OF THE INCONSTANCY OF OUR ACTIONS

Such as make it their business to oversee human actions, do not find themselves in anything so much perplexed as to reconcile them and bring them into the world’s eye with the same lustre and reputation; for they commonly so strangely contradict one another that it seems impossible they should proceed from one and the same person.  We find the younger Marius one while a son of Mars and another a son of Venus.  Pope Boniface viii. entered, it is said, into his Papacy like a fox, behaved himself in it like a lion, and died like a dog; and who could believe it to be the same Nero, the perfect image of all cruelty, who, having the sentence of a condemned man brought to him to sign, as was the custom, cried out, “O that I had never been taught to write!” so much it went to his heart to condemn a man to death.  All story is full of such examples, and every man is able to produce so many to himself, or out of his own practice or observation, that I sometimes wonder to see men of understanding give themselves the trouble of sorting these pieces, considering that irresolution appears to me to be the most common and manifest vice of our nature witness the famous verse of the player Publius: 

          “Malum consilium est, quod mutari non potest.”

          ["’Tis evil counsel that will admit no change.” 
          —­Pub.  Mim., ex Aul.  Gell., xvii. 14.]

There seems some reason in forming a judgment of a man from the most usual methods of his life; but, considering the natural instability of our manners and opinions, I have often thought even the best authors a little out in so obstinately endeavouring to make of us any constant and solid contexture; they choose a general air of a man, and according to that interpret all his actions, of which, if they cannot bend some to a uniformity with the rest, they are presently imputed to dissimulation.  Augustus has escaped them, for there was in him so apparent, sudden, and continual variety of actions all the whole course of his life, that he has slipped away clear and undecided from the most daring critics.  I can more hardly believe a man’s constancy than any other virtue, and believe nothing sooner than the contrary.  He that would judge of a man in detail and distinctly, bit by bit, would oftener be able to speak the truth.  It is a hard matter, from all antiquity, to pick out a dozen men who have formed their lives to one certain and constant course, which is the principal design of wisdom; for to comprise it all in one word, says one of the ancients, and to contract all the rules of human life into one, “it is to will, and not to will, always one and the same thing:  I will not vouchsafe,” says he, “to add, provided the will be just, for if it be not just, it is impossible it should be always one.”  I have indeed formerly learned that vice is nothing but irregularity, and want of measure, and therefore ’tis impossible to fix constancy to it.  ’Tis a saying of.  Demosthenes, “that the beginning oh all virtue is consultation and deliberation; the end and perfection, constancy.”  If we would resolve on any certain course by reason, we should pitch upon the best, but nobody has thought on’t: