"Evil borders upon good, and vices are confounded with virtues; as the report of good qualities is delightful to a well-disposed mind, so the relation of the contrary should not be offensive"
About this Quote
Evil and good aren’t opposites in separate corners of the universe; they share a border, trade disguises, and sometimes swap uniforms. Giraldus Cambrensis, a medieval cleric with a chronicler’s eye and a preacher’s authority, is doing two things at once here: offering a moral warning and defending a rhetorical strategy. The line works because it refuses the comforting fantasy that virtue is always legible. “Vices are confounded with virtues” is less a theological abstraction than a practical instruction for reading people, institutions, even nations: the surface can lie.
The second clause is the tell. Giraldus anticipates the pious reader’s complaint: why dwell on ugliness at all? His answer is almost administrative. A “well-disposed mind” enjoys hearing about goodness; it should also be able to tolerate hearing about the contrary. Subtext: if you can’t bear the account of vice, you’re not as well-disposed as you think. He’s preempting moral squeamishness that would rather curate reality than confront it.
Context matters. Giraldus wrote in a world where clergy were expected to edify, but also where church politics, conquest, and courtly propaganda pressed hard on “truth.” His histories (notably on Ireland and Wales) mix observation, polemic, and moral lesson. This sentence functions like a license to narrate scandal and brutality under the banner of instruction: not gossip, but diagnosis. The irony is that the claim about vice/virtue being confounded applies to the author, too - a reminder that even moral reportage can be a kind of power.
The second clause is the tell. Giraldus anticipates the pious reader’s complaint: why dwell on ugliness at all? His answer is almost administrative. A “well-disposed mind” enjoys hearing about goodness; it should also be able to tolerate hearing about the contrary. Subtext: if you can’t bear the account of vice, you’re not as well-disposed as you think. He’s preempting moral squeamishness that would rather curate reality than confront it.
Context matters. Giraldus wrote in a world where clergy were expected to edify, but also where church politics, conquest, and courtly propaganda pressed hard on “truth.” His histories (notably on Ireland and Wales) mix observation, polemic, and moral lesson. This sentence functions like a license to narrate scandal and brutality under the banner of instruction: not gossip, but diagnosis. The irony is that the claim about vice/virtue being confounded applies to the author, too - a reminder that even moral reportage can be a kind of power.
Quote Details
| Topic | Ethics & Morality |
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