This week for my Milton class I was set extracts from Hobbes' Leviathan. He writes the sort of things that as a self-indulgent depressive teenager I would have loved. Forgive me for quoting this section - it is so wonderfully, (and not even spuriously) pessimistic. It seems that I haven't completely let go of that part of me...
"Whatsoever therefore is consequent to a time of Warre, where every man is Enemy to every man; the same is consequent to the time, wherin men live without other security, than what their own strength, and their own invention shall furnish them withall. In such condition, there is no place for Industry; because the fruit thereof is uncertain: and consequently no Culture of the Earth; no Navigation, nor use of the commodities that may be imported by Sea; no commodious Building; no instruments of moving, and removing such things as require much force; no Knowledge of the face of the Earth; no account of Time; no Arts; no Letters; no Society; and which is worst of all, continuall feare, and danger of violent death; And the life of man, solitary, poore, nasty, brutish, and short."
True?
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