Lord Shaftesbury

I was alone in my Closet obliged to meditate by myself. I had a dream.

I found myself in a distant rural Country on a Mountain not far from the Sea.

I awoke inspired by this dream.

To return therefore to that original rural Scene, and that Heroick Genius, the Companion and Guide of my first Thoughts in these profounder Subjects:

I found Theocles with his beloved Mantuan Muse, roving in the Fields.

I asked him what he was reading. He showed me his Poet.

You have nam’d two, said he, who can hardly be thought so very like; tho they were Friends, and equally good Poets. Yet joining ’em, as you are pleas’d to do, I wou’d willingly learn from you, whether in your opinion there be any Disposition so fitted for reading ’em, as that in which they writ themselves. In this, I am sure, they both join’d heartily; to love Retirement: when for the sake of such a Life and Habit as you call contemplative, they were willing to sacrifice the highest Advantages, Pleasures, and Favour of a Court. But I will venture to say more in favour of Retirement: “That not only the best Authors, but the best Company, require this seasoning.” Society it-self cannot be rightly enjoy’d without some Abstinence and separate Thought. All grows insipid, dull, and tiresom, without the help of some Intervals of Retirement. Say, Philocles, whether you your-self have not often found it so? Do you think those Lovers understand the Interests of their Loves, who by their good-will wou’d never be parted for a moment? Or wou’d they be discreet Friends, think you, who wou’d chuse to live together on such Terms? What Relish then must the World have (that common World of mix’d and undistinguish’d Company) without a little Solitude; without stepping now and then aside, out of the Road and beaten Track of Life, that tedious Circle of Noise and Show, which forces weary’d Mankind to seek relief from every poor Diversion?

By your Rule, said I, Theocles, there shou’d be no such thing as Happiness or Good in Life, since every Enjoyment wears out so soon; and growing painful, is diverted by some other thing; and that again by some other; and so on. I am sure, if Solitude serves as a Remedy or Diversion to any thing in the World, there is nothing which may not serve as Diversion to Solitude; which wants it more than any thing besides. And thus there can be no Good which is regular or constant. Happiness is a thing out of the way, and only to be found in wandring.

O Philocles, reply’d he, I rejoice to find you in the pursuit of Happiness and Good; however you may wander. Nay, tho you doubt whether there be that Thing; yet if you reason, ’tis sufficient; there is hope still. But see how you have unawares engag’d your-self! For if you have destroy’d all Good, because in all you can think of, there is nothing will constantly hold so; then you have set it as a Maxim, (and very justly in my Opinion) “That Nothing can be good but what is constant.

I own, said I, that all I know of worldly Satisfaction is inconstant. The Things which give it, are never at a stay: and the Good it-self, whatever it be, depends no less on Humour than on Fortune. For that which Chance may often spare, Time will not. Age, Change of Temper, other Thoughts, a different Passion, new Engagements, a new Turn of Life, or Conversation, the least of these are fatal, and alone sufficient to destroy Enjoyment. Tho the Object be the same, the Relish changes, and the short-liv’d Good expires. But I shou’d wonder much if you cou’d tell me any thing in Life, which was not of as changeable a Nature, and subject to the same common Fate of Satiety and Disgust.

I find then, reply’d he, that the current Notion of Good is not sufficient to satisfy you. You can afford to scepticize, where no-one else will so much as hesitate. For almost every-one philosophizes dogmatically on this Head. All are positive in this, “That our real Good is Pleasure.”

If they wou’d inform us “Which (said I) or What sort,” and ascertain once the very Species and distinct Kind; such as must constantly remain the same, and equally eligible at all times; I shou’d then perhaps be better satisfy’d. But when Will and Pleasure are synonymous; when every thing which [1]pleases us is call’d Pleasure, and we never chuse or prefer but as we please, ’tis trifling to say, “Pleasure is our Good.” For this has as little meaning as to say, “We chuse what we think eligible:” and, “We are pleas’d with what delights or pleases us.” “The Question is, “Whether we are rightly pleas’d, and chuse as we shou’d do?” For as highly pleas’d as Children are with Baubles, or with whatever affects their tender Senses; we cannot in our hearts sincerely admire their Enjoyment, or imagine ’em Possessors of any extraordinary Good. Yet are their Senses, we know, as keen and susceptible of Pleasure as our own. The same Reflection is of force as to mere Animals, who in respect of the Liveliness and Delicacy of Sensation, have many of ’em the advantage of us. And as for some low and sordid Pleasures of human Kind; shou’d they be ever so lastingly enjoy’d, and in the highest credit with their Enjoyers; I shou’d never afford ’em the name of Happiness or Good.

Wou’d you then appeal, said he, from the immediate Feeling and Experience of one who is pleas’d, and satisfy’d with what he enjoys?

Most certainly I shou’d appeal, said I, (continuing the same Zeal which Theocles had stirr’d in me, against those Dogmatizers on Pleasure). For is there that sordid Creature on earth, who does not prize his own Enjoyment? Does not the frowardest, the most rancorous distemper’d Creature do as much? Is not Malice and Cruelty of the highest relish with some Natures? Is not a hoggish Life the height of some Mens Wishes? You wou’d not ask me surely to enumerate the several Species of Sensations, which Men of certain Tastes have adopted, and own’d for their chief Pleasure and Delight. For with some Men even Diseases have been thought valuable and worth the cherishing, merely for the Pleasure found in allaying the Ardor of an irritating Sensation. And to these absurd Epicures those other are near a-kin, who by study’d Provocatives raise unnatural Thirst and Appetite; and to make way for fresh Repletion, prepare Emeticks, as the last Desert; the sooner to renew the Feast. ‘Tis said, I know, proverbially, “That Tastes are different, and must not be disputed.” And I remember some such Motto as this plac’d once on a Devise, which was found sutable to the Notion. A Fly was represented feeding on a certain Lump. The Food, however vile, was natural to the Animal. There was no Absurdity in the Case. But shou’d you shew me a brutish or a barbarous Man thus taken up, and solac’d in his Pleasure; shou’d you shew me a Sot in his solitary Debauch, or a Tyrant in the exercise of his Cruelty, with this Motto over him, to forbid my Appeal; I shou’d hardly be brought to think the better of his Enjoyment: Nor can I possibly suppose that a mere sordid Wretch, with a base abject Soul, and the best Fortune in the World, was ever capable of any real Enjoyment.

By this Zeal, reply’d Theocles, which you have shewn in the refuting a wrong Hypothesis, one wou’d imagine you had in reality some Notion of a right; and began to think that there might possibly be such a thing at last as Good.

That there is something nearer to Good, and more like it than another, I am free, said I, to own. But what real Good is, I am still to seek, and must therefore wait till you can better inform me. This I only know; “That either All Pleasure is Good, or only Some.” If all, then every kind of Sensuality must be precious and desirable. If some only, then we are to seek, what kind; and discover, if we can, what it is which distinguishes between one Pleasure and another: and makes one indifferent, sorry, mean; another valuable, and worthy. And by this Stamp, this Character, if there be any such, we must define Good? and not by Pleasure it-self; which may be very great, and yet very contemptible. Nor can any-one truly judge the Value of any immediate Sensation, otherwise than by judging first of the Situation of his own Mind. For that which we esteem a Happiness in one Situation of Mind, is otherwise thought of in another. Which Situation therefore is the justest, must be consider’d; “How to gain that Point of Sight, whence probably we may best discern; and How to place our-selves in that unbiass’d State, in which we are fittest to pronounce.”

O Philocles, reply’d he, if this be unfeignedly your Sentiment; if it be possible you shou’d have the Fortitude to with-hold your [2]Assent in this Affair, and go in search of what the meanest of Mankind think they already know so certainly: ’tis from a nobler turn of thought than what you have observ’d in any of the modern Scepticks you have convers’d with. For if I mistake not, there are hardly anywhere at this day a sort of People more peremptory, or who deliberate less on the choice of Good. They who pretend to such a Scrutiny of other Evidences, are the readiest to take the Evidence of the greatest Deceivers in the World, their own Passions. Having gain’d, as they think, a Liberty from some seeming Constraints of Religion, they suppose they employ this Liberty to perfection, by following the first Motion of their Will, and assenting to the first Dictate or Report of any prepossessing [3]Fancy, any foremost Opinion or Conceit of Good. So that their Privilege is only that of being perpetually amus’d; and their Liberty that of being impos’d on in their most important Choice. I think one may say with assurance, “That the greatest of Fools is he who imposes on himself, and in his greatest Concern thinks certainly he knows that which he has least study’d, and of which he is most profoundly ignorant.” He who is ignorant, but knows his Ignorance, is far wiser. And to do justice to these fashionable Men of Wit; they are not all of ’em, indeed, so insensible as not to perceive something of their own Blindness and Absurdity. For often when they seriously reflect on their past Pursuits and Engagements, they freely own, “That for what remains of Life, they know not whether they shall be of a-piece with themselves; or whether their Fancy, Humour, or Passion will not hereafter lead ’em to a quite different Choice in Pleasure, and to a Disapprobation of all they ever enjoy’d before."—Comfortable Reflection!

To bring the Satisfactions of the Mind, continu’d he, and the Enjoyments of Reason and Judgment under the Denomination of Pleasure, is only a Collusion, and a plain receding from the common Notion of the Word. They deal not fairly with us, who in their philosophical Hour, admit that for Pleasure, which at an ordinary time, and in the common Practice of Life, is so little taken for such. The Mathematician who labours at his Problem, the bookish Man who toils, the Artist who endures voluntarily the greatest Hardships and Fatigues; none of these are said “To follow Pleasure.” Nor will the Men of Pleasure by any means admit ’em to be of their number. The Satisfactions which are purely mental, and depend only on the Motion of a Thought; must in all likelihood be too refin’d for the Apprehensions of our modern Epicures, who are so taken up with Pleasure of a more substantial kind. They who are full of the Idea of such a sensible solid Good, can have but a slender Fancy for the mere spiritual and intellectual sort. But ’tis this latter they set up and magnify upon occasion; to save the Ignominy which may redound to ’’m from the former. This done, the latter may take its chance: Its Use is presently at an end. For ’tis observable, that when the Men of this sort have recommended the Enjoyments of the Mind under the title of Pleasure; when they have thus dignify’d the Word, and included in it whatever is mentally good or excellent, they can afterwards suffer it contentedly to slide down again into its own genuine and vulgar Sense; whence they rais’d it only to serve a turn. When Pleasure is call’d in question, and attack’d, then Reason and Virtue are call’d in to her Aid, and made principal parts of her Constitution. A complicated Form appears, and comprehends straight all which is generous, honest, and beautiful in human Life. But when the Attack is over, and the Objection once solv’d, the Specter vanishes: Pleasure returns again to her former Shape: She may e’en be Pleasure still, and have as little concern with dry sober Reason, as in the nature of the thing, and according to common Understanding, she really has. For if this rational sort of Enjoyment be admitted into the Notion of Good, how is it possible to admit withal that kind of Sensation, which in effect is rather opposite to this Enjoyment? ‘Tis certain that in respect of the Mind and its Enjoyments, the Eagerness and Irritation of mere Pleasure, is as disturbing as the Importunity and Vexation of Pain. If either throws the Mind off its biass, and deprives it of the Satisfaction it takes in its natural Exercise and Employment; the Mind in this case must be Sufferer as well by one as by the other. If neither does this, there is no harm on either side.—

By the way, said I, interrupting him; As sincere as I am in questioning, “Whether Pleasure be really Good;” I am not such a Sceptick as to doubt “Whether Pain be really Ill.”

Whatever is grievous, reply’d he, can be no other than Ill. But that what is grievous to one, is not so much as troublesom to another; let Sportsmen, Soldiers, and others of the hardy Kinds be witness. Nay, that what is Pain to one, is Pleasure to another, and so alternately, we very well know: since Men vary in their Apprehension of these Sensations, and on many occasions confound one with the other. Has not even Nature her-self, in some respects, as it were blended ’em together, and (as a wise Man said once) “join’d the Extremity of one so nicely to the other, that it absolutely runs into it, and is undistinguishable?”

In fine then, said I, if Pleasure and Pain be thus convertible and mix’d; if, according to your Account, “That which is now Pleasure, by being strain’d a little too far, runs into Pain, and Pain, when carry’d far, creates again the highest Pleasure, by mere Cessation, and a kind of natural Succession; if some Pleasures to some are Pains, and some Pains to others are Pleasures:” All this, if I mistake not, makes still for my Opinion, and shows That there is nothing you can assign which can really stand as Good. For if Pleasure be not Good, nothing is. And if Pain be Ill, (as I must necessarily take for granted) we have a shreud Chance on the ill side indeed, but none at all on the better. So that we may fairly doubt, “Whether Life it-self be not mere Misery;” since Gainers by it we can never be: Losers we may sufficiently, and are like to be, every hour of our Lives. Accordingly, what our English Poetess says of Good, shou’d be just and proper: “‘Tis good not to be born."—And thus for any thing of Good which can be expected in Life, we may e’en “Beg pardon of Nature; and return her Present on her hands, without waiting for her Call.” For what shou’d hinder us? or What are we the better for living?

The Query, said he, is pertinent. But why such Dispatch, if the Case be doubtful? This, surely (my good Philocles!) is a plain Transgression of your sceptical Bounds. We must be sufficiently dogmatical, to come to this Determination. ‘Tis a deciding as well concerning Death as Life; “What possibly may be hereafter, and What not.” Now to be assur’d that we can never be concern’d in any thing hereafter, we must understand perfectly what it is which concerns or engages us in any thing present. We must truly know our-selves, and in what this Self of ours consists. We must determine against Pre-existence, and give a better reason for our having never been concern’d in ought before our Birth, than merely, “Because we remember not, nor are conscious.” For in many things we have been concern’d to purpose, of which we have now no Memory or Consciousness remaining. And thus we may happen to be again and again, to perpetuity, for any reason we can show to the contrary. All is Revolution in us. We are no more the self-same Matter, or System of Matter, from one day to another. What Succession there may be hereafter, we know not; since even now, we live by Succession, and only perish and are renew’d. ‘Tis in vain we flatter our-selves with the assurance of our Interest’s ending with a certain Shape or Form. What interested us at first in it, we know not; any more than how we have since held on, and continue still concern’d in such an Assemblage of fleeting Particles. Where besides, or in What else we may have to do, perchance, in time to come, we know as little; nor can tell how Chance or Providence, hereafter, may dispose of us. And if Providence be in the case, we have still more reason to consider how we undertake to be our own Disposers. It must needs become a Sceptick above all Men to hesitate in matters of Exchange. And tho he acknowledges no present Good or Enjoyment in Life, he must be sure, however, of bettering his Condition, before he attempts to alter it. But as yet, Philocles, even this Point remains undetermin’d between us: “Whether in this present Life there be not such a thing as real Good.”

Be you therefore (said I) my Instructor, sagacious Theocles! and inform me, “What that Good is, or Where, which can afford Contentment and Satisfaction always alike, without variation or diminution.” For tho on some Occasions, and in some Subjects, the Mind may possibly be so bent, and the Passion so wrought up, that for the time no bodily Sufferance or Pain can alter it; yet this is what can seldom happen, and is unlikely to last long: since without any Pain or Inconvenience, the Passion in a little time does its own work, the Mind relaxes with its Bent, and the Temper weary’d with Repetition finds no more Enjoyment, but runs to something new.

Hear then! said Theocles. For tho I pretend not to tell you at once the Nature of this which I call Good; yet I am content to shew you something of it, in your-self, which you will acknowledge to be naturally more fix’d and constant, than any thing you have hitherto thought on. Tell me, my Friend! if ever you were weary of doing good to those you lov’d? Say when you ever found it unpleasing to serve a Friend? Or whether when you first prov’d this generous Pleasure, you did not feel it less than at this present; after so long Experience? Believe me, Philocles, this Pleasure is more debauching than any other. Never did any Soul do good, but it came readier to do the same again, with more Enjoyment. Never was Love, or Gratitude, or Bounty practis’d but with increasing Joy, which made the Practiser still more in love with the fair Act. Answer me, Philocles, you who are such a Judge of Beauty, and have so good a Taste of Pleasure; is there any thing you admire, so fair as Friendship? or any thing so charming as a generous Action? What wou’d it be therefore, if all Life were in reality but one continu’d Friendship, and cou’d be made one such intire Act? Here surely wou’d be that fix’d and constant Good you sought. Or wou’d you look for any thing beyond?

Perhaps not, said I. But I can never, surely, go beyond this, to seek for a Chimera, if this Good of yours be not thorowly chimerical. For tho a Poet may possibly work up such a single Action, so as to hold a Play out; I can conceive but very faintly how this high Strain of Friendship can be so manag’d as to fill a Life. Nor can I imagine where the Object lies of such a sublime heroick Passion.

Can any Friendship, said he, be so heroick, as that towards Mankind? Do you think the Love of Friends in general, and of one’s Country, to be nothing? or that particular Friendship can well subsist without such an enlarg’d Affection, and Sense of Obligation to Society? Say, if possible, you are a Friend, but hate your Country. Say, you are true to the Interest of a Companion, but false to that of Society. Can you believe your-self? Or will you lay the Name aside, and refuse to be call’d the Friend, since you renounce the Man?

That there is something, said I, due to Mankind, is what I think will not be disputed by one who claims the Name of Friend. Hardly indeed cou’d I allow the Name of Man to one who never cou’d call or be call’d Friend. But he who justly proves himself a Friend, is Man enough; nor is he wanting to Society. A single Friendship may acquit him. He has deserv’d a Friend, and is Man’s Friend; tho not in strictness, or according to your high moral Sense, the Friend of Mankind. For to say truth, as to this sort of Friendship; it may by wiser Heads be esteem’d perhaps more than ordinarily manly, and even heroick, as you assert it: But for my part, I see so very little Worth in Mankind, and have so indifferent an Opinion of the Publick, that I can propose little Satisfaction to my-self in loving either.

Do you, then, take Bounty and Gratitude to be among the Acts of Friendship and Good-nature? Undoubtedly: for they are the chief. Suppose then, that the oblig’d Person discovers in the Obliger several Failings; does this exclude the Gratitude of the former? Not in the least. Or does it make the Exercise of Gratitude less pleasing? I think rather the contrary. For when depriv’d of other means of making a Return, I might rejoice still in that sure way of shewing my Gratitude to my Benefactor, by bearing his Failings as a Friend. And as to Bounty: Tell me, I beseech you, is it to those only who are deserving that we shou’d do good? Is it only to a good Neighbour, or Relation, a good Father, Child, or Brother? Or does Nature, Reason, and Humanity better teach us, to do good still to a Father, because a Father; and to a Child, because a Child; and so to every Relation in human Life? I think, said I, this last is rightest.

O Philocles, reply’d he, consider then what it was you said, when you objected against the Love of Mankind because of human Frailty; and seem’d to scorn the Publick, because of its Misfortunes. See if this Sentiment be consistent with that Humanity which elsewhere you own and practise. For where can Generosity exist, if not here? Where can we ever exert Friendship, if not in this chief Subject? To what shou’d we be true or grateful in the World, if not to Mankind, and that Society to which we are so deeply indebted? What are the Faults or Blemishes which can excuse such an Omission, or in a grateful Mind can ever lessen the Satisfaction of making a grateful kind return? Can you then out of Good-breeding merely, and from a Temper natural to you, rejoice to shew Civility, Courteousness, Obligingness, seek Objects of Compassion, and be pleas’d with every Occurrence where you have power to do some service even to People unknown? Can you delight in such Adventures abroad in foreign Countrys, or in the case of Strangers here at home; to help, assist, relieve all who require it, in the most hospitable, kind, and friendly manner? And can your Country, or what is more, your Kind, require less Kindness from you, or deserve less to be consider’d, than even one of these Chance-Creatures?——O Philocles! how little do you know the Extent and Power of Good-nature, and to what an heroick pitch a Soul may rise, which knows the thorow Force of it; and distributing it rightly, frames in it-self an equal, just, and universal Friendship!

Just as he had ended these Words, a Servant came to us in the Field, to give notice of some Company, who were come to dine with us, and waited our coming in. So we walk’d home-wards. I told Theocles, going along, that I fear’d I shou’d never make a good Friend or Lover after his way. As for a plain natural Love of one single Person in either Sex, I cou’d compass it, I thought, well enough; but this complex universal sort was beyond my reach. I cou’d love the Individual, but not the Species. This was too mysterious; too metaphysical an Object for me. In short, I cou’d love nothing of which I had not some sensible material Image.

How! reply’d Theocles, can you never love except in this manner? when yet I know that you admir’d and lov’d a Friend long ere you knew his Person. Or was Palemon’s Character of no force, when it engag’d you in that long Correspondence which preceded your late personal Acquaintance? The Fact (said I) I must, of necessity, own to you. And now, methinks, I understand your Mystery, and perceive how I must prepare for it: For in the same manner as when I first began to love Palemon, I was forc’d to form a kind of material Object, and had always such a certain Image of him, ready-drawn, in my Mind, whenever I thought of him; so I must endeavour to order it in the Case before us: if possibly by your help I can raise any such Image, or Specter, as may represent this odd Being you wou’d have me love.

Methinks, said he, you might have the same Indulgence for Nature or Mankind, as for the People of old Rome; whom, notwithstanding their Blemishes, I have known you in love with, many ways; particularly under the Representation of a beautiful Youth call’d the Genius of the People. For I remember, that viewing once some Pieces of Antiquity, where the People were thus represented, you allow’d ’em to be no disagreeable Object.

Indeed, reply’d I, were it possible for me to stamp upon my Mind such a Figure as you speak of, whether it stood for Mankind or Nature, it might probably have its effect; and I might become perhaps a Lover after your way: But more especially, if you cou’d so order it, as to make things reciprocal between us, and bring me to fancy of this Genius, that it cou’d be “sensible of my Love, and capable of a Return.” For without this, I shou’d make but an ill Lover, tho of the perfectest Beauty in the World.

‘Tis enough, said {{sc|Theocles||, I accept the Terms: And if you promise to love, I will endeavour to shew you that Beauty which I count the perfectest, and most deserving of Love; and which will not fail of a Return.——To-morrow, when the eastern Sun (as Poets describe) with his first Beams adorns the Front of yonder Hill; there, if you are content to wander with me in the Woods you see, we will pursue those Loves of ours, by favour of the Silvan Nymphs: and invoking first the Genius of the Place, we’ll try to obtain at least some faint and distant View of the sovereign Genius and first Beauty. This if you can come once to contemplate, I will answer for it, that all those forbidding Features and Deformitys, whether of Nature or Mankind, will vanish in an instant, and leave you that Lover I cou’d wish.—But now, enough!—Let us to our Company; and change this Conversation for some other more sutable to our Friends and Table.