Fereoe libenter homines id quod volunt credunt. CAESAR.
Men willingly believe what they wish to be true.
TULLY has long ago observed, that no man,
however weakened by long life, is so conscious
of his own decrepitude, as not to imagine that he
may yet hold his station in the world for another year.
Of the truth of this remark every day furnishes new
confirmation: there is no time of life, in which men
for the most part seem less to expect the stroke of
death, than when every other eye sees it impending;
or are more busy in providing for another year,
than when it is plain to all but themselves, that at
another year they cannot arrive. Though every
funeral that passes before their eyes evinces the
deceitfulness of such expectations, since every man who is
born to the grave thought himself equally certain of
living at least to the next year; the survivor still
continues to flatter himself, and is never at a loss for
some reason why his life should be protracted, and
the voracity of death continue to be pacified with
some other prey.
But this is only one of the innumerable artifices
practised in the universal conspiracy of mankind
against themselves: every age and every condition
indulges some darling fallacy; every man amuses
himself with projects which he knows to be improbable,
and which, therefore, he resolves to pursue
without daring to examine them. Whatever any man
ardently desires, he very readily believes that he shall
some time attain: he whose intemperance has
overwhelmed him with diseases, while he languishes in
the spring, expects vigour and recovery from the
summer sun; and while he melts away in the summer,
transfers his hopes to the frosts of winter: he
that gazes upon elegance or pleasure, which want of
money hinders him from imitating or partaking,
comforts himself that the time of distress will soon
be at an end, and that every day brings him nearer
to a state of happiness; though he knows it has passed
not only without acquisition of advantage, but perhaps
without endeavours after it, in the formation
of schemes that cannot be executed, and in the
contemplation of prospects which cannot be approached.
Such is the general dream in which we all slumber
out our time: every man thinks the day coming, in
which he shall be gratified with all his wishes, in
which he shall leave all those competitors behind,
who are now rejoicing like himself in the expectation
of victory; the day is always coming to the servile
in which they shall be powerful, to the obscure
in which they shall be eminent, and to the deformed
in which they shall be beautiful.
If any of my readers has looked with so little
attention on the world about him, as to imagine this
representation exaggerated beyond probability, let
him reflect a little upon his own life; let him
consider what were his hopes and prospects ten years
ago, and what additions he then expected to be made
by ten years to his happiness; those years are now
elapsed; have they made good the promise that was
extorted from them? have they advanced his fortune,
enlarged his knowledge, or reformed his conduct,
to the degree that was once expected? I am
afraid, every man that recollects his hopes must
confess his disappointment; and own that day has glided
unprofitably after day, and that he is still at the same
distance from the point of happiness.
With what consolations can those, who have thus
miscarried in their chief design, elude the memory
of their ill success? with what amusements can they
pacify their discontent, after the loss of so large a
portion of life? they can give themselves up again
to the same delusions, they can form new schemes
of airy gratifications, and fix another period of
felicity; they can again resolve to trust the promise
which they know will be broken, they can walk in a
circle with their eyes shut, and persuade themselves
to think that they go forward.
Of every great and complicated event, part
depends upon causes out of our power, and part must
be effected by vigour and perseverance. With regard
to that which is styled in common language the
work of chance, men will always find reasons for
confidence or distrust, according to their different
tempers or inclinations; and he that has been long
accustomed to please himself with possibilities of
fortuitous happiness, will not easily or willingly be
reclaimed from his mistake. But the effects of human
industry and skill are more easily subjected to
calculation: whatever can be completed in a year, is
divisible into parts, of which each may be performed
in the compass of a day; he, therefore, that has
passed the day without attention to the task assigned
him, may be certain, that the lapse of life
has brought him no nearer to his object; for
whatever idleness may expect from time, its produce
will be only in proportion to the diligence with
which it has been used. He that floats lazily down
the stream, in pursuit of something borne along by
the same current, will find himself indeed move
forward; but unless he lays his hand to the oar, and
increases his speed by his own labour, must be always
at the same distance from that which he is
following.
There have happened in every age some
contingencies of unexpected and undeserved success, by
which those who are determined to believe whatever
favours their inclinations, have been encouraged
to delight themselves with future advantages; they
support confidence by considerations, of which the
only proper use is to chase away despair: it is equally
absurd to sit down in idleness because some have
been enriched without labour, as to leap a precipice
because some have fallen and escaped with life, or
to put to sea in a storm because some have been
driven from a wreck upon the coast to which they
are bound.
We are all ready to confess, that belief ought to
be proportioned to evidence or probability: let any
man, therefore, compare the number of those who
have been thus favoured by fortune, and of those
who have failed of their expectations, and he will
easily determine, with what justness he has registered
himself in the lucky catalogue.
But there is no need on these occasions for deep
inquiries or laborious calculations; there is a far
easier method of distinguishing the hopes of folly
from those of reason, of finding the difference
between prospects that exist before the eyes, and
those that are only painted on a fond imagination.
Tom Drowsy had accustomed himself to compute
the profit of a darling project till he had no longer
any doubt of its success; it was at last matured by
close consideration, all the measures were accurately
adjusted, and he wanted only five hundred pounds
to become master of a fortune that might be envied
by a director of a trading company. Tom was
generous and grateful, and was resolved to
recompense this small assistance with an ample fortune;
he, therefore, deliberated for a time, to whom
amongst his friends he should declare his necessities;
not that he suspected a refusal, but because
he could not suddenly determine which of them
would make the best use of riches, and was,
therefore, most worthy of his favour. At last his choice
was settled; and knowing that in order to borrow
he must shew the probability of repayment, he
prepared for a minute and copious explanation of his
project. But here the golden dream was at an end:
he soon discovered the impossibility of imposing
upon others the notions by which he had so long
imposed upon himself; which way soever he turned
his thoughts, impossibility and absurdity arose in
opposition on every side; even credulity and prejudice
were at last forced to give way, and he grew
ashamed of crediting himself what shame would
not suffer him to communicate to another.
To this test let every man bring his imaginations,
before they have been too long predominant in his
mind. Whatever is true will bear to be related,
whatever is rational will endure to be explained;
but when we delight to brood in secret over future
happiness, and silently to employ our meditations
upon schemes of which we are conscious that the
bare mention would expose us to derision and
contempt; we should then remember, that we are
cheating ourselves by voluntary delusions; and
giving up to the unreal mockeries of fancy, those hours
in which solid advantages might be attained by
sober thought and rational assiduity.
There is, indeed, so little certainty in human
affairs, that the most cautious and severe examiner
may be allowed to indulge some hopes which he
cannot prove to be much favoured by probability;
since, after his utmost endeavours to ascertain events,
he must often leave the issue in the hands of chance.
And so scanty is our present allowance of happiness,
that in many situations life could scarcely be
supported, if hope were not allowed to relieve the
present hour by pleasures borrowed from futurity;
and reanimate the languor of dejection to new
efforts, by pointing to distant regions of felicity, which
yet no resolution or perseverance shall ever reach.
But these, like all other cordials, though they may
invigorate in a small quantity, intoxicate in a greater;
these pleasures, like the rest, are lawful only in
certain circumstances, and to certain degrees; they may
be useful in a due subserviency to nobler purposes,
but become dangerous and destructive when once
they gain the ascendant in the heart: to soothe the
mind to tranquillity by hope, even when that hope
is likely to deceive us, may be sometimes useful;
but to lull our faculties in a lethargy is poor and
despicable.
Vices and errours are differently modified,
according to the state of the minds to which they are
incident; to indulge hope beyond the warrant of
reason, is the failure alike of mean and elevated
understandings; but its foundation and its effects are
totally different: the man of high courage and great
abilities is apt to place too much confidence in
himself, and to expect, from a vigorous exertion of his
powers, more than spirit or diligence can attain:
between him and his wish he sees obstacles indeed, but
he expects to overleap or break them; his mistaken
ardour hurries him forward; and though, perhaps,
he misses his end, he nevertheless obtains some
collateral good, and performs something useful to
mankind, and honourable to himself.
The drone of timidity presumes likewise to hope,
but without ground and without consequence; the
bliss with which he solaces his hours he always
expects from others, though very often he knows not
from whom: he folds his arms about him, and sits
in expectation of some revolution in the state that
shall raise him to greatness, or some golden shower
that shall load him with wealth; he dozes away the
day in musing upon the morrow; and at the end of
life is roused from his dream only to discover that
the time of action is past, and that he can now shew
his wisdom only by repentance.
No. 74. SATURDAY, JULY 21, 1753
Insansientis dum sapientiae
Consultus erro.---- HOR. Lib. i. Od. xxxiv. 2.
I missed my end, and lost my way
By crack-brain'd wisdom led astray.