understood than that of Friendship: to follow the dictates of some, this
virtue, instead of being the assuager of pain, becomes the source of
every inconvenience. Such speculatists, by expecting too much from
friendship, dissolve the connection, and by drawing the bonds too
closely, at length break them.
Almost all our romance and novel writers are of this kind: they persuade
us to friendships which we find it impossible to sustain to the last; so
that this sweetener of life, under proper regulations, is by their means
rendered inaccessible or uneasy. It is certain, the best method to
cultivate this virtue is by letting it in some measure make itself; a
similitude of minds or studies, and even sometimes a diversity of
pursuits, will produce all the pleasures that arise from it. The current
of tenderness widens as it proceeds; and two men imperceptibly find
their hearts warm with good-nature for each other when they were at
first in pursuit only of mirth or relaxation.
[Sidenote: Friendship a debt of honour]
Friendship is like a debt of honour; the moment it is talked of it loses
its real name, and assumes the more ungrateful form of obligation. From
hence we find, that those who regularly undertake to cultivate
friendship, find ingratitude generally repays their endeavours. That
circle of beings which dependence gathers round us, is almost ever
unfriendly; they secretly wish the term of their connection
[Sidenote: Bankrupt hearts]
more nearly equal; and when they even have the most virtue, are prepared
to reserve all their affections for their patron only in the hour of his
decline. Increasing the obligations which are laid upon such minds only
increases their burden; they feel themselves unable to repay the
immensity of their debt, and their bankrupt hearts are taught a latent
resentment at the hand that is stretched out with offers of service and
relief.
Plautinus was a man who thought that every good was to be bought by
riches; and as he was possessed of great wealth, and a mind naturally
formed for virtue, he resolved to gather a circle of the best men around
him. Among the number of his dependants was Musidorus, with a mind just
as fond of virtue, yet not less proud than his patron. His
circumstances,
[Sidenote: Plautinus and Musidorus]
however, were such as forced him to stoop to the good offices of his
superior, and he saw himself daily, among a number of others, loaded
with benefits and protestations of friendship. These, in the usual
course of the world, he thought it prudent to accept; but while he gave
his esteem, he could not give his heart. A want of affection breaks out
in the most trifling instances, and Plautinus had skill enough to
observe the minutest actions of the man he wished to make his friend. In
these he ever found his aim disappointed; for Musidorus claimed an
exchange of hearts, which Plautinus, solicited by a variety of claims,
would never think of bestowing.
It may easily be supposed, that the reserve of our poor proud man was
soon construed into ingratitude; and such, indeed,
[Sidenote: Fallen fortune]
in the common acceptation of the word, it was. Whenever Musidorus
appeared, he was remarked as the ungrateful man; he had accepted
favours, it was said, and still had the insolence to pretend to
independence. The event, however, justified his conduct. Plautinus, by
misguided liberality, at length became poor, and it was then that
Musidorus first thought of making a friend of him. He flew to the man of
fallen fortune with an offer of all he had; wrought under his direction
with assiduity; and by uniting their talents, both were at length placed
in that state of life from which one of them had formerly fallen.
To this story, taken from modern life, I shall add one more, taken from
a Greek writer of antiquity. ‘Two Jewish soldiers, in the time of
Vespasian, had made many
[Sidenote: A story from the antique]
campaigns together, and a participation of dangers at length bred an
union of hearts. They were marked throughout the whole army as the two
friendly brothers; they felt and fought for each other. Their friendship
might have continued without interruption till death, had not the good
fortune of the one alarmed the pride of the other, which was in his
promotion to be a centurion, under the famous John, who headed a
particular party of Jewish malcontents.
‘From this moment their former love was converted into the most
inveterate enmity. They attached themselves to opposite factions, and
sought each other’s lives in the conflict of adverse party. In this
manner they continued for more than two years, vowing mutual revenge and
animated with an unconquerable spirit
[Sidenote: Jews and Romans]
of aversion. At length, however, that party of the Jews to which the
mean soldier belonged, joining with the Romans, it became victorious,
and drove John with all his adherents into the Temple. History has given
us more than one picture of the dreadful conflagration of that superb
edifice. The Roman soldiers were gathered round it; the whole temple was
in flames, and thousands were seen amidst them within its sacred
circuit. It was in this situation of things that the now successful
soldier saw his former friend upon the battlements of the highest tower
looking round with horror, and just ready to be consumed with flames.
All his former tenderness now returned; he saw the man of his bosom just
going to perish; and unable to withstand the impulse, he ran, spreading
his arms and
[Sidenote: A dramatic episode]
crying out to his friend to leap down from the top and find safety with
him. The centurion from above heard and obeyed, and casting himself from
the top of the tower into his fellow-soldier’s arms, both fell a
sacrifice on the spot; one being crushed to death by the weight of his
companion, and the other dashed to pieces by the greatness of his fall.’
[Illustration]
VI
THE PLEASURES OF FRIENDSHIP
SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D.
THE PLEASURES OF FRIENDSHIP
[Sidenote: Life’s noblest pleasure]
Life has no pleasure higher or nobler than that of friendship. It is
painful to consider that this sublime enjoyment may be impaired or
destroyed by innumerable causes, and that there is no human possession
of which the duration is less certain.
Many have talked, in very exalted language, of the perpetuity of
friendship, of invincible constancy, and unalienable kindness; and some
examples have been seen of men who have continued faithful to their
earliest choice, and whose affection has predominated over changes of
fortune, and contrariety of opinion.
[Sidenote: Long absence destroys friendship]
But these instances are memorable, because they are rare. The friendship
which is practised or expected by common mortals must take its rise from
mutual pleasure, and must end when the power ceases of delighting each
other.
Many accidents therefore may happen by which the ardour of kindness will
be abated, without criminal baseness or contemptible inconstancy on
either part.
To give pleasure is not always in our power; and little does he know
himself, who believes that he can be always able to receive it.
Those who would gladly pass their days together may be separated by the
different course of their affairs; and friendship, like love, is
destroyed by long absence, though it may be increased by short
intermissions. What we have
[Sidenote: Necessity produces expedients]
missed long enough to want it, we value more when it is regained; but
that which has been lost till it is forgotten, will be found at last
with little gladness, and with still less, if a substitute has supplied
the place. A man deprived of the companion to whom he used to open his
bosom, and with whom he shared the hours of leisure and merriment, feels
the day at first hanging heavy upon him; his difficulties oppress, and
his doubts distract him; he sees time come and go without his wonted
gratification, and all is sadness within, and solitude about him. But
this uneasiness never lasts long; necessity produces expedients, new
amusements are discovered and new conversation is admitted.
No expectation is more frequently disappointed than that which
naturally
[Sidenote: Friendship after separation]
arises in the mind from the prospect of meeting an old friend after long
separation. We expect the attraction to be revived, and the coalition to
be renewed; no man considers how much alteration time has made in
himself, and very few inquire what effect it has had upon others. The
first hour convinces them that the pleasure which they had formerly
enjoyed, is for ever at an end; the opinions of both are changed; and
that similitude of manners and sentiment is lost which confirmed them
both in the approbation of themselves.
Friendship is often destroyed by opposition of interest, not only by the
ponderous and visible interest which the desire of wealth and greatness
forms and maintains, but by a thousand secret and slight competitions,
scarcely known
[Sidenote: Minute ambition]
to the mind upon which they operate. There is scarcely any man without
some favourite trifle which he values above greater attainments, some
desire of petty praise which he cannot patiently suffer to be
frustrated. This minute ambition is sometimes crossed before it is
known, and sometimes defeated by wanton petulance; but such attacks are
seldom made without the loss of friendship; for whoever has once found
the vulnerable part will be always feared, and the resentment will burn
on in secret, of which shame hinders the discovery.
This, however, is a slow malignity, which a wise man will obviate as
inconsistent with quiet, and a good man will repress as contrary to
virtue; but human happiness is sometimes violated by some more sudden
strokes.
[Sidenote: The enemies of friendship]
A dispute begun in jest upon a subject which a moment before was on both
parts regarded with careless indifference, is continued by the desire of
conquest, till vanity kindles into rage, and opposition rankles into
enmity. Against this hasty mischief, I know not what security can be
obtained; men will sometimes be surprised into quarrels; and though they
might both hasten to reconciliation, as soon as their tumult had
subsided, yet two minds will seldom be found together which can at once
subdue their discontent or immediately enjoy the sweets of peace without
remembering the wounds of the conflict. Friendship has other enemies.
Suspicion is always hardening the cautious, and disgust repelling the
delicate. Very slender differences will sometimes part those whom long
reciprocation of
[Sidenote: Friendship’s fatal disease]
civility or beneficence has united. Lonelove and Ranger retired into the
country to enjoy the company of each other, and returned in six weeks
cold and petulant; Ranger’s pleasure was to walk in the fields, and
Lonelove’s to sit in a bower; each had complied with the other in his
turn, and each was angry that compliance had been exacted.
The most fatal disease of friendship is gradual decay, or dislike hourly
increased by causes too slender for complaint and too numerous for
removal. Those who are angry may be reconciled; those who have been
injured may receive a recompence; but when the decay of pleasing and
willingness to be pleased is silently diminished, the renovation of
friendship is hopeless; as, when the vital powers sink into languor,
there is no longer any use of the physician.
VII
THE TRUE ART OF FRIENDSHIP
SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D.
‘_Idem velle, et idem nolle, ea demum firma amicitia est._’--SALLUST.
To live in friendship is to have the same desires and the same aversions.
THE TRUE ART OF FRIENDSHIP
[Sidenote: Naturally enraged]
The fondest and firmest friendships are dissolved by such openness and
sincerity as interrupt our enjoyment of our own approbation, or recall
us to the remembrance of these failings which we are more willing to
indulge than correct.
It is by no means necessary to imagine that he who is offended at advice
was ignorant of the fault, and resents the admonition as a false charge;
for perhaps it is most natural to be enraged when there is the strongest
conviction of our own guilt. While we can easily defend our character,
we are no more disturbed at an accusation than we are alarmed by
[Sidenote: A friend’s reprehension]
an enemy whom we are sure to conquer; and whose attack, therefore, will
bring us honour without danger. But when a man feels the reprehension of
a friend seconded by his own heart, he is easily heated into resentment
and revenge, either because he hoped that the fault of which he was
conscious had escaped the notice of others; or that his friend had
looked upon it with tenderness and extenuation, and excused it for the
sake of his other virtues; or had considered him as too wise to need
advice, or, too delicate to be shocked with reproach: or, because we
cannot feel without pain those reflections round which we have been
endeavouring to lay asleep; and when pain has produced anger, who would
not willingly believe, that it ought to be discharged on others rather
than on himself?
[Sidenote: Virtue may be encouraged]
The resentment produced by sincerity, whatever be its immediate cause,
is so certain, and generally so keen, that very few have magnanimity
sufficient for the practice of a duty which, above most others, exposes
its votaries to hardships and persecutions; yet friendship without it is
of very little value, since the great use of so close an intimacy is,
that our virtues may be guarded and encouraged, and our vices repressed
in their first appearance by timely detection and salutary
remonstrances.
It is decreed by Providence, that nothing truly valuable shall be
obtained in our present state, but with difficulty and danger. He that
hopes for that advantage which is to be gained from unrestrained
communication must sometimes hazard, by unpleasing truths, that
friendship
[Sidenote: Our failings]
which he aspires to merit. The chief rule to be observed in the exercise
of this dangerous office, is to preserve it pure from all mixture of
interest or vanity; to forbear admonition or reproof, when our
consciences tell us that they are incited, not by the hopes of reforming
faults, but the desire of showing our discernment, or gratifying our own
pride by the mortification of another. It is not indeed certain, that
the most refined caution will find a proper time for bringing a man to
the knowledge of his own failings, or the most zealous benevolence
reconcile him to that judgment by which they are detected; but he who
endeavours only the happiness of him whom he reproves will always have
either the satisfaction of obtaining or deserving kindness; if he
succeeds, he benefits his friend; and if he
[Sidenote: Socrates’ opinion]
fails, he has at least the consciousness that he suffers for only doing
well.
* * * * *
When Socrates 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
narrow habitation filled with real friends. Such was the opinion of this
great master of human life, concerning the infrequency of such a union
of minds as might deserve the name of friendship; that among the
multitudes whom vanity or curiosity, civility or veneration crowded
about him, he did not expect that very spacious apartments would be
necessary to contain all that should regard him
[Sidenote: Friendship requires many qualities]
with sincere kindness, or adhere to him with steady fidelity.
So many qualities are indeed requisite to the possibility of friendship,
and so many accidents must concur to its rise and its continuance, that
the greatest part of mankind content themselves without it, and supply
its place as they can, with interest and independence.
Multitudes are unqualified for a constant and warm reciprocation of
benevolence, as they are incapacitated for any other elevated
excellence, by perpetual attention to their interest, and unresisting
subjection to their passions. Long habits may superinduce inability to
deny any desire, or repress, by superior motives, the importunities of
any immediate gratification, and an inveterate selfishness will imagine
all advantages diminished
[Sidenote: Varieties of dispositions]
in proportion as they are communicated.
But not only this hateful and confirmed corruption, but many varieties
of disposition, not inconsistent with common degrees of virtue, may
exclude friendship from the heart. Some, ardent enough in their
benevolence, and defective neither in officiousness nor liberality, 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 or whispers, ready to catch alarms from
every dubious circumstance, and to listen to every suspicion which envy
and flattery shall suggest, to follow the opinion of every confident
adviser, and move by the impulse of the last breath. Some are impatient
[Sidenote: Varieties of dispositions]
of contradiction, more willing to go wrong by their own judgment than
may be indebted for a better or a safer way to the sagacity of another,
inclined to consider counsel as insult, and inquiry as want of
confidence, and to confer their regard on no other terms than unreserved
submission and implicit compliance.--Some are dark and involved, equally
careful to conceal good and bad purposes; and pleased with producing
effects by invisible means, and showing their design only in its
execution. Others are universally communicative, alike open to every
eye, and equally profuse of their own secrets and those of others,
without the necessary vigilance of caution, or the honest arts of
prudent integrity, ready to accuse without malice, and to betray without
treachery. Any of these may be useful
[Sidenote: Varieties of dispositions]
to the community, and pass through the world with the reputation of good
purpose and uncorrupted morals, but they are unfit for close and tender
intimacies. He cannot properly be chosen for a friend, whose kindness is
exhaled by his 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 candour and frankness of that man be much esteemed, who spreads his
arms to humankind, and makes every man, without distinction, a denizen
of his bosom.
That friendship may be at once fond and lasting, there must not only be
equal virtue on each part, but virtue of the same kind; not only the
same end must be proposed, but the same means must be
[Sidenote: Candidates for friendship]
approved by both. We are often, by superficial accomplishments and
accidental endearments, induced to love those whom we cannot esteem; we
are sometimes, by great abilities, and incontestable evidences of
virtue, compelled to esteem those whom we cannot love. But friendship,
compounded of esteem and love, derives from one its tenderness, and its
permanence from the other; and therefore, requires not only that its
candidates should gain the judgment, but that they should attract the
affections; that they should not only be firm in the day of distress,
but gay in the hour of jollity; not only useful in exigencies, but
pleasing in familiar life; their presence should give cheerfulness as
well as courage, and dispel alike the gloom of fear and of melancholy.
[Sidenote: Mutual complacency]
To this mutual complacency is generally requisite a uniformity of
opinions, at least of those active and conspicuous principles which
discriminate parties in government and sects in religion, and which
every day operate more or less on the common business of life. For
though great tenderness has, perhaps, been sometimes known to continue
between men eminently in contrary factions; yet such friends are to be
shown rather as prodigies than examples; and it is no more proper to
regulate our conduct by such instances than to leap a precipice, because
some have fallen from it and escaped with life.
It cannot but be extremely difficult to preserve private kindness in the
midst of public opposition, in which will necessarily be involved a
thousand incidents, extending their influence to conversation
[Sidenote: Private kindness]
and privacy. Men engaged, by moral or religious motives, in contrary
parties will generally look with different eyes upon every man, and
decide almost every question upon different principles. When such
occasions of dispute happen, to comply is to betray our cause, and to
maintain friendship, by ceasing to deserve it; to be silent is to lose
the happiness and dignity of independence, to live in perpetual
constraint, and to desert if not to betray; and who shall determine
which of two friends shall yield, where neither believes himself
mistaken, and both confess the importance of the question? What then
remains but contradiction and debate? and from these what can be
expected but acrimony and vehemence, the insolence of triumph, the
vexation of defeat, and, in time, a weariness of contest,
[Sidenote: The pleasures and cares of friends]
and an extinction of benevolence? Exchange of endearments and
intercourse of civility may continue, indeed, as boughs may for a while
be verdant when the root is wounded; but the poison of discord is
infused, and though the countenance may preserve its smile, the heart is
hardening and contracting.
That man will not be long agreeable whom we see only in times of
seriousness and severity; and, therefore, to maintain the softness and
serenity of benevolence, it is necessary that friends partake each
other’s pleasures as well as cares, and be led to the same diversions by
similitude of taste. This is, however, not to be considered as equally
indispensable with conformity of principles, because any man may
honestly, according to Horace, resign the gratifications of taste to
the
[Sidenote: The flame of friendship]
humour of another, and friendship may well deserve the sacrifice of
pleasure, though not of conscience.
It was once confessed to me, by a painter, that no professor of his art
ever loved another. This declaration is so far justified by the
knowledge of life as to damp the hopes of warm and constant friendship
between men whom their studies have made competitors, and whom every
favourer and every censurer are hourly inciting against each other. The
utmost expectation that experience can warrant us, is, that they should
forbear open hostilities and secret machinations, and when the whole
fraternity is attacked, be able to unite against a common foe. Some,
however, though few, may perhaps be found in whom emulation has not been
able to overpower generosity,
[Sidenote: Imperfect earthly blessings]
who are distinguished from lower beings by nobler motives than the love
of fame, and can preserve the sacred flame of friendship from the gusts
of pride and the rubbish of interest.
Friendship is seldom lasting but between equals, or where the
superiority on one side is reduced by some equivalent advantage on the
other. Benefits which cannot be repaid, and obligations which cannot be
discharged, are not commonly found to increase affection; they excite
gratitude indeed, and heighten veneration, but commonly take away that
easy freedom and familiarity of intercourse, without which, though there
may be fidelity and zeal and admiration, there cannot be friendship.
Thus imperfect are all earthly blessings; the great effect of friendship
is
[Sidenote: Duty before convenience]
beneficence, yet by the first act of uncommon kindness it is endangered,
like plants that bear fruit and die. Yet this consideration ought not to
restrain bounty or repress compassion; for duty is to be preferred
before convenience, and he that loses part of the pleasures of
friendship by his generosity, gains in its place the gratulation of his
conscience.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
VIII