and this willingness to calm the conscience by some settled method, have
produced, as they are diversified in their effects by various tempers
and principles, most of the disquisitions and rules, the doubts and
solutions, that have embarrassed the doctrine of repentance, and
perplexed tender and flexible minds with innumerable scruples concerning
the necessary measures of sorrow, and adequate degrees of
self-abhorrence; and these rules, corrupted by fraud, or debased by
credulity, have, by the common resiliency of the mind from one extreme
to another, incited others to an open contempt of all subsidiary
ordinances, all prudential caution, and the whole discipline of
regulated piety.
Repentance, however difficult to be practised, is, if it be explained
without superstition, easily understood. _Repentance is the
relinquishment of any practice, from the conviction that it has offended
God_. Sorrow, and fear, and anxiety, are properly not parts, but
adjuncts of repentance; yet they are too closely connected with it to be
easily separated; for they not only mark its sincerity, but promote its
efficacy.
No man commits any act of negligence or obstinacy, by which his safety
or happiness in this world is endangered, without feeling the pungency
of remorse. He who is fully convinced, that he suffers by his own
failure, can never forbear to trace back his miscarriage to its first
cause, to image to himself a contrary behaviour, and to form involuntary
resolutions against the like fault, even when he knows that he shall
never again have the power of committing it. Danger, considered as
imminent, naturally produces such trepidations of impatience as leave
all human means of safety behind them; he that has once caught an alarm
of terrour, is every moment seized with useless anxieties, adding one
security to another, trembling with sudden doubts, and distracted by the
perpetual occurrence of new expedients. If, therefore, he whose crimes
have deprived him of the favour of God, can reflect upon his conduct
without disturbance, or can at will banish the reflection; if he who
considers himself as suspended over the abyss of eternal perdition only
by the thread of life, which must soon part by its own weakness, and
which the wing of every minute may divide, can cast his eyes round him
without shuddering with horrour, or panting with security; what can he
judge of himself, but that he is not yet awakened to sufficient
conviction, since every loss is more lamented than the loss of the
divine favour, and every danger more dreadful than the danger of final
condemnation?
Retirement from the cares and pleasures of the world has been often
recommended as useful to repentance. This at least is evident, that
every one retires, whenever ratiocination and recollection are required
on other occasions; and surely the retrospect of life, the
disentanglement of actions complicated with innumerable circumstances,
and diffused in various relations, the discovery of the primary
movements of the heart, and the extirpation of lusts and appetites
deeply rooted and widely spread, may be allowed to demand some secession
from sport and noise, business and folly. Some suspension of common
affairs, some pause of temporal pain and pleasure, is doubtless
necessary to him that deliberates for eternity, who is forming the only
plan in which miscarriage cannot be repaired, and examining the only
question in which mistake cannot be rectified.
Austerities and mortifications are means by which the mind is
invigorated and roused, by which the attractions of pleasure are
interrupted, and the chains of sensuality are broken. It is observed by
one of the fathers, that _he who restrains himself in the use of things
lawful, will never encroach upon things forbidden_. Abstinence, if
nothing more, is, at least, a cautious retreat from the utmost verge of
permission, and confers that security which cannot be reasonably hoped
by him that dares always to hover over the precipice of destruction, or
delights to approach the pleasures which he knows it fatal to partake.
Austerity is the proper antidote to indulgence; the diseases of mind as
well as body are cured by contraries, and to contraries we should
readily have recourse, if we dreaded guilt as we dread pain.
The completion and sum of repentance is a change of life. That sorrow
which dictates no caution, that fear which does not quicken our escape,
that austerity which fails to rectify our affections, are vain and
unavailing. But sorrow and terrour must naturally precede reformation;
for what other cause can produce it? He, therefore, that feels himself
alarmed by his conscience, anxious for the attainment of a better state,
and afflicted by the memory of his past faults, may justly conclude,
that the great work of repentance is begun, and hope by retirement and
prayer, the natural and religious means of strengthening his conviction,
to impress upon his mind such a sense of the divine presence, as may
overpower the blandishments of secular delights, and enable him to
advance from one degree of holiness to another, till death shall set him
free from doubt and contest, misery and temptation[b].
What better can we do than prostrate fall
Before him reverent; and there confess
Humbly our faults, and pardon beg; with tears
Wat'ring the ground, and with our sighs the air
Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign
Of sorrow unfeign'd, and humiliation meek? Par. Lost. B. x. 1087.
No. 111. TUESDAY, APRIL 9, 1751.
[Greek: phronein gar hoi tacheis, ouk asphaleis.] SOPHOC.
Disaster always waits on early wit.
It has been observed, by long experience, that late springs produce the
greatest plenty. The delay of blooms and fragrance, of verdure and
breezes, is for the most part liberally recompensed by the exuberance
and fecundity of the ensuing seasons; the blossoms which lie concealed
till the year is advanced, and the sun is high, escape those chilling
blasts, and nocturnal frosts, which are often fatal to early luxuriance,
prey upon the first smiles of vernal beauty, destroy the feeble
principles of vegetable life, intercept the fruit in the gem, and beat
down the flowers unopened to the ground.
I am afraid there is little hope of persuading the young and sprightly
part of my readers, upon whom the spring naturally forces my attention,
to learn, from the great process of nature, the difference between
diligence and hurry, between speed and precipitation; to prosecute their
designs with calmness, to watch the concurrence of opportunity, and
endeavour to find the lucky moment which they cannot make. Youth is the
time of enterprize and hope: having yet no occasion of comparing our
force with any opposing power, we naturally form presumptions in our own
favour, and imagine that obstruction and impediment will give way before
us. The first repulses rather inflame vehemence than teach prudence; a
brave and generous mind is long before it suspects its own weakness, or
submits to sap the difficulties which it expected to subdue by storm.
Before disappointments have enforced the dictates of philosophy, we
believe it in our power to shorten the interval between the first cause
and the last effect; we laugh at the timorous delays of plodding
industry, and fancy that, by increasing the fire, we can at pleasure
accelerate the projection.
At our entrance into the world, when health and vigour give us fair
promises of time sufficient for the regular maturation of our schemes,
and a long enjoyment of our acquisitions, we are eager to seize the
present moment; we pluck every gratification within our reach, without
suffering it to ripen into perfection, and crowd all the varieties of
delight into a narrow compass; but age seldom fails to change our
conduct; we grow negligent of time in proportion as we have less
remaining, and suffer the last part of life to steal from us in languid
preparations for future undertakings, or slow approaches to remote
advantages, in weak hopes of some fortuitous occurrence, or drowsy
equilibrations of undetermined counsel: whether it be that the aged,
having tasted the pleasures of man's condition, and found them delusive,
become less anxious for their attainment; or that frequent miscarriages
have depressed them to despair, and frozen them to inactivity; or that
death shocks them more as it advances upon them, and they are afraid to
remind themselves of their decay, or to discover to their own hearts
that the time of trifling is past. A perpetual conflict with natural
desires seems to be the lot of our present state. In youth we require
something of the tardiness and frigidity of age; and in age we must
labour to recal the fire and impetuosity of youth; in youth we must
learn to expect, and in age to enjoy.
The torment of expectation is, indeed, not easily to be borne at a time
when every idea of gratification fires the blood, and flashes on the
fancy; when the heart is vacant to every fresh form of delight, and has
no rival engagements to withdraw it from the importunities of a new
desire. Yet, since the fear of missing what we seek must always be
proportionable to the happiness expected from possessing it, the
passions, even in this tempestuous state, might be somewhat moderated by
frequent inculcation of the mischief of temerity, and the hazard of
losing that which we endeavour to seize before our time.
He that too early aspires to honours, must resolve to encounter not only
the opposition of interest, but the malignity of envy. He that is too
eager to be rich, generally endangers his fortune in wild adventures,
and uncertain projects; and he that hastens too speedily to reputation,
often raises his character by artifices and fallacies, decks himself in
colours which quickly fade, or in plumes which accident may shake off,
or competition pluck away.
The danger of early eminence has been extended by some, even to the
gifts of nature; and an opinion has been long conceived, that quickness
of invention, accuracy of judgment, or extent of knowledge, appearing
before the usual time, presage a short life. Even those who are less
inclined to form general conclusions, from instances which by their own
nature must be rare, have yet been inclined to prognosticate no suitable
progress from the first sallies of rapid wits; but have observed, that
after a short effort they either loiter or faint, and suffer themselves
to be surpassed by the even and regular perseverance of slower
understandings.
It frequently happens, that applause abates diligence. Whoever finds
himself to have performed more than was demanded, will be contented to
spare the labour of unnecessary performances, and sit down to enjoy at
ease his superfluities of honour. He whom success has made confident of
his abilities, quickly claims the privilege of negligence, and looks
contemptuously on the gradual advances of a rival, whom he imagines
himself able to leave behind whenever he shall again summon his force to
the contest. But long intervals of pleasure dissipate attention, and
weaken constancy; nor is it easy for him that has sunk from diligence
into sloth, to rouse out of his lethargy, to recollect his notions,
rekindle his curiosity, and engage with his former ardour in the toils
of study.
Even that friendship which intends the reward of genius, too often tends
to obstruct it. The pleasure of being caressed, distinguished, and
admired, easily seduces the student from literary solitude. He is ready
to follow the call which summons him to hear his own praise, and which,
perhaps, at once flatters his appetite with certainty of pleasures, and
his ambition with hopes of patronage; pleasures which he conceives
inexhaustible, and hopes which he has not yet learned to distrust.
These evils, indeed, are by no means to be imputed to nature, or
considered as inseparable from an early display of uncommon abilities.
They may be certainly escaped by prudence and resolution, and must
therefore be recounted rather as consolations to those who are less
liberally endowed, than as discouragements to such as are born with
uncommon qualities. Beauty is well known to draw after it the
persecutions of impertinence, to incite the artifices of envy, and to
raise the flames of unlawful love; yet, among the ladies whom prudence
or modesty have made most eminent, who has ever complained of the
inconveniences of an amiable form? or would have purchased safety by the
loss of charms?
Neither grace of person, nor vigour of understanding, are to be regarded
otherwise than as blessings, as means of happiness indulged by the
Supreme Benefactor; but the advantages of either may be lost by too much
eagerness to obtain them. A thousand beauties in their first blossom, by
an imprudent exposure to the open world, have suddenly withered at the
blast of infamy; and men who might have subjected new regions to the
empire of learning, have been lured by the praise of their first
productions from academical retirement, and wasted their days in vice
and dependance. The virgin who too soon aspires to celebrity and
conquest, perishes by childish vanity, ignorant credulity, or guiltless
indiscretion. The genius who catches at laurels and preferment before
his time, mocks the hopes that he had excited, and loses those years
which might have been most usefully employed, the years of youth, of
spirit, and vivacity.
It is one of the innumerable absurdities of pride, that we are never
more impatient of direction, than in that part of life when we need it
most; we are in haste to meet enemies whom we have not strength to
overcome, and to undertake tasks which we cannot perform: and as he that
once miscarries does not easily persuade mankind to favour another
attempt, an ineffectual struggle for fame is often followed by perpetual
obscurity.
[Footnote b: The perusal of these profound remarks on penance and
repentance had so powerful an effect on one of the English Benedictine
monks (The Rev. James Compton) at Paris, as to lead him from the errours
of Popery! For an account of Dr. Johnson's true benevolence through the
whole of this interesting occasion, see Malone's note to Boswell's Life
of Johnson, vol. iv. p. 210--edit. 1822.]
No. 112. SATURDAY, APRIL 13, 1751.
_In mea vesanas habui dispendia vires,
Et valui pænam fortis in ipse meain_. OVID, Am. Lib. i. vii. 25.
Of strength pernicious to myself I boast;
The pow'rs I have were given me to my cost. F. LEWIS.
We are taught by Celsus, that health is best preserved by avoiding
settled habits of life, and deviating sometimes into slight aberrations
from the laws of medicine; by varying the proportions of food and
exercise, interrupting the successions of rest and labour, and mingling
hardships with indulgence. The body, long accustomed to stated
quantities and uniform periods, is disordered by the smallest
irregularity; and since we cannot adjust every day by the balance or
barometer, it is fit sometimes to depart from rigid accuracy, that we
may be able to comply with necessary affairs, or strong inclinations. He
that too long observes nice punctualities, condemns himself to voluntary
imbecility, and will not long escape the miseries of disease.
The same laxity of regimen is equally necessary to intellectual health,
and to a perpetual susceptibility of occasional pleasure. Long
confinement to the same company which perhaps similitude of taste
brought first together, quickly contracts the faculties, and makes a
thousand things offensive that are in themselves indifferent; a man
accustomed to hear only the echo of his own sentiments, soon bars all
the common avenues of delight, and has no part in the general
gratifications of mankind.
In things which are not immediately subject to religious or moral
consideration, it is dangerous to be too rigidly in the right.
Sensibility may, by an incessant attention to elegance and propriety, be
quickened to a tenderness inconsistent with the condition of humanity,
irritable by the smallest asperity, and vulnerable by the gentlest
touch. He that pleases himself too much with minute exactness, and
submits to endure nothing in accommodations, attendance, or address,
below the point of perfection, will, whenever he enters the crowd of
life, be harassed with innumerable distresses, from which those who have
not in the same manner increased their sensations find no disturbance.
His exotick softness will shrink at the coarseness of vulgar felicity,
like a plant transplanted to northern nurseries, from the dews and
sunshine of the tropical regions.
There will always be a wide interval between practical and ideal
excellence; and, therefore, if we allow not ourselves to be satisfied
while we can perceive any errour or defect, we must refer our hopes of
ease to some other period of existence. It is well known, that, exposed
to a microscope, the smoothest polish of the most solid bodies discovers
cavities and prominences; and that the softest bloom of roseate
virginity repels the eye with excrescences and discolorations. The
perceptions as well as the senses may be improved to our own disquiet,
and we may, by diligent cultivation of the powers of dislike, raise in
time an artificial fastidiousness, which shall fill the imagination with
phantoms of turpitude, shew us the naked skeleton of every delight, and
present us only with the pains of pleasure, and the deformities of
beauty.
Peevishness, indeed, would perhaps very little disturb the peace of
mankind, were it always the consequence of superfluous delicacy; for it
is the privilege only of deep reflection, or lively fancy, to destroy
happiness by art and refinement. But by continual indulgence of a
particular humour, or by long enjoyment of undisputed superiority, the
dull and thoughtless may likewise acquire the power of tormenting
themselves and others, and become sufficiently ridiculous or hateful to
those who are within sight of their conduct, or reach of their
influence.
They that have grown old in a single state are generally found to be
morose, fretful, and captious; tenacious of their own practices and
maxims; soon offended by contradiction or negligence; and impatient of
any association, but with those that will watch their nod, and submit
themselves to unlimited authority. Such is the effect of having lived
without the necessity of consulting any inclination but their own.
The irascibility of this class of tyrants is generally exerted upon
petty provocations, such as are incident to understandings not far
extended beyond the instincts of animal life; but, unhappily, he that
fixes his attention on things always before him, will never have long
cessations of anger. There are many veterans of luxury upon whom every
noon brings a paroxysm of violence, fury, and execration; they never sit
down to their dinner without finding the meat so injudiciously bought,
or so unskilfully dressed, such blunders in the seasoning, or such
improprieties in the sauce, as can scarcely be expiated without blood;
and, in the transports of resentment, make very little distinction
between guilt and innocence, but let fly their menaces, or growl out
their discontent, upon all whom fortune exposes to the storm.
It is not easy to imagine a more unhappy condition than that of
dependance on a peevish man. In every other state of inferiority the
certainty of pleasing is perpetually increased by a fuller knowledge of
our duty; and kindness and confidence are strengthened by every new act
of trust, and proof of fidelity. But peevishness sacrifices to a
momentory offence the obsequiousness or usefulness of half a life, and,
as more is performed, increases her exactions.
Chrysalus gained a fortune by trade, and retired into the country; and,
having a brother burthened by the number of his children, adopted one of
his sons. The boy was dismissed with many prudent admonitions; informed
of his father's inability to maintain him in his native rank; cautioned
against all opposition to the opinions or precepts of his uncle; and
animated to perseverance by the hopes of supporting the honour of the
family, and overtopping his elder brother. He had a natural ductility of
mind, without much warmth of affection, or elevation of sentiment; and
therefore readily complied with every variety of caprice; patiently
endured contradictory reproofs; heard false accusations without pain,
and opprobrious reproaches without reply; laughed obstreperously at the
ninetieth repetition of a joke; asked questions about the universal
decay of trade; admired the strength of those heads by which the price
of stocks is changed and adjusted; and behaved with such prudence and
circumspection, that after six years the will was made, and Juvenculus
was declared heir. But unhappily, a month afterwards, retiring at night
from his uncle's chamber, he left the door open behind him: the old man
tore his will, and being then perceptibly declining, for want of time to
deliberate, left his money to a trading company.
When female minds are embittered by age or solitude, their malignity is
generally exerted in a rigorous and spiteful superintendance of domestic
trifles. Eriphile has employed her eloquence for twenty years upon the
degeneracy of servants, the nastiness of her house, the ruin of her
furniture, the difficulty of preserving tapestry from the moths, and the
carelessness of the sluts whom she employs in brushing it. It is her
business every morning to visit all the rooms, in hopes of finding a
chair without its cover, a window shut or open contrary to her orders, a
spot on the hearth, or a feather on the floor, that the rest of the day
may be justifiably spent in taunts of contempt, and vociferations of
anger. She lives for no other purpose but to preserve the neatness of a
house and gardens, and feels neither inclination to pleasure, nor
aspiration after virtue, while she is engrossed by the great employment
of keeping gravel from grass, and wainscot from dust. Of three amiable
nieces she has declared herself an irreconcileable enemy; to one,
because she broke off a tulip with her hoop; to another, because she
spilt her coffee on a Turkey carpet; and to the third, because she let a
wet dog run into the parlour. She has broken off her intercourse of
visits, because company makes a house dirty; and resolves to confine
herself more to her own affairs, and to live no longer in mire by
foolish lenity.
Peevishness is generally the vice of narrow minds, and, except when it
is the effect of anguish and disease, by which the resolution is broken,
and the mind made too feeble to bear the lightest addition to its
miseries, proceeds from an unreasonable persuasion of the importance of
trifles. The proper remedy against it is, to consider the dignity of
human nature, and the folly of suffering perturbation and uneasiness
from causes unworthy of our notice.
He that resigns his peace to little casualties, and suffers the course
of his life to be interrupted by fortuitous inadvertencies, or offences,
delivers up himself to the direction of the wind, and loses all that
constancy and equanimity which constitute the chief praise of a wise
man.
The province of prudence lies between the greatest things and the least;
some surpass our power by their magnitude, and some escape our notice by
their number and their frequency. But the indispensable business of life
will afford sufficient exercise to every understanding; and such is the
limitation of the human powers, that by attention to trifles we must let
things of importance pass unobserved: when we examine a mite with a
glass, we see nothing but a mite.
That it is every man's interest to be pleased, will need little proof:
that it is his interest to please others, experience will inform him. It
is therefore not less necessary to happiness than to virtue, that he rid
his mind of passions which make him uneasy to himself, and hateful to
the world, which enchain his intellects, and obstruct his improvement.
No. 113. TUESDAY, APRIL 16, 1751.
--_Uxorem, Postume, ducis?
Die, qua Tisiphone, quibus exagitere colubris?_ JUV. Sat. vi. 28.
A sober man like thee to change his life!
What fury would possess thee with a wife? DRYDEN.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,