Franklin looked quietly and deeply into the secrets of nature. His clear
understanding was never perverted by passion, nor corrupted by the pride
of theory. The son of a rigid Calvinist, the grandson of a tolerant
Quaker, he had from boyhood been familiar not only with theological
subtilities, but with a catholic respect for freedom of mind. Skeptical
of tradition as the basis of faith, he respected reason rather than
authority; and, after a momentary lapse into fatalism, he gained with
increasing years an increasing trust in the overruling providence of
God. Adhering to none of all the religions in the colonies, he yet
devoutly, though without form, adhered to religion. But though famous as
a disputant, and having a natural aptitude for metaphysics, he obeyed
the tendency of his age, and sought by observation to win an insight
into the mysteries of being. The best observers praise his method most.
He so sincerely loved truth, that in his pursuit of her she met him
half-way. Without prejudice and without bias, he discerned intuitively
the identity of the laws of nature with those of which humanity is
conscious; so that his mind was like a mirror, in which the universe, as
it reflected itself, revealed her laws. His morality, repudiating
ascetic severities and the system which enjoins them, was indulgent to
appetites of which he abhorred the sway; but his affections were of a
calm intensity: in all his career, the love of man held the mastery over
personal interest. He had not the imagination which inspires the bard or
kindles the orator; but an exquisite propriety, parsimonious of
ornament, gave ease, correctness, and graceful simplicity even to his
most careless writings. In life, also, his tastes were delicate.
Indifferent to the pleasures of the table, he relished the delights of
music and harmony, of which he enlarged the instruments. His blandness
of temper, his modesty, the benignity of his manners, made him the
favorite of intelligent society; and, with healthy cheerfulness, he
derived pleasure from books, from philosophy, from conversation,--now
administering consolation to the sorrower, now indulging in
light-hearted gayety. In his intercourse, the universality of his
perceptions bore, perhaps, the character of humor; but, while he clearly
discerned the contrast between the grandeur of the universe and the
feebleness of man, a serene benevolence saved him from contempt of his
race or disgust at its toils. To superficial observers, he might have
seemed as an alien from speculative truth, limiting himself to the world
of the senses; and yet, in study, and among men, his mind always sought
to discover and apply the general principles by which nature and affairs
are controlled,--now deducing from the theory of caloric improvements in
fireplaces and lanterns, and now advancing human freedom by firm
inductions from the inalienable rights of man. Never professing
enthusiasm, never making a parade of sentiment, his practical wisdom was
sometimes mistaken for the offspring of selfish prudence; yet his hope
was steadfast, like that hope which rests on the Rock of Ages, and his
conduct was as unerring as though the light that led him was a light
from heaven. He never anticipated action by theories of self-sacrificing
virtue; and yet, in the moments of intense activity, he from the abodes
of ideal truth brought down and applied to the affairs of life the
principles of goodness, as unostentatiously as became the man who with a
kite and hempen string drew lightning from the skies. He separated
himself so little from his age that he has been called the
representative of materialism; and yet, when he thought on religion, his
mind passed beyond reliance on sects to faith in God; when he wrote on
politics, he founded freedom on principles that know no change; when he
turned an observing eye on nature, he passed from the effect to the
cause, from individual appearances to universal laws; when he reflected
on history, his philosophic mind found gladness and repose in the clear
anticipation of the progress of humanity.
End of Volume III.