FRIENDSHIP,[1]
AN ESSAY.
Solem e mundo tollere videntur, qui amicitiam a vitâ tollunt; quâ a
Diis immortalibus, nihil melius, nihil jucundius, habemus.
_Cicero de Amicitia_.
[Footnote 1: When New York was in possession of the English during the
war of the revolution, the officers, to relieve the monotony of a
garrison life, established a society in which some subject of a
literary character was discussed at every meeting. Before this society
was read this essay, by Mr. Gilchrist—which we print from his original
MS. Of their author, personally, we know little, except that he was
not an officer in either the army or navy, nor a member of either of
the learned professions, although a gentleman of literary taste and
extensive acquirements. Henry K. White, in a letter to his brother
Neville, mentions a Mr. Gilchrist as one of the contributors to the
“Monthly Mirror,” with Capel Lofft, Robert Bloomfield and others. If
Mr. G. returned to England he was probably the author of most of the
articles in the Monthly Mirror over the signature of _Octavius_. Judge
Hoffman and Mr. Dunlap of New York, may be able to give some account
of him, as well as of the “_Literary Society_.”
About this same time there existed, perhaps in opposition to, or in
ridicule of the “_Literary Society_,” a junto formed by the young
ladies, together with the students of medicine, and other young men of
New York, and called the “_Dreaming Society_” one or more of whose
members were appointed at each meeting to prepare an essay for the
next, (either in prose or verse,) which essay was either to be a
dream, or to represent the essayist as having obtained it by means of
a dream, or to have written it while asleep. The sisters of Lindley
Murray; the late Dr. Samuel L. Mitchell; Mr. Dunlap, (we believe,) the
author of the “History of the American Theatre;” and Judge Hoffman,
were members.]
Pleasure, to be really such, must be the matter of our own free choice
and voluntary election; whatever is commanded immediately becomes a
duty; and though by the goodness and wisdom of the commander, the
paths of duty may lead to pleasure; yet strictly and properly
speaking, pleasure can never be enjoined by any authority, can never
submit to the bonds of obligation.
No virtue can be more amiable and excellent than _friendship_, no
pleasures more refined than that which it affords, and though
_friendship_ may be recommended as the most valuable acquisition and
the highest enjoyment, it cannot be enjoined as a duty, or as an
indispensable obligation; so that, if, after our utmost researches in
pursuit of it, we should be disappointed, we cannot be condemned as
criminal, or deficient in what we owe to our own happiness.
Friendship, to adopt the definition given by Lord Shaftsbury, is that
peculiar relation which is formed by a consent and harmony of minds,
by mutual esteem and reciprocal affection. Friendship, therefore, can
never be enjoined as a duty, since our lot in life may never be cast
amongst those whose minds will harmonize with our own; it is rather to
be considered a singular {736} blessing, vouchsafed, perhaps, to few,
but when vouchsafed, one of the most exquisite cordials in human life.
Intending man for social happiness, the author of his nature, in great
wisdom and goodness, hath given this impulse to the human heart; and
the heart rarely errs, or misleads us in its hints and admonitions.
What a pleasure, what a comfort is it, to have one in perfect amity
with us, to whom we can at all times unbosom ourselves with perfect
confidence and safety, with whom we can enjoy all the refinements and
peculiar pleasures of rational conversation; one who will tenderly
enter into and share all our griefs, or kindly participate in all our
joys; thus heightening the one, and alleviating the other. What
pleasure to have a friend upon the wisdom of whose counsels we can
safely rely in all our difficulties, in all our embarrassments; whose
power and interest will always be at hand to succor and assist, or
whose affection, at least, will always be forward to console and cheer
us. Providence gives nothing in mortal life more valuable than such a
friend; but the difficulty of the acquisition is in proportion to the
value.
I cannot express my sentiments better on the difficulties which attend
the acquisition of real friendship, than in the words of one of the
most masterly writers of the age. When Socrates, says he, was building
himself a house at Athens, being asked by one that observed the
littleness of the design, why a man so eminent would not have an abode
more suitable to his dignity, he replied, “That he should think
himself sufficiently accommodated, if he could see that habitation,
narrow as it was, filled with real friends.” Such was the opinion of
that great master of human life, concerning the unfrequency of such an
union of minds as might deserve the name of friendship.
Multitudes are unqualified for a constant and warm reciprocation of
benevolence, by perpetual attention to their interest, and unresisting
subjection to their passions; many varieties of dispositions also, not
inconsistent with the common degrees of virtue, may exclude friendship
from the heart. Some, ardent enough in their benevolence, are mutable
and uncertain, soon attracted by new objects, disgusted without
offence, and alienated without enmity. Others are soft and flexible,
easily influenced by reports and whispers, ready to catch alarms from
every dubious circumstance, and to listen to every suspicion which
envy and flattery shall suggest. Some are impatient of contradiction,
more willing to go wrong by their own judgment, than to be indebted
for a safer and better way to the sagacity of others, inclined to
consider counsel as insult, and inquiry as want of confidence. Some
are dark and involved, equally careful to conceal good and bad
purposes, and pleased by showing their design only in the execution.
Others are unusually communicative, alike open to every eye, and
equally profuse of their own secrets and those of others, ready to
accuse without malice, and to betray without treachery. Any of these
may be useful to the community, and pass through the world with the
reputation of uncorrupted morals, but they are unfit for close and
tender intimacy. He cannot properly be chosen for a friend, whose
kindness is exhaled by its own warmth, or frozen by the first blast of
slander—he cannot be a useful counsellor who will hear no opinion but
his own—he will not much invite confidence, whose principal maxim is
to suspect—nor can the candor and frankness of that man be much
esteemed, who spreads his arms to human kind, and makes every man,
without distinction, a denizen of his bosom. Such is the picture of
human disposition, drawn by the pen of that great moral master.
Having taken a view of the difficulties to be met with, I shall next
take notice of those qualifications which seem necessary to obtain
real and permanent friendship: and here we shall find that virtue is
the only sure solid basis on which it can be built: if founded on
other or less worthy motives, its continuance is short and precarious:
as those motives shift and vary, it will vary with them: Cicero, in
the treatise from which I have taken the prefatory lines says, “Nec
sine virtute, amicitia esse ullo pacto potest.” Such unions deserve
not the name of friendship; they are rather confederacies, so much the
more dangerous and hurtful, as the uniting causes are mean and
vicious.
To this mutual and virtuous complacency, is generally necessary, an
uniformity of opinions, at least of those active and conspicuous
principles which discriminate parties in government, or sects in
religion. When differences in regard to these subsist, debates will
arise; vehemence, acrimony and vexation, and, in time, an utter
extinction of benevolence, will ensue. Intercourse of civilities may
continue, but the poison of discord is infused, and though the
countenance may preserve its smile, the heart is hardening and
contracting; to use another quotation from the same author, “accedat
autem suavitas quædam oportet sermonum atque morum, haudquaquam
mediocre condimentum amicitiæ.”
Besides virtue and similarity of leading opinions and dispositions,
there are many other qualifications necessary to the refinement of
friendship; such as an openness and frankness of temper, joined with
the greatest faithfulness, prudence and discretion; a constancy and
firmness of mind; an evenness and uniformity of behavior, a suavity of
manners, an absence of all jealousy, a readiness to overlook little
faults and foibles, and an exquisite and generous sensibility—in
short, all the dispositions directly opposite to those before
mentioned; partly the produce of a kind and indulgent nature, and
partly of virtuous culture.
Let us not, however, forget, while we specify those good qualities
necessary to be found in another, that we are under every obligation
to cultivate them in ourselves; for as no friendship can either be
real or lasting which is not founded on virtue and the good qualities
above enumerated, it follows that our entry into the union must
encourage the cultivation of every right and amiable principle in the
soul. Two virtuous minds will stimulate each other in every laudable
pursuit, will guard each other from every wrong propensity, and
criminal deviation; and never dare either of them to commit an action
which the other would hear of with concern, or behold with a blush.
Nor is this union of less utility for the improvement of the lesser
virtues, the graces of life, the arts of pleasing, the “amiable
attentions”—as we will surely be solicitous to excel in those
attentions, and to become amiable in proportion as we wish to be
loved.
To enumerate all the advantages and all the pleasures of friendship,
were I equal to the task, would far exceed my limits—that friendship
which gives to human life {737} its highest relish, and affords to
virtue the strongest support and encouragement. I shall conclude,
therefore, with the sentiment with which I began, “quâ a Diis
immortalibus nihil melius habemus, nihil jucundius.”