Complete Works of Edward Young, page 100
“Ye fine men of rank and parts! a common soldier (your contempt, no doubt) shall reproach you. One of them, requesting dismission from Charles the Fifth, gave this reason for it, Inter vitas negotia extremumque diem oportet aliquod temporie intercedere. Much more inter vitee voluptates, and our last hour. Will you go to your graves with your eyes shut, as Plutarch tells you the Spartans went to their beds in the dark? If so, as reasonable men in years enter their graves as a harbour, you will strike on yours as on a rock. You do not only expose yourselves, but your whole species. When they that have most reason to be wise are the farthest from it, it sinks the dignity of our common nature, brings, beyond all other enormities, a reproach on mankind; and gives each individual, as a sufferer, as a sharer in the scandal, a just right not only of censure but revenge.
“This will excuse my indignation at two notorious offenders; and therefore I shall dare name them. Who are they but Sedbury and Torrismond? Their pictures have been partly drawn by the famous Seymour: I shall sketch the rest. These are two perfect heroes in this transgression; old offenders in an offence which, till old, they could not begin; who join the gallantries of Paris to the years of Nestor; who read a play-bill, and a bill of mortality, with the same sensation and aspect; who can amuse themselves with a cathedral service, and go for an hour’s diversion to the funeral of a friend!
“How many friends have they lost? that is, how often has their confidence in the world been shaken at the root? And give they still full proof of their obstinate adherence to, and cordial incorporation with, it? Has it not daily crumbled away in their fingers, and will they hug it still? How can their hearts still swell with those flattened bubbles of idle joy so often pricked by death?
“Ye two antediluvian youths! what greater folly on earth than that of confounding seasons, and not giving their respective appropriations to the different periods of life? Nothing can be in credit that is out of character; and credit you affect, — no one more. If you would find it, let these gentle hints, like the light touch of a magic wand, make you shrink from your vernal bloom, and wither at least to the decencies of fourscore; for? would make you some allowance still.
“Know ye not, that they who in their wrinkled decline out-dive in folly the temerities of youth, and die immaturely at twice the age of man, are void of shame from censure, human and divine; quite callous to God and men? Know you not that such faults after seventy are as severely judged by this world as the next? To be born like a wild ass’s colt, is natural; but not to live so, and retain the colt’s tooth when all the man’s are fallen out. Time was, when to centaurize was less ridiculous. But unless your equestrian part is now dismissed, laughter is irresistible; as your friend Horace assures you:
Solve senescentem mature sanus equum, ne
Peccet ad extremum ridendus.
Instead of surfeiting every public place with your ungodly omnipresence, you should be reserved as the Great Mogul. A little self-annihilation would be the wisest way even for your own vanity; for the more we forget our age, the more we remind others of it; and the younger we would appear, so much older shall we look in all eyes but our own.
“Yes, gentlemen! to preserve your dignity, retire like eastern kings. And kings indeed you may be, and glorious ones too, if you will be wise: for wisdom is the crown of old age; and the fear of the Lord is its glory.”
Since the witchcraft of pleasure is so strong as to turn young men old by their infirmities, and old into young by their affectation and conceit, let us look a little more narrowly into the perverse composition of that marvellous being, which we style “a man of pleasure;” and make somewhat, if possible, like an analysis of it.
The man of pleasure, (though I fear he never asked himself the question,) — of what nature, species, or rank in the creation conceives he himself to be? Does this yet unconstrued, undeciphered creature consider himself as an immortal being? or only as a rational? or as a mere animal? If as an immortal, let him regard things eternal: if as a rational, let reason reign: if as a mere animal, let him indulge appetite, but not go beyond it. When appetite is satisfied, an animal’s meal is over: if as a composition of all three, let it not be a confusion of them; let it be a composition; and order alone can preserve that name.
No, he is for neither of these. He is an immortal without a sense of immortality. He is a rational dethroning reason; and an animal transgressing appetite; an unhappy combination, a wretched chaos of all, without the benefit of either; nay, a sufferer from each, because an abuser of all. They are not, as heaven designed them, three parties in alliance for his happiness; but three conspirators of his own making against his peace.
For mark this immortal maze of human ruin; appetite, reason, and immortality, violate and are violated by each other. Subtle reason finds arts and arguments to tempt appetite beyond her bounds. Unbounded appetite with stupefying sensuality bribes reason to drop her dominion. Her dominion, dropped, renders blind immortality regardless of things eternal: and they being disregarded, all immortality’s boundless powers and desires devolve on things temporal; and, devolved on them, with violence impel deposed reason and riotous appetite to monstrous lengths of extravagance, which had otherwise lain quite beyond both their power and desire.
Thus stands the perplexed and hitherto not unravelled case. The man in his constitution debauches the brute: the brute, debauched, dethrones the man: the dethroned man, and debauched brute, join in rebellion against the immortal: the subdued immortal resigns to them its infinite powers and desires, which they exert to the destruction absolute of all three.
The man, if not in alliance with an immortal, never would have had an unbounded power and desire. If not in alliance with a brute, he never would have debased them to mean and sordid ends; never would have confined them to things below: but being joined to both, and, through perverseness and stupidity, rendering celestial immortality inglorious, and terrestrial brutality more brutal, he creates a far more miserable being than either of them apart could possibly have been. We may therefore congratulate the mere brute on his high prerogative of being incapable of becoming such a monster of rationality as this. And the man of pleasure, if modest, will, for the future, give the wall to his horse. He, like Codrus, disguises himself, puts off his dignity to rush into danger: and happy for him if he meets with nothing worse than death!
Reason and immortality, the man and the immortal, — these only occasion the calamity; and the poor animal, an innocent ally, must suffer with them.
If your sister’s favourites will contemplate themselves in any glass but their own, let them look in this true mirror; and though the features are somewhat monstrous, let them not disown them, since they may change them when they please; and they are pictured so minutely, that they may be the more inclined so to do. For, what a hideous ruin of humanity is this! The world after the deluge, a less melancholy sight. Such shocking footsteps sin leaves behind it, in nature animate and inanimate. Reason and virtue are the sole beauty and sole salvation of all. Through all her realms creation groans without it. The Deity is all reason in his nature, conduct, and commands. The great, invariable, eternal, alternative, throughout his creation, is, or reason, or ruin. To how many ears in this happy metropolis is this dismal news!
I was going to say, that reason is the sole basis of happiness; but it is not. There are three kinds of happiness on earth, gradually less and less. There is a happiness from the exertion of reason, where reason is given: this is the happiness of a man. There is an inferior happiness from the gratification of sense, where reason is denied: this is the happiness of a brute. And there is a calamitous happiness where reason is suppressed or abused: and this is the happiness of a wretch. You see then in what line of happiness our fine men must be content to rank.
I know your sister will call my analysis above, a labyrinth of sophistry. I will therefore give the man of pleasure’s character in a manner less perplexed, and which she may probably censure as too plain; and may wish a clue were wanting to find the meaning.
He is one who, desirous of being more happy than any man can be, is less happy than most men are.
One who seeks happiness every where but where it is to be found.
One who out-toils the labourer, not only without his wages, but paying dearly for it.
He is an immortal being that has but two marks of a man about him, — upright stature, and the power of playing the fool, which à monkey has not.
He is an immortal being that triumphs in this single, deplorable, and yet false, hope, — that he shall be as happy as a monkey when they are both dead; though he despairs of being so while yet alive.
He is an immortal being, that would lose none of its most darling delights, if he were a brute in the mire; but would lose them all entirely, if he were an angel in heaven.
It is certain, therefore, that he desires not to be there: and if he not so much as desires it now, how can he ever hope it when his day of dissipation is over! And if no hope, — what is our man of pleasure! A man of distraction and despair to-morrow.
And who would buy to-day so dear, if it were so to be bought! as certainly it is not. Doubtless the true man of pleasure is he who preserves order in his compounded nature; and gives the animal, rational, and immortal their respective dues. Who, as immortal, places in the Supreme Being his supreme delight; and, as rational, shunning superstitious austerities, and, as animal, too great indulgences; admits of all secular enjoyments that are strictly consistent with his supreme. The true and false man of pleasure are brothers: born of the same parent, namely, an inextinguishable love of delight: but so superior is one to the other, that, like the fabled brothers Castor and Pollux, one may be said to be in heaven, the other on earth.
To be more explicit, — I would gather three particular branches from this general root of happiness, and present them to your sister as a specimen of the rest.
There is no man of pleasure without his Eve, no Eve without her serpent, no serpent without its sting. He that knows not the pure delight and ever-growing tenderness of a chaste love, knows not the most that the fairest can bestow.
He that knows not the sound cordiality and constant warmth of a disinterested friendship, knows not the most that man can enjoy from man.
He that keeps not open a constant intercourse with heaven by frequent fervours of rational devotion, knows not a joy still sublimer than both.
What are the joys of vice compared to these? What think their deluded admirers of a magnanimous triumph over strong temptation; of a sweet repose in Divine favour and protection; of an indefeasible right to life eternal? Is there not a certain grandeur and solidity of happiness in this? Is not this better than ranging from the gaminghouse to brothels; and with other little, fluttering, gilded, noxious, liquorish insects, to be fixing on every nuisance for delight? sons of Beelzebub, the god of flies! I like not a certain modest faint-heartedness in the friends and advocates of what is right. A Christian should let all see what an animation there is in Christianity, above all that the world may admire besides. Christianity should be the boast as well as comfort of our hearts.
And now if we inquire after the cause which has brought us into that fool’s paradise, on which I have dwelt so long, we shall see with what good reason pleasure and infidelity are joined together in my plan.
The scripture ascribes the conquest of the world, that is, of its pleasures, to faith; and is very copious in enumerating renowned instances of it. Were faith as prevalent in us, we too should prove Alexanders in the moral world. All agree that, several goods being proposed for our ultimate enjoyment, it is impossible in our nature not to choose the best. All agree that God’s promises are better than any thing we can carve for ourselves; and all agree that they are inconsistent with sin. So that he who will take out his portion in this life must lose it in the next. What then against our nature, and against our reason, hinders us from prosecuting our chiefest good? Want of faith. All is resolvable into that alone.
For instance: Our temptations are of two kinds: From things that grieve, or things that please; the former fright, the latter allure, us from our virtue. From poverty, pain, disgrace, or prosecution, we fly to falsehood or fraud for escape. But those ills are not the immediate cause of it; but want of frith in God’s promises that “He will succour us in those exigencies, and deliver us in his good time, and make all things work together for our good.” On the other hand, when pleasure entices and carries its point, we do not think those pleasures, be they what they will, preferable to heaven. But heaven is at a distance, and the soul is eager for present good. But why is heaven at a distance? For want of faith; for faith is “the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of things not seen.” It antedates the existence of that which is future; makes “our conversation in heaven,” though we are still in the body; associates us with angels, though in our solitude: and gives us greater joy in contemplation than the world can give in hand. This is true, or the conduct of those heroes in scripture had been impracticable; and they, like ourselves, were mere men. Thus infidelity leads to pleasure, and pleasure confirms infidelity, and both together consummate ruin.
These gentlemen seem to think, that the world was made in jest; that there is nothing of moment or serious in it. There is nothing else. There is not a fly but has had infinite wisdom concerned, not only in its structure, but in its destination. And was man made only to flutter, sing, and expire? a mere expletive in the mighty work, the marvellous operations of the Almighty! Is joy their point! He that to the best of his power has secured the final stake has a fons perennis of joy within him. He is satisfied from himself. They, his reverse, borrow all from without. Joy wholly from without is false, precarious, and short. From without, it may be gathered; but, like gathered flowers, though fair and sweet for a season, it must soon wither and become offensive. Joy from within is like smelling the rose on the tree; it is more sweet and fair; it is lasting, and, I must add, immortal.
As, therefore, have above offered these gentlemen three expedients for happiness; to persuade their acceptance of them, I shall now give three short maxims which will sit light on their memories, and (I hope) in time easy on their hearts.
He that will not fear, shall feel, the wrath of heaven.
He that lives in the kingdom of sense, shall die into the kingdom of sorrow.
He shall never truly enjoy his present hour, who never thinks on his last.
Let your sister, dear sir, tell her grey pretty fellows, who are apostles to these Gentiles, that, if they can advance three maxims of greater truth, or three expedients of greater efficacy to happiness, than those above-mentioned, I am their convert, I exchange my Bible for Bolingbroke, and prepare for the ball; for, N. B., I am but fourscore.
With best wishes to you, and those you love, that is, all mankind,
I am, dear Sir,
Most affectionately yours.
LETTER III. ON PLEASURE.
IN ANSWER TO ONE RECEIVED.
DEAR SIR,
THE contents of your letter damp my joy in hearing from you. Even a good man’s approaching death strikes us with some concern. I am sorry that the sting which pleasure left in your unhappy friend occasions so swift a decline. How naturally we lay hold on heaven when the world sinks under us, and will support our hopes no more! The piece of devotion which you desire, you shall receive in my next. I cannot reflect on your friend’s distress, and a noble youth whom I myself attended in his extremes, without dwelling still longer on pleasure, which has cost the world so dear.
If disease and infirmity make us daily visits in the persons of our neighbours and friends; and death, by the same affecting messengers, gives us frequent notice that he will be with us soon:
If, when death arrives, all mankind, however divided before, unanimously close in one opinion, and one wish:
If libertine enjoyments hasten the approach and heighten the dread, and imbitter the consequences, of death:
If death is the single event sure, and virtue the single pursuit indefeasible; and the Divine favour the single point of absolute importance:
If that favour comes so cheap that the very leavings (in time, care, and expense) of our real enjoyments would go a great way in the purchase of it:
If the martyr’s blood makes that purchase sure; and it is impossible that martyrdom and voluptuousness should share the same fate:
If the fate to be shared is endless, and this life but as a moment to an age; and an age not a moment to eternity; and eternity as much ours as the present hour:
If he that is over-fond of the present, or high in expectation from any future, hour, either knows not this world, or believes not in the next:
If all this is true; that is, if it is day at noon; how happy, like your friend Eusebius, to strike early into the right path; and not so long to slumber in indulgence, like the noble youth, (of whom I shall soon speak,) as to suffer the birth-day of our understanding to be the last day of our lives!
I told you in a former letter, that I would give you your friend Eusebius’s character at large: not, to be sure, for your information; but to place him in opposition to the men of pleasure; and so,
Facem praeferre pudendis, — Juv.
that their deformity may be set in a stronger light, for the benefit of those weak eyes, who cannot see a mountain without spectacles; with whom a centaur passes for a man; or rather, who think a man of pleasure an extremely happy creature, and, with ancient astronomers, place the centaur in heaven; their Sagittarius there, or eternal hunter, ever aiming at pleasure, and ever missing his mark. How very much, the character of Eusebius will plainly show.
Men of pleasure, notwithstanding all the thorns they meet with in their flowery path, imagine all would enter it but for want of taste, or spirit, or purse: Eusebius wants none of these. He wants not a taste for aught that can gratify either imagination or sense; that can make a coxcomb or debauchee: but he is neither. Nor wants he a purse or heart to provide those gratifications. His purse is large; larger his heart: but not corrupt, and nobly wrong. He is young, gay, rich, expensive. So far he is with them; but will leave them soon, as the sun slides from under an eclipse. His riches widen the circle of his virtues. Their riches increase the number of their crimes. There are two kinds of expense; in both, riches make themselves wings and fly away. But widely different in their flight; in one they fly away as an eagle towards heaven; in their flight beautiful, and celestial in their end. In the other they fly away as an owl to the desert; ungracious and ill-omened in their flight, and ending in the desert of ignominy and ruin.
