One is commended, and, unseen, he is
loved: doth this love enter the heart of the hearer from the mouth
of the commender? Not so. But by one who loveth is another kindled.
For hence he is loved who is commended, when the commender is believed
to extol him with an unfeigned heart; that is, when one that loves
him, praises him.
For so did I then love men, upon the judgment of men, not Thine, O
my God, in Whom no man is deceived. But yet why not for qualities,
like those of a famous charioteer, or fighter with beasts in the
theatre, known far and wide by a vulgar popularity, but far otherwise,
and earnestly, and so as I would be myself commended? For I would
not be commended or loved, as actors are (though I myself did
commend and love them), but had rather be unknown, than so known;
and even hated, than so loved. Where now are the impulses to such
various and divers kinds of loves laid up in one soul? Why, since we
are equally men, do I love in another what, if I did not hate, I
should not spurn and cast from myself? For it holds not, that as a
good horse is loved by him, who would not, though he might, be that
horse, therefore the same may be said of an actor, who shares our
nature.
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