial agreement between them and 
 ' Noscc Teipsum.' In the Poem under ' The Soule 
 of Man and The Iminortalitic thereof various 
 opinions of its 'nature' arc thus summarized: 
 
 *One thinks tlie Soulc- is aire; another, yfr^y 
 Another blooii, clitTus'd about tlie heart; 
 Another saith, the elcmmts conspire, 
 And to her esseine each dotli giue a part. 
 
 Musicians thinke our SouUs are harmonies, 
 Phisicians hold that they complexions bee ; 
 Epicttres make t)iem swarmes of atomies. 
 Which doe by chance into our bodies flee.' (p. 26.) 
 
 In Nemcsius, c. 2. § I, the ' headings ' are : ' I. The 
 severall and different Opinions of the Ancients con- 
 cerning the Sovl, as whether it be a Substance ; 
 whether corporeall, or incorporeall, whether mortal 
 or immortal. P. II. The confutation of those who 
 affirme in general that the Sovl is a corporeall- 
 substance. III. Confutations of their particular 
 Arguments, who affirme that the Sovl is Blood, 
 Water, or Aire.' These are all common-places of 
 ancient 'opinion' and of the subject; and anything 
 less poetical than Nemcsius' treatment of them is
 
 44 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 scarcely imaginable. Here if anywhere Davies* 
 indebtedness must have been revealed; but not 
 one scintilla of obligation suggests itself to the 
 Reader. Again in the Poem, after a subtle and 
 very remarkable ' confutation ' of the notion that 
 the Soul is a thing of 'Sense' only, there comes 
 proof 'That the Soule is more than the Tempera- 
 ture of the humours of the Body'; and nowhere 
 docs Davies show a more cunning hand than in 
 his statement of the ' false opinion.' Turning once 
 more to Nemesius c. II. § 3, these are its ' head- 
 ings ' : — 'I. It is here declared, that the Soul is 
 not (as Galen implicitly affirmeth) a Temperature in 
 general. II. It is here proved also, that the Soul 
 is no particular temperature or quality. III. And 
 it is likewise demonstrated that the Soul is rather 
 govcrnesse of the temperatures of the Body, both 
 ordering them, and subduing the vices which 
 arise from the bodily tempers.' Here again we 
 would have expected some resemblances or sug- 
 gestions ; but again there is not a jot or tittle of 
 either. Thus is it throughout. One might as well 
 turn up the words used in 'Nosce Teipsum' in a 
 quotation-illustrated Dictionary of the English Lan- 
 guage (such as Richardson's) and argue ' plagiar- 
 ism ' because of necessarily agreeing definitions,
 
 Biographical Shetcb ^5 
 
 as from a few scattered places in ' Nosce Telpsum ' 
 discussing tlic same topics, allege appropriation of 
 Ncmcsius. Your mere readers of title-pages and 
 contents, or glancers over indices are constantly 
 blundering after this fashion. Dalryniple was one 
 of these." ' 
 
 Now, undoubtedly Dalrymplc was in error in 
 accusing Davies of borrowing from Withcr'3 trans- 
 lation of Nemesius's De Natitra Hoininis, for, as 
 Grosart points out, Nosce Tcipsum was j iblishcd 
 in 1599 and Wither's translation of Nen us did 
 not appear in print until 1636. He wa:. also in 
 error in making such a sweeping statement as " I 
 find Sir John Davics's poem on the Immortality 
 of the Soul is chiefly taken from Ncmcsius," for 
 the contents of the two volumes vary greatly. In 
 the first place, early in their works, both writers 
 treat of the Fall of Man, and they differ in their 
 conceptions of the consequences of the Fall. 
 Nemesius conceives of these as moral ; whereas 
 Davies represents them as both moral and intellec- 
 tual. In the second place, in his refutation of Ma- 
 terialism, Davies to a certain extent moves along 
 lines of argument differing from those of Neme- 
 sius. In the third place, in their discussions of the 
 * Op, cit., Mem. Int. pp. Ixiii-lxvL
 
 46 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 reality of the soul, Davies presents an elaborate 
 refutation of Sensationalism, whereas Nemesius 
 is silent on this formidable theory. In the fourth 
 place, Davies treats the question of the mode of 
 the Soul's origin in relation to the body much 
 more elaborately and after a different fashion than 
 does Nemesius. They differ also in their conclu- 
 sions on this question. Davies is a Creationist, 
 whereas Nemesius believes in the doctrine of pre- 
 existcnce. In the fifth place, there is a noticeable 
 difference in their psychological analysis — in their 
 analysis and division of mental powers or " facul- 
 ties." Davies presents a different classification, 
 and enumerates more " faculties " than does Ne- 
 mesius. In the sixth place, there is a difference in 
 their treatment of the subject of the soul's immor- 
 tality. The treatment of Nemesius, for a work of 
 such a character, is lamentably and inexcusably 
 meagre ; whereas Davies presents an elaborate dis- 
 cussion, involving numerous arguments for belief 
 in immortality, also objections and replies, as well 
 r,s misgivings and answers. In all of these funda- 
 mental, as well as in many minor respects, the two 
 works differ so materially that an accusation of 
 plagiarism is utterly unjust. Furthermore, Davies 
 reveals such great obligations to other thinkers as
 
 Biographical Sketch 47 
 
 to make an accusation of wholesale plagiarism from 
 Nenicsius, such as Dalrymple makes, absurd. 
 
 But while this may be said without fear of suc- 
 cessful contradiction, a careful comparison of Da- 
 vies's Nosce Tcipsum with Nemesius's De Natiira 
 Hominis makes it impossible to agree with Gro- 
 sart, that " Not one line was taken from Nemesius " ; 
 that " not one scintilla of obligation suggests it- 
 self to the Reader " ; and that, with regard to " re- 
 semblances and suggestions," "there is not a jot or 
 tittle of cither." On the contrary, there are " re- 
 semblances and suggestions " of such a striking 
 character as to indicate beyond reasonable doubt, 
 that Davies was familiar with the Church Father's 
 work, and was influenced by it to a considerable ex- 
 tent. These " resemblances and suggestions" will 
 appear in our further study. They can hardly be 
 accounted for on grounds of coincidence, or of 
 dealing with the same question. They indicate 
 rather, that Davies, like every intelligent author, 
 in treating his subject, inquired into what his pred- 
 ecessors had said on the same subject ; and that, 
 in so doing, he found himself in accord with some 
 of their views, and received valuable suggestions 
 from them in forming still other views. They 
 indicate, further, that Nemesius was one of the
 
 ^8 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 predecessors whcm Davies had consulted with 
 advantage. 
 
 Another thinker to whom our poet was indebted 
 is Calvin. This is manifest in the more specifi- 
 cally theological portions of Nosce Teipsuuty as in 
 the discussion of the Fall of man in the fir&t part 
 of the poem; and the problem of original sin, in 
 the second part. It was quite natural that, in seek- 
 ing help on such subjects, he should turn to the 
 works of a theologian whose influence was domi- 
 nant in the Protestant theology of his country. A 
 comparison of the theological portions of Nosce 
 Tcipsum with Calvin's Institutes of the Christian 
 Religion^ which will be made in the course of our 
 interpretation of the poem, will indicate the extent 
 of Davics's obligation to the Genevan theologian. 
 
 But although Davies was greatly indebted to 
 these thinkers — Aristotle, Cicero, Nemesius, and 
 Calvin — he reveals such a thorough grip on the 
 problems of the philosophy of mind, and such a 
 unique and clever way of dealing with them, as to 
 make his philosophy and his philosophical poetry 
 in a true sense his own.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE 
 
 TTAVING thus briefly studied the history of 
 Davies and the sources of influence upon his 
 thinking, let us next turn to a consideration of his 
 philosophical poem. As has been suggested al- 
 ready, his most elaborate and important poem is 
 Nosce Teipsum. This work is a unique produc- 
 tion, presenting as it does, in a formal manner, 
 a complete rational psychology or philosophy of 
 mind in verse. It is, therefore, pre-eminently a 
 didactic poem — the aim being to present syste- 
 matically the author's speculations on the pro- 
 found problems of the reality, nature, powers, and 
 destiny of mind. The thought is not so much a 
 means to an end as is the poetry. Poetry is used 
 in the service of philosophy more than philosophy 
 is used in the service of poetry. Light is to be 
 thrown on great and vital problems, and poetry 
 is used as the conduit of light. 
 
 4
 
 $o Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 The poem is divided into two parts — the first, 
 dealing with human knowledge; the second, with 
 the reality, nature, origin, powers, and immortality 
 of the human soul. The first part serves as an 
 introduction to the second. In it the poet 
 takes an exceedingly discouraging view of human 
 knowledge and of the mind's capacity to know. 
 Knowledge is mixed with error and man's reason 
 is dark. This fact admits of explanation. It was 
 not always so. Once man possessed a God-in- 
 fused knowledge, surpassing anything he has since 
 acquired. Once Reason's eye was " sharpe and 
 cleere," capable of approaching very near to the 
 " Eternal Light." Thus it was in man's paradisia- 
 cal state. This was his intellectual status before 
 the I'^all. l^ut the *' Spirit of Lyes " suggested 
 that he was blind because he knew not evil. The 
 Devil could not show evil in the works of God 
 while man stood in his perfection. If man was 
 to know evil he must first do evil. This he did, 
 and the result was fatal. Man " made Reason 
 blind " " to give Passion eyes." Through these 
 e)'cs he first saw the foul forms of misery and woe, 
 of nakedness and shame. Reason grew dark and 
 could no longer discern the fair forms of Good 
 and Truth. An impaired intellectual and moral
 
 Of Human Knowledge 5/ 
 
 vision was the outcome of man's fatal desire to 
 
 know : — 
 
 " Battes they became, that eagles were before : 
 And this they got by their desire to learne." 
 
 And we arc no better than they. We continue 
 to cat of the forbidden fruit. We continue to 
 indulge a desire to learn. We turn with vain 
 curiosity to find hidden knowledge in " bookes 
 prophane." And what, indeed, is this knowledge 
 we seek? It is a poor, vain, empty affair. What 
 
 is it — 
 
 " but the sky-stolne fire. 
 
 For which the t/iie/e still chain'd in ice doth sit? 
 And which the poore rude Satyre did admire. 
 And needs would kisse but burnt his lips with it. 
 
 " What is it ? but the cloud of emptie raine. 
 
 Which when loue's guest imbrac't, hee monsters got? 
 Or the i7i\st payies which oft being fild with paine, 
 Receiv'd the water, but retain'd not ! 
 
 " Shortly, what is it but the firic coach 
 
 Which the Youth sought, and sought his death withal ? 
 Or the boye^s wings, which when he did approch 
 The sunne's hot beanies, did melt and let him fall ?" 
 
 Thus fruitless is our search for knowledge. After 
 perusing " all the learned Volumes," what can we 
 know or discern — 
 
 " When Error chokes the windowes of the minde ? "
 
 53 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 What can we know when Reason's lamp which, 
 
 I before man's Fall, shone throughout his small 
 world, like the sun in the sky, has become merely 
 
 , a half-extinct sparkle under ashes! How, under 
 such conditions, can we recall the knowledge 
 which was man's original possession by grace? 
 A man painfully earning " a groate a day," might 
 as well hope to replace the large patrimony wasted 
 by a profligate father. The utter vanity of human 
 
 I efforts after knowledge is affirmed by those who 
 have most profoundly considered man's capacity 
 
 I to know. They have found that with us — • 
 
 *' Skill comes so slow, and life so fast doth flie, 
 We learne so little and forget so much." 
 
 It was for this reason that the Greek philosopher 
 said, — 
 
 " ' He knew nought, but that he nought did know.' '* 
 
 And there was no mocking when " the great 
 mocking-Master " said that " * Trut/i was buried 
 deepc below.' " Furthermore, how can we expect 
 I to know things, when no one understands himself 
 — his own soul? Why should we accept the 
 judgments of the soul concerning things, when it 
 is unable to give a judgment concerning itself — 
 as to the how, whence, where, and what of its own
 
 Of Human Kfiowledge 55 
 
 existence? We seek to know all things without, 
 but are strangers to that within which constitutes 
 our real self. Why is this so? Is it because the 
 mind is like the eye, which fails to see itself in 
 seeing other things? No! For the mind, while 
 being the knowing subject, can also be the object 
 of its own knowledge. The real trouble lies in 
 the cornipiion of the mind. " She is so corrupt, 
 and so defac't," that she becomes frightened at 
 her own image. Just as the fair lady in the fable, 
 who was transformed into a cow because of her 
 lust, became startled and fled in terror on behold- 
 ing her changed self reflected in the stream, loath- 
 ing " the watry glasse wherein she gaz'd," so it 
 is with man's soul. Once she bore the image of 
 God, being fair, and good, and pure. Now her 
 beauties are marred by sin, and she — 
 
 " Doth of all sights her owne sight least endure." 
 
 This unsightliness of the soul leads her to turn 
 away from herself, to seek delight in other things. 
 And the prospect of external things is so inviting, 
 so fair and agreeable, so sweet and alluring, that 
 the mind succeeds in completely escaping from 
 herself: — 
 
 " Tliese things transport, and cany out the mind, 
 That with her selfe her selfe can neuer meet."
 
 ^4 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 There is one thing, however, which brings the 
 soul back to herself. It is affliction. Just as 
 spiders seek the inmost part of their webs when 
 touched ; and bees return to their hives in case 
 of storm ; and the blood gathers to the heart 
 when danger appears; and men seek the towns 
 when foes burn the country, — so the mind leaves 
 the things which are without, and returns to her- 
 self within, when affliction's wars begin. These 
 nicnacings of affliction, which drive the mind back 
 to herself, — 
 
 " Teach vs to know our seines beyond all bookes, 
 Or all the learned Schooles that euer were." 
 
 Our poet, referring doubtless to the disgrace in- 
 cident upon his quarrel with Martin, and his con- 
 sequent disbarment, his self-isolation and reflection, 
 informs us, that of late affliction had visited him 
 and had taught him " many a golden lesson." It 
 had quickened his senses, cleared his reason, re- 
 formed his will, and rectified his thought. It gave 
 boundaries to his mind, so that it no longer ranged 
 beyond itself: — 
 
 " My selfe am center of my circling thought, 
 Only my selfe I studie, learne, and know." 
 
 The results of this introspection and reflection 
 are presented in the second part of the poem,
 
 Of Human Knowledge 55 
 
 entitled, 0/ tJic Soulc of Man and the Immortalite 
 tJureof. 
 
 Before entering upon a study of this second part 
 of the poem it may be well to observe that the 
 tlieory of knowledge contained in the poet's Intro- 
 duction is not peculiar to Davies. In teaching an 
 intellectual as well as a moral Fall of man he was 
 simply expressing a view which was in accord with 
 the prevalent Protestant theology of his time. It 
 is the view of the Fall taught by Calvin in the 
 Institutes of the Christian Religion, and attributed 
 by him to Augustine. In his celebrated work 
 just mentioned Calvin says: "I feel pleased with 
 the well-known saying which has been borrowed 
 from the writings of Augustine, that man's natural 
 gifts were corrupted by sin, and his supernatural 
 gifts withdrawn ; meaning by supernatural gifts 
 the light of faith and righteousness, which would 
 have been sufficient for the attainment of heavenly 
 life and everlasting felicity. Man, when he with- 
 drew his allegiance to God, was deprived of the 
 spiritual gifts by which he had been raised to the 
 hope of eternal salvation. Hence it follows, that 
 he is now an exile from the kingdom of God, so 
 that all things which pertain to the blessed life of
 
 5<J Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 the soul are extinguished in him until he recover 
 them by the grace of regeneration. Among these 
 are faith, love to God, charity towards our neigh- 
 bour, the study of righteousness and holiness. Ail 
 
 t these, when restored to us by Christ, are to be 
 regarded as adventitious and above nature. If so, 
 we infer that they were previously abolished. On 
 the other hand, soundness of mind and integrity 
 
 : of heart were, at the same time, withdrawn, and it 
 is this which constitutes the corruption of natural 
 gifts. For although there is still some residue of 
 intelligence and judgment as well as will, we can- 
 not call a mind sound and entire which is both 
 weak and immersed in darkness. As to the will, 
 its depravity is but too well known. Therefore, 
 since reason, by which man discerns between good 
 
 I and evil, and by which he imdcrstands and judges, 
 is a natural gift, it could not be entirely destroyed ; 
 but being partly weakened and partly corrupted, 
 a shapeless ruin is all that remains. In this sense 
 it is said, (John i. 5), that 'the light shincth in 
 darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not ' ; 
 these words clearly expressing both points, viz., 
 that in the perverted and degenerate nature of 
 man there are still some sparks which show that 
 he is a rational animal, and differs from the brutes.
 
 Of Human Kuowledsie t^y 
 
 inasmuch as he is endued with intelligence, and 
 yet, that this light is so smothered by clouds of 
 darkness that it cannot shine forth to any good 
 etTect. In like manner, the will, because insepa- 
 rable from the nature of man, did not perish, 
 but was so enslaved by depraved lusts as to be 
 incapable of one righteous desire." ^ 
 
 The cumulative evidence of Davies's indebted- 
 ness to Calvin is such that it seems probable that 
 he derived his conception of an intellectual Fall 
 (which, as an explicit doctrine, is by no means 
 common in Christian Theology) from him. Both 
 thinkers are in agreement in regard to man's moral 
 and intellectual status before the Fall. Man was 
 then morally pure, and possessed of great intel- 
 lectual strength. Of man's mental power prior 
 to the Fall Calvin says : " Man excelled in these 
 noble endowments in his primitive condition, when 
 reason, intelligence, prudence, and judgment, not 
 only sufficed for the government of his earthly 
 life, but also enabled him to rise up to God and 
 eternal happiness." " 
 
 To the same effect, and in similar language, 
 
 * " Institutes of the Christian Religion," trans, by Henry 
 Heveridge. Edinburgh, 1845, Vol. I. Ilk. II. ch. ii. sec. 12. All 
 quotations from Calvin are from lieveridge's translation. 
 
 3 Op. cit.. Vol. I. Hk. I. ch. xv. sec. 8.
 
 ^8 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 Davies describes the intellectual power of man 
 before the Fall : — 
 
 " And when their reason's eye was sharpe and cleere, 
 And (as an eagle can behold the sunne) 
 Could haue approcht th' Eternall Light as neere, 
 As the intcllectuall angels could haue done," etc. 
 
 Furthermore, both writers affirm a great intel- 
 lectual and moral corruption and decline to be 
 the consequence of the Fall. Here again, in the 
 statement of the consequences to man's intellectual 
 nature, there is not o^ly sameness of teaching but 
 similarity of language. Calvin, as we have seen 
 in the quotation above, says : *' Reason, by which 
 man discerns between good and evil, and by which 
 he understands and judges," became weak and 
 corrupt, and his previously sound mind became 
 *' immersed in darkness." So Davies affirms: — 
 
 " But then grew Reason darke, that she no more. 
 
 Could the faire formes of C^o^/and Truth discern; 
 Battes they became, that eaj^les were before : 
 And this they got by their desire to learne.^^ 
 
 Again, they use similar language in describing 
 more specifically the modicum of intelligence left 
 to man after the Fall. Calvin says, as we have 
 seen above, that man has still some "sparks" of 
 intelligence left; but "that this light is so smoth-
 
 Of Human KuowleJge 59 
 
 cred by clouds of darkness that it cannot shine 
 forth to any good effect." 
 
 Davies likewise affirms, that " Reason's lampe " — 
 
 •' Is now become a sparkle, which doth lie 
 V'nder the ashes, lialfe extinct, and dead." 
 
 And, he asks: — ! 
 
 " How can we hope, that through the eye and eare, 
 This dying sparkle, in this cloudy place. 
 Can recollect these beames of knowledge cleere, 
 Which were infus'd in the first minds by grace ? " j 
 
 So that we find not only a sameness of doctrine 
 here but also a striking similarity of language in 
 which the doctrine is presented. j 
 
 Furthermore, Calvin in this same chapter (Bk. II. 
 ch. ii.), which deals with the Fall of man, evaluates ■ 
 human knowledge just as Davies does in this con- ' 
 nection in the verses quoted above. Both pro- 
 nounce severely on its emptiness and vanity. He 
 says: "There is, therefore, now, in- the human 
 mind, discernment to this extent, that it is natu- 
 rally influenced by the love of truth, the neglect of 
 which in the lower animals is a proof of their gross 
 and irrational nature. Still it is true that this love 
 of truth fails before it reaches the goal, forthwith 
 falling away into vanity. As the human mind isi
 
 6o Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 unable, from dulness, to pursue the right path of 
 investigation, and, after various wanderings, stum- 
 bling every now and then like one groping in dark- 
 ness, at length gets completely bewildered, so its 
 whole procedure proves how unfit it is to search 
 the truth and find it." * 
 
 It is just in this vein that the poet speaks of 
 
 ' the vanity of human knowledge when he describes 
 it as the " sky-stolne fire " by kissing which the 
 
 , admiring Satyr burned his lips ; and as " the cloud 
 
 < of emptie raine " which, when embraced by Jove's 
 
 < guest, yielded only monsters ; and as false pails, 
 which, being filled by painful labor, failed to retain 
 the water; and as the fiery coach, the seeking of 
 which brought death to the youth; and, finally, 
 as the boy's wings, which, as he approached the 
 sun, melted " and let him fall." 
 
 Thus early, then, in the poem, do we find, in 
 the similarity of thought and language, evidence 
 of the influence of Calvin on the poet. Further 
 study of the poem will make this influence more 
 manifest. 
 
 After Calvin's time the doctrine of an intellectual 
 Fall was affirmed by the Synod of Dort, in the 
 following words : — 
 
 » Op. cit.. Vol. I. Bk. II. ch. ii. sec. 12.
 
 Of Human Knowledge 6i 
 
 " Homo ab initio ad imagincm DEI conditus 
 vera ct salutari siii Creatoris ct rcruin spiritualium 
 notitia in mcnte, ct justitia in voluntatc et cordc, 
 puritatc in omnibus affectibus cxornatus, adeoque 
 totus sanctus fuit; sed Diaboli instinctu, et libera 
 sua voluntatc a Deo dcscisccns, eximiis istis donis 
 scipsum orbavit: atquc e contrario eorum loco 
 coccitatcm, horribilcs tencbras, vanitatem, ac per- 
 versitatem judicii in mente, malitiam, rebellionem, 
 ac duritiem in voluntatc et cordc, impuritatcm 
 dcnique in omnibus affectibus contraxit." ' 
 
 The same doctrine is affirmed by the Reformed 
 Dutch Church in America, it being an adoption 
 from the Canons of the Synod of Dort. " Man 
 was originally formed after the image of God. His 
 understanding was adorned with a true and saving 
 knowledge of his Creator, and of spiritual things; 
 his heart and will were upright; all his affections 
 pure, and the whole Man was holy ; but revolting 
 from God by the instigation of the devil, and abus- 
 ing the freedom of his own will, he forfeited these 
 excellent gifts, and on the contrary entailed on 
 himself blindness of mind, horrible darkness, vanity, 
 and perverseness of judgment; because wicked, 
 
 * Canones Synodi Dordrechtanae, 1618-1619, Tertium ct 
 Quartum Doctriiix Caput, Art. Primus.
 
 62 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 rebellious, and obdurate in heart and will, and 
 impure in (ail) his affections." * 
 
 The doctrine of an intellectual Fall appears also 
 in recent theology. It is involved in the episte- 
 mology underlying the theology of some modern 
 German theologians, one of the cardinal features 
 of which is, that man's capacity to know the truth 
 is materially affected by his moral character. 
 Which conception, as applied to the doctrine of 
 the Fall, would imply at least this much, that what- 
 ever may have been man's intellectual capacity 
 prior to the Fall, the Fall being a moral one, ne- 
 cessarily involved an intellectual Fall as well. 
 With Davics the intellectual power of man in the 
 paradisiacal state was exceedingly great. He was 
 an intellectual giant. Reason, as we have seen, was 
 "sharpe and clcere," with a capacity of approach- 
 ing very near to the " Eternal Light." His intellec- 
 tual Fall was correspondingly great. It was a serious 
 jarkcning of the moral and mental vision. And this 
 noral impotency has been entailed upon the race. 
 Icnce the disparaging view, taken by our poet, of 
 luman knowledge and man's capacity to know. 
 
 ' " Constitution of the Reformed Church in America." Cf. 
 chaff, " The Creeds of Christendom." New York, 1877, pp. 587-
 
 CHAPTER III 
 MEANS BY WHICH THE SOUL IS KNOWN 
 
 TF we turn now to the second part o{ Nosce 
 Tcipsum we are brought into contact with the 
 real subject-matter of the poem. It is here that 
 the poet first really begins to philosophize. We 
 find here a formal development in verse of a com- 
 plete philosophy of mind. This second part of 
 the work opens with a statement of the means by 
 which knowledge of the human soul is to be at- 
 tained. It is not by the eye of sense, he tells us, 
 that a knowledge of the soul is to be gained. 
 Sense deals with external objects. It must, there- 
 fore, be by the aid of some other method. God 
 has infused in man "an inward light" by which 
 his soul can gain a vision of herself. The soul, 
 although endowed with the power of reflection, 
 needs divine aid to sec herself aright. The poet, 
 undertaking the study of his soul, realizes all the 
 more keenly his helplessness without divine aid, in
 
 64 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 view of the ignorance of great minds concerning 
 the essential nature and location of the soul. For, 
 as he points out, — 
 
 " One thinks the Soule is aire ; another.yfr^/ 
 Another blood, dififus'd about the heart ; 
 Another saith, the elements conspire, 
 And to her essence each doth giue a part. 
 
 ** Musicians thinke our Soules are harmonies, 
 Phisicians hold that they complexions bee ; 
 Epicures make them swarmes of atomies. 
 Which doe by chance into our bodies flee. 
 
 " Some thinke one generall Soule fils euery braine, 
 As the bright sunne sheds light in euery starre; 
 And others thinke the name of Soule is vaine, 
 And that we onely well-mixt bodies are. 
 
 " In judgement of her substance thus they vary ; 
 And thus they vary in iudgement of her seat; 
 For some her chaire vp to the braine doe carry, 
 Some thrust it downe into the stomackcs heat. 
 
 "Some place it in the root of life, the heart ; 
 Some in the liuer, fountaine of the veines ; 
 Some say, Shee is all in all, and all in part : 
 Some say, She is not containd but all containes. 
 
 "Thus these great clerks their little v/isdome show, 
 While with their doctrines they at hacard ]i\ay, 
 Tossing their light opinions to and fro, 
 To mock the lewd, as learn 'd in this as they.
 
 Mi\jtis hy which the Soul Is Known 65 
 
 " For no craz'd braine could euer yet propound, 
 
 Touching the Sou/e, so vaine and fond a thought, 
 iJut some among these masters haue been found, 
 Whicli in their Si/iooUs{.\\c self-same thing haue taught" 
 
 TIlis diversity of human opinion and confusion 
 of thought concerning the nature and location of 
 the soul Davies regards as God's punishment for 
 pride of intellect. God, alone, who knows the 
 nature and powers of the soul, can help man to 
 this knowledge. And the poet thinks that this 
 divine aid has come to him, so that now he can 
 understand the soul in her essential constitution. 
 He thinks that, by the light of the " clear lampe " 
 of God's " Oracle diuine," he is now able to trace 
 the subtle lines of the soul's immortal face. 
 
 In the above statement of means by which 
 knowledge of the soul is to be attained the poet still 
 seems to be under the influence of an epistemology 
 born of theological belief. The necessity of Divine 
 aid in seeking a knowledge of God and the soul 
 is a characteristic doctrine of Christian theology. 
 Calvin affirms it as an essential condition of our 
 knowledge of God and our relations to Him.' This 
 may be another instance of the influence of the 
 
 1 Op. cit., Bk. II. ch. ii. sees. 18, 19, sq. 
 5
 
 66 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 theologian upon the poet-philosopher. However, 
 while this is doubtless true, there is much truth 
 also in the words of Professor Morris : " But guard 
 against supposing that Sir John Davies could be 
 led to assert the indispensableness of this light 
 o*nly out of deference, or from blind subjection, to 
 the dictum of a revealed or currently established 
 theology. Christian philosophy does indeed as- 
 sert this, but, not only Christian philosophy, all 
 systems of affirmative (not negative, empi» il, 
 *' subjective ") Idealism, be they called afte he 
 names of Plato or Aristotle, of Descartes, Spinoza 
 or Leibnitz, of Berkeley, Kant or Hegel, also assert, 
 in some form, and of necessity, the same thing. 
 The very sense of philosophical Idealism is to put 
 and represent man in direct relation with the Ab- 
 solute Mind, so that his light is its light, and its 
 strength is made his." ' 
 
 It was noted above that Davies felt the necessity 
 of divine aid in his study of the human soul all 
 the more because of the confusion of thought which 
 reigned among " the great wits " on this subject : — 
 
 •' For her true forme how can my sparke discerne ? 
 Which dim by nature, Art did neuer cleare ; 
 When the great wits, of whom all skill we learn, 
 Are ignorant both what shee is, and where." 
 
 1 Op. cit., p. 65.
 
 Mi'iins by which the Soul is Known 6y 
 
 And then he illustrates this confusion of thought 
 by citing numerous examples. Aristotle, in the be- 
 ginning of the De Atiirna, also calls attention to the 
 variety of speculative opinions in regard to the soul.* 
 So, also, do Cicero,^ and Nemesius.^ Taken to- 
 gether, they refer to essentially the same set of opin- 
 ions as to the nature of the soul found in Davies's 
 list of references. Davies, however, simply cites 
 the opinions and does not give the names of their 
 authors. A comparison of their statements will 
 leave no doubt as to the sources of Davies's infor- 
 mation on these subjects. It will also acquaint us 
 with the ultimate sources of these speculative views. 
 The first opinion of the soul which the poet cites 
 is, that the soul is air. " One thinks the Soule is 
 aire." Aristotle says : " Diogenes as also some 
 others resolved soul into air, supposing that this 
 was the subtlest of all things and, at the same 
 time, a principle of existence." * Cicero refers to 
 this view as a common opinion.^ Nemesius refutes 
 the doctrine of the soul as air.** 
 
 1 15k. I. ch. ii. 
 
 2 " Disputationes Tusculans," Lib. I. §§ 9-1 1. 
 
 * Op. cil., ch. ii. sec. i. 
 
 * " iJe Anima," IJk. I. ch. ii. sec. 15. All quotations are 
 from Wallace's translation. 
 
 ' Op. cit., 15k. I. sees. 9-1 1. 
 
 * O]). cit , p. 94. All quotations are from Wither's translation. 

 
 68 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 The next opinion referred to is, that the soul is 
 fire. 
 
 " One thinks the Sou/e is aire ; another.yfr^." 
 
 Aristotle says: "Democritus, whose view agrees 
 with that of Leucippus, consequently maintained 
 soul to be a sort of fire and heat." ^ Again, " He- 
 raclitus also identifies the soul with his principle 
 in describing it as the ' fiery process' out of which 
 he derives other existing things, his ground being 
 that it is that which is least corporeal and in con- 
 stant movement." * Cicero says : " The soul seems 
 to Zeno the Stoic to be fire." ^ Nemesius attributes 
 this conception of the soul as fire to the Stoics. 
 " The Stoicks affirm, that it is a certain Blast, hot 
 and fiery" * 
 
 The third view of the nature of the soul referred 
 to by Davies is, that it is blood: — 
 
 •♦ Another blood, diffus'd about the heart. 
 
 Aristotle says : " Others again, like Critias, have 
 identified the soul with blood, regarding sentiency 
 as the most distinctive characteristic of the soul 
 
 1 Op. cit., Bk. I. ch. ii. sec 3. 
 
 2 Ibid., Hk. I. ch. ii. sec. 16. 
 
 * Op. cit., Hk. I. sec. 9. All quotations from Cicero are 
 from Yonge's translation. New York, 1877. 
 
 * Op. cit., p. 78.
 
 Means by which the Soul is Known 6g 
 
 and viewing this sentient capacity as due to the 
 clement of blood." * Cicero says: " Empedocles 
 imagines the blood, which is suffused over the 
 heart, to be the soul."^ So Nemesius, " Cti/ias 
 holds, that it is bloitd."'^ 
 
 The next view cited by Davies is, that the soul 
 is composed of the four elements: — 
 
 "Another saith, the elements conspire 
 And to her essence each doth giue a part." 
 
 Aristotle says: "Thus Empedocles makes the 
 soul to be composed of all the elements, and at 
 the same time considers each one of these ele- 
 ments a soul. His words are as follows: 
 
 * Surely by earth we perceive eartli, and man knoweth water \ 
 by water, 
 liy air sees air the divine ; by fire sees fire the destructive: |; 
 Yea, love comprehends love, and 'tis through strife dismal ji 
 we know strife.' 
 
 In this same fashion also does Plato in the Ti- (•] 
 ma^us construct the soul out of the elements."* ' 
 Again Davies says : — ' 
 
 " Musicians thinke our Soules are harmonies. ^^ i 
 
 h 
 
 * Op. cit., lik. I. ch. ii. sec. 19. I 
 
 a Op. cit., iJk. I. sec. 9. \\ 
 
 * Op. cit., p. 78. i ) 
 
 * Op. cit., Bk. I. ch. ii. sees. 6, 7. i
 
 •JO Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 Cicero says: "There were many among the an- 
 cients who held singular opinions on this subject, 
 of whom the latest was Aristoxenus, a man who 
 was both a musician and a philosopher. He main- 
 tained a certain straining of the body, like what is 
 called harmony in music, to be the soul, and be- 
 lieved that, from the figure and nature of the whole 
 body, various motions are excited, as sounds are 
 from an instrument. He adhered steadily to his 
 system, and yet he said something, the nature of 
 which, whatever it was, had been detailed and 
 explained a great while before by Plato." * Ne- 
 mesius refers to this view in the words; "And, 
 because Dinarclius defines the Soul to be an 
 Harmonie ; [i. e. of the four elements]; and Sivt- 
 ptias, contradicting Socrates, affirms the same ; 
 comparing the Soul to an harfnonie, and the body 
 to a Harp ; we will here set downe the same con- 
 futations of them, which we find in Plaio's T>\di' 
 \og\xc cdWcd Phado" '^ 
 Again, Davies says : — 
 
 " Phisicians hold that they complexions bee." 
 Davies refers here, doubtless, to the view of the 
 soul which he takes pains later to refute ; namely, 
 
 * Op. cit., 15k. I. sec. lo. 
 
 * Op. cit., p. io8. Not " Dinarchus," but Dicxarchus.
 
 Means by which the Soul is Known 7/ 
 
 the view wliich identifies the soul with the well- 
 tcnipeicd humors of the body — or "the tempera- 
 ture of tlie body." The word " complexions " is 
 tlius used by Nemcsius. He says: "Some will 
 aske, perhaps, how it comes to passe, (// //le soulc 
 be not the temperature of the body') that men are 
 vitious or vcrtuous, according to their naturall con- 
 stitutious and complexions :"^ etc. The view of 
 the soul thus spoken of by Davies is attributed 
 by Nemesius to the physician Galen. He says: 
 " Galefi, hath determined nothing peremptorily of 
 the Soul; }'ea, hce himselfc affirmeth plainly, in 
 his writings of demonstration, that hee hath deliv- 
 ered nothing precisely of the same : But, it may ■ 
 be collected by some of his expressions, that he 1 
 could be best pleased to affirm that the SoUL is a i 
 temperature."'^ 
 
 Next, Davies refers to the Epicurean view of the j 
 soul : — 
 
 ^^ Epicures make them swarmes of atomies. 
 Which doe by chance into our bodies flee." 
 
 Of course, as Aristotle antedates Epicurus, there is 
 no reference in the De Anima to his view. But 
 we find there a reference to the atomic theory of I i 
 the soul. Such an atomic conception is involved; 
 1 Op. cit., p. 123. a Op. cit., pp. 114-115.
 
 y2 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 in the views of Democritus and Leucippus already 
 referred to. The spherical atoms according to 
 these thinkers constitute fire. And, says Aristotle, 
 " The reason why they maintain that the spherical 
 atoms constitute the soul, is that atoms of such 
 configuration are best able to penetrate through 
 everything, and to set the other things in motion 
 at the same time as they are moved themselves, 
 the assumption here being that the soul is that 
 which supplies animals with motion." ^ Cicero 
 refers to the atomic theory of Democritus.^ Ne- 
 mesius refers to Epicurus's view of the Soul in 
 connection with Democritus and the Stoics, refut- 
 ing them as Materialists — regarding the soul as 
 *' body." He refers to the atomism of Democritus 
 only.^ 
 
 Davies next refers to the doctrine of a universal 
 soul. He says : — 
 
 " Some thinke one generall Sou/e fils euery braine. 
 As the bright sunne sheds light in euery starre." 
 
 Davies may refer here to Plato's doctrine of the 
 " world-soul," which he develops in the PhcEdnts, 
 Timans, Philebus, and the Laws. Or, his refer- 
 ence may be to the doctrine mentioned by Neme- 
 
 1 Op. cit., 15k. I. ch. ii. sec. 3. 
 
 2 Op. cit., Bk. I. sec. 11. • Op. cit., pp. 78-79.
 
 Means by which the Soul is Known 7^ 
 
 sins : " Besides all these, some were of opinion 
 that there was but one and the same SoUL be- 
 longing to all things; which was by smal por- 
 tions distributed to all particular things; and, then 
 gathered into it self againe: of which opinion were 
 the Manichecs and certain others." ' This was 
 also a Stoic conception, 
 Davics continues : — 
 
 *' And others thinke the name of Soule is vaine. 
 And that we onely well-mixt bodies are." 
 
 According to Cicero, Phcrecrates held there is no 
 such thing as a soul, " but that it is a name with- 
 out a meaning; and that it is idle to use the ex- 
 pressions 'animals,' or 'animated beings'; that 
 neither men nor beasts have minds or souls, but 
 that all that power by which we act or perceive 
 equally infused into every living creature, and i> 
 inseparable from the body, for if it were not, it 
 would be nothing; nor is there anything whatever 
 really existing except body." ^ 
 
 From this difference of opinion in regard to the 
 substance of the soul, Davies turns to a similar dif- 
 ference of opinion in regard to the "seat" or loca- 
 tion of the soul. Neither Aristotle nor Nemesius 
 
 1 Op. cit., pp. 81-82. * Op. cit., Bk. I. sec. lO.
 
 y4 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 discusses the opinions of " the great wits " on this 
 subject, although they discuss at length the rela- 
 tion of the soul to the body. The opinions to 
 which Davies refers are, first, the localizing of the 
 soul in the brain : — 
 
 " In iudgement of her substance thus they vary ; 
 And thus they vary in iudgement of her seat; 
 For some her chaire vp to the bralne doe carry." 
 
 The Pythagoreans divide the soul into three parts, 
 Reason, Mind, and Courage, localizing Reason 
 and Mind in the brain, and Courage in the heart.^ 
 Plato took the tripartite view of the soul — re- 
 garding Reason or the rational part of the soul as 
 localized in the head. In that singular account of 
 the formation of man contained in the TintcBus he 
 says : " That which, like a field, was to receive 
 the divine seed, he made round every way, and 
 called that portion of the marrow, brain, intending 
 that, when an animal is perfected, the vessel con- 
 taining this substance should be the head ; but as 
 touching the remaining and mortal part of the soul 
 — that which was intended to contain this — he 
 divided into round and long figures, and he called 
 them all by the name ' marrow ' ; and from these, as 
 
 * Cf . Zcller, " Pre-Socratic Philosophy," trans, by S. F. Alleyne, 
 Vol. L pp. 480-481.
 
 Means by which the Soul is Known y^ 
 
 from anchors, casting the bonds of the whole soul, 
 he proceeded to fashion around them the entire 
 framework or our body, constructing for the mar- 
 row, first of all, a complete covering of bones." * 
 Strato of Lampsacus also localized the soul in the 
 head.''* This, also, was the view of those writers in 
 the Middle Ages who identified the soul with the 
 animal spirits which were supposed to be the re- 
 sult of transforming the vital spirits in the brain, a 
 more specific account of which will be given later. 
 Davics himself regarded the brain as the "seat" 
 of the soul : — 
 
 •' This Lampe through all the regions ol my braine. 
 
 Where my soule sits, doth spread such beames of grace." 
 
 And again : — 
 
 *' Right so the Soule, which is a lady free, 
 
 And doth the iustice of her State maintaine; 
 Uecause the senses ready seruants be, 
 Attending nigh about her Court, the braine." 
 
 The next view of the location of the soul to 
 which Davies refers is, that: — 
 
 " Some thrust it downe into the stomackes heat." 
 
 > Timaus, 73, Jowett's trans. C£. also Cicero, op. cit., Bk. I. 
 sec. 10. 
 
 * Zeller, " Outlines of the History of Greek Philosophy," trans., 
 p. 225.
 
 ^6 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 This view has been attributed to the Pythago- 
 reans. But, as seen above, they held an entirely 
 different conception. 
 
 Again, speaking of still another view on this 
 subject, he says : — 
 
 "Some place it in the root of life, the Agar/." 
 
 This view of the *' scat " of the soul was quite com- 
 mon among the Stoics. " This fire of the soul is 
 nourished by the blood, and the governing part 
 of the soul (the lyyefiovLKov) has its seat in the 
 heart, the centre of the course of the blood (ac- 
 cording to Zeno, Cleanthes, Chrysippus, &c., from 
 whom only a few authors deviate)."' This was 
 also a common conception among the Hebrews. 
 
 Another view referred to by Davies is, that some 
 locate the soul in the liver: — 
 
 " Some in the liuer, fountaine of the veines." 
 
 Plato locates a " portion " of the soul " about " 
 the liver which he makes the source of " prophetic 
 intimations." Speaking of the liver, he says: 
 " And the converse happens when some gentle 
 inspiration of the understanding pictures images 
 of an opposite character, and allays the bile and 
 bitterness by not stirring them, and refuses to 
 1 Ztller, op. cit., p. 244.
 
 A/t-Jws by which the Soul is Known yj 
 
 touch the nature opposed to itself, but by mak- 
 ing use of the natural sweetness of the liver, 
 straightens all things and makes them to be right 
 and smooth and free, and makes the portion 
 of the soul which resides about the liver happy 
 and joyful, having in the night a time of peace 
 and moderation, and the power of divination in 
 sleep when it no longer participates in sense and 
 reason." ' 
 
 And, finally, Davies says: — 
 
 " Some say, Shee is all in all, and all in part : 
 Some say, She is not containd but all containes." 
 
 He probably refers to the views of Nemesius 
 which embody all that is expressed in these: 
 n'ords. Speaking of the relation of soul to body 
 the Church Father says: "For, as the Sun^ soi 
 soon as it appcareth, changes the ayrc into light ; \t. 
 so making it lightsome, and so diffusing it self© 
 with the ayrcy that it is united with the same, and 
 
 * 7»«itt//, 71, Jowett's trans. Referring to the Semitic con^ 
 ception, Kennedy says : " This peculiar sanctity of the visceral 
 fat, is to be explained by the fact that the liver and kidneys, with 
 the fat surrounding them, were regarded by the Semitic races as 
 being with the blood, the seat of life. ..." 
 
 " Like the kidneys, the liver was also regarded as an important 
 seat of emotion." — Hastings, " A Dictionary of the Bible." New 
 York, 1900, p. 128, 
 
 also, 
 
 'w!ia 
 )an't:
 
 7^ Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 yet not confounded therewith : Even so, the sou/ 
 being united with the Bo^jy, remains without con- 
 fusion therewith; differing in this onely, that the 
 Sutine being a Body, and circumscribed within the 
 compasse of Place, is not himsclfe in every place 
 where his lig/it is, but (as fire in the wood, or as 
 the flame in a candle) is confined to a certaine 
 place. 
 
 " It \^ not so with the soul. For, being void of 
 all Body, and not contained within the limits of any 
 place, it passcth all and whole, through its own 
 whole light, and through the whole Body, wherein 
 it is; neither is any part of it illuminated thereby, 
 wherein it is not fully and wholly present. Neither 
 is it in the body as in some bottle or other vesscll, 
 nor compassed in by the same ; but the Body is 
 rather in the sonic, and is thereby held in and 
 fastncd together." ' Here we have the doctrine 
 of the soul being " all in all, and all in part"; and 
 that " she is not containd but all containes." 
 As will be seen later, this is the view of Davies 
 also. 
 
 This variety of opinion, then, in regard to the 
 "what" and "where" of the soul indicated to 
 iDavics's mind the ignorance of "the great wits" 
 ^ 0]). cit., pp. 197-199.
 
 Means by which the Soul is Known jg 
 
 on these subjects. And this confusion " among 
 men's wits " was God's punishment for " pride of 
 wit." And, if such great minds, " of whom all 
 skill we learn," were unable to throw light on these 
 great questions of the soul, Davies felt that his 
 own mind, — 
 
 "Wliich dimme by nature. Art did neuer clcare"; 
 
 would certainly be insufficient for such knowledge, 
 unless aided by Divine light. I lencc the prayer : — 
 
 " O Liiiht which mak'st the light, which makes the day ! 
 Which setst the eye without, and mind within ; 
 'Lighten my spirit with one cleare heauenly ray, 
 Which now to view it selfe doth first begin."
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 REALITY OF THE SOUL. — SENSATIONALISM 
 
 T TAVING thus explained by what means the 
 soul is to be known, Davies proceeds to 
 unfold to us his philosophy of mind. The first 
 problem with which he deals is the reality of 
 mind. 
 
 The mind, according to our poet, is a reality — 
 a real substance and spirit. Though united to the 
 body, which serves as an apt means for the exer- 
 cise of her powers, she is nevertheless, so far as 
 her essential being is concernc'd, independent of 
 the body. This reality of the soul is affirmed also 
 in its relation to sense. The soul is not merely a 
 derivative of sense. Its essential being consists 
 not in sense, but in higher powers. The senses 
 are merely the servants of the soul. They are 
 mere attendants at her court — the brain. Now 
 this self-being of the soul, which in a manner is 
 independent of the body and the senses, is greatly 
 emphasized by Davies. He insists upon it very
 
 Reality of the Soul. — Sensatiomlism 8i 
 
 early in the second part of his poem, and maintains 
 it at length in an elaborate argument against two 
 prominent types of Philosophy — Sensationalism 
 and Materialism, The theory of Sensationalism, 
 which explains all of the higher activities of mind, 
 such as memory, imagination, conception, judg- 
 ment, reasoning, will, etc., and, indeed, the very 
 mind itself, on the basis of sensations and their 
 mechanical groupings, is such a formidable theory, 
 involving such serious consequences, that the poet 
 enters upon an elaborate consideration of it, 
 earnestly attempting its refutation. His argument 
 proceeds as follows: — 
 
 Attention is first called to certain modes of the 
 mind's functioning which Davies considers to be 
 essentially dififerent from sense, and then he pro- 
 ceeds to show that the mind cannot be a deriva- 
 tive of sense because of the sui generis character 
 of these higher modes of functioning which are 
 expressive of the mind's essential nature. In the 
 first place, the mind has the power of scientific 
 generalization — of gathering — 
 
 " From many cases like, one rule of Law." 
 
 This work of generalization is not the work of 
 sense. Again, the mind has the power of seeking
 
 82 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 the causes of things, and this functioning according 
 to the law of cause and effect is done without the 
 aid of sense. Again, the mind has the power of 
 functioning according to the law of means and 
 ends, and this power is her own, underived from 
 sense. She has the power also of rational imagi- 
 nation, of definition, of argument, of making moral 
 distinctions — in short, the power of rational intel- 
 lect and will, and these pow(TS, so far as their 
 essential nature is concerned, are independent of 
 sense. But while thus original and underived from 
 sense, the mind in these fundamental modes of her 
 energizing, does not act out of all relation to sense. 
 Davics approaches close to the Kantian position 
 here. The rational soul without sense would be 
 empty, and sense without the rational soul would 
 be blind. Speaking of the soul, in her relation to 
 sense, he says : — 
 
 " Nor can her selfe discourse or iudge of ought. 
 But vvliat the Sense collects and home doth bring 
 And yet the power of her discoursing thought, 
 From these collections, is a diuers thing. 
 
 *' For though our eyes can nought but colours see, 
 "V et colours giue them not their powre of sight ; 
 So, though these fruits of Si-fise her obiects bee, 
 Yet she discernes them by her proper light.
 
 Reality of the Soul. — Sensationalism 8j 
 
 •'The workman on liis stufTc his skill doth show, 
 And yet tlie stuffe giues not the man his skill; 
 Kings their affaires do by their scruants know, 
 But order them by their owne royal! will. 
 
 " So, though this cunning mistresse and this queene, 
 Doth, as her instrument, the Senses vse. 
 To know all things that are /«■//, heard, or seene^ 
 Yet she her selfe doth onely iudge and chuse.''^ 
 
 After a little further illustration of the dif- 
 ference and relations between sense and soul, 
 he enters more specifically upon his argument 
 to prove that the latter is not derived from the 
 former ; — 
 
 If the soul be merely " a fine perfection of the 
 sense," then what is that which accuses sense of 
 false judgments and of fond appetites, and leads us 
 to do that which is obnoxious to sense? An analy- 
 sis of judgment proper and of moral discernment 
 and choice reveals the fact that their nature is 
 something other than sense. Again, it is further 
 evident that there are powers of mind which are 
 essentially different from sense. If there were not, 
 then those in whom the senses are sound, should 
 have sound minds. That is, most of wisdom and 
 least of folly. However, as a matter of fact, this 
 is not the case. Wisdom usually comes with age,
 
 84 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 and decay of the senses accompanies age. On 
 the other hand, folly usually characterizes those of 
 quickest sense: 
 
 Again, if all mental life is, in the final analysis, 
 naught but sense, then animal intelligence would 
 be superior to human intelligence; for animals, as 
 a rule, are possessed of keener sense than man. 
 But animal intelligence is inferior to human intelli- 
 gence. Animals are wanting in reasoning power 
 — in "that qtiickc discoursing power" by which 
 the erroneous judgments of sense are rectified. 
 This is manifest, for example, in the case of the 
 bee that seeks for honey in the painted flower; and 
 in birds that peck the shadow for the fruit. Again, 
 there is a difference between sense and soul. Sense 
 deals with the forms or externals of things. Soul, 
 on the other hand, penetrates them — grasping 
 their essential natures. But, really, to speak accu- 
 rately, says the poet, it is incorrect thus to separate 
 sense and soul. Sense is really a power of soul — 
 one aspect of the soul's activity. Through the 
 various senses the soul acquaints herself with the 
 divers forms of objects. While the sense spreads 
 outward, it nevertheless has its root in the soul. 
 Sense in itself would be blind. It could not per- 
 ceive objects. It is the soul that perceives. Eyes
 
 Reality of the Soul. — Sensationalism 8^ 
 
 and cars know no more of their objects than do 
 glasses of the faces which they reflect. This is 
 quite evident when we remember that if thought 
 be elsewhere, we often fail to see things even 
 though the eyes be open. And if there were not 
 a unitary power which both sees and hears, our 
 sights and sounds would be double. It is the soul, 
 then, that really perceives.' Sense, he repeats, 
 without soul, would be blind; just as the judg- 
 ments of the soul without the materials of sense 
 would be empty. In view of the foregoing reasons, 
 Davics concludes that the position of Sensational- 
 ism is untenable — that the soul is something more 
 than a " fine perfection of the sense " — that it is 
 
 ' Compare these words with those of Cicero, who says: 
 " For not even now is it with our eyes that we view what we see, 
 for the body itself has no senses ; but . . . there are certaia 
 perforated channels from the seat of the soul to the eyes, cars, 
 and nose ; so that frequently, when either prevented by medita- 
 tion, or the force of some bodily disorder, we neither hear nor see, 
 though our eyes and ears are 0|)en and in good condition ; so that 
 we may easily apprehend that it is the soul itself which sees and 
 hears, and not those parts which are, as it were, but windows to 
 the soul, by means of which, however, she can perceive nothing, 
 unless she is on the spot, and exerts herself. How shall we ac- 
 count for the fact that by the same power of thinking we compre- 
 hend the most different things — as color, taste, heat, smell, and 
 sound — which the soul could never know by her five messengers, 
 unless everything were referred to her, and she were the sole 
 judge of all." — Op. cit., l!k. I. sec. 20.
 
 86 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 a distinct, unitary agent, — sense itself being one 
 of its modes of functioning: — 
 
 " Then is the Sou/g a nature, which containes 
 The powre of Sense, within a greater power 
 Which doth imploy and vse the Senses paines, 
 But sits and rules within her priuate bower." 
 
 The theory of Sensationalism, which our poet 
 so earnestly endeavors to refute, is quite con- 
 spicuous in the history of speculative thought. 
 Among the Ancients, it was taught by the Sophists 
 and the Sceptics. Among the Moderns, Hobbes, 
 Hume, Condillac, Hartley, James Mill, Comte, John 
 Stuart Mill, Lewes, Spencer, and others, are its 
 disciples. There are three aspects or forms of the 
 theory, the psychological, ontological, and epis- 
 temological. Sensationalism from the psychologi- 
 cal point of view endeavors to explain all mental 
 life on the basis of sensations grouped according 
 to certain mechanical laws, usually called laws of 
 association. Given the raw materials of sensations, 
 . and combining them according to these laws, all 
 I the higher forms of mental activity, as conception, 
 judgment, reasoning, willing, etc., can be accounted 
 Ifor. They are all derivations of sense. Or, bc- 
 [ginning analytically with the highest forms of
 
 Reality of the Soul. — Sensationalism 8j 
 
 mental life, by a kind of psychological chemistry 
 we arc enabled to analyze them into their ultimate 
 elements — sensations. This psychological aspect 
 of Sensationalism is common to all advocates of 
 tlie theory. 
 
 There is but a short step from the psychological 
 to the ontological aspect of the theory. Viewed 
 from this standpoint, not only all the higher modes 
 of mental life are explainable on the basis of sen- 
 sations and their mechanical groupings, but the 
 mind itself is thus explained. It has no other 
 being than that of sensations and their ideas, 
 united by the laws of association. There is no 
 unitary subject of conscious states — no unitary, 
 distinct individual agent, manifesting itself in man- 
 ifold forms of activit)', such as perceiving, remem- 
 bering, thinking, willing, etc. The idea of an 
 agent functioning in certain forms is foreign to 
 these thinkers. Man is merely — 
 
 '♦ A willy-nilly current of sensations." 
 
 Or, as Hume, the prince of Sensationalists, has 
 put it, " a bundle of perceptions." Sometimes I 
 this position is in the interests of an idealistic inter- 
 pretation of the ultimate nature of reality, as in the 
 case of Hume's philosophy. Again, it favors a 
 materialistic philosophy, as in the case of Spencer
 
 88 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 — sensations being conceived as mere modes of 
 nervous motion, or " nervous shocks." 
 
 Viewed from an epistemological standpoint, 
 Sensationalism lands us in scepticism or agnos- 
 ticism. It leads to scepticism by making sense 
 the only source of knowledge. Thus it necessarily 
 implies the relativity of knowledge — that knowl- 
 edge is relative to each individual, and as each in- 
 dividual differs from every other, there can be no 
 universal factor which real knowledge demands. 
 This is clearly brought out in the philosophy of 
 I'rotagoras, as embodied in his famous saying, that 
 " Man is the measure of all things" — meaning by 
 man, each individual man, and each individual 
 man in the immediacy and individuality of his 
 character as distinguished from his universal char- 
 acter as revealed in his rationality. In other 
 words, all knowledge being sense knowledge, " and 
 as sensations differ for different individuals, a thing 
 seeming green to one and blue to another, large to 
 one and small to another, it follows that there are 
 as many //"/^///i" as individuals; that the individual 
 is the measure of the true and the false ; . . . that 
 there are no universally valid truths or principles, 
 or, at least, that we have no certain criterion 
 (KpiTTjpiop) by which we recognize the absolute
 
 Reality of the Soul. — Sensationalism 8(^ 
 
 truth of a metaphysical or moral proposition. 
 Tiie individual is the measure of the true and the 
 good. . . . It is not possible for us to prove any- 
 thing but the particular fact of sensation; still 
 more impossible is it to know the causes or ulti- 
 mate conditions of reality, which escape all sense- 
 perception," ' Much of our modern agnosticism is 
 based on Sensationalism. It recognizes sensations 
 as the ultimate objects of knowledge. The objects 
 or grounds of these sensations cannot be reached 
 by the human mind. The so-called thought-rela- 
 tions, by which it is supposed we reach the reality 
 beyond sensations, being resolved into relations 
 merely between sensations themselves. 
 
 Now, of these three aspects of Sensationalism, 
 Davies deals with the first two — the psyciiologi- 
 cal and the ontological. And he deals with the: 
 psychological as leading up to the ontological, 
 with which he is primarily concerned. In his 
 treatment of Sensationalism, he in no respect 
 underestimates its force, but he undoubtedly suc- 
 ceeds in detecting its vulnerable point. In oppo- 
 sition to it, he affirms the reality of the mind as 
 a distinct agent underived from any elementary 
 mind-stuff in the form of sense or sensations. 
 
 ^ Weber's " History of Philosophy," trans, by F. Thilly. New 
 V'>'k, I Soft. pp. Co-()\.
 
 po Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 The reason for such affirmation, according to him, 
 is the consciousness of the existence of such an 
 agent in the exercise of its fundamental powers — 
 wit and will. The mind's real being consists in 
 these fundamental modes of psychical functioning, 
 and these powers cannot be derived from sense, 
 but are original, underived, native powers of the 
 soul. That this is so, he affirms, is evident from 
 the fact that they correct the testimony of sense; 
 they do what is obnoxious to sense ; they lead us 
 in directions counter to sense ; that sense would 
 be blind without the rational soul ; and that, after 
 all, sense itself is but an aspect or form of the 
 soul's activity. He views the mind activity-wise, 
 rather than merely content-wise as does the sen- 
 sationalist; and insists just as emphatically, al- 
 though in a much less thorough fashion, as did 
 Kant in his immortal Critique of Pure Reason on 
 
 I the native activity of mind in its relation to sense. 
 And he further insists, that this underived mental 
 
 i activity is the activity of a spiritual or psychical 
 agent whose existence and essential nature are 
 
 I revealed in and by this activity itself: — 
 
 " Then her selfc-beittii nature shines in this, 
 
 That she performcs her noblest works alone ; 
 The ivorke, the touch-stone of the nature is, 
 And by their operations, things are knovvne."
 
 Rdility of tbe Soul. — Sensationalism gi 
 
 The distinction between sense and the rational 
 soul wliich Davics insists upon is thoroughly Aris- 
 totelian. In his refutation of Sensationalism, and 
 later in his analysis of the powers of the soul, 
 Davies is in accord with three positions of Aris- 
 totle: (i) That there is an essential distinction 
 between sense and the rational soul. (2) That the 
 rational soul, unlike sense, is independent of the 
 bodily organism. (3) That the rational soul is 
 " the source of general ideas." On these points 
 Aristotle says : " This consideration shews how 
 improbable it is that reason should be incorporated 
 with the bodily organism: for if so, it would be 
 of some definite character, cither hot or cold, or 
 it would have some organ for its operation, just 
 as is the case with sense. But, as matter of fact, 
 reason has nothing of this character. There is 
 truth, too, in the view of those who say the soul 
 is the source of general ideas; only it is soul not 
 as a whole but in its faculty of reason : and the 
 forms or ideas in question exist within the mind, 
 not as endowments which we already possess, but 
 only as capacities to be developed." ^ And he fol- 
 lows with an explanation of the dififerences between 
 ihe "faculty of reason" and the " faculty of sense." ' 
 
 * Op. cit., Bk. III. ch. iv. sec. 4. ' Ibid., sees. 5-8.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 REALITY OF THE SOUL. — MATERIALISM 
 
 'Hp^HUS far the poet has dealt with Sensational- 
 ism. He considers next another theory that 
 denies the reality of the soul as a distinct, unitary 
 spiritual agent, — and this is Materialism. Several 
 forms or aspects of this theory are considered by 
 Davics, the first of which he indicates in the last 
 line of the following stanza. Speaking of the soul 
 he says : — 
 
 " She is a substance, and a reall thing, 
 
 Which hatli it selfe an actual! working might; 
 Which neither from tlie Senses' power doth spring, 
 Nor from the bodie'§ humors, tcmpred right." 
 
 The theory of Materialism indicated in the 
 words of the last line of this stanza is undoubtedly 
 tiic old theory which identified the soul with the 
 wcU-tcmpcred humors of the body, or with the 
 so-called vital and animal spirits. The blood was 
 considered the noblest humor, and it was sup- 
 posed by some that the heart prepared the vital
 
 Reality of the Soul, — Miiterialism g) 
 
 spirits out of the blood. Then the vital spirits 
 were refined in tlie cavities of the brain into ani- 
 mal spirits, which were supposed to be the soul 
 or spirit of man. So that tiiis is what Davies 
 means by the words : — 
 
 ♦• How gross are they that drown her In the blood ! 
 Or in the bodie's liumors tempred well." 
 
 Against such a conception of the soul Davies urges 
 the following argument: — 
 
 Such a conception would mean, that one with 
 the best tempered body would be possessed of the 
 best mind, which would be the same as affirming 
 that the musician with the best instrument, and 
 the best tuned instrument, had the most skill, and 
 that the neat pencil and clear colors made the | 
 painter. If we are to thus regard the soul, why 
 does not a beautiful body refine the understand- 
 ing? Why does not a good complexion rectify 
 the will? Why docs not health bring wisdom, 
 and sickness make men brutish? Furthermore, 
 who can find in the faculties of the soul — in 
 memory, or understanding, or will — aught of those 
 original elements, air, fire, earth, or water, from! 
 which it is supposed these humors spring? What 
 skillful alchemist can draw the quintessence of 
 
 iit::
 
 g4 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 these from the mind? Again, if the h'feless and 
 senseless elements can produce in us so great a 
 power as the soul, why do they not give them- 
 selves, as well as other things with which they are 
 mixed, a like excellence? Again, if the soul were 
 merely a quality of the body, then would she be 
 sick, maimed, and blind when the body is so. 
 Instead of this, however, we often find a healthy, 
 , sharp-sighted, perfect soul where these privations 
 1 arc manifest. If the soul thus partook of the 
 ; nature of the body then would her strength decay 
 , : with the decay of the strength of the body. But 
 1 as a matter of fact, "when the bodie's strongest 
 ] siiicwcs slake," the soul is most active. Again, if 
 ^ the soul were a mere accident of the body, as 
 y I whiteness is an accident of snow, then she might 
 1. ! absent herself from the body without being missed 
 !,, I by the substance thereof But this is not so. It 
 ^ ^ is the body that depends on the soul, and not the 
 J Isoul that depends on the body. It is the soul that 
 :, sustains and cherishes the body. It is she that 
 lends the secret powers of life to it. When these 
 life-giving powers of the soul are withdrawn, the 
 body perishes. In short, the physical organism 
 11 itself considered, apart from the soul, is a dead, 
 ncrt thing. Hence Davies concludes, that the
 
 Reality of tbe Soul. — Materialism 95 
 
 soul must not be identified with the well-tempered 
 humors of the body, 
 
 •' Since tlien the Sou/e works by her selfe alone, 
 
 Spritti^s not from Sense, nor humors, well a^teingj 
 Her nature is peculiar, and her owne : 
 She is a substance, and i. perfect being" 
 
 In discussing this theory of the identification 
 of the soul with the well-tempered humors of the 
 body, Davics has probably in mind, as was pre- 
 viously suggested, some form of the doctrine of 
 " spirits " so commonly accepted in the Middle 
 Ages and even after his own time. The doctrine 
 was held in different forms and dates back to 
 Greek and Alexandrine thought. But the form 
 prevalent in medieval times was that of the theory 
 of Galen. Lange says, that " Galen's theory of 
 the psychical and 'animal spiritus* in connection 
 with the doctrine of the four humors and the tem- 
 peraments was very early in the Middle Ages 
 fused with the Aristotelian psychology. Accord- 
 ing to this doctrine, which may be found at full 
 length even in Melancthon's Psychology, the four 
 fundamental humors are prepared in the liver 
 (second organic process after the first has taken 
 place in the stomach) ; out of the noblest humor,
 
 g6 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 the blood, the * spiritus vitalis ' is prepared by a 
 new process in the heart; and this is finally (the 
 fourth and last process) in the cavities of the 
 brain refined into the ' spiritus animalis.' " ' When 
 our poet, in his refutation of the theory that 
 identifies the soul with the humors, asks the 
 question : — 
 
 " Who can in memory, or wit, or will. 
 
 Or ayre, ox fire, or earth, or water finde ? 
 What alchymist can draw, with all his skil, 
 The quintessence of these, out of the mind ? " 
 
 he has undoubtedly in mind the four elements of 
 Empcdocles, to which the chief humors of the 
 body were, by Galen and others before and after 
 him, supposed to correspond." 
 
 The crass materialism which identified the mind 
 with these well-tempered humors of the body, was 
 obnoxious to Davies, and he repudiated it, giving 
 his reasons for so doing as stated above. In his 
 refutation of the theory he puts forth a view of the 
 relation of the soul to the body which is exceed- 
 ingly interesting. According to our poet, it is not 
 
 * " History of Materialism," trans, by E. C. Thomas. Boston, 
 1877, Vol. I. pp. 237-238. 
 
 ^ Cf. J. II. liass, " Outlines of the History of Medicine," trans, 
 by II. K. Ilanderson. New York, 1S99, pp. loi sq. and 107 sq.
 
 Rejlity of the Soul, — Materialism 97 
 
 the soul tliat is dependent on the body, but rather 
 the body that is dependent on t!ie soul. The very 
 life of the body is derived from the soul. Without 
 tlie life-giving power of the soul, the body is dead. 
 Death is in fact the withdrawal of the soul from 
 the body. This theory of the relation of soul and 
 body is, however, not original with Davies. It is 
 taught by Nemesius. He says: "All confcsse 
 there is a Soul, ; and if it be neither a Body^ nor 
 an accident, it is manifest that it is a substance 
 without a body; and no such thing as cannot 
 stand by it sclfe without a subject: For such 
 things may without the destruction of the subject 
 be cither in tlie same, or absent; but if the SoUL 
 be separated from the body, that body must of 
 necessity be destroyed." ^ 
 
 But this doctrine antedates Nemesius. It is a 
 fundamental point in Aristotle's psychology or 
 rather physiological psychology. He says : " The 
 soul then is the cause and basis of the body as 
 alive ; and is so in each of the three senses in 
 which the word cause is used : that is to say it is 
 so both as the efficient cause from which move- 
 ment springs, as the end or final cause and as the 
 real or essential substance of animate bodies. 
 
 1 Op. cit., p. 183. 
 7
 
 g8 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 " That the soul is so as essential substance is evi- 
 dent. In the case of all objects, the cause of their 
 existence constitutes their essential substance. 
 Now it is life which constitutes the existence of 
 all animals, and of these processes of life soul is 
 at once the cause and origin; and further, in the 
 case of something which exists potentially, it is 
 the full realization which is the notion or essential 
 nature. 
 
 " It is equally clear that soul is cause in the 
 sense of end or final cause. Like reason, nature 
 acts for the sake of some object; and this object 
 is its end. Now in the animal world the soul is 
 naturally something of this character. All natural 
 bodies are instruments of the soul: and just as it 
 is with the bodies of animals so also is it with 
 those of plants, all being there simply for the sake 
 of soul. But in saying that tlic soul is the end or 
 final cause, we must remember that the word ' end ' 
 is used in two senses, and must understand it as 
 meaning that at which a thing aims quite as much 
 as that for which it exists. 
 
 " Lastly, the soul is also cause as being the 
 original source of local movement, a faculty how- 
 ever which all creatures do not have. The soul 
 also exhibits phenomena of alteration and augmen-
 
 Reality of the Soul. — Materialism gg 
 
 tation : for sensation is held to be a form of alter- 
 ation and nothing possesses this faculty of sense 
 unless it participate in soul. So also is it with 
 augmentation and decay: nothing decays or grows 
 in a natural manner except it receive nutrition: 
 and nothing is nurtured except it partake of life."* 
 
 * Op. cit., 13k. II. ch. iv. sees. 3-6.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 NATURE OF THE SOUL. — MATERIALISM 
 
 T TAVING thus endeavored to vindicate the 
 : claims of the soul to a being of her own, 
 he proceeds to explain the nature of the soul. 
 Here again he crosses swords with the Materialist. 
 He affirms the soul to be a spirit — not, however, 
 like the air or wind, nor like the so-called " vital 
 spirits," nor like the spirits spoken of by the 
 alchemists. She surpasses " all natures vnder 
 hcaucn." She is like the spirits or heavenly in- 
 telligences who behold the face of God. Yea, she 
 is like God herself, originally bearing his image, 
 but having degenerated to such an extent as to 
 scarcely now constitute his shadow. She is supe- 
 rior to all " formes " knit to bodies. But although 
 joined to the body, she is " bodilesse and free," 
 and though confined, she is almost infinite. She 
 cannot be a body, for if so, how could she be con- 
 tained in the body which is not so great as she — 
 how could she contain " the world's great shape "
 
 Nature of the Soul. — Materialism loi 
 
 — how could she reflect or mirror the world? 
 Bodies are subject to space relations — not so 
 with the soul. Instead of being confined to place, 
 she herself contains all places. It is impossible 
 for bodies to admit two forms at once without one 
 defacing the other; but the soul can admit ten 
 thousand forms, none intruding upon its neighbor's 
 place. All bodies are filled with other bodies. 
 The soul's "wide imbraccmcnts " cannot be filled, 
 for its capacity increases by acquisition. Things 
 take the proportions of things receiving them: — 
 
 " So little glasses little faces make, 
 And narrow webs on narrow frames be weau'd." 
 
 But not so with the soul. If she were a body, how 
 vast she would have to be to contain, as she does, 
 all sorts of corporeal objects, as, '* men, beasts, 
 trees, towns, seas, and lands": — 
 
 " And yet each thing a proper place doth find, 
 And each thing in the true proportion stands." 
 
 This were impossible to the mind were it not for 
 the fact that by some strange sublimation she 
 converts bodies into spirits. She abstracts the 
 forms from material bodies — she draws a sort of 
 " qidntcsscnce from things," which she transforms 
 into her own nature. This is manifest in her
 
 J02 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 abstraction of universals from particular objects — 
 . which universals are bodiless and immaterial in 
 their character and find a lodgment only in minds. 
 Again, were the mind a body it would be impos- 
 sible for her to know several bodies, just as it is 
 impossible for a mirror not free from all forms to 
 reflect several faces. Our eyes could not discern 
 all colors if they were not themselves void of 
 colors. Again, the quick movements of the mind 
 show her to be a spirit. She travels immense 
 distances in a moment of time. It is impossible 
 for a body to do so. The conclusion is, that 
 the soul is not a corporeal or bodily thing, but 
 rather an incorporeal, immaterial thing — a spiritual 
 agent: — 
 
 " As then the Sou/e a substance hath alone, 
 Besides the Body in which she is confin'd; 
 So hath she not a doi(y of her owne, 
 But is a spirit^ and immateriall minded 
 
 In the preceding consideration of Materialism 
 Davies gives no exposition of the doctrine. He 
 merely refutes the notion of regarding the soul 
 as a bodily thing. He may have in mind either 
 the views of Democritus, the Stoics, the Epi- 
 cureans, or Lucretius; or, indeed, the views of
 
 Niiture of the Soul. — Materialism loj 
 
 all of these philosophers; for all of them affirm 
 the soul to be corporeal in its nature. Nemesius, 
 in refuting this theory, refers to all of the above 
 mentioned thinkers, except Lucretius.* Davies 
 in dealing with Materialism makes use of two 
 argimients used by Nemesius, in discussing the 
 relation of soul and body, namely, (i) That body 
 is confined to place, whereas the soul is not. 
 (2) That body has dimensions, but the soul has 
 none. Nemesius says : " For, as the Suft, so soon 
 as it appeareth, changes the ajfre into light; so 
 making it lightsome, and so diffusing it selfe with 1 
 the ayn\ that it is united with the same, and yet 
 not confounded therewith : Even so, the soul be- 
 ing united with the Body, remaines without con- 
 fusion therewith; differing in this onely, that thei 
 Sunne being a Body, and circumscribed within! 
 the compasse of Place, is not himselfe in every '" 
 place where his light is, but (asyfr^ in the woody 
 or as the flame in a candle) is confined to a cer 
 taine place. 
 
 " It is not so with the soi/l. For, being void 
 of all Body, and not contained within the limits 
 of any place, it passeth all and whole, througl| 
 its own whole light, and through the whole Body\ 
 
 It is 
 as it 
 to be 
 saidt 
 Til 
 topla 
 
 1 Op. cit., pp. 77-113. 
 
 
 m
 
 104 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 wherein it is ; neither is any part of it illuminated 
 thereby, wherein it is not fully and wholly present. 
 Neither is it in the body as in some bottle or other 
 vessell, nor compassed in by the same ; but the 
 Body is rather in the soule, and is thereby held in 
 and fastned together. 
 
 " For, intelligible things (such as the soul is) 
 are not hindred by bodily things; but, enter, 
 and pierce, and pass through every corporeall 
 thing, and cannot possibly bee contained within 
 the circumference of a bodily-place. Things in- 
 tcllcctuall, have their being in places also intelli- 
 p-ible; yea they are either in themselves, or else in 
 such intellcctuall things, as are above themselves. 
 
 " The soul is otherwhile in it sclfe; as, when it 
 reasonetJi or considereth of things; and otherwhile 
 in the undcrstajtding ; as, when it conceiveth any 
 thing: And when it is said to bee in the body, 
 it is not said to be there, as in place ; but, to be 
 as it were in a certaine relation to the body; and 
 to bee present with it Jn such a sense, as, God is 
 said to be in us!' ' 
 
 Thus far Ncmesius shows that body is confined 
 to place ; but not so with the soul. And he 
 further points out that body has dimensions, but 
 * Op. cit., pp. 197-200.
 
 Nature of the Soul. — Materialism lo^ 
 
 the soul has not: "For," he continues, "wee say 
 that the soul is bound (as it were) by a certaine 
 disposition and inchnation, as the lover is to his 
 beloved: not bound in place, or as bodies are 
 bound ; but by the habituall bands of affection. 
 And indeed, seeing it hath neither magnitude^ 
 nor tnassinesse, nor parts, how can it be enclosed 
 by a speciall place f Or within what place can 
 that bee contained, which hath no parts? Where 
 place is, there must needs bee a tnassinesse ; be- 
 cause place is the Bound which compasscth 
 another thing; and hath its being in respect of 
 that which it encloseth." ' 
 
 Davies argues similarly, but more briefly : — 
 
 •' All bodies are confin'd within some place, 
 But she all place within her selfe confines ; 
 All bodies haue their measure, and their space, 
 But who can draw the Soule^s dimensiue lines?" 
 
 It would seem, especially in view of what will 
 appear later, that here again Davies had recourse 
 
 to Nemesius. 
 
 The last argument against regarding the soul 
 
 Cfuds 
 as body, which Davies makes use of, based on i; , 
 
 ( "1E« 
 
 the swiftness of the soul's movements, may be i 
 found also in Calvin. The theologian, in endeav^ 
 
 1 Op. cit., pp. 200- 301. 
 
 i tii^:.
 
 io6 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 oring to show that the soul cannot be identified 
 with body, says: "But the swiftness with which 
 the human mind glances from heaven to earth, 
 scans the secrets of nature, and, after it has em- 
 braced all ages, with intellect and memory digests 
 each in its proper order, and reads the future in 
 the past, clearly demonstrates that there lurks in 
 man a something separated from the body." ' 
 Davics says : — 
 
 " If lastly, this quicke power a body were, 
 Were it as swift as is tlie winde ox fire ; 
 (Whose atomies doe th'one down side-waies bcare, 
 And make the other m pyramids aspire :) 
 
 " Her nimble body yet in time must moue. 
 
 And not in instants through all places slide ; 
 But she is nigh, and farre, beneath, aboue, 
 In point of time, which thought cannot deuide: 
 
 ♦' She is sent as soone to China as to Spaine, 
 And thence rcturnes, as soone as shee is sent; 
 She measures with on« time, and with one paine, 
 An ell of silke, and heauen's wide spreading tent." 
 
 Davics's refutation of Materialism is, of course, 
 crude. But we must remember that he was deal- 
 ing with a crude Materialism. It was not such 
 a doctrine as we meet with in nineteenth and 
 twentieth century scientific Materialism. It was 
 * Op. cit., lik. I. ch. XV. sec. 2.
 
 Nature of the Soul. — Materialism - loy 
 
 not a theory formed in the light of the doctrines 
 of tlie conservation of energy, and biological evo- 
 lution, or in the light of modern brain physiology. 
 Davies took Materialism as he found it, and met 
 its disciples on their own ground, — how success- 
 fully the reader may judge for himself. But in 
 taking his stand on the side of a spiritualistic 
 philosophy — in affirming t'le reality of mind as 
 distinguished from matter, he has identified him- 
 self with the main current of speculative thought. 
 In carefully reviewing the history of philosophy 
 one cannot fail to be impressed with the poverty 
 of Materialism. As compared with a spiritualistic 
 philosophy — either in the form of Dualism or |l 
 Idealism — it plays an inferior part in the history 
 of speculative thought. It is true it had a flourish- 
 ing career in Greek and Grajco-Roman thought. 
 lUit as one compares pre-Socratic materialistic 
 philosophy with the Socratic, Platonic, and Aris- 
 totelian philosophy, in which the spiritual nature 
 of mind is recognized, he will be impressed with 
 the poverty of the former and the richness of the 
 latter. Likewise, if he makes a comparison be- 
 tween the Stoic and Epicurean Materialism and 
 the philosophy of Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle a 
 similar impression prevails. Ancient Materialism is
 
 lo8 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 ' not rich in great names or great systems. Again; 
 for fifteen centuries of the Christian era Materi- 
 alism had scarcely a representative of note.^ In- 
 deed, from Epicurus and Lucretius to Descartes 
 — the founder of modern philosophy — it hardly 
 receives mention by historians of philosophy. 
 Whereas, much of early Christian philosophy, 
 and Scholastic philosophy also, were, of course, 
 spiritualistic in character. The case is essentially 
 the same in Modern as in Ancient Philosophy. 
 From Descartes through Spinoza, Malebranche, 
 Gculincx, Leibnitz, and Wolff, to Kant, on the 
 Continent; and from Locke, through Berkeley, 
 and Hume (Idealistic Sensationalism), to Reid, 
 in Great Britain, philosophy has either been dual- 
 islic or idealistic — affirming in either case the 
 reality of mind. During this period. Materialism 
 was represented by Gassendi, Hobbcs, Toland, 
 Tricstlcy, the Encyclopaedists (?), La Mettrie, and 
 d'Holbach. To the student of the history of phi- 
 losojjhy the two movements of thought hardly 
 admit of comparison so far as their significance 
 is concerned. The former is the great stream 
 
 * There was more or less Materialism in early Christian s|)ecu- 
 lativc thought. This was doubtless due to a considerable extent 
 to the influence of the Stoics.
 
 Nature of the Soul. — Materialism tog 
 
 of modern speculative thought flowing in this 
 period ; the latter is a small current flowing along- 
 side or through it. And, if anything, the contrast 
 is more marked in the history of philosophical 
 thought from Kant to the present day. The 
 dominant character of philosophy since Kant has 
 been idealistic. The great systems of Fichte, 
 Schelling, Hegel, Schopenhauer, Von Hartmann, 
 and Lotze, testify to this fact. They pre-eminently 
 constitute the main current of Modern Philosophy. 
 Dualism also during this period, as manifest in the 
 development of Scottish philosophy from Reid 
 to Hamilton, constitutes no insignificant current. 
 True, this period witnessed the birth of a more 
 " scientific " Materialism than that of preceding 
 thought. The rapid development of the natural 
 sciences, the wide acceptance of the theories of 
 evolution, and of the correlation of forces, the 
 mechanical explanation of phenomena, and the 
 progress in nerve and brain physiology — all of 
 these things gave rise to a materialistic view of 
 the world and the soul. The more speculative 
 representatives of this movement in Germany 
 were Moleschott, Vogt, Biichner, Haeckel, and 
 others. In France it has had comparatively few 
 representatives of note. Probably Cabanis may
 
 no Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 be called its most distinguished exponent there. 
 And it may be questioned whether he really 
 teaches a philosophical Materialism. In Great 
 Britain Materialism is taught more by implication 
 than as a scientific or philosophical dogma. It 
 is certainly an implication of the teachings of 
 Spencer and Huxley, and possibly of Tyndall. 
 Professor Flint accurately states the case as fol- 
 lows : " In England, Mr. Herbert Spencer, Pro- 
 fessors Huxley and Tyndall, and a few other 
 writers of distinguished philosophical or scientific 
 talents, have done far more to diffuse materialism 
 than any of those who are willing to avow them- 
 selves materialists. Never was materialism more 
 fortunate than when it secured to itself the sym- 
 pathy and support of minds so vigorous and so 
 richly gifted." ' 
 
 This, briefly, and in a general way, has been the 
 history of Materialism as compared with Dualism 
 and Idealism. Its comparative poverty of history 
 is due to the inherent poverty of its cause. The 
 utter inability thus far of even a so-called " scien- 
 tific " Materialism to explain conscious life on the 
 basis of the molecular activity of the brain; the 
 
 1 "Anti-Thcistic Theories." Edinburgh and London, 1877, 
 Appendix, Note xv.
 
 Nature of the Soul. — Materialism iii 
 
 utter unlikencss of neural and psychic activity 
 when subjected to the closest and most thorough 
 examination, make, in the writer's judgment, the 
 words of Du Bois-Reymond eminently true : " I 
 will now prove conclusively, as I believe, that not 
 only is consciousness unexplained by material con- 
 ditions in the present state of our science (which all 
 will admit), but that, in the very nature of things, it 
 never can be explained by these conditions. The 
 most exalted mental activity is no more incompre- 
 hensible in its material conditions than is the first 
 grade of consciousness — namely, sensation. With 
 the first awakening of pleasure and pain experi- 
 enced upon earth by some creature of the simplest 
 structure appeared an impassable gulf, and the 
 world became doubly incomprehensible." ^ 
 
 We have seen, then, that Davics in affirming the 
 essential reality of the psychic in opposition to 
 Materialism is in the current of the world's pre 
 foundest thought. But in his efforts to vindicate 
 the essential selfhood or being of the soul, he failed 
 to deal with a more formidable opposition than 
 Materialism, namely, Pantheistic Idealism ; or, 
 better. Idealistic Pantheism. Such Pantheism is a 
 
 1 " Ueber die Grenzen des Naturerkennens," pp. 20, 21. 
 Quoted from Flint, op. cit., Appendix, Note xviii.
 
 tt2 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 thorough-going Monism — affirming mind to be 
 the only reality, but cancelling the reality of the 
 finite mind — it being merely a mode of the Abso- 
 lute, or the Absolute coming to consciousness. 
 At best, then, the finite mind has merely a phe- 
 nomenal existence. It has no being-for-self — no 
 real selfhood. Of such a theory Davics hardly 
 seems conscious. At least he does not consider 
 it. And yet, in a philosophy of mind, it is not 
 sufficient to prove the reality of the spiritual or 
 psychic as against the claims of Materialism ; but 
 also, if possible, to vindicate the right of the 
 human soul to a being of its own, in opposition 
 to the claims of Idealistic Pantheism. The latter 
 undertaking is a much more difficult task than the 
 former. 
 
 Davies's conception of the essential reality and 
 individuality of the soul is more in harmony with 
 Christian theology than with Greek Philosophy. 
 In this respect he was probably influenced more 
 by Nemesius and Calvin and his general Christian 
 teaching than by Greek thought. For in Greek 
 Philosophy the distinction between the human soul 
 and the Divine Intelligence, and the World-Soul, 
 is nowhere as sharply drawn as it is in Davies's 
 philosophy, especially as involved in his doctrine
 
 Nature of the Soul. — Materialism 1 1) 
 
 of creation, which he presents later. Nor is the 
 distinction between soul and body as sharply de- 
 fined by Aristotle, to whom our poet was so much 
 indebted, as in Davies's thought. Such views as 
 he expresses on this subject represent in the main 
 the prevailing thought of Christian Theology from 
 Augustine to the present day (with some notable 
 exceptions). Since Augustine, Christian Theol- 
 ogy in its ontology has not, as a rule, been monis- 
 tic. It has usually taught the existence of three 
 distinct realities, — God, the created material world 
 (including the animal and human organism), and 
 the created human soul. This is undoubtedly the 
 view that underlies Davies's philosophy. 
 
 If we turn to Modern Philosophy, we find that, 
 in the prc-Kantian period, the essential being or 
 individuality of the soul is affirmed by Descartes,^ 
 Malebranche,^ Leibnitz,^ Wolff,* Locke,'' Berkeley,^ 
 Reid," and other philosophers of less distinction. 
 Kant himself, in the Critique of Pure Reason (in 
 
 * " Second Meditation." 
 
 2 " I)e la Recherche de la Verite," Liv. III. ii. 1-3. 
 ' " Monaclology." See also " Letter to Wagner on the Active 
 Force of Body, on the Soul," etc. 
 
 * "Latin Works: Psychologia rationalis." 
 
 ' "Essay on Human Understanding," Hk. IL, ch. xxvii. 
 
 ' " Principles of Human Knowledge." 
 
 ' " Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man," Essay I. ch. iv.
 
 ti4 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 the Transcendental Dialectic especially), regards 
 the soul as a noumenon — a transcendental reality 
 — a reality unknown to the pure reason. But in 
 the Critique of Practical Reason he makes the soul 
 and its immortality a reality known through the 
 practical reason or moral consciousness. From 
 Kant to Von Ilartmann German philosophy is 
 mainly Idealistic Pantheism. In the philosophy 
 of Fichte, and also of Ilcgel, Schopenhauer, and 
 Von Hartmann, the human soul is in some way 
 or other identified with the Absolute.' It is not 
 regarded as having a real, distinct being of its 
 own. Since Kant, Lotze is probably the most 
 distinguished German philosopher who has main- 
 tained the self-being of the finite soul.^ 
 
 The above briefly indicates the attitude of the 
 more important philosophical and theological 
 thought towards the position which Davies so 
 positively affirmed; namely, the spiritual self- 
 being of the human soul. 
 
 » Cf. Windelband, " A History of Philosophy," trans, by J. H. 
 Tufts, 2d ed., Chicago, 1900, Pt. VI. ch. ii., for a brief account of 
 the development of German Idealism. 
 
 2 Sec especially his " Mikrokosmus," II Buch, c. i, 2.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 ORIGIN OF THE SOUL IN CONNECTION WITH 
 THE BODY 
 
 T?ROM the discussion of the reality and nature 
 ■*• of the soul, the poet turns to the considera- 
 tion of that difficult and much mooted question 
 (especially in theological circles) of the mode of 
 the soul's origin. How does the soul come into 
 being? Assuming, as Davies does, that it has its 
 ultimate origin in God, the real question with him 
 is, the origin of the soul in its connection with the 
 body. He considers three theories of the origin 
 of the soul — Pre-existence, Creationism, and 
 Traducianism. The Church Father, Origen, in his 
 commentary on Canticles, has given a very clear 
 statement of the nature of these theories. He 
 says: " The question is, first, whether the human 
 spirit is created, or has existed from the beginning 
 (prc-existcnce) ; next, if created, whether it was 
 created once for all, and connected in such a way 
 with the body as to be propagated, along with it,
 
 ii6 Philosophy in Poetry . 
 
 by natural generation (traducianism), or whether 
 it is created successively, and, in each individual 
 case, added from without, in order to vivify the 
 body forming in the womb (creationism)." ^ 
 
 Of these three theories, Davies accepts Crea- 
 tionism, with a slight modification of the form 
 presented by Origcn. In taking this position, he 
 at first merely states the theory and his acceptance 
 of it, witliout an argument to substantiate his 
 views. The reasons for its acceptance are pre- 
 sented later. He states his own position as 
 follows : — 
 
 " Since body and soule haue such diuersities, 
 
 Well might we muse, how first their match began, 
 But that we learne, that He that spread tlie skies, 
 And fixt the Earth, first form'd the soule in man. 
 
 " This true Prometheus first made Man of earth. 
 And shed in him a beame of heauenly fire ; 
 Now in their mother's wombs before their birth, 
 Doth in all sonnes of men their soules inspire. 
 
 ♦' And as Minerua is in fables said, 
 
 From loue, without a mother to proceed ; 
 So our true loue, without a mother's ay'd, 
 Doth daily millions of Mineruas breed." 
 
 In other words, every individual soul is an abso- 
 lute, immediate creation on the part of God; and 
 
 1 Schaff-Herzog Religious Encyclopxdia, etc. New York, 
 1882, Vol. I. pp. 569-570.
 
 Origin of the Soul iiy 
 
 is breathed into the body with which it is to be 
 associated while yet in the mother's womb. Vio- 
 lent as this hypothesis is, it seems much more 
 acceptable to him than either of the opposing 
 theories. 
 
 With this statement of his position, he first con- 
 siders the doctrine of Pre-cxistence. He argues, 
 that God did not create all souls at once, either 
 " from eternitie before," or " from the time when 
 Times first point begun," which he keeps in some 
 other sphere, or housed in some secret cloister, 
 until the day of their marriage with the body. 
 Neither is that form of the theory which involves 
 the transmigration of souls, or metempsychosis, 
 true. God did not first create a number of 
 souls, — 
 
 *' Infusing part in beasts^ and part in men^'' 
 
 and so ordain that at the death of the body the 
 soul should be married to another body, — 
 
 " And so by often changing and supplying, 
 Men's soules to beasts, and beasts to men did passe." 
 
 This theory must be repudiated. Were it true, 
 thousands of bodies " must be abortiue, and for- 
 lornc," before they receive souls through the death 
 of other bodies, because the number of bodies 
 born exceeds by far the number of bodies that die.
 
 !i8 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 Over against this theory of Pre-existence and 
 metempsychosis, Davies sets his own theory of 
 Crcationism. Just as Nature, God's handmaid, 
 creates bodies in distinct time, and in due order, — 
 
 " So God giues soules the like successiue date, 
 Which Himselfe makes, in bodies formed new." 
 
 He strongly emphasizes the supposed fact that 
 God himself creates the soul, and does so directly 
 — not through secondary causes. He does not 
 delegate this power either to angels or to Nature. 
 Especially does he call attention to the fact that 
 Nature's services are not utilized in bringing the 
 soul into being. For, although she can derive 
 bodies from bodies, she could never derive souls 
 from souls. This would be an impossibility. 
 
 After thus again affirming the Creationist's view, 
 he takes into consideration the objection urged 
 against this theory by Traducianism. There were 
 those — revered Church Fathers — "great lights 
 of old " — whose eyes were dimmed with religious 
 fear, who opposed the doctrine of Crcationism, 
 substituting for it the doctrine of Traducianism. 
 The religious fear which constituted the ground of 
 their objection, arose from the supposed bearing 
 ofthisviewon the doctrine of original sin. The 
 poet interprets this objection as follows : —
 
 Origin of the Soul 119 
 
 We are taught by Rule of Faith that every soul 
 
 united to a human body is born in sin — bringing 
 
 the " sinnc of kind " from the mother's womb. To 
 
 affirm that God creates the soul directly, and not 
 
 through secondary causes, is to make him author 
 
 of the soul's sin, for sin began in the soul of man. 
 
 If the soul of man is by nature corrupt, as the 
 
 dogma of original sin affirms, and if we hold that 
 
 it is an immediate creation of God, then we affirm 
 
 either that God first creates it corrupt, which 
 
 seems sacrilegious, or that the body corrupts it 
 
 But the body, of itself, has no such power. It was 
 
 the soul, and not the body, of Adam that sinned, 
 
 and thus brought corruption to itself. And the 
 
 soul born to-day suffi^rs the consequences. It 
 
 participated in Adam's sin. It comes into being 
 
 corrupt — it is corrupt before it sins in act or 
 
 thought. This being so, God can only be relieved 
 
 of the responsibility for man's original sin — for 
 
 man's natural corruption, on the supposition or 
 
 ground that every human soul is a derivation from 
 
 the parent soul through propagation. And this is 
 
 what Traducianism affirms. It affirms, also, that 
 
 Creationism, on the other hand, logically implies 
 
 responsibility on the part of God for original sin; 
 
 that is, for the supposed fact that every man is 
 
 born in sin.
 
 120 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 This is the objection of Traducianism. Davies 
 now argues for Creationism, giving reasons for 
 belief in this doctrine, and endeavoring to meet 
 the objection of Traducianism with reference to 
 the bearing of the doctrine of original sin on it. 
 
 No one, he says, is so gross as to contend, that 
 the soul is derived from the body. But many 
 subtle minds have contended that souls spring 
 from other souls. This view, however, is erro- 
 neous. There are reasons which evidence this. 
 These reasons the poet sets forth as follows : — 
 
 All created things arc either created from noth- 
 ing, or from ready-made stuff". No creature ever 
 formed aught from nothing. Such power belongs 
 alone to God. If then a soul beget a soul, it must 
 beget it from stuff" or matter. But the soul con- 
 tains no such matter. If the soul be not created 
 from matter, it must be created from nothing. 
 But, as has been stated, God alone possesses such 
 power. Hence, one finite soul cannot create 
 another. 
 
 Again, if souls possess the power of begetting 
 souls, then they must do so either by an exercise 
 of their own power or by an exercise of the power 
 of the body. If by their own power, what should 
 hinder them creating souls every hour? If by
 
 Origin of the Soul 121 
 
 tiie body's power, why can reason and will unite 
 with the body only in this one specific act, since 
 they *' abstract " themselves from the body in the 
 performance of other offices or functionings? 
 
 Again, such a view makes against the immor- 
 tality of the soul, for it predicates change and 
 motion of the soul, and change and motion bear 
 the marks of corruption, that is, of destructibility. 
 Again, if souls beget other souls, then the 
 seed they sow should be incorruptible, that is, 
 indestructible.^ What then becomes of seed 
 sown in acts of generation from which there is 
 no issue? 
 
 Furthermore, only mortal things desire to beget 
 other beings so as to immortalize their kind or 
 perpetuate their species. Souls being immortal, 
 would, therefore, even though possessed of the 
 power of begetting other souls, not exercise it, 
 because as immortal they would not be impelled 
 by a desire to immortalize their kind. Hence, 
 angels, who are immortal, do not marry. The 
 conclusion is, that God, and not man, is the 
 creator of spirits. 
 
 But what of the objection of the Traducianist? 
 Davics considers the objection at length, and en- 
 1 Davies here assumes the natural immortality of the soul.
 
 122 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 deavors to reconcile Creationism with the dogma 
 of original sin. God, he argues, created the soul 
 pure and joined it to the body. However, its 
 union with the body does not corrupt it. Still 
 it is corrupt — even in the mother's womb. It 
 is corrupt even before It can judge or choose. 
 But God is not the author of this corruption. 
 From all eternity He decreed all things. He 
 decreed that every man should be and live his 
 life. He decreed all human souls to be, and to be 
 incarnate. This eternal plan or decree was not 
 to be set aside by the prospect or certainty of 
 sin. If we knew God's purpose in creation this 
 discordant element of man's sin might be seen to 
 make for rather than against harmony. If we 
 could see how death is the result of sin, but also 
 " how from death, a better life doth rise " ; and 
 how this teaches the justice and mercy of God, 
 we should praise his decree " as right and wise." 
 But the trouble is, that we must see part by part, 
 instead of having an intuition of the whole. We 
 must see things successively instead of simul- 
 taneously. God, however, sees things differently. 
 His sight is not of things in part, or in succession, 
 or in degrees. With Him all things and all events 
 are an immediate vision. It is the whole that
 
 Origin of the Soul / 2) 
 
 stands immediately before His gaze. He sees 
 '' all men as one Man." He sees them as a tree 
 of which Adam is the root and his heirs the 
 branches. If the root be corrupted, the branches 
 will partake of the corruption. Or, He sees all 
 men as a river, of which Adam is the well or 
 fountain-head, and his posterity the streams. Pol- 
 lute the fountain-head, and the streams partake 
 of the pollution. This is really the kind of head- 
 ship there is in Adam. This is the manner in 
 which his sin extends to us. It is not personal 
 sin. It is " sinne of kind," for we are partakers 
 of his nature. It is hereditary sin. And it is 
 because our natures are " parts " of his nature, 
 that the guilt and punishment of his sin pass to 
 us " by course of Nature, and of Law." By 
 course not only of Nature, but also of Law, for 
 Law makes no distinction between whole and 
 part: — 
 
 " So was the first transgression generall, 
 And all did plucke the fruit and all did tast." 
 
 VVc have a reflection of this Divine Law in human 
 law, where thousands of men are regarded as one 
 man — all bound together in "one Corporation." 
 These thousands and their successors constitute 
 but one, and, as the former gain or lose, they not
 
 124 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 only harm or profit themselves, but also the latter. 
 In other words, human law visits the punishment 
 and rewards of parents upon their children and 
 their children's children — treating all as one. 
 Yet we call not this unjust on the part of man. 
 Shall we then accuse God because of His decree 
 whereby the descendants of Adam partake of the 
 guilt and penalty of his sin? 
 
 And now what really constitutes this original sin 
 or " sinne of kind "? It is the deprivation of the 
 soul of the native virtues and powers which God 
 gave to Adam and his race. These constituted 
 iGod's grace to man. The withdrawal of this grace 
 jresults in a " decliniug pronencsse unto nought y 
 Furthermore, being thus deprived of her native 
 virtues, vices spring up to take their places. 
 
 But by what means are Adam's descendants 
 thus deprived of these native virtues and made 
 subject to these vices, if God himself immedi- 
 ately creates each soul ? ' The poet answers, that 
 God creates each soul fair and good, but when it 
 unites with the body, which union constitutes the 
 man, who is Adam's heir, then God withdraws his 
 grace from it. It thus loses its " rich dowry " 
 of native virtues, and vices grow up in their 
 stead. And this is not unjust on the part of God.
 
 Origin of the Soul j2^ 
 
 For, if a man receive "on light conditions " a 
 large estate for himself and heirs, who bemoans 
 the heirs, or blames the giver, if the man wil- 
 fully forfeits it? 
 
 Nor is this inheritance of sin a strange thing in 
 the light of God's redemptive action in Christ, 
 whose justice and grace are imparted to those 
 who are unjust and without grace. 
 
 And, lastly, it were better for the soul to be 
 born a slave to sin, rather than not exist at all. 
 Since, by faith she may be set free, and " mount 
 the higher for her fall." 
 
 Still it may be asked, if God foresaw men's fall, 
 
 why did he not prevent it? The answer is, that 
 
 this were to cancel man's personality. In other 
 
 words, it were to declare that " Jllan no matt shall 
 
 bee!' For free will or self-determination is of the 
 
 very essence of personality: — 
 
 " For what is Man without a moouing mind, 
 
 Which hath a iudging wit, and chusing will f " 
 
 God made man to know and love his Maker. But 
 a forced, involuntary love could never be grateful 
 or thankworthy. Furthermore, if we were pos- 
 sessed of unchangeable will and unerring wit, we 
 should be guilty of self-esteem. Again, if man 
 were unchangeable, he must either be God, " or 
 
 1 
 
 I
 
 136 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 like a root or tree," for even the angels are more 
 unstable and had a greater fall than man. Let 
 us be thankful then that we are men, and rest 
 content, knowing that curiosity was man's fall, 
 and let us admire the unknowable counsels of 
 God. And further — 
 
 " let vs know that God the Maker is 
 Of all the Sou/es, in all the men that be; 
 Yet their corruption is no fault of His, 
 But the first man's that broke God's first decree." 
 
 Thus the poet disposes of the objection of 
 Traducianism to Creationism growing out of the 
 dogma of original sin. Davies finds no difficulty 
 in his own mind of freeing God from responsi- 
 bility for man's supposed birth in sin. On this 
 much mooted question of theology, then, con- 
 cerning the mode of the soul's origin in its rela- 
 tion to the body, Davies contends that every soul 
 is an immediate creation on the part of God, on 
 occasion of the conception of a body, and is united 
 to the body in its pre-natal state. 
 
 The question of the origin of the soul in its 
 relation to the body has been largely, although not 
 exclusively, associated with the problem of sin in 
 the history of speculative thought. The theory of
 
 Origin of the Soul 127 
 
 Prc-extstence, as well as the theories of Creation- 
 ism and Traducianism, has been brought forward 
 as a probable explanation of this difficult question. 
 The doctrine of Pre-existence figures more or less 
 conspicuously in Greek philosophy. It can be 
 traced to Pythagoras and his school. Herodotus 
 says that the Greeks borrowed it from the Egyp- 
 tians.^ But this statement is open to question, as 
 the doctrine was an Orphic tradition. With the 
 Pythagoreans the soul, prior to its incarnation, 
 existed in a higher realm. The transmigration 
 of souls was associated with evil doing. Souls 
 descended into bodies of animals as a punishment 
 for sin.^ Zeller, one of the ablest and most reli- 
 able of historians of Greek philosophy, attributes 
 the doctrine also to Heraclcitus, one of the early 
 Greek philosophers,' The doctrine is also taught 
 by Empedocles in his famous philosophical poem 
 entitled On Nature. In the teaching of this poet- 
 philosopher the doctrine is also associated with 
 sin. We next find the doctrine taught by Plato. 
 Although it is taught in a number of his works, it 
 is in the Phccdo that we find an especially interest- 
 
 1 15k. II. 123. 
 
 ' " Diogenes Laertius," Pk. VIIT. 19. 
 
 • " Pre-Socratic Philosophy," trans, by S. F. Allcyjie. Lon- 
 don, 1881, Vol. II. p. 87.
 
 I2S Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 ing development of it.^ Plato founds the doctrine 
 on the fact of recollection, or reminiscence. He 
 represents Cebes in his conversation with Socrates 
 as saying: "Your favorite doctrine, Socrates, that 
 knowledge is simply recollection, if true, also neces- 
 sarily implies a previous time in which we learned 
 that which we now recollect. But this would be 
 impossible unless our soul was in some place 
 before existing in the human form."^ We are 
 taught in this doctrine of recollection that our 
 sense-perceptions are copies of Ideas which the 
 soul perceived in a pre-existent state. But Plato's 
 doctrine also involves a migration of souls as a 
 penalty for sin — a migration through human and 
 animal bodies.^ Later, Pre-existence is taught by 
 the Nco-Pythagoreans, whose anthropology is es- 
 sentially that of Plato.* Still later it is found in 
 the works of Philo Judaius, who was greatly influ- 
 enced by Plato. In Philo Pre-existence is asso- 
 ciated with the fact of sin. His teaching involves 
 transmigration as a punishment and means of 
 
 1 Cf. " Phaedo," 73. 
 
 » "The Dialogues of Plato, Phaedo," trans, by B. Jowett. 
 New York, 1885, Vol. I. p. 399. 
 
 « "Pha;do,"8i,82sq. 
 
 * Zeller, "Outlines of the History of Greek Philosophy," 
 trans, by Alleyne and Abbott. New York, 1886, p. 309.
 
 Origin of the Soul 129 
 
 purification.^ Again, there is quite an elaborate 
 development of the doctrine in Plotinus, who also 
 reveals the influence of Plato. According to him 
 the soul in the pre-existent state was powerfully 
 impelled from within itself to the body. Its incar- 
 nation represents a moral Fall.^ Porphyry taught 
 migration of souls from human bodies to other 
 human bodies.^ 
 
 When we turn to Christian thought we find the 
 doctrine taught by the Church Father, Origcn. 
 He was also under the influence of Greek thought. 
 The soul, according to him, sinned in a pre-existent 
 state, and its incarnation is the penalty for its sin.* 
 It may be found also in the writings of Cyril of 
 Alexandria,^ Nemesius,^ and Prudentius.'^ 
 
 In Jewish literature there are, in the Tahiucf, 
 suggestions of a doctrine of pre-existence in the 
 form of souls existing archctypally in the Divine 
 
 1 "The Works of Philo Judaeus," trans, by C. D. Yonge, 
 London, 1854; cf. especially "A Treatise on the Giants," Vol. I. 
 sees. 2 and 3, also, " A Treatise on the Doctrine that Dreams are 
 Sent from God," Vol. II. Bk. I. sec. 22. 
 
 2 " Ennead," IV. 6. 
 
 • Augustine, "De Civitate Dei," X. 30. 
 
 * " De Principiis," I. c. vii. 4, 5. 
 
 ' " Commentarium in Evangelium Joannis," IV. 
 ' " De Natura Hominis," c. ii. 
 "* " Liber Calheinerinon," X. v. 
 9 
 
 :
 
 ijo Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 mind ; and, in the Middle Ages, we find it taught 
 as a positive doctrine in the Kabbala ^ and certain 
 Rabbinical writings. Indeed, here the doctrine 
 assumes essentially the form of the doctrine which 
 Davics refutes; namely, a storehouse of pre-exist- 
 cnt souls destined to occupy human bodies. 
 
 This briefly is the history of the doctrine of 
 Prc-cxistence prior to the time of our poet. It is 
 interesting to note that it appears again later in 
 English literature. Henry More revives it in his 
 philosophical poem on the Immortality of the Soul 
 (II. 12). It is not uncommon in nineteenth cen- 
 tury English poetry, although here it is not asso- 
 ciated with a doctrine of sin. It is to be found in 
 one of its Platonic aspects in Wordsworth's Inti- 
 mations of Immortality from Recollections of Early 
 Childlicod. It is brought forward by Tennyson 
 in* The Two Voices (even in its transmigration 
 aspect), De Profundis, Idylls of the King, and The 
 Ancient Sage. lirowning affirms it in his Cristina, 
 and Mrs. Browning suggests it in Aurora Leigh. 
 We even find it taught in recent German theol- 
 ogy. Julius Miiller in his Lchre von dcr Siindc? 
 teaches a moral Fall of man in a timeless state. 
 As we have seen, Davics could not accept the 
 
 » " Zohar," I. 19. » IV. c. iv. §§ 1-3.
 
 Origin of the Soul ijr 
 
 doctrine. To him it was an unsatisfactory theory 
 of the origin of the soul in its connection with the 
 body. He disposes of it with little argumentation, 
 and puts in its stead the doctrine of a successive 
 creation of souls to parallel a successive formation 
 of bodies — each soul uniting with the body as it 
 is formed in the mother's womb : — 
 
 " But as God^s handmaid, Nature, doth create 
 Bodies in time distinct, and order due ; 
 So God giues soules the like successiue date, 
 Which Himselfe makes, in bodies formed new." 
 
 Creationism and Traducianism have played a 
 much more important part in the history of 
 speculative thought than has the doctrine of Pre- 
 existence. They have been associated with the 
 dogma of original sin in Christian theology. Crea- 
 tionism found wide acceptance in early Christian 
 speculative thought. Clement of Alexandria 
 taught the doctrine.^ It was held also by Lactan- 
 tius.2 It was advocated by Theodoret,^ also by 
 Hilary.* On the other hand, Tertullian taught 
 Traducianism — defending it on both philosophical 
 
 » " Stromata," VI. i6. 
 
 ' "Institutioues Divinx," III. i8. 
 
 5 "Graecarum Affectionutn Curatio," V. 
 
 * " Tractatus super Psalmos," XLI. 3.
 
 1^2 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 and scriptural grounds.* It was maintained also 
 by Gregory of Nyssa;* also by Athanasius.^ 
 Augustine is not explicit in his teaching concern- 
 ing the question of the mode of the soul's origin 
 in connection with the body. He did not commit 
 himself positively to either doctrine. However, 
 his doctrine of sin seems to imply Traducianism.* 
 
 Among the Schoolmen the verdict was almost 
 unanimous in favor of Creationism. Among the 
 more prominent of these famous thinkers who 
 favored the doctrine were: Anselm,^ Hugo of St. 
 Victor,^ Bonaventura,' and Thomas Aquinas.^ 
 
 In the sixteenth century Creationism was still 
 the favorite doctrine in Catholic circles. This is 
 also the case in Protestant Theology despite the 
 fact that Luther leaned toward Traducianism. 
 
 Creationism was early affirmed by the Formula 
 Concordics'^ and the doctrine is usually attributed 
 
 1 " ne Anima," XXV. 
 
 a "De Hominis Opificio," XXIX. 
 
 ' "Oratio contra Arianos," II. 48. 
 
 * "De Civitate Dei," XI.-XIIL; also " De Gratia Christi 
 et de Peccato Original!." 
 
 * *' De Conceptu Virginali," VII. 
 
 « " De Sacramentis Christian.-B Fidei," I. vii. 
 
 1 "Breviloq."III. 6. 
 
 8 "Summ.-i Theologiac," I. 118. 
 
 » Arts. I., II.
 
 Origin of the Soul i^^ 
 
 to Calvin, although he is not very pronounced in 
 his views.^ The Reformed theologians, however, 
 generally taught the doctrine. In the seventeenth 
 century Traducianism was quite universally ac- 
 cepted among Lutheran theologians. Prominent 
 among these were Gerhard,^ of the University of 
 Jena, Caloveus,^ of Wittenberg, and Hollaz,* of 
 Jacobshagen. On the other hand the Calvinists 
 favored Creationism. Since the seventeenth cen- 
 tury there has been a great difference of opinion 
 in the Protestant world, often, indeed, in the same 
 denomination,^ Of late years a theory has been 
 advanced by Martensen and Dorner, which is of 
 the nature of a compromise. The former holds 
 that there is a truth in both Creationism and 
 Traducianism.^ And Dorner even combines the 
 doctrine of Pre-existence with Creationism and 
 Traducianism. He says: *' Each one of these 
 theories represents one aspect of the whole truth, 
 — Traducianism generic consciousness, Pre-exist- 
 
 1 " Institutes of the Christian Religion," Vol. I. Bk. II. ch. i. 
 a "Loci Theologiae," IX. 8, 116-117. 
 
 • " Systema Locorum Theolog.," etc., III. Art. V. 2, 
 
 * " Examen Theologicum," etc., I. 5. 
 
 6 Compare, for example, such recent writers as Hodge, "Sys- 
 tematic Theology," II. iii. 3, and Shedd, " Dogmatic Theology," 
 ILL 
 
 " "Dogmatics," trans., pp. 162-163.
 
 tS4 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 entianism self-consciousness or the interest of the 
 personality as a separate eternal divine thought, 
 . . . Creationism God-consciousness. Nothing 
 but the union of these three elements is sufficient. 
 But the union must not be so conceived as if there 
 were a mechanical division of the process between 
 God, the genus, and the element of personality." ^ 
 This briefly has been the course of thought on 
 this question of the origin of the soul in its rela- 
 tion to the body. Davies in adopting the theory 
 of Creationism was undoubtedly influenced by six- 
 teenth century theology. Especially is Calvin's 
 influence manifest in his thinking on this subject, 
 and more particularly so in his somewhat elaborate 
 consideration of the objection of Traducianism to 
 Creationism based on the dogma of original sin. 
 A comparison of the views of the theologian and 
 poet on this point will make this evident: — 
 
 In the first place, they agree in their treatment 
 of the Fall of man in affirming the essential unity 
 of the race. They represent Adam as the " root " 
 and " fountain head " of man. They affirm, that 
 corruption of the root, involved corruption of the 
 branches; and that pollution of the fountain, 
 
 1 "System of Christian Doctrine," trans, by Cave and Banks, 
 Vol. II. sec. 43.
 
 Origin of the Soul ij^ 
 
 involved pollution of the streams. Calvin says: 
 " We thus see that the impurity of parents is trans- 
 mitted to their children, so that all, without excep- 
 tion, are originally depraved. The commencement 
 of this depravity will not be found until we ascend 
 to the first parent of all as the fountain head. We 
 must, therefore, hold it for certain, that, in regard 
 to human nature, Adam was not merely a progeni- 
 tor, but, as it were, a root, and that, accordingly, 
 by his corruption, the whole human race was de- 
 servedly vitiated." ' 
 
 Davies, referring to Adam's sin, says: — 
 
 ♦' He [God] lookes on Adam, as a root, or well, 
 
 And on liis heires, as branches, and as streamesij; 
 He sees all men as one Man, though they dwell 
 In sundry cities, and in sundry realmes : 
 
 " And as the roote and branch are but one tree. 
 
 And well and streame doe but one riuer make; 
 
 So, if the root and well corrupted bee, 
 
 Tlie streame and branch the same corruption take : 
 
 *• So, when the root and fountaine of Mankind 
 Did draw corruption, and God's curse, by sin ; 
 This was a charge that all his heires did bind, 
 And all his offspring grew corrupt therein." 
 
 Again, with both writers, original sin means 
 
 hereditary sin. Calvin says : " Original sin, then, 
 
 1 Op. cit., 13k. II. ch. i. sec 6.
 
 / J<5 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 may be defined an hereditary corruption and de- 
 pravity of our nature, extending to all the parts 
 of the soul, which first makes us obnoxious to the 
 wrath of God, and then produces in us works which 
 in Scripture are termed works of the flesh." ^ 
 Davies also affirms: — 
 
 "So Adam's sinne to the whole kind extends; 
 For all their natures are but part of his." 
 
 "Therefore this sinne of kind, not personal!, 
 But reall and hereditary was." 
 
 Again, both writers affirm that original sin in- 
 volves not merely punishment for us, but also 
 actual guilt. Even the child in the mother's womb 
 is a sinful, guilty, condemned soul. Calvin says: 
 " Hence, even infants bringing their condemnation 
 with them from their mother's womb, suffer not for 
 another's, but for their own defect. For although 
 they have not yet produced the fruits of their own 
 unrighteousness, they have the seed implanted in 
 them. Nay, their whole nature is, as it were, a 
 sccd-bed of sin, and therefore cannot but be odious 
 and abominable to God. Hence it follows, that it 
 is properly deemed sinful in the sight of God ; for 
 there could be no condemnation without guilt."* 
 1 Op. cit., lik. II. ch. i. sec. 8. 
 a Ibid.
 
 Origin of the Soul 1^7 
 
 Davies subscribes to this view of infant guilt and 
 condemnation : — 
 
 " And yet this Soule (made good by God at first, 
 And not corrupted by the bodie's ill) 
 Euen in the wombe is sinfull, and accurst, 
 Ere shee can iuif^e by wit or chuse by wili." 
 
 And, again, showing how we are involved in guilt 
 and punishment, he says: — 
 
 " The guilt whereof, and punishment to all, 
 
 By course of Nature, and of Law doth passe." 
 
 Still another point concerning original sin i|i 
 which both writers agree is, that the soul is not 
 only stripped of its native virtues, but that many 
 vices take their place. On this point Calvin 
 affirms: "After the heavenly image in man was 
 effaced, he not only was himself punished by a 
 withdrawal of the ornaments in which he had been 
 arrayed, viz., wisdom, virtue, justice, truth, and 
 holiness, and by the substitution in. their place of 
 those dire pests, blindness, impotence, vanity, im- 
 purity, and unrighteousness, but he involved his 
 posterity also, and plunged them in the same 
 wretchedness." ^ 
 
 1 Op. cit., Bk. II. ch. i. sec. 5.
 
 ijS Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 In similar vein Davies writes : — 
 
 " Yet not alone the first good qualities, 
 
 Which in the first sou/e were, depriued are ; 
 But in their place the contrary doe rise, 
 And reall spots of sinne her beauty marre." 
 
 Furthermore, Calvin and Davies agree in affirm- 
 ing that original sin in no way impeaches the 
 justice of God. Calvin says: "That being thus 
 perverted and corrupted in all the parts of our 
 nature, we are, merely on account of such cor- 
 ruption, deservedly condemned by God, to whom 
 nothing is acceptable but righteousness, innocence, 
 and purity . . . The blame of our ruin rests 
 with our own carnality, not with God, its only 
 cause being our degeneracy from our original 
 condition. . . . Let us remember that our ruin 
 is attributable to our own depravity, that we may 
 not insinuate a charge against God himself, the 
 Author of nature. It is true that nature has re- 
 ceived a mortal wound, but there is a great differ- 
 ence between a wound inflicted from without, and 
 one inherent in our first condition. It is plain that 
 this wound was inflicted by sin; and, therefore, 
 we have no ground of complaint except against 
 ourselves." ^ 
 
 I Op. cit., Bk. II. ch. i. sees. 8, lo.
 
 Origin of the Soul ijg 
 
 We have seen above how earnestly Davies insists 
 upon the justice of God in answer to the objec- 
 tion of Traducianism to Creationism growing 
 out of the doctrine of original sin. He argues 
 that in human law offspring suffer for the crimes 
 of parents and even of more remote ancestors, 
 and asks : — 
 
 " And is not God's decree as iust as ours, 
 
 If He, for Adam''s sinne, his sonnes depriue, 
 Of all those natiue vertues," etc. 
 
 Finally, both writers raise the same question, or» 
 rather, both put into the mouths of others the 
 question as to why God did not do more to pre- 
 vent Adam's fall. And, though they differ some- 
 what in regard to their reply, both counsel modesty 
 with reference to prying into the mysterious and 
 secret counsels of the Almighty. Calvin says: 
 •'And let no one here clamour that God might 
 have provided better for our safety by preventing 
 Adam's fall. This objection, which, from the dar- 
 ing presumption implied in it, is odious to every 
 pious mind, relates to the mystery of predestina- 
 tion, which will afterwards be considered in its 
 own place." ^ 
 
 1 Op. cit., Bk. II. ch, i. sec. lo.
 
 140 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 Davies also says : — 
 
 "Vef this the curious wits will not content ; 
 
 They yet will know (sith God foresaw this ill) 
 Why His high Prouidence did not preuent 
 The declination of the first man's will." 
 
 After replying to this objection in the manner 
 already stated, he adds : — 
 
 ♦' Then let vs praise that Power, which makes vs be 
 Men as we are, and rest contented so ; 
 And knowing Man's fall was curiositie, 
 Admire God's counsels, which we cannot know." 
 
 The number of these striking similarities in 
 thought in the two thinkers might be increased, 
 but a sufficient number has been pointed out to 
 show beyond reasonable doubt that the poet was 
 greatly influenced by the Genevan theologian in 
 his doctrine of original sin. In meeting the ob- 
 jection of Traducianism against Crcationism, — 
 that it is impossible to hold the dogma of original 
 sin and adhere to Crcationism without making 
 God responsible for the birth of each individual 
 soul in sin, -^ Davies seems to have had recourse 
 to Calvin's Institutes in his interpretation and ap- 
 plication of the dogma.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 THE RELATION OF SOUL AND BODY 
 
 'TT^HUS far our poet in his philosophy of mind 
 has discussed the question of the reality 
 and essential nature of mind, arguing its reality 
 against the claims of Sensationalism and Material- 
 ism. He has explained its real nature to be that 
 of a spiritual substance, — the fundamental modes 
 or forms of whose functioning are intellect and will. 
 He has also discussed tlie mode of the soul's origin 
 in relation to the body, canvassing the various 
 theories, and taking his position with the Crea- 
 tionists, affirming each soul to be an immediate 
 creation on the part of the Deity, while the body 
 is still in its pre-natal state, and vindicating the 
 theory against the objection of Traducianism that 
 it is inconsistent with the dogma of original sin. 
 But if the soul be a reality, and a spiritual reality, 
 it is nevertheless not a disembodied spirit. It is a 
 spirit " knit to the body." And the next ques-
 
 /i/3 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 tion which naturally suggests itself, and which the 
 poet considers, is the union of soul and body. 
 His treatment of this important question of the 
 philosophy of mind is peculiar. Instead of at- 
 tempting to explain the relation of soul and body, 
 he first dwells upon its purpose or teleology. 
 Then, in a subsequent part of the poem, he at- 
 tempts a description of the relation. But there 
 seems to be no effort to really explain the ultimate 
 nature of this relation, which is the problem that 
 most concerns the philosophic mind. 
 
 With reference to the object or purpose of the 
 union of body and mind, Davics says, first, that 
 the soul is joined to the body for the purpose of 
 becoming a microcosm. Partaking, as it does, of 
 the nature of God, and also, in its union with the 
 body, of the world, it bears the image of all that 
 is. God first created angels as pure spirits. He 
 then created bodies or material things without 
 spirits. He then created man — 
 
 " th' horizon 'twixt both kinds, 
 In whom we doe the World's abridgement see." 
 
 Jiist what the purpose or " final cause " of such a 
 microcosm, as a microcosm, is, Davics fails to 
 reveal.
 
 The Relation of Soul and Body 14J 
 
 Another reason why the soul was united to the 
 body is to be found in the supposed fact, that the 
 world needed a being who could distinguish all of 
 its parts — making use of them, and taking de- 
 light in them. It needed a being who could order 
 things with industry and art; a being, also, who 
 might glorify God, admiring Him in His works, 
 and rendering prayer and praise unto Him, as He 
 is glorified by the angels of heaven. 
 
 Again, the irrational brute world needed a visi- 
 ble king to rule over it. It is in this capacity as 
 an embodied or incarnated spirit that man has 
 dominion over the animal world. 
 
 And, finally, the poet closes his discussion of 
 the teleology of the union of soul and body by 
 calling attention to the fact that it was by just such 
 an incarnation that God united Himself to the 
 world, so that the world might obtain everlasting 
 bliss. 
 
 But, as already stated, the poet not only ex- 
 plains the teleology of the union of body and soul, 
 but also describes it. That is, he describes the 
 7)tanncr of this union. He first proceeds nega- 
 tively. He tells us what the manner of the union 
 is not. Nothing ties the soul to the body. In 
 this respect the soul is independent of the body.
 
 144 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 Although she moves the body, still she is not in 
 actual contact with it. Neither does she dwell in 
 the body as in a tent, nor as a pilot sits in his ship; 
 nor as a spider pent in his web ; nor as wax re- 
 tains an impression ; nor as a vessel holds water; 
 nor as a liquor mixed in another; nor as heat 
 in fire ; nor as a voice spread in air. Not after 
 such modes of union is the union of body and 
 soul to be conceived. But rather after the man- 
 ner of the union of the morning light with the at- 
 mosphere, which he poetically describes in these 
 words : — 
 
 " But as the faire and chcerfull Morning light. 
 Doth here and there her siluer beames impart. 
 And in an instant doth herselfe vnite 
 To the transparent ayre, in all, and part : 
 
 " Still resting whole, when blowes th' ayre diuide ; 
 Abiding pure, when th' ayre is most corrupted ; 
 Throughout the ayre, her beams dispersing wide, 
 And when the ayre is tost, not interrupted : 
 
 •* So doth the piercing Soule the body fill, 
 Being all in all, and all in part diffus'd; 
 Indiuisible, incorruptible still, 
 Not forc't, encountred, troubled or confus'd. 
 
 "And as the sunne aboue, the light doth bring. 
 Though we behold it in the ayre below ; 
 So from th' Eternall Light the Soule doth spring, 
 Though in the body she her powers doe show."
 
 The Relation of Soul and Body 14^ 
 
 In Davies's account of the relation between body 
 and soul the evidence of the influence of Nemesius 
 is very marked. There is a noticeable agreement 
 in both thought and language. In the first place, 
 they are in agreement in regard to the teleology of 
 the union. According to both authors, the reason 
 why the soul is united to the body is, the forma- 
 tion of a microcosm. On this point Nemesius 
 says : " This is manifest, that Man in some things 
 participates with creatures void of life ; and' that he 
 is partaker also of life, as those living-creatures be, 
 which are unreasonable : and that he is indowed 
 likewise with understanding, as are Creatures 
 reasonable y ^ . . . 
 
 " These things considered, Man standeth in such 
 a Being as comprehends the sensible and intelli' 
 gible Nature. In respect of his Bodily powers ^ 
 and of his Bodily substance (which is subject unto 
 sense) hee agrees both with living-creatures ^ and 
 with things void of life > In respect of his Reason- 
 able part he communicates with Substances which 
 are bodilesse (or spiritualC) as hath been said 
 before." 2 . , . 
 
 " These things considered, Moses in expressing 
 
 1 Op. cit., pp. 6-7. » Ibid., pp. S-9. 
 
 10
 
 146 ' Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 the Creation of the World, did very properly af- 
 firme that Man was last made. Not only, because 
 all things being made for Man, it was most con- 
 venient, that all such things ought first to bee 
 provided, which were necessarily pertinent to his 
 use ; and that he who was to have the use of them, 
 should afterward be created : But, in respect both 
 intcllectuall and visible substances, were created, 
 it seemed also convenient that One should be 
 made, by whom those two Natures should be so 
 united together, that the whole World might be- 
 come One; and be in its owne selfe so agree- 
 able, that the same might not bee at variance, or 
 estranged from it selfe. Even to this end, was 
 Man made such a living-creature, as might joyne 
 together both Natures, and (to summe up all in 
 a word) therein was manifested the admirable 
 wisdome of the universall CREATOR." ^ 
 
 Again, referring to the fact that man is a micro- 
 cosm, Nemcsius says : " These things considered, 
 who is able to commend sufficiently the nobility 
 of this living-creature f Behold, he bindcth to- 
 gether in /t/;«i-^^ things mortall and immortall ; 
 and knitteth up in One, things reasonable and 
 unreasonable. In his owne nature, hee beareth 
 1 Op. cit., pp. 19-20.
 
 The Relation of Soul and Body 147 
 
 the image of all creatures^ and from thence is 
 rightly called A little world'' ^ 
 
 In the following words Davies also makes man 
 a microcosm, and says that this is the purpose of 
 the union of soul and body : — 
 
 " This substance, and this spirit of God's owne makings 
 Is in the body plact, and planted heere ; 
 That both of God, and of the world partaking, 
 Of all that is, Man might the image beare. 
 
 " God first made angels bodilesse, pure minds, 
 Then other things, which mindlesse bodies be; 
 Last, He made Man, th' horizon twixt both kinds, 
 In whom we doe the World's abridgement see." 
 
 Thus both writers agree that one of the purposes 
 of the union of soul and body in man was to form 
 a microcosm. Not only is the thought of both 
 the same here, but their language is quite similar. 
 There are other reasons why the soul is united 
 to the body given by Davies, which, while not 
 explicitly urged by Nemesius as reasons for such 
 union, are nevertheless pointed out by him as the 
 result of man's constitution as body-mind. They 
 indicate further the influence of Nemesius on 
 Davies. Speaking of man, Nemesius says: "It 
 is a thing proper also, to Man only, to learn Arts 
 
 1 Op. cit, p. 71.
 
 14S Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 and Sciences^ and to worke according unto such 
 Arts : For which cause they who define him say 
 thus; Man is a living Creature ^ indued with 
 Reason^ mortall, capable of Consideration and 
 Science" * Nemesius does not say that this was 
 part of the purpose of the union of soul and body. 
 But it seems to be an implication of his thought 
 that this is the result of such a constitution of man. 
 Davies's thought and words are similar: — 
 
 " Besides, this World below did need one wight. 
 Which might thereof distinguish euery part ; 
 Make vse thereof, and take therein delight, 
 And order things with industry and art." 
 
 Again, in this connection, they agree that man 
 is placed here to govern the brute world. Neme- 
 sius, contrasting man's constitution as body and 
 soul with that of the angels, and also with non- 
 rational things, points out that it is because of 
 man's unique constitution as body-mind that he 
 is made ruler over both the inanimate and animate 
 worlds. Having contrasted man's nature with that 
 of the angels, he says: "This being so, we must 
 seek out a Nature which is indued with Reason, 
 and yet needeth such things as are aforementioned ; 
 and what other nature can be found of that sort, 
 1 Op. dt, p. 47.
 
 The Relation of Soul atul Body 14^ 
 
 if Man be passed over? Surely none: And if 
 
 no other can be discovered, it followeth by good 
 
 reason that both things void of life, and unreason- 
 
 able creatures, were made for the sake of Man; 
 
 and if they were ordained for him (as it is evident 
 
 they were) then, that was likewise the cause why 
 
 he was constituted the Governor also of those 
 
 creatures" ^ 
 
 Davies, also, still speaking of the reason " why 
 
 the soul is united to the body," says : — 
 
 " Lastly, the bruite, unreasonable wights, 
 
 Did want a visible king on them to raigne." 
 
 Again, in the very chapter and section referred 
 to before in which Nemesius speaks of man as a 
 microcosm or '* little world," he not only follows 
 with the statement, that all things were made 
 for man, but that " He is that creature also, for 
 whose sake GoD became Man, and who shaking 
 off his corruption, finisheth it in a never-ending 
 immortality."^ 
 
 Davies, too, still speaking of the reasons why 
 the soul was united to the body, says : — 
 
 " Lastly, the bruite, unreasonable wights, 
 
 Did want a visible king on them to raigne : 
 And God, Himselfe thus to the World vnites, — 
 That so the World might endlesse blisse obtainc.'* 
 » Op. cit., pp. 52-53. » Ibid., pp. 71-72.
 
 i$o Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 But we not only find a likeness in thought and" 
 language between the two writers in their discus- 
 sion of the teleology of the union of soul and 
 body, but also a striking similarity in what they 
 say concerning the manner of this union. Both 
 writers first proceed negatively in their descrip- 
 tions. They make use of the method of exclu- 
 sion, and then state positively what is the manner 
 of the union of soul and body. But there is not 
 merely an agreement in their form of treatment 
 of the subject, but also in the content, and in the 
 language which embodies the content. 
 
 In the first place they agree that the soul is not 
 in the body as one material thing is in another. 
 Nemesius argues this at some length.* 
 
 Davies says : — 
 
 " Then dwels shee not therein as in a tent, 
 Nor as a pilot in his sl)ip doth sit ; 
 Nor as the spider in his web is pent ; 
 Nor as the waxe retaines the print in it." 
 
 I But Nemesius becomes more specific, and makes 
 use of illustrations, and here, in the second place, 
 there is an agreement between the two writers 
 on the subject. Nemesius says, that the soul is 
 not in the body as in a vessel or bottle. " Neither 
 1 Op. cit., pp. 185-202.
 
 The Relation of Soul and Body i^i 
 
 is it in the body as in some bottle or other vessell, 
 nor compassed in by the same." * 
 So Davies : — 
 
 " Nor as a vessell water doth containe." 
 
 Again, Nemesius says, soul and body are not 
 united as in a mixture of wine and water. In the 
 latter there is "corruption and confusion" — no 
 preservation of the distinctness of each, whereas 
 in the union of soul and body such " corruption 
 and confusion " do not occur. " And as for such 
 a mixture as is made of wine and water, wee know 
 it corrupts both the one and the other; for there 
 doth remaine neither pure water, nor pure wine, 
 after such a mixture."^ 
 
 Davies says : — 
 
 " Nor as a vessell water doth containe ; 
 Nor as one liquor in another shed." 
 
 Again, Nemesius says, that the soul is not in 
 the body as fire is in the wood. But he says 
 this in an indirect way. He likens the relation 
 of the soul to the body, to the relation of the 
 sun to the air, but with this difference, "that the 
 Stinne being a Body, and circumscribed within' 
 the compasse of Place, is not himselfe in every] 
 1 Op. cit., p. 199. a Ibid., p. 189.
 
 J $2 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 place where h?3 /i^/t/ is, but (as ^re in the wood, 
 or as the flame in a candW) is confined to a cer- 
 taine place." ^ 
 
 So Davies affirms, immediately after the lines 
 quoted above : — 
 
 " Nor as the heat doth in the fire remaine; 
 Nor as a voice throughout the ayre is spread." 
 
 Thus both writers describe the union of soul 
 and body negatively. But they also describe it 
 positively or affirmatively. And in this affirma- 
 tive description Davies uses the very same simile 
 used by Nemcsius. The latter says : *' For, as 
 the SuUt so soon as it appeareth, changes the 
 ayre into light ; so making it lightsome, and so 
 diffusing it selfe with the ayre, that it is united 
 with the same, and yet not confounded therewith : 
 Even so, the soul being united with the Body, 
 remaincs without confusion therewith; differing 
 in this onely, that the Siinne being a Body, and 
 circumscribed within the compasse of Place, is 
 not him selfe in every place where his light is, 
 but (as fire in the wood, or as the flavie in a 
 candle) is confined to a certaine placc.""^ 
 
 In strikingly similar language Davies describes 
 the relation of soul and body. He says : — 
 
 » Op. cit, p. 198. ''* Ibid., pp. 197-198
 
 The Relation of Soul and Body i^) 
 
 " But as the falre and cheerful! Morning lights 
 Poth here aad there her siluer beames iraparti 
 And in an instant doth herselfe vnite 
 To the transparent ayre, in all, and part : 
 
 "Still resting whole, when blowes th' ayre diuide; 
 Abiding pure, when th' ayre is most corrupted; 
 Throughout the ayre, her beams dispersing wide, 
 And when the ayre is tojt, not interrupted : 
 
 ♦♦ So doth the piercing SouU the body fill. 
 Being all in all, and all In part diffus'd j 
 Indiuisible, incorruptible still, 
 Not forc't, encountred, troubled or confus'd." 
 
 Not only does he use the same simile here that 
 is used by Nemesius as descriptive of the relation 
 between soul and body, but in the last verse of 
 the above quotation, he uses the same terms that 
 Nemesius uses in speaking of this relation. He 
 speaks of the " piercing soul," as " being all ia 
 all," and **all in part," as *' incorrupted " by this 
 union, as not '^ forced," *' encountered," or " con- 
 fused," These, and others having the same mean- 
 ing, abound in the description by Nemesius.^ 
 
 It seems evident from this comparison of the de- 
 scriptions of the union between soul and body by 
 Nemesius and Davies that the latter was influenced 
 decidedly by the former. And when we add this 
 
 i Cf. op. cit., pp. 185-202.
 
 1^4 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 evidence to the evidence previously adduced in 
 favor of the position that the poet-philosopher is 
 indebted to the Church Father for aid, it places 
 the matter beyond reasonable doubt. 
 
 It will be noticed that in the account of the 
 relation between body and mind by Davies there 
 is hardly anything beyond a mere description of 
 their union. This seems rather remarkable in 
 view of the degree of thoroughness with which 
 he apprehends and treats the other problems of 
 a philosophy or metaphysics of mind. One can- 
 not think seriously on this problem for any length 
 of time without perceiving that it is one of the 
 most important, far-reaching, as well as one of 
 the most difficult problems with which the meta- 
 physician must deal. For, after all, the problem 
 is but one aspect of a more general one — the 
 problem of interaction — how one thing can act 
 upon another. And the answer we give to this 
 question will determine the character of our entire 
 metaphysical system — whether it shall be dual- 
 istic or monistic, materialistic or idealistic, theis- 
 tic or pantheistic. For in the final analysis, it 
 involves the two most fundamental questions of 
 metaphysics — the ultimate nature of reality and 
 the relation of the finite to the Absolute. This
 
 Tbe Relation of Soul and Body 755 
 
 being so, one cannot justly dismiss the problem 
 of the relation of mind and body with a mere 
 descriptive statement of it, as Davies has done. 
 Davies's failure to treat the subject with philo- 
 sophical thoroughness stands in glaring contrast 
 to the serious consideration received by it in the 
 century immediately following. In this, the seven- 
 teenth century, it was thoroughly handled, and 
 there was a rich development of speculative opin- 
 ion concerning the ultimate nature of the relation 
 between mind and body, especially in the theories 
 of causal relation by Descartes, of psycho-physical 
 parallelism by Spinoza, occasionalism by Male- 
 branche and Geulincx, and pre-established har- 
 mony by Leibnitz.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 HOW THE SOUL EXERCISES ITS POWERS IN 
 THE BODY 
 
 T^AVIES next considers how tne mind exer- 
 ^^ ci?es its various powers in the body. This 
 very naturally leads him to an analysis and de- 
 scription of the different powers or activities of 
 the soul. Here again his work is crude, but not 
 any more so than is the psychology of the Middle 
 Ages. If we remember, too, the state of physics 
 and physiology at that time, it will make us char- 
 itable in our judgment of the poet's work, es- 
 pecially in the treatment of the senses. 
 
 In the first place, the soul is possessed of a 
 vegetative or quickening power. The office or 
 function of this power is to vivify, animate, nourish, 
 and preserve the body. It is present in every 
 living part of the bodily organism, and serves it 
 as a nurse or mother. 
 
 In the second place, the soul is endowed with 
 the power of sense. The office of this power is
 
 How the Soul exercises its Powers is7 
 
 to acquaint the mind with the superficial qualities 
 or forms of things — the colors, tastes, odors, 
 sounds, sizes, forms, etc., of things. Not with the 
 inner, but with the outer nature of things — with 
 the externals. The process of sense-perception, 
 however, is not carefully analyzed : — 
 
 ♦• This \ er, in parts made fit, fit obiects takes, 
 Yet wOt the things, but forms of things receiue«; 
 As when a seale in waxe impression makes. 
 The print therein, but not it selfe it leaues." 
 
 As to the number of the soul's senses, he holds 
 to the old Aristotelian classification — five — which 
 he treats in the following order, — sight, hearing, 
 taste, smelling, feeling or touch. And, first, the 
 sense of sight. 
 
 The eyes, the organs of vision, are located in 
 the head, and thus — 
 
 " Stand as one watchman, spy, or sentinell." 
 
 Although two in number, they act as one — al- 
 though they both see, they report but one thing. 
 They perceive the forms of all things and all 
 places. They serve as guides to the body. They 
 are the chief source of information to the soul. 
 They contribute no beams to the objects, but 
 receive rays from them, which rays, — 
 " in the eyes with pointed angles end."
 
 1^8 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 Explaining further the physical process of vision, 
 he says : — 
 
 " If th' obiects be farre off, the rayes doe meet 
 In a sharpe point, and so things seeme but small ; 
 If they be neere, their rayes doe spread and fleet, 
 And make broad points, that things seeme great withall." 
 
 Finally, he mentions nine essentials for distinct 
 vision — the power to see, the light, the visible 
 thing, which must not be too small, or thin, or 
 near, or far; and clear space and time. The 
 science of optics and the art of painting are based 
 upon the sense of sight. 
 
 He next deals with hearing. The organs of 
 hearing are the ears. Their real office — 
 
 " is the troubled ayre to take, 
 Which in their mazes formes a sound or noyse, 
 Whereof her selfe doth true distinction make." 
 
 The ears are located high, — 
 
 " Because all sounds doe lightly mount aloft." 
 
 Furthermore, the ears are constructed as they 
 are — there being no direct passage of the stimu- 
 lus to the brain, — for the protection of the brain. 
 The obstructions to an immediate striking of the 
 brain on the part of the stimulus afforded by the 
 tympanum and the windings and turnings between
 
 How the Soul exercises its Powers i^g 
 
 the outer ear and the brain, save the latter from 
 astonishment and confusion. These " plaits and 
 folds " restrain the sound so that it comes with 
 a gentle touch to the brain. He likens this re- 
 lation of the physical stimulus of sound to the 
 brain to the flow of winding streams : — 
 
 " As streames, which with their winding banks doe play, 
 Stopt by their creeks, run softly through the plaine ; 
 So in th' Eares' labyrinth the voice doth stray, 
 And doth with easie motion touch tlie braine." 
 
 But while the sense of hearing is the slowest, it 
 
 is, on the other hand, the daintiest sense. It is 
 
 capable of very fine discriminations. The art of 
 
 music is founded on this sense. But its proper 
 
 object is human speech, and especially the speech 
 
 uttered by the heralds of God. The senses of 
 
 sight and hearing are the most informing senses. 
 
 They bring most knowledge to the soul. The 
 
 other senses, as we shall see, are more concerned 
 
 with the good and ill of the body: — 
 
 " Thus by the organs of the Ej'g and Earg, 
 
 The Soule with knowledge doth her selfe endue ; 
 Thus she her prison, may with pleasure beare, 
 Hauing such prospects, ail the world to view. 
 
 "These conduit-pipes of knowledge feed the Mind, 
 But th' other three attend the Body still ; 
 For by their seruices the Soule doth find, 
 What things are to the body, good or ill."
 
 t6o Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 The first of these body-serving senses of which 
 he treats is taste. Inasmuch as the life of the 
 body is fed with meats and air, the soul makes 
 use of the sense of taste, by which — 
 
 ♦* In veines, which through the tongue and palate spred,** 
 
 it distinguishes every relish. This sense is pri- 
 marily the body's nurse, but man also delights in 
 the pleasures of taste. As a result, the art of 
 cooking comes into being. 
 
 The next sense to be considered is the sense of 
 smell. It is located in the nostrils. Its office is — 
 
 " To iudge all ayres, whereby we breath and liue^ 
 
 We find this sense also to be " mistresse of An 
 Art," which deals with sweet perfumes. This art 
 imparts little good, — those smelling best who 
 smell least. Still, good odors purify the brain, 
 awaken the fancy, and refine the wits: — 
 
 " Hence old Deuotion^ incense did ordaine 
 To make mens' spirits apt for thoughts diuine." 
 
 Lastly, the poet treats of the sense of feeling or 
 touch. It is the root of life. It is omnipresent 
 in the living body — 
 
 " By sinewes, which extend from head to foot, 
 And like a net, all ore the body spred."
 
 How the Soul exercises its Powers i6i 
 
 Its function is to acquaint us with such qualities 
 of bodies as hot and cold, moist and dry, hard 
 and soft, rough and smooth. Through touch 
 also we experience pleasure and pain. 
 
 The poet ends his account of the senses by 
 again calling attention to their relation to the 
 higher powers of mind : — 
 
 " These are the outward instruments of Sense, 
 
 These are the guards which euery thing must passe 
 
 Ere it approch the mind's intelligence, 
 
 Or touch the Fantasie, IVtTs looking-glasse^'* 
 
 Having thus treated of the power of sense, he 
 next takes up the subject of the imagination or 
 common sense. Here he enters a little more into 
 an explanation or description of the mechanism 
 involved in the apprehension of things by sense, 
 for in such apprehension the imagination and fan- 
 tasie are concerned. The senses themselves really 
 do not perceive. They — 
 
 " Themselues perceiue not, nor discerne the things." 
 
 There is a common power, " which doth in the 
 forehead sit," which brings together the forms of 
 external things collected by the senses. Because 
 all of the nerves which spread to the outward 
 organs, and which bear the " spirits of sense," are
 
 i62 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 united in this portion of the brain; and here are 
 discerned, by a common power which is called 
 the imagination or the common sense, the " sundry 
 formes " of sense. 
 
 But now occurs another process — a transmis- 
 sion of these forms thus perceived by imagination 
 or common sense to a still higher region of the 
 brain, where is located another power of mind — 
 the " fantasie " : — 
 
 "Those outward organs present things receiue, 
 This inward Sense doth absent things retaine; 
 Yet straight transmits all formes shee doth perceiue, 
 Vnto a higlier region of the brained 
 
 This power of fantasie beholds and discerns the 
 forms thus transmitted ; compounds and compares 
 them, and tests their values. It is an exceedingly 
 busy power, operating day and night — the flutter- 
 ing wings of a thousand dreams keeping it awake 
 when the senses are at rest. 
 
 There is still another power involved in the 
 apprehension of sense — the sensitive memory. 
 Notwithstanding the activity of the fantasie, all 
 forms may not be present to her sight. Those 
 which she has ceased to see are retained by 
 memory, which power is located in the rear part 
 of the brain. With this brief mention of the
 
 How the Soul exercises its Powers !6) 
 
 sensitive memory we reach an end of " sense's 
 apprehension : " — 
 
 " Heere Sense's apprehension, end doth take ; 
 As when a stone is into water cast, 
 One circle doth another circle make, 
 Till the last circle touch the banke at last" 
 
 But there are also " passions of sense " which 
 are caused in the heart by the " motiue vertue " 
 of the soul. These passions are joy, grief, fear, 
 hope, hate, and love. They possess " a free com- 
 manding might," and different actions are impelled 
 by them. All actions not directed by reason 
 spring from these passions. Now the question 
 arises. How, if the power of sense is located in the 
 brain, does the brain give rise to these passions of 
 sense in the heart? It is due to the mutual love 
 and kind intelligence which exist between the 
 brain and heart. But more specifically it may 
 be explained as follows : The " spirits of life " 
 have their origin in the heat of the heart. When 
 the " spirits of life " ascend to the brain, they give 
 rise to the " spirits of sense." These " spirits of 
 sense " judge of the nature of objects whether 
 good or ill, in the court of the fantasie. They 
 report their judgments to the heart — the seat of 
 the passions. If the report be good, the passions
 
 1 64 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 of love, hope, and joy are called into being. If 
 the report be ill, it causes hatred, fear, and grief. 
 These natural passions would be good, were rea- 
 son possessed of its original perfection, so as to 
 properly direct them. 
 
 But there is still another motive power which 
 comes from the heart, — 
 
 *' from whose pure blood do spring 
 The vitall spirits ; which, borne in arteries, 
 Continuall motion to all parts doe bring. 
 
 ♦• This makes the pulses beat, and lungs respire, 
 This holds the sinewes like a bridle's reines; 
 And makes the Body to aduance, retire. 
 To turne or stop, as she them slacks, or straines. 
 
 " Thus the sottle tunes the bodies instrument ; 
 
 These harmonies she makes with life and sense j 
 
 The organs fit are by the body lent, 
 
 But th' actions flow from the Soule^s influence." 
 
 The poet now turns to the consideration of the 
 two powers of the soul which are really expressive 
 of its nature, — the powers of wit and will. These 
 powers are peculiar to man's soul as compared 
 with the animal soul. On earth no other being 
 is endowed with these higher powers of mind. 
 The poet first deals with the power of wit. This 
 power looks into the fantasic, wherein the senses
 
 How the Soul exercises its Powers i6^ 
 
 gather, and abstracts from thence the shapes or 
 forms of things. These, after being received into 
 the passive part of the wit or intellect, are enlight- 
 ened by the active intellect, and thus the mind or 
 intellect perceives the forms of single things. The 
 next step is by discourse, anticipation, and com- 
 parison, to gain a knowledge of universal natures, 
 and to trace effects to their causes. Now the 
 power of wit is known by different names as it 
 functions differently. When it reasons, or " moues 
 from ground to ground," it is known as reason. 
 When by this process of reasoning it has attained 
 the truth, and stands fixed therein, it is known 
 as understanding. When the wit only slightly 
 assents, then it is opinion. When it defines a 
 certain truth by principles, then we have judg- 
 ment. Many reasons lead to understanding. 
 Many understandings lead to knowledge, and 
 much knowledge leads to wisdom. Rut while 
 man thus ascends by steps to wisdom, he has 
 a certain native power — certain " sparkes of 
 light," by which he can discern " some common 
 things": — 
 
 " For Nature in man's heart her lawes doth pen ; 
 Prescribing truth to wit, and good to will; 
 Which doe accuse, or else excuse all men. 
 For euery thought or practise, good or ill." 
 
 I
 
 1 66 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 " And yet these sparkes grow almost infinite, 
 
 " Making the World, and all tlierein their food." 
 
 These sparks were almost quenched by the Fall of 
 man, but they are increased by a heavenly light in 
 those who have been justified through faith in Christ. 
 Now just as we are endowed with wit, which 
 should truly l-/iow goodness, so we are endowed 
 with will, which ought to choose true goodness. 
 Will often errs in choosing, taking evil for good, 
 and good for evil, simply because of the error of 
 wit. The relations between wit and will are very 
 intimate, and the poet points these out. Will 
 executes what wit devises. Will acts ; wit con- 
 templates. And as wisdom arises from wit, so all 
 other virtues spring from the will. Wit is coun- 
 sellor to will, and will carries out its counsels. 
 Wit is the chief judge of the mind, controlling the 
 judgments of the fancy. Will is king and with its 
 royal sceptre rules the passions of the heart. 
 Finally, the poet affirms that will is free. The 
 soul in the exercise of this power is neither re- 
 strained nor constrained by any outside power. 
 It is a self-determining being: — 
 
 ** Will is as free as any emperour, 
 
 Naught can restraine h^r gentle libertie ; 
 No tyrant, nor no torment, hath the power, 
 To make vs will, when we vnwilling bee."
 
 How the Soul exercises its Powers i6y 
 
 The last faculty or power with which the poet 
 deals, is the intellectual memory. It may seem 
 singular to follow the analysis and description of 
 wit and will — the highest powers of the soul, — 
 with a brief notice and description of another 
 power. But there is a kind of logical order ; 
 observed here. He has already described the j 
 sensitive memory, which is the " lidger-booke " 
 of sense. But there is also a " lidger-booke " of i 
 wit and will — a storehouse for their products — 
 " all arts and generall reasons." This intellectual 
 memory is immortal. Its records survive death. 
 No " Lethoean flood " can wash them away: — 
 
 " To these high powers, a store-house doth pertaine, 
 Where they all arts and generall reasons lay ; 
 Which in the Soule, euen after death, remaine, 
 And no Lethoean flood can wash away." 
 
 Thus a survey of the human mind reveals a di- 
 versity of powers, each one having its own proper 
 function or office, and one exceeding " another ini 
 degree." But notwithstanding this diversity of] 
 powers — these differences in function and degreei 
 — they sustain a mutual dependence. The wit ofl 
 man is given him for the purpose of knowing 
 Almighty God. His will is given him for the] 
 purpose of loving God, being known. But thej
 
 1 68 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 human mind could not know God save by His 
 works, and these can only be revealed through 
 sense. So that wit and will are dependent on 
 sense. Again, sense in turn is dependent upon a 
 lower power, the quickening power. This feeds or 
 nourishes the power of sense. And so it is, as we 
 have already seen, that the lower powers are also 
 dependent upon the higher. And it is as men 
 actually evaluate these powers in their living, that 
 they are high or low in the scale of human life. 
 
 Finally, there is one more point to be noted. 
 The three powers — sense, wit, and will, — al- 
 though spoken of as powers, must not be regarded 
 as distinct entities or agents. That is, they are 
 not three souls. They constitute but one soul. 
 They are three modes of the one soul's functioning 
 — three fundamental forms of the soul's activity. 
 
 This ends the account of how the soul exercises 
 its powers in the body, in which account Davies 
 also presents to the reader his analysis and de- 
 scription of the various powers of the mind, and 
 his conception of their mutual relations. After 
 thus surveying the whole field of the mind's 
 activities, he is so overcome with the marvellous 
 constitution of man that he breaks forth with the 
 acclamation : —
 
 How the Soul exercises its Powers i6g 
 
 •• O ! what is Man (great Maker of mankind !) 
 
 That Tliou to him so great respect dost beare ! 
 That Thou adornst him with so bright a mind, 
 Mak'st him a king, and euen an angel's peere ! 
 
 " O ! what a liuely life, what heauenly power, 
 
 What spreading vertue, what a sparkling fire! 
 How great, how plentifull, how rich a dower 
 Dost Thou within this dying flesh inspire ! 
 
 " Thou leau'st Thy print in other works of Thine, 
 But Thy whole image Thou in Man hast writ; 
 There cannot be a creature more diuine. 
 Except (like Thee) it should be infinit. 
 
 ♦♦ But it exceeds man's thought, to thinke how hie 
 Goii\\:ii\\ raisd Man, since God a man became ; 
 The angels doe admire this Afisterie, 
 And are astonisht when they view the same." 
 
 Davies's analysis of the powers of the mind 
 is, fundamentally considered, Aristotelian. In the 
 first place, with both writers the real soul of man 
 is independent of the body, and is distinguished 
 from the soul as possessing certain powers by 
 virtue of its connection with the body — which 
 forms the " animal soul " as Aristotle calls it. The 
 higher soul of man Aristotle calls vov'i, and the 
 active vov<i (as distinguished from the passive) 
 corresponds to the higher soul of man as con- 
 ceived of by Davies, — the soul as possessed of
 
 lyo Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 *' wit and will." In discussing the relation of 
 Reason to the other " faculties," Aristotle says : 
 " This consideration shews how improbable it is 
 that reason should be incorporated with the bodily 
 organism: for if so, it would be of some definite 
 character, cither hot or cold, or it would have 
 some organ for its operation, just as is the case 
 with sense." . . . 
 
 " The difference, however, between the impas- 
 sivity of the faculty of reason and of the faculty of 
 sense is clear from a consideration of the organs 
 and the processes of sense-perception. Sense, 
 for example, is unable to acquire perception from 
 an object which is in too great excess — can- 
 not, to take an instance, perceive sound from ex- 
 tremely loud noises, nor see nor smell anything 
 from too violent colours and odours. Reason, on 
 the contrary, when it applies itself to something 
 extremely intellectual, does not lessen but rather 
 increases its power of thinking inferior objects, the 
 explanation being that the faculty of sense is not 
 independent of the body, whereas reason is sepa- 
 rated from it." ^ 
 
 So Davies affirms the independence of the soul. 
 
 » Op. cit., bk. III. ch. iv. sees. 4, 5. See also Bk. II. ch. ii. 
 sees. 4-10.
 
 How the Soul exercises its Powers lyi 
 
 The soul as " wit " and " will " is in a sense really 
 independent of the body : — 
 
 " These actions in her closet all alone, 
 
 (Retir'd within her selfe) she doth fulfill ; 
 Vse of her bodie's organs she hath none, 
 When she doth vse the powers of Wit and Will." 
 
 In the second place, both writers agree in regard 
 to the general powers of the soul. They are five 
 in number. Aristotle says : " Of the powers of 
 soul which have been mentioned, some organ- 
 isms, as has been said, possess all, others again a 
 few, while a third class possesses one only. The 
 powers in question are those of nutrition, of 
 sensation, of desire, of local movement and of 
 reasoning."^ 
 
 So Davies says : — 
 
 *' And though this spirit be to the body knit, 
 As an apt meane her powers to exercise ; 
 Which are life, viotion, sense, and will, and «///, 
 Yet she suruiiies, although the body dies.'* 
 
 Aristotle speaks also of the powers as four in 
 number, evidently regarding desire and local move- 
 ment as representing conation.^ Davies, also, 
 sometimes speaks of them as four; namely, 
 vegetative power, sense, wit, and will, as will be 
 1 Op. cit., Bk. II. ch. ilL sec. i. « Ibid., sec. 7.
 
 172 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 apparent in a moment in his description of the 
 relation of the powers. 
 
 In the third place, both writers agree in recog- 
 nizing the intimate relation existing between these 
 powers. Aristotle makes the lower potentially- 
 existent in the higher. Davics speaks of the lower 
 as ministering to the higher. Aristotle says: 
 " The different forms of soul in fact stand to one 
 another in the same way as do the several species 
 of figure: both in the case of figures and of ani- 
 mate beings, the earlier form always exists poten- 
 tially in the later." ^ 
 
 Davies in describing the relation of these powers 
 says : — 
 
 " Our Wit is giuen. Almighty God io know; 
 Our W^;7/ is giuen to loue Him, ht'xngJi-nowtie; 
 But God could not be known to vs below, 
 But by His workes which through the sense are shown. 
 
 " And as the Wit doth reape the fruits of Sense, 
 So doth the quickning power the senses feed ; 
 Thus while they doe their sundry gifts dispence, 
 The best, the seruice of the least doth need. 
 
 "Euen so the King his Magistrates do serue, 
 Yet Commons feed both magistrate and king ; 
 The Commons' peace the magistrates preserue 
 By borrowed power, which from the Prince doth spring. 
 
 * Op. cit., Bk. II. ch. iii. sees. 6, 7.
 
 How the Soul exercises its Powers ly^ 
 
 " The quicknini^ power would be, and so would rest ; 
 The Sense would not be onely, but be well; 
 But Wifs ambition longeth to the best^ 
 For it desires in endlesse blisse to dwell." 
 
 In the fourth place, both writers in their analysis 
 of the powers of the soul are careful to emphasize 
 the unity of the soul. Aristotle, although speak- 
 ing sometimes of the various powers of the soul as 
 though they were souls, does not mean this. He 
 teaches rather that they are really modes or as- 
 pects of the one soul's functioning. This is a 
 fundamental implication of his teaching concern- 
 ing the relation of the powers.^ 
 
 Likewise, Davies, closing his discussion of the 
 relation of reason, sense, and the vegetative power, 
 says : — 
 
 " Yet these three powers are not three soules, but one; 
 As one and two are both containd in three 
 Three being one number by it selfe alone : 
 A shadow of the blessed Trinitie." 
 
 In Davies's more detailed analysis of the mental 
 " faculties " he deviates somewhat from Aristotle. 
 This may be an original element introduced here, 
 or it may be an introduction of a small element of 
 contemporary psychology. 
 
 Several points worthy of note in connection 
 1 Op. cit., Bk. II. ch. ui.
 
 174 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 with Davies's analysis and description of the men- 
 tal powers, pertain to his relation to Nemesius. 
 First, the latter teaches Aristotle's doctrine of the 
 vegetative power, or the power of nutrition, be- 
 longing to the soul. Davies, as we have seen, also 
 recognizes this power, and his description of its 
 method of working is so like that of Nemesius 
 as to indicate that he was influenced by him. 
 Nemesius says : " All the naturall faculties of the 
 ! nourishing power, are these foure ; an attractive 
 I appetite , a retentive power , a distributing, and an 
 I expulsive (or avoiding) /i/r////'/V.' for every part of 
 ! the living-creature, doth naturally draw unto it- 
 f selfe such nourishment, as is convenient for the 
 : same : when it is attracted, it preserveth it : when 
 I the same is kept a due time, it changeth the same 
 ) into it selfe ; and then expelleth whatsoever proveth 
 ; to be superfluous."^ 
 
 ' In similar language Davies describes the func- 
 , tioning of this power. He, too, attributes to it 
 the offices of attracting, retaining, distributing, and 
 , expelling: — 
 
 ji "//^r quick' nittf^ power in euery liuing part, 
 
 I Doth as a nurse, or as a mother serue ; 
 
 j And doth employ her oeconomicke art, 
 
 \ And busie care, her household to prescrue. 
 
 1 Op. cit., pp. 397-398-
 
 How the Soul exercises its Powers ij^ 
 
 " Here she attracts, and there she doth retaine, 
 There she decocts, and doth the food prepare ; 
 There she distributes it to euery vaine, 
 Here she expels what she may filly spare." 
 
 Of course, it must be remembered that when 
 two writers agree in regard to the functioning of 
 a power or agent, their language must necessarily 
 be similar. }3ut the language and its content are 
 so strikingly similar here as to indicate, especially 
 in view of the evidence already presented, that 
 Davies was influenced by Nemesius. Second, 
 an instance similar to the above is found in 
 the description given by both writers of the 
 source of the "vital spirits." Nemesius says: 
 " Because the vitall-spirit is dispersed from the 
 heart by the arteries, into every part of the 
 bociyr » 
 
 Davies, in discussing the " Motion of Life," in 
 connection with his analysis of the mental pow- 
 ers, thinks and speaks of the vital spirits as does 
 Nemesius: — 
 
 " Besides, another motiue-^o'^tx doth rise 
 
 Out of the heart ; from whose pure blood do spring 
 The vitall spirits ; which, borne in arteries, 
 Continuall motion to all parts doe bring." 
 
 1 Op. cit., p. 408.
 
 / 76 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 They agree in recognizing the existence of vital 
 spirits ; also in regard to their seat, their course, 
 and their destination. 
 
 It is interesting to note also in this connection 
 Calvin's analysis of the niental powers with which, 
 if our view of Davies's indebtedness to Calvin be 
 correct, he must have been familiar. It is briefly 
 given in the following passage: "First, I admit 
 that there are five senses, which Plato (in The- 
 aeteto) prefers calling organs, by which all ob- 
 jects are brought into a common sensorium, as 
 into a kind of receptacle : Next comes the imagi- 
 nation, (^pliantasie), which distinguishes between 
 the objects brought into the sensorium : Next, 
 reason, to which the general power of judgment 
 belongs: And, lastly, intellect, which contemplates 
 with fixed and quiet look whatever reason discur- 
 sively revolves. In like manner, to intellect, fancy, 
 and reason, the three cognitive faculties of the 
 soul, correspond three appetitive faculties, viz., 
 will, whose office is to choose whatever reason and 
 intellect propounds; irascibility, which seizes on 
 what is set before it by reason and fancy; and 
 concupiscence, which lays hold of the objects pre- 
 sented by sense and fancy."* 
 
 1 Op. cit., lik. I. ch. XV. sec. 6.
 
 How the Soul exercises its Powers 177 
 
 There is, of course, only a general correspond- 
 ence between Davies's analysis of the various 
 " faculties " of the soul and Calvin's, which would 
 hardly indicate anything with reference to Calvin's 
 influence, upon Davies. But in Davies's account 
 of the function of reason in the determination of 
 truth and goodness, and the handicap under which 
 she labors by virtue of man's Fall ; and also in his 
 account of the relation between reason and will as 
 that of Ruler and Guide, there is much that in- 
 dicates the influence of Calvin.^ 
 
 As indicating the position which Davies's two- 
 fold division of the powers of the real soul of man 
 as " wit and will " holds in the history of psy- 
 chology the following brief statement by Sully is 
 substantially true, — only we can hardly say that 
 the threefold division has been " fixed as the per- 
 manent one": "The first essay in distinguishing 
 between co-ordinate mental functions led to a 
 bipartite or dichotomus division, viz., into an in- 
 tellective and an active or conative factor. The 
 germ of this bisectional view may be found in 
 Aristotle, who, while he gave independent func- 
 tional value to intellect or thought (vovs:) and 
 
 ^ Cf. Calvin, op. cit., Bk. I. ch. xv. sees. 6-8; also Bk. II. 
 ch. ii. sees. 12-26. 
 
 12
 
 / 78 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 to desire or appetite (ppe^isi), subordinated feel- 
 ing to these. This twofold scheme remained the 
 prevailing one up to comparatively recent times. 
 It survives in the classification of Reid, vis.^ 
 (i) Intellectual and (2) Active Powers, and in the 
 popular psychology of everyday life. The sepa- 
 rate recognition of feeling as a co-ordinate phase 
 or function of mind is due to the German psy- 
 chologists of the Wolffian school who wrote about 
 the middle of the last century, more especially 
 Moses Mendelssohn and Tetens. The tripartite 
 division was adopted from these by Kant, and by 
 his authority fixed as the permanent one. " ^ 
 
 1 "The Human Mind." New York, 1892, Vol. II., Appendix 
 A. p. 327.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL 
 
 T TAVING covered so much of the territory of 
 "*" the philosophy of mind, there still remains 
 another portion to be traversed. The poet has 
 considered the problems of the Whence and the 
 What of mind ; he must now consider the Whither. 
 He has attempted to determine its origin and na- 
 ture; he must now determine, if possible, its des- 
 tiny. Is the mind a mere creature of time, or 
 does it bear the impress of eternity? In our poet's 
 judgment the soul is immortal, and he proceeds, in 
 the most formal manner, to give reasons for the 
 faith within him on this most important question. 
 
 Referring to the wonderful powers of mind re- 
 vealed* by his psychological analysis, he says : — 
 
 •* Nor hath He giuen these blessings for a day, 
 Nor made them on the bodie's life depend ; 
 The Soule though made in time, suruives for aye^ 
 And though it hath beginning, sees no end.
 
 i8o Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 " Her only en(/, is neuer-ending blisse ; 
 Which is, M' eternall face of God to see ; 
 Who Last of Ends, and First of Causes, is : 
 And to doe this, she must eternall bee." 
 
 This eternity of the soul will be manifest to any 
 one who will patiently study its nature. In its 
 very constitution, and in some of its fundamen- 
 tal modes of behavior, he will discern its im- 
 mortality. 
 
 Having thus stated his thesis, and hinted at the 
 method of procedure by which it is to be estab- 
 lished, he presents the ground for its acceptance 
 in the form of a series of " Reasons " : — 
 
 Reason I., is based on man's desire for knowl- 
 edge — a desire to " know the truth of euery thing " 
 — which is native to the human soul. It is co- 
 natural with the soul, — to use the poet's own ex- 
 pression. It is born with it, and springs from its 
 very essence. Going with this native desire to 
 know, is also a native might to discover the truth 
 of everything, were sufficient time allowed to the 
 soul. But this mortal life is too short for the ac- 
 complishment of such a task. Our little life passes 
 away as rapidly — 
 
 "As doth a hungry eagle through the wind, 
 Or as a ship transported with the tide."
 
 Immortality of the Soul t8i 
 
 So much of this short time is engaged with the 
 few things revealed by sense, as to be really at 
 an end — 
 
 " Ere we the principles of skill attaine." 
 
 Here we hardly attain more than the alphabet of 
 knowledge. Now God, who creates nothing in 
 vain, has either given us this native appetite for 
 perfect knowledge in vain, or our knowledge is to 
 be perfected in another life. God never gave a 
 power to an entire species but that the majority of 
 the species made use of such power. But it is not 
 so with the human species. He has endowed it 
 with a native desire and might to know the truth 
 perfectly, but not one member of the species can 
 in this mortal life thus know the truth. Hence we 
 must conclude with reference to the soul's knowl- 
 edge, that if — 
 
 "perfection be not found below, 
 An higher place must make her mount thereto.* 
 
 Reason H., is based on what the poet calls the 
 motion of the soul. The soul with its powers of 
 wit and will aspires to eternity. Since it aspires 
 to the eternal God, it must be an eternal thing. 
 All moving things move toward their kind. The 
 river, whose water was first derived from the sea,
 
 1 82 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 ultimately, after moving here and there, by various 
 windings through the land, again moves toward 
 the sea. And thus it is with the soul of man. It 
 comes from God. If pursues earthly things. It 
 moves here and there, seeking contentment among 
 things temporal. But it is not satisfied with what 
 it finds and turns to things eternal : — 
 
 " Then as a d^g which among weeds doth fall, 
 
 Which seeme sweet flowers, with lustre fresh and gay ; 
 
 She lights on that, and this, and tasteth all, 
 
 But pleasd with none, doth rise, and soare away; 
 
 " So, when the Sou/e finds here no true content, 
 And, like Noah's doue, can no sure footing take ; 
 She doth returne from whence she first was sent. 
 And flies to Him that first her wings did make." 
 
 That man thus moves towards God, and is thus 
 like God in his Eternity, is manifest in the move- 
 ments of his reason and will. The rational nature 
 of man seeks truth. It ascends from cause to 
 cause, and does not rest until it reaches the First 
 Cause. It is so also with will. It seeks the Good. 
 In its pursuit of the same it finds many subordi- 
 nate ends or goods. But these do not satisfy. 
 The will cannot rest in them. It seeks a supreme 
 good, a summum bouiim. Now God is the Ulti- 
 mate Truth or First Cause; and He is also the
 
 Immortality of the Soul i8j 
 
 Ultimate End or Supreme Good. He is the Alpha 
 to reason, and the Omega to will. In this move- 
 ment of the soul, in its two fundamental modes 
 of action, it betrays its heavenly origin and 
 destiny. 
 
 Reason III., is based on the contempt for death 
 manifested by superior souls. Such souls desire 
 the satisfactions of the immortal life, and they 
 often experience contempt for the death of the 
 body. This is really due to the immortal nature 
 of the soul. For, if the death of the body in- 
 volved the soul's destruction, it would mean that 
 death is the enemy of the soul, — that is, against 
 its essential nature. And were this so, all souls 
 would flee from death. For the soul, like all 
 things, is taught by its nature the lesson of self- 
 preservation. The instinct of self-preservation, 
 under such circumstances, would lead all souls 
 to avoid death as far as possible. This being so, 
 the choice spirits of the world could not err sOj 
 far as to prefer honor to life : — 
 
 " For what is praise to things that nothing bee ? " 
 
 Furthermore, were the life of the soul dependent] 
 upon the body, then the soul would only seek the! 
 body's good. There would be no sacrifice of] 
 physical or bodily good for higher ends : —
 
 t84 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 " We should not find her half so braue and bold, 
 To leade it to the Warres and to the seas ; 
 To make it suffer watchings, hunger, cold. 
 When it might feed with plenty, rest with ease." 
 
 Reason IV., is founded on the fear of death in 
 wicked souls. Such fear proves the immortal 
 nature of him who experiences it. For it is not 
 annihilation that such souls fear. Rather would 
 they welcome this. But it is, as Hamlet put it, — 
 
 " the dread of something after death 
 . . . puzzles the will. 
 
 Thus conscience does make cowards of us all." 
 
 Now this testimony of both good and evil souls 
 to the soul's immortality, as explained above, is, 
 according to the poet. Nature's testimony; — 
 
 '^^ Nature's speech^ 
 Which, like God's Oracle, can neuer lie." 
 
 Reason V., is based on the general desire for 
 immortality. Davies holds the position, that the 
 desire for immortality is instinctive with man. 
 Such a universal desire cannot be in vain, for 
 Nature does not covet impossibilities. Fond 
 thoughts, of course, may be cherished by some 
 idle brain, which do not involve reality: — 
 
 " But one assent of all, is euer wise."
 
 Immortality of the Soul i8^ 
 
 So universal a desire as this must involve a reality 
 to satisfy it. From this desire springs the prog- 
 ress of the race — "that generall care and study," — 
 
 "That launching znA progression of the mind; 
 Which all men haue so much, of future things, 
 That they no ioy doe in the present find." 
 
 From this desire for immortality also springs 
 man's desire for gaining surviving fame, — 
 
 " By iombes, by bookes^ by memorable deeds.** 
 
 From it also springs the care for posterity which 
 characterizes man — 
 
 " For things their kind would euerlasting make." 
 
 Hence old men plant trees the fruit of which is 
 to be enjoyed by another age. 
 
 If we reflect upon these things, and apply them 
 to ourselves, we shall find that they are Nature's 
 true notes of immortality. 
 
 Reason VI., is based upon the fact of doubt 
 and dispute concerning immortality. To doubt 
 immortality shows that we know immortal things. 
 To reason about immortality would be impossible 
 were man merely mortal. To judge of immortal 
 things involves the immortal nature of the judging 
 mind : —
 
 1 86 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 " For when we iudge, our minds we mirrors make: 
 And as those glasses which materiall bee, 
 Formes of materiall things doe onely take, 
 For thoughts or minds in them we cannot see; 
 
 "So, when we God and angels do conceiue. 
 And thinke of truth, which is eternall too ; 
 Then doe our minds immortall formes receiue, 
 Which if they mortall were, they could not doo." 
 
 If animals were to conceive what reason is, they 
 would necessarily have to be rational beings. So 
 it is with the soul. If she can reason about im- 
 mortality she must be immortal. So that — 
 
 " Shee proofes of her eternitie doth bring, 
 
 Euen when she striues the contrary to proue." 
 
 The poet concludes, that even this very thought 
 of immortality is an act of the self-moving mind, 
 framed by the mind without the aid of the body, 
 and, in the spirit of Plato in the Phcedrtis, he 
 affirms that this independence of mind is evi- 
 dence that she can survive the death of the body. 
 And as a self-moving being, her motion must be 
 everlasting, for she can never forsake herself. 
 
 But some misgivings may still arise. Although 
 the soul may be free from any corruption spring- 
 ing from herself, may there not be some external 
 cause, designed by Fate, that ultimately will de-
 
 Immortality of the Soul 187 
 
 stroy her? So that the poet considers these mis- 
 givings and gives reply. 
 
 In the first place, perhaps the cause of the soul 
 itself may cease, and then the soul must die. Not 
 so, says the poet. For God is her Cause, and 
 His Word was her Maker, and this shall stand 
 forever — when heaven and earth shall pass like 
 a shadow. . 
 
 But there may be something strongly antipa- 
 thetic to the soul that shall ultimately destroy her. 
 But how can there be such a contrary to the 
 soul — 
 
 " Which holds all contraries in concord still ? 
 
 " She lodgeth heat, and cold, and moist, and dry, 
 
 And life, and death, and peace, and war together; 
 Ten thousand fighting things in her doe lye, 
 Yet neither troubleth, or disturbeth either." 
 
 Still, it may be urged, she may die for want of 
 food. Not so, says the poet. Not only all things, 
 but the Eternal God himself, as well as Eternal 
 Truth, constitute her food. 
 
 Perhaps, however, violence can destroy her, as 
 *' su7i-beames dim the sight," or as a thunder-clap 
 or noise of cannon affects the ear. No, says the 
 poet, on the contrary, the soul is perfected by 
 encountering " things most excellent and high." -
 
 iS8 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 Furthermore, the soul is so subtle as to glide 
 safely through all dangers ; and the will is so free 
 as not to abide any force. 
 
 But, after all, may not Time, the great destroyer 
 of things, destroy the soul ? No, says the poet, 
 Time only cherishes her and increases her might. 
 Time gives perfection to the soul, and adds new 
 lustre to her beauty, and makes her to dwell in 
 eternal youth. The more the soul lives, " the 
 more she feeds on Truth" and the more she thus 
 feeds, the more strength she derives; and strength 
 is the effect of youth, which if nursed by Time, 
 how can it cease? The poet's reply to this mis- 
 giving, which grows out of the consciousness of 
 the destructive nature of Time, is eloquent almost 
 to the point of sublimity : — 
 
 " But lastly, Time perhaps at last hath power 
 
 To spend her liuely powers, and quench her light ; 
 But old god Saturne which doth all deuoure, 
 Doth cherish her, and still augment her might. 
 
 " Heauen waxeth old, and all the spheres aboue 
 Shall one day faint, and their swift motion stay; 
 And Time it selfe in time shall cease to moue ; 
 Onely the Soule suruives^ and liues for aye. 
 
 " Our Bodies, euery footstep tiiat they make, 
 March towards death, vntill at last they die ; 
 Whether we worke, or play, or sleepe, or wake, 
 Our life doth passe, and with Time's wings doth flie:
 
 Immortality of the Soul j8p 
 
 " But to the Sou/t Time doth perfection giue, 
 And ads fresh lustre to her beauty still ; 
 And makes her in eternall youth to liue, 
 Like her which nectar to the gods doth fill. 
 
 '• The more she Hues, the more she feeds on Truth ; 
 
 The more she feeds, her strength doth more increase: 
 And what is strength^ but an effect oi youth f 
 Which if Time nurse, how can it euer cease ?" 
 
 Thus far Davies, in his reflection upon the im- 
 mortality of the soul, has considered the grounds 
 for belief in immortality, and also several mis- 
 givings which may arise even in the face of this 
 rational evidence. But he feels that his treatment 
 of this subject would be inadequate, did he not 
 consider certain objections which may be urged 
 against his position. In the consideration of these 
 objections he proceeds as formally as before, stat- 
 ing first the objection candidly and clearly, and 
 then following in a formal manner with his answer. 
 In his answer he endeavors not only to refute the 
 objection, but also to strengthen the arguments 
 previously presented by him in favor of belief. 
 
 Objection I., is based on the fact that the soul 
 grows old. This is manifest in the dotage of old 
 men; and in the sottishness, dulness, and cold- 
 ness of their brains. It is based further on the 
 fact that the soul itself seems to be corrupted, 
 which is evident in idiocy and insanity.
 
 I go Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 To this objection the poet replies, that it con- 
 stitutes a subtle argument to those who identify 
 sense and reason, and fail to distinguish agent 
 from instrument, and the working power from the 
 work. But to those who distinguish between sense 
 and reason, and understand the relations between 
 them, both idiocy and dotage are explicable in 
 a manner which does not involve the integrity of 
 the soul. As has been previously explained, there 
 is a kind of dependence of reason upon sense in 
 our knowledge of things. The soul united to the 
 body is dependent upon sense for its materials, 
 and if the region of the brain, where both the 
 outward sense and the inward sense of fantasie 
 are localized, be wanting in integrity, so as to fail 
 to report things ; or, reporting them, report them 
 incorrectly, then, of course, the soul is cither blind 
 or misled. This explains idiocy. The trouble is 
 not with the mind of the idiot. It is capable of 
 knowing the truth and choosing the good when 
 these arc properly presented by sense and fan- 
 tasie. The difficulty lies in the fact that — 
 
 '• that region of the tender braine, 
 Where th' inward sense of Fantasie should sit. 
 And the outward senses gatherings should retain," 
 
 has cither — 
 
 " By Nature, or by chance, become vnfit "
 
 Immortality of the Soul igi 
 
 to perform its office. Remove this trouble; re- 
 store the integrity of this " region of the tender 
 braine," — 
 
 " Then shall the Wit, which never had disease, 
 Discourse, and iudge discreetly, as it ought" 
 
 The defect then is in the organs of sense, and not 
 in the soul; in the instrument, and not in the 
 agent; and — 
 
 " We must not blame Apollo, but his lute. 
 If false accords from her false strings be sent." 
 
 Dotage may be explained in a similar manner. 
 The trouble is not with the dotard's soul, but with 
 his power of sense, which has been so weakened 
 by age that it — 
 
 " Cannot the prints of outward things retaine." 
 
 The soul, therefore, sits idle. This is what we 
 call childishness and dotage. But, were the old 
 man possessed of the young man's power of sense, 
 there would be a different result. The soul would 
 then function properly. Dotage, then, must not be 
 regarded as a weakness of the mind, but rather a 
 weakness of sense. If it were a waste of the for- 
 mer, it would be found in all old men. But such 
 is not the case. The majority of them, despite 
 the gradually wasting body, retain a quicker and
 
 /92 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 stronger mind, and a better use of their underr 
 standing, than when they were possessed of the 
 bodily power of youth. 
 
 Objection II., is based on the supposition, that 
 if the soul's organs die she will not be able to use 
 her powers. Such inability to use her powers 
 practically amounts to their extinction. Deprived 
 of her powers, what then is the soul ? Every- 
 thing is possessed of power, and acts spring from 
 powers. Destroy the powers and acts, and you 
 destroy the thing. 
 
 To this objection Davies makes reply: It is 
 undoubtedly true that death destroys " the instru- 
 ments of sense and life," although the root of 
 these remain in the substance of the soul. But 
 just as wit and will, during the mind's union with 
 the body, can judge and choose without its aid, 
 though using the materials which are derived by 
 means of the body's organs, so, after the body's 
 destruction and the extinction of sense, the soul — 
 
 " can discourse of what she learn'd before, 
 In heaunly contemplations, all alone." 
 
 That is, the soul after the death of the body can 
 exercise her fundamental powers on what she 
 acquired during her union with the body. To this 
 statement Davies adds anot!ier, based undoubtedly
 
 Immortality of the Soul ig^ 
 
 on belief in the resurrection of the body. He 
 says, that ultimately these organs of sense which 
 are destroyed by death will be revived with the 
 revival of the body, and will perform or fulfil 
 their wonted office. And this leads to another 
 objection. 
 
 Objection III., involves the question as to how, 
 in the interim, — between death and the resurrec- 
 tion, — the soul is to employ herself. With her 
 power of sense gone, she can enjoy what she 
 has previously acquired and retained through her 
 relation with sense, — 
 
 " But she hath meanes to vnderstand no more." 
 
 And what about those poor souls who really 
 acquire nothing through sense, and those who 
 acquire but do not retain? Such souls, for lack 
 of exercise, must sleep. 
 
 To this objection the poet replies by asking, 
 why man should not have other means of knowing 
 after death, just as children after birth feed by 
 different means than in the pre-natal state? Could 
 they in their mother's womb hear from her that 
 shortly they would leave their native home, they 
 would fear birth as much as we fear death. They 
 would raise the question as to how they were to 
 
 «3
 
 194 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 be nourished in this new world. But could some 
 one reply to their question by informing them of 
 the wonders of sense that will greet them in their 
 new habitat, and of the " ten thousand dainties " 
 that will give pleasure to the sense of taste, and 
 nourish the body and cause it to grow, they would 
 regard such a statement as fabulous. Yet they 
 find this to be true after birth. It is the same 
 with the soul of man ; for death is merely the 
 birth of the soul. Ten thousand things await its 
 birth, a knowledge of which, by some unknown 
 method, is to be acquired: — 
 
 " So, when the Sou/e is borne (for Death is nought 
 But the Soule^s birth, and so we should it call) 
 Ten thousand things she sees beyond her thought, 
 And in an vnknowne manner knowes them all. 
 
 ♦• Then doth she see by spectacles no more, 
 She heares not by report of double spies ; 
 Her sclfe in instants doth all things explore, 
 ' For each thing present, and before her, lies." * 
 
 Objection IV., consists of the old, stereotyped 
 question, Why, if the soul survive death, do not 
 
 1 Does not Davies contradict himself in thus eliminating the 
 work of sense from the soul's knowledge after death? For he 
 has previously stated with reference to the organs of sense : — 
 
 " Yet with the body they shall all reuiue, 
 And all their wonted offices, fulfill"
 
 Immortality of the Soul ig^ 
 
 departed spirits return, and give us news of that 
 mysterious world beyond the grave? As Robert 
 Blair puts it in his poem entitled The Grave : — 
 
 " Tell us, ye dead, will none of you in pity, 
 
 To those you left behind, disclose the secret? 
 Oh ! that some courteous ghost would blab it out ; 
 What 'tis you are, and we must shortly be."* 
 
 Davies in reply to this objection wants to know 
 why, if we believe that men live — 
 
 " Vnder the Zenith of both frozen Poles," 
 
 although none of them come to give us informa- 
 tion, we cannot exercise a like faith concerning 
 the destiny of our souls. At death the soul is 
 done with earth. It has no more business here 
 than we have in our mother's womb. And, al- 
 though all children have come from thence, what 
 child desires to return? This failure of departed 
 souls to return to earth shows that they have 
 reached a goodly dwelling place. And, doubt- 
 less, souls who have stood in the presence of their 
 Maker, look with scorn and contempt on this vile 
 world. And those condemned to hell, probably 
 for shame, or because of impossibility, do not 
 return. 
 
 * Quoted from Grosart's ed. of Nosce Teipsum.
 
 19^ Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 Objection V., urges that politic men have spread 
 this lie of heaven and hell as the destiny of good 
 and evil souls to make men virtuous. 
 
 The poet answers, that those who urge this 
 objection concede the value of virtue, and asks 
 whether they have no other way of preserving 
 virtue than by lying. It is not virtue and false- 
 hood, but rather virtue and truth which best agree, 
 and he draws the conclusion, that since the effects 
 of this doctrine of the soul's destiny are con- 
 fessedly so good, and virtue and truth are ever in 
 agreement, it must be true: — 
 
 " For, as the deuill father is of lies, 
 
 So vice and mischiefe doe his Ives ensue; 
 Then this good doctrine did not he deuise. 
 But made this fyf, which saith it is not true." 
 
 Davies, in the further consideration of this 
 objection, again falls back on the cotiseusus gen- 
 tium — " the general consent of all." How can 
 that be false which is universally conceded or 
 affirmed? — 
 
 *' This rich Assyrian druj;;ge growes euery where; 
 As common in the Norths as in the East j 
 This doctrine does not enter by the tare, 
 i3ut of it selfe is natiue in the breast." 
 
 Belief in immortality is essentially a universal 
 phenomenon. It is native to the human soul.
 
 Immortality of the Soul igj 
 
 No one, says our poet, who believes in God, or 
 in divine providence, doubts it. It is the root of 
 all religion, and no nation is without a religion. 
 Any view to the contrary impeaches the wisdom 
 and goodness of God. And he closes the discus- 
 sion of the soul's immortality by reaffirming his 
 belief: — 
 
 •' But blest be that Great Power, that hath vs blest 
 With longer life then Heauen or Earth can haue 
 Which hath infus'd into our mortall breast 
 Immortal powers, not subiect to the graue. 
 
 " For though the Soule doe seeme her graue to beare, 
 And in this world is almost buried quick; 
 We haue no cause the bodie's death to feare, 
 For when the shell is broke, out comes a chick." > 
 
 There is one more subject which the poet briefly 
 touches upon before he closes his reflective study 
 of the human mind. He affirms that there are 
 three kinds of life which answer to the three es- 
 sential powers of the soul. These three essen- 
 tial powers are, the quickening power, the power 
 of sense, and the power of reason. There are 
 three kinds of life which are designed to perfect 
 
 * Tennyson, arguing in favor of belief in immortality, in The 
 Ancient Sage, says : — 
 
 " The shell must break before the bird can fly."
 
 19^ Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 these powers of the soul. The first life is the pre- 
 natal life. Here the soul's quickening power is 
 engaged in nursing the body. When nourishment 
 becomes defective, the soul " expels her body " 
 and views the world. This is what we call birth. 
 Could the child speak, he would call it death. 
 
 Now the individual enters upon the second life 
 answering to the second power of the soul — the 
 life of sense. He enters a world — 
 
 " Where all his Senses in perfection bee; 
 Where he finds flowers to smell, and fruits to taste; 
 And sounds to heare, and sundry formes to see." 
 
 After the individual has spent .some time living 
 this life of sense, he enters upon the rational life, 
 which, as we have seen before, is lived in connec- 
 tion with the life of sense. Rut the rational life 
 does not reach its perfection here. We have here 
 only the dawn of reason — not the noon-day. 
 Reason merely awakes a little ; she does not awake 
 to a full exercise of her power. But when the soul 
 quits the body at death, then she enters into a 
 perfect exercise. And this is the third life, and — 
 
 "In this third life, Reason will be so bright, 
 
 As that her sparke will like the sun-beames shine; 
 And shall of God enioy the reall sight. 
 Being still increast by influence diuine."
 
 Imtnortality of the Soul igg 
 
 In Davies's discussion of the soul's immortality 
 we can easily trace the influence of Aristotle, 
 Cicero, and Calvin. Especially is the influence of 
 Cicero and Calvin manifest. In the second reason 
 for belief in the soul's immortality which Davies 
 presents, it is evident that he learned of Calvin. 
 It is based on the " motion " of the soul, or the 
 soul's capacity to reach God through reason and 
 the moral will. On this subject, Calvin says: 
 " Moreover, there can be no question that man 
 consists of a body and a soul; meaning by soul, 
 an immortal though created essence, which is his 
 nobler part. Sometimes he is called a spirit. . . . 
 It is true, indeed, that men cleaving too much 
 to the earth are dull of apprehension, nay, being 
 alienated from the Father of Lights, are so im- 
 mersed in darkness as to imagine that they will 
 not survive the grave; still the light is not so 
 completely quenched in darkness that all sense 
 of immortality is lost. Conscience, which, dis- 
 tinguishing between good and evil, responds to 
 the judgment of God, is an undoubted sign of an 
 immortal spirit. How could motion devoid of 
 essence penetrate to the judgment-seat of God, and 
 under a sense of guilt strike itself with terror ? The 
 body cannot be aft"ected by any fear of spiritual
 
 200 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 punishment. This is competent only to the soul, 
 which must therefore be endued with essence. 
 Then the mere knowledge of a God sufficiently 
 proves that souls which rise higher than the world 
 must be immortal, it being impossible that any 
 evanescent vigour could reach the very fountain of 
 life. In fine, while the many noble faculties with 
 which the human mind is endued proclaim that 
 something divine is engraven on it, they are so 
 many evidences of an immortal essence. For such 
 sense as the lower animals possess goes not be- 
 yond the body, or at least not beyond the objects 
 actually presented to it. But the swiftness with 
 which the human mind glances from heaven to 
 earth, scans the secrets of nature, and, after it has 
 embraced all ages, with intellect and memory 
 digests each in its proper order, and reads the 
 future in the past, clearly demonstrates that there 
 lurks in man a something separated from the 
 body. We have intellect by which we are able to 
 conceive of the invisible God and angels — a thing 
 of which body is altogether incapable. We have 
 ideas of rectitude, justice, and honesty — ideas 
 which the bodily senses cannot reach. The scat 
 of these ideas must therefore be a spirit." ^ 
 1 Op. cit., Bk. I. ch. XV. sec. 2.
 
 Immortality of the Soul 201 
 
 Davies takes essentially the same position in the 
 following words : — 
 
 " Againe how can shee but immortall bee ? 
 
 When with the motions of both Will and Wit^ 
 
 She still aspireth to etemitie, 
 
 And neuer rests, till she attaine to it ? 
 
 " Wit^ seeking Truths from cause to cause ascends, 
 And neuer rests, till it ^}c\t first attaine; 
 IVilly seeking Good, finds many middle ends, 
 But neuer stayes, till it the last doe gaine. 
 
 " Now God, the Truths and First of Causes is : 
 God is the Last Good End, which lasteth still ; 
 Being Alpha and Omega nam'd for this ; 
 Alpha to Wit, Omega to the Will. 
 
 •• Sith then her heauenly kind shee doth bewray. 
 In that to God she doth directly moue ; 
 And on no mortall thing can make her stay, 
 She cannot be from hence, but from about." 
 
 Reasons III. and IV., which Davies offers as in- 
 dicating the soul's immortality, based respectively 
 on the contempt for death which good souls show, 
 and the fear of death which wicked souls evince, 
 are undoubtedly an implication of Christian teach- 
 ing with reference to the future life of reward and 
 punishment, — the doctrine of heaven and hell. 
 Still Davies pronounces this contempt on the one
 
 203 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 hand, and fear on the other, to be "Nature's 
 speech " : — 
 
 "If then all Soules, both good and bad, doe teach, 
 With generall voice, that soules can neuer die, 
 •Tis not man's flattering glosse, but Nature's speech. 
 Which, like Coifs Oracle, can neuer lie." 
 
 We note here the influence of Cicero. In his 
 remarks *' On the Contempt of Death," in the 
 Disputationes Titsculance, he gives reasons why the 
 good man, or the superior soul, should not fear 
 death, and points out the destiny of wicked souls. 
 He quotes with admiration Socrates's famous 
 speech before his judges, in regard to the good 
 man having no need to fear death. In this book 
 Cicero also speaks of the improbability of cour- 
 ageous sacrifice, were men not immortal, or were 
 men not possessed of belief in immortality: 
 " What will you say? What do you imagine that 
 so many and such great men of our republic, who 
 have sacrificed their lives for its good, expected? 
 Do you believe that they thought that their names 
 should not continue beyond their lives? None 
 ever encountered death for their country but under 
 a firm persuasion of immortality! Thcmistoclcs 
 might have lived at his ease; so might Epami- 
 nondas ; and, not to look abroad and among the
 
 Immortality of the Soul 20J 
 
 ancients for instance, so might I myself. But, 
 somehow or other, there ch'ngs to our minds a 
 certain presage of future ages; and this both exists 
 most firmly, and appears most clearly, in men of 
 the loftiest genius and greatest souls. Take away 
 this, and who would be so mad as to spend his life 
 amidst toils and dangers? I speak of those in 
 power. What are the poet's views but to be en- 
 nobled after death? What else is the object of 
 these lines, 
 
 Behold old Ennius here, who erst 
 Thy fathers' great exploits rehearsed? 
 
 He is challenging the reward of glory from those 
 men whose ancestors he himself had ennobled by 
 his poetry. And in the same spirit he says, in 
 another passage, 
 
 Let none with tears my funeral g^ace, for I 
 Claim from my works an immortality. 
 
 Why do I mention poets? The very mechanics 
 are desirous of fame after death. Why did Phidias 
 include a likeness of himself in the shield of 
 Minerva, when he was not allowed to inscribe his 
 name on it? What do our philosophers think on 
 the subject? Do not they put their names to 
 those very books which they write on the contempt
 
 304 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 of glory? If, then, universal consent is the voice 
 of nature, and if it is the general opinion every- 
 where that those who have quitted this life are 
 still interested in something, we also must sub- 
 scribe to that opinion. And if we think that men 
 of the greatest abilities and virtues see most clearly 
 into the power of nature, because they themselves 
 are her most perfect work, it is very probable that, 
 as every great man is especially anxious to benefit 
 posterity, there is something of which he himself 
 will be sensible after death." ^ 
 
 Compare with these words the following words 
 of Davies : — 
 
 " For all things else, which Nature makes to bee, 
 Their i>ein^ to preserue, are chiefly taught ; 
 And though some things desire a change to see, 
 Yet neuer thing did long to turne to naught. 
 
 " If then by death the sou/e were quenched quite, 
 She could not thus against her nature runne; 
 Since euery senseiesse thing, by Nature's light. 
 Doth preservation seeke, destruction shunne. 
 
 "Nor could the World's best spirits so much erre. 
 If death tooke all — that they should all agree, 
 Before this life, their honour to prcferre ; 
 For what is praise to things that nothing bee? 
 
 ' Op. cit., Bk. I. sec. 15. All quotations from Cicero are 
 from Yonge's translation. New York, 1877.
 
 Immortality of the Soul 20^ 
 
 •• Againe, if by the bodie's prop she stand ; 
 If on the bodie's life, her life depend ; 
 As Meleager's on the fatall brand, — 
 The bodie's good shee onely would intend : 
 
 *' We should not find her half so braue and bold, 
 To leade it to the Warres and to the seas ; 
 To make it suffer watchings, hunger, cold, 
 When it might feed with plenty, rest with ease. 
 
 " Doubtlesse all Soules have a suruiuing thought ; 
 Therefore of death we thinke with quiet mind ; 
 But if we thinke of being turtCd to nought^ 
 A trembling horror in our soules we find." 
 
 In Davies's fifth reason for affirming the immor- 
 tah'ty of the soul, we note again the influence of 
 Cicero upon his thinking. Under " Reason V." he 
 really includes a number of reasons, all of which 
 are to be found in Cicero. We have the universal 
 desire or general assent to the belief; also the 
 "launching" of the mind into future things. We 
 have the desire for posthumous fame springing out 
 of the desire for immortality. We have also care 
 for posterity arising from this desire. A com- 
 parison of the views and language of the two 
 authors will leave no doubt as to Davies's obliga- 
 tion to Cicero. Cicero, after a long discussion of 
 the argument from general assent, says: "But 
 as we are led by nature to think there are Gods,
 
 2o6 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 and as we discover, by reason, of what description 
 they arc, so, by the consent of all nations, we are 
 induced to believe that our souls survive." ^ 
 
 And, again, in language which Davies closely 
 follows: "But the greatest proof of all is, that 
 nature herself gives a silent judgment in favor of 
 the immortality of the soul, inasmuch as all are 
 anxious, and that to a great degree, about the 
 things which concern futurity: 
 
 One plants what future ages shall enjoy, 
 
 as Statius saith in his Synephebi. What is his 
 object in doing so, except that he is interested 
 in posterity? Shall the industrious husbandman, 
 then, plant trees the fruit of which he shall never 
 see? And shall not the great man found laws, 
 institutions, and a republic? What docs the pro- 
 creation of children imply, and our care to con- 
 tinue our names, and our adoptions, and our 
 scrupulous exactness in drawing up wills, and 
 the inscriptions on monuments, and panegyrics, 
 but that our thoughts run on futurity? There is 
 no doubt but a judgment may be formed of nature 
 in general, from looking at each nature in its most 
 perfect specimens; and what is a more perfect 
 » Op. cit., Bk. I. sec. i6.
 
 Immortality of the Soul 2oy 
 
 specimen of a man than those are who look on 
 themselves as born for the assistance, the protec- 
 tion, and the preservation of others? Hercules 
 has gone to heaven ; he never would have gone 
 thither had he not, while among men, made that 
 road for himself. These things are of old date, and 
 have, besides, the sanction of universal religion." ^ 
 So Davies says : — 
 
 "Hence springs that vniiiersall strong desire, 
 Which all men haue of Immortalitie : 
 Not some few spirits vnto this thought aspire ; 
 But all mens* minds in this vnited be. 
 
 " Then this desire of Nature is not vaine. 
 She couets not impossibilities ; 
 Fond thoughts may fall into some idle braine, 
 But one assent of all, is euer wise. 
 
 '• From hence that generall care and study springs, 
 That launching TinA progression of the mind j 
 Which all men haue so much, of future things, 
 That they no ioy doe in the present find. 
 
 " From this desire, that maine desire proceeds. 
 Which all men haue suruiuing Fame to gaine; 
 By iombes, by bookes, by memorable deeds : 
 For she that this desires, doth still remaine. 
 
 " Hence lastly, springs care of posterities. 
 
 For things their kind would euerlasting make; 
 Hence is it that old men do plant young trees. 
 The fruit whereof another age shall take. 
 
 1 Op. cit., Bk. I. sec. 14.
 
 2o8 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 " If we these rules vnto our selues apply, 
 And view them by reflection of the mind ; 
 All these true notes of immortalitie 
 In our heart's tables we shall written find." 
 
 Reason VI., based on the " Doubt and Dispu- 
 tation of Immortalitie," is simply another way of 
 stating Calvin's argument; namely, that the fact 
 that we can form ideas of immortal things is evi- 
 dence of our immortality. Davies affirms, that to 
 doubt immortality is to reveal an idea of " immor- 
 tal things," and thus to reveal the doubter's im- 
 mortal nature. Calvin puts the argument thus: 
 " We have intellect by which we are able to con- 
 ceive of the invisible God and angels — a thing of 
 which body is altogether incapable. We have 
 ideas of rectitude, justice, and honesty — ideas 
 which the bodily senses cannot reach. The seat 
 of these ideas must therefore be a spirit."^ And 
 the context shows that he uses spirit in this con- 
 nection as synonymous with immortal spirit. For 
 he says: "Moreover, there can be no question 
 that man consists of a body and a soul ; mean- 
 ing by soul, an immortal though created essence, 
 which is his nobler part. Sometimes he is called 
 a spirit."'^ 
 
 1 Op. cit., 15k. I. ch. XV. sec. 2. * Ibid.
 
 Immortality of the Soul aog 
 
 Davies, in speaking of the idea of " immortal 
 things " involved in the sceptic's denial of im- 
 mortality, says : — 
 
 •'So, when we God and angels do conceiue, 
 And thinke of truth, which is eternall too; 
 Then doe our minds immortall formes receiue, 
 Which if they mortal! were, they could not doo." 
 
 Cicero and Calvin, then, constitute the chief 
 sources of inilucnce upon Davies's thinking on the 
 subject of the immortality of the soul. But there 
 is a general argument underlying Davies's entire 
 thought on this subject for which, as we have 
 seen, he is indebted primarily to Aristotle ; namely, 
 the soul's independence of the body. 
 
 The subject of immortality has figured con- 
 spicuously in the history of speculative thought. 
 The preponderance of speculative opinion has 
 been favorable to the belief. Early in the his- 
 tory of Greek philosophy it was held by the 
 : thagoreans. It is involved in their doctrine 
 of metempsychosis or transmigration of souls. 
 
 If we are justified in assuming that the words 
 put into the mouth of Socrates in the Phcedo by 
 Plato are representative of the views of Socrates 
 on immortality, then Socrates was undoubtedly 
 
 >4
 
 2ro Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 an able champion of the belief. And there seems 
 no reason for doubting the above assumption. 
 
 Plato, as has already been suggested, argues at 
 length in the Phcedo the reality of immortality. 
 So numerous and varied are his arguments that 
 one's surprise increases as he reflects upon Davies's 
 failure to interrogate Plato on this question in 
 which the poet was so deeply interested,^ 
 
 It is sometimes disputed whether Aristotle be- 
 lieved in the immortality of the soul. In try- 
 ing to answer the question it is of importance to 
 keep in mind the distinction which he makes be- 
 tween the animal soul — the soul as connected with 
 the body — and the active j/oO? or the Reason, — 
 the soul whose essential existence is independent 
 of the body. If we keep this distinction in mind 
 it cannot be doubted that Aristotle teaches the 
 immortality of the active vov<i or Reason. On 
 this point he says : — 
 
 " Reason however would seem to constitute 
 a different phase of soul from those we have 
 already noticed and it alone admits of separa- 
 tion as the eternal from the perishable."- And 
 again: — 
 
 » Except in one instance indirectly through Cicero. 
 2 Op. cit., Bk. II. ch. ii. sec. lo.
 
 Immortality of the Soul 211 
 
 " Further, this creative reason does not at one 
 time think, at another time not think: (it thinks 
 eternally:) and when separated from the body 
 it remains nothing but what it essentially is: and 
 thus it is alone immortal and eternal." ^ 
 
 It is impossible here to enter into the contro- 
 versy as to whether Aristotle's doctrine of im- 
 mortality involves a personal Immortality or not.* 
 Our own opinion is, that while he does not ex- 
 ■ plicitly teach a personal immortality, his doctrine 
 of Reason or active vov<i is not inconsistent with 
 such a view. 
 
 After Aristotle, probably the most conspicuous 
 advocate of the reality of immortality in Greek 
 and Graeco-Roman thought, was Cicero. His 
 views have already been given. 
 
 Of course the doctrine of a personal immortality 
 is pre-eminently a Christian doctrine. It is not only 
 taught in the New Testament, but Christian specu- 
 lative thought practically from its beginning down 
 to the present day has affirmed either the essential 
 immortality of the soul, or an acquired immortality, 
 
 ^ Op. cit., Bk. III. ch. V. sec. 2. 
 
 ' Cf. Zeller, " Aristotle and the Earlier Peripatetics," Eng. 
 trans. London, 1897, Vol. II. pp. 129-135; also Janet and 
 Seaiiles, "History of the Problems of Philosophy," trans, by 
 Monahan. London, 1902, Vol. II. pp. 355-359-
 
 212 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 Probably the most conspicuous representatives 
 of the doctrine of a personal immortality in Modern 
 Philosophy are Leibnitz and Kant The former 
 founds his beHef on a doctrine of development 
 which implies both pre-existence and immortality.^ 
 The latter makes immortality a postulate of the 
 practical reason or moral consciousness. In his 
 Critique of Practical Reason he says that the moral 
 nature demands of us moral perfection. This, in 
 a being constituted like man, involves endless 
 progression. Such endless progression, of course, 
 necessitates immortality. 
 
 ^ " Monadology " ; also " Theodicy."
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 'THHUS, in this elaborate poem, has our author ^ 
 
 given poetical expression to his thought on 
 some of the profoundest problems that can engage 
 the human mind. He has considered the problem I 
 of knowledge and man's capacity to know, and 
 has come to the conclusion that through the Fall 
 of man, and the consequences entailed upon the 
 race thereby, man is suffering from mental im- 
 potency — from an impaired mental and moral 
 vision. So that, if man is to know the soul aright, 
 he needs divine aid to supplement his efforts. In 
 the second place, he has considered the problem 
 of the reality of the soul, and has come to the 
 conclusion that the soul is an independent, spir- 
 itual agent whose nature is primarily revealed 
 in two fundamental modes of functioning — wit 
 and will. This reality of the soul he has en- 
 deavored to vindicate in the face of formidable 
 opposition in the form of Sensationalism and
 
 214 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 Materialism, which deny the soul's reality. In 
 the third place, he has considered the problem 
 of the mode of the soul's origin — more partic- 
 ularly its origin in connection with the body. 
 His reflections have led him to reject the doctrines 
 of Pre-existence and Traducianism, and to adopt 
 the theory of Creationism — that every soul is 
 an immediate creation on the part of the Deity 
 contemporaneously with the body, and is breathed 
 into the body in its pre-natal state. In the fourth 
 place, he has considered the problem of the union 
 of soul and body, and has concluded that the 
 purpose of this union is, that man might bear the 
 image of all things — might be a microcosm; also, 
 that man might utilize and take delight in the 
 world, as well as glorify the Creator ; and, finally, 
 that man might rule over the animal kingdom. 
 He has not explained the ultimate nature of the 
 relation between soul and body, but has likened 
 this relation unto the union of the morning light 
 with the atmosphere. In the fifth place, the 
 poet has considered the question of the soul's 
 powers and their exercise in the body. In his 
 psychological analysis he was led to the recogni- 
 tion of the vegetative or quickening power, the 
 power of sense, and the powers of wit and will,
 
 Conclusion 21^ 
 
 as constituting the main activities of the soul, 
 and that these powers are not distinct entities or 
 agents, but all are modes of the activity of a 
 distinct unitary agent called mind. He has also 
 concluded that these powers are mutually depend- 
 ent, and that the exercise of some is accompanied 
 by certain physical conditions. In the sixth place, 
 he has considered the destiny of the mind — the 
 problem of its immortality, and has come to the 
 conclusion that it is immortal. In attaining this 
 conclusion, he has not only considered the argu- 
 ments in favor of, but also the arguments against, 
 such belief. And finally, he has concluded that 
 there are three kinds of life corresponding to the 
 quickening, sense, and rational powers of the soul. 
 They are the pre-natal, mortal, and immortal life. | 
 One is hardly surprised that, after such a sus- 
 tained effort of serious reflection on the prob- 
 lems of a philosophy of mind, and after reaching 
 such conclusions in regard to the reality, origin, 
 nature, powers, and destiny of the soul, the poet 
 finally breaks forth with the acclamation : — 
 
 " O ignorant poor man ! what dost thou beare 
 Lockt vp within the casket of thy brest? 
 What Jewels, and what riches hast thou there ! 
 What heauenly treasure in so weake a chest I
 
 2t6 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 " Look in thy soule, and thou shah beauties find, 
 Like those which drownd Narcissus in the flood 
 Honour and Pleasure both are in thy mind, 
 And all that in the world is counted Gooil. 
 
 " Thinke of her worth, and think that God did meane, 
 This worthy mind should worthy things imbrace ; 
 Blot not her beauties with thy thoughts vnclean, 
 Nor her dishonour with thy passions base; 
 
 " Kill not her quickning power with surfettings. 
 Mar not her Sense with sensualitie ; 
 Cast not her serious wit on idle things : 
 Make not her irtt-will, slaue to vanitie. 
 
 *♦ And when thou think'st of her eternitie, 
 
 Thinke not that Death against her nature is, 
 Thinke it a birth ; and when thou goest to die» 
 Sing like a swan, as if thou went'st to blisse. 
 
 "And if thou, like a child, didst feare before, 
 
 Being in tlie darke, where thou didst nothing see ; 
 Now I haue broght thee torch-light, feare no more ; 
 Now when thou diest, thou canst not hud-winkt be. 
 
 "And thou my Soule, which turn'st thy curious eye, 
 To view the beames of thine owne forme diuine ; 
 Know, that thou canst know nothing perfectly, 
 While thou art clouded with this flesh of mine. 
 
 ** Take heed of ouer-weenittgy and compare 
 
 Thy peacock's feet with thy gay peacock's traine ; 
 Study the best, and highest things that are, 
 But of thy selfe an humble thought retaine.
 
 Conclusion 217 
 
 ** Cast downe thy selfe, and onely striue to raise 
 The glory of thy Maker's sacred Name ; 
 Vse all thy powers, that Blessed Power to praise, 
 Which giues thee power to bee, and vse the same."
 
 APPENDIX 
 
 NOSCE TEIPSUM 
 
 BY SIR JOHN DAVIES
 
 I. Eopal DetJfcarton 
 
 TO MY MOST GRACIOVS DREAD 
 SOVERAIGNE 
 
 / ^'T^O tJiat cleere maiestie which in the North 
 ■*• Doth, like another Sunne in glory rise ; 
 Which standeth fixt, yet spreads her heauenly 
 
 wort/i ; 
 Loadstone to hearts^ and loadstarre to all eyes. 
 
 \Like Heau'n in all ; like th' Earth in this alone ^ 
 TJiat though great States by her support doe standi 
 Yet she her self e supported is of none. 
 But by the finger of the Almightie's hand: 
 
 ) To the diuinest and the richest ntinde, 
 
 Both by Art's purchase and by Nature's dowre^ 
 That euer was from Heau'n to Earth confin'd^ 
 To shew the vtmost of a creatures power : 
 
 "4 To that great Spirit, which doth great kingdomes 
 mopue, 
 The sacred spring whence right and honor 
 
 streames, 
 Distilling Vertue, shedding Peace and Loue, 
 Itt euery place, as Cynthia sheds her beames:
 
 222 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 ^ I offer up some sparkles of that fire, 
 
 Whereby wee reason, Hue, and moue, and be; 
 These sparkes by nature euermore aspire. 
 Which makes them to so high an highnessey?^^. 
 
 S^Faire Soule, situ:e to the fairest body knit, 
 
 You gine such liuely life, such quickning power. 
 
 Such sweet celestiall influences to it. 
 
 As keepes it still in youth's itnmortall flower : 
 
 _ (As where the sunne is present all the yeere^ 
 And neuer doth retire his golden ray. 
 Needs must the Spring bee euerlasting there, 
 And euery season like the month of May.) 
 
 iO/ many, many yeeres may you rcmaine, 
 A happy angell to this happy Land; 
 Long, long may you on Earth our empresse raigne. 
 Ere you in Heaucn a glorious angell stand. 
 
 1 Stay long (sweet spirit) ere thou to Heauen depart. 
 Which mak'st each place a heauen wherein thou art. 
 
 Her Maiestie's least and vnworthiest Subiect 
 
 lOHN DAVIES.
 
 Of Humane Knowledge 22) 
 
 OF HUMANE KNOWLEDGE 
 
 / "\ T THY did my parents send me to the Schooles, 
 That I with knowledge might enrich my 
 mind? 
 Since the desire to know first made men fools, 
 And did corrupt the root of all mankind: 
 
 1 For when God's hand had written in the hearts 
 Of the first Parents, all the rules of good, 
 So that their skill infusde did passe all arts 
 That euer were, before, or since the Flood ; 
 
 ' And when their reason's eye was sharpe and cleere, 
 And (as an eagle can behold the sunne) 
 Could haue approcht th' Eternall Light as neere, 
 As the intellectuall angels could haue done: 
 
 "'Euen then to them the Spirit of Lyes suggests 
 That they were blind, because they saw not ill; 
 And breathes into their incorrupted brests 
 A curious wish, which did corrupt their will, 
 
 5 For that same ill they straight desir'd to know; 
 Which ill, being nought but a defect of good. 
 In all God's works the Diuell could" not show 
 While Man their lord in his perfection stood
 
 224 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 tSo that themselues were first to doe the ill, 
 
 Ere they thereof the knowledge could attaine ; 
 Like him that knew not poison's power to kill, 
 Vntill (by tasting it) himselfe was slaine. 
 
 I Euen so by tasting of that fruite forbid, 
 
 Where they sought knowledge, they did error 
 
 find ; 
 111 they desir'd to know, and ill they did ; 
 And to giue Passion eyes, made Reason blind. 
 
 \For then their minds did first in Passion see 
 Those wretched shapes of Miscrie and Woe, 
 Of I^akednesse, of Shame, of Pouertie, 
 Which then their owne experience made them 
 know. 
 
 <;But then grew Reason darke, that she no more, 
 Could the faire formes of Good and Truth discern ; 
 ^^//■^j they became, that ^rt^/« were before : 
 And this they got by their desire to learne. 
 
 p But we their wretched of-spring, what doe we? 
 Doe not we still taste of the fruit forbid 
 Whiles with fond fruitlesse curiositie, 
 In bookes prophane we seekc for knowledge 
 hid?
 
 Of Humane Knowledge 22^ 
 
 "What is this knowledge but the sky-stolne fire, 
 For which the thief e still chain'd in ice doth sit? 
 And which the poore rude Satyre did admire, 
 And needs would kisse but burnt his lips with it 
 
 fvWhat is it? but the cloud of emptie raine. 
 
 Which when Joue's guest imbrac't, hee monsters 
 
 got? 
 Or the false /><7j/^j which oft being fild with paine, 
 Receiv'd the water, but retain'd it not I 
 
 'j Shortly, what is it but the firie coach 
 
 Which the Youth sought, and sought his death 
 
 withal ? 
 Or the boje's wings, which when he did approch 
 The sunne's hot beames, did melt and let him fall? 
 
 tiAnd yet alas, when all our lamps are burnd, 
 Our bodyes wasted, and our spirits spent; 
 When we haue all the learned Volumes turn'd, 
 Which yeeld mens wits both help and ornament: 
 
 '^ What can we know? or what can we discerne? 
 When Error chokes the windowes of the minde, 
 The diuers formes of things, how can we learne, 
 That haue been euer from our birth-day blind? 
 IS
 
 226 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 'When Reasone's lampe, which (like the stinne in 
 
 skie) 
 Throughout Mans little world her beames did 
 
 spread ; 
 Is now become a sparkle, which doth He 
 Vnder the ashes, halfe extinct, and dead : 
 
 '? How can we hope, that through the eye and eare, 
 This dying sparkle, in this cloudy place, 
 Can recollect these beames of knowledge cleere. 
 Which were infus'd in the first minds by grace? 
 
 i% So might the heire whose father hath in play 
 Wasted a thousand pound of ancient rent; 
 By painefuU earning of a groate a day, 
 Hope to restore the patrimony spent. 
 
 i\ The wits that diu'd most deepe and soar'd most hie 
 Seeking Man's pow'rs, haue found his wcaknesse 
 
 such : 
 " Skill comes so slow, and life so fast doth flie, 
 '* We Icarnc so little and forget so much. 
 
 "^"^For this the wisest of all morall men 
 
 Said, ' He knciv nought, but that he nought did 
 
 know ' ; 
 And the great mocking-Mastcr mockt not then. 
 When he said, ' T/uth ivas buried dcepe below.'
 
 Of Humane Knowledge 227 
 
 VI For how may we to others* things attalne, 
 
 When none of vs his owne soule vnderstands? 
 For which the Diucll mockes our curious braine, 
 When, *Khozu thy selfe ' his oracle commands. 
 
 vv For why should wee the busie Soule beleeue, • 
 When boldly she concludes of that and this; 
 When of her sclfe she can no iudgement giue, 
 Nor how, nor whence, nor where, nor what she is? 
 
 j/3 All things without, which round about we see, 
 
 We seeke to knowe, and how therewith to doe; 
 But that whereby we reason, Hue and be, 
 Within our selues, we strangers are thereto. 
 
 vVWe seeke to know the mouing of each spheare, 
 And the strange cause of th' ebs and flouds of 
 
 Nile ; 
 But of that clocke within our breasts we beare, / 
 The subtill motions we forget the while. 
 
 t'We that acquaint our selues with euery Zoane 
 And passe both Tropikes and behold the Poles, 
 When we come home, are to our ^elues vn- 
 
 known. 
 And vnacquainted still with our owne Soules.*
 
 228 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 I'-We study S/>cec/i but others we perswade; 
 
 We leech-craft learne, but others cure with it; 
 We interpret lawes, which other men haue made, 
 But readc not those which in our hearts are writ. 
 
 ■x-) Is it because the minde is like the eye, 
 
 Through which it gathers knowledge by de- 
 grees — 
 Whose rayes reflect not, but spread outwardly: 
 Not seeing it selfe when other things it sees? 
 
 yi No, doubtlesse ; for the mind can backward cast 
 Vpon her selfe, her vnderstanding light; 
 But she is so corrupt, and so defac't. 
 As her owne image doth her selfe affright. 
 
 ^*1 As in the fable of the Lady faire, 
 
 Which for her lust was turnd into a cow; 
 When thirstie to a streame she did repaire, 
 And saw her selfe transform'd she wist not how: 
 
 \^ At first she startles, then she stands amaz'd. 
 
 At last with terror she from thence doth flye; 
 And loathes the watry glasse wherein she gaz'd, 
 And shunnes it still, though she for thirst doc 
 die:
 
 Of Humane Knowledge 22p 
 
 \\ Euen so Man's Sonic which did God's image beare, 
 And was at first faire, good, and spotlesse pure; 
 Since with her sinnes her beauties blotted were, 
 Doth of all sights her owne sight least endure: 
 
 J 2. For euen at first reflection she espies, 
 
 Such strange chimeraes, and such monsters there ; 
 
 Such toyes, such antikes, and such vanities, 
 
 As she retires, and shrinkes for shame and feare. 
 
 ^3 And as the man loues least at home to bee, 
 
 That hath a sluttish house haunted with sprites; 
 So she impatient her owne faults to see, 
 Turnes from her selfe and in strange things delites. 
 
 )vFor this few know themselues : for merchants broke 
 View their estate with discontent and paine ; 
 And seas are troubled, when they doe reuoke 
 Their flowing waues into themselues againe. 
 
 3rAnd while the face of outward things we find, 
 Pleasing and faire, agreeable and sweet; 
 These things transport, and carry out the mind. 
 That with her selfe her selfe can neuer meet. 
 
 '^v Yet \{ Affliction once her warres begin, 
 
 And threat the feebler Sense \\\\.\i sword and fire; 
 The Mindc contracts her selfe and shrinketh in, 
 And to her selfe she gladly doth retire:
 
 2SO Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 hi As S/>iders toucht, seek their webs inmost part ; 
 As bees in stormes vnto their hiiies returne ; 
 As bloud in danger gathers to the heart ; 
 As men seek towns, when foes the country burn. 
 
 l( If ought can teach vs ought, Afflictions lookes,. 
 (Making vs looke into our selues so neere.) 
 Teach vs to know our scliics beyond all bookes, 
 Or all the learned Schooles that euer were. 
 
 MThis mistrcsse lately pluckt me by the eare. 
 And many a golden lesson hath me taught; 
 Hath made my Senses quickc, and Reason cleare, 
 Rcform'd my Will and rectifide my Thought. 
 
 •lo So doe the winds and thunders cleanse the ayre; 
 So working lees settle and purge the wine; 
 So lop't and pruned trees doe flourish faire; 
 So doth the fire the drossie gold refine. 
 
 "^1 Neither Mincrua nor the learned Muse, 
 
 Nor rules oi Arty nor precepts of the wise; 
 Could in my braine those beames of skill infuse, 
 As but the glance of this Danies angry eyes. 
 
 . >4> She within lists my ranging minde hath brought, 
 That now beyond my sclfc I list not goe; 
 My sclfe am center of my circling thought, sj 
 Onely 7Pty selfe I studic, Icarne, and know. ♦'
 
 Of Humane Knowledge 2ji 
 
 vJ> I know my bodie *s of so fraile a kind, 
 
 As force without, fcauers within can kill ; 
 I know the heauenly nature of my minde, 
 But 'tis corrupted both in wit and will: 
 
 ^ / 1 know my Sou/e hath power to know all thingSj 
 Yet is she blinde and ignorant in all; 
 I know I am one of Nature's little kings, 
 Yet to the least and vilest things am thrall. 
 
 v"! know my life 's a paine and but a span, 
 
 I know my Se^ise is mockt with euery thing: 
 And to conclude, I know my selfe a MAN, 
 Which is a proud, and yet a wretcJied thing. "
 
 OF THE SOULE OF MAN AND 
 THE IMMORTALITE THEREOF 
 
 / np/tT^" lights of heau'u (which are the World's 
 fair eies) 
 Looke downe into the World, the World to see; 
 And as they turne, or wander in the skies, 
 Surucy all things that on this Center bee. 
 
 I And yet the lights which in my towre do shine, 
 Mine ejes which view all obiects, nigh and farre; 
 Looke not into this little world of mine. 
 Nor see my face, wherein they fix6d are. 
 
 ) Since Nature failes vs in no ncedfull thing. 
 
 Why want I meanes my inward selfe to see? ' 
 Which sight the knowledg of my self might bring, 
 Which to true wisdome is the first degree. 
 
 ^^ That Power which gaue me eyes the World to view, 
 To see my selfe infus'd an inivard light ; 
 Whereby my Sonle, as by a mirror true, 
 Of her owne forme may take a perfect sight,
 
 Of the Soule of Man 2^) 
 
 ^ But as the sharpest eye discerneth nought, 
 
 Except the j«//;/i'-beames in the ayre doe shine; 
 So the best Soule with her reflecting thought, 
 Sees not her selfe without some light diuine. 
 
 i> O Light which mak'st the light, which makes the 
 day ! 
 Which setst the eye without, and mind within ; 
 'Lighten my spirit with one cleare heauenly ray, 
 Which now to view it selfe doth first begin. 
 
 7For her true forme how can my sparke discerne? 
 Which dimme by nature. Art did neuer cleare; '^ 
 When the great wits, of whom all skill we learn, 
 Are ignorant both what slice is, and where. 
 
 t One thinks the Soule is aire ; another, yfr^ / 
 Another blood, diffus'd about the heart; 
 Another saith, the elements conspire, 
 And to her essence each doth giue a part. 
 
 1 Musicians thinke our Sou/es are harmonies, 
 Phisicians hold that they complexions bee ; 
 Epicures make them swarmes o( atomies,. 
 Which doe by chance into our bodies flee. 
 
 '> Some thinke one generall Soule fils euery braine, 
 As the bright sunne sheds light in euery starre; 
 And others thinke the name of Soule is vainc, 
 And that we onely well-mixt bodies are.
 
 2^4 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 " In judgement of her substance thus they vary ; 
 And thus they vary in iudgement of her seat; 
 For some her chaire vp to the braine doe 
 
 carry, 
 Some thrust it downe into the stomackes heat. 
 
 K Some place it in the root of Hfe, the heart ; 
 Some in the liner, fountaine of the veines; 
 Some say, S/iee is all in all, and all in part : 
 Some say, She is not containd but all containes. 
 
 • ) Thus these great clerks their little wisdome show, 
 While with their doctrines they at hazard play. 
 Tossing their light opinions to and fro, 
 To mocke the lewd, as learn'd in this as they. 
 
 H For no craz'd braine could eucr yet propound, 
 
 Touching the Soule, so vaine and fond a thought, 
 But some among these masters haue been 
 
 found, 
 Which in their Schooles the self-same thing haue 
 
 taught. 
 
 •» God onely wise, to punish pride of wit, 
 
 Among men's wits hath this confusion wrought, 
 As the proud towre whose points the clouds did 
 
 hit. 
 By tongues' confusion was to ruine brought.
 
 Of the Soule of Man a^^ 
 
 /i But T/iOu which didst Man's soule of nothing 
 
 make, 
 And when to nothing it was fallen agen, 
 " To make it new, the forme of man didst take, 
 " And God with God, bccam'st a Man with 
 
 men. 
 
 i] Thou, that hast fashioned twice this Soule of ours, 
 So that she is by double title Thine : 
 Thou onely knowest her nature and her pow'rs. 
 Her subtill forme Thou onely canst define. 
 
 li To iudge her selfe she must her selfe transcend, 
 As greater circles comprehend the lesse ; 
 But she wants power, her owne powers to ex- 
 tend, 
 As fettered men can not their strength expresse. ^ 
 
 >i But Thou bright Morning Star, Thou rising Sunne, 
 Which in these later times hast brought to 
 
 light 
 Those mysteries, that since the world begun. 
 Lay hid in darknesse, and eternall night: 
 
 >« Thou (lii-e the sunue) dost with indifferent ray, 
 Into \.\\e palace and the cottage shine, 
 And shew'st the soule both to the clerke and lay, 
 By the cleare lampe of Thy Oracle diuine.
 
 2^6 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 7' This Lampe through all the regions of my braine, 
 Where my sou/g sits, doth spread such beamcs 
 
 of grace, 
 As now, me thinks, I do distinguish plain, 
 Each subtill line of her immortall face. 
 
 fl^ What the soule is 
 
 vv T/ie soule a substance, and a spirit is. 
 
 Which God Himselfe doth in the body make ; 
 Which makes the Man : for euery man from 
 
 this. 
 The nature of a Man, and name doth take. 
 
 ly And though this spirit be to the body knit, 
 As an apt meane her powers to exercise ; 
 Which are life, motion, sense, and will, and wit. 
 Yet she suruiues, although the body dies. 
 
 That the soule is a thing subsisting by 
 IT selfe without the body 
 
 f ^HE is a substance, and a reall thing, 
 
 ^ Which hath it selfe an actuall working might; 
 Which neither from the Senses' power doth 
 
 spring, 
 Nor from the bodie's humors, tempred right.
 
 Of the Soule of Man 2^7 
 
 u" She is a vt'fte, which doth no propping need, 
 
 To make her spread her selfe or spring vpright; 
 She is a starre^ whose beames doe not proceed 
 From any suttne, but from a natiue hght. 
 
 5(. For when she sorts things /r^j^;// with things /<2j/, 
 And thereby things to come doth oft foresee ; 
 When she doth doubt at first, and chuse at last, 
 These acts her owne, without her body bee. 
 
 vi When of the deaw, which the eye and eare doe take 
 From flowers abroad, and bring into the braine, 
 She doth within both waxe and hony make : 
 This worke is her's, this is her proper paine. 
 
 *r When she from sundry acts, one skill doth draw. 
 Gathering from diuers fights one art of warre, 
 From many cases like, one rule of Law ; y 
 These her collections, not the Senses are. 
 
 2.^ When in th' effects she doth the causes know, 
 
 And seeing the stream, thinks wher the spring 
 
 doth rise ; 
 And seeing the branch, conceiues the root below ; 
 These things she views without the bodie's eyes. 
 
 3o When she, without a Pegasus, doth flie 
 
 Swifter then lightning's fire from Easi to West, 
 About the Center and aboue the skie, 
 She trauels then, although the body rest.
 
 2j8 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 ?» When all her works she formeth first within, 
 Proportions them, and sees their perfect end, 
 Ere she in act does anie part begin; 
 What instruments doth then the body lend? 
 
 3i When without hands she doth thus casths build, 
 
 Sees without eyes, and without feet doth runne; 
 When she digests the world, yet is not fil'd : 
 By her owne power these miracles are done. 
 
 ^3 When she defines, argues, diuides, compounds. 
 Considers vertue, vice, and gcnerall things, 
 And marrying diuers principles and grounds, 
 Out of their match a true conclusion brings. 
 
 3^ These actions in her closet all alone, 
 
 (Retir'd within her selfe) she doth fulfill; 
 Vsc of her bodie's organs she hath none, 
 When she doth vse the powers of Wit and Will. 
 
 •if Yet in the bodie's prison so she lies, 
 
 As through the bodie's windowcs she must looke. 
 
 Her diuers powers of sense to exercise, 
 
 By gath'ring notes out of the World's great book. 
 
 )}* Nor can her selfe discourse or iudge of ought, 
 
 But what the Sense collects and home doth bring ; 
 And yet the power of her discoursing thought, 
 From these collections, is a diuers thing.
 
 Of the Soule of Man 2}g 
 
 V For though our eyes can nought but colours see, 
 Yet colours giue them not their powre of sight; 
 So, though these fruits of Sense her obiects bee, 
 Yet she discernes them by her proper light. 
 
 ^ The workman on his stufle his skill doth show, 
 And yet the stuffe giues not the man his skill ; 
 Kings their affaires do by their seruants know, 
 But order them by their owne royall will. 
 
 i) So, though this cunning mistresse and this queene, 
 Doth, as her instrument, the Senses vse. 
 To know all things that dixcfelt, heard, or seene, 
 Yet she her selfe doth onely iudge and cimse: 
 
 yj Euen as our great wise Emprcsse that now raignes 
 By soiicraigne title ouer sundry Lands; 
 Borrowes in meane affaires her subiects paines, 
 Sees by their eyes, and writeth by their hands; 
 
 ,^, But things of waight and consequence indeed, 
 Her selfe doth in her chamber them debate; 
 Where all her Counsellers she doth exceed 
 As farre in iudgement, as she doth in State. 
 
 (jv Or as the man whom she doth now aduance, 
 Vpon her gracious mercy-seat to sit ; 
 Doth common things, of course and circumstance, 
 To the reports of common men commit:
 
 2^0 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 '') But when the cause it selfe must be decreed, 
 Himselfe in person, in his proper Court, 
 To graue and solemne hearing doth proceed, 
 Of euery proofe and euery by-report. 
 
 i f Then, like God's angell he pronounceth right. 
 
 And milke and hony from his tongue doth flow; 
 
 Happie are they that still are in his sight. 
 
 To reape the wisedome which his lips doe sow. 
 
 '^r Right so the Sou/e, which is a lady free, 
 
 And doth the iustice of her StaU' maintaine; 
 Because th^ senses ready seruants be. 
 Attending nigh about her Court, the braine: 
 
 • • By them the formes of outward things she Icarnes, 
 For they rcturne into the fantasie. 
 What cuer each of them abroad disccrncs, 
 And there inrole it for the Minde to see. 
 
 '«7 But when she sits to iudge the good and ill, 
 And to discerne betwixt the false and true ; 
 She is not guided by the Senses' skill, 
 But doth each thing in her owne mirrour view. 
 
 ^"Then she the Senses checks, which oft do crre, 
 And cuen against their false reports decrees; 
 And oft she doth condemne what they prcfcrre, 
 For with a power abouc the Sense, she sees.
 
 Of the Soule of Man 241 
 
 •If Therefore no Sense the precious ioyes conceiues, 
 Which in her priuate contemplations bee; 
 For then the rauish't spirit the Senses leaues, 
 Hath her owne powers, and proper actions free. 
 
 f° Her harmonies are sweet, and full of skill, 
 
 When on the Bodie's instrument she playes; 
 
 But the proportions of the wit and w/7/, 
 
 Those sweete accords, are euen the angel's layes. 
 
 ^' These tunes o( Reason are Amphion's lyre, 
 Wherewith he did the Thebane citie found ; 
 These arc the notes wherewith the heauenly ^«/V^, 
 The praise of Him which made the heauen doth 
 sound. 
 
 J *" Then her selfe-bcing nature shines in this, 
 
 That she performes her noblest works alone ; 
 " The worke, the touch-stone of the nature is, 
 " And by their operations, things arc knowne. 
 
 c That the soule is more then a perfection 
 
 OR REFLECTION OF THE SENSE 
 
 •'^A 
 
 RE t/uy ?iot scncelesse then, that thinke the 
 Soule 
 
 Nought but a fine perfection of the Sense ; 
 Or of the formes \\i\\\c\i fancie doth enroule, 
 A qiiicke resulting, and a consequence ? 
 16 
 
 ^
 
 242 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 >^ What is it then that doth the Sense accuse, 
 
 Both o{ false Judgements, and fond appetites f 
 What makes vs do what Sense doth most refuse? 
 Which oft in torment of the Sense delights ? 
 
 )>' Sense thinkes the planets, spheares not much 
 asunder; 
 What tels vs then their distance is so farre? 
 Sense thinks the lightning borne before the 
 
 thunder; 
 What tels vs then they both together are? 
 
 )C When men seem crows far oflfvpon a towre, 
 
 Sense saith, th* are crows ; what makes vs think 
 
 them men ? 
 When we in agues, thinke all sweete things sowre, 
 What makes vs know our tongue's false iudge- 
 
 mcnt then? 
 
 ) \ What power was that, whereby Medea saw, 
 
 And well approu'd, and prais'd the better course, 
 When her rebellious Sense did so withdraw 
 Her feeble powers, as she pursu'd the worse? 
 
 l< Did Sense perswade Vlisses not to hcare 
 
 The mermaid's songs, which so his men did 
 
 please; 
 As they were all perswadcd, through the eare 
 To quit the ship, and leape into the seas f
 
 Of the Soule of Man 24) 
 
 /I Could any power of Sense the Romane moue, 
 
 To burn his own right hand with courage stout? 
 Could Sense make Mariiis sit vnbound, and 
 
 proue 
 The cruell lancing of the knotty gout? 
 
 t' Doubtlesse in Man there is a nature found, 
 Beside the Senses, and aboue them farre ; 
 "Though most men being in sensuall pleasures 
 
 drownd, 
 " It secmcs their Soiiles but in their Senses are. 
 
 f If we had nought but Sense, then onely they 
 
 Should hauc sound minds, which haue their 
 
 Senses sound ; 
 But IVisdome growes, when Senses doe decay, 
 And Folly most in quickest Sense is found. 
 
 t* If we had nought but Sense, each liuing wight, 
 
 Which we call drnte, would be more sharp then 
 
 we; 
 As hauing Sense's apprehensiue might, 
 In a more cleere, and excellent degree. 
 
 (-"i But they doe want that gnicke discoursing power, , 
 Which doth in vs the erring Sense correct; 
 Therefore the bee did sucke the painted flower, 
 And birds, of grapes, the cunning shadow, peckt.
 
 ^44 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 ^' Sense outsides knows; the Soule throgh al things 
 
 sees; 
 Sense, circumstance; she, doth the substance 
 
 view ; 
 Sense sees the barke, but she, the life of trees ; 
 Sense heares the sounds, but she, the concords 
 
 true. 
 
 <'^ But why doe I the Soule and Sense diuide? 
 
 When Sense is but a power, which she extends; 
 V\'hich being in diuers parts diuersifide, 
 The diuers formes of objects apprehends? 
 
 't This power spreds outward, but the root doth grow 
 In th' inward Soule, which onely doth perceiue; 
 For th' eyes and eares no more their obiects 
 
 know, 
 Then glasses know what faces they recciue. 
 
 ^^ For if we chance to fixe our thoughts elsewhere, 
 Although our eyes be ope, we cannot see ; 
 And if one power did not both see and heare, 
 Our sights and sounds would alwaycs double be. 
 
 ^ Then is the Scule a nature, which containes 
 The powre of Sense, within a greater power 
 Which doth imploy and vse the Senses paines, 
 But sits and rules within her priuatc bower.
 
 Of the Soule of Man 24^ 
 
 r)THAT THE SOULE IS MORE THEN THE TEMPER- 
 ATURE OF THE Humors of the Body 
 
 '^1 TFs/iee doth then the subtill Sense excell, 
 
 How gross are they that drown her in the 
 blood ! 
 Or in the bodie's humors tempred well, 
 As if in them such high perfection stood? 
 
 lo As if most skill in that Musician were, 
 
 Which had the best, and best tun'd instrument; 
 As if the pensill neate and colours cleare, 
 Had power to make the Painter excellent. 
 
 ••• Why doth not beautie then refine the wit? 
 And good complexion rectifie the will? 
 . Why doth not health bring wisdom still with it? 
 Why doth not sicknesse make men bruitish still? 
 
 7> Who can in monory, or wit, or will, 
 
 Or ayre, or fire, or earth, or water finde? 
 What alchymist can draw, with all his skil. 
 The quintessence of these, out of the mind ? 
 
 n If th' elements which haue nc 'ife, nor sense^ 
 Can breed in vs so great a povvre as this ; 
 Why giue they not themselues like excellence, 
 Or other things wherein their mixture is?
 
 246 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 H If she were but the Bodie's quaHtie 
 
 Then would she be with it sicJte, maitn'd and 
 
 blind; 
 But we perceiue where these priuations be 
 A healthy, perfect, and sharpe-sighted m\nd» 
 
 yf If she the bodie's nature did pertake, 
 
 Her strength would with the bodie's strength 
 
 decay ; 
 But when the bodie's strongest sinewes slake, 
 >^ Then is the Soule most actiue, quicke and 
 
 U If she were but the bodie's accident, 
 And her sole being did in it subsist ; 
 As zvhite in snow ; she might her selfe absent, 
 And in the bodie's substance not be mist. 
 
 n But it on her, not shee on ;'/ depends ; 
 
 For shee the body doth sustainc and cherish ; 
 Such secret powers of life to it she lends, 
 That when they faile, then doth the body 
 perish. 
 
 '^ Since then the Soule works by her selfe alone. 
 
 Springs not from Sense, nor humors, well agreeing; 
 Her nature is peculiar, and her owne: 
 She is a substance, and a perfect being.
 
 Of the Soule of Man 347 
 
 j^ That the Soule is a Spirit 
 
 7t "OtlT though this substance be the root of Sense, 
 "^ Sense knowes her not, which doth but bodies 
 know; 
 Shee is a spirit, and heauenly influence, 
 Which from the fountaine of God's Spirit doth 
 flow. 
 
 (0 Shee is a Spirit, yet not like ayre, or winde. 
 
 Nor like the spirits about the heart or brainc ; 
 Nor like those spirits which alchymists do find. 
 When they in euery thing seeke gold in vaine, 
 
 n For shee all natures vnder heauen doth passe ; 
 
 Being like those spirits, which God's bright face 
 
 do see; 
 Or like Himself e. Whose image once she was. 
 Though now (alas !) she scarce His shadowhtQ. 
 
 t* Yet of \.)\Q forvics, she holds the first degree. 
 That are to grosse materiall bodies knit; 
 Yet shee her selfe is bodilesse and free; 
 ' And though confin'd, is almost infinite.
 
 24S Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 \ That it cannot be a Body 
 
 hWere she a body how could she remaine 
 Within this body, which is lesse then she? 
 Or how could she the world's great shape contain, 
 And in our narrow brests contained bee? 
 
 \^A\\ bodies are confin'd within some place, 
 But s/ie all place within her selfe confines; 
 All bodies haue their measure, and their space, 
 But who can draw the Soiile's dimensiue lines? 
 
 tf No body can at once two formes admit, 
 Except the one the other doe deface; 
 But in the soule ten thousand formes do sit, 
 And none intrudes into her neighbour's place. 
 
 UAU bodies are with other bodies fild, 
 
 But she recciucs both heauen and earth together ; 
 Nor are their formes by rash incountcr spild, 
 For there they stand, and neither toucheth either. 
 
 \) Nor can her wide imbracements filled bee ; 
 
 For they that most, and greatest things embrace, 
 
 Inlargc thereby their minds' capacitie. 
 
 As strcames inlarg'd, inlarge the channel's space.
 
 Of the Soule of Man 24g 
 
 j^ All things receiu'd, doe such proportion take. 
 
 As those things liaue, wherein they are receiu'd: 
 
 So little glasses little faces make, 
 
 And narrow webs on narrow frames be weau'd ; 
 
 f^ Then what vast body must we make the mind 
 
 Wherin are men, beasts, trees, towns, seas, and y 
 
 lands; 
 And yet each thing a proper place doth find, 
 And each thing in the true proportion stands? 
 
 ^o Doubtlesse this could not bee, but that she turnes 
 Bodies to spirits, by sublimation strange ; , 
 As fire conucrts to fire the things it burnes 
 As we our meats into our nature change. 
 
 <!/ From their grosse matter she abstracts ih^ formes, 
 And drawes a kind oi quintessence from things} 
 Which to her proper nature she transformes. 
 To bear them light on her celestiall wings: 
 
 It This doth she, when, from 'Cixxvigs, particular , 
 She doth abstract the univcrsall kinds; 
 Which bodilesse and immateriall are, 
 And can be lodg'd but onely in our minds; 
 
 'I- And thus from diuers accidents and acts, 
 Which doe within her obseruation fall, 
 She goddesses, and powers diuine, abstracts : 
 
 As Xatnrc, For*nnc, and the Vcrtucs all.
 
 2^o Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 t^ Againe, how can she seuerall iodies know, 
 If in her selfe a bodies forme she beare? 
 How can a mirror sundry faces show, 
 If from all shapes and formes it be not cleare? 
 
 ,f Nor could we by our eyes all colours learne, 
 Except our eyes were of all colours voide ; 
 Nor sundry tastes can any tongue discerne, 
 Which is with grosse and bitter humors cloide. 
 
 ''L Nor may a man o{ passions iudge aright, 
 
 Except his minde bee from all passions free; 
 Nor can a Judge his office well acquite, 
 If he possest of either partie bee. 
 
 '*? If lastly, this quicke power a body were, 
 Were it as swift as is the winde ox fire ; 
 (Whose atomies doe th' one down side-waies 
 
 beare. 
 And make the other \n pyramids aspire:) 
 
 o Her nimble body yet in time must mouc, 
 
 And not in instants through all places slide; 
 
 But she is nigh, and farre, beneath, aboue, 
 
 In point of time, which thought cannot deuide: 
 
 M She is sent as soone to Chiua as to Spaitie, 
 
 And thence returnes, as soone as shcc is sent; 
 She measures with one time, and with one painc, 
 An ell of silke, and heaiien's wide spreading tent.
 
 Of the Soule of Man 2^1 
 
 ''* As then the SouU a substance hath alone, 
 
 Besides the Body in which she is confin'd; 
 So hath she not a doi/y of her owne, 
 But is a spirit^ and imviateriall minde. 
 
 (tTiiAT THE Soule is created immediately 
 BY God 
 
 /.; Since body and soule haue such diuersities, 
 
 Well might we muse, how first their match began ; 
 But that we learne, that He that spread the skies, 
 And fixt the Earth, first form'd the sotile in man. 
 
 '•>This true Prometheus first made Man of earth, 
 And shed in him a beame of heauenly fire; 
 Now in their mother's wombs before their birth, 
 Doth in all sonnes of men their soules inspire. 
 
 ,0^ And as Minerua is in fables said, 
 
 From hue, without a mother to proceed ; 
 So our true louc, without a mother's ay'd, 
 Doth daily millions of Minenias breed.
 
 2^2 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 f| Erronious opinions of the Creation of 
 
 SOULES 
 
 T 
 
 HEN neither from eternitie before, 
 Nor from the time when Time's first point 
 begun ; 
 Made He all soules: which now he keepes in 
 
 store, 
 Some in the moone, and others in the sunne: 
 
 .)' Nor in a secret cloyster doth Hee keepe 
 
 These virgin-spirits, vntill their marriage-day; 
 Nor locks them vp in chambers, where they 
 
 sleep. 
 Till they awake, within these beds of clay. 
 
 » Nor did He first a certaine number make, 
 Infusing part in beasts, and part in men, 
 And, as vnwilling further paincs to take, 
 Would make no more then those He framed then. 
 
 ■» So that the widow Soule her body dying, 
 Vnto the next-borne boiiy married was; 
 And so by often changing and supplying, 
 Mens' soules to beasts, and beasts to n^cn did 
 passe.
 
 Of the Souk of Man a^j 
 
 i*i (These thoughts are fond ; for since the bodies 
 borne 
 Be more in number farre then those that dye; 
 Thousands must be abortiue, and forlorne, 
 Ere others' deaths to them their soules supply.) 
 
 luy But as God's handmaid, Nature, doth create 
 Bodies in time distinct, and order due ; 
 So God giues soules the hke successiue date, 
 Which Him selfe makes, in bodies formed new: 
 
 '•^ Which Him sclfe makes, of no matcriall thing; 
 For vnto angels He no power hath giuen. 
 Either to forme the shape, or stuffe to bring 
 From ayre or fire, or substance of the heauen. 
 
 „, Nor He in this doth Nature's seruice vse; 
 
 For though from bodies, she can bodies bring, 
 Yet could she ncuer soules from Soules traduce, 
 As fire from fire, or light from light doth spring. 
 
 r Objection: — That the Soule is Extraduce 
 
 f'-*- A LAS ! that some, that were great lights of old, 
 And in their hands the lampe of God did 
 beare ; 
 Some reuerend Fathers did this error hold, 
 Hauing their eyes dim'd with religious feare I
 
 2^4 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 ' 1 For vyhen (say they) by Rule of Faith we find, 
 That euery soule vnto her body knit, 
 Brings from the mother's wombe, the sinne of 
 
 kind, 
 •The roote of all the ills she doth commit 
 
 ' How can we say that God the Soule doth make, 
 But wo must make Him author of her sinne? 
 Then from man's soule she doth beginning 
 
 take, 
 Since in man's soule corruption did begin. 
 
 r For if God make her, first He makes her ill, 
 
 (Which God forbid our thoghts should yeeld 
 
 vnto !) 
 Or makes the body her faire forme to spill. 
 Which, of it selfe it had no power to doe. 
 
 V. Not Adam's body but his soule did sinne 
 
 And so her selfe vnto corruption brought; 
 
 But the poore soule corrupted is within, 
 
 Ere shec had sinn'd, cither in act, or thought: 
 
 n And yet we sec in her such powres diuinc. 
 
 As we could gladly thinkc,//v?;w God site came ; 
 Faine would we make Him Author of the wine. 
 If for the dregs we could some other blame.
 
 Of the Soule of Man 255 
 
 J The Answere to the Obiectton 
 
 /'/ ^'T^HUS these good men with holy zeale were 
 -■• blind, 
 
 When on the other part the truth did shine ; 
 Whereof we doe cleare demonstrations find, 
 By light oi Nature, and by light Diuine. 
 
 ''1 None are so grosse as to contend for this, 
 
 That soules from bodies may traduced bee; 
 Betweene whose natures no proportion is. 
 When roote and branch in nature still agree. 
 
 1^ But many subtill wits haue iustifi'd. 
 
 That soules from soules spiritually may spring; 
 Which (if the nature of the soule be tri'd) 
 Will euen in Nature proue as grosse a thing. 
 
 „.p 
 
 ^ Reasons drawne from Nature 
 
 OR all things made, are either made of nought, 
 Or made of stuffe that ready made doth 
 stand; 
 Of nought no creature euer formed ought. 
 For that is proper to th' Almightie's hand.
 
 25^ Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 (^v If then the sou/e another soi/U doe make, 
 
 Because her power is kept within a bound, 
 Shee must some former stuffe or matter take ; 
 But in the soule there is no matter found. 
 
 1^) Then if her heauenly Forme doe not agree 
 
 With any matter which the world containes; 
 Then she of nothing must created bee. 
 And to create, to God alone pcrtaines. 
 
 ^y■\ Againe, \( sou/es doe other soa/es beget, 
 
 'T is by themselues, or by the bodie's power; 
 If by themselues, what doth their working let, 
 But they might soules engender euery houre? 
 
 xvT If by the body, how can wit and will 
 
 loync with the body onely in this act? 
 Sith when they doe their other works fulfill. 
 They from the body doe themselues abstract? 
 
 Ivv. Againe, \{ soules o( soules begotten were. 
 
 Into each other they should change and moue ; 
 And change and motion still corruption bcare ; 
 How shall wc then the soule immortall prouc? 
 
 t<\ If lastly, soules doe generation vse. 
 
 Then should they spread incorruptible seed ; 
 What then becomes of that which they doc lose, 
 When th' acts of generation doe not speed?
 
 Of tbe Soule of Man i^j 
 
 i>l And though the soi//e could cast spirituall seed, 
 Yet %vonld she not, because she neuer dies ; 
 For mortall things desire their like to breed, 
 That so they may their kind immortalize. 
 
 '^1 Therefore the angels, sonnes of God are nam'd, 
 And marry not, nor are in marriage giuen; 
 Their spirits and ours are of one substance fram'd, 
 And haue one Father, eucn the Lord of heauen: 
 
 Oj Who would at first, that in each other thing, 
 
 The ear!li and water liuing sanies should breed; 
 But that man's soule whom He would make their 
 
 king. 
 Should from Himselfe immediatly proceed. 
 
 ijj And when He took the woman from man's side, 
 Doubtlesse Himselfe inspir'd her soule alone; 
 For 't is not said. He did man's soule diuide. 
 But took Jles/i of Ills flesJi, bone of his bone. 
 
 '-"> Lastly, God being made Man for man's ownt sake, 
 And being like Man in all, except in sin, 
 His body from the virgiti's wombe did take; 
 But all agree, God form' d His soule within. 
 
 • )> Then is the soule from God ; so Pagans say, 
 
 Which saw by Nature's light her heauenly kind ; 
 Naming her kin to God, and God's bright ray, 
 A citizen of Heauen to Earth confined.
 
 2^ Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 '^^ But now, I feele, they plucke me by the eare 
 
 Whom my young Muse so boldly termed blind ; 
 And craue more heauenly light, that cloud toclear, 
 Which makes them think God doth not make 
 the mind. 
 
 L Reasons drawne from Diuinity 
 
 ^■^^f /^^OD doubtlesse makes her, and doth make her 
 ^^ good, 
 And grafifes her in the body, there to spring ; 
 Which, though it be corrupted,. flesh and blood 
 Can no way to the Soule corruption bring: 
 
 '^^ And yet this Sonic (made good by God at first, 
 And not corrupted by the bodie's ill) 
 Euen in the wombe is sinfull, and accurst, 
 Ere shee can iiuige by zuit or chnse by will. 
 
 '^1 Yet is not God the Author of her sinne 
 
 Though Author of her oeiug, and being there: 
 And if we dare to iudgc our Fudge herein, 
 He can condemnc vs, and Ilimsclfe can cleare. 
 
 I'J First, God from infinite etcrnitie 
 
 Decreed, what hath bccnc, is, or shall bee done ; 
 And was resolu'd, that euery man should bee, 
 And in his turnc, his race of life should run:
 
 Of tbe Soule of M.in 2^g 
 
 i*.^ And so did purpose all the soules to make, 
 That cuer liaue beene made, or cuer shall ; 
 And that their being they should onely take 
 In humane bodies, or not bee at all. 
 
 ,^ Was it then fit that such a wcake euent 
 
 ( \V\j\aknesse it sclfe, — the sinnc and fall of 
 
 Man) 
 His counsel's execution should prcuent, 
 Decreed and fixt before the World began? 
 
 "wi Or that ona pcnall law by Adajn broke, 
 
 Should make God breake His owne etemall 
 
 Law ; 
 The setled order of the World reuoke, 
 And change all forms of things, vvhich He fore- 
 saw? 
 
 '<»' Could Eue's weake hand, extended to the tree, 
 In sunder rend that adamantine c/iaine, 
 Whose golden links, effects and causes be^ 
 And which to God's owne chair doth fixt re- 
 maine. 
 
 '^' O could we see, how cause from cause dolh spring ! 
 How mutually they linkt and folded are ! 
 And heare how oft one disagreeing string 
 The harmony doth rather make then marre?
 
 26o Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 ({^ And view at once, how </<r^/// by sinue is brought, 
 And how from death, a better life doth rise, 
 How this God's iustice, and His mercy tought : 
 We this decree would praise, as right and wise. 
 
 'f But we that measure times by first and last. 
 The sight of things successiuely, doe take; 
 When God on all at once His view doth cast, 
 And of all times doth but one instant make. 
 
 •'* All in Himself e as in 2l glasse Hce sees, 
 
 Vox from Him, by Him, through Him, all tilings bee: 
 His sight is not discoursiue, by dcgrecsV 
 ( But seeing the whole, each single part doth see. 
 
 'D Ho lookcs on Adam, as a root, or well. 
 
 And on his heires, as brandies, and as streames ; 
 He sees all men as one Man, though they dwell 
 In sundry cities, and in sundry realmes: 
 
 t *r And as the roote and branch are but one tree, 
 
 And well and streame doe but one riuer make ; 
 
 So, if the root and well corrupted bee, 
 
 The streame and branch\.\\Q same corruption take : 
 
 v\ So, when the root and fountaine of Mankind 
 
 Did draw corruption, and God's curse, by sin; 
 This was a charge that all his heires did bind, 
 And all his offspring grew corrupt therein.
 
 Of the Soule of Man 261 
 
 '> And a.'5 when the hand doth strike, the Man offends, 
 ( For fart from whole, Law setters not in this) 
 So Adam's sinne to the whole kind extends; 
 For all their natures are but part of his. 
 
 ,f) Therefore this sinne of kind, not personal!. 
 But reall and hereditary was; 
 The guilt whereof, and punishment to all. 
 By course of Nature, and of Law doth passe. 
 
 r>^ For as that easie Law was giuen to all. 
 
 To ancestor and heire, to first and last; 
 So was the first transgression generall, 
 And all did plucke the fruit and all did tast. 
 
 ,;> Of this we find some foot-steps in our Law, 
 
 Which doth her root from God and Nature take ; 
 Ten thousand men she doth together draw. 
 And of them all, one Corporation make: 
 
 (S Yet these, and their successors, are but one, 
 And if they gaine or lose their liberties; 
 They harme, or profit not themselues alone, 
 But such as in succeeding times shall rise. 
 
 <;>' And so the ancestor, and all his heires, 
 
 Though they in number passe the stars of heauen 
 Are still but one; his forfeitures are theirs, 
 And vnto them are his aduancements giuen: 
 
 ^
 
 262 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 /.• His ciuill acts doe binde and bar them all; 
 And as from Ac/am, all corruption take, 
 So, if the father's crime be capitall 
 In all the bloud. Law doth corruption make. 
 
 1-7 Is it then iust with vs, to dis-inherit 
 
 The vnborn ncphewes for the father's fault? 
 And to aduance againe for one man's merit, 
 A thousand heires, that have deserved nought? 
 
 ^sS And is not God's decree as iust as ours, 
 
 If He, for AdattCs sinnc, his sonncs dcpriue, 
 Of all those natiue vertues, and those powers, 
 Which He to him, and to his race did giue? 
 
 '•^ For what is this contagious sinne of kinde 
 But a priuation of that grace within? 
 And of that great rich dowry of the minde 
 Which all had had, but for the first man's sin? 
 
 '^ If then a man, on light conditions gaine 
 A great estate, to him and his, for cucr; 
 If wilfully he forfeit it againe 
 Who doth bemone his heire or blame the giuer? 
 
 l"** So^, though God make the Soule good, rich and faire, 
 Yet when her forme is to the body knit. 
 Which makes the Man, which man is Adam*: 
 
 luire 
 lustly forth-with He takes His grace from it:
 
 Of tbe Soule of Man 26 J 
 
 '■•^And then the soule being first from nothing 
 brought, 
 When God's grace failes her, doth to nothing fall ; 
 And this declining pronenesse unto nought. 
 Is euen that sinne that we are borne withall. 
 
 '■"^ Yet not alone the first good qualities, 
 
 Which in the first soule were, dcpriu^d are ; 
 But in their place the contrary doe rise, 
 And reall spots of sinne her beauty marre. 
 
 /»y Nor is it strange, that Adam's ill dcsart 
 
 Should be transferd vnto his guilty Race; 
 When Christ His grace and iustice doth impart 
 To men vniust, and such as haue no grace. 
 
 .1^ Lastly, the Soule were better so to bee 
 
 Borne slaue to sinne, then not to be at all; 
 Since (if she do belieue) One sets her free, 
 That makes her mount the higher for her fall. 
 
 '^"- Yet this the curious wits will not content; 
 
 They yet will know (sith God foresaw this ill) 
 Why His high Prouidence did not preuent 
 The declination of the first man's will. 
 
 n7 If by His Word He had the current staid 
 
 Oi AdavCs will, which was by nature free; 
 It had bene one, as if His Word had said, 
 I will henceforth that Man no man shall bee.
 
 264 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 o» For what is Man without a moouing mind, 
 
 Which hath a iudging wit, and chusing will? 
 Now, if God's power should her election bind, 
 Her motions then would cease and stand all still. 
 
 ,in And why did God in man this soule infuse, 
 
 JJut that he should his Maker know and hue f 
 Now, \UoHe be compcld and cannot chuse, 
 How can it gratcfull or thankevvorthy proue? 
 
 "* Loue must free-hearted be, and voluntary, 
 
 And not enchanted, or by Fate constraind ; 
 Nor like that loue, which did Ulisses carry, 
 To Circe's ile, with mighty charmcs enchaind. 
 
 **' Besides, were we vnchangeable in will, 
 
 And of a w/V that nothing could mis-deeme; 
 Equall to God, Whose wisedome shincth still, 
 And neuer erres, we might our selues esteeme. 
 
 ** So that if Man would be vnuariable. 
 
 He must be God, or like a rock or tree; 
 F'or eucn the perfect Angels were not stable. 
 But had a fall more desperate then wee. 
 
 ><^ Then let vs praise that Power, which makes vs be 
 Men as we are, and rest contented so; 
 And knowing Man's fall was curiositie. 
 Admire God's counsels, which we cannot know.
 
 Of the Soule of Man 26^ 
 
 u* And let vs know that God the Maker is 
 Of all the Souh's, in all the men that be : 
 Yet their corruption is no fault of His, 
 But the first man's that broke God's first decree. 
 
 r; Why the Soule is United to the Body 
 
 "T 
 
 HIS substance, and this spirit of God's owne 
 
 making. 
 
 Is in the body plact, and planted heere; 
 "That both of God, and of the world partakings 
 " Of all that is, Man might the image beare. 
 
 »»b God first made angels bodilesse, pure minds, 
 
 Then other things, which mindlesse bodies be; 
 Last, He made Man, th' horizon 'twixt both kinds, 
 In whom we doe the World's abridgement see. 
 
 "' Besides, this World below did need one wight. 
 Which might thereof distinguish euery part; 
 Make vse thereof, and take therein delight, 
 And order things with industry and art: 
 
 <a Which also God might in His works admire, 
 
 And here beneath, yeeld Him both praier and 
 
 praise; 
 As there, aboue, the holy angels quire 
 Doth spread His glory with spirituall layes.
 
 266 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 iK y Lastly, the bruite, unreasonable wights, 
 
 Did want a visible king on them to raigne : 
 And God, Hinisclfe thus to the World vnites. 
 That so the World might endlesse blisse obtaine. 
 
 f/ In what manner the Soule is united to 
 THE Body 
 
 i<i\) 
 
 B 
 
 UT how shall we this union well expresse? 
 Nought ties the soule ; her subtiltie is such 
 She moucs the bodie, which she doth possesse, 
 Yet no part touchcth, but by Vertue's touch. 
 
 til Then dwels shee not therein as in a tent, 
 Nor as a pilot in his ship doth sit; 
 Nor as the spider in his web is pent; 
 Nor as the waxe retaines the print in it; 
 
 fi'^Nor as a vesscll water doth containe; 
 Nor as one liquor in another shed ; 
 Nor as the heat doth in the fire remaine; 
 Nor as a voice throughout the ayre is spread: 
 
 •^' But as the faire and cheerfull Morning light, 
 
 Doth here and there her siluer beames impart, 
 And in an instant doth herselfe vnite 
 To the transparent ayre, in all, and part:
 
 Of the Soule of Man 267 
 
 '' Still resting whole, when blowcs th' ayre diuide; 
 Abiding pure, when th' ayre is most corrupted; 
 Throughout the ayre, her beams dispersing wide, 
 And when the ayre is tost, not interrupted : 
 
 /v So doth the piercing Sou/e the body fill, 
 Being all in all, and all in part dififus'd ; 
 Indiuisible, incorruptible still, 
 Not forc't, encountred, troubled or confus'd. 
 
 ;^i, And as the sunnc abouc, the light doth bring, 
 Though we behold it in the ayre below; 
 So from th' Eternall Light the Soule doth spring, 
 Though in the body she her powers doe show. 
 
 How THE Soul doth exercise her Powers 
 IN THE Body 
 
 t\-\ "YyUT as the world's sunne doth effects beget, 
 •^ Diuers, in diuers places euery day; 
 Here ^«/;/;«;;^^ temperatu re, there 5«ww^r'j heat, 
 Here flowry Spring-tide^ and there Winter gray : 
 
 /■/< Eere Eiien, there Monie, here Noone, there Day, 
 
 there Night ; 
 Melts wax, dries clay, mak[e]s flowrs, som 
 
 quick, som dead ; 
 Makes the More black, and th' Europcean white, 
 Th' America7i tawny, and th' East-Indian red:
 
 268 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 '11 So in our little World : this sou/e of ours, 
 Being onely one, and to one body tyed, 
 Doth vse, on diuers obiccts diuers powers, 
 And so are her effects diucrsified. 
 
 ^^The Vegetatiue or quickening Power 
 
 ]^.i' T TER quick'tiing power in euery lining part, 
 Doth as a nurse, or as a mother serue; 
 And doth employ her oeconomicke art, 
 And busie care, her houshold to preserue. 
 
 V^' Here she attracts, and there she doth retaiue. 
 
 There she decocts, and doth the food prepare; 
 There she distributes it to euery vaine. 
 There she expels what she may fitly spare. 
 
 ^"^This power to Martha may compared be, 
 
 Which busie was, the houshold-things to doe; 
 
 Or to a Dryas, liuing in a tree: 
 
 For euen to trees this power is proper too. 
 
 ^* And though the Soule may not this power extend 
 Out of the body, but still vse it there; 
 She hath a power which she abroad doth send, 
 Which views and scarcheth all things euery 
 where.
 
 Of the Soule of Man 269 
 
 ^ The power of Sense 
 
 'idi^'ir^HIS power is Sense, which from abroad doth 
 bring 
 The colour, taste, and touch, and sent, and sound ; 
 The quantitie, and shape of euery thing 
 Within th' Earth's center, or Heauen's circle 
 found. 
 
 '*^This power, in parts made fit, fit obiects takes, 
 
 Yet not the things, but forms of things receiues ; 
 As when a scale in waxe impression makes. 
 The print therein, but not it selfe it leaues. 
 
 vt And though things sensible be numberlesse, 
 But onely fiue the Senses' organs be; 
 And in those fiue, all things their formes ex- 
 
 pressc. 
 Which we can touch, taste, feele, or heare, or see» 
 
 W These are the windows throgh the which she 
 views 
 The light of knowledge, which is life's loadstar: 
 " And yet while she these spectacles doth vse, 
 " Oft worldly things seeme greater then they are.
 
 2^0 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 I Sight 
 
 >""' Tj^IRST, the two eyes that haue the seeing' power, 
 Stand as one watchman, spy, or sentinell; 
 Being plac'd aloft, within the head's high tower; 
 And though both see, .yet both but one thing tell. 
 
 )u1 These mirrors take into their little space 
 
 The formes of moone and sun, and euery starre ; 
 Of euery body and of euery place, 
 Which with the World's wide armes embraced 
 are: 
 
 Yet their best obiect, and their noblest vse, 
 Hereafter in another World will be ; 
 When God in them shall heauenly light infuse, 
 That face to face they may their A faker see. 
 
 Here are they guides, which <loe the body lead, 
 Which else would stumble in eternal night; 
 Here in this world they do much knowledge 
 
 read, 
 And are the casements which admit most light: 
 
 They are her farthest reaching instrument, 
 
 Yet they no beames vnto their obiects send ; 
 - But all the rays are from their obiects sent. 
 And in the eyes with pointed angles end:
 
 Of the Soule of Man 271 
 
 *'^If th' obiects be farre off, the rayes doe meet 
 
 In a sharpe point, and so things seeme but small ; 
 If they be necre, their rayes doe spread and fleet, 
 And make broad points, that things seeme great 
 withall. 
 
 ;/^ Lastly, nine things to Sight required are; 
 
 The power to see, the light, the visible thing, 
 Being not too small, too thin, too ftigh, X.00 farre ^ 
 Cleare space, and time, the forme di.Jtinct to 
 bring. 
 
 i' Thus we see how the Soule doth vse the eyes, 
 As instruments of her quicke power of sight; 
 Hence do th' Arts opticke and faire painting rise : 
 Painting, which doth all gentle minds delight. 
 
 "N 
 
 iJHearing 
 
 OW let vs heare how she the Fares imployes : 
 Their office is the troubled ayre to take, 
 Which in their mazes formes a sound or noyse. 
 Whereof her selfe doth true distinction make. 
 
 v>^,J^hese wickets of the Soule are plac't on hie 
 Because all sounds doc lightly mount aloft; 
 And that they may not pierce too violently, 
 They are delaied with turnes, and windings oft.
 
 27^ Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 :'> For should the voice directly strike the braine, 
 Ic would astonish and confuse it much; 
 Therfore these plaits and folds the sound re- 
 
 straine, 
 That it the organ may more gently touch. 
 
 ji As streames, which with their winding banks doe 
 
 play, 
 Stopt by their creeks, run softly through the 
 
 plaine ; 
 So in th' Eares' labyrinth the voice doth stray, 
 And doth with easic motion touch the braine. 
 
 ■^' It is the slowest, yet the daintiest sense; 
 
 For eucn the Eares of such as haue no skill, 
 I Perceiue a discord, and conceiue offence; 
 I And knowing not what is good, yet find the ill. 
 
 ^"»^And though this srnse first gentle Miisickc found, 
 Her proper obiect is the spcccJi of men ; 
 But that speech chiefely which God's heraulds 
 
 sound, 
 When their tongs vtter what His Spirit did pen. 
 
 ^^ Our Eyes haue lids, our Eares still ope we see. 
 Quickly to heare how euery tale is proou6d ; 
 Our Eyes still mouc, our Eares vnmou6d bee. 
 That though we hear quick we be not quickly 
 mou6d.
 
 OJ the Soule of Man 2y) 
 
 ^,vThus by the organs of the Eye and Eare, 
 
 The Soule with knowledge doth her selfe endue ; 
 " Thus she her prison, may with pleasure beare, 
 " Hauing such prospects, all the world to view. 
 
 y»> These conduit-pipes of knowledge feed the Mind, 
 But th' other three attend the Body still ; 
 For by their seruices the Soule doth find, 
 What things are to the body, good or ill. 
 
 •J^ Taste 
 
 ^^^^ I ""HE bodie's life with meats and ayre is fed, 
 
 Therefore the J(3«/^ doth vse the tasting power, 
 In veines, which through the tongue and palate 
 
 spred, 
 Distinguish euery relish, sweet and sower. 
 
 i*^ This is the bodie's nurse; but since man's wit 
 Found th' art o{ cookery, to delight his sense ; 
 More bodies are consum'd and kild with it, 
 
 ^^ , Then with the sword, famine, or pestilence. 
 
 u Smelling 
 
 y>t 'VT^'^J', in the nosthrils she doth vse the smell: 
 As God the breath of life in them did giue, 
 So makes He now this power in them to dwell, 
 
 To iudge all ayres, whereby we breath and Hue. 
 
 18
 
 274 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 i^lThis sense is also mistresse of an Art, 
 
 Which to soft people sweete perfumes doth sell ; 
 Though this deare Art doth little good impart, 
 "Sith they smell best, that doc of nothing smell. 
 
 V* And yet good sents doe purifie the braine, 
 Awake the fancie, and the wits refine ; 
 Hence old Deuotion, incense did ordaine 
 To make mens' spirits apt for thoughts diuine. 
 
 L 
 
 r Feeling 
 
 ASTLY, the feeling power, which is Life's 
 root, 
 
 Through euery liuing part it selfe doth shed; 
 By sinewes, which extend from head to foot, 
 And like a net, all ore the body spred. 
 
 ^■' Much like a subtill spider, which doth sit 
 
 In middle of her web, which spreadeth wide; 
 If ought doe touch the vtmost thred of it, 
 Shee fceles it instantly on euery side. 
 
 "v^'By Touch, the first pure qualities we learne, 
 
 Which quicken all things, hote, cold, moist, and 
 
 dry ; 
 By Touch, hard, soft, rough, smooth, we doe dis- 
 
 cerne ; 
 By Touch, sweet pleasure, and sharpe paine, we try.
 
 Of the Soule of Man 2y$ 
 
 viy 'T^HESE are the outward instruments of Sense, 
 These are the guards which euery thing 
 must passe 
 Ere it approch the mind's intelligence, 
 Or touch the Fantasie, Wit's looking-glasse. 
 
 c The Imagination or Common Sense 
 
 '"A 
 
 ND yet these porters, which all things admit, 
 Themsclues perceiue not, nor discerne the 
 things ; 
 One common power doth in the forehead sit, 
 Which all their proper formes together brings. 
 
 x\>\ For all those ticrucs, which spirits of Scnce doe 
 
 beare, 
 And to those outward organs spreading goe; 
 Vnited are, as in a center there. 
 And there this power those sundry formes doth 
 
 know. 
 
 >'»' Those outward organs present things receiue. 
 This inward Sense doth absent things retaine ; 
 Yet straight transmits all formes shee doth per- 
 ceiue, 
 Vnto a higher region of the braine.
 
 276 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 1 The Fantasie 
 
 .vj. "1 T /"HERE Fantasie, neere hand-maid to the 
 mind, 
 Sits and beholds, and doth discerne them all; 
 Compounds in one, things diuers in their kind ; 
 Compares the black and white, the great and 
 small. 
 
 yj^ Besides, those single formes she doth esteeme, 
 And in her ballance doth their values trie; 
 Where some things good, and some things ill 
 
 doe seem. 
 And neutrall some, in \\er fantasticke eye. 
 
 ^i This busie power is working day and night ; 
 For when the outward senses rest doe take, 
 A thou:5and dreames, fantasticall and light. 
 With f^uttring wings doe keepe her still awake. 
 
 L The Sensitiue Memorie 
 
 jj^TT'ET alwayes all may not afore her bee; 
 
 Successiuely, she this and that intends; 
 Therefore such formes as she doth cease to 
 
 see, 
 To Memorie's large volume shee commends.
 
 Of the Soule of Man 277 
 
 '^^"The lidger-hooke lies in the braine behinde, 
 Like lanus' eye, which in his poll was set ; 
 The lay-vtans Uxbles^ store-house of the mind^ 
 Which doth remember much, and much forget. 
 
 i^' Heere Sense's apprehension, end doth take ; 
 As when a stone is into water cast, 
 One circle doth another circle make, 
 Till the last circle touch the banke at last. 
 
 L The Passions of Sense 
 
 lV^TJUT i.iough the apprehensiue power doe pause, 
 "^ The motiue vertue then begins to moue ; 
 Which in the heart below doth PASSIONS cause, 
 Toy, grief e, and feare, and hope, and hate, and /one. 
 
 t^'i These passions haue a free commanding might. 
 And diuers actions in our life doe breed; 
 For, all acts done \vithout true Reason's light, 
 Doe from the passion of the Sense proceed. 
 
 7,^1 But sith the draine doth, lodge the powers of Sense, 
 How makes it in the heart those passions spring? 
 The mutuall loue, the kind intelligence 
 'Twixt heart and braine, this sympathy doth 
 bring.
 
 2^8 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 v-*'' From the kind heat, which in the heart doth raigne, 
 The spirits of life doe their begining take; 
 These spirits of life ascending to the braine, 
 When they come there, the spirits of Sense do 
 make. 
 
 "^ These spirits of Sense, in Fantasie's High Court, 
 ludge of the formes oiobiccts, ill or well; 
 And so they send a good or ill report 
 Downe to the heart, where all affections dwell. 
 
 ^«>1 If the report hcc good, it causeth hue, 
 
 And longing /lope, and well-assured ioy: 
 
 If it bee ;//, then doth it hatred moue, 
 
 And trembling feare, and vexing griefes annoy. 
 
 Yet were these naturall affections good : 
 
 (For they which want them, blockes or deiiils be) 
 \{ Reason in her first perfection stood, 
 That she might Nature's passions rectifie. 
 
 Jf'TuE Motion of Life 
 
 ;\*^ "OESIDES, another niotiue-power doth rise 
 "^ Out of the heart; from whose pure blood 
 do spring 
 The vita// spirits ; which, borne in arteries, 
 Continuall motion to all parts doe bring.
 
 ^^^nr^ 
 
 Of tbe Soule of Man 2yg 
 
 A The Locall Motion 
 
 HIS makes the pulses beat, and lungs respire, 
 This holds thesinewes like a bridle's reines; 
 And makes the Body to aduance, retire, 
 To turne or stop, as she them slacks, or 
 straines. 
 
 ^j' Thus the sonic tunes the bodie's instrument; 
 
 These harmonies she makes with life and sense ; 
 
 The organs fit are by the body lent, 
 
 But th' actions flow from the Soitle's influence. 
 
 ; The ixtellectuall Powers of the Soule 
 
 ^i"* "D ^^ 1^0'M I haue a willt yet want a ^vit, 
 
 "^ To expresse the working of the wit and 
 will ; 
 Which, though their root be to the body knit, 
 Vse not the body, when they vse their skill. 
 
 ^^3 These powers the nature of the Soule declare, 
 For to man's soule these onely proper bee; 
 For on the Earth no other wights there are 
 That haue these heauenly powers, but only we.
 
 28o Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 ^ The Wit or Understanding 
 
 -v 'T^HE Wit, the pupill of the Sou/e's cleare eye, 
 And in man's world, the onely shining 
 starre; 
 Lookes in the mirror of the Fantasie, 
 \ Where all the gatherings of the Senses are. 
 
 ^1 From thence this power the shapes of things ab- 
 stracts, 
 And them within her />assiue part recelues; 
 Which are enlightned by that part which ac/s, 
 And so the formes of single things perceiues. 
 
 ,5 'But after, by discoursing to and fro, 
 Anticipating, and comparing things; 
 She doth all vnivcrsall natures know, 
 And all cj^ccis into their causes brings. 
 
 \^ Reason, Vnderstanding 
 
 \X7HEN she rates things and moues from 
 ! ground to ground. 
 
 The name of Reason she obtaines by this ; 
 But when by Reason she the truth hatb found, 
 And standeth Jixt, she Vnderstanding is.
 
 Of the Soule of Man 281 
 
 JL Opinion, Judgement 
 
 >' ' 'XTT'HEN her assent she lightly doth encHne 
 To either part, she is OPINION light: 
 But when she doth by principles define 
 A certaine truth, she hath true Judgement's 
 sight. 
 
 J And as from Senses, Reason's worke doth spring, 
 So many reasons understanding gaine ; 
 And many lotdcrstandings, knowledge bring; 
 And by much knowledge, wisdome we obtaine. 
 
 XjO So, many stayres we must ascend vpright 
 Ere we attaine to Wisdome' s high degree; 
 So doth this Earth eclipse our Reason's light. 
 Which else (in instants) would like angels see. 
 
 ikl Yet hath the Soule a dowrie naturall, 
 
 And sparkes of light, some common things to 
 
 see; 
 Not being a blancke where nought is writ at all, 
 But what the writer will, may written be 
 
 \.-» For Nature in man's heart her lawes doth pen; 
 Prescribing trutJi to wit, and good to will : 
 Which doe accuse, or else excuse all men. 
 For euery thought or practise, good or ill :
 
 282 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 ^C) And yet these sparkes grow almost infinite, 
 
 Making the World, and all therein their food; 
 As fire so spreads as no place holdeth it, 
 Being nourisht still, with new supplies of wood. 
 
 ^f And though these sparkes were almost quencht 
 with sin, 
 Yet they whom that lusi Ottc hath iustifide ; 
 Haue them encreasd with heauenly light within, 
 And like the widowers oyle still multiplide. 
 
 r^ The Power of Will 
 
 , A ND as this wit should goodnesse truely know, 
 •* •*' We haue a Will, which that true good 
 should chuse ; 
 Though Wil do oft (when wit false formes doth 
 
 show) 
 Take ill for good^ and good for /// refuse. 
 
 re- The Relations betwixt Wit and Will 
 
 'i^^'lT /"/ZZ puts in practice what the Wit deuiseth; 
 Will euer acts, and Wit contemplates still ; 
 And as from Wity the power of wiscdome riseth. 
 All other vertues daughters are of Will.
 
 Of the Soule of Man 28) 
 
 i.-)WiU is the prince, and IVi/ the counseller, 
 
 Which doth for common good in Counsell sit; 
 And when Wi/ is rcsolu'd, Wi/l lends her power 
 To execute what is aduis'd by Wit. 
 
 ^ Wit is the mind's chief iudge, which doth controule 
 Of Fancies Court the iudgcments, false and 
 
 vaine ; 
 Will holds the royall septer in the soule 
 And on the passions of the heart doth raigne. 
 
 >) Will is as free as any emperour, 
 
 Naught can restraine \\cr gentle libertie; 
 No tyrant, nor no torment, hath the power, 
 To make vs zuill, when we vnwilling bee. 
 
 70 
 
 o The Intellectuall Memorie 
 
 ' I ''O these high powers, d store-house doth per- 
 taine. 
 Where they all arts and generall reasons lay; 
 Which in the Soule, eucn after death, remaine 
 And no Lethcsan flood can wash away. 
 
 This is the Soule, and these her vertues bee; 
 Which, though they haue their sundry proper 
 
 ends, 
 And one exceeds another in degree, 
 Yet each on other mutually depends.
 
 284 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 t]V Our Wit is giuen, Almighty GodXa know ; 
 
 Our Will is giuen to loue Him, being knowne ; 
 But God could not be known to vs below, 
 But by His workes which through the sense are 
 shown. 
 
 ^ And as the Wit doth reape the fruits of Sense, 
 So doth the quick ning power the senses feed ; 
 Thus while they doe their sundry gifts dispence, 
 *' The best, the seruice of the least doth need. 
 
 ^•{ Euen so the King his Magistrates do serue, 
 
 Yet Commons feed both magistrate and king; 
 The Commons' peace the magistrates preserue 
 By borrowed power, which from the Prince doth 
 spring. 
 
 ^7^ The quickning power would be, and so would rest; 
 The Sense would not be onely, but be well ; 
 But Wit's ambition longeth to the best, 
 For it desires in endlesse blisse to dwell. 
 
 ,*1^ And these three powers, three sorts of men doe 
 
 make: 
 For some, like plants, their veines doe onely fill; 
 And some, like beasts, their senses' pleasure 
 
 take; 
 And some, like angels, doe contemplate still.
 
 Of the Soule of Man 28^ 
 
 t')'^ Therefore the fables turnd some men to flowres, 
 And others, did with bruitish formes inuest; 
 And did of others, make celestiall powers, 
 Like angels, which still trauell, yet still rest. 
 
 y;)i Yet these three powers are not three soules, but 
 one ; 
 As one and two are both containd in three ; 
 Three being one number by it sclfe alone: 
 A shadow of the blessed Trinitie. 
 
 f 
 
 An Acclamation 
 
 <lT^{^ I what is Man (great Maker of mankind !) 
 ^^^ That Thou to him so great respect dost 
 beare ! 
 That Thou adornst him with so bright a mind, 
 Mak'st him a king, and euen an angel's peere ! 
 
 l,,o O ! what a liuely life, what heauenly power, 
 
 What spreading vertue, what a sparkling fire ! 
 How great, how plentifull, how rich a dower 
 Dost Thou within this dying flesh inspire I 
 
 |ii Thou leau'st Thy print in other works of Thine, 
 But Thy whole image Thou in Man hast writ; 
 There cannot be a creature more diuine, 
 Except (like Thee) it should be infinit.
 
 2S6 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 j^v/V But it exceeds man's thought, to thinke how hie 
 God hath raisd Man, since God a man became; 
 The angels doe admire this Misterie, 
 And are astonisht when they view the same. 
 
 Q^ That the Soule is Immortal, and cannot 
 
 Die 
 
 yO "VTOR hath He giuen these blessings for a day, 
 Nor made them on the bodie's life depend ; 
 The Soule though made in time, s untiles /or aye, 
 And though it hath beginning, sees no end. 
 
 vt Her onely end, is ncuer-ending blisse ; 
 
 Which is, th' ctcrnall face of God to see; 
 Who Last of Ends, and First of Causes, is: 
 And to doc this, she must ctcrnall bee. 
 
 How senselesse then, and c^cad a soule hath hee, 
 Which thinks his soule doth with his body die ! 
 Or thinkes not so, but so would haue it bee. 
 That he might sinne with more securitie. 
 
 ->kv For though these light and vicious persons say. 
 Our Soule is but a smoake, or ayrie blast; 
 Which, during life, doth in our nostrils play, 
 And when we die, doth turne to wind at last:
 
 Of the Soule of Man 287 
 
 ^s"7Althoiigh they say, *Comf let us eat and drinke* ; 
 Our life is but a sparke, which quickly dies; 
 Though thus they j^^', they know not what to think, 
 But in their minds ten thousand doubts arise. 
 
 >r» Therefore no heretikes desire to spread 
 
 Their light opinions, like these Epicures: 
 For so the staggering thoughts are comforted, 
 And other men's assent their doubt assures. 
 
 Yet though these men against their conscience 
 stnue, 
 There are some sparkles in* their flintie breasts 
 Which cannot be extinct, but still reuiue ; 
 That though they would, they cannot quite bee 
 beasts ; 
 
 lC^y But who so makes a mirror of his mind, 
 
 And doth with patience view himselfe therein, 
 His Soule s eternitie shall clearely find. 
 Though th' other beauties be defac't with sin. 
 
 Reason I 
 Drawne from the desire of Knowledge 
 Vi,i T?IRST /';; Man's mind we find an appetite 
 
 To learne and knoio tJie trutJi of euery thing ; 
 Which is co-naturall, and borne with it, 
 And from the essence of the soule doth spring.
 
 288 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 ^^ With this desire, shee hath a natiue might 
 To find out euery truth, if she had time; 
 Th' innumerable effects to sort aright, 
 And by degrees, from cause to cause to clitne. 
 
 ^•"j:? But sith our life so fast away doth slide, 
 
 As doth a hungry eagle through the wind, 
 
 Or as a ship transported with the tide ; 
 
 Which in their passage leaue no print behind ; . 
 
 ^Of which swift little time so much we spend, 
 
 While some few things we through the sense doe 
 
 straine; 
 That our short race of life is at an end, 
 Ere we the principles of skill attaine. 
 
 A-];Or God (which to vainc ends hath nothing done) 
 In vainc this appetite and power hath giuen ; 
 Or else our knowledge, which is here begun, 
 Hereafter must bee perfected in heauen. 
 
 T^ylGod neuer gauc z. power to one whole kind, 
 
 But most part of that kind did vse the same; 
 Most eies haue perfect sight, though some be 
 
 blind; 
 Most legs can nimbly run, though some be 
 
 lame:
 
 Oj the Soule of Man 289 
 
 H^"^ But in this lifo*no sou/e the truth can know 
 So pcrfcctl)', as it hath power to doe; 
 If then perfection be not found below, I 
 
 An higher place must make her mount thereto. 
 
 Reason II 
 Drawn from the Motion of the Soule 
 
 i/ 
 
 vfi A GAINE how can shee but immortall bee? 
 •^ ^ When with the motions of both Will and 
 Wit, 
 She still aspireth to eternitie, 
 And neuer rests, till she attaine to it? 
 
 IM Water in conduit pipes, can rise no higher 
 
 Then the wel-head, from whence it first doth 
 
 spring: 
 Then sith to eternall GOD shee doth aspire, 
 Shee cannot be but an eternall thing. 
 
 -j^j " All mouing things to other things doe moue, 
 
 " Of the same kind, which shews their nature 
 
 such ; 
 So earth falls downe and_/?/'^ doth mount aboue, 
 Till both their proper elements doe touch. 
 
 «9
 
 2go Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 ^ The Soul compared to a Riuer 
 
 jOi And as the moysture, which the thirstie earth 
 Suckes from the sea, to fill her emptie veines, 
 From out her wombe at last doth take a 
 
 birth, 
 And runs a Nymph along the grassie plaines: 
 
 ^ Long doth shce stay, as loth to ler\ue the land, 
 
 From whose soft side she first did issue make; ■ 
 Shce tastes all places, turnes to eucry hand, 
 Her flowry bankes vnwilling to forsake : 
 
 )») Yet Nature so her streames doth lead and carry. 
 As that her course doth make no finall stay. 
 Till she her scifc vnto the Ocean marry, 
 Within whose watry bosomc first she lay: 
 
 •jo^ Euen so the Soiile which in this earthly mold 
 The Spirit of Gcd doth secretly infuse; 
 Because at first she doth the earth behold, 
 And onely this materiall world she viewes: 
 
 |-^»< At first her mother-earth she holdeth dcare, 
 
 And doth embrace the world and worldly things: 
 She flics close by the ground, and houers here, 
 And mounts nut vp with her cclcstiall wings.
 
 Of the Soule of Man 291 
 
 V.4 Yet vnder hcaucn she cannot light on ought 
 That with her hcauenly nature doth agree ; 
 She cannot rest, she cannot fix her thought, 
 She cannot in this world contented bee: 
 
 >) For who did euer yet, in honour, wealth, 
 
 ^Ox pleasure of the sense, contentment find? 
 Who euer ceasd to wish, when he had health t 
 Or hauing wisedome was not vext in mind? 
 
 y ^ Then as a bee which among weeds doth fall, 
 
 Which seeme sweet flowers, with lustre fresh and 
 
 gay ; 
 She lights on that, and this, and tasteth all, 
 But pleasd with none, doth rise, and soare away; 
 
 >] So, when the Soule finds here no true content. 
 
 And, like Noah's doue, can no sure footing take; 
 She doth rcturne from whence she first was sent, 
 And flies to Hitn that first her wings did make. 
 
 >^ Wit, seeking Truth, from cause to cause ascends, 
 And neuer rests, till it X)i\c first attaine: 
 Will, seeking Good, finds many middle ends. 
 But neuer stayes, till it the last doe gaine. 
 
 •^n Now God, the Truth, and First of Causes is : 
 
 God is the Last Good End, which lasteth still; 
 Being Alpha and Omega nam'd for this; 
 Alpha to Wit, Omega to the Will.
 
 rt^i Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 71 V Sith then her heauenly kind shee doth bewray, 
 In that to God she doth directly moue; 
 And on no niortall thing can make her stay, 
 She cannot be from hence, but from aboue. 
 
 ]f ^ And yet this First True Cause, and Last Good End, 
 Shoe cannot hcere so well, and truely see ; 
 For this perfection shee must yet attend, 
 Till to her Maker shee espoused bee. 
 
 "^j^'As a king's daughter, being in person sought 
 Of diuers princes, who doe neighbour neere ; 
 On none of them can fixe a constant thought, 
 Though shee to all doe lend a gentle eare: 
 
 l*^Yct she can loue a forrainc eviperour. 
 
 Whom of great worth and power she heares to be ; 
 If she be woo'd but by cuibassadour, 
 Or but his letters, or his pictures see: 
 
 "if. For well she knowes, that when she shalbe brought 
 Into the kiugdome where her Spouse doth raigne ; 
 Her eyes shall see what she conceiu'd in thought, 
 Ilimsclfc, his state, his glory, and his traine. 
 
 ijll So while the virgin Sou/e on Earth doth stay, 
 
 She woo'd and tempted is ten thousand wayes, 
 By these great powers, which on the Earth bcare 
 
 sway ; 
 The wisdom of the World, wealth, pleasure ^ praise:
 
 Of the Soule of Man 5pj 
 
 iW'With these sometime she doth her time beguile, 
 These doe by fits her Fantasic possesse ; 
 But she distastes them all within a while, 
 And in the sweetest finds a tediousnesse. 
 
 ^•*1 But if upon the World's Almighty King 
 
 She once doe fixe her humble louing thought; 
 Who by His picture, drawne in euery thing, 
 And sacred messages y her lone hath sought; 
 
 3>.o Of Him she thinks, she cannot thinke too much; 
 This hony tasted still, is euer sweet; 
 The pleasure of her rauisht thought is such, 
 As almost here, she with her blisse doth 
 meet: 
 
 jvt But when in Heauen she shall His Essence see. 
 This is her soucraigne good, and perfect blisse: 
 Her longings, wishings, hopes all finisht be. 
 Her ioyes are full, her motions rest in this: 
 
 vv There is she crownd with garlands of content, 
 
 There doth she manna eat, and nectar drinke; 
 That Presence doth such high delights present. 
 As neuer tongue could speake, nor heart could 
 thinke.
 
 2g4 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 Reason III 
 
 From Contempt of Death in the better 
 Sort of Spirits 
 
 >•> "p^-^ ^'''^ the better Sou/es doe oft despise 
 The bodie's death, and doe it oft desire; 
 For when on ground, the burdened ballance lies 
 The emptie part is lifted vp the higher: 
 
 Ml But if the bodie's death the sou/e should kill, 
 
 Then death must needs against her nature bee; 
 And were it so, all souks would flie it still, 
 " For Nature hates and shunnes her contrary. 
 
 ^4' For all things else, which Nature makes to bee, 
 Their hei)ig to prcscrue, are chiefly taught; 
 And though some things desire a change to see, 
 Yet neuer thing did long to turne to naught. 
 
 '\l_^ If then by death the soitle were quenched quite, 
 She could not thus against her nature runne; 
 Since euery senselesse thing, by Nature's light. 
 Doth preservation secke, destruction shunne. 
 
 -i-^ Nor could the World's best spirits so much erre, 
 If death tookc all — that they should all agree. 
 Before this life, their honour to preferre ; 
 For what is praise to things that nothing bee?
 
 Of the Soule of Man 29$ 
 
 J}?*- Agalne, if by the bodie's prop she stand; 
 If on the bodie's Ufe, her life depend; 
 As Melcager's on the fatall brand, — 
 The bodie's good shee onely would intend : 
 
 3/rWe should not find her half so braue and bold, 
 To leade it to the Warres and to the seas ; 
 To make it suffer watchings, hunger, cold. 
 When it might feed with plenty, rest with 
 case. 
 
 3y> Doubtlcsse all Soules have a suruiuing thought; 
 
 Therefore of death we thinke with quiet mind ; 
 / But if we thinke of being turtid to nought, 
 
 A trembling horror in our soules we find. 
 
 Reason IV 
 
 From the Feare of Death in the Wicked 
 Soules 
 
 \y A ND as the better spirit, when shee doth beare 
 •* A scorne of death, doth shew she cannot 
 
 die ; 
 So when the wicked Soufe Death's face doth 
 
 feare, 
 Euen then she proues her owne eternitie.
 
 2g6 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 i,' For when Death's forme appeares, she feareth not 
 An vtter quenching or extinguishment; 
 She would be glad to meet with such a lot, 
 That so she might all future ill preuent: 
 
 iy} But shea doth doubt what after may befall; 
 For Nature's law accuscth her within; 
 And saith, 'Tis true that is afiirm'd by all, 
 That after death there is a paiiie for sin. 
 
 •>\j^Thcn she which hath bin hud-winkt from hpr birth, 
 Doth first her sclfc within Death's mirror see ; 
 And when her body doth returne to earth, 
 She first takes care, how she alone shall bee. 
 
 ^V Who eucr sees these irreligious men, 
 
 With burthen of a sicknesse weake and faint; 
 But hcarcs them talking of Religion then. 
 And vowing of their soiilcs to euery saint? 
 
 ^•^** When was there eucr curs6d atheist brought 
 Vnto \.\\c gibbet, but he did adore 
 That blessed Power, which he had set at nought, 
 Scorn'd and blasphemed all his life before? 
 
 J*!^ These light vaine persone still are drunke and mad. 
 With surfcttings and pleasures of their youth; 
 But at their deaths they are fresh, sober, sad ; 
 Then they disccrne, and then they spcake the 
 truth.
 
 Of the Soule of Man 2^^ 
 
 y^ If then all SonUs, both good and bad, doe teach, 
 With gcncrall voice, that soules can neuer die ; 
 Tis not man's flattering glosse, but Nature's 
 
 speech. 
 Which, like Goifs Oracle, can neuer lie. 
 
 Reason V 
 
 From the generall Desire of Immortalitie 
 
 ^ijS T TENCE springs that vniuersall strong desire, 
 ^ ■*■ Which all men haue of Immortalitie: 
 Not some few spirits vnto this thought aspire, 
 But all mens' minds in this vnited be. 
 
 jvta Then this desire of Nature is not vaine, 
 " She couets not impossibilities; 
 " Fond thoughts may fall into some idle braine, 
 " But one nssetit of all, is euer wise. 
 
 ^ From hence that generall care and study springs, 
 That launcJiing ^x\^ progression of the mind ; 
 Which all men haue so much, of future things, 
 That they no ioy doe in the present find. 
 
 w|. From this desire, that maine desire proceeds, 
 
 Which all men haue suruiuing Fame to gaine; 
 By tombcs, by bookes, by memorable deeds : 
 For she that this desires, doth still remaine.
 
 298 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 ,^i Hence lastly, springs care of posterities, 
 
 For things their kind would eucrlasting make; 
 Hence is it that old men do plant young trees, 
 The fruit whereof another age shall take. 
 
 •^ If we these rules vnto our selues apply, 
 
 And view them by reflection of the mind ; 
 
 All these true notes of immortalitie 
 
 In our hearts tables we shall written find. 
 
 Reason VI 
 
 From the very Doubt and Disputation of 
 Immortalitie 
 
 vie A ND though some impious wits do questions 
 ■^^ moue, 
 
 And doubt if Soulcs immortall be, or no ; 
 That doubt their immortaliiie doth proue, 
 Because they seemc immortall things to know. 
 
 li^ For he which reasons on both parts doth bring, 
 
 Doth some things mortall, some immortall call; 
 Now, if himsclfc were but a mortall thing, 
 He could not iudgc immortall things at all. 
 
 \^ For when we iudge, our minds we mirrors make: 
 And as those glasses which material! bee, 
 Formes of matcriall things doc onely take, 
 For thoughts or minds in them we cannot see;
 
 Of the Soule of Man 299 
 
 if i' So, when we God and angels do conceiue, 
 And thinke of truth, which is eternall too ; 
 Then doe our minds immortall formes receiue, 
 Which if they morcall were, they could not 
 doo : • 
 
 ^4? And as, if beasts conceiu'd what Reason were, 
 And that conception should distinctly show, 
 They should the name of reasonable beare ; 
 For without Reason, none could Reason know: 
 
 ^^ So, when the Soule mounts with so high a wing. 
 As of eternall things she doubts can moue ; 
 Shee proofes of her eternitie doth bring, 
 Euen when she striues the contrary to proue. 
 
 3^ For euen the thought of immortalitie, 
 
 Being an act done without the bodie's ayde; 
 Shewes, that her sclfe alone could moue and 
 
 bee, 
 Although the body in the graue were layde. 
 
 c^ That the Soule cannot be destroyed 
 
 7^-*. A ND if her selfe she can so liuely moue, 
 "^ -^ And neucr need a forrainc helpe to take; 
 
 Then must her motion euerlasUng proue, 
 ** Because her sclfe she ncuer can forsake.
 
 yx) Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 V-Her Cause ceaseth not 
 
 j) But though corruption cannot touch the minde» 
 By any cause that from it sclfe may spring ; 
 Some outward cause Fate hath perhaps de- 
 
 signd, 
 Which to the Soule may vtter quenching bring. 
 
 c. She hath no Contrary 
 
 ^^g^ Perhaps her cause may cease, and she may die; 
 God is her cause. His Wordh^r Maker was; 
 Which shall stand fixt for all eternitie 
 When Heauen and Earth shall like a shadow 
 passe. 
 
 ■jsPerhaps some thing repugnant to her kind, 
 By strong antipathy ^ the Soule may kill; 
 But what can be contrary to the minde, 
 Which holds all contraries in concord still? 
 
 ^'^'She lod^eth heat, and cold, and moist, and dry, 
 And life, and death, and peace, and war to- 
 gether ; 
 Ten thousand fighting things in ht-r doe lye, 
 Yet neither troublcth, or disturbeth cither.
 
 Of the Soule of Man ^oi 
 
 (A Shee cannot Die for want of Food 
 
 3^7 Perhaps for want of food the soule may pine; 
 
 But that were strange, sith all things bad and 
 
 good, 
 Sith all God's creature's mortal I zviA diuitie, 
 Sith God Himself c, is her eternall food. 
 
 ■)f^ Bodies are fed with things of mortall kind, 
 And so are subiect to mortalitie; 
 But Truth which is eternall, feeds the mind; 
 The 7ree of life, which will not let her die. 
 
 s. Violence cannot destroy her 
 
 3^') Yet violence, perhaps the Soule destroyes: 
 
 As lightning, or the suji-ieavies dim the sight; 
 Or as a thunder-clap, or cannons' noyse, 
 The power of hearing doth astonish quite, 
 
 ,(a But high perfection to the Soule it brings, 
 
 T' encounter things most excellent and high ; 
 For, when she views the best and greatest things 
 They do not hurt, but rather cleare her eye, 
 
 ,, Besides, — as Homer's gods 'gainst armies stand, — 
 Her subtill forme can through all dangers slide ; 
 Bodies are captiue, minds endure no band, 
 "And Will is free, and can no force abide.
 
 }02 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 ^ Time cannot destroy her 
 
 ij-v But lastly, Time perhaps at last hath power 
 
 To spend her liuely powers, and quench her 
 
 light; 
 But old god Saturne which doth all deuoure, 
 Doth cherish her, and still augment her might. 
 
 ^t^ Heaucn waxcth old, and all the sf /teres aboue 
 
 Shall one day faint, and their swift motion stay; 
 And Time it selfe in time shall cease to moue; 
 Onely the Sonle surnives, and Hues for aye. 
 
 ' ,%i** Our Bodies, euery footstep that they make, 
 
 " March towards death, vntill at last they die; 
 " Whether we worke, or play, or sleepe, or wake, 
 '* Our life doth passe, and with Timers wings doth 
 flic : 
 
 ':i'» But to the Soufe Time doth perfection giue, 
 And ads fresh lustre to her beauty still ; 
 And makes her in eternall youth to Hue, 
 Like her which nectar to the gods doth fill. 
 
 .1 The more she Hues, the more she feeds on Truth; 
 The more she feeds, her strength doth more in- 
 crease : 
 And what is strength, but an effect oi youth? 
 Which if Time nurse, how can it euer cease?
 
 Of the Soule of Man joj 
 
 /{ Objections against the Immortalitie of 
 THE Soule 
 
 ^*^ TJ ^T' now these Epicures begin to smile, 
 
 "^ And say, my doctrine is more false then 
 true; 
 And that I fondly doe my selfe beguile, 
 While these recciu'd opinions I ensue. 
 
 Objection I 
 
 '^ "ITOR what, say they, doth not the So!//e waxe old ? 
 "*■ I 'o\v comes it then that ag6d men doe dote; 
 And that their braines grow sottish, dull and cold, 
 Which were in youth the onely spirits of note? 
 
 ^'«| What? arc not 5^?///^^ within themsclues corrupted? 
 How can there idiots then by nature bee? 
 How is it that some wits are interrupted. 
 That now they dazeled are, now clearely see? 
 
 yT 
 
 Answere 
 
 HESE questions make a subtill argument, 
 To such as thinkc both sense and reason one ; 
 To whom nor agent, from the instrument. 
 Nor power of working, from the work is known.
 
 ^4 Philosophy in Poetrv 
 
 <^ IJut they that knew that wit can shew no skill, 
 
 But when she things in Sense's glasse doth view; 
 Doe know, if accider.t this glasse doe spill, 
 It nothing sees, or sees the false for true. 
 
 >*vFor, if that region of the tender braine. 
 
 Where th' inward sense of Fantasie should sit. 
 And the outward senses gatherings should retain, 
 IJy Nature, or by chance, become vnfit; 
 
 "■^\ Either at first vncapable it is. 
 
 And so few things, or none at all receiues; 
 Or mard by accident, which haps amisse 
 And so amisse it euery thing perceiues. 
 
 'vk>^ Then, as a cunning prince that vscth spvcs, 
 
 If they rcturne no newes doth nothing know; 
 But if they make aduertisement of lies, 
 The Prince's Counsel all awry doe goe. 
 
 "V^^ Euen so the Sottle to such a body knit. 
 Whose inward senses vndisposed be, 
 And to receiue the formes of things vnfit; 
 Where nothing is brought in, can nothing see. 
 
 ^*^^This makes the idiot, which hath yet a mind. 
 Able to know the truth, and chuse the good ; 
 If she such figures in the braine did find, 
 As might be found, if it in temper stood.
 
 Of the Soule of Man )o^ 
 
 ?*^But \i z phrensie doe possesse the braine, 
 
 It so disturbs and blots the formes of things; 
 As Fantasie prooues altogether vaine, 
 And to the Wit no true relation brings. 
 
 ^ Then doth the Wit, admitting all for true, 
 
 Build fond conclusions on those idle grounds; 
 Then doth it flie the good, and ill pursue, 
 Beleeuing all that this false spie propounds. 
 
 "^V But purge the humors, and the rage appease, 
 Which this distemper in the fansie wrought; 
 Then shall the Wit, which never had disease, 
 Discourse, and iudge discreetly, as it ought. 
 
 ' So, though the clouds eclipse the sunne's faire light, 
 Yet from his face they doe not take one beame; 
 So haue our eyes their perfect power of sight, 
 Euen when they looke into a troubled streame. 
 
 ^^ Then these defects in Senses' organs bee. 
 Not in the soule or in her working might; 
 She cannot lose her perfect power to see, 
 Thogh mists and clouds do choke her window 
 light. 
 
 Thee imperfections then we must impute, 
 Not to the agent but the instrument; 
 We must not blame Apollo, but his lute, 
 If false accords from her false strings be sent.
 
 ^o6 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 It") The Soiile in all hath one intelligence; 
 
 Though too much moisture in an infant's braine, 
 And too much drinesse in an old man's sense, 
 Cannot the prints of outward things retaine: 
 
 ^if Then doth the Soiilc want worke, and idle sit, 
 And this we childishnesse and dotage call ; 
 Yet hath she then a quicke and actiue Wit, 
 If she had stufife and tooles to worke withall: 
 
 i^^^For, giue her organs fit, and obiects faire; 
 
 Giue but the aged man, the young man's sense; 
 
 Let but Medea, Aison's youth repaire, 
 
 And straight she shewes her wonted excellence. 
 
 ,»iAs a good harper stricken farrc in yearcs, 
 Into whose cunning hand the gowt is fall ; 
 All his old crotchets in his braine he bcares, 
 But on his harpe playes ill, or not at all. 
 
 ^>,ABut \{ Apollo takes his gowt away, 
 
 That hec his nimble fingers may apply; 
 
 Apollo's sclfc will enuy at his play, 
 
 And all the world applaud his minstralsie. 
 
 V^Thcn dotage is no weaknesse of the mind, 
 
 But of the Sense; for if the mind did waste, 
 In all old men we should this wasting find. 
 When they some certaine terme of yercs had 
 past:
 
 Of the Soule of Man yyy 
 
 2,^1 But most of them, euen to their dying howre, 
 
 Retaine a mind more huely, quicke, and 
 
 strong; 
 And better vse their vnderstanding power, 
 Then when their braines were warm, and lims 
 
 were yong. 
 
 'aj For, though the body wasted be and weake, 
 
 And though the leaden forme of earth it 
 
 beares ; 
 Yet when we heare that halfc-dead body speake, 
 We oft are rauisht to the heauenly sphearcs. 
 
 Objection II 
 
 \| I "\7^ET say these men, If all her organs die, 
 
 Then hath the sonic no power her powers to 
 vse; 
 So, in a sort, her powers extinct doe lie, 
 When vnto act shee cannot them reduce. 
 
 ^m And if her powers be dead, then what is shee? 
 
 For sith from euery thing some powers do 
 
 spring, 
 And from those powers, some acts proceeding 
 
 bee, 
 Then kill both power and act^ and kill the thing.
 
 ^o8 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 Answere 
 
 j^^ Y\OUBTLESSEi\iQ bodie's death when once it 
 "^"^ dies, 
 The instruments of sense and h'fe doth kill; 
 So that she cannot vse those facuhies, 
 Although their -oot rest in her substance still. 
 
 ^jj^But (as the body liuing) Wit and Will 
 
 Can iitiigc and c/iusc, without the bodie's ayde; 
 Though on such objects they are working still. 
 As through the bodie's organs are conuayde : 
 
 -,ft So, when the body scrues her turne no more, 
 And all her Senses are extinct and gone, 
 She can discourse of what she learn'd before, 
 In hcauenly contemplations, all alone. 
 
 "^fc^So, if one man well on a lute doth play, 
 
 And haue good horsemanship, and Learning's 
 
 skill ; 
 Though both his lute and horse we take away. 
 Doth he not keep his former learning still? 
 
 ?i*\»He keepcs it doubtlesse, and can vse it to[o] ; 
 
 And doth both th' other skils in power retaine ; 
 And can of both the proper actions doe, 
 If with his lute or horse he meet againe.
 
 Of the Soule of Man ^og 
 
 '^^•So (though the instruments by which we liuc, 
 
 And view the world, the bodie's death doe 
 
 kill;) 
 Yet with the body they shall all reuiue, 
 And all their wonted offices fulfill. 
 
 '"B 
 
 Objection III 
 
 UT how, till then, shall she herselfe imploy? 
 Her spies are dead which brought home 
 newes before ; 
 What she hath got and keepes, she may enicy, 
 But she hath meanes to vnderstand no more. 
 
 ^^a Then what do those poore soules,\vh\ch. nothing 
 get? 
 Or what doe those which get, and cannot keepe? 
 Like buckets bottomlesse, which all out-let 
 Those Soules, for want of exercise, must sleepe. 
 
 Answere 
 
 H« I ^EE how man's Soule against it selfe doth 
 striue: 
 Why should we not haue other meanes to know? 
 As children while within the wombe they Hue, 
 Feed by the nauill: here they feed not so.
 
 ^/o Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 ^, , These children, if they had some vse of sense, 
 
 And should by chance their mothers' talking 
 
 hcare ; 
 That in short time they shall come forth from 
 
 thence, 
 Would feare their birth more then our death we 
 
 fcare. 
 
 ^.^ They would cry out, ' If wc this place shall 
 loaiic. 
 Then shall we brcake our tender nauill strings; 
 \ How shall we then our nourishment receiue, 
 
 Sith our sweet food no other conduit brings?' 
 
 . And if a man should to these babes reply, 
 
 That into this faire world they shall be brought; 
 Where they shall see the Earth, the Sea, the 
 
 Skie, 
 The glorious Sun, and all that God hath 
 wrought: 
 
 i\ That there ten thousand dainties they shall meet, 
 Which by their mouthes they shall with pleasure 
 take ; 
 I Which shall be cordiall too, as wcl as sweet, 
 
 ! And of their little limbes, tall bodies make;
 
 Of the Soule of Man ^i i 
 
 tjDuThis would they thinke a fable, euen as we 
 Doe thinke the slory of the Golden Age ; 
 Or as some sensuall spirits amongst vs bee, 
 Which hold the world to come, a faititd stage: 
 
 "!♦? Yet shall these infants after find all true, 
 
 Though then thereof they nothing could con- 
 
 cciitc; 
 As soonc as they arc borne, the world they 
 
 view, 
 
 And with their mouthes, the nurses'-milke re- 
 ceiue. 
 
 rtjj. So, when the Soule is borne (for Death is nought 
 But the Soule's birth, and so we should it 
 
 call) 
 Ten thousand things she sees beyond her 
 
 thought, 
 And in an vnknowne manner knowes them all. 
 
 'JJ^ Then doth s' lee by spectacles no more, 
 She heares not by report of double spies; 
 Her selfe in instants doth all things explore. 
 For each thing present, and before her, lies.
 
 ^12 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 Objection IV 
 
 tf* XyUT stiil this crue with questions me pursues: 
 If sou'es deceas'd (say they) still liuing 
 bee; 
 Why do they not return, to bring vs newes 
 Of that strange world, where they such wonders 
 see? 
 
 it/JT 
 
 Answere 
 
 OND men / If we beleeue that men doe Hue 
 Vnder the Zenith of both frozen Poles, 
 Though none come thence aduertisement to 
 
 giue; 
 Why bcare we not the like faith of our soulesf 
 
 ^r'The soulc hath here on Earth no more to doe, 
 
 Then we haue busincsse in our mother's wombe ; 
 ■ What child doth couet to returne thereto? 
 
 I Although all children first from thence do come? 
 
 I ' 
 
 j , - But as A^oa/i's pidgeon, which rcturn'd no more, 
 ! Did shew, she footing found, for all the Flood ; 
 
 So when good soules, departed through Death's 
 dore, 
 
 Come not againe, it shewes their dwelling good.
 
 Of the Soule of Man 5/^ 
 
 •^^ 'And doubtlesse, such a soule as vp doth mount, 
 And doth appeare before her Maker's Face; 
 Holds this vile world in such a base account, 
 As she looks down, and scorns thia wretched 
 place. 
 
 V^T But such as are detruded downe to He 
 
 Either for shame, they still themselues retire-, 
 Or tyed in chaines, they in close prison dwell, 
 And cannot come, although they much desire. 
 
 Objection V 
 
 ^^ "X^T ELL, well, say these vaine spirits, though 
 vaine it is 
 To thinke our Soules to Heauen or Hell to 
 
 goe. 
 Poll tike men haue thought it not amisse. 
 To spread this lye, to make men vertuous so. 
 
 Answere 
 
 ^Y] "T^OE you then thinke this morall vertue good? 
 ^^ I thinke you doe, euen for your priuate 
 galne; 
 For Common-wealths by vertue euer stood, 
 And common good the priuate doth conta.ne.
 
 ^14 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 fl< If then this verlue you doe loue so well, 
 
 Haue you no meanes, her practise to main- 
 
 taine; 
 But you this lye must to the people tell, 
 That good Soulcs Hue in ioy, and ill in paine? 
 
 vj(|^ Must vertue be preseru6d by a lye ? 
 
 Vertuc and Truth do euer best agree ; 
 By this it seemes to be a veritie, 
 Sith the effects so good and vertuous bee. 
 
 V 
 
 For, as the deuill father is of lies, 
 
 So vice and mischiefe doe his lyes ensue; 
 Then this good doctrine did not he deuise, 
 But made this lye, which saith it is not true. 
 
 ^The Generall Consent of All 
 
 "T^OR how can that be false, which euery tongue 
 Of cucry mortall man affirmes for true? 
 Which truth hath in all ages been so strong, 
 As lodcbtonc-likc, all hearts it euer drew. 
 
 ^v For, not the Christian, or the lew alone, 
 
 The Persian, or the T2irke, acknowledge this; 
 This mysterie to the wild Indian knowne, 
 And to the Canniball and Tartar is.
 
 Of the Soule of Man ^75 
 
 Vi) This rich Assyrian drugge growes euery where; 
 As common in the North, as in the East; 
 This doctrine does not enter by the eare^ 
 But of it selfc is natiue in the breast. 
 
 ^^ None that acknowledge God, or prouidence, 
 Their Soule's eternitie did euer doubt; 
 For all Religion takes her root from hence, 
 Which no poore naked nation liues without. 
 
 ^ ' For sith the World for Man created was, 
 
 (For onely Man the vse thereof doth know) 
 If man doe perish like a withered grassc, 
 How doth God's Wisedom order things below? 
 
 ^W And if that Wisedom still wise ends propound, 
 Why made He man, of other creatures King? 
 When (if he perish here) there is not found 
 In all the world so poor and vile a thing? 
 
 ^"7 If death do quench vs quite, we haue great 
 wrong, 
 Sith for our seruice all things else were wrought; 
 J That dawes, and trees, and rocks, should last so 
 long. 
 When we must in an instant passe to nought.
 
 ?.■'♦ Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 ^ ' B blest be that Great Prver, that hath V9 
 blest 
 With longer life then Heauen or Earth can haue; 
 Which hath infus'd into our mortall breast 
 Immortall powers, not subiect to the graue. 
 
 N)r For though the Soule doe sceme her graue to 
 beare, 
 And in this world is almost buried quick; 
 We haue no cause the bodie's death to feare, 
 — For when the shell is broke, out comes a 
 chick. 
 
 T Three Kinds of Life answerable to the 
 THREE Powers of the Soule 
 
 ^^ YjOR as the soule' s essentiall powers are three, 
 
 The qitickning power, the power of sense and 
 reason ; 
 Three kinds of life to her designed bee, 
 Which perfect these three powers in their due 
 season. 
 
 l-J The first life, in the mother's wombe is spent. 
 
 Where she her nursing power doth onely vse ; 
 Where, when she finds defect of nourishment, 
 Sh* expels her body, and this world she viewes.
 
 Of the Soule of Man ^ly 
 
 "^^ This we call Birth; but if the child could speake, 
 He Death would call it ; and of Nature plaine, 
 That she would thrust him out naked and weake, 
 And in his passage pinch him with such paine. 
 
 ^>) Yet, out he comes, and in this world is plac't, 
 Where all his Scuses in perfection bee ; 
 Where he finds flowers to smell, and fruits to 
 
 taste ; 
 And sounds to heare, and sundry formes to see. 
 
 \\ When he hath past some time vpon this stage, 
 His Reason then a little seemes to wake; 
 Which, thogh she spring, when sense doth fade 
 
 with age, 
 Yet can she here no perfect practise make. 
 
 K»' Then doth th' aspiring Soule the body leaue. 
 
 Which we call Death; but were it knowne to all, 
 What life our soules do by this death receiue, 
 Men would it birth ox gaol e deliiiery call. 
 
 t\j In this third life, Reason will be so bright. 
 
 As that her sparke will like the sun-beamet 
 
 shine; 
 And shall of God enioy the reall sight. 
 Being still increasl by influence diuine.
 
 ^i8 Philosophy in Poetry 
 
 >)0 
 
 \) An Acclamation 
 
 IGNORANT poor man ! what dost thou 
 beare 
 
 Lockt vp within the casket of thy brest? 
 What icwels, and what riches hast thou there ! 
 What heauenly treasure in so weake a chest ! 
 
 iS Looke in thy soule, and thou shalt beauties find, 
 Like those which drownd Narcissus in the flood : 
 Honour and Pleasure both are in thy mind, 
 And all that in the world is counted Good. 
 
 \\ Thinke of her worth, and think that God did meane, 
 This worthy mind should worthy things im- 
 
 trace; 
 Blot not her beauties with thy thoughts vnclean, 
 Nor her dishonour with thy passions base; 
 
 .i\jKill not her qnickuiug power with surfeUings, 
 Mar not her Sense with scnsualitie; 
 Cast not her serious wit on idle things : 
 Make not her (vcc-wili, slaue to vanitie. 
 
 i»' And when thou think'st of her eternitie, 
 
 Thinke not that Death against her nature is, 
 Thinke it a birth; and when thou gocst to die, 
 Siiig like a swan, as if thou wcnt'st to blisse.
 
 Of the Soule of Man ^tg 
 
 ^^Knd if thou, like a child, didst feare before, 
 
 Being in the darke, where thou didst nothing see ; 
 Now I haue broght thee torcJi-light, feare no 
 
 more ; 
 Now when thou diest, thou canst not hud-winkt 
 
 be. 
 
 ^^>And thou my Soule, which turn'st thy curious eye, 
 To view the beames of thine owne forme diuine ; 
 Know, that thou canst know nothing perfectly, 
 While thou art clouded with this flesh of mine. 
 
 "rr^ Take heed o{ ouer-wcening, and compare 
 
 Thy peacock's feet with thy gay peacock's traine ; 
 Study the best, and highest things that are, 
 But of thy selfe an humble thought retaine. 
 
 ^' Cast downe thy selfe, and onely striue to raise 
 The glory of thy Maker's sacred Name; 
 Vse all thy powers, that Blessed Power to praise, 
 Which giues thee power to bee, and vse the 
 same, 
 
 FINIS 
 
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