WE have already, in the beginning of our preceding Miscellany, taken notice of our Author's Plan, and the Connection and Dependency of his[1] Joint-Tracts, comprehended in two preceding Volumes. We are now, in our Commentator-Capacity, arriv'd at length to his second Volume, to which the three Pieces of his first appear preparatory. That they were really so design'd, the Advertisement to the first Edition of his Soliloquy is a sufficient Proof. He took occasion there, in a line or two, under the Name of his Printer, or (as he otherwise calls him) his Amanuensis, to prepare us for a more elaborate and methodical Piece which was to follow. We have this System now before us. Nor need we wonder, such as it is, that it came so hardly into the World, and that our Author has been deliver'd of it with so much difficulty, and after so long a time. His Amanuensis and he, were not, it seems, heretofore upon such good Terms of Correspondence. Otherwise such an unshapen Foetus, or false Birth, as that of which our Author in his[2] Title-page complains, had not formerly appear'd abroad. Nor had it ever risen again in its more decent Form, but for the accidental Publication of our Author's First[3] Letter, which, by a necessary Train of Consequences, occasion'd the revival of this abortive Piece, and gave usherance to its Companions.
It will appear therefore in this Joint-Edition of our Author's Five Treatises, that the Three former are preparatory to the Fourth, on which we are now enter'd; and the Fifth (with which he concludes) a kind of Apology for this reviv'd Treatise concerning Virtue and Religion.
As for his Apology (particularly in what relates to reveal'd Religion, and a World to come) I commit the Reader to the disputant Divines, and Gentlemen, whom our Author has introduc'd in that concluding Piece of Dialogue-Writing, or rhapsodical Philosophy. Mean while, we have here no other part left us, than to enter into the dry Philosophy, and rigid Manner of our Author; without any Excursions into various Literature; without help from the Comick or Tragick Muse, or from the Flowers of Poetry or Rhetorick.
Such is our present Pattern, and strict moral Task; which our more humorous Reader fore-knowing, may immediately, if he pleases, turn over; skipping (as is usual in many grave Works) a Chapter or two, as he proceeds. We shall, to make amends, endeavour afterwards, in our following Miscellany, to entertain him again with more chearful Fare, and afford him a Dessert, to rectify his Palat, and leave his Mouth at last in good relish.
To the patient and grave Reader, therefore, who in order to moralize, can afford to retire into his Closet, as to some religious or devout Exercise, we presume thus to offer a few Reflections, in the support of our Author's profound Inquiry. And accordingly, we are to imagine our Author speaking, as follows.
HOW LITTLE regard soever may be shewn to that moral Speculation or Inquiry, which we call the Study of our-selves; it must, in strictness, be yielded, That all Knowledg whatsoever depends upon this previous-one: And that we can in reality be assur'd of nothing, till we are first assur'd of What we are Our-selves.
For by this alone we can know what Certainty and Assurance is.
That there is something undoubtedly which thinks, our very Doubt it-self and scrupulous Thought evinces. But in what Subject that Thought resides, and how that Subject is continu'd one and the same, so as to answer constantly to the suppos'd Train of Thoughts or Reflections which seem to run so harmoniously thro' a long Course of Life, with the same relation still to one single and self-same Person; this is not a Matter so easily or hastily decided, by those who are nice Self-Examiners, or Searchers after Truth and Certainty.
'Twill not, in this respect, be sufficient for us to use the seeming Logick of a famous[4] Modern, and say We think: therefore We are.
Which is a notably invented Saying, after the Model of that like philosophical Proposition; That What is, is.
—Miraculously argu'd! If I am; I am.
—Nothing more certain! For the Ego or I, being establish'd in the first part of the Proposition, the Ergo, no doubt, must hold it good in the latter. But the Question is, What constitutes the We or I?
And, Whether the I of this instant, be the same with that of any instant preceding, or to come.
For we have nothing but Memory to warrant us: and Memory may be false. We may believe we have thought and reflected thus or thus: but we may be mistaken. We may be conscious of that, as Truth; which perhaps was no more than Dream: and we may be conscious of that as a past Dream, which perhaps was never before so much as dreamt of.
This is what Metaphysicians mean, when they say, That Identity can be prov'd only by Consciousness; but that Consciousness, withal, may be as well false as real, in respect of what is past.
So that the same successional We or I must remain still, on this account, undecided.
To the force of this Reasoning I confess I must so far submit, as to declare that for my own part, I take my Being upon Trust. Let others philosophize as they are able: I shall admire their strength, when, upon this Topick, they have refuted what able Metaphysicians object, and Pyrrhonists plead in their own behalf.
Mean while, there is no Impediment, Hinderance, or Suspension of Action, on account of these wonderfully refin'd Speculations. Argument and Debate go on still. Conduct is settled. Rules and Measures are given out, and receiv'd. Nor do we scruple to act as resolutely upon the mere Supposition that we are, as if we had effectually prov'd it a thousand times, to the full satisfaction of our Metaphysical or Pyrrhonean Antagonist.
This to me appears sufficient Ground for a Moralist. Nor do I ask more, when I undertake to prove the reality of Virtue and Morals.
If it be certain that Iam; 'tis certain and demonstrable Who and What I ought to be, even on my own account, and for the sake of my own private Happiness and Success. For thus I take the liberty to proceed.
The Affections, of which I am conscious, are either Grief, or Joy;Desire, or Aversion. For whatever mere Sensation I may experience; if it amounts to neither of these, 'tis indifferent, and no way affects me.
That which causes Joy and Satisfaction when present, causes Grief and Disturbance when absent: And that which causes Grief and Disturbance when present, does when absent, by the same necessity occasion Joy and Satisfaction.
Thus Love (which implies Desire, with Hope of Good) must afford occasion to Grief and Disturbance, when it acquires not what it earnestly seeks. And Hatred (which implies Aversion, and Fear of Ill) must, in the same manner, occasion Grief and Calamity, when that which it earnestly shun'd, or wou'd have escap'd, remains present, or is altogether unavoidable.
That which being present can never leave the Mind at rest, but must of necessity cause Aversion, is its Ill. But that which can be sustain'd without any necessary Abhorrence, or Aversion, is not its Ill; but remains indifferent in its own nature; the Ill being in the Affection only, which wants redress.
In the same manner, that which being absent, can never leave the Mind at rest, or without Disturbance and Regret, is of necessity its Good. But that which can be absent, without any present or future Disturbance to the Mind, is not its Good, but remains indifferent in its own nature. From whence it must follow, That the Affection towards it, as suppos'd Good, is an ill Affection, and creative only of Disturbance and Disease. So that the Affections of Love and Hatred, Liking and Dislike, on which the Happiness or Prosperity of the Person so much depends, being influenc'd and govern'd by Opinion; the highest Good or Happiness must depend on right Opinion, and the highest Misery be deriv'd from wrong.
To explain this, I consider, for instance, the Fancy or Imagination I have of Death, according as I find this Subject naturally passing in my Mind. To this Fancy, perhaps, I find united an Opinion or Apprehension of Evil and Calamity. Now the more my Apprehension of this Evil increases; the greater, I find, my Disturbance proves, not only at the approach of the suppos'd Evil, but at the very distant Thought of it. Besides that, the Thought it-self will of necessity so much the oftner recur, as the Aversion or Fear is violent, and increasing.
From this suppos'd Evil I must, however, fly with so much the more earnestness, as the Opinion of the Evil increases. Now if the Increase of the Aversion can be no Cause of the Decrease or Diminution of the Evil it-self, but rather the contrary; then the Increase of the Aversion must necessarily prove the Increase of Disappointment and Disturbance. And so on the other hand, the Diminution or Decrease of the Aversion (if this may any way be effected) must of necessity prove the Diminution of inward Disturbance, and the better Establishment of inward Quiet and Satisfaction.
Again, I consider with my-self, That I have the[5] Imagination of something beautiful, great, and becoming in Things. This Imagination I apply perhaps to such Subjects as Plate, Jewels, Apartments, Coronets, Patents of Honour, Titles, or Precedencys. I must therefore naturally seek these, not as mere Conveniencys, Means, or Helps in Life, (for as such my Passion cou'd not be so excessive towards 'em) but as excellent in them-selves, necessarily attractive of my Admiration, and directly and immediately causing my Happiness, and giving me Satisfaction. Now if the Passion rais'd on this Opinion (call it Avarice, Pride, Vanity, or Ambition) be indeed incapable of any real Satisfaction, even under the most successful Course of Fortune; and then too, attended with perpetual Fears of Disappointment and Loss: how can the Mind be other than miserable, when possess'd by it? But if instead of forming thus the Opinion of Good; if instead of placing Worth or Excellence in these outward Subjects, we place it, where it is truest, in the Affections or Sentiments, in the governing Part and inward Character; we have then the full Enjoyment of it within our power: The Imagination or Opinion remains steddy and irreversible: And the Love, Desire and Appetite is answer'd; without Apprehension of Loss or Disappointment.
Here therefore arises Work and Employment for us Within: To regulate Fancy, and rectify[6] Opinion, on which all depends.
For if our Loves, Desires, Hatreds and Aversions are left to themselves; we are necessarily expos'd to endless Vexation and Calamity: but if these are found capable of Amendment, or in any measure flexible or variable by Opinion; we ought, methinks, to make trial, at least, how far we might by this means acquire Felicity and Content.
Accordingly, if we find it evident, on one hand, that by indulging any wrong Appetite (as either Debauch, Malice, or Revenge) the Opinion of the false Good increases; and the Appetite, which is a real Ill, grows so much the stronger: we may be as fully assur'd, on the other hand, that by restraining this Affection, and nourishing a contrary sort in opposition to it; we cannot fail to diminish what is Ill, and increase what is properly our Happiness and Good.
On this account, a Man may reasonably conclude, That it becomes him, by working upon his own Mind, to withdraw the Fancy or Opinion of Good or Ill from that to which justly and by necessity it is not join'd; and apply it, with the strongest Resolution, to that with which it naturally agrees.
For if the Fancy or Opinion of Good be join'd to what is not durable, nor in my power either to acquire or to retain; the more such an Opinion prevails, the more I must be subject to Disappointment and Distress. But if there be that to which, whenever I apply the Opinion or Fancy of Good, I find the Fancy more consistent, and the Good more durable, solid, and within my Power and Command; then the more such an Opinion prevails in me, the more Satisfaction and Happiness I must experience.
Now, if I join the Opinion of Good to the Possessions of the Mind; if it be in the Affections themselves that I place my highest Joy, and in those Objects, whatever they are, of inward Worth and Beauty, (such as Honesty, Faith, Integrity, Friendship, Honour) 'tis evident I can never possibly, in this respect, rejoice amiss, or indulge my-self too far in the Enjoyment. The greater my Indulgence is, the less I have reason to fear either Reverse or Disappointment.
This, I know, is far contrary in another Regimen of Life. The Tutorage of Fancy and Pleasure, and the easy Philosophy of taking that for Good which[7] pleases me, or which I fansy merely, will, in time, give me Uneasiness sufficient. 'Tis plain, from what has been debated, That the less fanciful I am, in what relates to my Content and Happiness, the more powerful and absolute I must be, in Self-enjoyment, and the Possession of my Good. And since 'tis Fancy merely, which gives the force of Good, or power of passing as such, to Things of Chance and outward Dependency; 'tis evident, that the more I take from Fancy in this respect, the more I confer upon my-self. As I am less led or betray'd by Fancy to an Esteem of what depends on others; I am the more fix'd in the Esteem of what depends on myself alone. And if I have once gain'd the Taste of[8] Liberty, I shall easily understand the force of this Reasoning, and know both my true Self and Interest.
The Method therefore requir'd in this my inward OEconomy, is, to make those Fancys themselves the Objects of my Aversion which justly deserve it; by being the Cause of a wrong Estimation and Measure of Good and Ill, and consequently the Cause of my Unhappiness and Disturbance.
Accordingly (as the learned Masters in this Science advise) we are to begin rather[9] by the averse, than by the prone and forward Disposition. We are to work rather by the weaning than the ingaging Passions: since if we give way chiefly to Inclination, by loving, applauding and admiring what is Great and Good, we may possibly, it seems, in some high Objects of that kind, be so amus'd and extasy'd, as to lose our-selves, and miss our proper Mark, for want of a steddy and settled Aim. But being more sure and infallible in what relates to our Ill, we shou'd begin, they tell us, by applying our Aversion, on that side, and raising our Indignation against those Meannesses of Opinion and Sentiment, which are the Causes of our Subjection, and Perplexity.
Thus the covetous Fancy, if consider'd as the Cause of Misery, (and consequently detested as a real Ill) must of necessity abate: And the ambitious Fancy, if oppos'd in the same manner, with Resolution, by better Thought, must resign it-self, and leave the Mind free, and disincumber'd in the pursuit of its better Objects.
Nor is the Case different in the Passion of Cowardice, or Fear of Death. For if we leave this Passion to it-self, (or to certain Tutors to manage for us) it may lead us to the most anxious and tormenting State of Life. But if it be oppos'd by sounder Opinion, and a just Estimation of things, it must diminish of course: And the natural Result of such a Practice must be, the Rescue of the Mind from numberless Fears, and Miserys of other kinds.
Thus at last a Mind, by knowing it-self, and its own proper Powers and Virtues, becomes free, and independent. It sees its Hindrances and Obstructions, and finds they are wholly from it-self, and from Opinions wrong-conceiv'd. The more it conquers in this respect, (be it in the least particular) the more it is its own Master, feels its own natural Liberty, and congratulates with it-self on its own Advancement and Prosperity.
Whether some who are call'd Philosophers have so apply'd their Meditations, as to understand any thing of this Language, I know not. But well I am assur'd that many an honest and free-hearted Fellow, among the vulgar Rank of People, has naturally some kind of Feeling or Apprehension of this Self-enjoyment; when refusing to act for Lucre or outward Profit, the Thing which from his Soul he abhors, and thinks below him; he goes on, with harder Labour, but more Content, in his direct plain Path. He is secure within; free of what the World calls Policy, or Design; and sings, according to the old Ballad,
My Mind to me a Kingdom is, &c.
Which in Latin we may translate,
[10]——Et meâ
Virtute me involvo, probamque
Pauperiem sine dote quaero.
BUT I FORGET, it seems, that I am now speaking in the Person of our grave Inquirer. I shou'd consider I have no Right to vary from the Pattern he has set; and that whilst I accompany him in this particular Treatise, I ought not to make the least Escape out of the high Road of Demonstration, into the diverting Paths of Poetry, or Humour.
As grave however as Morals are presum'd in their own nature, I look upon it as an essential matter in their Delivery, to take now and then the natural Air of Pleasantry. The first Morals which were ever deliver'd in the World, were in Parables, Tales, or Fables. And the latter and most consummate Distributers of Morals, in the very politest times, were great Tale-Tellers, and Retainers to honest AEsop.
After all the regular Demonstrations and Deductions of our grave Author, I dare say 'twou'd be a high Relief and Satisfaction to his Reader, to hear an Apologue, or Fable, well told, and with such humour as to need no sententious Moral at the end, to make the application.
As an Experiment in this case, let us at this instant imagine our grave Inquirer taking pains to shew us, at full length, the unnatural and unhappy Excursions, Rovings, or Expeditions of our ungovern'd Fancys and Opinions over a World of Riches, Honours, and other ebbing and flowing Goods. He performs this, we will suppose, with great Sagacity, to the full measure and scope of our Attention. Mean while, as full or satiated as we might find our-selves of serious and solid Demonstration, 'tis odds but we might find Vacancy still sufficient to receive Instruction by another Method. And I dare answer for success, shou'd a merrier Moralist of the AEsopaean-School present himself; and, hearing of this Chace describ'd by our Philosopher, beg leave to represent it to the life, by a homely Cur or two, of his Master's ordinary breed.
Two of this Race
(he wou'd tell us) having been daintily bred, and in high thoughts of what they call'd Pleasure and good Living, travel'd once in quest of Game and Raritys, till they came by accident to the Sea-side. They saw there, at a distance from the shore, some floating pieces of a Wreck, which they took a fancy to believe some wonderful rich Dainty, richer than Amber-greese, or the richest Product of the Ocean. They cou'd prove it, by their Appetite and Longing, to be no less than Quintessence of the Main, ambrosial Substance, the Repast of marine Deitys, surpassing all which Earth afforded.—By these rhetorical Arguments, after long Reasoning with one another in this florid Vein, they proceeded from one Extravagance of Fancy to another; till they came at last to this issue. Being unaccustom'd to Swimming, they wou'd not, it seems, in prudence, venture so far out of their Depth as was necessary to reach their imagin'd Prize: But being stout Drinkers, they thought with themselves, they might compass to drink all which lay in their way; even The Sea it-self; and that by this method they might shortly bring their Goods safe to dry Land. To work therefore they went; and drank till they were both burst.
For my own part, I am fully satisfy'd that there are more Sea-drinkers than one or two, to be found among the principal Personages of Mankind; and that if these Dogs of ours were silly Curs, many who pass for wise in our own Race are little wiser; and may properly enough be said to have the Sea to drink.
'Tis pretty evident that they who live in the highest Sphere of human Affairs, have a very uncertain View of the thing call'd Happiness or Good. It lies out at Sea, far distant, in the Offin; where those Gentlemen ken it but very imperfectly: And the means they employ in order to come up with it, are very wide of the matter, and far short of their propos'd End.—First a general Acquaintance.—Visits, Levees.—Attendance upon the Great and Little.—Popularity.—A Place in Parliament.—Then another at Court.—Then Intrigue, Corruption, Prostitution.—Then a higher Place.—Then a Title.—Then a Remove.—A new Minister! —Fractions at Court.—Ship-wreck of Ministrys—The new: The old.—Engage with one: piece up with t'other.—Bargains; Losses; After-Games; Retrievals.
—Is not this, the Sea to drink?
[11]But if riches could make you wise, if they could make you less lustful, less easily frightened, of course you would blush to have any one alive more avaricious than you.
But lest I shou'd be tempted to fall into a manner I have been oblig'd to disclaim in this part of my Miscellaneous Performance; I shall here set a Period to this Discourse, and renew my attempt of serious Reflection and grave Thought, by taking up my Clew in a fresh Chapter.
Above, pag. 135. Again below, 284, 285, &c.
Viz. To the INQUIRY (Treatise IV.) VOL. II.
Viz. Letter of Enthusiasm, VOL. I.
Monsieur Des Cartes.
Of the necessary Being and Prevalency of some such IMAGINATION or SENSE (natural and common to all Men, irresistible, of original Growth in the Mind, the Guide of our Affections, and the Ground of our Admiration, Contempt, Shame, Honour, Disdain, and other natural and unavoidable Impressions) see VOL. I. pag. 138, 139, 336, 337. VOL. II. pag. 28, 29, 30, 394, 420, 421, 429, 430. And above, p. 30, 31, 2, 3, &c. 182, 3, 4, 5, 6. in the Notes.
ὅτι πάντα ἡ ὑπόληψις, καὶ αὐτὴ ἐπὶ σοί. ἀ̑ρον οὐ̑ν ὅτε θέλεις τὴν ὑπόληψιν, καὶ ὥσπερ κάμψαντι τὴν ἄκραν γαλήνη, σταθερὰ πάντα καὶ κόλπος ἀκύμων. M. Ant. Lib. xii. 22. οἱ̑όν ἐοτιν ἡ λεκάνη του̑ ὕδατος, τοιου̑τον ἡ ψυχή. οἱ̑ον ἡ αὐγὴ ἡ προσπίπτουσα τῳ̑ ὕδατι, τοιου̑τον αἱ φαντασίαι. ὅταν οὐ̑ν τὸ ὕδωρ κινηθῃ̑, δοκει̑ μὲν καὶ ἡ αὐγὴ κινει̑σθαι. οὐ μέντοι κινει̑ται· καὶ ὅταν τοίνυν σκοτωθῃ̑ τίς, οὐχ αἱ τέχναι καὶ αἱ ἀρεταὶ συγχέονται, ἀλλὰ τὸ πνευ̑μα ἐφ' οὑ̑ εἰσί· καταστάντος δὲ, καθίσταται κἀκει̑να. Arrian. Lib. iii. cap. 3. See VOL. I. pag. 185, &c. 294, 5, 6, 324, &c. And VOL. II. pag. 437.
VOL. I. pag. 308. VOL. II. pag. 227.
VOL. II. pag. 432. And below, pag. 307, &c.
ἁ̑ρον οὐ̑ν τὴω ἔκκλισιν ἀπὸ πάντων τω̑ν οὐκ ἐφ' ἡμι̑ν, καὶ μετάθες ἐπὶ τὰ παρὰ φύσιν τω̑ν ἐφ' ἡμι̑ν. Epictet. Enchirid. cap. vii. ὄρεξιν ἀ̑ραί σε δει̑ παντελω̑ς, ἔκκλισιν ἐπὶ μόνα νεταθει̑ναι τὰ προαιρετικά. Arrian. Lib. iii. cap. 22. This subdu'd or moderated Admiration or Zeal in the highest Subjects of Virtue and Divinity, the Philosopher calls σύμμετρον καὶ καθισταμένην τὴν ὄρεξιν; the contrary Disposition, τὸ ἄλογον καὶ ὠστικόν. Lib. ii. cap. 26. The Reason why this over-forward Ardor and Pursuit of high Subjects runs naturally into Enthusiasm and Disorder, is shewn in what succeeds the first of the Passages here cited; viz. τω̑ν δὲ ἐφ ἡμι̑ν, ὅσαν ὀρέγεσθαι καλὸν ἄν, οὐδὲν οὐδέτω σοι πάρεστι. And hence the repeated Injunction, ἀπόσχου ποτὲ παντάποσιν ὀρέξεως, ἵνα ποτὲ καὶ εὐλόγως ὀρεχθη̑ςῃ εἰ δ' εὐλόγως, ὅταν ἔχῃς τί ἐν σεαυτῳ̑ ἀγαθὸν εὐ̑ ὀρεχθήση. Lib. iii. cap. 13. To this Horace, in one of his latest Epistles of the deeply philosophical kind, alludes.
Insani sapiens nomen ferat, aequus iniqui,
Ultra quam satis est Virtutem si petat ipsam.
Lib. i. Ep. vi. ver. 15.
And in the beginning of the Epistle:
Nil admirari propè res est una, Numici,
Solaq; quae posset facere & servare beatum.
Ibid. ver. i.
For tho these first Lines (as many other of Horace's on the Subject of Philosophy) have the Air of the Epicurean Discipline and Lucretian Style; yet by the whole taken together, it appears evidently on what System of antient Philosophy this Epistle was form'd. Nor was this Prohibition of the wondering or admiring Habit, in early Students, peculiar to one kind of Philosophy alone. It was common to many; however the Reason and Account of it might differ, in one Sect from the other. The Pythagoreans sufficiently check'd their Tyro's, by silencing them so long on their first Courtship to Philosophy. And tho Admiration, in the Peripatetick Sense, as above-mention'd, may be justly call'd the inclining Principle or first Motive to PHILOSOPHY; yet this Mistress, when once espous'd, teaches us to admire, after a different manner from what we did before. See above, pag. 37. And VOL. I. pag. 41.
I wrap myself in my own merits and seek as my bride honest poverty, undowered. Horat. Lib. iii. Od. xxix. ver. 54.
At si Divitiae prudentem reddere possent,
Si cupidum timidumque minùs te; nempe ruberes,
Viveret in Terris te si quis avarior uno.
Horat. Lib. ii. Epist. ii. ver. 155.