1. Is it possible, do you think, that all the arguments in the world
can make a man sensibly assured that he is a proficient in virtue, upon
this supposition, that his proceedings do not in the least alleviate
and abate his folly, but that the vice in him, weighing in equal
balance against his good inclinations, holds him down, as
Heavy lead pulls down the yielding net?
In the study of music or grammar, I am sure, such a conclusion would be
very absurd; for the scholar could never be certain that he had made
any improvement in those sciences, if all the while he is a learning he
did not exhaust by little and little his former ignorance about them,
but remained during the whole progress of his application under the
same degree of unskilfulness as at first setting out.
The like may be said of those that are under the hands of a physician.
According to this assertion, if the patient take physic which does
not recruit his strength or give him ease by abating the severity of
the distemper, it is absolutely impossible that he should discern any
alteration in himself, before the contrary habit is perfectly and in
the highest degree induced, and his body thoroughly sound and well.
As in these instances you cannot say the persons have advanced any
thing, so long as they perceive no sensible change in themselves by
the abatement of the contrary weight, and do not find that their minds
are elevated, as it were, in the opposite scale; just so, in truth,
is it with those that profess philosophy. They cannot be assured of
any progress or improvement, if the soul do not gradually advance and
purge off the rest of its former imperfections, but still lie under
the like equal pressure and grievance of pure, absolute, unmixed evil,
till it have attained the state of perfect, supreme good; for the truth
of it is, a wise man cannot in a moment of time change from the lowest
degree of vice imaginable to the most heroic perfection of virtue, if
he only make a brisk attempt to throw off vice all at once, and do not
constantly and resolutely endeavor by little and little to lighten the
burthen and dispossess the evil habit of it.
You know very well how much trouble those give themselves who maintain
this assertion, and what strange questions they raise with regard to
it,—for instance, why a wise virtuous man should never perceive how he
became such, but should either be quite ignorant, or at least doubt,
that ever by little and little, now adding something, now subtracting
and removing others, he advanced to the aggregate perfection of virtue.
Now if (as they affirm) the change from bad to good were either so
quick and sudden, as that he that was extremely vicious in the morning
may become eminently virtuous at night, or that any one going to bed
wicked might chance to rise a virtuous man next morning, and, having
all the former day’s errors and imperfections absolutely removed out of
his mind, might say to them, as it is in the poet,
Vain dreams! farewell, like spectres haste away,
At the new light of virtue’s glorious day;[217]
do you think that any one in the world could be ignorant of so
extraordinary a conversion, and perfectly shut his eyes upon the beams
of virtue and wisdom so fully and manifestly breaking in upon his soul?
In my opinion, if any person should have Caeneus’s foolish wish, and
be changed (as it is reported he was) from one sex to the other, it
is more probable that such a one should be altogether ignorant of the
metamorphosis, than that any should, from a lazy, unthinking, debauched
fellow, commence a wise, prudent, and valiant hero, and from a sottish
bestiality advance to the perfection of divine life, and yet know
nothing at all of the change.
2. It is very good advice, Measure the stone by your rule, and not
your rule by the stone. But the Stoics have not observed it; for they,
not applying principles to things, but forcing things which have no
foundation of agreement in nature to agree to their principles, have
filled philosophy with a number of difficulties. One of the hardest
to be solved is this, that all men whatsoever (except him who is
absolutely perfect) are equally vicious. Hence is that enigma, called
progress or proficiency, which, though it has puzzled the learned to
solve, is in my opinion very foolish; for it represents those that have
advanced a little, and are partly free from inordinate passions and
distempers of mind, to be as unhappy as those that are guilty of the
most heinous enormities. And indeed the assertion is so absurd, that
their own actions are enough to confute it; for while they maintain
in their schools that Aristides and Phalaris are equally unjust, that
Brasidas and Dolon are equal cowards, and that Plato and Meletus are
equally senseless, still in all affairs of life they seem to reject
and avoid the latter of these, as too harsh and severe to be softened
into compliance, but credit and quote the former in all their writings,
as persons of extraordinary worth and esteem. This is what the Stoics
assert.
3. But we, who can better agree with Plato in this point, finding by
observation that in all kinds of evils, especially that of a weak and
unmanaged disposition of mind, there are several degrees of more and
less (for herein one advance differs from another, that the miserable
darkness which the soul lies under begins more sensibly to abate, when
reason by little and little illuminates and purges the soul), may be
bold to affirm that the change from bad to good is very easily and
manifestly discernible; not as if one were drawn out of a pit on a
sudden, and could give no account of the degrees of the ascent, but so
plain that the several steps and advances may be computed.
The first argument that comes in my mind is this, by way of simile;
pray examine it. You know the art of navigation; when the seamen
hoist sail for the main ocean, they give judgment of their voyage by
observing together the space of time and the force of the wind that
driveth them, and compute that, in all probability, in so many months,
with such a gale, they have gone forward to such or such a place. Just
so it is in the study of philosophy; one may, if he mind it, give a
probable conjecture of a scholar’s proceedings. He that is always at
his business, constantly upon the road, never makes any steps or halts,
nor meets with obstacles and lets in the way, but under the conduct
of right reason travels smoothly, securely, and quietly along, may be
assured that he has one true sign of a proficient. This of the poet,
Add many lesser numbers in account,
Your total will to a vast sum amount,[218]
not only holds true as to the increase of money, but also may serve as
a rule to the knowledge of the advance of every thing else, especially
of proficiency in virtue. Reason, besides its ordinary influence,
requires the constancy of application and address which is necessary
and usual in all other affairs. Whereas, on the contrary, the irregular
proceedings and inconsistent silly assertions of some philosophers
do not only lay rubs in the way, and break the measures of a virtuous
improvement, but seem to give great advantage to vice, during their
lingering and idling upon their journey, to tempt them into by-paths,
or over-persuade them to return whence they set out.
Astronomers tell us that planets, after they have finished their
progressive motion, for some small time acquiesce and become
stationary, as they term it. Now in the study of philosophy it is
not so; there is no point of rest or acquiescence during the whole
procedure, for the nature of progress is to be always advancing, more
or less. The scales in which our actions are, as it were, weighed
cannot at all stand in equilibrio, but our soul is continually either
raised by the addition of good, or cast with the counterpoise of evil.
Therefore, as the oracle told the Cirrhaeans that they ought to
fight continually, day and night; so you and every wise man ought to
be perpetually upon your guard, and if you can be assured that you
maintain a constant combat with vice, that you are always at enmity
with it and never so much as come to terms, or receive any diversions,
applications, or avocations, as so many heralds from the enemies’
camp, in order to a treaty with it; then you may, with a great deal
of confidence and alacrity, go on with the management of your warlike
expedition, and very reasonably at last expect a conquest, and enjoy a
crown of righteousness for your reward.
4. It is another very good argument to prove that by labor and exercise
you have shaken off all stupidity and sluggishness of temper, and that
you are arrived at a perfection of virtue, if for the future your
resolutions be more firm and your application more intense than they
were when you first set out. This appears true, if you but observe its
contrary; for it is a very bad sign if, after a small time spent in
trial, you find many and repeated intermissions, or your affections
yielding or cool in the pursuit. This may be illustrated by what
is observable in the growth of a cane. At first it appears above
ground with a full and pleasing sprout, which by little and little,
taper-wise, by a continued and equal distribution of matter, rises to
a very great height. Towards the root you may observe that there are
formed certain steps and joints, which are at a considerable distance
from one another, because (there) the juice is plentiful and strong.
But toward the top the nutrimentive particles vibrate and palpitate,
as if they were quite spent with the length of their journey, and
thereupon, you see, they form themselves many small, weak, and tender
joints, as so many supports and breathing-places. So it happens with
those that study philosophy: at first setting out they take long
steps and make great advances; but if, after some attempts, they
perceive not in themselves any alteration for the better, but meet
with frequent checks and avocations the further they go, ordinarily
they faint, make any excuses to be off from their engagement, despond
of ever going through with it, and thereupon proceed no farther. But,
on the contrary, he that is winged with desire flies at the proposed
advantage, and by a stout and vigorous pursuit cuts off all pretences
of delay from crowding in upon him or hindering his journey.
In love, it is a sign the passion is predominant, if the lover be
not only pleased in the enjoyment of the beloved object (for that’s
ordinary), but also troubled and grieved at the absence of it. After
a manner not unlike this, many youngsters (as I’ve observed) stand
affected at the study of philosophy. At first, they buckle to their
work with the greatest concern and emulation imaginable; but as soon
as ever they are diverted, either by business or any little pretences,
the heat of their affection immediately flies off, and they sit down
ignorant and very well content. But
He that perceives the pleasing sting of love,
Whose poignant joy his trembling heart doth move,[219]
will not only show that he is a proficient by his virtuous demeanor and
agreeableness in all company and discourse; but if he be called from
his business, you may perceive him all on fire, in pain, and uneasy in
whatsoever he does, whether alone or in company, and so concerned that
he is unmindful of his best friends till he is restored to the quest of
his beloved philosophy. All of us ought to imitate such a noble example
in all our studies. We must not be affected with good discourse only
while we are in place, as we are with rich fragrant perfumes (which
we never mind, but while we are a smelling to them); but if by chance
marriage, an estate, love, or a campaign take us from our business, we
must still hunger and thirst after virtue; and the more our proficiency
is advanced, by so much the more ought our desire to know what we
have not attained disquiet and excite us to the further pursuit and
knowledge of it.
5. The grave account which Hesiod gives of proficiency is, in my
judgment, either the very same, or comes very near to this which I
have now set down. Proficiency is (says he) when all difficulties
are removed, all unevenness smoothed and cleared, and the way made
easy and passable. It must be smoothed by frequent exercise, cleared
by beams of divine light that guide the way to true philosophy,
nothing at all of the clouds of doubt, error, or inconstancy in good
resolutions remaining, which are as usually incident to learners in
their first attempts upon philosophy, as distraction and solicitudes
are to those who, sailing from a known land, cannot yet discover the
place whither they are bound. Thus I have known impatient sophisters
skip over common and ordinary notions, before they have learned or
attained better, and lose themselves in the middle of their journey
in so troublesome a maze, that they would be willing to return (if
they could) to their primitive state of quiet, inactive ignorance.
Sextius, a nobleman of Rome, may serve for an instance of this. He
quitted all offices and places of honor, that he might more freely and
undisturbedly apply himself to the study of philosophy. At first he
met with many difficulties; and finding himself unable to encounter or
conquer them, out of very despair and despondency, he had thoughts of
throwing himself out of a little boat into the river Tiber. Parallel
to this is a merry story told of Diogenes of Sinope; when he first put
on his gown, it happened to be at a time when the Athenians celebrated
a festival with extraordinary banquets, night-drinking, sports, and
pageantry usual at great solemnities. The philosopher, as he lay in
the holidays in the corner of the street, muffled up in his clothes,
to try if he could take a nap, had some running thoughts in his head,
which checked the resolutions he had taken as to a philosophical life,
and troubled him extremely. He reasoned with himself, that there
was no necessity for his entering into so troublesome and singular
a way of living, that he thereby deprived himself of all the sweets
and pleasures of life, and the like. While he was thinking thus with
himself, he espied (as the story goes) a mouse venturing toward him,
and now and then nibbling at a mouldy crust that he had in his pouch.
This sight (which is much) turned his thoughts, and made him vexed and
troubled at himself as much on the other side. What (says he) is the
matter with thee, Diogenes? Thou seest this tiny mouse lives well, and
is very glad of thy scraps; but thou, who must needs be a person of
quality, forsooth, art extremely sorry and out of humor, because thou
dost not feast upon down-beds, and canst not have the genteel privilege
at this merry time to be drunk as well as others.
Another rational argument of gradual proficiency is when avocations
are not frequent upon us, and when they happen, very short; while the
substantial rules and precepts of wisdom, as if they had been violently
driven out, presently return upon our minds, and dispossess all empty
trouble and disconsolate thoughts.
6. And because scholars do not only fancy to themselves difficulties
big enough to divert their weak resolutions, but also often meet with
serious persuasions from their friends to leave their studies, and
because sometimes such smart jests and drolls are put upon them as have
often discouraged, frequently quite converted, the endeavors of some;
it may seem to you a very good argument of a proficient, if you find
yourself indifferent and unconcerned in that point. As, for example,
not to be cut to the heart and repine, when you are told that such and
such persons by name, your equals once, live splendidly at court, have
married great fortunes, or have appeared publicly at the head of a
great many freeholders, that are ready to vote for them for some great
office or representative’s place. He that is neither discomposed nor
very much affected by such news as this is manifestly in the right,
and has philosophy by the surer handle. For it is impossible we should
leave admiring things which most men esteem, if the habit of virtue
were not deeply rooted in us. To avoid passionately what every one
cries down may be in some persons the effect of anger and ignorance;
but utterly to despise what is admired abroad is a certain sign of true
and solid wisdom and resolution. With what satisfaction and complacency
many persons advanced to such a height of virtue compare themselves
with others, and break out in these verses of Solon!
We will not change Virtue’s immortal crown
For a whole mine of gold.
Gold is uncertain; but what we possess
Is still our own, and never can be less.
None can deny but that it was very great in Diogenes to compare his
shifting from the city of Corinth to Athens, and from Thebes to
Corinth, to the king of Persia’s taking his progress in the spring
to Susa, in winter to Babylon, and to Media in summer. Nor was it an
argument of a much less spirit in Agesilaus, who, hearing this same
king of Persia styled the Great, presently asked, In what is he greater
than I, if he be not juster than I am? Aristotle himself had exactly
such notions in the like case; for, writing to Antipater about his
scholar Alexander, he says of him, that he ought not to value himself
in this respect, that he was advanced above others; for whoever had a
true notion of God was really as great as he. And Zeno too deserves
to be mentioned, who, hearing Theophrastus commended above any of the
philosophers for his number of scholars, put it off thus: His choir is
indeed larger than mine, but mine has the sweeter voices.
7. From all these instances you may collect this great truth, that
whenever you do, by setting the comforts of virtue and the difficulties
and errors of study one against the other, perceive that you have
utterly expelled all emulation, jealousy, and every thing else that
uses to disturb or discourage young men, you may then assuredly
conclude with yourself that you have made very laudable progress.
Another argument of proficiency in virtue is the alteration of your
very style of writing, and of your way of managing any argument or
discourse. Most of those that nowadays design for scholars (in ordinary
speaking) do prosecute almost none but popular studies; to furnish
out discourse, and make themselves, as the phrase is, plausible men;
some few of them there are who, like silly larks, are taken with the
glaring light of natural philosophy, and, measuring themselves by their
own levity and conceit, think they are able presently to attain the
height of that science. Others like young whelps (’tis Plato’s simile)
love to snap and bite at one another, only to gratify a contentious,
sceptical, and sophistical humor, which they at first got by bad
tuition and ill-managed studies. Some again, as soon as ever they are
initiated in the principles of logic, presently commence sophisters.
Others spend their whole time in collecting sentences and historical
narrations. These (as Anacharsis said of the Grecians, that he saw
no occasion they had for money, but only to count and tell it over)
have nothing at all to do, but go about singing and repeating what
they have collected into commonplace books, without any other benefit
or satisfaction from their labors. To these you may apply that of
Antiphanes, which one ingeniously turned to Plato’s scholars. This
Antiphanes said merrily, that in a certain city the cold was so intense
that words were congealed as soon as spoken, but that after some time
they thawed and became audible, so that the words spoken in winter were
articulated next summer. Even so, the many excellent precepts of Plato,
which he instilled into the tender ears of his scholars, were scarce
perceived and distinguished by many of them, till they grew men and
attained the warm vigorous summer of their age.
Such a cool disposition to virtue and philosophy, as that philosopher
said was in Plato’s scholars when young, often lasts in the most of
us (as was hinted before) till our judgments grow to a solid firmness
and maturity, and we begin to value those precepts that are able to
beget a composure and greatness of mind, and diligently to trace and
follow those discourses and precepts whose tracks (as it is in Aesop’s
fables) rather look inward than outward, to ourselves rather than
others. Sophocles said of himself, that in writing his tragedies he
first of all abated and pricked the tumor of Aeschylus’s invention,
then corrected the harshness and over artifice of his composition, and,
last of all, changed his very style and elocution, the thing which is
most considerably persuasive, and which most of all conduces to good
manners. Even so, young students, when they pass from the fulness and
luxuriancy of panegyric and declamation to that more solid part of
philosophy that regulates manners and smooths all rugged and disorderly
passions, then begin really to attain true and solid proficiency.
8. Hereupon let me advise you this,—whenever you read the writings
or hear the orations of the philosophers, attend always things more
than words, and be not taken with what is curious and of a delicate
thread and contexture, more than that which is strong, nervous,
and beneficial. So also, in perusing poems or histories, be sure
that nothing escape you that is appositely said, in relation to
the cultivating of manners or the calming turbulent, immoderate
passions; but always give it a note, and make it surely your own.
Simonides said that a student in philosophy should be like a bee. That
laborious creature, when it is amongst flowers, makes it its business
industriously to extract the yellow honey out of them all; while
others care and seek for nothing else except the smell and the color.
So, while some others employ their time in reading the poets only for
diversion, or for the wit and fancy which usually adorn their works,
you (my dear friend) like a bee amongst a swarm of drones, observe
and collect what is sweet, palatable, and worthy your pains, and seem
already, by your constant custom and application, to have attained a
perfect knowledge of what is eminently good and proper.
As to those that peruse the works of Plato and Xenophon only for the
style’s sake, and do cull out what is elegant and Attic, as the cream
and flower of those authors, pray what do they do but as it were
admire the fragrancy and flavor of medicinal drugs, yet, at the same
time, neither understand nor enquire after their healing and purgative
qualities? Whereas, those that have advanced to a higher degree of
perfection can extract benefit, not only from philosophical discourses,
but also from every thing they see or do, and thence draw something
that may be proper and fit for their purpose. I will give you some
examples of Aeschylus and other very eminent men, which may be very pat
to this purpose. Aeschylus chanced to be a spectator at the Isthmian
games, where some were engaged at sword play; seeing one of the
combatants wounded, and observing that the theatre immediately made a
great shouting and hollowing upon it, he jogged one Ion, an inhabitant
of the island Chios, who sat next to him, and whispered him thus, Do
you see what exercise can do? He that is wounded holds his peace, and
the spectators cry out.
Brasidas, the Lacedaemonian captain, by chance caught a mouse
among some dry figs; and, being bit by her, let her go, with this
exclamation, By Hercules! there is no creature so little or so weak,
that it cannot preserve its life if it dares but defend it.
Diogenes may serve for a thousand instances; when he saw a boy drink
out of the palm of his hand, he threw away his dish, which he used to
carry always with him in his wallet. Thus sedulity and application have
a singular virtue to make us knowing and able to extract motives to
virtue from every thing that we meet with.
Nor is it a difficult matter to attain such a temper of mind, if
the candidates for virtue intermix discourse and reading with
their actions; not only “exercising themselves amidst dangers” (as
Thucydides[220] said to some), but also engaging pleasures, disputing
hard questions, examining precedents, pleading causes, and so (to try
themselves thoroughly) undertaking some magistracy or public office,
giving thereby demonstration of their opinions and resolution, or
rather establishing their resolution by exercise. Whereas, those that
are not bred to it, but like novices spy out and catch at any thing
that is curious in books, and pragmatically run away with it either
to the Exchange, the College, or some club or tavern, deserve no
more the name of philosophers, than those quacks that only truck off
vile drugs and potions merit the character and value of physicians.
Those sophisters seem to me not unlike the bird mentioned in Homer,
and to have something of its quality. Whatsoever they catch abroad
they presently bring home with them, and cram it into their unfledged
chicks, their illiterate scholars, starving their own empty crops the
while, as the poet has it; for they neither digest nor convert what
they take into true nourishment.
9. It is then indispensably our duty so to manage our discourse, that
it may be beneficial both to ourselves and others, we not incurring
the censure of being thought vain-glorious or arrogant by any; to be
always readier to hear than to teach; and, especially, so to abate
and moderate all vehemency and passionate quarrelling about trivial
questions, as that we may cease to attend and manage disputations with
the same indifferency as you may have seen some exercise hurlbats and
cudgelling,—that is, so as to leave the stage with more satisfaction
for having had a true hit or coming off conqueror, than for having
either learned ourselves or taught our antagonist any manner of skill
by the engagement.
An evenness and mildness of temper in all such affairs, which never
will suffer us to enter the lists with vehemency and passion, nor to
be hot and concerned in settling an argument, nor to scold and give
bad words when we have vanquished our adversary, nor to be very much
dejected if we chance to be quite baffled, is (I think) a true sign
of a great proficient in virtue. Aristippus was a great example of
this; for when in a set disputation he was baffled by the sophistry
and forehead of an impudent, wild, and ignorant disputant, and
observed him to be flushed and high with the conquest; Well! says the
philosopher, I am certain, I shall sleep quieter to-night than my
antagonist.
Not only upon the close and event of our philosophical contests, but
even in the midst of disputation, we may (privately) take an estimate
of this good quality in us, which is a sign of a true proficient;
for example, if, upon a greater appearance of auditors than was
expected, we be not afraid nor in confusion; if, at the thinness of the
congregation, when there are but a few to hear us, we be not dejected
and troubled; and lastly, if, when we are to speak before a numerous or
honorable assembly, we do not, for want of fitting preparation, miss
the opportunity for ever.
It is reported that two as famous orators as ever were, Demosthenes
and Alcibiades, were somewhat weak and faulty in this point. The
timorousness of the former is known to every school-boy; and as for
Alcibiades, though he was (as must be confessed) as sagacious and
happy in his thoughts as any man whatever, yet, for want of a little
assurance in speaking a thing, he very often miserably lost himself
in his pleadings; for he would falter and make pauses in the very
middle of his orations, purely for want of a single word or some neat
expression, that he had in his papers but could not presently remember.
To give you another instance of the prince of poets, Homer; he was so
blinded with an over-confidence of his abilities in poetry, that he
has slipped a false quantity, and left it on record, in the very first
verse of his Iliads.
Seeing then the learnedest men and greatest artists have failed and may
fail for want of caution or confidence, it ought more nearly to concern
those that earnestly follow virtue, not to slip the least opportunity
of improvement, either by company or otherwise; and not overmuch to
regard the throng or applause of the theatre, when they do exercise or
make any solemn harangue.
10. Nor is it enough that one take care of all his discourses and
orations; but he ought also to observe that the whole tenor of his
actions be guided by profit rather than vain pomp, and by truth
rather than ostentation. For if a passionate lover who has placed his
affection upon any beloved object seeks no witnesses to attest its
sincerity, but has such an eager desire when alone and in private,
that, like a covered flame, it burns more vigorously and insensibly for
being shut up; much more ought a moralist and a philosopher who has
attained both the habit and exercise of virtue sit down self-contented,
and applaud himself in private, neither needing nor desiring encomiasts
or auditors from abroad.
There is an humor in some of the poets, of an old peevish housekeeper,
that calls to his maid aloud: Do you see, Dionysia (that is his maid’s
name), I am now pleased, and have laid by all choler and passion. Just
such like is the practice of some, who, as soon as they have done any
thing which is obliging and civil, presently blaze it abroad, and
turn their own heralds. Such men show plainly that they look beyond
themselves for satisfaction; that they are desirous of praise and
applause; and that they never were admitted near spectators of virtue,
never saw her in her noble, royal dress, but only had some transient
sight of her in a dream or an empty airy phantasm; and indeed, that
they expose their actions to the public, as painters do their pictures,
to be gazed at and admired by the gaping multitude.
Another sign of a proficient in virtue is, when the proficient has
given any thing to his friend or done any kindness for any one, if he
keeps it to himself and does not blab it to anybody; and (which is
more) if he hath voted right against a majority of biassed suffragans,
withstood the dishonest attempts of some rich and powerful man,
generously rejected bribes when offered, abstained from inordinate
drinking when athirst and alone, or at night, when none sees or knows
what he does, lastly, if he hath conquered the briskest attempts
of love (as is said of Agesilaus); if (I say) he contain himself
from speaking of such actions, and do not in company boast of his
performances. This I affirm,—such a one as can prove and try himself
by himself, and be fully satisfied in the verdict of his conscience,
as of an unexceptionable witness and spectator of what is right and
good, shows plainly that his reason looks inward and is well rooted
within him, and that the man (as Democritus said) is accustomed to take
satisfaction from himself.
To borrow a simile from husbandmen and those that are concerned in the
business of the fields, they are always best pleased to see those ears
of corn which decline and by reason of their fulness bend downwards to
the earth, but look upon those as empty, deceitful, and insignificant,
which, because they have nothing in them, grow bolt upright and appear
above the rest. So it is amongst students in philosophy; those that are
most empty-headed, and have least firmness and solidity, have always
the greatest share of confidence, formality, and stiffness in their
address, look biggest, walk with the most state, and top upon and
condemn others, with the highest arrogance and severity of any living.
But when once their brains begin to fill and become well poised with
solid notions, they look down into themselves, and quite lay aside that
insolent and arrogant humor, which is proper only to youngsters.
Give me leave to illustrate this by one simile more. When you pour
water into bottles or any other vessels, upon its being instilled
into them, the air that was in them before presently flies out and
gives place to the more substantial body. Even so it is with those
that have had many good precepts instilled into them, and their minds
replenished with solid truths. They presently find that all empty
vanity flies off; that the imposthume of pride breaks; that they do not
value themselves for beard and gown only, but bend their actions and
endeavors to the bettering of their rational faculties; and, lastly,
that when they reprove they begin at home, turning the edge of their
satire and invective upon themselves, even when at the same time
they are civil and complaisant to all others beside. It is indeed an
argument of a generous and truly brave disposition in a scholar, not to
assume the name and character of one, and, as some use to do, to put
the philosopher amongst his titles; but if any out of respect chance to
give him that compellation, to be surprised, blush, and with a modest
smile answer him in that of the poet,
You compliment your friend; he whom you so commend
Must needs be more than man,—far more than I pretend.[221]
Aeschylus says of a young woman that, if ever she have played the
wanton, you may discover it in her eyes, and read her affections in
amorous glances which she cannot conceal; so a young scholar, if he be
once entered in the mysteries and have tasted the sweets of philosophy,
cannot possibly suppress the passion and concern for it; as Sappho
says, his tongue falters when he would speak its praise; his heart is
warm with affection;
A secret flame does run through every part.
You would admire and love the assurance and composedness of his looks,
the affectionateness of his eyes, and especially the winning decency
and agreeableness of his words and expressions.
Those that are to be initiated in the ceremonies of the Gods run
to their temples at first with a great deal of noise, clamor, and
rudeness; but as soon as the solemnity is seen and over, they
attend with a profound silence and religious fear. So it is with the
candidates in philosophy; you may perceive a throng, noise, and pother
about the school-doors, by reason that several press thither eagerly,
rudely, and violently for reputation, more than learning; but when
you are once in, and manifestly see the great light, as if some royal
shrine were opened unto you, you are presently possessed with a quite
different notion of things; are struck with silence and admiration,
and begin, with humility and a reverend composure, to comply with and
follow the divine oracle. That which Menedemus said in another case
is very apposite to this sort of men. Those that went to the school
of Athens were first of all (σοφοί) _wise_, next (φιλόσοφοι)
_lovers of wisdom_, then orators, and at last, in course of time,
plain common men; for the longer they applied themselves to study and
philosophy, so much the more all vanity, pride, and pedantry abated in
them, and the nearer they came to plain, downright, honest men.
11. Again, as it is with those that are indisposed and out of
order,—some, if a tooth or finger do but ache, presently run to a
physician; others send for one to their houses, if they find themselves
but the least feverish and desire his advice and assistance; but those
that are either melancholical, or but any ways crazed in their heads,
can not endure so much as the looks of a physician, but either keep
out of sight when he comes or command him to be gone, being altogether
insensible of their condition,—so, in persons that commit any heinous
crime or fall into any error, I look upon those as perfectly incurable,
who take it ill to be admonished of their fault and look upon reproof
and admonition as the greatest rudeness and incivility in the world,
whereas those that can quietly hearken and submit to the advice of
friends and superiors deserve a more favorable opinion, and may be
thought to be of a much better disposition. But the greatest character
of hopeful men, and such as may be probably excellent proficients in
time, belongs to those who, upon a commission of a fault, immediately
apply themselves to such as will reprove and correct them; who plainly
disclose their grief and open their malady; who do not rejoice in
concealing their distemper, and are not content to have their troubles
unknown; lastly, who make a full confession of what they have done
amiss, and desire the help of a friend to examine and direct them for
the future. Diogenes, I am sure, was of this opinion. He said, that
whosoever would be certainly and constantly in the right must get
either a virtuous good friend or an incensed ill-natured enemy to his
monitor; the one by gentle admonition to reprove and persuade him, the
other to work upon him by severity, and awe him into a virtuous course
of life.
There is a sort of men in the world, that are so vain and foolish
as to take a pride in being the first discoverers of their own
imperfections; if they have but a rent or spot in their clothes, or
have got a torn pair of shoes on, they are the most forward of any to
tell it in company; and (which is more) they are very apt, out of a
silly, empty, arrogant humor, to make themselves the subject of their
drollery, if they are of a dwarfish stature or any way deformed; yet
(which is strange) these very men, at the very same time, endeavor to
excuse and palliate the internal imperfections of the mind and the
more ugly deformities of the soul, as envy, evil-custom, detraction,
voluptuousness, &c., and will not suffer any one either to see or probe
them. These are, as it were, so many sore places, and they cannot
endure to have them touched and meddled with. Such men as these (I may
be bold to say) have very few signs of proficiency, or rather none at
all.
Now, on the contrary, he that examines his own failings with the
greatest severity, that impartially blames or corrects himself as
often as he does amiss, or (which is almost as commendable) grows
firmer and better by present advice, as well as more able and ready to
endure a reprimand for the future, seems to me truly and sincerely to
have rejected and forsaken vice.
It is certainly our duty to avoid all appearance of evil, and to be
ashamed to give occasion even to be reputed vicious; yet evil reports
are so inconsiderable to a wise man, that, if he have a greater
aversion to the nature of evil than to the infamy that attends it,
he will not fear what is said of him abroad, nor what calumnies are
raised, if so be he be made the better by them. It was handsomely said
of Diogenes, when he saw a young spark coming out of a tavern, who at
the sight of him drew back: Do not retire, says he, for the more you
go backward, the more you will be in the tavern. Even so every vicious
person, the more he denies and palliates vice, the more aggravates and
confirms it, and with surer footing goes farther into wickedness; like
some persons of ordinary rank and quality, who, while they assume above
themselves, and out of arrogance would be thought rich, are made really
poor and necessitous, by pretending to be otherwise.
Hippocrates, a man of wonderful skill in physic, was very ingenuous
in this point, and fit to be imitated by the greatest proficients in
philosophy. He confessed publicly, that he had mistaken the nature
of the sutures in the skull, and has left an acknowledgment of his
ignorance upon record, under his own hand; for he thought it very
unworthy a man of his profession not to discover where he was in the
wrong, seeing others might suffer and err by his authority. And,
indeed, it had been very unreasonable, if he, whose business and
concern it was to save others and to set them right, should not have
had the courage to cure himself, and to discover his weakness and
imperfections in his own faculty.
Pyrrhon and Bion (two eminent philosophers) have given rules of
proficiency; but they seem rather signs of a complete habit of virtue,
than a progressive disposition to it. Bion told his friend, that they
then might be assured of their proficiency, when they could endure a
reproof from anybody with the same indifferency and unconcernedness as
they could hear the highest encomiums, even such a one as this of the
poet:
Sir,
Some heavenly flame inspires your breast;
Live great, rejoice, and be for ever blest.[222]
The other, to wit, Pyrrhon, being at sea and in great danger, by reason
of a tempest that arose, took particular notice (as the story goes)
of a hog that was on board, which all the while very unconcernedly
fed upon some corn which lay scattered about; he showed it to his
companions, and told them that they ought to acquire by reading and
philosophy such an apathy and unconcernedness in all accidents and
dangers as they saw that poor creature naturally have.
12. The opinion which is said to be Zeno’s may deserve our
consideration. He said that any one might give a guess at his
proficiency from the observation of his dreams, if when asleep he
fancied nothing that was immodest, nor seemed to consent to any wicked
actions or dishonest intentions, but found his fancy and passions of
his mind undisturbed, in a constant calm, as it were, always serene,
and enlightened with the beams of divine reason. This very notion was
hinted by Plato[223] (as I interpret his words), where he is describing
and delineating the soul which is tyrannical in its nature, and showing
what manner of operations its fantasy and irrational appetite exert.
When a man is asleep, he says, a vicious person designs the satisfying
incestuous lust, has a longing for all sorts of meat indifferently,
whether allowed or prohibited, and satisfies his appetite and desire in
all manner of intemperance which is loose and unregarded, which, in the
day-time, either the laws shame him out of, or fear to offend restrains.
As now those brute beasts that are accustomed to labor will not, if
the reins be let loose, either turn aside or offer to leave the track
or stumble in it, so it is with the brutal faculty of the mind; when
it is once made tame and manageable by the strength of reason, then
it is unwilling carelessly to transgress or saucily to disobey its
sovereign’s commands or to comply with any inordinate lusts, either in
sleep or sickness; but it carefully observes and maintains its dictates
to which it is accustomed, and by frequent exercise advances to perfect
strength and intention of virtue.
We find even in our own nature the strange effects of custom. Man is
naturally able, by much exercise and the use of a stoical apathy,
to bring the body and all its members into subjection, so that not
one organ shall perform its operation,—the eyes shall not burst out
with tears upon the sight of a lamentable object, the heart shall not
palpitate upon the apprehension of fear, and the passions shall not
be roused at the sight of any beautiful person, whether man or woman.
Now it is much more probable that the faculties of the sense may be so
brought in subjection by undergoing such exercise as we speak of, that
all its imaginations and motions may be smoothed and made agreeable
to right reason, even when we are asleep and keep not sentry. It is
reported of Stilpo the philosopher, that he thought he saw Neptune in
his sleep, and that he seemed very much displeased with him, because
he had not (as was usual with his priests) sacrificed an ox in honor
of him. Not in the least daunted at the apparition, he thus boldly
accosted it: Neptune! what’s this business you here complain of? You
come hither like a child, and are angry with me, because I did not
borrow money and run in debt to please you, and fill the city with
costly odors, but privately sacrificed to you in my own house such
ordinary victims as I could get. At this confident reply, Neptune
smiled, and (as the story goes) reached him his hand, as an assurance
of his good-will to him, and told him that for his sake he would send
the Megarians abundance of fish that season.
In the main we may conclude thus much, that those that have clear and
pleasant dreams, and are not troubled with any frightful, strange,
vicious, or irregular apparitions in their sleep, may assure themselves
that they have some indications and dawnings of proficiency; whereas,
on the contrary, those dreams which are mixed with any pain, fear,
cowardly aversions from good, childish exultation, or silly grief, so
that they are both frightful and unaccountable, are like the breaking
waves or the billows of the sea; for the soul, not having attained
a perfect evenness of temper, but being under the formation of laws
and precepts from whose guidance and discovery it is free in time of
sleep, is then slacked from its usual intenseness, and laid open to all
passions whatever.
Whether this temper we speak of be an argument of proficiency, or an
indication of some other habit which has taken deep root in the soul,
grown strong and immovable by all the power of reason, I leave to you
to consider and determine.
13. Seeing then an absolute apathy or freedom from all passions
whatsoever is a great and divine perfection, and, withal, considering
that progress seems to consist in a certain remission and moderation
of those very passions we carry about us, it unavoidably follows, that
if we will observe our passions, with relation to one another and also
to themselves, we may easily find out their differences. For example,
first, we may observe from the passions compared with themselves
whether our desires be now more moderate than they used to be, fear
and anger less and more calm, and whether or no we are more able to
quench the heat and flame of our passions than we used to be.
Secondly, by comparing them with one another, we may observe whether we
now have a greater share of shame than of fear, whether emulation be
without any mixture of envy, whether we have greater desire of glory
than of riches, whether we offend (as the musicians term it) in the
Dorian or base or in the Lydian or treble notes,—that is, whether we
are more inured to abstinence and hardship than otherwise,—whether we
are unwilling rather than forward to appear in public, and, lastly,
whether we are undue admirers of the persons or performances of others,
or despisers both of them and what they can do.
As it is a good sign of recovery of a sick person if the distemper lie
in the less principal parts of the body; so in proficiency, if vicious
habits be changed into more tolerable passions, it is a symptom that
they are going off and ready to be quenched. Phrynis the musician,
to his seven strings adding two more, was asked by the magistrates,
whether he had rather they should cut the upper or lower of them, the
base or treble. Now it is our business to cut off (as it were) both
what is above and below, if we would attain to the true medium and
equality; for proficiency in the first place remits the excess, and
sweetens the harmony of the evil affections, which is (according to
Sophocles)
The madman’s greatest pleasure and disease.
14. We have already said that we ought to transfer our judgment to
action, and not to suffer our words to remain bare and naked words,
but to reduce them to deeds; and that this is the chiefest sign of
a proficient. Now another manifest indication is a desire of those
things we commend, and a readiness to perform those things which we
admire, but whatsoever we discommend, neither to will or endure it. It
is probable that all the Athenians highly extolled the courage and
valor of Miltiades. But Themistocles (who professed that the trophies
of Miltiades broke his sleep, and often forced him out of his bed) did
not only praise and admire what he had done, but was manifestly struck
with a zeal and emulation of his performances. Therefore we may be
assured that we have profited little, while we think it a vanity to
admire those that have done well, and cannot possibly be raised to an
imitation of them.
To love the person of any man is not sufficient, except it have a
mixture of emulation; no more is that love of virtue ardent and
exciting, which does not put us forward, and create in our breasts
(instead of envy to them) a zealous affection for all good men, and
a desire of equal perfection with them. For it is not enough (as
Alcibiades was wont to say) that the heart should be turned upside down
by hearing the discourses of a philosopher, and that the tears should
gush from the eyes; but he that is a proficient indeed, comparing
himself with the designs and actions of a good perfect man, is pricked
at the same with the consciousness of his own weakness, and transported
with hope and desire, and big with irresistible assurance; and indeed
such a one is (as Simonides says) like a little sucking foal running
by the mother’s side, and desires to be incorporated into the very
same nature with a good man. For this is an especial sign of true
proficiency, to love and affect their way of life whose actions we
emulate, and, upon account of an honorable opinion we always entertain
for them, to do as they do. But whosoever he is that entertains a
contentious or malicious design against his betters, let him be assured
that he is possessed with a greedy desire of honor or greatness, but
has neither a true respect nor admiration for virtue.
15. When therefore we once begin so to love good men, as not only
(according to Plato) to esteem the wise man himself happy, and him who
hears his discourses sharer in his felicity, but also to admire and
love his habit, gait, look, and very smile, so as to wish ourselves to
be that very person, then we may be assured that we have made very good
proficiency.
This assurance will be advanced, if we do not only admire good men
in prosperity, but like lovers, who are taken ever with the lisping
and pale looks of their mistresses (as Araspes is said to have been
smitten with the tears and dejected looks of a mournful and afflicted
Panthea), have an affection for virtue in its most mournful dress, so
as not at all to dread the banishment of Aristides, the imprisonment of
Anaxagoras, the poverty of Socrates, nor the hard fate of Phocion, but
to embrace and respect their virtues, even under such injustice, and
upon thoughts of it, to repeat this verse of Euripides,—
How do all fortunes decently become
A generous, well-tuned soul!
This is certain, if any one addresses himself to virtue with this
resolution, not to be dejected at the appearance of difficulty, but
heartily admires and prosecutes its divine perfection, none of the
evil we have spoken of can divert his good intentions. To what I have
said I may add this, that when we go upon any business, undertake any
office, or chance upon any affair whatever, we must set before our
eyes some excellent person, either alive or dead; and consider with
ourselves what Plato for the purpose would have done in this affair,
what Epaminondas would have said, how Lycurgus or Agesilaus would
have behaved themselves, that, addressing ourselves and adorning our
minds at these mirrors, we may correct every disagreeing word and
irregular passion. It is commonly said, that those that have got by
heart the names of the Idaei Dactyli make use of them as charms to
drive away fear, if they can but confidently repeat them one by one;
so the consideration and remembrance of good men, being present and
entertained in our minds, do preserve our proficiency in all affections
and doubts regular and immovable; wherefore you may judge that this is
also a token of a proficient in virtue.
16. You may observe further, that not to be in a confusion, not to
blush, not to hide or correct your clothes or any thing about you, at
the unexpected appearance of an honorable and wise person, but to have
an assurance as if you were often conversant with such, is almost a
perfect demonstration of a very intelligent person.
It is reported of Alexander, that one night seeing a messenger joyfully
running towards him and stretching out his hand, as if he had something
to deliver to him, he said to the apparition, Friend, what news do you
bring me? Is Homer risen from the dead? That admirable monarch thought
that nothing was wanting to his great exploits but such a herald as
Homer.
Consider this, if a young man thrive in the world, it is customary for
him to desire nothing more than to be seen in the company of virtuous
and good men, to show them his whole furniture, his table, his wife and
children, his study, his diary or collections; and he is so pleased
with himself, that he wishes his father or tutor were alive, that they
might see him in so good a way of living; and he could heartily pray
that they were alive, to be spectators of his life and actions. But,
on the contrary, those that have neglected their business, or lost
themselves in the world, cannot endure the sight or company of their
relations without a great deal of fear and confusion.
17. Join this, if you please, to what we said before; for it is no
small sign, if the proficient thus esteem every little fault a great
one, and studiously observe and avoid all. For, as those persons who
despair of ever being rich make little account of small expenses,
thinking that little added to a little will never make any great
sum, but when they come once to have got a competency, and hope to be
at last very rich, it advances their desires, so it happens in the
affairs of virtue;—he that does not quiet his mind by saying with
himself, “What matters it what comes after? if for the present it be so
and so, yet better days will come,” but who attends every thing, and
is not careless if the least vice pass uncondemned, but is troubled
and concerned at it, such a one makes it appear that he has attained
something that is pure, which he brightens by use and will not suffer
to corrupt. For a preconceived opinion that nothing we have is valuable
(according to Aeschylus) makes us careless and indifferent about every
thing.
If any one be to make a dry wall or an ordinary hedge, it matters
not much if he makes use of ordinary wood or common stone, any old
gravestones, or the like; so wicked persons, who confusedly mix
and blend all their designs and actions in one heap, care not what
materials they put together. But the proficients in virtue, who have
already laid the golden solid foundation of a virtuous life, as of
a sacred and royal building, take especial care of the whole work,
examine and model every part of it according to the rule of reason,
believing that it was well said by Polycletus, that the hardest work
remained for them to do whose nails must touch the clay;—that is, to
lay the top stone is the great business and masterpiece of the work.
The last stroke gives beauty and perfection to the whole piece.