OF HAPPINESS.
Having had under our consideration the active powers and the moral
qualities which distinguish the nature of man, is it still necessary that
we should treat of his happiness apart? This significant term, the most
frequent, and the most familiar, in our conversation, is, perhaps, on
reflection, the least understood. It serves to express our satisfaction,
when any desire is gratified; it is pronounced with a sigh, when our object
is distant: it means what we wish to obtain, and what we seldom stay to
examine. We estimate the value of every subject by its utility, and its
influence on happiness; but we think that utility itself, and happiness,
require no explanation.
Those men are commonly esteemed the happiest, whose desires are most
frequently ratified. But if, in reality, the possession of what they
desire, and a continued fruition, were requisite to happiness, mankind for
the most part would have reason to complain of their lot. What they call
their enjoyments, are generally momentary; and the object of sanguine
expectation, when obtained, no longer continues to occupy the mind: a new
passion succeeds, and the imagination, as before, is intent on a distant
felicity.
How many reflections of this sort are suggested by melancholy, or by the
effects of that very languor and inoccupation into which we would willingly
sink, under the notion of freedom from care and trouble?
When we enter on a formal computation of the enjoyments or sufferings which
are prepared for mankind, it is a chance but we find that pain, by its
intenseness, its duration, or frequency, is greatly predominant. The
activity and eagerness with which we press from one stage of life to
another, our unwillingness to return on the paths we have trod, our
aversion in age to renew the frolics of youth, or to repeat in manhood the
amusements of children, have been accordingly stated as proofs, that our
memory of the past, and our feeling of the present, are equal subjects of
dislike and displeasure. [Footnote: Maupertuis; Essai de Morale.]
This conclusion, however, like many others, drawn from our supposed
knowledge of causes, does not correspond with experience in every street,
in every village, in every field, the greater number of persons we meet,
carry an aspect that is cheerful or thoughtless, indifferent, composed,
busy or animated. The labourer whistles to his team, and the mechanic is at
ease in his calling; the frolicksome and gay feel a series of pleasures, of
which we know not the source; even they who demonstrate the miseries of
human life, when intent on their argument, escape from their sorrows, and
find a tolerable pastime in proving that men are unhappy.
The very terms _pleasure_ and _pain,_ perhaps, are equivocal; but
if they are confined, as they appear to be in many of our reasonings, to
the mere sensations which have a reference to external objects, either in
the memory of the past, the feeling of the present, or the apprehension of
the future, it is a great error to suppose, that they comprehend all the
constituents of happiness or misery; or that the good humour of an ordinary
life is maintained by the prevalence of those pleasures, which have their
separate names, and are, on reflection, distinctly remembered.
The mind, during the greater part of its existence, is employed in active
exertions, not in merely attending to its own feelings of pleasure or pain;
and the list of its faculties, understanding, memory, foresight, sentiment,
will, and intention, only contains the names of its different operations.
If, in the absence of every sensation to which we commonly give the names
either of _enjoyment_ or _suffering,_ our very existence may have
its opposite qualities of _happiness_ or _misery;_ and if what we
call _pleasure_ or _pain,_ occupies but a small part of human
life, compared to what passes in contrivance and execution, in pursuits and
expectations, in conduct, reflection, and social engagements; it must
appear, that our active pursuits, at least on account of their duration,
deserve the greater part of our attention. When their occasions have
failed, the demand is not for pleasure, but for something to do; and the
very complaints of a sufferer are not so sure a mark of distress, as the
stare of the languid.
We seldom, however, reckon any task, which we are bound to perform, among
the blessings of life. We always aim at a period of pure enjoyment, or a
termination of trouble; and overlook the source from which most of our
present satisfactions are really drawn. Ask the busy, where is the
happiness to which they aspire? they will answer, perhaps, that it is to be
found in the object of some present pursuit. If we ask, why they are not
miserable in the absence of that happiness? they will say, that they hope
to attain it. But is it hope alone that supports the mind is the midst of
precarious and uncertain prospects? And would assurance of success fill the
intervals of expectation with more pleasing emotions? Give the huntsman his
prey, give the gamester the gold which is staked on the game, that the one
may not need to fatigue his person, nor the other to perplex his mind, and
both will probably laugh at our folly: the one will stake his money anew,
that he may be perplexed; the other will turn his stag to the field, that
he may hear the cry of the dogs, and follow through danger and hardship.
Withdraw the occupations of men, terminate their desires, existence is a
burden, and the iteration of memory is a torment.
The men of this country, says one lady, should learn to sew and to knit; it
would hinder their time from being a burden to themselves, and to other
people. That is true, says another; for my part, though I never look
abroad, I tremble at the prospect of bad weather; for then the gentlemen
come moping to us for entertainment; and the sight of a husband in
distress, is but a melancholy spectacle.
The difficulties and hardships of human life are supposed to detract from
the goodness of God; yet many of the pastimes men devise for themselves are
fraught with difficulty and danger. The great inventor of the game of human
life, knew well how to accommodate the players. The chances are matter of
complaint; but if these were removed, the game itself would no longer amuse
the parties. In devising, or in executing a plan, in being carried on the
tide of emotion and sentiment, the mind seems to unfold its being, and to
enjoy itself. Even where the end and the object are known to be of little
avail, the talents and the fancy are often intensely applied, and business
or play may amuse them alike. We only desire repose to recruit our limited
and our wasting force: when business fatigues, amusement is often but a
change of occupation. We are not always unhappy, even when we complain.
There is a kind of affliction which makes an agreeable state of the mind;
and lamentation itself is sometimes an expression of pleasure. The painter
and the poet have laid hold of this handle, and find, among the means of
entertainment, a favourable reception for works that are composed to awaken
our sorrows.
To a being of this description, therefore, it is a blessing to meet with
incentives to action, whether in the desire of pleasure, or the aversion to
pain. His activity is of more importance than the very pleasure he seeks,
and languor a greater evil than the suffering he shuns.
The gratifications of animal appetite are of short duration; and sensuality
is but a distemper of the mind, which ought to be cured by remembrance, if
it were not perpetually inflamed by hope. The chase is not more surely
terminated by the death of the game, than the joys of the voluptuary by the
means of completing his debauch. As a band of society, as a matter of
distant pursuit, the objects of sense make an important part in the system
of human life. They lead us to fulfil the purposes of nature, in preserving
the individual, and in perpetuating the species; but to rely on their use
as a principal constituent of happiness, were an error in speculation, and
would be still more an error in practice. Even the master of the seraglio,
for whom all the treasures of empire are extorted from the hoards of its
frighted inhabitants, for whom alone the choicest emerald and the diamond
are drawn from the mine, for whom every breeze is enriched with perfumes,
for whom beauty is assembled from every quarter, and, animated by passions
that ripen under the vertical sun, is confined to the grate for his use, is
still, perhaps, more wretched than the very herd of the people, whose
labours and properties are devoted to relieve him of trouble, and to
procure him enjoyment.
Sensuality is easily overcome by any of the habits of pursuit which usually
engage an active mind. When curiosity is awake, or when passion is excited,
even in the midst of the feast when conversation grows warm, grows jovial,
or serious, the pleasures of the table we know are forgotten. The boy
contemns them for play, and the man of age declines them for business.
When we reckon the circumstances that correspond to the nature of any
animal, or to that of man in particular, such as safety, shelter, food, and
the other means of enjoyment, or preservation, we sometimes think that we
have found a sensible and a solid foundation on which to rest his felicity.
But those who are least disposed to moralize, observe, that happiness is
not connected with fortune, although fortune includes at once all the means
of subsistence, and the means of sensual indulgence. The circumstances that
require abstinence, courage, and conduct, expose us to hazard, and are in
description of the painful kind; yet the able, the brave, and the ardent,
seem most to enjoy themselves when placed in the midst of difficulties, and
obliged to employ the powers they possess.
Spinola being told, that Sir Francis Vere died of having nothing to do,
said, "That was enough to kill a general." [Footnote: Life of Lord
Herbert.] How many are there to whom war itself is a pastime, who choose
the life of a soldier, exposed to dangers and continued fatigues; of a
mariner, in conflict with every hardship, and bereft of every conveniency;
of a politician, whose sport is the conduct of parties and factions; and
who, rather than be idle, will do the business of men and of nations for
whom he has not the smallest regard? Such men do not choose pain as
preferable to pleasure, but they are incited by a restless disposition to
make continued exertions of capacity and resolution; they triumph in the
midst of their struggles; they droop, and they languish, when the occasion
of their labour has ceased.
What was enjoyment, in the sense of that youth, who, according to Tacitus,
loved danger itself, not the rewards of courage? What is the prospect of
pleasure, when the sound of the horn or the trumpet, the cry of the dogs,
or the shout of war, awaken the ardour of the sportsman and the soldier?
The most animating occasions of human life, are calls to danger and
hardship, not invitations to safety and ease: and man himself, in his
excellence, is not an animal of pleasure, nor destined merely to enjoy what
the elements bring to his use; but like his associates, the dog and the
horse, to follow the exercises of his nature, in preference to what are
called its enjoyments; to pine in the lap of ease and of affluence, and to
exult in the midst of alarms that seem to threaten his being, in all which,
his disposition to action only keeps pace with the variety of powers with
which he is furnished; and the most respectable attributes of his nature,
magnanimity, fortitude, and wisdom, carry a manifest reference to the
difficulties with which he is destined to struggle.
If animal pleasure becomes insipid when the spirit is roused by a different
object, it is well known, likewise, that the sense of pain is prevented by
any vehement affection of the soul. Wounds received in a heat of passion,
in the hurry, the ardour, or consternation of battle, are never felt till
the ferment of the mind subsides. Even torments, deliberately applied, and
industriously prolonged, are borne with firmness, and with an appearance of
ease, when the mind is possessed with some vigorous sentiment, whether of
religion, enthusiasm, or love to mankind. The continued mortifications of
superstitious devotees in several ages of the Christian church; the wild
penances, still voluntarily borne, during many years, by the religionists
of the east; the contempt in which famine and torture are held by most
savage nations; the cheerful or obstinate patience of the soldier in the
field; the hardships endured by the sportsman in his pastime, show how much
we may err in computing the miseries of men, from the measures of trouble
and of suffering they seem to incur. And if there be a refinement in
affirming that their happiness is not to be measured by the contrary
enjoyments, it is a refinement which was made by Regulus and Cincinnatus
before the date of philosophy. Fabricius knew it while he had heard
arguments only on the opposite side. [Footnote: Plutarch in Vit. Pyrrh.] It
is a refinement, which every boy knows at his play, and every savage
confirms, when he looks from his forest on the pacific city, and scorns the
plantation, whose master he cares not to imitate.
Man, it must be confessed, notwithstanding all this activity of his mind,
is an animal in the full extent of that designation. When the body sickens,
the mind droops; and when the blood ceases to flow, the soul takes its
departure. Charged with the care of his preservation, admonished by a sense
of pleasure or pain, and guarded by an instinctive fear of death, nature
has not intrusted his safety to the mere vigilance of his understanding,
nor to the government of his uncertain reflections.
The distinction betwixt mind and body is followed by consequences of the
greatest importance; but the facts to which we now refer, are not founded
on any tenets whatever. They are equally true, whether we admit or reject,
the distinction in question, or whether we suppose, that this living agent
is formed of one, or is an assemblage of separate natures. And the
materialist, by treating of man as of an engine, cannot make any change in
the state of his history. He is a being, who, by a multiplicity of visible
organs, performs a variety of functions. He bends his joints, contracts or
relaxes his muscles in our sight. He continues the beating of the heart in
his breast, and the flowing of the blood to every part of his frame. He
performs other operations which we cannot refer to any corporeal organ. He
perceives, he recollects, and forecasts; he desires, and he shuns; he
admires, and contemns. He enjoys his pleasures, or he endures his pain. All
these different functions, in some measure, go well or ill together. When
the motion of the blood is languid, the muscles relax, the understanding is
tardy, and the fancy is dull: when distemper assails him, the physician
must attend no less to what he thinks, than, to what he eats, and examine
the returns of his passion, together with the strokes of his pulse.
With all his sagacity, his precautions, and his instincts, which are given
to preserve his being, he partakes in the fate of other animals, and seems
to be formed only that he may die. Myriads perish before they reach the
perfection of their kind; and the individual, with an option to owe the
prolongation of his temporary course to resolution and conduct, or to
abject fear, frequently chooses the latter, and, by a habit of timidity,
embitters the life he is so intent to preserve.
Man, however, at times, exempted from this mortifying lot, seems to act
without any regard to the length of his period. When he thinks intensely,
or desires with ardour, pleasures and pains from any other quarter assail
him in vain. Even in his dying hour, the muscles acquire a tone from his
spirit, and the mind seems to depart in its vigour, and in the midst of a
struggle to obtain the recent aim of its toil. Muley Moluck, borne on his
litter, and spent with disease, still fought the battle, in the midst of
which he expired; and the last effort he made, with a finger on his lips,
was a signal to conceal his death; [Footnote: Verlot's Revolutions of
Portugal] the precaution, perhaps, of all which he had hitherto taken, the
most necessary to prevent a defeat.
Can no reflections aid us in acquiring this habit of the soul, so useful in
carrying us through many of the ordinary scenes of life? If we say, that
they cannot, the reality of its happiness is not the less evident. The
Greeks and the Romans considered contempt of pleasure, endurance of pain,
and neglect of life, as eminent qualities of a man, and a principal subject
of discipline. They trusted, that the vigorous spirit would find worthy
objects on which to employ its force; and that the first step towards a
resolute choice of such objects, was to shake off the meanness of a
solicitous and timorous mind.
Mankind, in general, have courted occasions to display their courage, and
frequently, in search of admiration, have presented a spectacle, which to
those who have ceased to regard fortitude on its own account, becomes a
subject of horror. Scevola held his arm in the fire, to shake the soul of
Porsenna. The savage inures his body to the torture, that in the hour of
trial he may exult over his enemy. Even the Mussulman tears his flesh to
win the heart of his mistress, and comes in gaiety streaming with blood, to
shew that he deserves her esteem. [Footnote: Letters of the Right
Honourable Lady Mary Wortley Montagu.]
Some nations carry the practice of inflicting, or of sporting with pain, to
a degree that is either cruel or absurd; others regard every prospect of
bodily suffering as the greatest of evils; and in the midst of their
troubles, embitter every real affliction, with the terrors of a feeble and
dejected imagination. We are not bound to answer for the follies of either,
nor, in treating a question which relates to the nature of man, make an
estimate of its strength or its weakness, from the habits or apprehensions
peculiar to any nation or age.