# Characteristicks of Men, Manners, Opinions, Times/Volume 2/Treatise 5/Part 3

PART III.
PHILOCLES to PALEMON.
It was yet deep Night (as I imagin'd) when I wak'd with the noise of People up in the House. I call'd to know the matter; and was told that Theocles had a little before parted with his Friends; after which he went out to take his Morning-Walk, but wou'd return (they thought) pretty soon: For so he had left word; and that no-body in the mean time shou'd disturb my Rest.
This was Disturbance sufficient, when I heard it. I presently got up; and finding it light enough to see the Hill, which was at a little distance from the House, I soon got thither; and at the foot of it, overtook Theocles; to whom I complain'd of his Unkindness. For I was not certainly (I told him) so effeminate and weak a Friend, as to deserve that he shou'd treat me like a Woman: Nor ​had I shown such an Aversion to his Manners or Conversation, as to be thought fitter for the dull Luxury of a soft Bed and Ease, than for Business, Recreation, or Study with an early Friend. He had no other way therefore of making me amends, than by allowing me henceforward to be a Party with him in his serious Thoughts, as he saw I was resolv’d to be in his Hours and Exercises of this sort.
You have forgot then, said Theocles, the Assignation you had yesterday with the Silvan Nymphs at this Place and Hour? No, truly, said I: “For, as you see, I am come punctually to the Place appointed. But I never expected you shou’d have come hither without me. Nay then, said Theocles, there’s hope you may in time become a Lover with me: for you already begin to shew Jealousy. How little did I think these Nymphs cou’d raise that Passion in you? Truly, said I, for the Nymphs you mention, I know little of ’em as yet. My Jealousy and Love regard You only. I was afraid you had a mind to escape me. But now that I am again in possession of you, I want no Nymph to make me happy here; unless it were perhaps to join Forces against you, in the manner your belov’d Poet makes the Nymph ​Ægle join with his two Youths, in forcing the God Silenus to sing to ’em.”
I dare trust your Gallantry, reply’d Theocles, that if you had such fair Company as you speak of, you wou’d otherwise bestow your time than in an Adventure of Philosophy.—But do you expect I shou’d imitate the Poet’s God you mention’d, and sing “The Rise of Things from Atoms; the Birth of Order from Confusion; and the Origin of Union, Harmony, and Concord, from the sole Powers of Chaos, and blind Chance?” The Song indeed was fitted to the God. For what cou’d better sute his jolly Character, than such a drunken Creation; which he lov’d often to celebrate, by acting it to the life? But even this Song was too harmonious for the Night’s Debauch. Well has our Poet made it of the Morning, when the God was fresh: For hardly shou’d we be brought ever to believe that such harmonious Numbers cou’d arise from a mere Chaos of the Mind. But we must hear our Poet speaking in the Mouth of some soberer Demi-God or Hero. He then presents us with a different Principle of Things, and in a more proper Order of Precedency, gives Thought the upper hand. He makes Mind originally to have govern’d Body; not Body Mind: For this had been a Chaos ​everlasting, and must have kept all things in a Chaos-State to this day, and for ever, had it ever been. But,
The active Mind, infus’d thro’ all the Space, Unites and mingles with the mighty Mass: Hence Men and Beasts.—
Here, Philocles, we shall find our sovereign Genius; if we can charm the Genius of the Place (more chaste and sober than your Silenus) to inspire us with a truer Song of Nature, teach us some celestial Hymn, and make us feel Divinity present in these solemn Places of Retreat.
Haste then, I conjure you, said I, good Theocles, and stop not one moment for any Ceremony or Rite. For well I see, methinks, that without any such Preparation, some Divinity has approach’d us, and already moves in you. We are come to the sacred Groves of the Hamadryads, which formerly were said to render Oracles. We are on the most beautiful part of the Hill; and the Sun, now ready to rise, draws off the Curtain of Night, and shews us the open Scene of Nature in the Plains below. Begin: For now I know you are full of those Divine Thoughts which meet you ever in this Solitude. Give ’em but Voice ​and Accents: You may be still as much alone as you are us’d, and take no more notice of me than if I were absent.
JUST as I had said this, he turn’d away his Eyes from me, musing a-while by himself: and soon afterwards, stretching out his Hand, as pointing to the Objects round him, he began.
“Ye Fields and Woods, my Refuge from the toilsome World of Business, receive me in your quiet Sanctuarys, and favour my Retreat and thoughtful Solitude.—Ye verdant Plains, how gladly I salute ye!—Hail all ye blissful Mansions! Known Seats! Delightful Prospects! Majestick Beautys of this Earth, and all ye Rural Powers and Graces!—Bless’d be ye chaste Abodes of happiest Mortals, who here in peaceful Innocence enjoy a Life un-envy’d, tho Divine; whilst with its bless’d Tranquillity it affords a happy Leisure and Retreat for Man; who, made for Contemplation, and to search his own and other Natures, may here best meditate the Cause of Things; and plac’d amidst the various Scenes of Nature, may nearer view her Works.
​“O glorious Nature! supremely Fair, and sovereignly Good! All-loving and All-lovely, All-divine! Whose Looks are so becoming, and of such infinite Grace; whose Study brings such Wisdom, and whose Contemplation such Delight; whose every single Work affords an ampler Scene, and is a nobler Spectacle than all which ever Art presented!—O mighty Nature! Wise Substitute of Providence! impower’d Creatress! Or Thou impowering Deity, supreme Creator! Thee I invoke, and Thee alone adore. To thee this Solitude, this Place, these Rural Meditations are sacred; whilst thus inspir’d with Harmony of Thought, tho unconfin’d by Words, and in loose Numbers, I sing of Nature’s Order in created Beings, and celebrate the Beautys which resolve in Thee, the Source and Principle of all Beauty and Perfection.
“Thy Being is boundless, unsearchable, impenetrable. In thy Immensity all Thought is lost; Fancy gives o’er its Flight: and weary’d Imagination spends it-self in vain; finding no Coast nor Limit of this Ocean, nor in the widest Tract thro’ which it soars, one Point yet nearer the Circumference than the first Center whence it parted.—​Thus having oft essay’d, thus sally’d forth into the wide Expanse, when I return again within my-self, struck with the Sense of this so narrow Being, and of the Fulness of that Immense-one; I dare no more behold the amazing Depths, nor sound the Abyss of Deity.—
“Yet since by Thee (O Sovereign Mind!) I have been form’d such as I am, intelligent and rational; since the peculiar Dignity of my Nature is to know and contemplate Thee; permit that with due freedom I exert those Facultys with which thou hast adorn’d me. Bear with my ventrous and bold Approach. And since nor vain Curiosity, nor fond Conceit, nor Love of ought save Thee alone, inspires me with such Thoughts as these, be thou my Assistant, and guide me in this Pursuit; whilst I venture thus to tread the Labyrinth of wide Nature, and endeavour to trace thee in thy Works.”—
HERE he stop’d short, and starting, as out of a Dream; Now, Philocles, said he, inform me, How have I appear’d to you in my Fit? Seem’d it a sensible kind of Madness, like those Transports which are permitted to our Poets? or was it downright Raving?
​I only wish, said I, that you had been a little stronger in your Transport, to have proceeded as you began, without ever minding me. For I was beginning to see Wonders in that Nature you taught me, and was coming to know the Hand of your divine Artificer. But if you stop here, I shall lose the Enjoyment of the pleasing Vision. And already I begin to find a thousand Difficultys in fancying such a Universal Genius as you describe.
Why, said he, is there any difficulty in fansying the Universe to be One Intire Thing? Can one otherwise think of it, by what is visible, than that All hangs together, as of a Piece? Grant it: And what follows? Only this; that if it may indeed be said of the World, ‘That it is simply One,’ there shou’d be something belonging to it which makes it One. As how? No otherwise than as you may observe in every thing. For to instance in what we see before us; I know you look upon the Trees of this vast Wood to be different from one another: And this tall Oak, the noblest of the Company, as it is by it-self a different thing from all its Fellows of the Wood, so with its own Wood of numerous spreading Branches (which seem so many diffe​rent Trees) ’tis still, I suppose, one and the self-same Tree. Now shou’d you, as a mere Caviller, and not as a fair Sceptick, tell me that if a Figure of Wax, or any other Matter, were cast in the exact Shape and Colours of this Tree, and temper’d, if possible, to the same kind of Substance, it might therefore possibly be a real Tree of the same Kind or Species; I wou’d have done with you, and reason no longer. But if you question’d me fairly, and desir’d I shou’d satisfy you what I thought it was which made this Oneness or Sameness in the Tree or any other Plant; or by what it differ’d from the waxen Figure, or from any such Figure accidentally made, either in the Clouds, or on the Sand by the Sea-shore; I shou’d tell you, that neither the Wax, nor Sand, nor Cloud thus piec’d together by our Hand or Fancy, had any real relation within themselves, or had any Nature by which they corresponded any more in that near Situation of Parts, than if scatter’d ever so far asunder. But this I shou’d affirm, “That wherever there was such a Sympathizing of Parts, as we saw here, in our real Tree; Wherever there was such a plain Concurrence in one common End, and to the Support, Nourishment, and Propagation of so fair a Form; we cou’d not be mistaken in saying there was a peculiar Nature belong​ing to this Form, and common to it with others of the same kind.” By virtue of this, our Tree is a real Tree; lives, flourishes, and is still One and the same; even when by Vegetation and change of Substance, not one Particle in it remains the same.
At this rate indeed, said I, you have found a way to make very adorable Places of these Silvan Habitations. For besides the living Genius of each Place, the Woods too, which, by your account, are animated, have their Hamadryads, no doubt, and the Springs and Rivulets their Nymphs in store belonging to ’em: And these too, by what I can apprehend, of immaterial and immortal Substances.
We injure ’em then, reply’d Theocles, to say “they belong to these Trees”; and not rather “these Trees to them.” But as for their Immortality, let them look to it themselves. I only know, that both theirs and all other Natures must for their Duration depend alone on that Nature on which the World depends: And that every Genius else must be subordinate to that One good Genius, whom I wou’d willingly persuade you to think belonging to this World, according to our present way of speaking.
​Leaving, therefore, these Trees, continu’d he, to personate themselves the best they can,Personality. let us examine this thing of Personality between you and me; and consider how you, Philocles, are You, and I’m My-self. For that there is a Sympathy of Parts in these Figures of ours,Self. other than in those of Marble form’d by a Phidias or Praxiteles; Sense, I believe, will teach us. And yet that our own Marble, or Stuff, (whate’er it be, of which we are compos’d) wears out in seven, or, at the longest, in twice seven Years, the meanest Anatomist can tell us. Now where, I beseech you, will that same One be found at last, supposing it to lie in the Stuff it-self, or any part of it? For when that is wholly spent, and not one Particle of it left, we are Our-selves still as much as before.
What you Philosophers are, reply’d I, may be hard perhaps to determine: But for the rest of Mankind, I dare affirm, that few are so long themselves as half seven Years. ’Tis good fortune if a Man be one and the same only for a day or two: A Year makes more Revolutions than can be number’d.
True, said he: But tho this may happen to a Man, and chiefly to one whose contrary ​Vices set him at odds so often with himself; yet when he comes to suffer, or be punish’d for those Vices, he finds himself, if I mistake not, still one and the same. And you (Philocles!) who, tho you disown Philosophy, are yet so true a Proselyte to Pyrrhonism; shou’d you at last, feeling the Power of the Genius I preach, be wrought upon to own the divine Hypothesis,Identity. and from this new Turn of Thought admit a total Change in all your Principles and Opinions; yet wou’d you be still the self-same Philocles: tho better yet, if you will take my Judgment, than the present-one, as much as I love and value him. You see therefore, there is a strange Simplicity in this You and Me, that in reality they shou’d be still one and the same, when neither one Atom of Body, one Passion, nor one Thought remains the same. And for that poor Endeavour of making out this Sameness or Identity of Being, from some self-same Matter, or Particle of Matter, suppos’d to remain with us when all besides is chang’d; this is by so much the more contemptible, as that Matter it-self is not really capable of such Simplicity. For I dare answer, you will allow this You and Me to be each of us simply and individually One, better than you can allow the same to any thing of mere Matter; unless, quitting your Inclination for Scepticism, you fall so in love with the Notion of ​an Atom, as to find it full as intelligible and certain to you, as that You are Your-self.
But whatever, continu’d Theocles, be suppos’d of uncompounded Matter, (a Thing, at best, pretty difficult to conceive) yet being compounded, and put together in a certain number of such Parts as unite and conspire in these Frames of ours, and others like them; if it can present us with so many innumerable Instances of particular Forms, who share this simple Principle, by which they are really One, live, act, and have a Nature or Genius peculiar to themselves,A Genius. and provident for their own Welfare; how shall we at the same time overlook this in the Whole, and deny the Great and General-One of the World? How can we be so unnatural as to disown divine Nature,The Supreme One. our common Parent, and refuse to recognize the universal and sovereign Genius?
Sovereigns, said I, require no Notice to be taken of ’em, when they pass incognito, nor any Homage where they appear not in due Form. We may even have reason to presume they shou’d be displeas’d with us for being too officious, in endeavouring to discover them, when they keep themselves either wholly in​visible, or in very dark disguise. As for the Notice we take of these invisible Powers in the common way of our Religion, we have our visible Sovereigns to answer for us. Our lawful Superiors teach us what we are to own, and to perform, in Worship. And we are dutiful in complying with them, and following their Example. But in a philosophical way, I find no warrant for our being such earnest Recognizers of a controverted Title. However it be, you must allow one at least to understand the Controversy, and know the Nature of these Powers describ’d. May one not inquire, “What Substances they are of? whether material or immaterial?”
May one not, on the other hand, reply’d Theocles, inquire as well, “What Substance, or which of these two Substances you count your real and proper Self.” Or wou’d you rather be no Substance, but chuse to call your-self a Mode or Accident?
Truly, said I, as accidental as my Life may be, or as that random Humour is, which governs it; I know nothing, after all, so real or substantial as My-self. Therefore if there be that Thing you call a Substance, I take for granted I am one. But for any thing further relating to this Question, you know ​my Sceptick Principles: I determine neither way.
Allow me then, reply’d he (good Philocles!) the same Privilege of Scepticism in this respect; since it concerns not the Affair before us, Which way we determine, or Whether we come to any Determination at all in this point. For be the Difficulty ever so great; it stands the same, you may perceive, against your own Being, as against that which I am pretending to convince you of. You may raise what Objections you please on either hand; and your Dilemma may be of notable force against the manner of such a supreme Being’s Existence. But after you have done all, you will bring the same Dilemma home to you, and be at a loss still about Your-self. When you have argu’d ever so long upon these Metaphysical Points of Mode and Substance, and have philosophically concluded from the Difficultys of each Hypothesis, “That there cannot be in Nature such a Universal-One as This”; you must conclude, from the same Reasons, “That there cannot be any such particular One as Your-self.” But that there is actually such a one as this latter, your own Mind, ’tis hop’d, may satisfy you. And of this Mind ’tis enough to say, “That it is something which acts upon ​a Body, and has something passive under it, and subject to it: That it has not only Body or mere Matter for its Subject, but in some respect even it-self too, and what proceeds from it: That it superintends and manages its own Imaginations, Appearances, Fancys; correcting, working, and modelling these, as it finds good; and adorning and accomplishing, the best it can, this composite Order of Body and Understanding.” Such a Mind and governing Part, I know there is somewhere in the World. Let Pyrrho, by the help of such another, contradict me, if he pleases. We have our several Understandings and Thoughts, however we came by ’em. Each understands and thinks the best he can for his own purpose: He for Himself; I for another Self. And who, I beseech you, for the Whole?—No-one? Nothing at all?—The World, perhaps, you suppose to be mere Body: A Mass of modify’d Matter. The Bodys of Men are part therefore of this Body. The Imaginations, Sensations, Apprehensions of Men are included in this Body, and inherent in it, produc’d out of it, and resum’d again into it; tho the Body, it seems, never dreams of it! The World it-self is never the wiser for all the Wit and Wisdom it breeds! It has no Apprehension at all of what is doing; no Thought kept to it-self, for its own ​proper use, or purpose; not a single Imagination or Reflection, by which to discover or be conscious of the manifold Imaginations and Inventions which it sets a-foot, and deals abroad with such an open hand! The goodly Bulk so prolifick, kind, and yielding for every-one else, has nothing left at last for its own share; having unhappily lavish’d all away!—By what Chance I wou’d fain understand. “How? or by what necessity?—Who gives the Law?—Who orders and distributes thus?” Nature, say you. And what is Nature? Is it Sense? Is it a Person? Has she Reason or Understanding? No. Who then understands for her, or is interested or concern’d in her behalf?” “No-one; not a Soul: But Every one for himself.
Come on then. Let us hear further, Is not this Nature still a Self? Or, tell me, I beseech you, How are You one? By what Token? Or by virtue of What? “By a Principle which joins certain Parts, and which thinks and acts consonantly for the Use and Purpose of those Parts.” Say, therefore, What is your whole System a Part of? Or is it, indeed, no Part, but a Whole, by it-self, absolute, independent, and unrelated to any thing besides? If it be indeed a Part, and really related; to what ​else, I beseech you, than to the Whole of Nature? Is there then such a uniting Principle in Nature? If so,Nature subject to a Mind. how are you then a Self, and Nature not so? How have you something to understand and act for you, and Nature, who gave this Understanding, nothing at all to understand for her, advise her, or help her out (poor Being!) on any occasion, whatever Necessity she may be in? Has the World such ill fortune in the main? Are there so many particular understanding active Principles every where? And is there Nothing, at last, which thinks, acts, or understands for All? Nothing which administers or looks after All?
No (says one of a modern Hypothesis) for the World was from Eternity, as you see it; and is no more than barely what you see: “Matter modify’d; a Lump in motion, with here and there a Thought, or scatter’d Portion of dissoluble Intelligence.”—No (says one of an antienter Hypothesis) for the World was once without any Intelligence or Thought at all; “Mere Matter, Chaos, and a Play of Atoms; till Thought, by chance, came into play, and made up a Harmony which was never design’d, or thought of.”—Admirable Conceit!—Believe it who can. For my own share (thank Providence) I have a ¡{sc|Mind}} in my possession, ​which serves, such as it is, to keep my Body and its Affections, my Passions, Appetites, Imaginations, Fancys, and the rest, in tolerable Harmony and Order. But the Order of the Universe, I am persuaded still, is much the better of the two. Let Epicurus, if he please, think his the better; and believing no Genius or Wisdom above his own, inform us by what Chance ’twas dealt him, and how Atoms came to be so wise.
In fine, continu’d Theocles (raising his Voice and Action) being thus, even by Scepticism it-self, convinc’d the more still of my own Being, and of this Self of mine, “That ’tis a real Self, drawn out, and copy’d from another principal and original Self (the Great-one of the World)” I endeavour to be really one with it, and conformable to it, as far as I am able. I consider, That as there is one general Mass, one Body of the Whole; so to this Body there is an Order, to this Order a Mind: That to this general Mind each particular-one must have relation; as being of like Substance, (as much as we can understand of Substance) alike active upon Body, original to Motion and Order; alike simple, uncompounded, individual; of like Energy, Effect, and Operation; and more like still, if it co-operates with it to general Good, and strives to will according to ​the best of Wills. So that it cannot surely but seem natural, “That the particular Mind shou’d seek its Happiness in conformity with the general-one, and endeavour to resemble it in its highest Simplicity and Excellence.”
THEREFORE, Now, said I, good Theocles, be once again the Enthusiast; and let me hear a-new that divine Song with which I was lately charm’d. I am already got over my Qualm, and begin better than ever to fansy such a Nature as you speak of; insomuch that I find myself mightily in its Interest, and concern’d that all shou’d go happily and well with it. Tho at the rate it often runs, I can scarce help being in some pain on its account.
Fear not, my Friend, reply’d he. For know that every particular Nature certainly and constantly produces what is good to it-self; unless something foreign disturbs or hinders it, either by over-powering and corrupting it within, or by Violence from without. Thus Nature in the Patient struggles to the last, and strives to throw off the Distemper. Thus even in these Plants we see round us, every parti​cular Nature thrives, and attains its Perfection, if nothing from without obstructs it, nor any thing foreign has already impair’d or wounded it: And even in this case, it does its utmost still to redeem it-self. What are all Weaknesses,Distempers. Distortions, Sicknesses, imperfect Births, and the seeming Contradictions and Perversitys of Nature, other than of this sort? And how ignorant must one be of all natural Causes and Operations, to think that any of these Disorders happen by a Miscarriage of the particular Nature, and not by the Force of some foreign Nature which over-powers it? If therefore every particular Nature be thus constantly and unerringly true to it-self, and certain to produce only what is good for it-self, and conducing to its own right State; shall not the general-one, The Nature of the Whole, do full as much? Shall That alone miscarry or fail? Or is there any thing foreign, which shou’d at any time do violence upon it, or force it out of its natural way? If not,General Good. then all it produces is to its own advantage and good; the Good of All in general: And what is for the good of all in general, is Just and Good. ’Tis so, said I, I confess.
Then you ought to rest satisfy’d, reply’d he; and not only so, but be pleas’d and re​joice at what happens, knowing whence it comes, and to what Perfection it contributes.
BLESS me! said I, Theocles, into what a Superstition are you like to lead me! I thought it heretofore the Mark of a superstitious Mind, to search for Providence in the common Accidents of Life, and ascribe to the Divine Power those common Disasters and Calamitys which Nature has entail’d on Mankind. But now, I find, I must place all in general to one Account; and viewing things thro’ a kind of Magical Glass, I am to see the worst of Ills transform’d to Good, and admire equally whatever comes from one and the same perfect Hand.—But no matter; I can surmount all. Go on, Theocles, and let me advise you in my own behalf, that since you have rekindled me, you do not by delaying give me time to cool again.
I wou’d have you know, reply’d he, I scorn to take the advantage of a warm Fit, and be beholden to Temper or Imagination for gaining me your Assent. Therefore ere I go yet a step farther, I am resolv’d to enter again into cool Reason with you; and ask, If you admit for Proof what I advanc’d yesterday upon ​that head, “Of a Universal UNION, Coherence, or Sympathizing of Things?”
By Force of Probability, said I, you overcame me. Being convinc’d of a Consent and Correspondence in all we saw of Things, I consider’d it as unreasonable not to allow the same thro’out!
Unreasonable indeed! reply’d he. For in the infinite Residue, were there no Principle of Union; it wou’d seem next to impossible, that things within our Sphere shou’d be consistent, and keep their Order. “For what was infinite, wou’d be predominant.” It seems so.
Tell me then, said he, after this Union own’d, how you can refuse to allow the name of Demonstration to the remaining Arguments, which establish the Government of a perfect Mind.
Your Solutions, said I, of the ill Appearances are not perfect enough to pass for Demonstration. And whatever seems vitious or imperfect in the Creation, puts a stop to further Conclusions, till the thing be solv’d.
Did you not then, said he, agree with me, when I aver’d that the Appearances must of ne​cessity stand as they are, and things seem altogether as imperfect, even on the Concession of a perfect Supreme Mind existent? I did so.
And is not the same Reason good still? viz. “That in an infinity of Things, mutually relative, a Mind which sees not infinitely, can see nothing fully; and must therefore frequently see that as imperfect, which in it-self is really perfect. The Reason is still good.
Are the Appearances, then, any Objection to our Hypothesis? None, whilst they remain Appearances only.
Can you then prove them to be any more? For if you cannot, you prove nothing. And that it lies on you to prove, you plainly see: since the Appearances do not only agree with the Hypothesis, but are a necessary Consequence from it. To bid me prove, therefore, in this case, is, in a manner, the same as to bid me be infinite. For nothing beside what is infinite can see infinite Connexions.
The Presumption, I must confess, said I, by this reckoning, is wholly on your side. Yet still this is only Presumption.
​Take Demonstration then, said he, if you can endure I shou’d reason thus abstractedly and drily. The Appearances of Ill, you say, are not necessarily that Ill they represent to you. I own it.”
Therefore what they represent may possibly be Good. It may.
And therefore there may possibly be no real Ill in things: but all may be perfectly concurrent to one Interest; the Interest of that Universal One. It may be so.
Why, then, if it may be so, (be not surpris’d) “It follows that it must be so;” on the account of that great Unit, and simple Self-principle, which you have granted in the Whole. For whatever is possible in the Whole, the Nature or Mind of the Whole will put in execution for the Whole’s Good: And if it be possible to exclude Ill, it will exclude it. Therefore since notwithstanding the Appearances, ’tis possible that Ill may actually be excluded; count upon it, ‘That actually it is excluded.’ For nothing merely passive can oppose this uni​versally active Principle. If any thing active oppose it, ’tis another Principle. Allow it.
’Tis impossible. For were there in Nature Two or more Principles, either they must agree, or not. If they agree not, all must be Confusion, till one be predominant. If they agree, there must be some natural Reason for their Agreement; and this natural Reason cannot be from Chance, but from some particular Design, Contrivance, or Thought: which brings us up again to One Principle, and makes the other two to be subordinate. And thus when we have compar’d each of the Three Opinions, viz. “That there is no designing active Principle; That there is more than one”; or, “That finally there is but One”; we shall perceive, that the only consistent Opinion is the last. And since one or other of these Opinions must of necessity be true; what can we determine, other than that the last is, and must be so, demonstrably? if it be Demonstration “That in Three Opinions, One of which must necessarily be true, Two being plainly absurd, the Third must be the Truth.”
Enough, said I, Theocles. My Doubts are vanish’d. Malice and Chance (vain Phantoms!) have yielded to that all-prevalent ​Wisdom which you have establish’d. You are Conqueror in the cool way of Reason, and may with Honour now grow warm again, in your poetick Vein. Return therefore, I intreat you, once more, to that Perfection of Being; and address your-self to it as before, on our Approaches to these Silvan Scenes, where first it seem’d to inspire you. I shall now no longer be in danger of imagining either Magick or Superstition in the case; since you invoke no other Power than that single One, which seems so natural.
THUS I continue then, said Theocles, addressing my-self, as you wou’d have me, to that Guardian-Deity and Inspirer, whom we are to imagine present here; but not here only. For, “O mighty Genius! Sole-animating and inspiring Power! Author and Subject of these Thoughts! Thy Influence is universal: and in all Things, thou art inmost. From Thee depend their secret Springs of Action. Thou mov’st them with an irresistible unweary’d Force, by sacred and inviolable Laws, fram’d for the Good of each particular Being; as best may sute with the Perfection, Life, and Vigour of the Whole. The vital Principle is widely shar’d, and infinitely vary’d: dispers’d thro’out; no​where extinct. All lives; and by Succession still revives. The temporary Beings quit their borrow’d Forms, and yield their elementary Substance to New-Comers. Call’d, in their several turns, to Life, they view the Light, and viewing pass; that others too may be Spectators of the goodly Scene, and greater numbers still enjoy the Privilege of Nature. Munificent and Great, she imparts her-self to most; and makes the Subjects of her Bounty infinite. Nought stays her hastning Hand. No Time nor Substance is lost or un-improv’d. New Forms arise: and when the old dissolve, the Matter whence they were compos’d is not left useless, but wrought with equal Management and Art, even in Corruption, Nature’s seeming Waste, and vile Abhorrence. The abject State appears merely as the Way or Passage to some better. But cou’d we nearly view it, and with Indifference, remote from the Antipathy of Sense; we then perhaps shou’d highest raise our Admiration: convinc’d that even the Way it-self was equal to the End. Nor can we judg less favourably of that consummate Art exhibited thro’ all the Works of Nature; since our weak Eyes, help’d by mechanick Art, discover in these Works a hidden Scene of Wonders; Worlds within Worlds, of infinite Minuteness, tho as to Art ​still equal to the greatest, and pregnant with more Wonders than the most discerning Sense, join’d with the greatest Art, or the acutest Reason, can penetrate or unfold.
“But ’tis in vain for us to search the bulky Mass of Matter: seeking to know its Nature; how great the Whole it-self, or even how small its Parts.
“If knowing only some of the Rules of Motion, we seek to trace it further, ’tis in vain we follow it into the Bodys it has reach’d. Our tardy Apprehensions fail us, and can reach nothing beyond the Body it-self, thro’ which it is diffus’d. Wonderful Being, (if we may call it so) which Bodys never receive, except from others which lose it; nor ever lose, unless by imparting it to others. Even without Change of Place it has its Force: And Bodys big with Motion labour to move, yet stir not; whilst they express an Energy beyond our Comprehension.
“In vain too we pursue that Phantom Time, too small, and yet too mighty for our Grasp; when shrinking to a narrow point, it scapes our Hold, or mocks our scanty Thought by ​swelling to Eternity, an Object unproportion’d to our Capacity, as is thy Being, O thou Antient Cause! older than Time, yet young with fresh Eternity.
“In vain we try to fathom the Abyss of Space, the Seat of thy extensive Being; of which no Place is empty, no Void which is not full.
“In vain we labour to understand that Principle of Sense and Thought, which seeming in us to depend so much on Motion, yet differs so much from it, and from Matter it-self, as not to suffer us to conceive how Thought can more result from this, than this arise from Thought. But Thought we own pre-eminent, and confess the reallest of Beings; the only Existence of which we are made sure, by being conscious. All else may be only Dream and Shadow. All which even Sense suggests may be deceitful. The Sense it-self remains still; Reason subsists; and Thought maintains its Eldership of Being. Thus are we in a manner conscious of that original and eternally existent Thought, whence we derive our own. And thus the Assurance we have of the Existence of Beings above our Sense, and of Thee, (the great Exemplar of thy Works) comes from ​Thee, the All-True, and Perfect, who hast thus communicated thy-self more immediately to us, so as in some manner to inhabit within our Souls; Thou who art Original Soul, diffusive, vital in all, inspiriting the Whole.
“All Nature’s Wonders serve to excite and perfect this Idea of their Author. ’Tis here he suffers us to see, and even converse with him, in a manner sutable to our Frailty. How glorious is it to contemplate him, in this noblest of his Works apparent to us, The System of the bigger World!”—
HERE I must own, ’twas no small Comfort to me, to find that, as our Meditation turn’d, we were likely to get clear of an entangling abstruse Philosophy. I was in hopes Theocles, as he proceeded, might stick closer to Nature, since he was now come upon the Borders of our World. And here I wou’d willingly have welcom’d him, had I thought it safe at present to venture the least Interruption.
“Besides the neighbouring Planets (continu’d he, in his rapturous Strain) what Multitudes of fix’d Stars did we see sparkle, not an hour ago, in the clear Night, which yet ​had hardly yielded to the Day? How many others are discover’d by the help of Art? Yet how many remain still, beyond the reach of our Discovery! Crouded as they seem, their Distance from each other is as unmeasurable by Art, as is the Distance between them and us. Whence we are naturally taught the Immensity of that Being, who thro’ these immense Spaces has dispos’d such an Infinite of Bodys, belonging each (as we may well presume) to Systems as compleat as our own World: Since even the smallest Spark of this bright Galaxy may vie with this our Sun; which shining now full out, gives us new Life, exalts our Spirits, and makes us feel Divinity more present.
“Prodigious Orb! Bright Source of vital Heat, and Spring of Day!—Soft Flame, yet how intense, how active! How diffusive, and how vast a Substance; yet how collected thus within it-self, and in a glowing Mass confin’d to the Center of this planetary World!—Mighty Being! Brightest Image, and Representative of the Almighty! Supreme of the corporeal World! Unperishing in Grace, and of undecaying Youth! Fair, beautiful, and hardly mortal Creature! By what secret ways dost thou receive the Sup​plys which maintain Thee still in such unweary’d Vigour, and un-exhausted Glory; notwithstanding those eternally emitted Streams, and that continual Expence of vital Treasures, which inlighten and invigorate the surrounding Winds?—
“Around him all the Planets, with this our Earth, single, or with Attendants, continually move; seeking to receive the Blessing of his Light, and lively Warmth! Towards him they seem to tend with prone descent, as to their Center; but happily controul’d still by another Impulse, they keep their heavenly Order; and in just Numbers, and exactest Measure, go the eternal Rounds.
“But, O thou who art the Author and Modifier of these various Motions! O sovereign and sole Mover, by whose high Art the rolling Spheres are govern’d, and these stupendous Bodys of our World hold their unrelenting Courses! O wise OEconomist, and powerful Chief, whom all the Elements and Powers of Nature serve! How hast thou animated these moving Worlds? What Spirit or Soul infus’d? What Biass fix’d? Or how encompass’d them in liquid AEther, driving them as with the Breath of living Winds, ​thy active and unweary’d Ministers in this intricate and mighty Work?
“Thus powerfully are the Systems held intire, and kept from fatal interfering. Thus is our ponderous Globe directed in its annual Course; daily revolving on its own Center: whilst the obsequious Moon with double Labour, monthly surrounding this our bigger Orb, attends the Motion of her Sister-Planet, and pays in common her circular Homage to the Sun.
“Yet is this Mansion-Globe, this Man-Container, of a much narrower compass even than other its Fellow-Wanderers of our System. How narrow then must it appear, compar’d with the capacious System of its own Sun? And how narrow, or as nothing, in respect of those innumerable Systems of other apparent Suns? Yet how immense a Body it seems, compar’d with ours of human Form, a borrow’d Remnant of its variable and oft-converted Surface? tho animated with a sublime Celestial Spirit, by which we have Relation and Tendency to Thee our Heavenly Sire, Center of Souls; to whom these Spirits of ours by Nature tend, as earthly Bodys to their proper Center.—O did they ​tend as unerringly and constantly!—But Thou alone composest the Disorders of the corporeal World, and from the restless and fighting Elements raisest that peaceful Concord, and conspiring Beauty of the ever-flourishing Creation. Even so canst thou convert these jarring Motions of intelligent Beings, and in due time and manner cause them to find their Rest; making them contribute to the Good and Perfection of the Universe, thy all-good and perfect Work.”—
HERE again he broke off, looking on me as if he expected I shou’d speak; which when he found plainly I wou’d not, but continu’d still in a posture of musing Thought: Why Philocles! (said he, with an Air of Wonder) What can this mean, that you shou’d suffer me thus to run on, without the least Interruption? Have you at once given over your scrupulous Philosophy, to let me range thus at pleasure thro’ these aerial Spaces and imaginary Regions, where my capricious Fancy or easy Faith has led me? I wou’d have you to consider better, and know, my Philocles, that I had never trusted my-self with you in this Vein of Enthusiasm, had I not rely’d on you to govern it a little better.
​I find then, said I, (rouzing my-self from my musing Posture) you expect I shou’d serve you in the same capacity as that Musician, whom an antient Orator made use of at his Elbow, to strike such moving Notes as rais’d him when he was perceiv’d to sink; and calm’d him again, when his impetuous Spirit was transported in too high a Strain.
You imagine right, reply’d Theocles; and therefore I am resolv’d not to go on, till you have promis’d to pull me by the Sleeve when I grow extravagant. Be it so, said I; you have my Promise. But how if instead of rising in my Transports, I shou’d grow flat and tiresom: What Lyre or Instrument wou’d you imploy to raise me?
The Danger, I told him, cou’d hardly be suppos’d to lie on this hand. His Vein was a plentiful one; and his Enthusiasm in no likelihood of failing him. His Subject too, as well as his Numbers, wou’d bear him out. And with the Advantage of the rural Scene around us, his number’d Prose, I thought, supply’d the room of the best Pastoral Song. For in the manner I was now wrought up, ’twas as agreeable to me to hear him, in this kind of ​Passion, invoke his Stars and Elements, as to hear one of those amorous Shepherds complaining to his Flock, and making the Woods and Rocks resound the Name of Her whom he ador’d.—Begin therefore (continu’d I, still pressing him) Begin a-new, and lead me boldly thro’ your Elements. Wherever there is danger, be it on either hand, I promise to give you warning, when I perceive it.
LET us begin then, said he, with this our Element of Earth, which yonder we see cultivated with such Care by the early Swains now working in the Plain below.—“Unhappy restless Men, who first disdain’d these peaceful Labours, gentle rural Tasks, perform’d with such Delight! What Pride or what Ambition bred this Scorn? Hence all those fatal Evils of your Race! Enormous Luxury, despising homely Fare, ranges thro’ Seas and Lands, rifles the Globe; and Men ingenious to their Misery, work out for themselves the means of heavier Labour, anxious Cares, and Sorrow: Not satisfy’d to turn and manure for their Use the wholesom and beneficial Mould of this their Earth, they dig yet deeper, and seeking out imaginary Wealth, they search its very Entrails.
​“Here, led by Curiosity, we find Minerals of different Natures, which by their Simplicity discover no less of the Divine Art, than the most compounded of Nature’s Works. Some are found capable of surprizing Changes; others as durable, and hard to be destroy’d or chang’d by Fire, or utmost Art. So various are the Subjects of our Contemplation, that even the Study of these inglorious Parts of Nature, in the nether World, is able it-self alone to yield large Matter and Employment for the busiest Spirits of Men, who in the Labour of these Experiments can willingly consume their Lives.—But the noisom poisonous Steams which the Earth breathes from these dark Caverns, where she conceals her Treasures, suffer not prying Mortals to live long in this Search.
“How comfortable is it to those who come out hence alive, to breathe a purer Air! to see the rejoicing Light of Day! and tread the fertile Ground! How gladly they contemplate the Surface of the Earth, their Habitation, heated and enliven’d by the Sun, and temper’d by the fresh Air of fanning Breezes! These exercise the resty Plants, and scour the unactive Globe. And when ​the Sun draws hence thick clouded Steams and Vapours, ’tis only to digest and exalt the unwholesom Particles, and commit ’em to the sprightly Air; which soon imparting its quick and vital Spirit, renders ’em again with improvement to the Earth, in gentle Breathings, or in rich Dews and fruitful Showers. The same Air, moving about the mighty Mass, enters its Pores, impregnating the Whole: And both the Sun and Air conspiring, so animate this Mother-Earth, that tho ever breeding, her Vigour is as great, her Beauty as fresh, and her Looks as charming, as if she newly came out of the forming Hands of her Creator.
“How beautiful is the Water among the inferior Earthly Works! Heavy, liquid, and transparent: without the springing Vigour and expansive Force of Air; but not without Activity. Stubborn and un-yielding, when compress’d; but placidly avoiding Force, and bending every way with ready Fluency! Insinuating, it dissolves the lumpish Earth, frees the intangled Bodys, procures their Intercourse, and summons to the Field the keen terrestrial Particles; whole happy Strifes soon ending in strict Union, produce the various Forms which we behold. How vast are the Abysses of the Sea, ​where this soft Element is stor’d; and whence the Sun and Winds extracting, raise it into Clouds! These soon converted into Rain, water the thirsty Ground, and supply a-fresh the Springs and Rivers; the Comfort of the neighbouring Plains, and sweet Refreshment of all Animals.
“But whither shall we trace the Sources of the Light? or in what Ocean comprehend the luminous Matter so wide diffus’d thro’ the immense Spaces which it fills? What Seats shall we assign to that fierce Element of Fire, too active to be confin’d within the Compass of the Sun, and not excluded even the Bowels of the heavy Earth? The Air it-self submits to it, and serves as its inferior Instrument. Even this our Sun, with all those numerous Suns, the glittering Host of Heaven, seem to receive from hence the vast Supplies which keep them ever in their splendid State. The invisible etherial Substance, penetrating both liquid and solid Bodys, is diffus’d thro’out the Universe. It cherishes the cold dull massy Globe, and warms it to its Center. It forms the Minerals; gives Life and Growth to Vegetables; kindles a soft, invisible, and vital Flame in the Breasts of living Creatures; frames, animates, ​and nurses all the various Forms; sparing, as well as imploying for their Use, those sulphurous and combustible Matters of which they are compos’d. Benign and gentle amidst all, it still maintains this happy Peace and Concord, according to its stated and peculiar Laws. But these once broken, the acquitted Being takes its Course unrul’d. It runs impetuous thro’ the fatal Breach, and breaking into visible and fierce Flames, passes triumphant o’er the yielding Forms, converting all into it-self, and dissolving now those Systems which it-self before had form’d. ’Tis thus”—
HERE Theocles stopt on a sudden, when (as he imagin’d) I was putting my Hand out, to lay hold on his Sleeve.
O Philocles, said he, ’tis well remember’d. I was growing too warm, I find; as well I might indeed, in this hot Element. And here perhaps I might have talk’d yet more mysteriously, had you been one who cou’d think otherwise than in the common way of the soft Flames of Love. You might, perhaps, have heard Wonders in this kind: “How all things had their Being hence, and how their noblest ​End was to be here wrapt up, consum’d and lost.”—But in these high Flights, I might possibly have gone near to burn my Wings.
Indeed, said I, you might well expect the Fate of Icarus, for your high-soaring. But this, indeed, was not what I fear’d. For you were got above Danger; and, with that devouring Element on your side, had master’d not only the Sun himself, but every thing which stood in your way. I was afraid it might, in the issue, run to what they tell us of a universal Conflagration; in which I knew not how it might go, possibly, with our Genius.
I am glad, said he, Philocles! to find this grown such a Concern with you. But you may rest secure here, if the Case you meant were that periodical Conflagration talk’d of by some Philosophers. For there the Genius wou’d of necessity be all in all: And in those Intervals of Creation, when no Form, nor Species existed any-where out of the Divine Mind, all then was Deity: All was that One, collected thus within it-self, and subsisting (as they imagin’d) rather in a more simple and perfect manner, than when multiply’d in more ways; and becoming productive, it unfolded it-self in the ​various Map of Nature, and this fair visible World.
But for my part, said I, (interrupting him) who can much better see Divinity unfolded, than in that involv’d and solitary State before Creation; I cou’d wish you wou’d go a little further with me in the Map of Nature; especially if descending from your lofty Flights, you wou’d be content to pitch upon this humble Spot of Earth; where I cou’d better accompany you, where’er you led me.
But you, reply’d he, who wou’d confine me to this heavy Earth, must yet allow me the same Wings of Fancy. How else shall I fly with you, thro’ different Climates, from Pole to Pole, and from the Frigid to the Torrid Zone?
O, said I, for this purpose I will allow you the Pegasus of the Poets, or that wing’d Griffin which an Italian Poet of the Moderns gave to one of his Heroes: Yet on this Condition, that you take no such extravagant Flight, as his was, to the Moon; but keep closely to this Orb of Earth.
SINCE you will have it so, reply’d Theocles, let us try first on the darkest and most im​perfect Parts of our Map, and see how you can endure the Prospect. “How oblique and faintly looks the Sun on yonder Climates, far remov’d from him! How tedious are the Winters there! How deep the Horrors of the Night, and how uncomfortable even the Light of Day! The freezing Winds employ their fiercest Breath, yet are not spent with blowing. The Sea, which elsewhere is scarce confin’d within its Limits, lies here immur’d in Walls of Chrystal. The Snow covers the Hills, and almost fills the lowest Valleys. How wide and deep it lies, incumbent o’er the Plains, hiding the sluggish Rivers, the Shrubs, and Trees, the Dens of Beasts, and Mansions of distress’d and feeble Men!—See! where they lie confin’d, hardly secure against the raging Cold, or the Attacks of the wild Beasts, now Masters of the wasted Field, and forc’d by Hunger out of the naked Woods.—Yet not dishearten’d (such is the Force of human Breasts) but thus provided for, by Art and Prudence, the kind compensating Gifts of Heaven, Men and their Herds may wait for a Release. For at length the Sun approaching, melts the Snow, sets longing Men at liberty, and affords them Means and Time to make provision against the next Return of Cold. It breaks the icy ​Fetters of the Main; where vast Sea-Monsters pierce thro’ floating Islands, with Arms which can withstand the Chrystal Rock: whilst others, who of themselves seem great as Islands, are by their Bulk alone arm’d against all but Man; whose Superiority over Creatures of such stupendous Size and Force, shou’d make him mindful of his Privilege of Reason, and force him humbly to adore the great Composer of these wondrous Frames, and Author of his own superior Wisdom.
“But leaving these dull Climates, so little favour’d by the Sun, for those happier Regions, on which he looks more kindly, making perpetual Summer; How great an Alteration do we find? His purer Light confounds weak-sighted Mortals, pierc’d by his scorching Beams. Scarce can they tread the glowing Ground. The Air they breathe cannot enough abate the Fire which burns within their panting Breasts. Their Bodys melt. O’ercome and fainting, they seek the Shade, and wait the cool Refreshments of the Night. Yet oft the bounteous Creator bestows other Refreshments. He casts a veil of Clouds before ’em, and raises gentle Gales; favour’d by which, the Men and Beasts pur​sue their Labours; and Plants refresh’d by Dews and Showers, can gladly bear the warmest Sun-beams.
“And here the varying Scene opens to new Wonders. We see a Country rich with Gems, but richer with the fragrant Spices it affords. How gravely move the largest of Land-Creatures on the Banks of this fair River! How ponderous are their Arms, and vast their Strength, with Courage, and a Sense superior to the other Beasts! Yet are they tam’d, we see, by Mankind, and brought even to fight their Battles, rather as Allies and Confederates, than as Slaves.—But let us turn our Eyes towards these smaller, and more curious Objects; the numerous and devouring Insects on the Trees in these wide Plains. How shining, strong, and lasting are the subtile Threds spun from their artful Mouths! Who, beside the All-wise, has taught ’em to compose the beautiful soft Shells; in which recluse and bury’d, yet still alive, they undergo such a surprizing Change; when not destroy’d by Men, who clothe and adorn themselves with the Labours and Lives of these weak Creatures, and are proud of wearing such inglorious Spoils? How sumptuously apparel’d, gay, and splendid, are all the various Insects ​which feed on the other Plants of this warm Region! How beautiful the Plants themselves in all their various Growths, from the triumphant Palm down to the humble Moss!
“Now may we see that happy Country where precious Gums and Balsams flow from Trees; and Nature yields her most delicious Fruits. How tame and tractable, how patient of Labour and of Thirst, are those large Creatures; who lifting up their lofty Heads, go led and loaden thro’ these dry and barren Places! Their Shape and Temper show them fram’d by Nature to submit to Man, and fitted for his Service: who from hence ought to be more sensible of his Wants, and of the Divine Bounty, thus supplying them.
“But see! not far from us, that fertilest of Lands, water’d and fed by a friendly generous Stream, which, ere it enters the Sea, divides it-self into many Branches, to dispense more equally the rich and nitrous Manure, it bestows so kindly and in due time, on the adjacent Plains.—Fair Image of that fruitful and exuberant Nature, who with a Flood of Bounty blesses all things, and, Parent-like, out of her many ​Breasts sends the nutritious Draught in various Streams to her rejoicing Offspring!—Innumerable are the dubious Forms and unknown Species which drink the slimy Current: whether they are such as leaving the scorch’d Desarts, satiate here their ardent Thirst, and promiscuously engendring, beget a monstrous Race; or whether, as it is said, by the Sun’s genial Heat, active on the fermenting Ooze, new Forms are generated, and issue from the River’s fertile Bed.—See there the noted Tyrant of the Flood, and Terror of its Borders! when suddenly displaying his horrid Form, the amphibious Ravager invades the Land, quitting his watry Den, and from the deep emerging, with hideous rush, sweeps o’er the trembling Plain. The Natives from afar behold with wonder the enormous Bulk, sprung from so small an Egg. With Horror they relate the Monster’s Nature, cruel and deceitful: how he with dire Hypocrisy, and false Tears, beguiles the Simple-hearted; and inspiring Tenderness and kind Compassion, kills with pious Fraud.—Sad Emblem of that spiritual Plague, dire Superstition! Native of this Soil; where first Religion grew unsociable, and among different Worshipers bred ​mutual Hatred, and Abhorrence of each others Temples. The Infection spreads: and Nations now profane one to another, war fiercer, and in Religion’s Cause forget Humanity: whilst savage Zeal, with meek and pious Semblance, works dreadful Massacre; and for Heaven’s sake (horrid Pretence!) makes desolate the Earth.—
“Here let us leave these Monsters (glad if we cou’d here confine ’em!) and detesting the dire prolifick Soil, fly to the vast Desarts of these Parts. All ghastly and hideous as they appear, they want not their peculiar Beautys. The Wildness pleases. We seem to live alone with Nature. We view her in her inmost Recesses, and contemplate her with more Delight in these original Wilds, than in the artificial Labyrinths and feign’d Wildernesses of the Palace. The Objects of the Place, the scaly Serpents, the savage Beasts, and poisonous Insects, how terrible soever, or how contrary to human Nature, are beauteous in themselves, and fit to raise our Thoughts in Admiration of that Divine Wisdom, so far superior to our short Views. Unable to declare the Use or Service of all things in this Universe, we are yet assur’d of the Perfection of all, and of the Justice of that OEco​nomy, to which all things are subservient, and in respect of which, Things seemingly deform’d are amiable; Disorder becomes regular; Corruption wholesom; and Poisons (such as these we have seen) prove healing and beneficial.
“But behold! thro’ a vast Tract of Sky before us, the mighty Atlas rears his lofty Head, cover’d with Snow above the Clouds. Beneath the Mountain’s foot, the rocky Country rises into Hills, a proper Basis of the ponderous Mass above: where huge embody’d Rocks lie pil’d on one another, and seem to prop the high Arch of Heaven.—See! with what trembling Steps poor Mankind tread the narrow Brink of the deep Precipices! From whence with giddy Horror they look down, mistrusting even the Ground which bears ’em; whilst they hear the hollow Sound of Torrents underneath, and see the Ruin of the impending Rock; with falling Trees which hang with their Roots upwards, and seem to draw more Ruin after ’em. Here thoughtless Men, seiz’d with the Newness of such Objects, become thoughtful, and willingly contemplate the incessant Changes of this Earth’s Surface. They see, as in one instant, the Revolutions of past Ages, the fleeting Forms of ​Things, and the Decay even of this our Globe; whose Youth and first Formation they consider, whilst the apparent Spoil and irreparable Breaches of the wasted Mountain shew them the World it-self only as a noble Ruin, and make them think of its approaching Period.—But here mid-way the Mountain, a spacious Border of thick Wood harbours our weary’d Travellers: who now are come among the ever-green and lofty Pines, the Firs, and noble Cedars, whose towring Heads seem endless in the Sky; the rest of Trees appearing only as Shrubs beside them. And here a different Horror seizes our shelter’d Travellers, when they see the Day diminish’d by the deep Shapes of the vast Wood; which closing thick above, spreads Darkness and eternal Night below. The faint and gloomy Light looks horrid as the Shade it-self: and the profound Stillness of these Places imposes Silence upon Men, struck with the hoarse Echoings of every Sound within the spacious Caverns of the Wood. Here Space astonishes. Silence it-self seems pregnant; whilst an unknown Force works on the Mind, and dubious Objects move the wakeful Sense. Mysterious Voices are either heard or fansy’d: and various Forms of Deity seem to present themselves, and appear more manifest in these ​sacred Silvan Scenes; such as of old gave rise to Temples, and favour’d the Religion of the antient World. Even we our-selves, who in plain Characters may read Divinity from so many bright Parts of Earth, chuse rather these obscurer Places, to spell out that mysterious Being, which to our weak Eyes appears at best under a Veil of Cloud.”—
HERE he paus’d a-while, and began to cast about his Eyes, which before seem’d fix’d. He look’d more calmly, with an open Countenance and free Air; by which, and other Tokens, I cou’d easily find we were come to an end of our Descriptions; and that whether I wou’d or no, Theocles was now resolv’d to take his leave of the Sublime: the Morning being spent, and the Forenoon by this time well advanc’d.
SECT. II.
METHINKS, said he, Philocles! (changing to a familiar Voice) we had better leave these unsociable Places, whither our Fancy has transported us, and return to our-selves here again, in our more convers​able Woods, and temperate Climates. Here no fierce Heats nor Colds annoy us, no Precipices nor Cataracts amaze us. Nor need we here be afraid of our own Voices; whilst we hear the Notes of such a chearful Quire, and find the Echoes rather agreeable, and inviting us to talk.
I confess, said I, those foreign Nymphs (if there were any belonging to those miraculous Woods) were much too awful Beautys to please me. I found our familiar Home-Nymphs a great deal more to my humour. Yet for all this, I cannot help being concern’d for your breaking off just when we were got half the World over, and wanted only to take America in our way home. Indeed as for Europe, I cou’d excuse your making any great Tour there, because of the little Variety it wou’d afford us. Besides that it wou’d be hard to see it in any view, without meeting still that politick Face of Affairs, which wou’d too much disturb us in our philosophical Flights. But for the Western Tract, I cannot imagine why you shou’d neglect such noble Subjects as are there; unless perhaps the Gold and Silver, to which I find you such a bitter Enemy, frighted you from a Mother-Soil so full of it. If these Countrys had been as bare of those Metals as old Sparta, we might have heard more perhaps of the ​Peru’s and Mexico’s than of all Asia and Africa. We might have had Creatures, Plants, Woods, Mountains, Rivers, beyond any of those we have pass’d. How sorry am I to lose the noble Amazon! How sorry—
Here as I wou’d have proceeded, I saw so significant a Smile on Theocles’s Face, that it stopt me, out of Curiosity, to ask him his Thought.
Nothing, said he; nothing but this very Subject it-self.—Go on.—I see you’ll finish it for me. The Spirit of this sort of Prophecy has seiz’d you. And Philocles, the cold indifferent Philocles, is become a Pursuer of the same mysterious Beauty.
’Tis true, said I, (Theocles!) I own it. Your Genius, the Genius of the Place, and the Great Genius have at last prevail’d. I shall no longer resist the Passion growing in me for Things of a natural kind; where neither Art, nor the Conceit or Caprice of Man has spoil’d their genuine Order, by breaking in upon that primitive State. Even the rude Rocks, the mossy Caverns, the irregular unwrought Grotto’s, and broken Falls of Waters, with all the horrid Graces of the Wilderness it-self, as representing Nature more, will be the more engaging, ​and appear with a Magnificence beyond the formal Mockery of princely Gardens.—But tell me, I intreat you, how comes it, That, excepting a few Philosophers of your sort, the only People who are enamour’d in this way, and seek the Woods, the Rivers, or Sea-shores, are your poor vulgar Lovers?
Say not this, reply’d he, of Lovers only. For is it not the same with Poets, and all those other Students in Nature, and the Arts which copy after her? In short, is not this the real Case of all who are Lovers either of the Muses or the Graces?
However, said I, all those who are deep in this romantick way, are look’d upon, you know, as a People either plainly out of their wits, or over-run with Melancholy and Enthusiasm. We always endeavour to recall ’em from these solitary Places. And I must own, that often when I have found my Fancy run this way, I have check’d my-self; not knowing what it was possess’d me, when I was passionately struck with Objects of this kind.
​No wonder, reply’d he, if we are at a loss, when we pursue the Shadow for the Substamce. For if we may trust to what our Reasoning has taught us; whatever in Nature is beautiful or charming, is only the faint Shadow of that First Beauty. So that every real Love depending on the Mind, and being only the Contemplation of Beauty, either as it really is in it-self, or as it appears imperfectly in the Objects which strike the Sense; how can the rational Mind rest here, or be satisfy’d with the absurd Enjoyment which reaches the Sense alone?
From this time forward then, said I, I shall no more have reason to fear those Beautys which strike a sort of Melancholy, like the Places we have nam’d, or like these solemn Groves. No more shall I avoid the moving Accents of soft Musick, or fly from the enchanting Features of the fairest human Face.
If you are already, reply’d he, such a Proficient in this new Love, that you are sure never to admire the Representative-Beauty, except for the sake of the Original; nor aim at other Enjoyment, than of the rational kind; you may then be confident. I am so; and presume accordingly, to answer for my-self. ​However I shou’d not be ill satisfy’d, if you explain’d your-self a little better as to this Mistake of mine you seem to fear. Wou’d it be any help to tell you, “That the Absurdity lay in seeking the Enjoyment elsewhere than in the Subject lov’d?” The Matter, I must confess, is still mysterious. Imagine then, good Philocles, if being taken with the Beauty of the Ocean which you see yonder at a distance, it shou’d come into your head, to seek how to command it; and like some mighty Admiral, ride Master of the Sea; wou’d not the Fancy be a little absurd? Absurd enough, in conscience. The next thing I shou’d do, ’tis likely, upon this Frenzy, wou’d be to hire some Bark, and go in Nuptial Ceremony, Venetian-like, to wed the Gulf, which I might call perhaps as properly my own.
Let who will call it theirs, reply’d Theocles, you will own the Enjoyment of this kind to be very different from that which shou’d naturally follow from the Contemplation of the Ocean’s Beauty. The Bridegroom-Doge, who in his stately Bucentaur floats on the Bosom of his Thetis, has less Possession than the poor Shepherd, who from a hanging Rock, or Point of some high Promontory, stretch’d at his ease, forgets his feeding Flocks, while he ​admires her Beauty.—But to come nearer home, and make the Question still more familiar. Suppose (my Philocles!) that, viewing such a Tract of Country, as this delicious Vale we see beneath us, you shou’d for the Enjoyment of the Prospect, require the Property or Possession of the Land.
The covetous Fancy, reply’d I, wou’d be as absurd altogether, as that other ambitious one.
O Philocles! said he; May I bring this yet a little nearer? And will you follow me once more? Suppose that being charm’d, as you seem to be, with the Beauty of these Trees, under whose shade we rest, you shou’d long for nothing so much as to taste some delicious Fruit of theirs; and having obtain’d of Nature some certain Relish by which these Acorns or Berrys of the Wood became as palatable as the Figs or Peaches of the Garden, you shou’d afterwards, as oft as you revisted these Groves, seek hence the Enjoyment of them, by satiating your-self in these new Delights.
The Fancy of this kind, reply’d I, wou’d be sordidly luxurious; and as absurd, in my Opinion, as either of the former.
​Can you not then, on this occasion, said he, call to mind some other Forms of a fair kind among us, where the Admiration of Beauty is apt to lead to as irregular a Consequence?
I fear’d, said I, indeed, where this wou’d end, and was apprehensive you wou’d force me at last to think of certain powerful Forms in human Kind, which draw after ’em a Set of eager Desires, Wishes, and Hopes; no way sutable, I must confess, to your rational and refin’d Contemplation of Beauty. The Proportions of this living Architecture, as wonderful as they are, inspire nothing of a studious or contemplative kind. The more they are view’d, the further they are from satisfying by mere View. Let that which satisfies be ever so disproportionable an Effect, or ever so foreign to its Cause; censure it as you please, you must allow however that it’s natural. So that you, Theocles, for ought I see, are become the Accuser of Nature, by condemning a natural Enjoyment.
Far be it from us both, said he, to condemn a Joy which is from Nature. But when we spoke of the Enjoyment of these Woods and Prospects, we understood by it a far different kind from that of the inferior Creatures, who ​rifling in these places, find here their choicest Food. Yet we too live by tasteful Food; and feel those other Joys of Sense in common with them. But ’twas not here (my Philocles!) that we had agreed to place our Good; nor consequently our Enjoyment. We who were rational, and had Minds, methought, shou’d place it rather in those Minds; which were indeed abus’d, and cheated of their real Good, when drawn to seek absurdly the Enjoyment of it in the Objects of Sense, and not in those Objects they might properly call their own: in which kind, as I remember, we comprehended all which was truly Fair, Generous, or Good.
So that Beauty, said I, and Good, with you, Theocles, I perceive are still one and the same.
’TIS SO, said he. And thus are we return’d again to the Subject of our Yesterday’s Morning-Conversation. Whether I have made good my Promise to you, in shewing the true Good, I know not. But so, doubtless, I shou’d have done with good success, had I been able in my poetick Extasys, or by any other Efforts, ​to have led you into some deep View of Nature, and the Sovereign Genius. We then had prov’d the Force of Divine Beauty; and form’d in our-selves an Object capable and worthy of real Enjoyment.
O Theocles! said I, well do I remember now the Terms in which you engag’d me, that Morning when you bespoke my Love of this mysterious Beauty. You have indeed made good your part of the Condition, and may now claim me for a Proselyte. If there be any seeming Extravagance in the case, I must comfort myself the best I can, and consider that all sound Love and Admiration is Enthusiasm: “The Transports of Poets, the Sublime of Orators, the Rapture of Musicians, the high Strains of the Virtuosi; all mere Enthusiasm! Even Learning it-self, the Love of Arts and Curiositys, the Spirit of Travellers and Adventurers; Gallantry, War, Heroism; All, all Enthusiasm!”—’Tis enough: I am content to be this new Enthusiast, in a way unknown to me before.
And I, reply’d Theocles, am content you shou’d call this Love of ours Enthusiasm: allowing it the Privilege of its Fellow-Passions. ​For is there a fair and plausible Enthusiasm, a reasonable Extasy and Transport allow’d to other Subjects, such as Architecture, Painting, Musick; and shall it be exploded here? Are there Senses by which all those other Graces and Perfections are perceiv’d? and none by which this higher Perfection and Grace is comprehended? Is it so preposterous to bring that Enthusiasm hither, and transfer it from those secondary and scanty Objects, to this original and comprehensive One? Observe how the Case stands in all those other Subjects of Art or Science. What difficulty to be in any degree knowing! How long ere a true Taste is gain’d!A Judgment, Taste. How many things shocking, how many offensive at first, which afterwards are known and acknowledg’d the highest Beautys! For ’tis not instantly we acquire the Sense by which these Beautys are discoverable. Labour and Pains are requir’d, and Time to cultivate a natural Genius, ever so apt or forward. But Who is there once thinks of cultivating this Soil, or of improving any Sense or Faculty which Nature may have given of this kind? And is it a wonder we shou’d be dull then, as we are, confounded, and at a loss in these Affairs, blind as to this higher Scene, these nobler Representations? Which way shou’d we come to understand better? which way be knowing in these Beautys? Is Study, Science, ​or Learning necessary to understand all Beautys else? And for the Sovereign Beauty, is there no Skill or Science requir’d? In Painting there are Shades and masterly Strokes, which the Vulgar understand not, but find fault with: in Architecture there is the Rustick; in Musick the Chromatick kind, and skilful Mixture of Dissonancys. And is there nothing which answers to this, in The Whole?
I must confess, said I, I have hitherto been one of those Vulgar, who cou’d never relish the Shades, the Rustick, or the Dissonancys you talk of. I have never dreamt of such Master-pieces in Nature. ’Twas my way to censure freely on the first view. But I perceive I am now oblig’d to go far in the pursuit of Beauty; which lies very absconded and deep: And if so, I am well assur’d that my Enjoyments hitherto have been very shallow. I have dwelt, it seems, all this while upon the Surface, and enjoy’d only a kind of slight superficial Beautys; having never gone in search of Beauty it-self, but of what I fansy’d such. Like the rest of the unthinking World, I took for granted that what I liked was beautiful; and what I rejoic’d in, was my Good. I never scrupled loving what I fansy’d; and aiming only at the Enjoyment of what I lov’d, I never trou​bled my-self with examining what the Subjects were, nor ever hesitated about their Choice.
Begin then, said he, and chuse. See what the Subjects are; and which you wou’d prefer; which honour with your Admiration, Love and Esteem. For by these again you will be honour’d in your turn. Such, Philocles, as is the Worth of these Companions, such will your Worth be found. As there is Emptiness or Fulness here, so will there be in your Enjoyment. See therefore where Fulness is, and where Emptiness. See in what Subject resides the chief Excellence: where Beauty reigns: where ’tis intire, perfect, absolute; where broken, imperfect, short. View these terrestrial Beautys, and whatever has the appearance of Excellence, and is able to attract. See that which either really is, or stands as in the room of Fair, Beautiful, and Good: “A Mass of Metal; a Tract of Land; a Number of Slaves; a Pile of Stones; a human Body of certain Lineaments and Proportions.” Is this the highest of the kind? Is Beauty founded then in Body only; and not in Action, Life, or Operation?—
Hold! hold! said I, (good Theocles!) you take this in too high a Key, above my reach. If you wou’d have me accompany you, pray ​lower this Strain a little; and talk in a more familiar way.
THUS THEN, said he, (smiling) Whatever Passion you may have for other Beautys; I know, good Philocles, you are no such Admirer of Wealth in any kind, as to allow much Beauty to it; especially in a rude Heap or Mass. But in Medals, Coins, Imbost-work, Statues, and well-fabricated Pieces, of whatever sort, you can discover Beauty, and admire the Kind. True, said I; but not for the Metal’s sake. ’Tis not then the Metal or Matter which is beautiful with you. No. But the Art. Certainly. The Art then is the Beauty. Right. And the Art is that which beautifies. The same. So that the Beautifying, not the Beautify’d, is the really Beautiful. It seems so. For that which is beautify’d, is beautiful only by the accession of something beautifying: and by the recess or withdrawing of the same, it ceases to be beautiful. Be it. In respect of Bodys therefore, Beauty comes and goes. So we see. Nor is the Body it-self any Cause either of its coming or staying. None. So that there is no Principle of Beauty in Body. None at all. For Body can no-way be the Cause of Beauty ​to it-self. No-way. Nor govern nor regulate it-self. Nor yet this. Nor mean nor intend it-self. Nor this neither. Must not that therefore, which means and intends for it, regulates and orders it, be the Principle of Beauty to it? Of necessity. And what must that be? Mind, I suppose; for what can it be else?
Here then, said he, is all I wou’d have explain’d to you before: “That the Beautiful, the Fair, the Comely, were never in the Matter, but in the Art and Design; never in Body it-self, but in the Form or forming Power.” Does not the beautiful Form confess this, and speak the Beauty of the Design, whene’er it strikes you? What is it but the Design which strikes? What is it you admire but Mind, or the Effect of Mind? ’Tis Mind alone which forms. All which is void of Mind is horrid: and Matter formless is Deformity it-self.
Of all Forms then, said I, Those (according to your Scheme) are the most amiable, and in the first Order of Beauty, which have a power of making other Forms themselves: From whence methinks they may be styl’d the forming Forms. So far I can easily concur with you, and gladly give the advantage to the human Form, above ​those other Beautys of Man’s Formation. The Palaces, Equipages and Estates shall never in my account be brought in competition with the original living Forms of Flesh and Blood. And for the other, the dead Forms of Nature, the Metals and Stones, however precious and dazling; I am resolv’d to resist their Splendour, and make abject Things of ’em, even in their highest Pride, when they pretend to set off human Beauty, and are officiously brought in aid of the Fair.
Do you not see then, reply’d Theocles, that you have establish’d Three Degrees or Orders of Beauty? As how? Why first, the dead Forms, as you properly have call’d ’em, which bear a Fashion, and are form’d, whether by Man, or Nature; but have no forming Power, no Action, or Intelligence. Right. Next, and as the second kind, the Forms which form;Second Order. that is, which have Intelligence, Action, and Operation. Right still. Here therefore is double Beauty. For here is both the Form (the Effect of Mind) and Mind it-self: The first kind low and despicable in respect of this other; from whence the dead Form receives its Lustre and Force of Beauty. For what is a mere Body, tho a human one, and ever so exactly fashion’d, if inward Form ​be wanting, and the Mind be monstrous or imperfect, as in an Idiot, or Savage? This too I can apprehend,” said I; “but where is the third Order?
Have patience, reply’d he, and see first whether you have discover’d the whole Force of this second Beauty. How else shou’d you understand the Force of Love, or have the Power of Enjoyment? Tell me, I beseech you, when first you nam’d these the Forming Forms, did you think of no other Productions of theirs besides the dead Kinds, such as the Palaces, the Coins, the Brazen or the Marble Figures of Men? Or did you think of something nearer Life?
I cou’d easily, said I, have added, that these Forms of ours had a Virtue of producing other living Forms, like themselves. But this Virtue of theirs, I thought was from another Form above them, and cou’d not properly be call’d their Virtue or Art; if in reality there was a superior Art, or something Artist-like, which guided their Hand, and made Tools of them in this specious Work.
Happily thought, said he! You have prevented a Censure which I hardly imagin’d you cou’d escape. And here you have una​wares discover’d that third Order of Beauty, which forms not only such as we call mere Forms, but even the Forms which form. For we our-selves are notable Architects in Matter, and can shew lifeless Bodys brought into Form, and fashion’d by our own hands: but that which fashions even Minds themselves, contains in it-self all the Beautys fashion’d by those Minds; and is consequently the Principle, Source, and Fountain of all Beauty. It seems so.
Therefore whatever Beauty appears in our second Order of Forms, or whatever is deriv’d or produc’d from thence, all this is eminently, principally, and originally in this last Order of Supreme and Sovereign Beauty. True.
Thus Architecture, Musick, and all which is of human Invention, resolves it-self into this last Order. Right, said I: and thus all the Enthusiasms of other kinds resolve themselves into ours. The fashionable Kinds borrow from us, and are nothing without us: We have undoubtedly the Honour of being Originals.
NOW therefore say again, reply’d Theocles; Whether are those Fabricks of Architecture, Sculpture, and the rest of that sort, the greatest Beautys which Man forms; or are there greater and better? None which I know, reply’d I. Think, think again, said he: and setting aside those Productions which just now you excepted against, as Master-pieces of another Hand; think What there are which more immediately proceed from us, and may more truly be term’d our Issue. I am barren, said I, for this time: you must be plainer yet, in helping me to conceive. How can I help you, reply’d he? Wou’d you have me be conscious for you, of that which is immediately your own, and is solely in, and from your-self? You mean my Sentiments, said I. Certainly, reply’d he: and together with your Sentiments, your Resolutions, Principles, Determinations, Actions; whatsoever is handsom and noble in the kind; whatever flows from your good Understanding, Sense, Knowledge and Will; whatever is ingender’d in your Heart, (good Philocles!) or derives it-self from your Parent-Mind, which, unlike to other Parents, is never spent or exhausted, but gains Strength and Vigor by producing. So You (my Friend!) have prov’d it, by many a ​Work: not suffering that fertile Part to remain idle and unactive. Hence those good Parts, which from a natural Genius you have rais’d by due Improvement. And here, as I cannot but admire the pregnant Genius, and Parent-Beauty; so am I satisfy’d of the Offspring, that it is and will be ever beautiful.
I took the Compliment, and wish’d (I told him) the Case were really as he imagin’d, that I might justly merit his Esteem and Love. My Study therefore shou’d be to grow beautiful, in his way of Beauty; and from this time forward I wou’d do all I cou’d to propagate that lovely Race of mental Children, happily sprung from such a high Enjoyment, and from a Union with what was Fairest and Best. But ’tis you, Theocles, continu’d I, must help my labouring Mind, and be as it were the Midwife to those Conceptions; which else, I fear, will prove abortive.
You do well, reply’d he, to give me the Midwife’s part only: For the Mind conceiving of it-self, can only be, as you say, assisted in the Birth. Its Pregnancy is from its Nature. Nor cou’d it ever have been thus impregnated by any other Mind, than that which form’d it at the beginning; and which, as we have already ​prov’d, is Original to all mental, as well as other Beauty.
Do you maintain then, said I, that these mental Children, the Notions and Principles, of Fair, Just, and Honest, with the rest of these Ideas, are innate?
Anatomists, said he, tell us that the Eggs, which are Principles in Body, are innate; being form’d already in the Fœtus before the Birth. But When it is, whether before, or at, or after the Birth, or at What time after, that either these, or other Principles, Organs of Sensation, or Sensations themselves, are first form’d in us, is a matter, doubtless, of curious Speculation, but of no great Importance. The Question is, whether the Principles spoken of are from Art, or Nature? If from Nature purely; ’tis no matter for the Time: nor wou’d I contend with you, tho you shou’d deny Life it-self to be innate, as imagining it follow’d rather than preceded the moment of Birth. But this I am certain of; that Life, and the Sensations which accompany Life, come when they will, are from mere Nature, and nothing else. Therefore if you dislike the word Innate, let us change it, if you will, for Instinct; and call Instinct,Instinct. that which Nature teaches, exclusive of Art, Culture, or Discipline. Content, said I. ​Leaving then, reply’d he, those admirable Speculations to the Virtuosi, the Anatomists, and School-Divines; we may safely aver, with all their Consents, that the several Organs, particularly those of Generation, are form’d by Nature. Whether is there also from Nature, think you, any Instinct for the after-Use of them? Or whether must Learning and Experience imprint this Use? ’Tis imprinted, said I, enough in Conscience. The Impression, or Instinct, is so strong in the Case, that ’twou’d be absurdity not to think it natural, as well in our own Species, as in other Creatures: amongst whom (as you have already taught me) not only the mere engendring of the Young, but the various and almost infinite Means and Methods of providing for them, are all foreknown. For thus much we may indeed discern in the preparatory Labours and Arts of these wild Creatures; which demonstrate their anticipating Fancys, Pre-conceptions, or Pre-sensations; if I may use a word you taught me yesterday.
I allow your Expression, said Theocles, and will endeavour to show you that the same Pre-conceptions, of a higher degree, have place ​in human Kind. Do so, said I, I intreat you: For so far am I from finding in my-self these Pre-conceptions of Fair and Beautiful, in your sense, that methinks, till now of late, I have hardly known of any thing like them in Nature. How then, said he, wou’d you have known that outward Fair and Beautiful of human Kind; if such an Object (a fair fleshly one) in all its Beauty, had for the first time appear’d to you, by your-self, this morning, in these Groves? Or do you think perhaps you shou’d have been unmov’d, and have found no difference between this Form and any other; if first you had not been instructed?
I have hardly any Right, reply’d I, to plead this last Opinion, after what I have own’d just before.
Well then, said he, that I may appear to take no advantage against you; I quit the dazling Form, which carrys such a Force of complicated Beautys; and am contented to consider separately each of those simple Beautys, which taken all together, create this wonderful effect. For you will allow, without doubt, that in respect of Bodys, whatever is commonly said of the unexpressible, the unintelligible, the I-know-not-what of Beauty; there can lie no Mystery ​here, but what plainly belongs either to Figure, Colour, Motion or Sound. Omitting therefore the three latter, and their dependent Charms; let us view the Charm in what is simplest of all, mere Figure. Nor need we go so high as Sculpture, Architecture, or the Designs of those who from this Study of Beauty have rais’d such delightful Arts. ’Tis enough if we consider the simplest of Figures; as either a round Ball, a Cube, or Dye. Why is even an Infant pleas’d with the first View of these Proportions? Why is the Sphere or Globe, the Cylinder and Obelisk prefer’d; and the irregular Figures, in respect of these, rejected and despis’d?
I am ready, reply’d I, to own there is in certain Figures a natural Beauty, which the Eye finds as soon as the Object is presented to it.
Is there then, said he, a natural Beauty of Figures? and is there not as natural a one of Actions? No sooner the Eye opens upon Figures, the Ear to Sounds, than straight the Beautiful results, and Grace and Harmony are known and acknowledg’d. No sooner are Actions view’d, no sooner the human Affections and Pas​sions discern’d (and they are most of ’em as soon discern’d as felt) than straight an inward Eye distinguishes, and sees the Fair and Shapely, the Amiable and Admirable, apart from the Deform’d, the Foul, the Odious, or the Despicable. How is it possible therefore not to own, “That as these Distinctions have their Foundation in Nature, the Discernment it-self is natural, and from Nature alone?”
If this, I told him, were as he represented it; there cou’d never, I thought, be any Disagreement among Men concerning Actions and Behaviour: as which was Base, which Worthy; which Handsom, and which Deform’d. But now we found perpetual Variance among Mankind; whose Differences were chiefly founded on this Disagreement in Opinion; “The one affirming, the other denying, that this, or that, was fit or decent.”
Even by this then, reply’d he, it appears there is Fitness and Decency in Actions;The Fit, and Decent. since The Fit and Decent is in this Controversy ever pre-suppos’d: And whilst Men are at odds about the Subjects, the Thing it-self is universally agreed. For neither is there Agreement in Judgments about other Beautys. ’Tis controverted “Which is the finest Pile, the loveliest Shape, or Face”: But without controversy, ’tis ​allow’d “There is a Beauty of each kind.” This no-one goes about to teach: nor is it learnt by any; but confess’d by All. All own the Standard, Rule, and Measure: But in applying it to Things, Disorder arises, Ignorance prevails, Interest and Passion breed Disturbance. Nor can it otherwise happen in the Affairs of Life, whilst that which interests and engages Men as Good, is thought different from that which they admire and praise as Honest.—But with us (Philocles!) ’tis better settled; since for our parts, we have already decreed, “That Beauty and Good are still the same.”
I REMEMBER, said I, what you forc’d me to acknowledg more than once before. And now, good Theocles! that I am become so willing a Disciple, I want not so much to be convinc’d, me-thinks, as to be confirm’d and strengthen’d. And I hope this last Work may prove your easiest Task.
Not unless you help in it your-self, reply’d Theocles: For this is necessary, as well as becoming. It had been indeed shameful for you to have yielded without making good Resistance. To help one’s-self to be convinc’d, is ​to prevent Reason, and bespeak Error and Delusion. But upon fair Conviction, to give our heart up to the evident side, and reinforce the Impression, this is to help Reason heartily. And thus we may be said honestly to persuade our-selves. Shew me then how I may best persuade my-self.
Have courage, said he, Philocles! (raising his Voice) Be not offended that I say, Have Courage! ’Tis Cowardice alone betrays us. For whence can false Shame be, except from Cowardice? To be asham’d of what one is sure can never be shameful, must needs be from the want of Resolution. We seek the Right and Wrong in things; we examine what is Honourable, what Shameful: and having at last determin’d, we dare not stand to our own judgment, and are asham’d to own there is really a Shameful and an Honourable. “Hear me (says one who pretends to value Philocles, and be valu’d by him) There can be no such thing as real Valuableness or Worth; nothing in it-self estimable or amiable, odious or shameful. All is Opinion: ’Tis Opinion which makes Beauty, and unmakes it. The Graceful or Ungraceful in things, the Decorum and its Contrary, the Amiable and Un-amiable, Vice, Virtue, Honour, Shame, all this ​is founded in Opinion only. Opinion is the Law and Measure. Nor has Opinion any Rule besides mere Chance; which varys it, as Custom varys: and makes now this, now that, to be thought worthy, according to the Reign of Fashion, and the ascendent Power of Education.” What shall we say to such a one? How represent to him his Absurdity and Extravagance? Will he desist the sooner? Or shall we ask what Shame, of one who acknowledges no Shameful? Yet he derides, and cries, Ridiculous! By what Right? what Title? For thus, if I were Philocles, wou’d I defend my-self: “Am I ridiculous? As how? What is ridiculous? Every-thing? or Nothing?” Ridiculous indeed! But something then, something there is Ridiculous: and the Notion, it seems, is right, “of a Shameful and a Ridiculous, in things.” How then shall we apply the Notion? For this being wrong apply’d, cannot it-self but be ridiculous. Or will he who cries Shame, refuse to acknowledg any in his turn? Does he not blush, nor seem discountenanc’d on any occasion? If he does, the Case is very distinct from that of mere Grief or Fear. The Disorder he feels is from a Sense of what is shameful and odious in it-self, not of what is hurtful or dangerous in its Consequences. For the greatest Danger in the world ​can never breed Shame: nor can the Opinion of all the World compel us to it, where our own Opinion is not a Party. We may be afraid of appearing impudent, and may therefore feign a Modesty. But we can never really blush for any thing beside what we think truly Shameful, and what we shou’d still blush for, were we ever so secure as to our Interest, and out of the reach of all Inconvenience, which cou’d happen to us from the thing we were asham’d of.
Thus, continu’d he, shou’d I be able, by Anticipation, to defend my-self; and looking narrowly into Mens Lives, and that which influenc’d ’em on all occasions, I shou’d have Testimony enough to make me say within my-self, “Let who will be my Adversary in this Opinion, I shall find him some way or other prepossess’d with that of which he wou’d endeavour to dispossess me.” Has he Gratitude or Resentment, Pride or Shame? Whichever way it be, he acknowledges a Sense of Just and Unjust, Worthy and Mean. If he be Grateful, or expects Gratitude, I ask “Why? and on What account?” If he be angry, if he indulges Revenge, I ask “How? and in what Case? Reveng’d of What? of a Stone, or Madman?” Who is so mad? “But for What? ​For a Chance-hurt? an Accident against Thought, or Intention?” Who is so unjust? Therefore there is Just and Unjust; and belonging to it a natural Presumption or Anticipation, on which the Resentment or Anger is founded. For what else shou’d make the wickedest of Mankind often prefer the Interest of their Revenge to all other Interests, and even to Life it-self, except only a Sense of Wrong, natural to all Men, and a Desire to prosecute that Wrong at any rate? Not for their own sakes, since they sacrifice their very Being to it; but out of hatred to the imagin’d Wrong, and from a certain Love of Justice, which even in unjust Men is by this Example shewn to be beyond the Love of Life it-self.
Thus as to Pride, I ask, “Why proud? Why conceited? and of What? Does any-one who has Pride, think meanly or indifferently of himself?” No: but honourably. And how this, if there be no real Honour or Dignity presuppos’d? For Self-valuation supposes Self-worth; Worth and Baseness. and in a Person conscious of real Worth, is either no Pride, or a just and noble one.In the same manner, Self-contempt supposes a Self-meanness or Defectiveness; and may be either a just Modesty, or unjust Humility. But this is certain, that whoever is proud, must be proud of ​something. And we know that Men of thorow Pride will be proud even in the meanest Circumstances, and when there is no visible Subject for them to be proud of. But they descry a Merit in themselves, which others cannot: And ’tis this Merit they admire. No matter whether it be really in them, as they imagine: It is a Worth still, an Honour, or Merit which they admire, and wou’d do, wherever they saw it, in any Subject besides. For then it is, then only, that they are humbled, “When they see in a more eminent degree in others, What they respect and admire so much in themselves.”—And thus as long as I find Men either angry or revengeful, proud or asham’d, I am safe: For they conceive an Honourable and Dishonourable, a Foul and Fair, as well as I. No matter where they place it, or how they are mistaken in it: This hinders not my being satisfy’d “That the Thing is, and is universally acknowledg’d; That it is of Nature’s Impression, naturally conceiv’d, and by no Art or Counter-Nature to be eradicated or destroy’d.”
AND NOW, what say you, Philocles (continu’d he) to this Defence I have been making for you? ’Tis grounded, as you see, on the Supposition of your being deeply ingag’d in this philosophical Cause. But perhaps you ​have yet many Difficultys to get over, ere you can so far take part with Beauty, as to make this to be your Good.
I have no difficulty so great, said I, as not to be easily remov’d. My Inclinations lead me strongly this way: for I am ready enough to yield there is no real Good beside the Enjoyment of Beauty. And I am as ready, reply’d Theocles, to yield There is no real Enjoyment of Beauty beside what is Good. Excellent! But upon reflection, I fear I am little beholden to you for your Concession. As how? Because shou’d I offer to contend for any Enjoyment of Beauty out of your mental Way, you wou’d, I doubt, call such Enjoyment of mine absurd; as you did once before. Undoubtedly I shou’d. For what is it shou’d enjoy, or be capable of Enjoyment, except Mind? Or shall we say, Body enjoys? By the help of Sense, perhaps; not otherwise. Is Beauty, then, the Object of Sense? Say how? Which way? For otherwise the help of Sense is nothing in the Case: And if Body be of it-self incapable, and Sense no help to it, to apprehend or enjoy Beauty, there remains only the Mind which is capable either to apprehend or to enjoy.
​True, said I; but show me, then, Why Beauty may not be the Object of the Sense? Shew me first, I intreat you, Why, Where, or in What you fansy it may be so? Is it not Beauty which first excites the Sense, and feeds it afterwards in the Passion we call Love? Say in the same manner, “That it is Beauty first excites the Sense, and feeds it afterwards in the Passion we call Hunger.”—You will not say it. The Thought, I perceive, displeases you. As great as the Pleasure is of good Eating, you disdain to apply the Notion of Beauty to the good Dishes which create it. You wou’d hardly have applauded the preposterous Fancy of some luxurious Romans of old, who cou’d relish a Fricassee the better for hearing it was compos’d of Birds which wore a beautiful Feather, or had sung deliciously. Instead of being incited by such a historical Account of Meats, you wou’d be apt, I believe, to have less Appetite, the more you search’d their Origin, and descended into the Kitchin-Science, to learn the several Forms and Changes they had undergone, ere they were serv’d at this elegant voluptuous Table. But tho the Kitchin-Forms be ever so disgraceful, you will allow that the Materials of the Kitchin, such, for instance, as the Garden furnishes, are really fair and beau​tiful in their kind. Nor will you deny Beauty to the wild Field, or to these Flowers which grow around us, on this verdant Couch. And yet, as lovely as are these Forms of Nature, the shining Grass, or silver’d Moss, the flowry Thyme, wild Rose, or Honey-suckle: ’tis not their Beauty allures the neighbouring Herds, delights the brouzing Fawn, or Kid, and spreads the Joy we see amidst the feeding Flocks: ’Tis not the Form rejoices; but that which is beneath the Form: ’tis Savouriness attracts, Hunger impels; and Thirst, better allay’d by the clear Brook than the thick Puddle, makes the fair Nymph to be prefer’d, whose Form is otherwise slighted. For never can the Form be of real force where it is uncontemplated, unjudg’d of, unexamin’d, and stands only as the accidental Note or Token of what appeases provok’d Sense, and satisfies the brutish Part. Are you persuaded of this, good Philocles? or rather than not give Brutes the advantage of Enjoyment, will you allow them also a Mind and rational Part? Not so, I told him.
If Brutes therefore, said he, be incapable of knowing and enjoying Beauty, as being Brutes, and having Sense only (the brutish part) for their own share; it follows, “That ​neither can Man by the same Sense or brutish Part, conceive or enjoy Beauty: But all the Beauty and Good he enjoys, is in a nobler way, and by the help of what is noblest, his Mind and Reason.” Here lies his Dignity and highest Interest: Here his Capacity toward Good and Happiness. His Ability or Incompetency, his Power of Enjoyment, or his Impotence, is founded in this alone. As this is sound, fair, noble, worthy; so are its Subjects, Acts and Employments. For as the riotous Mind, captive to Sense, can never enter in competition, or contend for Beauty with the virtuous Mind of Reason’s Culture; so neither can the Objects which allure the former, compare with those which attract and charm the latter. And when each gratifies it-self in the Enjoyment and Possession of its Object; how evidently fairer are the Acts which join the latter Pair, and give a Soul the Enjoyment of what is generous and good? This at least, Philocles, you will surely allow, That when you place a Joy elsewhere than in the Mind; the Enjoyment it-self will be no beautiful Subject, nor of any graceful or agreeable Appearance. But when you think how Friendship is enjoy’d, how Honour, Gratitude, Candour, Benignity, and all internal Beauty; how all the social Pleasures, Society it-self, and all which constitutes the ​Worth and Happiness of Mankind; you will here surely allow Beauty in the Act, and think it worthy to be view’d, and pass’d in review often by the glad Mind, happily conscious of the generous Part, and of its own Advancement and Growth in Beauty.
THUS, Philocles, (continu’d he, after a short Pause) thus have I presum’d to treat of Beauty before so great a Judg, and such a skilful Admirer as your-self. For taking rise from Nature’s Beauty, which transported me, I gladly ventur’d further in the Chase; and have accompany’d you in search of Beauty, as it relates to us, and makes our highest Good, in its sincere and natural Enjoyment. And if we have not idly spent our hours, nor rang’d in vain thro’ these deserted Regions; it shou’d appear from our strict Search, that there is nothing so divine as Beauty: which belonging not to Body, nor having any Principle or Existence except in Mind and Reason, is alone discover’d and acquir’d by this diviner Part, when it inspects it-self, the only Object worthy of it-self. For whate’er is void of Mind, is Void and Darkness to the Mind’s Eye. This languishes and grows dim, whene’er detain’d on foreign Subjects; but thrives and attains ​its natural Vigour, when employ’d in Contemplation of what is like it-self. ’Tis thus the improving Mind, slightly surveying other Objects, and passing over Bodys, and the common Forms, (where only a Shadow of Beauty rests) ambitiously presses onward to its Source, and views the Original of Form and Order in that which is intelligent. And thus, O Philocles! may we improve and become Artists in the kind; learning “To know Our-selves, and what That is, which by improving, we may be sure to advance our Worth, and real Self-Interest.” For neither is this Knowledg acquir’d by Contemplation of Bodys, or the outward Forms, the View of Pageantrys, the Study of Estates and Honours: nor is He to be esteem’d that self-improving Artist, who makes a Fortune out of these; but he, He only, is the wise and able Man, who with a slight regard to these Things, applies himself to cultivate another Soil, builds in a different Matter from that of Stone or Marble; and having righter Models in his Eye, becomes in truth the Architect of his own Life and Fortune; by laying within himself the lasting and sure Foundations of Order, Peace, and Concord.—But now ’tis time to think of returning home. The Morning is far spent. Come! Let us away, and leave these uncommon Subjects; ​till we retire again to these remote and unfrequented Places.
AT THESE words Theocles mending his pace, and going down the Hill, left me at a good distance; till he heard me calling earnestly after him. Having join’d him once again, I begg’d he wou’d stay a little longer: or if he were resolv’d so soon to leave both the Woods, and that Philosophy which he confin’d to ’em; that he wou’d let me however part with ’em more gradually, and leave the best Impression on me he cou’d, against my next Return. For as much convinc’d as I was, and as great a Convert to his Doctrine, my Danger still, I own’d to him, was very great: and I foresaw that when the Charm of these Places, and his Company was ceas’d, I shou’d be apt to relapse, and weakly yield to that too powerful Charm, the World. Tell me, continu’d I, how is it possible to hold out against it, and withstand the general Opinion of Mankind, who have so different a Notion of that which we call Good? Say truth now, Theocles, can any thing be more odd, or dissonant from the common Voice of the World, than what we have determin’d in this matter?
​Whom shall we follow then? reply’d he. Whose Judgment or Opinion shall we take, concerning What is Good, What contrary? If All, or any part of Mankind are consonant with themselves, and can agree in this; I am content to leave Philosophy, and follow them: If otherwise; Why shou’d we not adhere to what we have chosen?—Let us then, in another View, consider how this Matter stands.
SECT. III.
WE THEN walk’d gently homewards (it being almost Noon) and he continu’d his Discourse.
One Man, said he, affects the Hero; esteems it the highest Advantage of Life, to have seen War, and been in Action in the Field. Another laughs at this Humour; counts it all Extravagance and Folly; prizes his own Wit and Prudence; and wou’d take it for a Disgrace to be thought adventurous. One Person is assiduous and indefatigable in advancing himself to the Character of a Man of Business. Another on the contrary thinks this impertinent; values not Fame, or a Character in the World: ​and by his goodwill wou’d always be in a Debauch, and never live out of the Stews or Taverns; where he enjoys, as he thinks, his highest Good. One values Wealth, as a means only to indulge his Palat, and to eat finely. Another loaths this, and affects Popularity, and a Name. One admires Musick and Paintings, Cabinet-Curiositys, and in-door Ornaments: Another admires Gardens, Architecture, and the Pomp of Buildings. Another, who has no Gusto of either sort, believes all those they call Virtuosi to be half-distracted. One looks upon all Expence to be Madness; and thinks only Wealth it-self to be Good. One games; another dresses, and studys an Equipage; another is full of Heraldry, Points of Honour, a Family, and a Blood. One recommends Gallantry and Intrigue; another ordinary Good-fellowship; another Buffoonery, Satir, and the common Wit; another Sports, and the Country; another a Court; another Travelling, and the sight of foreign Parts; another Poetry, and the fashionable Learning.—All these go different ways. All censure one another, and are despicable in one another’s eyes. By fits too they are as despicable in their own, and as often out of conceit with themselves, as their Humour changes, and their Passion turns from one thing to another.—What is it then I shou’d ​be concern’d for? Whose Censure do I fear? Or by whom, after all, shall I be guided?
If I ask, “Are Riches good, when only heap’d up, and unimploy’d?” One answers, “They are.” The rest deny. “How is it then they are to be imploy’d in order to be good?” All disagree. All tell me different things. “Since therefore Riches are not, of themselves, good (as most of you declare;) And since there is no Agreement among you which way they become good; why may not I hold it for my Opinion, that they are neither good in themselves, nor directly any Cause or Means of Good?”
If there be those who wholly despise Fame; And if among those who covet it, he who desires it for one thing, despises it for another; he who seeks it with some Men, despises it with others: Why may not I say, “That neither do I know how any Fame can be call’d a Good?”
If of those who covet Pleasure, they who admire it in one kind, are superior to it in another; Why may not I say, “That neither do I know which of these Pleasures, or how Pleasure it-self, can be call’d Good?”
​If among those who covet Life ever so earnestly, that Life which to One is eligible and amiable, is to Another despicable and vile; Why may I not say, “That neither do I know how Life it-self can, of it-self, be thought a Good?”
In the mean time, This I know certainly; “That the necessary Consequence of esteeming these things highly, is to be a Slave, and consequently miserable.”—But perhaps, Philocles, you are not yet enough acquainted with this odd kind of Reasoning.
More, said I, than I believe you can easily imagine. I perceiv’d the goodly Lady, your celebrated Beauty, was about to appear a-new: and I easily knew again that fair Face of Liberty, which I had seen but once in the Picture you drew yesterday of that Moral Dame. I can assure you, I think of her as highly as possible: and find that without her Help, to raise one above these seemingly essential Goods,Goods of Fortune. and make one more easy and indifferent towards Life, and towards a Fortune; ’twill be the hardest thing in the world to enjoy either. Sollici​tude, Cares, and Anxiety, will be multiply’d: and in this unhappy Dependency, ’tis necessary to make court, and be not a little servile. To flatter the Great, to bear Insults, to stoop, and fawn, and abjectly resign one’s Sense and Manhood; all this must courageously be endur’d, and carry’d off, with as free an Air, and good Countenance as possible, by one who studys Greatness of this sort, who knows the general way of Courts, and how to fix unsteddy Fortune. I need not mention the Envyings, the Mistrusts, and Jealousys—
No truly, said he, interrupting me, neither need you. But finding you so sensible, as I do, of this unhappy State, and of its inward Sores, (whatever may be its outward Looks) How is it possible but you must find the Happiness of that other contrary State? Can you not call to mind what we resolv’d concerning Nature? Can any thing be more desirable than to follow her? Or is it not by this Freedom from our Passions and low Interests, that we are reconcil’d to the goodly Order of the Universe; that we harmonize with Nature; and live in Friendship both with God and Man?
Let us compare, continu’d he, the Advantages of each State, and set their Goods one ​against another: On one side, those which we found were uncertainly so; and depended both on Fortune, Age, Circumstances, and Humour: On the other side, these which being certain themselves, are founded on the Contempt of those others so uncertain. Is manly Liberty, Generosity, Magnanimity, not a Good? May we not esteem as Happiness, that Self-Enjoyment which arises from a Consistency of Life and Manners, a Harmony of Affections, a Freedom from the Reproach of Shame or Guilt, and a Consciousness of Worth and Merit with all Mankind, our Society, Country, and Friends: all which is founded in Virtue only? A Mind subordinate to Reason, a Temper humaniz’d, and fitted to all natural Affection; an Exercise of Friendship uninterrupted; a thorow Candor, Benignity, and Good Nature; with constant Security, Tranquillity, Equanimity, (if I may use such philosophical Terms) are not these ever, and at all seasons Good? Is it of these one can at any time nauseate and grow weary? Are there any particular Ages, Seasons, Places, Circumstances, which must accompany these, to make ’em agreeable? Are these variable and inconstant? Do these, by being ardently belov’d, or sought, occasion any Disturbance or Misery? Can these be at any time overvalu’d? Or, to say more yet, can these be ever taken from ​us, or can we ever be hinder’d in the Enjoyment of ’em, unless by our-selves? How can we better praise the Goodness of Providence, than in this, “That it has plac’d our Happiness and Good in things We can bestow upon ourselves?”
If this be so, said I, I see no reason we have to accuse Providence on any account. But Men, I fear, will hardly be brought to this good Temper, while their Fancy is so strong, as it naturally is, towards those other movable Goods. And in short, if we may depend on what is said commonly, “All Good is merely as we fansy it. ’Tis Conceit which makes it. All is Opinion and Fancy only.
Wherefore then, said he, do we act at any time? Why chuse, or why prefer one thing to another? You will tell me, I suppose, ’tis because we fansy it, or fansy Good in it. Are we therefore to follow every present Fancy, Opinion, or Imagination of Good? If so, then we must follow that at one time, which we decline at another; approve at one time, what we disapprove at another; and be at perpetual variance with our-selves. But if we are not to follow all Fancy or Opinion ​alike; If it be allow’d, “That of Fancys, some are true, some false”; then we are to examine every Fancy; and there is some Rule or other, by which to judge, and determine. ’Twas the Fancy of one Man to set fire to a beautiful Temple, in order to obtain immortal Memory or Fame. ’Twas the Fancy of another Man to conquer the World, for the same Reason, or what was very like it. If this were really the Man’s Good; Why do we wonder at him? If the Fancy were wrong; say plainly in What it was so; or Why the Subject was not Good to him, as he fansy’d? Either therefore, “That is every Man’s Good which he fancies, and because he fancies it, and is not content without it”: Or otherwise, “There is That in which the Nature of Man is satisfy’d; and which alone must be his Good.” If That in which the Nature of Man is satisfy’d, and can rest contented, be alone his Good; then he is a Fool who follows that with Earnestness, as his Good, which a Man can be without, and yet be satisfy’d and contented. In the same manner is he a Fool who flies that earnestly as his Ill, which a Man may endure, and yet be easy and contented. Now a Man may possibly not have burnt a Temple (as Erostratus) and yet may be contented. Or tho he may not have conquer’d the World (as Alexander) yet he ​may be easy and contented: as he may still without any of those Advantages of Power, Riches, or Renown; if his Fancy hinders not. In short, we shall find, “That without any one of those which are commonly call’d Goods, a Man may be contented”: As, on the contrary, “He may possess them all, and still be discontented, and not a jot the happier.” If so; it follows, “That Happiness is from within, not from without.” A good Fancy is the Main. And thus, you see, I agree with you, “That Opinion is all in all.—But what is this, Philocles, which has seiz’d you? You seem of a sudden grown deeply thoughtful.
To tell you truth, said I, I was considering What wou’d become of me, if, after all, I shou’d, by your means, turn Philosopher. The Change, truly, wou’d be somewhat extraordinary, reply’d Theocles. But be not concern’d. The Danger is not so great. And Experience shews us every day, That for talking or writing Philosophy, People are not at all the nearer being Philosophers.
​But, said I, the very Name is a kind of Reproach. The word Idiot stood formerly as the Opposite to Philosopher: but now-a-days it means nothing more commonly than the Philosopher him-self.
Yet, in effect, reply’d he, what else is it we all do in general, than philosophize? If Philosophy be, as we take it, the Study of Happiness; must not everyone, in some manner or other, either skilfully or unskilfully philosophize? Is not every Deliberation concerning our main Interest, every Correction of our Taste, every Choice and Preference in Life to be reckon’d of this kind? For “If Happiness be not allow’d to be from Self, and from within; then Either is it from outward Things alone, or from Self and outward Things together.” If from outward Things alone; shew it us, in fact, “That all Men are happy in proportion to these; and that no one who possesses them is ever miserable by his own fault.” But this, it seems, hardly any-one will pretend to evince: All own the contrary. Therefore “If Happiness be partly from Self, partly from outward Things; then Each must be consider’d, and a certain Value set on the Concerns of an inward kind, ​and which depend on Self alone.” If so: and that I consider “How, and in What these are to be prefer’d; When and on what occasion they are in season, or out of season; When properly to take place, when to yield”: What’s this, after all, but to philosophize? Yet even this, still, is enough to put one out of the ordinary way of thinking, and give one an unhappy turn for Business, and the World. Right! For this also is to be consider’d, and well weigh’d.” And therefore This, still, is Philosophy; “To inquire Where, and in what respect one may be most a Loser; Which are the greatest Gains, the most profitable Exchanges”; since every thing in this World goes by Exchange. Nothing is had for nothing. Favour requires Courtship: Interest is made by Sollicitation: Honours are acquir’d with Hazard; Riches with Pains; Learning and Accomplishments by Study and Application. Security, Rest, Indolence are to be had at other Prices. They may be thought, perhaps, to come easy. For “What Hardship is there? Where is the Harm?” ’Tis only to abate of Fame and Fortune. ’Tis only to wave the Point of Honour, and share somewhat less of Interest. If this be easy; all is well. Some Patience, you see, is necessary in the case. Privacy must be endur’d; even Ob​scurity and Contempt.—Such are the Conditions. And thus every-thing has its Condition. Power and Preferments are to be had at one rate; Pleasures at another; Liberty and Honesty at another. A good Mind must be paid for, as other things. “But we had best beware lest, perhaps, we pay too dear for It. Let us be assur’d we have a good Bargain. Come on then.—Let us account.—“What is a Mind worth? What Allowance may one handsomly make for it? Or What may one well afford it for?”—If I part with It, or abate of It, ’tis not for Nothing. Some value I must needs set upon my Liberty, some upon my inward Character. Something there is in what we call Worth; something in Sincerity, and a sound Heart. Orderly Affections, generous Thoughts, and a commanding Reason, are fair Possessions, not slightly to be given up. I am to consider first, “What may be their Equivalent? Whether I shall find my Account in letting these inward Concerns run as they please; or Whether I shall not be better secur’d against Fortune by adjusting Matters at home, rather than by making Interest abroad, and acquiring first one great Friend, then another, to add still more and more to my Estate or Quality?” For Where am I to take up? Begin; and set ​the Bounds. Let me hear positively “How far I am to go, and Why no further?” What is a moderate Fortune, a Competency, and those other Degrees commonly talk’d of? Where is my Anger to stop? or how High may I suffer it to rise? How far may I engage in Love? How far give way to Ambition? How far to other Appetites? Or am I to let all loose? Are the Passions to take their swing; and no Application to be given to ’em, but all to the outward Things they aim at? Or if any Application be requisite; say plainly, “How much to one, and how much to the other?” How far are the Appetites to be minded, and how far outward Things? Give us the Measure and Rule. See Whether this be not to philosophize? and Whether willingly or unwillingly, knowingly or unknowingly, directly or indirectly, Everyone does not as much? “Where, then, is the Difference? Which Manner is the best?” Here lies the Question. This is what I wou’d have you weigh and examine. “But the Examination,” say you, “is troublesom; and I had better be without it.” Who tells you thus? “Your Reason, you say, whose Force, of necessity, you must yield to.” Tell me therefore, have you fitly cultivated that Reason of your’s, polish’d it, bestow’d the necessary Pains on it, and exer​cis’d it on this Subject? Or is it like to determine full as well when un-exercis’d, as when thorowly exercis’d, or ever so expert? Consider, pray, in Mathematicks; Whose is the better Reason of the two, and fitter to be rely’d on? The Practiser’s or his who is unpractis’d? Whose in the way of War, of Policy, or Civil Affairs? Whose in Merchandize, Law, Physick?——And in Morality and Life, I ask still, Whose? May he not, perhaps, be allow’d the best Judge of Living, who studies Life, and endeavours to form it by some Rule? Or is he indeed to be esteem’d most knowing in the matter, who slightly examines it, and who accidentally and unknowingly philosophizes?
Thus, Philocles (said he, concluding his Discourse) Thus is Philosophy establish’d. For Every-one, of necessity, must reason concerning his own Happiness; “What his Good is, and what his Ill.” The Question is only, “Who reason’s best?" For even he who rejects this reasoning or deliberating Part, does it from a certain Reason, and from a Persuasion "That this is best.”
By this time we found our-selves insensibly got home. Our Philosophy ended, and we return’d to the common Affairs of Life.
The End of the Second Volume.
* ↑ VOL. III. pag. 59, 60, &c.
* ↑ See Letter of Enthusiasm, towards the end. See also above, p. 75. And VOL. III. p. 30, &c.
* ↑ Supra, p. 238, &c.
* ↑ Supra, p. 245.
* ↑ VOL. I. p. 53, 54.
* ↑ Pag. 307.
* ↑ Pag. 28.
* ↑ Pag. 238, 245, 399.
* ↑ Supra, p. 252. And VOL. III. p. 201, 307, &c.
* ↑ VOL. I. pag. 307, 320, 324, &c. VOL. III. p. 196, 199, &c.