_Conclusion._
The anxiety with which I have endeavored to describe the advantages
and the disadvantages which, under particular circumstances, and in
particular situations, are likely to be experienced by those who devote
themselves to solitary retirement, may perhaps, occasion me to be viewed
by some as its romantic panegyrist, and by others as its uncandid censor.
I shall therefore endeavor, in this concluding chapter, to prevent a
misconstruction of my opinion, by explicitly declaring the inferences
which ought, in fairness, to be drawn from what I have said.
The advocates for a life of uninterrupted society will, in all
probability, accuse me of being a morose and gloomy philosopher; an
inveterate enemy to social intercourse; who, by recommending a melancholy
and sullen seclusion, and interdicting mankind from enjoying the
pleasures of life, would sour their tempers, subdue their affections,
annihilate the best feelings of the heart, pervert the noble faculty of
reason, and thereby once more plunge the world into that dark abyss of
barbarism, from which it has been so happily rescued by the establishment
and civilization of society.
The advocates for a life of continual solitude will most probably, on the
other hand, accuse me of a design to deprive the species of one of the
most pleasing and satisfactory delights, by exciting an unjust antipathy,
raising an unfounded alarm, depreciating the uses, and aggravating the
abuses, of solitude; and by these means endeavoring to encourage that
spirit of licentiousness and dissipation which so strongly mark the
degeneracy, and tend to promote the vices of the age.
The respective advocates for these opinions, however, equally mistake
the intent and view I had in composing this treatise. I do sincerely
assure them, that it was very far from my intention to cause a relaxation
of the exercise of any of the civil duties of life; to impair in any
degree, the social dispositions of the human heart; to lessen any
inclination to rational retirement: or to prevent the beneficent practice
of _self-communion_, which solitude is best calculated to promote.
The fine and generous philanthropy of that mind which, entertaining
notions of universal benevolence, seeks to feel a love for, and to
promote the good of, the whole human race, can never be injured by an
attachment to domestic pleasures, or by cultivating the soft and gentle
affections which are only to be found in the small circles of private
life, and can never be truly enjoyed, except in the bosom of love, or
the arms of friendship: nor will an occasional and rational retirement
from the tumults of the world lessen any of the noble sympathies of the
human heart: but on the contrary, by enlarging those ideas and feelings
which have sprung from the connexions and dependencies which its votary
may have formed with individuals, and by generalizing his particular
interests and concerns, may enable him to extend the _social principle_
and increase the circle of his benevolence.
God loves from whole to parts; but human soul
Must rise from _individual_ to _whole_.
Self love but serves the virtuous mind to wake,
As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake;
The centre mov’d, a circle straight succeeds;
Another still, and still another spreads;
Friend, parent, neighbor, first it will embrace;
His country next; and next, all human race.
The chief design of this work was, to exhibit the necessity of combining
the uses of solitude with those of society; to show, in the strongest
light, the advantages they may mutually derive from each other; to
convince mankind of the danger of running into either extreme; to teach
the advocate for uninterrupted society, how highly all the social virtues
may be improved, and its vices easily abandoned, by habits of solitary
abstraction; and the advocate for continual solitude, how much that
indocility and arrogance of character which is contracted by a total
absence from the world, may be corrected by the urbanity of society, and
by the company and conversation of the learned and polite.
Petrarch, while in the prime of life, and amidst the happiest exertions
of his extraordinary genius, quitted all the seducing charms of society,
and retired from love and Avignon, to indulge his mind in literary
pursuits, and to relieve his heart, from the unfortunate passion by which
it was enthralled. No situation, he conceived, was so favorable for these
purposes as the highly romantic and delightful solitude of Vaucluse. It
was situated within view of the Mediterranean sea, in a little valley,
inclosed by a semicircular barrier of rocks, on a plain as beautiful
as the vale of Tempe. The rocks were high, bold, and grotesque; and the
valley was divided by a river, along the banks of which were meadows
and pastures of a perpetual verdure. A path on the left side of the
river, led, by gentle windings, to the head of this vast amphitheatre.
At the foot of the highest rock, and directly in front of the valley,
was a prodigious cavern, hollowed by the hand of nature, from whence
arose a spring almost as celebrated as that of Helicon. The gloom of the
cavern, which was accessible when the waters were low, was tremendous.
It consisted of two excavations; the one forming an arch of sixty feet
high; and the other, which was within, of thirty feet. In the centre of
this subterraneous rock was an oval basin, of one hundred and eight feet
diameter, into which that copious stream which forms the river Sorgia
rises silently, without even a jet or bubble. The depth of this basin
has eluded all attempts to fathom it. In this charming retreat, while he
vainly endeavored, during a period of twenty years, to forget, he enabled
himself to endure the absence of his beloved Laura, and to compare,
with the highest satisfaction, the pure pleasures of rural retirement
with the false joys of a vicious and corrupted court, the manners and
principles of which, indeed, he had always had good sense enough to
discover and despise. But this solitude, with all its charms, could not
at length prevent him from returning to the more splendid and busy scenes
of public life. The advantages he had derived from a retreat of twenty
years, would, he conceived, enable him to mix with the world without the
danger of being corrupted by its vices; and after reasoning with himself
for some time in this way, he suddenly abandoned the peaceful privacy of
Vaucluse, and precipitated himself into the gayest and most active scenes
of a luxurious city. The inhabitants of Avignon were amazed to behold
the hermit of Vaucluse, the tender fugitive from love, the philosophic
contemner of society, who could scarcely exist, except in the midst of
romantic rocks and flowery forests, shining all at once the bright star
of the fashionable hemisphere, and the choice spirit of every private and
public entertainment.
We’re sadly ignorant, when we hope to find
In shades a med’cine for a troubled mind;
Wan grief will haunt us wheresoe’er we go,
Sigh in the breeze, and in the streamlet flow:
There pale inaction pines his life away,
And satiate, curses the return of day;
There love, insatiate, rages wild with pain,
Endures the blast, or plunges in the main;
There superstition broods o’er all her fears
And yells of demons in the zephyr hears
He who a hermit is resolv’d to dwell,
And bids a social life a long farewell,
Is impious.
It has already been observed, upon the authority of a very accurate and
profound observer of nature, that a very extraordinary temperament of
mind and constitution of body are required to sustain, with tranquillity
and endurance, the various fatigues of continued solitude; and certain
it is, that a human creature who is constantly pent up in seclusion,
must, if he be not of a very exalted character, soon become melancholy
and miserable. Happiness, like every other valuable quality, cannot be
completely possessed, without encountering many dangers, and conquering
many difficulties. The prize is great, but the task is arduous. A healthy
body, and vigorous mind, are as essentially necessary to the enterprise,
as equal courage and fortitude are to its success. The bold adventurer,
who, destitute of these resources, quits the bays and harbors of society,
shallow, rocky, and dangerous, as they undoubtedly are, and commits
himself to the wild and expansive sea of solitude, will sink into its
deep and disastrous bed without a hold to save him from destruction. The
few instances we have already given, to which many more might easily be
added, furnish unequivocal testimony of the truth of this grand precept,
_it is not good for man to be alone_: which was given by the great Author
of nature, and imprinted in characters sufficiently legible on the human
heart.
God never made a solitary man:
’Twould jar the concord of his general plan.
Should man through nature solitary roam,
His will his sovereign, every where his home,
What force would guard him from the lion’s jaw?
What swiftness save him from the panther’s paw?
Or should fate lead him to some safer shore,
Where panthers never prowl, nor lions roar,
Where liberal nature all her charms bestows,
Suns shine, birds sing, flowers bloom, and water flows,
Still discontented, though such glories shone
He’d sigh and murmur to be there alone.
Content cannot be procured, except by social intercourse, or a judicious
communion with those whom congenial tastes, and similar talent and
dispositions, point out for our companions. The civilization of man,
from whence the species derive such happy consequences, results entirely
from a proper management of the _social principles_; even the source
of his support, the melioration of the otherwise rude and unprofitable
earth, can only be attained by social combination. How erroneous a
notion, therefore, must the minds of those men have formed of “their
being’s end and aim,” and how strong must their antipathies to the
species be, who like a certain celebrated French hermit, would choose a
station among the craters of Vesuvius, as a place which afforded them
greater security than the society of mankind! The idea of being able
to produce our own happiness from the stores of amusement and delight
which we ourselves may possess, independently of all communication
with, or assistance from others, is certainly extremely flattering to
the natural pride of man; but even if this were possible, and that a
solitary enthusiast could work up his feelings to a higher and more
lasting degree of felicity, than an active inhabitant of the world, amid
all its seducing vices and enchanting follies, is capable of enjoying,
it would not follow that society is not the province of all those whom
peculiar circumstances have not unfitted for its duties and enjoyments.
It is, indeed, a false and deceitful notion, that a purer stream of
happiness is to be found in the delightful bowers of solitude than in
the busy walks of men. Neither of these stations enjoy exclusively this
envied stream: for it flows along the vale of peace, which lies between
the two extremes; and those who follow it with a steady pace, without
deviating too widely from its brink on either side, will reach its
source, and taste it at its spring. But devious, to a certain degree,
must be the walk; for the enjoyments of life are best attained by being
varied with judgment and discretion. The finest joys grow nauseous to
the taste when the cup of pleasure is drained to its dregs. The highest
delight loses its attraction by too frequent recurrence. It is only by a
proper mixture and combination of the pleasures of society with those of
solitude, of the gay and lively recreations of the world with the serene
and tranquil satisfactions of retirement, that we can enjoy each in its
highest relish. Life is intolerable without society; and society loses
half its charms by being too eagerly and constantly pursued. Society,
indeed, by bringing men of congenial minds and similar dispositions
together, uniting them by a community of pursuits, and a reciprocal
sympathy of interests, may greatly assist the cause of truth and virtue,
by advancing the means of human knowledge and multiplying the ties of
human affections; and so far as the festive board, the lively dance,
the brilliant coterie, and other elegant and fashionable pastimes,
contribute to these ends, they are truly valuable, and deserve, not only
encouragement, but approbation. On this principle, the various clubs
which are formed by artizans, and other inferior orders in society, ought
to be respected. The mind, in order to preserve its useful activity
and proper tone, must be occasionally relaxed, which cannot be so
beneficially effected as by means of associations founded on the pursuit
of common pleasure. A friendly meeting, or a social entertainment,
exhilarates the spirits, exercises the faculties of the mind; calls
forth the feelings of the heart, and creates, when properly formed and
indulged, a reciprocity of kindness, confidence, and esteem. It softens
the severity of virtue, while it strengthens and enforces its effects.
I therefore sincerely exhort my disciples not to absent themselves
morosely from public places, nor to avoid the social throng; which
cannot fail to afford to judicious, rational, and feeling minds, many
subjects both of amusement and instruction. It is true, that we cannot
relish the pleasures, and taste the advantages of society, without being
able to give a patient hearing to the tongue of folly, to excuse error,
to bear with infirmity, to view mediocrity of talents without scorn,
and illiberality of sentiment without retort; to indulge frivolity of
behavior, and even to forgive rudeness of manners: but the performance of
these conditions meets with its own reward; for it is scarcely credible,
how very much our own tempers and dispositions are meliorated, and our
understandings improved, by bearing with the different tempers, and
humoring the perverse dispositions of others; we experience by such a
conduct the high delight of pleasing others, and the great advantage of
improving ourselves.
Delightful, however, as social pleasures naturally are to the human
mind; necessary as they certainly are, under proper regulations, to the
preservation of the spirits; and beneficial as they may undoubtedly be
rendered, by judicious choice and wise reflection, it is not every person
who withdraws himself from the highly colored scenes of public life,
to the shades of privacy and retirement, that deserves the imputation
generally cast on such characters, of being inclined to sullenness and
misanthropy. There are many who seek the retreats of solitude, for the
very purpose of rendering their efforts more useful to society; many
who relinquish the endearments of private friendship, and the applauses
of public approbation, only the more nobly to deserve them; and many,
whose souls are so bitterly tormented by the anguish of misfortune,
and the sickness of sorrow, that they find no relief from society, and
recede from its scenes to avoid giving disturbance to that gayety which
they are incapable of enjoying, and to prevent their fractious feelings
from molesting any but themselves. There are others who retire from the
world to pursue objects the most glorious to the individual, and most
useful to mankind; the attainment of which can only be hoped for from the
advantages which solitude affords. Glowing with a sublime and generous
spirit, they sacrifice the joys of life, the charms of society, and even
the advantages of health, to show their attachment to the species; and,
immured from the sight of this world, toil, with indefatigable industry,
for its benefit, without expecting any other reward than the satisfaction
resulting from the sense of having promoted the interest, and advanced
the happiness of their fellow creatures. So also,
Sage reflection, bent with years;
Conscious virtue, void of fears;
Muffled silence, wood-nymph shy;
Meditation’s piercing eye;
Halcyon peace on moss reclin’d;
Retrospect, that sears the mind;
Rapt, earth-gazing reverie;
Blushing, artless modesty;
Health, that snuffs the morning air;
Full-ey’d truth, with bosom bare;
Inspiration, nature’s child,
Seek the solitary wild.
The state of the mind, if properly consulted, will discover whether
solitude may be safely indulged. The bosom that, amidst the gay delights
and luxurious pleasures of the world, feels a rising discontent and
uneasiness, may try the retreats of solitude without danger: and if,
after a certain period, an attachment to its mild and tranquil scenes
continues, and the heart enjoys that quietude and content which it
before so vainly wished to experience, society may be advantageously
relinquished. The patient may, under such circumstances, safely indulge
the natural inclinations of the mind, and gratify the habitual feelings
of his heart: he may then exclaim in the language of the poet,
“Oh! snatch me swift from those tumultuous scenes,
To lonely groves and sweetly verdant greens,
To where religion, peace, and comfort dwell,
And cheer with heavenly rays the lonely cell:
To where no ruffling winds, no raging seas,
Disturb the mind amidst its pensive ease:
Each passion calm; where mild affections shine,
The soul-enjoying quietude divine:
Unknown in private or in public strife,
Soft sailing down the placid stream of life:
Aw’d by no terrors, by no cares perplex’d;
My life a gentle passage to the next.”
But when that delightful tranquillity of mind, which an excess of social
pleasure has impaired or destroyed, is not restored to its original
purity by the uninterrupted quietude of seclusion, it may fairly be
concluded, that there is some natural and constitutional defect, that
defeats the remedy, and prevents the soul from tasting that serenity
which is so essential to the enjoyment of human happiness. Under such
circumstances it is dangerous to indulge the pleasures of solitude; the
sufferer should fly back to society; cultivate the duties of active life,
and solicit, with temperate indulgence, its more agreeable enjoyments.
For, although the pleasures and occupations of the world cannot eradicate
this species of intellectual disease, they may, by being judiciously
followed, suspend its progress, and alleviate its pangs. That case must
always be desperate, when the antidote is too weak to reach the poison,
or to counteract its operation. A pious resignation to his fate can alone
afford relief.
“Oh! as it pleases thee, thou Power Supreme,
To drive my bark thro’ life’s more rapid stream,
If lowering storms my destin’d course attend,
And ocean rage ’til this black voyage shall end,
Let ocean rage, and storms indignant roar,
I bow submissive and resign’d adore:
Resign’d adore, in various changes tri’d;
Thy own lov’d Son my anchor and my guide:
Resign’d adore, whate’er thy will decree;
My faith in Jesus, and my hope in Thee;
And humbly wait ’til, through a sea of woes,
I reach the wish’d-for harbor of repose.”
There are, however, circumstances under which it is absolutely necessary
to retire from the world, in order to avoid the recurrence of sentiments
and feelings that are pregnant with unhappiness. To a mind that feels
unconquerable disgust of the manners and maxims of a world which it
cannot reform; to a heart that turns with horror from the various sights
the world exhibits of human wo, which he is incapable of relieving;
to a bosom that is stung by the various vices which he cannot prevent
or restrain, and which are hourly practised among the sons of men,
retirement becomes an obligation which the justice that every good
man owes to his own felicity demands. The impulse of solitude may in
such cases be conscientiously indulged, in the firmest confidence of
its rectitude. It is a retreat necessary to the preservation, not only
of happiness but of virtue; and the world itself may be benefited by
its effects. Removed from the sad scenes of inactivity, wretchedness,
and guilt, the tender feelings of pity are regulated with composure;
the mind views its own operations with nicer discrimination; the high
sense of virtue is rendered less indignant; and the hatred against vice
more temperate and discerning. The violent emotions which created the
disgusting pain gently subside; and as our reflections on the condition
of human nature prevail, the soul feels how incumbent it is to endeavor
to bear with the follies, to alleviate the miseries, and to reform the
vices of mankind; while the leisure and quietude which solitude affords,
enables a man, who has thus retired, to point out the most likely means
of accomplishing the ends which his lonely meditation, and philanthropic
feelings, have generally inspired.
“With aspect mild, and elevated eye,
Behold him seated on a mount serene,
Above the fogs of sense, and passion’s storm.
All the black cares and tumults of this life,
Like harmless thunder breaking at his feet,
Excite his pity, nor impair his peace.
Earth’s genuine sons, the sceptred and the slave,
A mingled mob! a wandering herd! he sees,
Bewilder’d in the vale; in all unlike,
His full reverse in all! What higher praise
What stronger demonstration of the right?
Himself too much he prizes to be proud,
And nothing thinks so great in man as man.
Too dear he holds man’s interest to neglect
Another’s welfare, or his right invade.
Wrong he sustains with temper, looks on heav’n,
Nor stoops to think his injurer his foe;
But looks with gentle pity round, to find
How he can best relieve another’s wo,
Or hush the vicious passions into peace.”
Those who have passed their lives in the domestic privacies of
retirement; who have been only used to the soft and gentle offices of
friendship, and to the tender endearments of love; who have formed their
notion of virtue from those bright images which the purity of religion,
the perfection of moral sentiments, and the feelings of an affectionate
heart, have planted in their minds, are too apt to yield to the
abhorrence and disgust they must unavoidably feel on a first view of the
artificial manners and unblushing vices of the world. Issuing from the
calm retreats of simplicity and innocence, and fondly hoping to meet with
more enlarged perfection in the world, their amiable, just and benevolent
dispositions are shocked at the sour severities, the sordid selfishness,
the gross injustice, the base artifices, and the inhuman cruelties,
which deform the fairest features of social life, and disgrace the best
famed fabric of human polity. Revolting, however, as this disappointment
must certainly be, and grievously as the feelings of such characters be
wounded on their entering the world, it is a cowardly desertion of their
duty to shrink from the task, and withdraw their services from their
fellow creatures. Constituted as society is, human happiness, and the
improvement of the species, materially depend upon the active concurrence
of every individual in the general scheme of nature; and the man who
withholds his assistance to promote the public good, loosens or destroys
a link in that chain of things, by which the whole is intended to be kept
together and preserved. The doctrine, therefore cannot be too forcibly
inculcated, that is indispensably incumbent on every individual so to
accommodate himself to the manners of his contemporaries, and the temper
of the times, that he may have an opportunity of promoting the happiness
of others, while he increases, his own; of extending the scale of human
knowledge by his social industry; of relieving distress by his bounty;
and of exhibiting the deformities of vice, and the beauties of virtue,
both by his precept and example. And this sacred obligation, by which
every good man feels himself so firmly bound to promote the welfare and
happiness of his fellow creatures, of course enjoins him to shun, with
equal perseverance, the giddy multitude in their pursuits of lawless
pleasure, and to avoid the thoughtless votaries, and baneful orgies, of
wit, intemperance, and sensual debauchery. This is best effected by every
individual forming a rational scheme of domestic enjoyment, and engaging
in some useful occupation, in which neither the frivolous pursuits of the
vainly busy, the ostentatious parade of the richly proud, the faithless
pleasures of the unthinking gay, the insatiable anxieties of avarice, nor
the distracting compunctions of vice, shall form any part; but in which,
with a few amiable and faithful friends, he shall pass the intervals of
virtuous industry, or charitable exertion, in the bosom of a fond and
cheerful family, whose mutual endearments and affections will confer on
each other the highest happiness human nature is capable of enjoying.
Active in indolence, abroad who roam
In quest of happiness, which dwells at home,
With vain pursuits fatigued, at length will find
Its real dwelling is a virtuous mind.
Retirement, however, when it is not inconsistent with our duties to
society, or injurious to those family interests which it is one of our
principal foundations of happiness to promote, is capable of producing
the most beneficial effects on our minds. The self-communion which must
accompany a wise and rational solitude, not only fosters and confirms our
virtuous inclinations, but detects and expels those latent vices which
have secretly crept into and corrupted the heart. It induces a habit of
contemplation, which invigorates the faculties of the soul; raises them
to the highest energies, and directs them to purposes more elevated and
noble than it was possible for them, amidst the business and pleasures
of public life, to attain. It tends, indeed, to unfold the powers of the
mind to so great an extent, that we are ashamed of having thought that
our talents were confined within the limits we had prescribed, and blush
at the ignorance and cowardice by which we were deceived. The activity of
genius is unlimited, and the measure of its effects depends entirely upon
a steady exertion of its powers. A courageous and persevering industry
is capable of surmounting every difficulty, and of performing the
highest achievements. A sense of intellectual weakness so far from being
indulged, ought to be combated with fortitude and resolution, until
it is completely destroyed. The human mind, like a noble tree, extends
its branches widely round, and raises them to the skies, in proportion
as the soil on which it grows is more or less cultivated and manured:
but not being fixed to any certain spot, its growth may be improved to
any size, by transplanting it to the soil in which it most delights to
dwell. By that firm reliance on its natural strength, that indefatigable
exertion of its improved powers, that steady observance of its successful
operations, that warm and active zeal for excellence to which it is
invited by the advantages, and encouraged by the opportunities, which
seclusion affords, it will ascend from one stage of improvement to
another, from acquisition to acquisition; and, by a gradual and steady
progress, reach a comprehensive elevation, as great and surprising as it
was once thought visionary and unattainable. To these sublime and noble
effects of human intellect, solitude is the sincerest guide and most
powerful auxiliary; and he who aspires to mental and moral excellence,
whose soul is anxious to become both great and good, will, of course,
seek its inspiring shades.
Solitude, indeed, under any circumstances, can only become injurious
by being carried to excess, or by being misapplied; and what is there
that will not, by being abused, or misapplied, be rendered equally
injurious? The highest advantages society is capable of conferring, the
loftiest flights of fancy, the best affections of the heart, the greatest
strength of body, the happiest activity of the mind, the elements of fire
and water, the blessings of liberty, and, in short, all the excellent
gifts of Providence, as well as all the ingenious contrivances of man,
may, by these means be perverted, their uses destroyed, their ends and
objects defeated, and their operations and effects rendered extensively
mischievous and detrimental.
The general disadvantages which solitude is certainly capable of
producing, cannot be lessened by conceding to its adversaries, that it
is, when sought under unfavorable circumstances, inauspicious to human
happiness. It would be overstepping the sacred boundaries of truth, and
violating the rights of candor, not to admit that irrational solitude
frequently overclouds the reason, contracts the understanding, vitiates
the manners, inflames the passions, corrupts the imagination, sours
the temper, and debases the whole character of its votaries. Nor is it
necessary to deny, that many of them instead of employing the delightful
leisure which retirement affords, to hush the jarring passions, to
chastise the fancy, to elevate and adorn the mind, and to reform and
meliorate the heart, have been too often occupied in the most frivolous
pursuits, and in the indulgence of the most sordid and criminal desires.
But these instances in which the pure and peaceful retreats of solitude
have been tainted and disturbed by the vicious and turbulent desires of
the world, only demonstrate the infirm, corrupt, and imperfect nature
of the species, and not in the smallest degree, depreciate the value of
those high advantages which result from occasional and well regulated
solitude.
It is said, by a celebrated German writer, in a poetical personification
of solitude, that she holds in one hand a cup of bliss, in which she
presents unceasing sweets to the lips of the happy; and in the other
grasps an envenomed dagger, which she plants with increasing tortures in
the bosom of the wretched; but this must be considered as the language
of the muse, and mere flight of poetic fancy; except, indeed, so far as
it tends to enforce the idea, that virtue will always be happy, and vice
forever miserable; for retirement, while it pours the balm of comfort
into the aching bosom of the unfortunate, and offers a cordial, cheering
as nectar, to the drooping spirits of the wise and virtuous, only
operates as a corrosive, agonizing poison, on the constitutions of the
weak and vicious.
It is a gross mistake, to suppose that the pleasures of social life are
incompatible with the benefits to be derived from solitude. They may not
only be intermingled with, but made mutually to aid and augment each
other. Solitude may surely be enjoyed without undergoing an exile from
the world; and society may be freely mixed with, without absolutely
renouncing the pleasures of retirement. The circumstances of life,
indeed, call loudly on every mind to interchange the pursuits of activity
and scenes of quietude and repose. The alliance of solitude and society
is necessary to the perfection not only of the intellectual character,
but to the corporeal constitution of man. To conclude that the duties of
life must necessarily be neglected by devoting a portion of our time to
solitude, is much more erroneous than to conclude that those duties are
not always fulfilled amidst the pleasures or business of society.
Daily observation proves most clearly, that many of the charms, and some
of the benefits, of rural retreat, may be enjoyed without retiring to
any very considerable distance from the metropolis, the seat of social
joys and interested activity. Petrarch, during his residence in the city
of Parma, though extremely flattered by the friendship shown him, was
glad to steal from public life as often as he could, and to indulge the
high delight he naturally felt in wandering through the fields and woods
which surrounded the metropolis. One day, led by his love of exercise,
he passed the river of Lenza, which is three miles from Parma, and found
himself in the territory of Rhegio, in a forest which is called Sylva
Plana, or Low Wood: though it is situated upon a hill, from whence are
discovered the Alps, and all Cisalpine Gaul. Aged oaks, whose heads
seemed to touch the clouds, sheltered the avenues of the forest from
the rays of the sun: while the fresh breezes which descended from the
neighboring mountains, and the little rivulets which brawled along its
skirts, tempered the meridian heats of the day, and preserved to the
earth, even in the greatest droughts, a soft verdure, enamelled with the
finest flowers. Birds of every kind warbled forth their rural songs from
the thick coverts, while deer, and every animal of the chase, sported
through the purlieus. In the middle of this beautiful forest nature had
formed a romantic theatre, which, from its enchanting decorations, she
seemed to have designed for the residence of the muses. The charms
of this delightful retreat struck the mind of Petrarch with a sort of
inspiration, and revived so strongly his original taste for solitude
that on his return to Parma, he endeavored to procure some spot near
the environs of the city, to which he might occasionally retire from
the fatigues of his archdeaconry, and indulge his mind in the blessings
of innocence, and the delights of rural repose. The industry of his
inquiries soon furnished him with a small cottage, exactly suited to his
wishes, situated at the end of the city, near the abbey of St. Anthony.
To this place he fondly and frequently retired, whenever he could escape
from the duties of his church, and the invitations of his friends. The
superiority of his talents had at this time attracted the attention
and applause of mankind; and his engaging manners secured to him the
respect and esteem of the nobles of Parma, who besieged him with the
most friendly and flattering importunities to partake of their daily
parties of pleasure. Petrarch, however, had formed notions of happiness
very foreign to those which result from the society of luxurious lords
or fashionable females, to whom, in general poetry afforded no delight,
nor philosophy instruction; and the companions to whom he could afford
neither amusement nor information, were not likely to afford him much
satisfaction. The quiet and simple pleasures of retirement were more
delightful to his mind than all the elegances and splendors of Parma; but
this partiality to retirement did not induce him to renounce the rational
society which a few select friends, with whom he had closely connected
himself, was occasionally capable of affording him. “So conveniently,”
says he, “is this delightful cottage situated, that I enjoy all the
advantages of rural retirement, and yet retain within my reach all the
pleasures with which this gay and elegant city abounds. The society of
a few select friends recreates my mind whenever it is distracted by the
anxieties of study, or stagnated by the stilness of solitude; and when
I am satiated with the pleasures of the town, I fly with rapture to the
sweet repose, and to all the interesting and endearing occupations of
this charming retreat. Oh! may the kindness of fortune long indulge me
in the enjoyment of this neutral state; this happy alternation of rural
tranquillity and convivial solace! a state of felicity to which neither
the anchorites of Egypt, nor the philosophers of Greece, ever attained.
In this humble abode, let me quietly pass the remainder of my days,
unseduced by the charms of greatness, and uninterrupted by the pleasures
of the world. Fly, all ye vain delusions and fantastic dreams, from
this cottage of content, and seek your native territories, the palaces
of princes, and the altars of ambition!” The voice of wisdom and virtue
calls aloud on every man to adopt the scheme of happiness which Petrarch
so successfully practised. By thus dividing our time between the busy
cares and innocent amusements of public life, and the studious and
tranquil pleasures of retirement, between the gay pursuits of personal
gratifications, and the more noble and elevated exercises of intellect,
we may avoid the dangers of contracting, on the one hand, a passion for
light and frivolous dissipation, and on the other a joyless disposition
to misanthropic severity; and may shun the most, if not all the evil
consequences which either solitude or society is capable of producing,
which when indulged irrationally, or indiscreetly, in general prove the
Scylla or Charybdis of our lives.
These are the observations which it has occurred to me to make upon the
advantages or disadvantages with which those important means of human
happiness are respectively pregnant. I can truly say, that I have felt,
whenever the cares of life, and the duties of my profession, have allowed
me leisure to retire, the most sublime and satisfactory enjoyment from
solitude; and I sincerely wish that every one who is disposed to taste
it, may receive the same comfort and pleasure from its charms. But I
exhort them, while they enjoy the sacred blessings of repose, not to
neglect the social virtues, the consolations of friendship, or the
endearments of love; but so manage the wants of nature, and arrange
the business and concerns of life, as to find an adequate portion of
leisure for the noble duties of retirement, as well as for company and
conversation of the world. May they in short, enjoy the admiration
and esteem of their friends, and a complacent approbation of their
own conduct, without losing that relish for the pleasures of rational
retirement, by which alone these high advantages are most likely to be
gained.
To love all mankind, and to promote, to the utmost of our power, the
happiness of all those with whom we are more intimately connected, is
the highest injunction both of morality and religion. But this important
duty certainly does not require that we should surrender ourselves with
servile obedience, or abject submission, to any one, however superior
he may be, either in talents, in station, or in merit. On the contrary,
it is the duty of every one, not only to cultivate the inclination, but
to reserve the power of retiring occasionally from the world, without
indulging a disposition to renounce its society or contemn its manners.
While we assert, with manly resolution, the independent spirit of human
nature, our happiness may be considerably augmented, by extracting from
the multitudinous affairs of the world, the various enjoyments and wise
instructions it is capable of affording. Society is the school of wisdom,
and solitude the temple of virtue. In the one we learn the art of living
with comfort among our fellow creatures, and in the other, of living
with quietude by ourselves. A total retreat from the world would place
us aside from that part which Providence chiefly intended us to act; but
without occasional retreat it is certain that we must act that part very
ill. There will be neither consistency in the conduct, nor dignity in the
character, of one who sets apart no share of his time for meditation and
reflection. “In the heat and bustle of life,” says an eloquent preacher,
“while passion is every moment throwing false colors on the objects
around us, nothing can be viewed in a just light. If you wish that reason
should exert her native power, you must step aside from the crowd into
the cold and silent shade. It is thus that with sober and steady eye
she examines what is good or ill, what is wise or foolish, in human
conduct: she looks back on the past; she looks forward to a future: and
forms plans not for the present moment only, but for the whole life. How
should that man discharge any part of his duty aright, who never suffers
his passions to cool? And how should his passions cool, who is engaged,
without interruption, in the tumults of the world? This incessant stir
may be called the _perpetual drunkenness of life_. It raises that eager
fermentation of spirit, which will be ever sending forth the dangerous
fumes of rashness and folly. Whereas he who mingles rational retreat
with worldly affairs, remains calm and master of himself. He is not
whirled round, and rendered giddy by the agitation of the world: but from
that sacred retirement, in which he has been conversant among higher
objects, comes forth into the world with manly tranquillity, fortified by
principles which he has formed, and prepared for whatever may befal.”
Sweet solitude! when life’s gay hours are past,
Howe’er we range, in thee we fix at last.
Tossed through tempestuous seas, the voyage o’er,
Pale we look back and bless the friendly shore.
Our own strict judges, our past life we scan
And ask if glory hath enlarged the span;
If bright the prospect we the grave defy,
Trust future ages, and contented die.
THE END.
FOOTNOTES
[1] Dissertatio Physiologica de irritabilitate quam publice defendet.
Joh. Georgius Zimmerman. Goett. 4to. 1751.
[2] The following is a correct list of his writings, in the order in
which they appear to have been published:
1. Dissertatio Inauguralis de Irritabilitate, 4to. Gottingen,
1751.
2. The life of Professor Haller, 8vo. Zurich, 1755.
3. Thoughts on the earthquake which was felt on the 9th of
December, 1755, in Swisserland, 4to. 1756.
4. The Subversion of Lisbon, a Poem, 4to. 1776.
5. Meditations on Solitude, 8vo. 1756.
6. Essay on National Pride, 8vo. Zurich, 1764.
7. Treatise on Experience in Physic, 8vo. Zurich, 1764.
8. Treatise on the Dysentery, 8vo. Zurich, 1767.
9. Essay on Solitude, 4to. 1773.
10. Essay on Lavator’s Phisiognomy. Hanover, 1778.
11. Essays, consisting of agreeable and instructive Tales, 8vo.
1779.
12. Conversations with the king of Prussia.
13. Treatise on Frederick the Great, 1788.
14. Select views of the Life, Reign and Character of Frederick
the Great.
15. A variety of works published in the Helvetic Journal and in
the Journals of the Physiological Society at Zurich.
16. A Work on Zoology.
[3] The king only survived the departure of his physician five weeks; he
died on the 11th of August, 1786.
[4] Hœnigsberg.