Pride

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Reply to Objection 1: These punishments are to be referred to the vices that resulted from gluttony, or to the root from which gluttony sprang, rather than to gluttony itself. For the first man was expelled from Paradise on account of pride, from which he went on to an act of gluttony: while the deluge and the punishment of the people of Sodom were inflicted for sins occasioned by gluttony. Reply to Objection 2: This objection argues from the standpoint of the sins that result from gluttony. Nor is a cause necessarily more powerful, unless it be a direct cause: and gluttony is not the direct cause but the accidental cause, as it were, and the occasion of other vices. Reply to Objection 3: The glutton intends, not the harm to his body, but the pleasure of eating: and if injury results to his body, this is accidental. Hence this does not directly affect the gravity of gluttony, the guilt of which is nevertheless aggravated, if a man incur some bodily injury through taking too much food. Whether the species of gluttony are fittingly distinguished?Objection 1: It seems that the species of gluttony are unfittingly distinguished by Gregory who says (Moral. xxx, 18): “The vice of gluttony tempts us in five ways. Sometimes it forestalls the hour of need; sometimes it seeks costly meats; sometimes it requires the food to be daintily cooked; sometimes it exceeds the measure of refreshment by taking too much; sometimes we sin by the very heat of an immoderate appetite”—which are contained in the following verse: “Hastily, sumptuously, too much, greedily, daintily.” For the above are distinguished according to diversity of circumstance. Now circumstances, being the accidents of an act, do not differentiate its species. Therefore the species of gluttony are not distinguished according to the aforesaid. Objection 2: Further, as time is a circumstance, so is place. If then gluttony admits of one species in respect of time, it seems that there should likewise be others in respect of place and other circumstances. Objection 3: Further, just as temperance observes due circumstances, so do the other moral virtues. Now the species of the vices opposed to the other moral virtues are not distinguished according to various circumstances. Neither, therefore, are the species of gluttony distinguished thus. On the contrary, stands the authority of Gregory quoted above. I answer that, As stated above [3498](A[1]), gluttony denotes inordinate concupiscence in eating. Now two things are to be considered in eating, namely the food we eat, and the eating thereof. Accordingly, the inordinate concupiscence may be considered in two ways. First, with regard to the food consumed: and thus, as regards the substance or species of food a man seeks “sumptuous”—i.e. costly food; as regards its quality, he seeks food prepared too nicely—i.e. “daintily”; and as regards quantity, he exceeds by eating “too much.”

• From Four Days to Glory: Wrestling with the Soul of the American Heartland (2005)

  They come out into their cold yards and shout a greeting, and the kids sticking out the tops of the sunroofs shout and wave back, and the parents honk their horns; and then some of those people hop in their cars and race ahead to the North-Linn School, headed for the gymnasium, just ahead of the victory parade that makes its way eastward to Coggon before looping back and coming to a rest in the high school parking lot, having touched all the bases. Inside the building, the entire left side of the bleachers is full. There are the usual bunches of parents and friends, of course, but also wrestling fans, and fans of the kids in general, and people who love the community and feel like celebrating after a hard ride. The little school pep band fires up the North-Linn fight song, and, as if on cue, a couple of hundred people rise and begin clapping along. The team, the coaches and the parade are actually still en route. It doesn’t matter. You stand for the school song. And then it’s time for the program to begin, and one by one the coaches are brought before the crowd, the waves of applause washing over them—first Brad, and then Larry, and then Doug, and the middle-school coach, too. And then the boys are called, each in his own turn. There is state qualifier Ryan Mulnix. State sixth-place winner Ben Fisher. State fifth-place winner Nick LeClere. State third-place winner Tyler Burkle. And the four-time state champion, Dan LeClere. It is a huge, huge roar from a small crowd, which makes this, officially, a Class 1A moment. The entire field is made of programs like this, programs that are run almost completely by handfuls of people who won’t let them slip away: moms and dads who work the concession stands and take the tickets, and drive everywhere and bake the stuff for the fund-raisers. From where they sit it is a long, long way to the kind of money it would take to build that new wrestling room. But those somedays have a habit of coming around. You just wait long enough, and work. Bridgewater offers his congratulations to the kids, eventually bringing the entire wrestling program, varsity and JV, down onto the floor. With North-Linn having finished fifth overall in Class 1A, he says, “We didn’t come back with the team hardware that we were looking for, but we’re on our way. We’re making progress.” North-Linn has sent five kids to state, come within a whisker of sending another (Shannon Hocken), and might with a touch of luck have gotten Madison Sackett there, too. There are all sorts of encouraging signs. Despite the massive hit that the Lynx will take with the loss of Dan, this is clearly a program poised to do good things. North-Linn was a legitimate contender for one of the team-title placements in Des Moines until the semifinal round.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Reply to Objection 3: Pride arises from virtue, not as from its direct cause, but as from an accidental cause, in so far as a man makes a virtue an occasion for pride. And nothing prevents one contrary from being the accidental cause of another, as stated in Phys. viii, 1. Hence some are even proud of their humility. Whether pride is the most grievous of sins?Objection 1: It would seem that pride is not the most grievous of sins. For the more difficult a sin is to avoid, the less grievous it would seem to be. Now pride is most difficult to avoid; for Augustine says in his Rule (Ep. ccxi), “Other sins find their vent in the accomplishment of evil deeds, whereas pride lies in wait for good deeds to destroy them.” Therefore pride is not the most grievous of sins. Objection 2: Further, “The greater evil is opposed to the greater good,” as the Philosopher asserts (Ethic. viii, 10). Now humility to which pride is opposed is not the greatest of virtues, as stated above (Q[61], A[5]). Therefore the vices that are opposed to greater virtues, such as unbelief, despair, hatred of God, murder, and so forth, are more grievous sins than pride. Objection 3: Further, the greater evil is not punished by a lesser evil. But pride is sometimes punished by other sins according to Rom. 1:28, where it is stated that on account of their pride of heart, men of science were delivered “to a reprobate sense, to do those things which are not convenient.” Therefore pride is not the most grievous of sins. On the contrary, A gloss on Ps. 118:51, “The proud did iniquitously,” says: “The greatest sin in man is pride.”

• From Four Days to Glory: Wrestling with the Soul of the American Heartland (2005)

  They cry not so much because they are losing a son and brother to the rest of his life; it’s more that there are some things even the dream doesn’t quite get right. Every once in a while, it is not the imagination that’s so hard to fathom. It’s the reality. When Jay finally puts down his cards, loosens up and walks upstairs , Austin Boehm is already there, waiting. In the time since his semi final, Jay has learned a little about Boehm. The word is that he likes to brawl a little bit, likes to throw it around on the wrestling mat, get a little sloppy, maybe goad the other guy into a mistake. Boehm, the son of a coach, wins a lot and pins a lot—that’s the word. He also isn’t averse to attempting a little pre-match mind game. As Jay comes onto the main floor in between the bleachers, waggling his head from side to side and jogging in place to stay warm, Boehm hovers just off his right shoulder, perhaps ten feet away. The Urbandale wrestler wears a tan ball cap tugged low on his forehead, headphones covering each ear. He strolls forward and back, forward and back, each time bringing himself into Jay’s peripheral vision—just for a second or two, and then back out. Boehm wants to appear oblivious, too focused to care about anything, but with each pass back and forth, he steals a quick look at Jay. Jay doesn’t once return the glance. Boehm, that is, is trying to get the best of a wrestler who cannot be had. Jay looks at Boehm’s undefeated record and sees nothing; the numbers bear no meaning. This match is not about anyone but Borschel and the people who wondered whether he could win it. As is often noted around the Linn-Mar wrestling room, if you took a poll over the years about potential four-timers among the super-seniors, the answers would have come back in this order: Morningstar, Slaton, LeClere, Anson, Mueller and then Borschel. It was widely considered a surprise when Jay won it all at 103 pounds as a ninth-grade kid. No one has ever gone from 103 to 171 while winning titles at every stop; it’s the largest weight gain ever by a potential four-timer. And Jay is wrestling for that, for the fact that it’s considered such an arduous thing to do. He is wrestling to put it in the faces of the people who say good riddance as he goes off to Virginia Tech, and to tweak the folks who don’t want to put him on a pedestal. It isn’t so much that Jay thinks he belongs on one. He just loves the idea of it. And he is still sick, and there is still no doubt about that, what with the coughing and the spewing and all. In the end, it doesn’t matter in the slightest.

• From Four Days to Glory: Wrestling with the Soul of the American Heartland (2005)

  to get out, get through the great homecoming in one piece, get back to his family’s land and maybe just not really talk much for a while. He never wrestled for any reason other than the love of it and an epic winner’s urge, which makes him more like his father than he would be likely to admit. Jay loves to use the doubts of total strangers as motivation for him to be what he wants to be as a wrestler, which isn’t the same as saying he ever actually listens to the criticism. He uses it, is all. He is aware of most everything. He’s a wired, plugged-in high school senior. But Jay has made peace with two very basic facts that seem to have accompanied his life in sports: Most of the time people have no idea what he’s actually up to; and when he is the subject of public interest, it is often for the purpose of someone explaining that he isn’t really as good as people make him out to be. It only matters as much as he needs it to matter. If the ultimate honor is working hard at something for no reason other than to master it, Jay figures, then wrestlers really are better than other athletes, because their suffering is so removed from the everyday world. They sweat and cry alone, with their teammates and their coaches, and even in the heart of the wrestling universe they really only are brought out for full inspection a few times in a year. The rest is just work. And that is what makes it so great, and what makes them special. And maybe they need to know that, and to be reminded of it—that there is a nobility in the idea of laying it all out there, every day, in a little box of a room with crappy ventilation, losing fluids, denying themselves the simple pleasures of food and drink, subjecting their bodies to real pain and full exhaustion, and then dragging their wilted, diminished selves off the mat, showering, going home and falling into bed in order to get up and do it all again tomorrow. There is supposed to be a cosmic reward in that. Jay and Dan long ago came to believe that the reward was always there to be savored. The reward is yet to come; it renews itself in their blood and their ache. They are champions and gods, and they will start all over again in college, as nothings. They will have to prove everything again. The day after it all ends, it begins itself anew. That’s not a warning. It’s the good news.

• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  I held out a hand which Staines shook with surprising vigour. ‘We’ve been getting on very well,’ Nantwich added. ‘Don’t fret, my dear, I’m not going to break anything up. Ronald Staines, by the way,’ he said to me. ‘With an “e”.’ He pulled up a chair, not risking to ask if he could join us. ‘And how did you get involved with Charles?’ he asked. ‘Charles has some terrible secret, I’m sure—his success rate with the ragazzi is quite remarkable. He always has some very, very handsome young man in tow.’ I had always been a sucker for this kind of thing, out of vanity, and liked to allow the old their unthreatening admiration. ‘You’re bloody lucky he hasn’t got his camera with him, William,’ said Nantwich. ‘He’d have you stripped off in a moment and covered in baby oil.’ I got the impression of a long-lasting relationship conducted in a bitchy third-person. ‘I have seen photographs of you, though, William,’ Staines recalled. ‘Surely Whitehaven did one, or am I wrong?—little swimming things, and a stripe of shadow covering those dreamy blue eyes? So talented, that young man, though some of his stuff can be a little … strong. Not this one, mind you: I saw it in that New York exhibition—there have been several, I know, but last year, in a kind of abattoir in Soho …’ ‘He’s Beckwith’s grandson,’ said Nantwich, as if to discount the possibility which Staines was outlining. ‘Of course,’ exclaimed Staines in a curiously condescending way; ‘how interesting!’—turning his head aside to suggest a sudden loss of interest. ‘My dear, I’ve done some pieces which will delight you. I wouldn’t be in the least surprised if they delighted William as well—I’m certainly delighted myself. They’re a new departure, newish anyway, and rather religious and full of feeling. One’s a kind of sacra conversazione between Saint Sebastian and John the Baptist. The young man who modelled Sebastian was almost in tears when I showed it to him, it’s so lovely.’ ‘How did you do the arrows?’ I interrupted, remembering Mishima’s arduous posing in a self-portrait as Sebastian. ‘Oh, no arrows, dear; it’s before the martyrdom. He’s quite unpierced. But he looks ready for it, somehow, the way I’ve done it.’ ‘How can you tell it’s Sebastian, then,’ said Nantwich emphatically, ‘since the only thing that identifies Se-bloody-bastian is that he’s got all those ruddy arrows sticking up his arse?’ This seemed a fair criticism, but Staines ignored it. ‘You’ll admire the Baptist, though,’ he added. ‘An Italian lad, a porter at Smithfield, in fact—a more virile Saint than one normally sees, perhaps, quite sort of hairy and rough.

• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  ‘My dear fellow—William—goodness me, gracious me.’ He sat forwards and held out a hand—his left—but did not struggle to get up. We shared an unconventional handshake. ‘Turn that chip-chop round.’ I looked about uncertainly, but saw from his repeated gesture that he meant the chair behind him, which I trundled across so as to sit in quarter-profile to him, and then dropped into it, the elegance of the movement overwhelmed by the way the springing of the chair swallowed me up. ‘Comfy, aren’t they,’ he said with approval. ‘Jolly comfy, actually.’ I hauled myself forwards so as to perch more decorously and nervously on the front bar. ‘You must be dying for a tifty. Christ! It’s quarter to one.’ He raised his right arm and waved it about, and a white-jacketed steward with the air of a senile adolescent wheeled a trolley across. ‘More tifty for me, Percy; and for my guest—William, what’s it to be?’ I felt some vague pressure on me to choose sherry, though I regretted the choice when I saw how astringently pale it was, and when Lord Nantwich’s tifty turned out to be a hefty tumbler of virtually neat gin. Percy poured the two drinks complacently, jotted the score on a little pad and wheeled away with a ‘Thank you, m’lord,’ in which the ‘thank you’ was clipped almost into inaudibility. I thought how much he must know about all these old codgers, and what cynical reflections must take place behind his impassive, possibly made-up features. ‘So, William, your very good health!’ Nantwich raised his glass almost to his mouth. ‘I say, I hope it wasn’t too horrible …?’ ‘Your continuing good health,’ I replied, able only to ignore the question, which drew improper attention to what had passed between us; though I also felt a certain pride in what I had done, in a British manner wanting it to be commended, but in silence. ‘What a way to be introduced, my goodness! Of course I know nothing about you,’ he added, as if he might be exposing himself, though morally this time, to some degree of danger. ‘Well I know nothing about you,’ I hastened to reassure him. ‘You didn’t look me up in the book or anything?’ ‘I don’t think I have a book to look you up in.’ My father, I thought, would have looked him up straight away; in Debrett, as in Who’s Who, the volumes in his study always fell open at the Beckwith page, as if he had been checking up credentials that he might forget, or that were too remarkable to be readily believed.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Accordingly, while both (namely the devil and the first man) coveted God’s likeness inordinately, neither of them sinned by coveting a likeness of nature. But the first man sinned chiefly by coveting God’s likeness as regards “knowledge of good and evil,” according to the serpent’s instigation, namely that by his own natural power he might decide what was good, and what was evil for him to do; or again that he should of himself foreknow what good and what evil would befall him. Secondarily he sinned by coveting God’s likeness as regards his own power of operation, namely that by his own natural power he might act so as to obtain happiness. Hence Augustine says (Gen. ad lit. xi, 30) that “the woman’s mind was filled with love of her own power.” On the other hand, the devil sinned by coveting God’s likeness, as regards power. Wherefore Augustine says (De Vera Relig. 13) that “he wished to enjoy his own power rather than God’s.” Nevertheless both coveted somewhat to be equal to God, in so far as each wished to rely on himself in contempt of the order of the Divine rule. Reply to Objection 1: This argument considers the likeness of nature: and man did not sin by coveting this, as stated. Reply to Objection 2: It is not a sin to covet God’s likeness as to knowledge, absolutely; but to covet this likeness inordinately, that is, above one’s measure, this is a sin. Hence Augustine commenting on Ps. 70:18, “O God, who is like Thee?” says: “He who desires to be of himself, even as God is of no one, wishes wickedly to be like God. Thus did the devil, who was unwilling to be subject to Him, and man who refused to be, as a servant, bound by His command.” Reply to Objection 3: This argument considers the likeness of equality. Whether the sin of our first parents was more grievous than other sins?Objection 1: It would seem that the sin of our first parents was more grievous than other sins. For Augustine says (De Civ. Dei xiv, 15): “Great was the wickedness in sinning, when it was so easy to avoid sin.” Now it was very easy for our first parents to avoid sin, because they had nothing within them urging them to sin. Therefore the sin of our first parents was more grievous than other sins. Objection 2: Further, punishment is proportionate to guilt. Now the sin of our first parents was most severely punished, since by it “death entered into this world,” as the Apostle says (Rom. 5:12). Therefore that sin was more grievous than other sins. Objection 3: Further, the first in every genus is seemingly the greatest (Metaph. ii, 4 [*Ed. Diel. i, 1]). Now the sin of our first parents was the first among sins of men. Therefore it was the greatest.

• From Collected Essays (1998)

  Sock it to me, which means, roughly, the same thing, has been adopted by Nathaniel Hawthorne's descendants with no qualms or hesi tations at al l, along with let it all hang out and right on! Beat to his socks, which was once the black's most total and de spairing image of poverty, was transformed into a thing called the Beat Generation, which phenomenon was, largely, com posed of uptight, middle-class white people, imitating poverty, trying to get down, to get with it, doing their thing, doing their despairing best to be funky, which we, the blacks, never dreamed of doing-we were funky, baby, like funk was going out of style. Now, no one can eat his cake�n d have it, too, and it is late inthea ay to attempt tc>p� ;1aliz � black people for having created a language that permits the nation its only glimpse of reahty, a language without - Which the nation would be even more 1vh_ipped_jh_al1 iLis. - - --- .. ... -· -·- -- ·- ·· - -�- - -· I say that the present skirmish is rooted in American history, OTH ER ES SAYS and it is. Black English is the creation-� - th_ e !>J ;��k d.iaspora. Blacks came· to 1he t1n ite<rStatesc- hained to each other, but from ditlerent tribes: Neither could speak the other's lan guage. If two black people, at that bitter'hour-oftfie world's - history, had been able to speak to each other, the institution of chattel slavery could never have lasted as long as it did. Subsequently, the slave was given, under the eye, and the gun, of his master, Congo Square, and the Bible -or, in other words, and under these conditions, the slave began the for mation of the black church, and it is within this unprece dented tabernacle that black EnglisiLbl:_gao to be formed. This was not, merely, as in the European example, the adoption of a foreign tongue, but an alchemy that transformed ancient elements into a new language: A lan guage comes into existence b)'_ _ _ m!_ ans_ of bru _trr,/_ 1}f!fe_ssity,_ a1'!if _tht:_ ru J!! _of_ the /f!:_1J.q]!Jl$-are dj_�tated by l1!.ha1Jilf_j_aJJ.[JY:.?ge mu st convey.

• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  ‘How did you do the arrows?’ I interrupted, remembering Mishima’s arduous posing in a self-portrait as Sebastian. ‘Oh, no arrows, dear; it’s before the martyrdom. He’s quite unpierced. But he looks ready for it, somehow, the way I’ve done it.’ ‘How can you tell it’s Sebastian, then,’ said Nantwich emphatically, ‘since the only thing that identifies Se-bloody-bastian is that he’s got all those ruddy arrows sticking up his arse?’ This seemed a fair criticism, but Staines ignored it. ‘You’ll admire the Baptist, though,’ he added. ‘An Italian lad, a porter at Smithfield, in fact—a more virile Saint than one normally sees, perhaps, quite sort of hairy and rough. Are you interested in photography?’ ‘I am, rather,’ I answered, ‘but I don’t know a lot about it. I used to take photographs when I was at Oxford, but they’re nothing special, I don’t suppose.’ ‘Hold on to them, William, hold on to them!’ he warned. ‘Never destroy a photograph, William; it’s a bit of life sealed in for ever. If you become famous, which I’ve no doubt you will, people will want to see them. I’m being rediscovered myself, and I promise you they’ll buy anything. To be honest, I’ve sold a lot of tat lately, but at Christie’s they like it. I’m a sort of period figure, you see, and put something in those bit photography sales and you find the aura of the famous names rubs off on you. Their catalogue person calls me “the unacknowledged master of postwar male photography in Britain”. I fetch a price, now, you know. But then, and this is what I’m saying, I feel absolutely awful about it, I just want to have them all back.’ ‘I’ve told William he must come and see your studio,’ Nantwich declared. ‘My dear, of course. Let me just get a bit straight and I’ll be thrilled to see you. I’ve got a big job of work on à ce moment, but when that’s finished. And who knows, I might do a few little pickies of you—fully clothed, needless to say. I think you’d make an interesting subject for me. It’s such a very English look, that, the pink and gold number and the long, straight nose. None of your Master Whitehaven anonymous stuff, though. It’s a character study I want.’ For the second time I had the sensation of being somehow professionally appraised. “Well, we’ll see,’ I said, pleased to think of sitting again, but not keen to be rushed into some shady deal. ‘How’s the big job of work coming on?’ Nantwich asked with suspicious casualness. ‘Wonderful to have met you,’ piped Staines, with a switch of conversational direction worthy of Nantwich himself. We shook hands again and he was already leaving us. ‘Take care, Charles,’ he advised. My host was silent for a moment or two. ‘Bit of a cunt,’ he said. ‘But still really frightfully good.’ He looked very weary now, and I too prepared to leave.

• From Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption (2014)

  As she spoke it seemed like a world of sadness surrounded her. She let go of my hand and walked away. I watched her get into a car with some other people I had seen in the courtroom earlier. I drove back to the motel in a more somber mood to start preparing for the last day of hearings. — I arrived at the court early the next morning to make sure there were no problems. As it turned out, very few people showed up to support the State. And though the metal detector and the dog were still there, no deputy stood at the door to block black people from entering the courtroom. Inside the courtroom, I noticed one of the women I’d seen leave with Mrs. Williams the night before. She came up to me and introduced herself as Mrs. Williams’s daughter. She thanked me for trying to console her mother. “When she got home last night, she was so upset. She didn’t eat anything, she didn’t speak to anybody, she just went to her bedroom. We could hear her praying all night long. This morning she called the Reverend and begged him for another chance to be a community representative at the hearing. She was up when I got out of bed, dressed and ready to come to court. I told her she didn’t have to come, but she wouldn’t hear none of it. She’s been through a lot and, well, on the trip down here she just kept saying over and over, ‘Lord, I can’t be scared of no dog, I can’t be scared of no dog.’ ” I was apologizing again to the daughter for what the court officials had done the day before when suddenly there was a commotion at the courtroom door. We both looked up and there stood Mrs. Williams. She was once again dressed impeccably in her scarf and hat. She held her handbag tight at her side and seemed to be swaying at the entrance. I could hear her speaking to herself, repeating over and over again: “I ain’t scared of no dog, I ain’t scared of no dog.” I watched as the officers allowed her to move forward. She held her head up as she walked slowly through the metal detector, repeating over and over, “I ain’t scared of no dog.” It was impossible to look away. She made it through the detector and stared at the dog. Then, loud enough for everyone to hear, she belted out: “I ain’t scared of no dog!” She moved past the dog and walked into the courtroom. Black folks who were already inside beamed with joy as she passed them. She sat down near the front of the courtroom and turned to me with a broad smile and announced, “Attorney Stevenson, I’m here!” “Mrs. Williams, it’s so good to see you here. Thank you for coming.”

• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  Percy poured the two drinks complacently, jotted the score on a little pad and wheeled away with a ‘Thank you, m’lord,’ in which the ‘thank you’ was clipped almost into inaudibility. I thought how much he must know about all these old codgers, and what cynical reflections must take place behind his impassive, possibly made-up features. ‘So, William, your very good health!’ Nantwich raised his glass almost to his mouth. ‘I say, I hope it wasn’t too horrible …?’ ‘Your continuing good health,’ I replied, able only to ignore the question, which drew improper attention to what had passed between us; though I also felt a certain pride in what I had done, in a British manner wanting it to be commended, but in silence. ‘What a way to be introduced, my goodness! Of course I know nothing about you,’ he added, as if he might be exposing himself, though morally this time, to some degree of danger. ‘Well I know nothing about you,’ I hastened to reassure him. ‘You didn’t look me up in the book or anything?’ ‘I don’t think I have a book to look you up in.’ My father, I thought, would have looked him up straight away; in Debrett, as in Who’s Who , the volumes in his study always fell open at the Beckwith page, as if he had been checking up credentials that he might forget, or that were too remarkable to be readily believed. ‘Well that’s splendid,’ Nantwich declared. ‘We’ve still got everything to find out. What utter fun. When you get to be an old wibbly-wobbly, as one, alas, now is, you don’t often get the chance to have a go at someone absolutely fresh!’ He took a mouthful of gin, confiding in the glass as he did so a remark I could barely make out as it drowned, but which sounded like ‘Quite a corker, too.’ ‘It’s an agreeable room, this, isn’t it,’ he observed with one of his unannounced changes of tack. ‘Mmm,’ I just about agreed. ‘That’s an interesting picture.’ I tilted my head towards a large and, I hoped, mythological canvas, all but the foreground of which receded into the murk of two centuries or so of disregard. All that one saw were garland-clad, heavy, naked figures. ‘Yes. It’s a Poussin,’ said Nantwich decisively, turning his gaze away. It so evidently was not a Poussin that I wondered whether to take him up, whether he knew or cared what it was; if he were testing me or merely producing the philistine on-dit of the Club. ‘I think it could do with cleaning,’ I suggested. ‘It appears to be happening in the middle of the night, whatever it is.’ ‘Ooh, you don’t want to go cleaning everything,’ Nantwich assured me. ‘Most pictures would be better if they were a damned sight dirtier.’

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  was new to him. On returning to his chamber, he made inquiries about the girl he had seen at church, and rec- ollected that formerly, when she was very young, she used often to play in the chateau with his sister, whom he put in mmd of her. His sister sent for her, gave her a very good reception, and begged her to come often to see her, which she did whenever there was any enter- tainment or assembly. The young prince was very glad to see her, and so glad that he chose to be deeply in love with her. Knowing that she was of low birth, he thought he should easily obtain of her what he sought ; and, zs, he had no opportunity to speak with her, he sent a gentleman of his chamber to her with orders to ac- quaint her with his intentions, and settle matters with her. The girl, who was good and pious, replied that she did not believe that so handsome a prince as his master would care to look upon a plain girl like herself, espe- cially as there were such handsome ones in the chateau that he had no need to look elsewhere ; and that she doubted not he had said all this to her out of his own head and without orders from his master. As obstacles make desire more violent, the prince now became more hotly intent on his purpose than ever, and wrote to her, begging her to believe everythmg the gentleman should say to her on his part. She could read and write very well, and she read the letter from beginning to end ; but for no entreaties the gentleman could make would she ever reply to it, saying that a person of her humble birth should never take the liberty to write to so great a prince ; but that she begged he would not take her for such a fool as to imagine that he esteemed her enough to love her as much as he said. Moreover, he was mistaken if he fancied that because §he was of obscure birth, he might do as he pleased with 360 "THE HEPTAMERON OF THE [Nmc-/ 42 her, and that to convince him of ihe contrary, she felt obliged to declare to him that, bourgeoise as she was, there was no princess whose heart was more upright than hers. There were no treasures in the world she esteemed so much as honour and conscience. And the only favour she begged of him was, that he would not hinder her from preserving that treasure all her life long, and that he might take it for certain that she would never change her mind though it were to cost her her life.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Reply to Objection 3: Just as heresy is so called from its being a choosing [*From the Greek {airein} [hairein], to cut off], so does sect derive its name from its being a cutting off [secando], as Isidore states (Etym. viii, 3). Wherefore heresy and sect are the same thing, and each belongs to the works of the flesh, not indeed by reason of the act itself of unbelief in respect of its proximate object, but by reason of its cause, which is either the desire of an undue end in which way it arises from pride or covetousness, as stated in the second objection, or some illusion of the imagination (which gives rise to error, as the Philosopher states in Metaph. iv; Ed. Did. iii, 5), for this faculty has a certain connection with the flesh, in as much as its act is independent on a bodily organ. Whether heresy is properly about matters of faith?Objection 1: It would seem that heresy is not properly about matters of faith. For just as there are heresies and sects among Christians, so were there among the Jews, and Pharisees, as Isidore observes (Etym. viii, 3,4,5). Now their dissensions were not about matters of faith. Therefore heresy is not about matters of faith, as though they were its proper matter. Objection 2: Further, the matter of faith is the thing believed. Now heresy is not only about things, but also about works, and about interpretations of Holy Writ. For Jerome says on Gal. 5:20 that “whoever expounds the Scriptures in any sense but that of the Holy Ghost by Whom they were written, may be called a heretic, though he may not have left the Church”: and elsewhere he says that “heresies spring up from words spoken amiss.” [*St. Thomas quotes this saying elsewhere, in Sent. iv, D, 13, and [2401]TP, Q[16], A[8], but it is not to be found in St. Jerome’s works.] Therefore heresy is not properly about the matter of faith. Objection 3: Further, we find the holy doctors differing even about matters pertaining to the faith, for example Augustine and Jerome, on the question about the cessation of the legal observances: and yet this was without any heresy on their part. Therefore heresy is not properly about the matter of faith. On the contrary, Augustine says against the Manichees [*Cf. De Civ. Dei xviii, 51]: “In Christ’s Church, those are heretics, who hold mischievous and erroneous opinions, and when rebuked that they may think soundly and rightly, offer a stubborn resistance, and, refusing to mend their pernicious and deadly doctrines, persist in defending them.” Now pernicious and deadly doctrines are none but those which are contrary to the dogmas of faith, whereby “the just man liveth” (Rom. 1:17). Therefore heresy is about matters of faith, as about its proper matter.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Reply to Objection 2: Boasting is reckoned a species of lying, as regards the outward act whereby a man falsely ascribes to himself what he has not: but as regards the inward arrogance of the heart it is reckoned by Gregory to be a species of pride. Reply to Objection 3: The ungrateful man ascribes to himself what he has from another: wherefore the first two species of pride pertain to ingratitude. To excuse oneself of a sin one has committed, belongs to the third species, since by so doing a man ascribes to himself the good of innocence which he has not. To aim presumptuously at what is above one, would seem to belong chiefly to the fourth species, which consists in wishing to be preferred to others. Reply to Objection 4: The three mentioned by Anselm correspond to the progress of any particular sin: for it begins by being conceived in thought, then is uttered in word, and thirdly is accomplished in deed.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Further, everything that is lawful to secular priests is lawful likewise to religious, with the exception of any points forbidden by their rule. In Arg. xvi, quaest. I Sunt tamen nonnulli, it is laid down “that it is right for monks to absolve and to perform similar functions. St. Benedict, the gentle guide of monks, has not forbidden such offices to be undertaken by religious.” Secular priests, when authorised by a bishop, may preach and hear confessions. Hence as there is no rule forbidding monks to perform these duties, they may preach and hear confessions in like manner. It is a greater dignity for a man to preach by his own authority, than by the commission of another. Now religious are always liable to be raised to the episcopate, in which rank they have a right to preach and do other work expedient for the welfare of souls at their own discretion. Why then should they be deemed unfit to preach by the permission of a bishop? The fact that a man is in a state of perfection does not incapacitate him from preaching. On the contrary, preaching is a ministry peculiarly befitting the perfect state professed by religious. Hence the Gloss, commenting on the words of Esdras (1 Esdras 4), “all the rest” etc., says: “All those who have been chosen and delivered from the powers of darkness belong to the liberty of the glory of the children of God; and they all rejoice at being declared to belong to the society of the holy city (i.e., the Church); but it is the prerogative of the perfect alone to labour at building up the Church by preaching to others.” The fact that these words apply to the perfection of religious, is proved by the following words: The more earnestly preachers instruct their hearers to love heavenly things, the lea will they care about earthly goods. They will even abandon what they already possess, in the hope of obtaining an eternal heritage.” This interpretation further appears in the interlinear commentary, which says, “all the rest” i.e., “the rich who cannot preach.” Hence religious are not less fit than others to preach, and, with the commission of a bishop, have aa much right to hear confessions and to preach as have parish priests. On the words, “then we set forward from the river,” (1 Esdras viii. 31), the Gloss comments: “Let us likewise call to our assistance the religious army of brethren by whose help we may carry the souls of the faithful to the society of the elect, and to the fortress of a more perfect life, as we should carry holy vessels to the temple of the Lord.” The right of religious to preach and hear confessions is proved by the common custom of the Eastern Church, in which almost all the monks are confessors.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  5. Writing to the Galatians (i. 16), he says, “I did not condescended to flesh and blood.” In this and the following chapter we find many similar utterances. We also see that St. Paul commended his state of life. For (2 Cor. iii. 6) he says: “Who also has made us fit ministers of the New Testament, not in the letter but in the spirit.” In this chapter again, he adds many other expressions in praise of the Apostolic dignity. Hence a religious is justified in extolling his order and in thus attracting others to enter it. 6. St. Paul commends the perfection of virginity, and exhorts others to this state in which he himself lived, saying: “I would that all men were like myself “ (1 Cor. vii. 7). Hence it is permissible for religious, living in a state of perfection, to commend their mode of life. Self-commendation, therefore, though at times reprehensible, is likewise, on certain occasions, praiseworthy. St. Gregory in, his Homily upon Ezekiel (ix, part I), writes as follows: “Just and perfect men do at times extol their own virtues, and make known the favours which they have received. They are not inspired to act thus by motives of ostentation, but from a desire to draw those to whom they preach to a more perfect life by means of their own example. Thus, St. Paul, in order to divert the attention of the Corinthians from false preachers, tells them how he was rapt to Paradise. When perfect men speak of their own virtues, they imitate Almighty God who extols His own magnificence to men, in order to make Himself known to them.” St. Gregory proceeds to note the circumstances in which men are justified in commending themselves. Then, in the following words, he warns his readers against rash and ill-considered self-praise. “We must remember,” he says, “that perfect men never disclose their own good deeds, unless urged to do so by necessity, or by desire of their neighbour’s profit. Thus St. Paul, after narrating his virtues to the Corinthians, concludes by saying: ‘I have become foolish; you have compelled me.’ At times good men are obliged to speak of themselves, if not for their neighbours’ sake, at least for their own. Thus, holy Job, under the pressure of physical pain, and reproached by his friends for impiety, violence to his neighbour and oppression, was driven to the verge of despair. Then, in self-defence, he called to memory his good deeds, saying: ‘I was an eye to the blind,’ etc. He did not enumerate his virtues from desire of praise, but, merely, to reanimate his confidence in God.”

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  In another way vainglory may be contrary to charity, on the part of the one who glories, in that he refers his intention to glory as his last end: so that he directs even virtuous deeds thereto, and, in order to obtain it, forbears not from doing even that which is against God. In this way it is a mortal sin. Wherefore Augustine says (De Civ. Dei v, 14) that “this vice,” namely the love of human praise, “is so hostile to a godly faith, if the heart desires glory more than it fears or loves God, that our Lord said (Jn. 5:44): How can you believe, who receive glory one from another, and the glory which is from God alone, you do not seek?” If, however, the love of human glory, though it be vain, be not inconsistent with charity, neither as regards the matter gloried in, nor as to the intention of him that seeks glory, it is not a mortal but a venial sin. Reply to Objection 1: No man, by sinning, merits eternal life: wherefore a virtuous deed loses its power to merit eternal life, if it be done for the sake of vainglory, even though that vainglory be not a mortal sin. On the other hand when a man loses the eternal reward simply through vainglory, and not merely in respect of one act, vainglory is a mortal sin. Reply to Objection 2: Not every man that is desirous of vainglory, desires the excellence which belongs to God alone. For the glory due to God alone differs from the glory due to a virtuous or rich man. Reply to Objection 3: Vainglory is stated to be a dangerous sin, not only on account of its gravity, but also because it is a disposition to grave sins, in so far as it renders man presumptuous and too self-confident: and so it gradually disposes a man to lose his inward goods. Whether vainglory is a capital vice?Objection 1: It seems that vainglory is not a capital vice. For a vice that always arises from another vice is seemingly not capital. But vainglory always arises from pride. Therefore vainglory is not a capital vice. Objection 2: Further, honor would seem to take precedence of glory, for this is its effect. Now ambition which is inordinate desire of honor is not a capital vice. Neither therefore is the desire of vainglory. Objection 3: Further, a capital vice has a certain prominence. But vainglory seems to have no prominence, neither as a sin, because it is not always a mortal sin, nor considered as an appetible good, since human glory is apparently a frail thing, and is something outside man himself. Therefore vainglory is not a capital vice. On the contrary, Gregory (Moral. xxxi) numbers vainglory among the seven capital vices.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  The last objection, brought against religious who preach, is that it is ambition on their part to seek permission to exercise this office. This is untrue , for a desire to preach inspired by charity is on the contrary praiseworthy. Isaiah (vi. 8) offered himself to the Lord, saying: “Lo: here I am: send me.” This function may likewise be meritoriously declined out of humility. Thus Jeremiah said (i. 6): “Ah, ah, ah, Lord God, I cannot speak, for I am a child.” This is evident from the Gloss of St. Gregory. The same view is found in VIII, quaest. I, cap. In scripturis. We must remember that ecclesiastical offices are accompanied both by dignity and by labour. Therefore, they may, on account of their dignity, be declined; and they may be desired, for the sake of the work. “ If a man desire the office of bishop, he desires a good thing,” says St. Paul (1 Tim. iii, 1). On these words St. Augustine says (XIX De civitate Dei), “The Apostle desired to explain what is meant by the episcopate and how far it may be desired, for the name implies labour not glory “ (cf. VIII quaest. I, qui episcopatum, also the Gloss on the same text). Hence if the labours of the episcopate be distinguished from its attendant dignity, it may laudably and without danger of ambition be desired. In like manner, a religious who seeks from a parish priest or a bishop permission to preach shows not that he is inspired by ambition, but that he is filled with the love of God and of his neighbour. CHAPTER 4 Are Religious Bound to Manual Labour?As no sufficient reasons can be found for excluding religious from apostolic labours, their enemies try to impede their work by representing that they are bound to labour with their hands; and that they are thus unable to prosecute the studies which would fit them for preaching or hearing confessions. The malice which inspires these efforts against the labours of religious is typified by the words of the enemies of Nehemiah, who said, “Come and let us make a league together” (2 Esdras vii.). The Gloss has the following commentary on this passage: “As the enemies of the holy City begged Nehemiah to come down to the plain, and there to form a league with them; so do heretics and bad Catholics desire to make friends with the faithful, not in order that they themselves may ascend to the heights of the Catholic faith and of good works, but in order to induce those that they know to be living virtuously to descend to sin and to false doctrine.”

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  9. Certain stations in life have a dress proper to them, just as each religious order has its own habit. The robes of the kings of old, and of the Sovereign Pontiff at the present time must be considered as the insignia of their office. And, just as a religious has no right to wear a meaner habit than the one belonging to his order, (though it is praiseworthy in him to wear the poorest allowed by the statutes of his rule), so neither would it have been lawful for monarchs of former days, nor for the Sovereign Pontiff in these times, to wear apparel unbecoming their dignity. But the case is different with regard to princes and other men, who have no fixed robes of state. It is not reprehensible in them if they wear the poorest garments compatible with their station. Michal cried out in mockery of David, (2 Sam. vi. 20), “How glorious was the King of Israel today, uncovering himself before the handmaids of his servants, and he was naked as if one of the buffoons should be naked. And David answered: I will both play, and will make myself meaner than I have done; and I will be little in my own eyes.” Again, Esther, speaking to the Almighty, said (Esther xiv. 16), “You know my necessity that I abominate the sign of my pride and glory which is upon my head in the days of my public appearance; and I do not wear it in the days of my silence.” Hence we see that it is praiseworthy, even in kings and princes if, when they can do so without scandal or without detriment to their authority, they are content with humble apparel. CHAPTER 2 The Attacks Brought Against Religious on Account of Their Works of CharityAs religious are charged with meddling in other people’s concerns, we will now consider the grounds on which these accusations are based. 1. The following words of St. Paul are quoted that you use your endeavour to be quiet, and that you do your own business” (1 Thes. iv. 11). They also cite the commentary of the Gloss, “leaving the affairs of other people alone, as is profitable for the amendment of your own life.” 2. St. Paul says, “We have heard that there are some among you who walk disorderly, working not at all, but curiously meddling” (2 Thes. iii. 11). On this passage the Gloss remarks, “Do men who act thus, contrary to the law of the Lord, deserve to be supported by the alms of others?” 13. “No man being a soldier to God, entangles himself with secular business” (2 Tim. ii.) “of any kind whatsoever,” adds the Gloss. Now as the affairs of other people are frequently of a worldly nature, it is maintained that religious ought never to concern themselves with the business of their neighbours.