part ii
Plutarchus Plasmatias:
being a recital of conversations, in which
The Sentiments of the best Ancients concerning Philosophy and Liberal Education are fairly represented.
Discite o miseri, & caussas cognoscite rerum, Quid sumus, & quidnam victuri gignimur; ordo Quis datus; ——— ——— ———
—Persius
Plutarchus Plasmatias to His Friend Fundanus, Concerning Liberal Education, &c.
part ii
It is sufficiently evident, that it will be very difficult for men to attain to wisdom and virtue, if their minds have been depraved by wrong education, or if just conceptions of true happiness and merit have not been early impressed on their breasts, and the habit of self-government fully established there, by right instruction and discipline, timeously begun and steadily pursued. Adversity will be necessary to rouse and correct such, and will hardly be able to accomplish their reformation. All this experience proves by many melancholly examples. But to object against providence on account of our dependance upon the care of others, in what is principal with regard to our happiness, the temper and habitude of our mind, philosophers have shewn to be absurd in many respects. And a brief view of their chief arguments will neither be disagreeable to you, my friend, nor foreign to our subject.
’Tis certainly fit that the mind which is united with a body made to advance gradually to a full grown state, should enter into life in the same infant condition with its mate: They would otherwise be very unfitly paired and yoked. But because an enquiry into the reasons why our bodies are propagated, ripen and decline in the manner they do, would engage us too deeply in the explication of material laws and connexions; let us turn the tables, and confining ourselves to moral laws and their final causes, consider what would be the effect, were we not born into the world with infant minds, standing in need of culture, and to be formed by instruction and example: minds, in one word, totally depending upon the help and care which parents are instigated to bestow upon their children, by affections deeply inlaid into their hearts by nature for this end, and which children are by the same all-forming hand so well prepared to receive from their parents, by affections and dispositions corresponding as exactly to parental tenderness and sollicitude, as any two things in mechanism can tally: This is the case; and let us consider, if it were not so, what would happen? There would be no place for the pleasantest exercises, the sweetest and kindliest offices, the most endearing connexions, and the most tender, warm and affectionate emotions we can form any idea of. How rude and how dislocated (so to speak) would human life be, without the parental and filial ties by which mankind are now so closely knit together? Take away these relations and bonds, the dependance which constitutes them, and the affections so admirably adjusted to them; take these away, and we cut off the most delightful feelings belonging to human nature. Without them, what room would there be for what is in a proper sense denominated humanity? Wherever there is union and society, wherever there is any room for friendship and gratitude, for generosity, or any benevolent office, there must be room for giving and receiving, and consequently there must be reciprocal dependence. Mutual wants are the sole basis upon which society can subsist. For what is social intercourse but reciprocal interchange of services, favours, and kind deeds? And therefore, in every state of rational creatures, there must necessarily be some mutual connexions and dependencies analogous to ours, by which they, like us, are cemented into one body. But by whatever ties and bonds other reasonable agents may be coalited, ’tis matter of experience, that the helplesness of our infant condition, in respect of mind as well as body, and the common dependance of mankind upon the sollicitude and prudence of their parents, with relation to their nurture and education, are one of the principal links by which we are bound together; and without this connexion, many cares, virtues and duties, which now afford us equally noble and agreeable employment, and without which human life would really be very listless and inactive, could not have place; there would be no foundation or occasion for them.
And hence, by the by, we may observe a fundamental mistake in one of the most knowing and wise of ancient law-givers, Lycurgus. For so far was his scheme of civil government from being adjusted to the original connexions of mankind, arising from the manner of our propagation, and to the affections correspondent to them, that, on the contrary, it was diametrically opposite to nature in this respect, being calculated to extirpate or exclude these primitive ties of humanity. And what was the consequence of thus opposing and counter-working natural principles? Do we not plainly see, from the character of the Spartans, that where the affections, called in a peculiar sense natural, those, viz. belonging to parents and their offspring, as such, are not humoured, or have not full and free scope to exert themselves, there true benevolence cannot grow up into the ruling passion of the heart, but instead of diffusing its benignity thro’ the whole soul, thro’ every appetite and affection, will be confined within narrow bounds, and allayed with a large mixture of ferocity and haughtiness, as it was in them? There, under pretext that no affection might detract from or weaken the love of their country, but the latter might absorb all other attachments, children were taken early from their fathers and mothers, and educated as the children of the public, that they might know no other parents, and consequently no other obligation or tie but to the public. But the natural sentiments and affections, the workings of which exceedingly humanize the heart, being thus stifled in the very bud, their love of their country, maugre many excellent constitutions designed to prevent that effect, degenerated into a furious lust of conquest, which was not long of engendering an insatiable desire of riches. They looked upon foreigners as if they had not been men; they treated their slaves or Helots with the utmost barbarity; and they lived with one another, and with their neighbours, in perpetual envy, jealousy and strife. In a word, they were rather fierce and savage, than generous, humane and compassionate: Even their women, laying aside their natural softness and tenderness, were so hardened, that they could behold the wounds and agonies of their expiring offspring, without shedding one affectionate tear, or feeling any degree of pity, any compassionate emotion. Some later philosophers, misled by the same error, have imagined that the unmarried man, who has no children or family to divide his care and concern with the public, will make the firmest and most daring patriot. But if many ties bind faster than one; and if frequent agitations of the mind naturally form a general temper corresponding to them, he who frequently feels tender affections bestirred in his breast, by natural excitements, to father, mother, wife, children, and other relatives, must have a much more sympathizing and benevolent disposition than those who are quite strangers to these generous, kindly exercises of the heart; and being interested in the public welfare by various ties and connexions, unknown to the other, he must be much more strongly and warmly engaged in its interests. More motives concur to animate and support his zeal and courage in defence of the commonweal; and whereas one seldom or never carried beyond private interest, by affections naturally engaging him in the concerns of others, may easily become too narrow, selfish and callous, to be very tenderly affected by the idea of the general good of those, to none of whom he hath any particular attachments; the heart, which is ever and anon called upon by some natural feelings to mind the advantages of others, being thus inured to go out, as it were of itself, is by these generous exercises kept so tender, so sensible to the interests of others, as hardly to stand in need of any impulse from self-interest to rouse it, when dangers to others, as dear to him as himself, demand his kindly helping hand, and brave benign interposal. Besides, what is it that properly deserves to be called public spirit or love of one’s country, but rational intrepid zeal for a legal constitution, by which the general good of a whole state is promoted? But how can such zeal be lessened by a hearty concern in the interests of many particulars depending upon this constitution? As well may it be said, that with the more indifference we regard the several constituent parts of a house, or any such whole, the warmer will our attachment to that whole be, as that the natural affections which bind us to many of the members of a state, will weaken our concern for the state itself.
In reality, nature seems to have intended our natural affections to be springs for feeding and extending our benevolence, and for giving it a particular direction or biass, the due influence of which on every member of human society, would render every one truly useful in his sphere; and without which, any benevolent propensity would have been too general and vague. The mind of man is made to expand itself gradually from parts to the whole, or to be warmed by particular affections into an universal love, that at last, in its full effusion, embraces not only all mankind, but the whole system of rational beings, and rises to the supreme Author of existence and happiness himself, whom such a heart naturally represents to itself as infinitely happy in the unerring exercises of boundless goodness directed by infinite wisdom. But the civil policy, which is not conformable in every respect, in this more particularly, to the great lines of nature’s drawing, or to the structure of the human mind, and the natural dependencies, bearings and progresses of human affections, is as absurd, and consequently will prove no less abortive, if not pernicious, on account of its repugnancy to the laws of moral mechanism, than it is in any instance whatsoever of mechanism properly so called, to desert or counteract the established laws of nature, according to which alone can human arts operate with success: As such attempts can never answer their end, because the laws of nature are unalterably fixed by its author, and will not bend or yield to human fancy and caprice; so for the same reason, the former can never gain its end, the happiness of mankind, but will either produce nothing, or which is worse, bring forth unnatural and monstrous effects. As well may we pretend to abandon or neglect nature in husbandry and gardening, as in moral polity, or in what is principal with regard to it, education. In every thing universally the rule is to take nature’s path, or to consult and follow her. But what doth nature more plainly tell us, than that our natural affections are not inlaid into our frame to be effaced or thwarted, but to have proper exercise, and by their natural outgoings so to interest us in the concerns of others, that our minds shall thereby soon become no less sensible to the happiness of our kind, than to our private welfare, and we shall feel our truest bliss to be proportioned to the extent and height of our charity or benevolence? And what therefore is more absurd than the philosophy that teaches us to contract ourselves within ourselves, and to divest our minds of all generous affections, except the politics which pretend to enhance and swell social love by draining or cutting off all its sources; to make the soul more humane, by retrenching all the humanizing affections; or in one word, to unite us more warmly and affectionately to the whole body, by taking off all the attractive forces, all the reciprocal endearments of particular members, by which they are strictly bound and knit together. Did the philosophers who have imagined that all the vast orbs which compose our mundan system, cohere and preserve their order by a common gravitation to a common centre, ever dream that this coherence would be stronger, if the several component parts did not attract one another; or that the general attraction would so much as subsist one moment without the other particular attractions? And yet however that may be, ’tis plain the human mind must rise from individuals to the whole; and such indeed is the virtuous constitution of our soul, that self-love but serves to wake the generous affections. We soon find that the exercises of the kindly affections are our best pleasures, and that if we truly love ourselves, we must seek our happiness from that source. All that self-love can do, is to rouse us to seek for gratification to our capacities of enjoyment: And experience soon teaches us, that our best, our most durable, our only satisfying enjoyments are of the social kind; or that there is no valuable gratification that does not some way lean or hearken to our species. What would self-love serve for, had we not particular affections and appetites; for these alone render us capable of enjoyments? But what are these affections and appetites, or what are their objects? Do they not almost all of them chiefly respect some things without ourselves; some things in others; their happiness, their love, their approbation and praise, their vindication or deliverance, and their liking and good-will. But what else is the natural tendency of these affections, but to humanize the mind, and form a generous kindly temper. Self-love may awake our particular affections; but by the out-goings of our particular affections, which are almost all of them of the social kind, the mind will be gradually softened into a generous temperature, and become throughly love and good-will. If self-love should contract the soul, it would, proportionably, as it rendered it less benign, render it less capable of the truest happiness. But every particular social affection hath a sweetening influence on the mind, and tends to establish a liberal disposition and habitude. This is the natural progress of the mind towards perfect universal benevolence; nor can the human soul be improved into the truly virtuous temper, but by giving a right turn to all its particular affections. The health and soundness of the mind consists in the sound or proportionate operation of each part; then is it in perfect order when every affection is in its due tone, and is neither weakened by, nor weakens any other equally natural to the mind, and equally useful in its proper degree and place. Here, as in the natural body, lopping off any thing but excrescences is maiming, and curbing or restraining any member beyond a due pitch is distorting.
But not to insist longer on this topic; to object against the Author of nature, on account of our being born in an infant state of mind, and dependent on education, what else is it, but to demand that knowledge should not be progressive, or that the laws and connexions of nature should be discoverable some other way than by experience in proportion to our situation for taking in ideas or views, and our diligence in comparing effects with effects, and deriving or infering general causes by induction from particular observations, than which nothing can be more preposterous? For if the knowledge of creatures must come from experience and observation, desire of information, docility to the experience of others, and the influence of example and imitation, are absolutely necessary to minds made to acquire knowledge for the regulation of their conduct by culture; and consequently to depend for their advancement in knowledge upon the progress, pains and fidelity of others. And therefore, if we add to this consideration the necessity of habit, or the absolute fitness that repeated acts should beget a propensity and facility of doing what hath been often reiterated, nothing remains for which nature can be blamed with respect to our formation in relation to knowledge or virtue, i.e. moral perfection and happiness. For as to our power or dominion, as it can only enlarge as our knowledge enlarges, so it is found to increase with it in such a manner that knowledge may justly be said to be power, natural knowledge, natural power, and moral knowledge, moral power. These things being duly weighed together with our large stock of natural and generous affections already mentioned, so well adapted to our circumstances, there is nothing for which our frame can be reprehended, unless it is absurdly required that there should be no species of creatures in nature but the very highest that can possibly in the nature of things exist; and we thus quarrel with our Creator for communicating as much goodness, as much perfection and happiness, as infinite power can produce. And indeed all the objections against man, into however many classes they are divided, ultimately terminate in this one, “Why is not man more perfect?” To which the only answer that can be given is, that such a species as man well deserves his place in the rising scale of created life, since he is naturally furnished with powers, capacities, and affections capable of perpetual improvement, by due culture and diligence. All the objections against man, or rather against the ways of providence towards man, are reducible into one, to which this is a sufficient reply.—For whether we object against any particular part of our furniture for happiness and perfection—or against the scantiness of our stock—or against the dependence of men upon their education, and the kind of civil government they chance to be born under—or finally, against the imperfection of distributive justice, with regard to punishing the vitious, and rewarding the good in this world—all these objections ultimately result in the same thing, and do not make different difficulties, but arising from the same root, are not any ground of objection against providence; because that from which they arise is no ground of objection against it; as will appear by this train of reasoning. “Deficiencies in distributive justice in the course of providence, or which comes to the same thing, deficiencies or irregularities with respect to public happiness and misery, which are resolvable into the instrumentality of men, i.e. into our mutual dependence upon one another, in respect of happiness and misery, can be no objection against the present course of providence, unless it be a relevant ground of objection against it, that we men are dependent one upon another; we men, who are made to attain to comprehensive views and virtuous habits by observation and exercise, or in one word, by gradual culture. Distributive justice, or in other words, public happiness and misery, must depend upon the instrumentality of men, as far as the mutual dependence of men, one upon another, in respect of happiness and misery reaches. As far therefore as the imperfection of men reaches, must there be deficiencies or imperfections and irregularities with regard to happiness and misery, which can only change or amend as men amend, i.e. as men become wiser and better. And therefore, ultimately all such deficiencies or irregularities are accountable in the way that the present imperfection of men is accountable: They do not make a separate objection, tho’ they be often stated as if they did; but being a necessary consequence from the imperfection of men, they stand or fall with the general objection taken from it. But when we consider the natural furniture of mankind for advancement in knowledge and virtue, and the natural rewards attending the suitable exercises of our moral powers, to bring an objection from the present imperfection of men against the wisdom and goodness of providence, is to impeach providence for having made a species of beings in order to make nature full and coherent, that hath in its power to attain to a very great degree of moral perfection, nay to make perpetual improvements. For to demand more, in order to produce moral happiness and perfection, than having furnished beings with powers and means of improving towards it, is to require something that cannot be specified; because knowledge must be progressive; and virtue is in its nature a gradual acquisition, by perseverance in the right use of moral powers.”
All this will be clearer, when we come to review the furniture of the human mind for acquiring knowledge and virtue, and to consider of what improvements it is susceptible in consequence of good education chiefly. Mean time, that we may make this introduction to that enquiry as perfect a vindication as we can, in so narrow a compass, of the ways of God to man, let it just be suggested here, that if false apprehensions which must produce practical errors, the understanding being the guide of the will and affections, if any errors or vices once enter amongst mankind, they will spread in consequence of the influence of information and example, and of the docility and pliableness of young minds; or their readiness to imbibe ideas from others, and to be easily moulded, by education and custom, into any shape, which, however, in consequence of the necessary power of habit, is not without great difficulty undone and effaced. But how can creatures be secured against false ideas, views or judgments, and their effects, otherwise than by furnishing them with the powers and means for taking in just ideas, and forming true judgments? To ask for more is to demand something that hath never been named, and has indeed no name, something absolutely inconceivable in a system governed by general laws, or in which the given powers operate according to settled laws. For frequent preternatural interpositions, to prevent false judgments, or the pernicious influences of false conceptions, upon the affections and will, are absolutely inconsistent with a fixed and general order: But where the laws of powers are not general and uniform, there can be no intelligence, no activity, no power, and consequently no perfection or happiness of the moral kind: And therefore no inconveniences redounding from the fixedness of general laws, can be equal to those that would be the necessary consequences of arbitrary, undeterminable methods of government. In fine, the old apologue, applied with such propriety and success to illustrate the pernicious tendency of dissention between the higher and lower ranks of people in the same civil state, is equally apposite to the objectors or grumblers against providence. For not only are all the common powers and affections of the human mind, with all the laws determining the different effects of their operations in different situations and circumstances, as necessary to the general good of the human mind, as all the members of the body, and all the mechanical laws on which their operations depend, are to its common good: But the various functions for which the several parts of this latter whole are designed and admirably fitted, are not more requisite to its greater perfection and good, than all the various powers and affections, all the different genius’s, turns, tempers and capacities of men, are to the greater good of the human system, or of mankind in general. And indeed there can be no whole without variety of parts; and then is a whole good when all its parts are so fitly contrived and assembled as to constitute the best structure for a particular end, worthy of being effected; and then are all the parts of a whole good, when the whole composed of them is good in that sense. If any should say, That if this be the case, then are the worst of characters amongst mankind necessary to the general good or perfection. A little attention to the similitude above used, will shew the absurdity of such an objection. For as it cannot be said, that because all the parts of the human body are requisite to its greater good and perfection, therefore bad eyes, and unsound feet are requisite to the good of the body; so for the same reason, it cannot be said, that because all the powers and affections belonging to mankind are necessary to the greater good of the human system, therefore, corrupted powers and affections, or powers and affections not in a sound but in a depraved state, are requisite to the greater good of that system. The meaning in both cases equally is, that the organs and faculties belonging to the body, and the powers and affections belonging to the mind, are good with respect to their respective wholes, because the functions they are fitted to perform, while they continue in their sound state, are so. As when we say the human body is a good whole, we do not say whatever happens to the eyes or ears, &c. is good for the whole, but that these organs are well adapted to perform certain very useful and pleasant offices; and are disturbed by no natural cause, the prevalence of which is not exceeding useful with respect to the material world in general; so when we say the human mind is a good whole, we do not say, whatever happens to reason, memory, temper, &c. is good for that whole, but that these powers and faculties are admirably adapted to perform certain functions of the greatest utility, and are disturbed by no natural cause, the prevalence of which is not exceeding useful with respect to the human system in general. And this way of reasoning makes a full solution to all objections against providence, whether in the government of the material, or the rational and moral world, provided this also be kept in view, which is incontestable, namely, that where there is no activity, but a mere succession of impressions and affections, without willing, preferring or choosing, there all is done by some external principle, and nothing is acted, but all is received by, or rather imprinted upon the passive recipient, as is not improbably the case with regard to many species of inferior animals: But where there is a sphere of activity, or the power of willing or choosing, and of effecting things by will, there nothing is imputable to any external principle or cause, but the powers and affections given to such agents by that cause, and the laws regulating the different effects of the various exertions of these original given powers and affections, by will or choice, likewise appointed by that cause. The wills or choices of such agents are solely imputable to themselves. This is likewise to be remembered; for where there is activity, it will not follow that the powers and affections given to agents are not good, because many exertions of them are very bad. But that we ourselves are active, that is, will and nill, and by willing and nilling determine the existence or non-existence of several effects subjected to our will by the laws of our nature, cannot be called into question without denying experience, and so plunging ourselves into absolute scepticism, and pronouncing all sollicitude, all industry, all praise and blame absurd. If we are active, then, in order to vindicate providence, and the Author of nature, no more is necessary but to vindicate our powers, and the laws of our powers, for that only is the Creator’s part; the exertions of our powers are our own part. But that we have a sphere of activity, is as certain as that we are, because it is known or certain, by the same immediate experience which assures us we exist. All I would further suggest upon this head is, that when certain ancients speak of fate, and say all things are governed by fate, they meant by fate, the words, the laws established by the Creator, according to which all things are produced: The word signifies a law, or rule of some mind: The fate therefore that governs the world according to them could be no other than the laws appointed by its Creator. And the same philosophers distinguished these laws into laws which constitute the τα εφ ημιν with respect to the various classes of moral agents, and the τα εφ ημιν with respect to them, or the effects and trains of effects absolutely independent of their wills: And consequently, according to the same philosophers, all was governed by general laws, and by the general laws of nature each species of moral agents hath its dominion or sphere of activity allotted to it, which it is their duty and interest to know, that they may not misplace their sollicitude and industry, but successfully bestow it on things dependent on their will, and submit all the rest cheerfully to the disposal of the Governor of the universe, upon whom they alone depend. If sometimes destiny or fate is said to be superior to the supreme Being himself, the meaning of this was only, that certain relations of things, one to another, are absolutely unalterable, so that the Creator could not give being to certain things, and properties of things, and prevent or exclude certain relations and consequences of these things. Thus the Creator cannot make bodies move in circles, and their orbits not have the properties of circles: Thus the Creator cannot give the capacity of improving in knowledge, and not make this capacity dependent upon care to improve it. To assert fate in this sense, is no more than in other words, to assert the immutability of the natural relations of certain qualities to other qualities.
From this short view of the principles upon which the vindicators of providence and human nature proceed, ’tis evident that the arraigners of providence and human nature take a very partial and incompleat view of things, and do not attend to the beautiful and wise concatination of causes and effects in the moral world, but often blame the effect while they acquit the cause, or vice versa, censure the cause while they approve the effect. But the chief stress of the matter lies upon a point, which will be further cleared up by the enquiry into what right education is able to do, which is our present chief scope, and the excellent furniture and constitution of the human mind, in respect of all moral improvements. Neither the necessity and happy effects of good education; nor the admirable capacity of the human mind with regard to advancement in knowledge and virtue, and in happiness proportionable, can be brought into question, when we call to mind the high perfection to which several great personages in ancient and modern times have arrived, and reflect what a large share of their eminence and merit were owing to timeous institution in all the more useful sciences, and which is chief, in the excellence of virtuous conduct, and the turpitude of every vice, joined with suitable discipline and practice.
Lycurgus is said, in order to recommend his laws and institutions to his citizens, and to withdraw them from the corruption and effeminate pleasures in which they were at that time plunged, to have took care to breed up two whelps, the one a grey-hound, the other of a currish breed, in ways opposite to their natures: The former he kept at home, and fed him with good meat, but the last he often carried into the fields to hunting: After having bred them up in these different ways, he brought forth both before the people, and set down good victuals on one side, and let out a hare on the other; upon which the dogs did each pursue his usual turn; the greyhound fell greedily on his victuals, the other run after the hare: Then he said to the people, Do you see what a diversity of breeding hath brought about between the two whelps, and what power it hath over them? The remarkable differences between the Lacedemonians and the Sybarites, in consequence of different education, are a strong proof in specie of the point we are upon. And indeed we see the power of education, even in smaller things, to be such, that it cannot fail of having a most delightful and valuable success in matters of higher importance. We are told of one Telesias of Thebes, that having been instructed in the true grave ancient music, the only music that anciently made a part of education, from his youth, he afterwards suffered himself to be seduced by the softnesses of the theatrical music, and set himself to the study of those, amongst all the compositions of Philoxenus and Timotheus, that had most the air and character of novelty: But yet when he came to try to compose in the gout of Pindarus, and that of Philoxenus, i.e. both in the ancient and modern taste, he failed intirely in the latter, because the precepts impressed on his mind from his tender age had kept the ascendant. But why should we insist upon these topics? For how much did the greatest men the world ever saw, by their own confession, owe to their happy institution, and how grateful were they to their preceptors on that account? And who dare reproach human nature for incapacity, either of knowledge or virtue, the sublimest knowledge, or the most exalted heroic virtue, if he reflects upon the attainments and lives of many, whose names can never die? They cast us at a distance, and upbraid us because they shew us what we may attain to, and that what we unjustly call natural impotence or weakness, is really no more than contracted indolence, or something worse, for which we have ourselves only to blame? For who ever failed of obtaining knowledge or virtue, who having set his heart upon it as his chief treasure and good, sedulously pursued that glorious mark? Or what more is necessary to be wise and good, nay to conquer the worst habits, and emerge out of the lowest abyss of ignorance and vice, but to dare to make due efforts to rise and to persevere in this brave attempt? ’Tis true, such must first be awaked to perceive their mean and vile state. But what is there about us, that is not continually suggesting to the vitious, their horrible degeneracy from reason, and the dignity of human nature, and often raising remorse in their minds, amidst all their sensual joys, or rather revels? Who is so profligate, so absolutely abandoned by reason, that the beauty of virtue, and his own deformity, never present themselves to his mind? All nature conspires in calling upon us to act like men, i.e. like agents endued with reason, and capable of attaining to the highest perfection; capable of immortal progress in knowledge and virtue, if we be not wanting to ourselves. This is the general voice of the order and good nature pursues in every part of her creation; and with this external voice of nature, our inward conscience, whatever pains may be taken to stifle it, is not unfrequently joining issue, even in the most corrupt breasts, and in times of the most general depravity. Nature must cease to shew her wisdom and virtue in her works, and true goodness to have any lovers and followers among mankind, or the light of a wicked man’s understanding must be quite extinguished, before his conscience can cease from reproaching and disquieting him.
But if men may arrive early at a great height of prudence and virtue, by means of right education,—what is right education, or how ought education to proceed? Suffer me to give you an account of a conversation on this subject I had lately the happiness to hear. The persons are well known to you; and it happened on this occasion. Simias is a curious naturalist, and bestows a great share of his time in his garden upon the culture of plants, flowers and trees, especially since he retired from public business, whether out of discontent with the administration, as his friends say, or much against his will, to prevent the disgrace of being discarded, which he saw would not be long of happening, after certain changes at court, as others pretend. He was busy in his garden, when Palemon came to pay him a visit, who, you have heard, is a great admirer of the Socratic doctrine, and hath long given himself up intirely to moral studies, and is indeed an amiable pattern of the strict virtue he lets no occasion slip of praising and recommending, in opposition to a sect from whose professed principles one, as he is wont to say, could not expect to find half the generosity and public spirit their actions often shew: For their system is, that freedom from care and trouble is the chief good attainable in human life. No person is more beloved, even by those against whose doctrine he is ever disputing, tho’ they now and then call him an enthusiast.
After a few civilities were interchanged, they fell into conversation about agriculture and gardening, in which Simias shewed uncommon acquaintance with natural history—and Palemon not a little satisfied with the excellent observations his friend had entertained him with, upon the wisdom and goodness that appeared in every vegetable and animal structure in nature, with which we are become intimately acquainted, by the researches of natural philosophers, took at length an opportunity to say, I find, my good friend Simias, that I have been in a mistake about natural enquiries, and have unjustly looked upon them as mere amusements, that had no relation to the main part of philosophy, morals; for I now find, that what you admire, and what gives you most satisfaction in your researches into nature, is the wisdom and goodness you there perceive in every fabric, in every constitution and oeconomy; so that the wisdom and virtue men ought to adore and imitate is never out of your sight.
So far, said Simias, you are right; ’tis indeed the discovery of the wise final causes nature pursues, that makes the most agreeable part of natural philosophy; and here do I choose to turn my eyes, that I may see what delights me; for as to all other things, they lie enwrapped in such thick darkness, that I cannot look towards them without being fretted, if not sour’d.
Pal.
Many naturalists appear not to carry their views so far, and to aim at nothing but contenting their curiosity or itch after novelty. But however that may be, what do you mean by saying all the rest is involved in absolute darkness? Sure you cannot mean that moral things are more remote from our investigation, or more difficult to be understood than natural things. For is it not as easy to turn our eyes inward, and contemplate the structure and operations of our mind, as to inspect and anatomize vegetables with the help of microscopes: nothing that passes in our breast can escape our close introspection, if we are attentive, but the naked, unassisted eye can make but little progress in the other research.
Sim
What you say appears very plausible at first sight.—But when we come to the trial, we find the human heart to be a complicated labyrinth, in which we soon lose ourselves; and in order to be convinced how little certainty there is to be expected in this enquiry, which you represent to be so easy, we need only call to mind the various and inconsistent accounts moralists give us of the human mind. They agree in nothing of any moment. And no wonder; for the external eye is not liable to half so many diseases which disqualify it for its functions, as the eye of the mind. Every man, before he can think of this kind of philosophy, hath some ruling passion or other, which gives its own colour to every thing he considers, whether in himself or in other men. So that all moral objects assume just as many various aspects and hues, as those who look to them have different passions and tempers. Nor is it any wonder, that in reality the same moral object should have such different appearances to the same person, since every man’s disposition is ever varying; but the present passion, whatever it be, is the glass thro’ which every one sees them, and which gives them their present colouring. In short, not to mention many other insuperable difficulties attending moral enquiries, a person must be quite dispassionate to see moral objects in their genuine forms. And where is this person to be found? If moralists are unanimous in any point, it is this, That we must first be able to judge soundly of the temper of our own mind, before we can trust to its judgments about moral things. But where does this rule land us? For in order to judge soundly of our present temper, we must first know the various appearances with which different tempers cloath objects; and to do this, we must have examined all different tempers, and their influences upon the understanding: that is, we must have considered all the tempers, all the passions which may have for ever so short a time the ascendant in the human mind, quite dispassionately, or without any predomining passion, which can never happen while man is man.
Pal.
You carry your scepticism about morals very far. But you own that you can discern order, wisdom and goodness in the natural world, don’t you?
Sim.
Yes, there I see many clear instances of wise and good contrivance, which highly charm me, and putting me in good humour, dispose me fondly to believe that all may be good.—But no sooner do I turn my eye towards the only part of the moral world within our cognizance, than my good humour is changed into disquieting doubts, or rather fears—For how full of villainy and misery is every region in this system? And now that you have revived my suspicions about the constitution and government of things in this chief part of nature, let me tell you, that the most perfect order and beauty in the material system, cannot attone for one blunder or mistake, and much less for any degree of malicious intention in the moral: ’Tis not from the architecture or furniture of his palaces that we infer the moral character of a prince. These may put his intelligence and good taste of architecture, painting and gardening beyond all doubt. But to be satisfied of his wisdom and virtue, we will look carefully into the government of his family and subjects, and form from thence our judgment of his share in the more essential and important qualities of a governor. However all other things may be managed, ’tis only from his sedulous care to promote virtue and reward it, and to make happiness as universal as may be, by a strict and impartial adherence to constitutions and laws, the best upon the whole, that we can pronounce him truly wise, and virtuous or benevolent. Tho’ you may tell me that material laws and connexions are only good or evil, in respect of the manners in which perceptive beings are affected by them, and that therefore good laws of matter and motion, are in reality good moral laws, yet surely moral laws and connexions are of the higher and more important class: And therefore it matters but little, comparatively, in how orderly and wise a manner, vegetation, animal growth and sensation may proceed, if the constitutions and laws relating to moral powers, i.e. to our understanding, our will, our affections, or in one word, to virtue and vice, be not likewise the best upon the whole. But here we are quite in the dark, and can hardly affirm any thing positively: Here philosophers split into various factions, each of which hath its favourite system, insomuch, that scarcely do they give the same account of any one phenomenon.—Nay, what consistent account can they possibly give of a system so full of disorder and confusion?—Where is true virtue to be found?—Or where it is, how is it rewarded? Vice sprouts up so fast, so naturally in the human mind, that a good man is as rare as a monstrous animal, and no less houted at or ridiculed. How can the soil, the climate, or any thing, be said to be favourable to a plant, which rarely appears, or at least very seldom comes to any perfection in it? or if it does, must force its way thro’ a croud of most offensive weeds, which hardly leave it sufficient nurture while it lasts, and sooner or later choak, if they do not taint it.—But let us turn away our eyes from this gloomy scene, and forgetting, if we can, the wild confusion that reigns thro’ it, solace our minds with a prospect in which all things so exactly obey the best laws, that nothing here is obstructed in its natural progress toward the beauty, perfection and utility of its kind, but by the overpowering force of some law, equally necessary to the general perfection of the material system. For here we are able to discern that nature is never deficient, never irregular, but even then operates according to the best order, when she seems to less knowing spectators most to deviate from her rules, or to fail of her general aim. All the most pernicious effects of air upon vegetative or animal bodies, for instance, we know are the consequences of properties belonging to our atmosphere, without which there could be no such thing as regular vegetation or animal growth.—But you smile.
Pal.
It pleases me to think what joy it will give to a mind so enamoured of beauty and harmony as yours, when you come to see all, that you now take to be confusion, to be perfect order and harmony.
Sim.
Of that I have told you I despair.
Pal.
But sure you are not peremptorily determined not to hear the reasons which satisfy a friend that it is so.
Sim.
I have heard, my good friend, that you are a very warm defender of moral providence: But I am apt to think your good opinion of the moral world is more owing to your generous turn of mind, than to rational conviction. I have already observed to you, that we never see moral things in their true colours, but in those which they receive from our prevailing passions.
Pal.
Were this the case, you would seldom think ill of the moral world. But I am willing to submit the grounds of my belief to your examination. And in order to bring you over to my side, I demand nothing more to be granted to me than you have already done.
Sim.
What was it?
Pal.
That you can discern wise and good contrivance in numberless vegetables and animals. For by wisdom and goodness doubtless you mean the pursuit of good in the whole frame by the simplest means.
Sim.
That is indeed the very thing natural philosophers admire in every animal or vegetable constitution; and they readily confess the wisdom and good order of the sensible world, or that as far as they can carry their enquiries, this maxim is universally true, “That nature does nothing in vain.”
Pal.
I might then ask you by the by, whether it be a bad thing in our make, or a bad prognostic of the event before we go further in our researches into the human mind, That we find it qualified not only to discern simplicity and wisdom, but to receive high delight from the view of them.—But dropping this consideration for the present, tell me what you want to see with regard to the human mind, but similar wisdom and goodness to that which you acknowledge in the sensible world, i.e. to see it to be framed and furnished in the best manner for a noble end.
Sim.
Nothing else indeed.
Pal.
Is it not a presumption, that upon enquiry we shall find wisdom and goodness in the fabric or anatomy of the human mind, since we see such proofs of them every where in vegetable and animal structures? For are not human minds principal parts of the same system; and what likelihood is there that the Author of nature has exhausted all his skill and benevolence upon inferior things, or that he either could not, or would not manage the more important parts with equal prudence and benevolence?
Sim.
However the presumption may stand, before we look into the moral part, we no sooner cast our eyes thither, than we perceive as clear evidences, either of want of skill, or of malevolence, as we see of order, good taste, wisdom and beneficence in the natural world. I did not expect you would argue with me from the presumption you have mentioned, after I had told you what appeared to me to be the true state of the case. But that you may keep more strictly to the point, I once more tell you, That what confounds me is, that I should see disorder where order is most to be wished and expected, notwithstanding the good order I discern in the less momentous connexions of nature and their effects.
Pal.
I did not design to stop where you interrupted me, but was going to add, That what we have reason, when we turn our eyes from the admiration of nature, properly so called, i.e. the sensible world, towards the moral, to presume, we shall find to be the case, is upon enquiry immediately perceived to be the real truth of the matter. For, upon the slightest review of the human mind, it is found to be furnished for a very noble end, being furnished for being happy, by the benevolent exercise of very extensive power. We can have no other notion of perfect happiness, but by conceiving a Being happy in the benevolent exercise of unbounded skill and power. And tho’ there may be beings far surpassing man in their dominions or spheres of activity; yet man must certainly be confessed to make a very proper step in the gradation of created beings, if he is indeed invested with a very large dominion, and is at the same time qualified for exercising his power in a benevolent way. For such a state well deserves its place in nature; nature without such a species of beings would not be full or coherent; but such a species of beings would be wanting as is very well furnished for great happiness. Do you consent, my friend, that being made for the benevolent exercise of very high power, is being made for a worthy, a very noble end?
Sim.
I do. But I am far from thinking man either hath large power, or that he is made for the benevolent exercise of power. And to prove he is not, what more is necessary than to appeal to the impotence, misery and wickedness of man. In reality, with regard to us, it is hard to say, whether our vices or our wants are most numerous. And therefore this new way of stating the question, for it is new to me I acknowledge, rather augments than diminishes the difficulty, as far as I can yet see.
Pal.
It matters not whether the way I state the question be new or not, have you any objection against trying providence in this light, i.e. by considering whether man be not made for the benevolent exercise of very large power.
Sim.
Why, indeed, if you can prove this, you will gain your point, I own. But I say, you seem to me to heighten your labour by departing from the more ordinary way of stating the enquiry.
Pal.
How is it that?
Sim.
Do not you know the question is commonly reduced to this point, viz. whether man be sufficiently furnished for progress in virtue, and our progress in virtue be sufficiently rewarded?
Pal.
I thought if I stated the question so, you would have required a definition of virtue, and therefore I began by giving a definition of virtue before I used the word. But so soon as you had agreed to admit the enquiry into moral providence upon the footing I have put it, I was to have asked leave to have called, “being qualified for the benevolent exercise of large power,” in one word, “being qualified for virtue;” because I think the best definition that can be given of virtue is the benevolent exercise of power, since, according to this acceptation of the word, agents only can be called virtuous or vitious; and virtue and vice will be applicable to all agents, and denote the sole moral difference which can distinguish exercises of power, namely, malevolent or benevolent intention; for differences of power as to extent, i.e. greater or less, are natural differences.
Sim.
I agree; for when words are once fixed to a determinate sense by definitions, why jangle about them? Your business is to shew, 1. That man is made for large exercise of power; and 2. That he is made for benevolent exercise of his large power.
Pal.
It is so. And as to the first, pray, let me ask you, if you can tell me the extent of human power or dominion in the natural world?
Sim.
Speak more plainly if you can, for I hardly understand you.
Pal.
Is there not acquirable by man a vast dominion over material things? Are not all the arts of human invention, by which men are able to render material things subservient to our uses, effects of our power; or do they not give us actual dominion? And are all the invented arts yet at their perfection; or can human invention go no further than it has already done, in rendering natural things subservient to our utility? But as far as human genius can reach in inventing or improving arts, is not man able so far to extend his power?
Sim.
I now comprehend you. But alas! my friend, how very lately have arts been brought to any considerable degree of perfection, even the most necessary ones, and how very slow do they proceed?
Pal.
Can arts prevent knowledge; or must not the knowledge of nature precede the invention of arts?
Sim.
It is plain that arts being rules, by observing which certain effects may be produced which are taken from nature’s laws, the knowledge of nature’s laws and connexions must be first in order, or come before arts.—But is it not all one, whether I say human knowledge is very scanty and slow, or that human arts are very narrow and slow?
Pal.
It is. And therefore, since in the natural world our power keeps pace with our knowledge, if man be very well furnished for great progress in natural knowledge, is he not well made for knowledge?
Sim.
To be sure, being well made for an end, and being well furnished for that end, are equivalent phrases. But how can man be said to be well furnished for attaining a large share of that which he has with great difficulty and very slowly been able to attain to but a very pitiful portion of ? And this is our case with regard to natural knowledge.
Pal.
Tell me, pray, do you think it good reasoning to say, one hath not attained to an end, therefore he is not furnished for it? As for instance, would it be good reasoning to say, a person who has sound limbs and good health is not able to walk, because he never uses his legs, but chooses to loiter in supine indolence? Or would you say one is not fully furnished for doing good to himself and others, who has a large estate, because he neither enjoys it himself, nor makes others the better by it?
Sim.
I would not.
Pal.
Then by consequence, you will not say man is not sufficiently furnished for acquiring knowledge, because he does not exert his abilities for acquiring it. Again, let me ask you, whether you think it a better and nobler state of being to be furnished for acquiring goods by the skilful application of proper means; or to be directed, or rather impelled to fix upon certain enjoyments by blind instincts, without foresight, choice, contrivance, and actual efforts of power?
Sim.
I do not hesitate to pronounce the latter the nobler state of existence. And I must grant the consequence I foresee you are about to draw, viz. That then the only question about man must be, whether we are furnished for acquiring a large share of natural knowledge; not, what we have acquired, but what we are qualified to acquire. And I will therefore yield to you, that man is furnished for acquiring very extensive knowledge and power in the natural world. And I heartily wish men would apply themselves to extend this their dominion on earth, by giving due pains to cultivate natural philosophy, the mother of all the useful or ornamental arts.
Pal.
Are we not then come to enquire how we are furnished with respect to moral power?
Sim.
We are.
Pal.
But here I need not repeat, that knowledge must precede power; nor that the question is not, what we have acquired, but what we may acquire by the furniture nature hath put into our hands, or invested us with.
Sim.
What we have already agreed upon with respect to natural knowledge, is equally true in this other case.
Pal.
Nor need I tell you, who are so well acquainted with the powers and charms of poetry and oratory, and with the principles of politics, that there are moral arts, i.e. arts drawn from the knowledge of human nature, by which noble effects are gained. Therefore, let me just add one question.
Sim.
What is it?
Pal.
Will not these arts enlarge or improve with moral knowledge? They cannot precede nor exceed it. But as they must be drawn from the knowledge of nature, of human nature in particular; so must not the experience of various operations and effects of moral causes be antecedent to their deduction?
Sim.
I do not perceive what you propose to infer from hence.
Pal.
What I would observe from hence, you will quickly perceive to be of very great moment. It is this, men must have been for some time in the world without several arts, because they must have been some time in the world to have had experience of the connexions between effects and causes, from which alone all mechanical arts are deducible. However necessary some perfection in the sciences of agriculture, weaving, building, &c. be, to the comfortable subsistence of mankind, yet experience, supposing whatever degree of attention you please, must have preceded these arts.—In the same manner, not to mention any grounds or causes of greater difficulty in moral sciences, ’tis evident that men must have been for a considerable time without them: that is to say, that however necessary the science of politics, for instance, is to the happiness of mankind, yet long experience of the different effects of moral causes in their various combinations, must have been antecedent to the science of politics.
Sim.
I grant it, and own the observation is new and important.
Pal.
What remains then, but that I should set an inventary before you of our furniture for acquiring knowledge? Call therefore to mind our senses, our memory, our reason, our imagination, and together with them our sense of harmony and beauty, our delight in comparing effects, and in tracing them to general laws—all which powers are capable of such high improvement, and that very early, by right education, and of giving us, by their improving exercises, such exquisite pleasure and satisfaction. As for our standing in need of culture, and depending upon education, surely you will not object against it. For 1. first of all, how infinitely superior is the pleasure in training and cultivating young minds, to that of training and cultivating plants or flowers! 2. Moral power can be nothing else but power over the understandings, imaginations and affections of moral agents; and as man would be a lower creature, and have much less power, and but very mean employments in comparison of what he now hath, had he no moral power, so did we not come into the world with raw unformed minds, to be open’d, enlarged, and formed by the care of others, man would be deprived of one chief branch of his present moral noble power and business. And which is yet more, 3. We have already observed, that knowledge is in its nature a progressive acquisition, which presupposes experience; but want of immediate experience may, and can only be supplied by the experience and information of others.
Sim.
I see very well the necessity that knowledge should be progressive, and consequently a necessity that beings, however well furnished for acquiring knowledge, should stand in need of the experience of those who came before them into the world, and be the better or the worse, according to the neglect or care of those others about them.—And I likewise acknowledge, that teaching and improving the young is a very pleasant work when it is successful. But how rarely it is so, we shall see by and by, when we come to the main part of your assertion, which is, that man is well furnished for the benevolent exercise of power.—Mean time I can’t help saying, that men are far from being upon an equal footing with regard to knowledge. On the contrary, however well some may be provided for that acquest, the greater part seem to have no furniture of this kind at all, or at best but a very niggardly provision. And why this partiality?
Pal.
I might urge that different degrees of education and of industry, diligence or application, necessarily make such differences amongst mankind, that it cannot be positively said, that there are very great original differences amongst mankind with respect to intellectual furniture.—But setting aside this consideration, which whatever way it be determined, does not much concern the question, let me just suggest to you, That it is manifestly necessary to the general good, that very many men should, either in consequence of certain original differences with respect to their intellectual abilities, or in consequence of circumstances, which by their different influences upon the same original faculty, will produce nearly the same effects as certain original differences would produce, be fitter for execution by bodily labour than for invention: Or in other words, the general good requires, that men should be, as it were, divided by nature into the labouring or executing part, and the consultative or directing part, as we in fact find them to be; tho’ we cannot positively say whether it be in consequence of an original partition of abilities, or of such a disposition of the causes and means which excite and bring forth original abilities into exercise, as makes the same variety. This, I say, is necessary to the general good of the human kind. For the comfortable subsistence of mankind requires many hands to execute what a few heads may invent: And in general, without dependency there can be no room for the social exercises, which all consist in giving and receiving. But whereas in the present division of mankind, the executive and inventing or consultative part mutually stand in need of one another, and mutually work for one another, without this division, there could be no mutual dependance amongst mankind, since all mutual dependence must arise from mutual wants, balanced by mutual abilities; and as abilities, so wants can only be either of the bodily or of the mental kind. The human system is indeed, my friend, either by original make, or in consequence of circumstances, producing the same effect, an aristocracy, consisting of the few capable of directing, and of the many more fitted for labour. But were it not so, what would be the effect? There would, in this case, be no place for the agreeable moral exercises of advising, directing and ruling, the natural generous employments of superior wisdom, which carry their own intrinsic rewards along with them; for in order to teach, improve, direct or rule, there must be subjects standing in need of teaching, improvement, direction and rule: Moral, as well as natural power, presupposes subjects or objects about which it may exert itself. Invention, or study and knowledge, by diligent researches into nature, are necessary to guide and direct labour; and the intense thinking requisite to progress in science, is not very compatible with much bodily drudgery: Yet without agents well fitted for labour and toil, knowledge would be of little use; for tho’ knowledge be the proper food of the understanding, yet man cannot subsist upon meditation or science; and therefore now, while one part adds to knowledge for the common good, and another acquires by their labour for the common good, both parts are equally useful one to the other, and to the whole; both are mutually dependent; both give and both receive; and for this reason, the division is as equal as may be, consistently with the good of the whole. Further, tho’ there be a very great pleasure in giving, yet there is also a pleasure in receiving: The exercises of gratitude are not much inferior in point of satisfaction to those of generosity. But by the natural division of mankind, the former are not wholly on one side, and the latter on the other, since the labouring part do not less need the inventive than they do the other. We might here, my friend, apply the ancient apologue, and say, let not the eye therefore, or the ear and the other different parts of the body, say to the hands or to the feet, I have no need of thee, and so forth.—But to one of your penetration, I need only subjoin to what hath been said, that many political maxims or rules, necessarily ensue from this natural partition of mankind that hath been mentioned, the non-attendance to which hath produced not merely absurd notions, but ridiculous, nay hurtful attempts in the framing of civil government. Hence, for instance, you will easily see, “That there can be no such thing as a perfect democracy.” The attempt, the idea is as repugnant to nature as making the earth a plain, and levelling all the hills and mountains.
Sim.
You have crowded many things together here, which are very new to me, I confess; yet I comprehend them, I think, well enough to be able to retain them, till I have leisure to examine the chain of your argument carefully by myself.—Mean time, let us go to the main point, which is, How we are made with respect to benevolence? For I think, at present, the natural aristocracy among mankind would have beautiful and happy effects, were all mankind sufficiently benevolent or virtuous. But sure you cannot say they are.
Pal.
I am far from saying they are. But remember what we have already agreed upon, in general, that the question, whether about knowledge or power, or virtue, cannot be, what we are, but what we are fitted and qualified to be?
Sim.
That was, and I think must be granted.
Pal.
If it must, this question will likewise be soon and easily dispatched; for let me know, pray, what you would reckon sufficient qualification or furniture for benevolent exercise of power, which we have agreed to call virtue, if ours be not? Have not men a sense of the beauty of good actions? Can they contemplate them without approbation? Or can they consider malicious actions without detestation? Have not mankind high pleasure in the exercises of generous affections, as well as on reflecting upon the good actions they produce? And are there not many generous affections belonging to human nature which strongly unite us together? And how difficultly are these affections quite erased out of our minds? How hard a task is it to become quite selfish, and to cast off all regards to others, to parents, to children, to the distressed and suffering, however remote from us; and to feel no resentment against injury or wrong, as such, but when it immediately affects ourselves? In fine, look into your own heart, and tell me what nature hath not done to make you benevolent and good. And then tell me what reason you have to think that every heart is not originally provided with the same stock of benevolent feelings or affections; since we can easily tell how the good affections may be weakened, and how contrary ones may be introduced and become strong; and since we know that man must fly from himself, i.e. shun all correspondence with himself, not to be proportionably miserable, as he is wicked or malicious, tho’ placed in the most luxurious circumstances of outward enjoyment.—Methinks I see you consent to all this:—But perhaps you are puzzled by what is commonly called the capital objection against providence.
Sim.
I never dispute for disputing sake—and therefore I own I feel the force of what you have said.—But I was just going to state my difficulty to you. Two things have often perplexed me, 1. Why vice sprouts up so naturally in young minds? And, 2. Why vice is suffered to be so prosperous, so triumphant, while virtue generally involves in hardships? Let me hear you upon these two points separately, if you please; for I find you are indeed master of the subject.
Pal.
What do you mean by saying vice sprouts up naturally in the human mind?
Sim.
Why? do we not see children not only peevish but malicious, before they can utter their ill-nature and tyranical disposition otherwise than by signs?
Pal.
I know some have said children are wicked even before they can think. But pray reflect upon the common methods of training up children, even among good parents, and you will not wonder to see passions carefully nursed in children from their first entrance upon life, become early very strong. Because thro’ indulgence and flattery, they love power, flattery, dress, being humoured, lording it over others, and have even luxurious palates very early, does it therefore follow, that they are naturally more capable of vitious affections and habits than of generous and virtuous ones? Reflect, that in spite of this corrupt education, and of the bad courses it leads youth into, before they can make serious reflection on the conduct of life; especially, when instead of taking pains to accustom them to reflection, they are rather inured to dissipation, thoughtlesness and wilfulness.—Reflect, I say, how in spite of all this, yet even the worst of our youth, when they come to the years of maturity, cannot totally shun remorse, but reason, of itself, and maugre all neglect to cultivate it, nay all the habits directly repugnant to reflection, often paints their villainy to them in very disgusting colours, and shews them their deformity by holding the glass of their duty to them, in which they clearly see at once the beauty and excellence of the virtue they ought to pursue, and their own vileness in consequence of immoral indulgences. This is universally the case with all men. And what may be concluded from these considerations with regard to our natural furniture for progress in virtue, I leave to yourself to judge: For I do not apprehend that you, who own a beauty in sensible objects, really distinct from deformity, will deny the reality of the moral distinction, i.e. of beauty in virtue, and of deformity in vice. I shall just add therefore, that all the sweet influences of the poetical arts upon us, set it beyond doubt, that our constitution is really benevolent and virtuous. For when or how do these arts charm or please us, but by interesting us in behalf of merit, and exciting tender, compassionate and generous feelings in our minds.
Sim.
You are so ripe upon the subject, that I am resolved for the present to give you full scope, that I may learn enough from you of your system, to be able to see at my leisure hours how it hangs together. I will therefore make no opposition to what you have said, that you may go on to answer my second objection.
Pal.
You indeed take the proper method of judging of any philosophical system, which is not to object till the whole is laid open: We must here, as in judging of machines, have an idea of the whole before we can form a just notion of single parts.
Sim.
This I am convinced of; and therefore you may proceed, if you please, to tell me what you think of the present triumph of vice. You remember the old fable of the dog and the vulture, the moral of which is, that avarice thrives and amasses riches, while modest virtue starves. Is not this the case? In one word, is not the present dispensation of temporal or external goods, as they are called, rather in favour of vice than virtue? Do not tell me they are not real goods because they are so bestowed, and that they are given in this manner by heaven, in order to shew of how little value they are.—This is too stoical an answer for me at present.—And far less would I have you to tell me, that this unfair distribution shews there must be another life, in which the distribution of good things will be much wiser and better. For whatever stress may be laid on this argument, it appears to me very preposterous, it being, in reality, to say in other words, That the Governor of the universe now errs, but he will at last correct his error, and become a better dispenser of his bounty.—But contrary to the resolution I had taken, I have interrupted you too long.
Pal.
You will own, doubtless, that there are rewards naturally accompanying virtue; or that there is a true peace and joy which virtuous consciousness alone can give. And you are now speaking only of external goods, all which may be reduced to riches, since riches will purchase all external pleasures; wherefore your question comes, in short, to this, “Why do riches ever fall to the share of the vitious, or why are not the virtuous the only persons who enjoy great wealth?” I know I need not caution you, that by riches I mean large property, whether money be in use or not.—Now, in answer to this, let any value be put upon external goods you please, and do you only tell me what purchases them according to the established laws of nature. Is it not industry that acquires or amasses them? Are they not the price of toil, whether the toil be virtuous or vitious? And ought it not to be so? Ought not they to be acquirable by the diligent use of certain means to acquire them; or would you have virtuous industry alone to succeed? Think what this is to demand. For is it not to require, that it should not be in man’s power to put out his hand to any purpose, unless his intention be just, generous or benevolent? Is it not further, to require that the sun should only shine, and the rain only fall upon the gardens and fields of the honest? All this, I think, is too plain to need any further illustration. But if the acquisition of external goods be the effect or purchase of industry, according to the laws of nature, as knowledge, virtue, and all internal goods likewise are the fruits of labour and diligence to acquire them.—If this be the case, then are not external goods dispensed arbitrarily in favour of the vitious, but they are purchased according to one general excellent law of nature, the prevalence of which has been confessed in all countries and ages of the world, by some proverb equivalent to this, Θεοι τα̕ αγαθα τοις πονοις πολουνται, God sells all his gifts to industry. Some persons of less penetration than you, might reply to this, “Do not vast riches drop into the mouths of the sluggard by odd chances?” But you will immediately see, that the succession of a worthless heir or legatee to an estate, or getting one by a lottery, and other such events commonly called casualties, are no objection at all against the truth and reality of the general law of industry. And yet if industry be really the purchaser, insomuch that it is never disappointed but by crosses arising from certain laws of nature, necessary to constitute regular means towards the attainment of ends, without which there can be no science, no industry.—If this be true, as experience plainly shews it to be, then does the best law with regard to acquisitions that can be conceived take place, and all that is said of promiscuous distribution of goods in this world, is false in fact. You desire to hear me out. And to this my first answer I have but one thing more to add, which is, That beings cannot be made for society, without being made to be instrumental in promoting one another’s happiness; or which is the same thing, without being dependent one upon another, as to their happiness and misery.—And consequently, the happiness of any district or neighbourhood of men, and of mankind in general, will depend upon their manner of uniting to assist one another.
Sim.
What are you to infer from this?
Pal.
That the improvement of arts and sciences, and the progress of virtue, the two main articles in human happiness, and the plenty or abundance of external goods, and their proper circulation, will depend necessarily upon the manner in which districts or neighbourhoods of mankind join and unite, in order to promote the common good.—Discord will not produce the good effects of union, nor will one kind and manner of social union produce the same effects as another.—But if the more wisdom, benevolence and industry there is among mankind, the greater always is the common happiness; and if we are sufficiently impelled by several feelings natural to us, to benevolence, and are sufficiently excited by pleasure in the exercise, as well as by the necessity of it, to industry, then are mankind very well constituted, i.e. then is the constitution reproached as much in favour of virtue as it can possibly be; and then are all irregularities, inequalities or deficiencies in respect of happiness not imputable to nature, or to our frame and constitution, and the laws according to which our powers work and produce their effects; but solely to want of industry, or to want of benevolence, i.e. to what we are, and not to what we are made or fitted to be and to do by nature. You are well enough acquainted with nature, my friend, to know that all bodily pains and diseases are the effects of the same excellent general laws of matter and motion which hold the sensible world in the order which is so beautiful to contemplate, and which produces so many external conveniencies, delights and goods.—And you are equally well versed in politics, to know that a right form of civil government, in which the education of persons of all ranks is upon a good footing, would produce a very orderly and happy state. —But if all this be true, we are certainly furnished by nature for a noble end, a very noble acquisition; and being so fitted and placed at present, what ground of fear can there be that well acquired moral powers will be maliciously stop’d short in their progress, and totally demolished, or allowed to subsist, and yet be worse placed hereafter than now? This, my friend, is a short view of my system, as you are pleased to call it. But let me tell you before we part, it is not mine; but has been the system of the best and wisest sages of antiquity. It is as old as any art almost; it is, at least, as old as philosophical enquiries.
Sim.
I am pleased to have had this opportunity of hearing you; and will, before we meet again, recollect and carefully examine over and over what you have said. All the recompense I can give you is, that I will not henceforth allow you to be called an enthusiast: For never did I hear any person reason upon his own scheme with so much coolness as you have done; and indeed had the delightful idea fired you, and thrown you into extasy, I should not have been surprized. For whether it be true or not, it is certainly a most comfortable belief to imagine, that all is constituted and governed with the most benevolent intention for the greater good. As for what you have so often hinted concerning education, I have indeed been long disposed to think, that were due care taken about it, human affairs would soon alter their face, and we should consequently have much less reason to find fault with nature; the causes of our present complaints would be exceedingly abated.
Pal.
All I desire of you is, to pursue this thought thro’ all its consequences, and to remember, that it must be absurd to blame nature for what wrong education produces, or for what might be mended by good education, unless we can likewise, with reason, blame nature for making our gardens to depend upon our skill and industry. In truth, as a friend of mine is wont to say on this subject, “The objections against moral providence are no better than demands that nature should have built houses and bridges, and in one word, done all for us, instead of furnishing us with powers and materials, and thus fitting us for having the satisfaction of working for, and acquiring to ourselves and others, the noblest of all enjoyments.”—But it is time to part. Plato says well, that were education but once set upon a right footing, virtue and happiness would flow from generation to generation in a perpetual and uninterrupted course. Farewell.
This conversation I have repeated, in order to render justice to the human mind and its Author, by pointing out the noble end for which we are made; or the excellent faculties with which we are endued, that are susceptible of such high improvements by due culture. Nature hath not given us virtue: nay, nature cannot give us virtue, because virtue means an acquisition made by a moral agent himself: But nature hath made us capable of attaining to great virtue, great moral perfection, by adorning us with the capacities requisite to such attainments. And from the same discourse it is easy to collect what ought to be the lesson in liberal education. The doctrine or lesson that ought to be taught is, That the Author of nature is wise and good in all his works, and hath made us capable of attaining to perfection and happiness, by imitating him in wisdom and goodness, or by making the good of our kind the end and rule of all our actions. And how is this lesson to be inculcated, but by shewing youth, instance after instance of wise and good contrivance in the natural world, beginning with the most simple examples, and proceeding gradually to more complex ones; and by leading them from the contemplation of beauty, order, wisdom and goodness, in natural objects, to the consideration of the admirable structure of the human mind, or of its excellent furniture for attaining to the knowledge of nature’s wisdom and goodness, and for imitating it; and from thence to the examination of what civil society ought to aim at, and of the manner in which it ought to be constituted, in order to answer the great purpose of it, which is to promote virtue and public happiness, by producing a regular, orderly and wise society. All the parts of this lesson hang closely together, and make one very regular pleasant progress. And as for the science which is necessary as a key to let us into the knowledge of nature’s laws in most of her productions, with regard to the motions and appearances of the heavenly bodies in particular, that science being itself a continued train of doctrines concerning the harmonies and proportions of things, it hath in itself a wonderful influence towards harmonizing the mind, and improving our taste and love of order, proportion and harmony, and was for this reason called by Plato a purifier of the mind. And on that account he began very early with geometry, for this is the science we are now speaking of. When one’s mind is well stored with real knowledge of nature’s wisdom and goodness in her works, and well acquainted, not only with the rules of wisdom and goodness relating to private conduct, but with those also, which, because they respect societies of men, are properly called political rules: When one hath attained to great perfection in this knowledge, then may he be said to have been well instructed or educated, and to have a well cultivated or improved mind; to have wisdom to be a light to his feet, and a lamp to his paths; wisdom qualifying him for acting a right part in every circumstance of life, and for doing great good, and being substantially useful to mankind. To replenish the mind with this knowledge is the proper business of education. And how pleasant a work must it be, to have our minds always entertained with delightful views of wisdom and goodness in nature, and of the happy and beautiful effects of similar wisdom and goodness in private behaviour, and in the administration of civil affairs? Whatever be the natural object with the wise and good structure of which we are charmed, the transition from hence to the consideration of our duty and dignity, consisting in the emulation of this wisdom and goodness by our actions; or of the happiness, strength and glory, the equal execution of wise and good orders, constitutions, or laws in society would naturally produce, this transition is always natural and easy.—We do not in this manner pass from one thing to another, that hath no relation to it, but we make a proper progression from the moral perfection of the Author of nature, displayed in all his works, to the moral perfection of mankind, either considered singly or in collective bodies. Some may perhaps say, How then have languages, and the polite arts place, according to this scheme of education? Now, how all the arts, which either prove, embellish, or recommend and enforce any truth, come in or have their place, while the philosophy that hath been briefly delineated is the one lesson, may easily be conceived, by reflecting, that whatever truth youth are led to the knowledge of, they ought, after they are convinced of it by clear and strict reasoning in the didactic way, to be shewn what not only oratory and poetry, but even the pencil hath done or may do to adorn, beautify and inculcate that truth. Before we part with any truth, proper specimens may be brought of what each ornamental art hath done in its province, to set forth that truth in all its lustre and charms, and by this means, to make it touch and sink deep into our heart. For, when the mind hath been often agreeably moved by proper specimens of the power of these arts, then will it be easy to explain to youth the general rules to the observance of which their agreeable influence is owing. And till then, an attempt to explain either the rules common to all the arts, or those peculiar to each art in particular, is preposterous. For the effect, that is, the influence of an art upon the heart, must be known by having been often felt, before we can enquire into the causes which produce this effect. Here, as in other parts of nature, the particular experiences from which general laws can only be inferred, must precede the inference of general laws or rules. It is preposterous, for instance, to speak of the general rules, the observance of which renders a dramatic piece compleat, by making it capable of producing an excellent moral effect upon the mind, before those we speak to are well acquainted with the influences of dramatic pieces upon the human heart: But after one hath been used to and exercised by them, the foundation of the rules to be observed in such compositions will be easily perceived. And it is just so with respect to all the other arts for the same reason. All this, my friend, I conceive, you will find no difficulty in comprehending. But let me add, that teaching philosophy in the manner that hath been briefly hinted, will have but little success, unless it be accompanied with a proper regimen or discipline: unless with teaching be joined care to practice youth in self-government, in acting deliberately and rationally, and in controuling and ruling all their affections. Practical habits can only be formed by repeated practice. Teaching may enlarge and enrich the imagination and understanding: But if the rules of wisdom are not actually conformed to in practice, we will only be theorists in virtue, and not really virtuous. Youth therefore, at the same time that they are instructed in the proper tone of every affection, and in the place, degree and rank it ought to have in our minds, in order to maintain and uphold that just balance in which the health and beauty of the soul consists—at the same time that they are taught how they ought to rule and govern themselves, they ought to be trained and habituated to right government.
But the truth of this observation, or the necessity of joining discipline with virtuous instruction, will appear more fully by taking a view of the affections belonging to our minds, and considering their uses, or the ends for which they are implanted in us by the Author of nature, and the manner in which they ought to operate. Now all our affections may be divided into two tribes or classes; the family of joy and the family of grief, or the family of love and the family of hatred. But let us go thro’ them all as they occur to us; for ’tis no great matter in what order we consider them. Let us begin with curiosity, or our passion for novelty, our delight in regularity, and the admiration with which great objects strike us; for these are the inciters to philosophy, reading or study, and the affections which are chiefly gratified by them, and they are very nearly allied.
Curiosity in children, what else is it, but a natural appetite after knowledge, fitly implanted in our minds to spur us to the search of knowledge: It was fit new objects should please us, that we might thus be excited to be daily adding to our treasure of science. All our knowledge, all our enquiries, are reducible to these two heads. What a thing is? and what it is for? And ’tis remarkable that children, when any thing new comes in their way, by the direction of nature ask first, What is it? whereby they ordinarily mean nothing but the name: And therefore, to tell them how it is called is usually the proper answer to that demand: Their next question usually is, What is it for? And to this it should be answered truly and directly; that is, the use of the thing should be told, and the way explained how it serves to such a purpose, as far as their capacities can comprehend it, and so on with respect to any other circumstances they shall ask about not turning them away till you have given them all the satisfaction they are capable of, and so leading them, by your answers, into other questions. Their enquiries ought not to be slighted, but their curiosity ought to be fostered and encouraged by satisfying it. For we ought to remember, that they are travellers newly arrived in a strange country, and that it is cruel not to give them all the information we can, and much crueller still to deceive and mislead them. And indeed, whatever others may think, a wise man will chearfully embrace every opportunity of attending to the native and untaught suggestions of inquisitive children. For there is really much more to be learned from the unartificial questions of a child, than from the discourses of men who follow the notions they have imbibed from others, and the prepossessions of education. Here there may be affectation or artifice, but there nature guides, and speaks its undisguised inbred sentiments. We ought by no means, to check or discountenance any enquiries a child may make, nor suffer them to be laughed at; but we should rather commend their desire of information, and explain the matters they are curious to know, so as to make them as intelligible to them as suits the capacity of their age. We ought to mark what it is the young mind principally aims at by the question, and not what words he expresses it in. And not to confound his understanding with explications that are above, or with a number of things that are not to his present purpose, but to come down to his capacity, as much as possible, and give him the fullest and plainest answer we can. And when we do so, we shall see how his thoughts will enlarge themselves, and how far beyond what is generally imagined young people can go, if they be led on by fit answers. For knowledge being naturally grateful to the understanding, as light to the eyes, children are pleased and delighted with it exceedingly; especially, if they see that their enquiries are regarded, and that their desire of knowledge is encouraged and commended. And it is more than probable, that the chief reason why many children abandon themselves wholly to silly pastime, and trifle away their hours so insipidly, is because they have found their curiosity baulk’d and rebuted, and their inquisitiveness chided for impertinence or pertness. Whereas, had they been treated with more respect and kindness, and their questions answered, as they should, to their satisfaction, they, in all likelihood, would have taken more pleasure in learning and improving their knowledge, wherein there would be still newness and variety, which is what they are delighted with, than in returning over and over to the same sports and play-things. Letting in knowledge into a dark mind, which is naturally restless in that condition, is no less pleasant to it, than letting in light into an obscure dungeon is to the eye. The mind of man needs but to feel the pleasure of being opened, enlarged and expanded, in order to be enamoured with information and knowledge. And a little success in satisfying their enquiries will soon beget and fix the habit of pursuing science by taking all proper methods of getting instruction and knowledge.
To this serious answering their questions, and informing their understandings in what they desire, should be added some proper ways of commendation. Let others, for this end, whom they esteem, be praised before them, for their knowledge and their application to improve their understandings. We all love praise, and desire of getting honour and esteem by our diligence to acquire useful knowledge, is a passion that ought to be carefully nursed. And in consequence of this natural desire of praise, it is found by experience, that there cannot be a greater spur to the attaining what you would have the eldest to learn and thoroughly understand, than to set him upon teaching it to his younger brothers and sisters. These are the observations of a very great philosopher; who, to what hath been said, adds, That as children’s enquiries are not to be slighted, so also great care is to be taken, that they never receive deceitful and eluding answers. They easily perceive when they are slighted or deceived, and quickly learn the tricks of shufling, dissimulation and falshood which they observe others to make use of. We are not therefore to entrench upon truth in any conversation, but least of all with children; since, if we play false with them, we not only deceive their expectation, check their curiosity, and hinder their knowledge, but corrupt their innocence, and teach them the worst of vices.
To these reflections of a very great master of the arts of teaching, we shall subjoin some from another of no less authority.
The two great errors to be avoided with relation to the desire of knowledge are, 1. Precipitancy, or rash assent. And, 2. Misplacing our curiosity and diligence about obscure, abstruse things, of little use or moment. The first can only be avoided by accustoming young enquirers to the patience of thinking, to mature and full deliberation, and to give assent proportioned to the degree of evidence. They are to be taught not to content themselves with a slight and superficial consideration of things; not to run away too hastily from an object; and not to pronounce judgment rashly. And for this reason, we ought to shew patience and sedateness ourselves in answering their questions, and discover to them by a particular detail, how we came to know what we are explaining to them: How by rashness and precipitancy, one may be misled into mistakes about it: And what care must be had, if we would come to the truth, to attend to every particular circumstance of a thing. The other is avoided, by turning their minds early towards the most useful enquiries, and timeously teaching them to measure the utility of knowledge by the advantages of it to mankind or human society; that is, by giving a right direction to their admiration, of which afterwards. All that it is necessary to observe farther on this subject is, that the power of habit serves, in the contexture of our minds, to counterpoise the love of novelty, and by rendering objects more delightful to us, in proportion to our familiarity and acquaintance with them, to prevent our being too desultory and unfixed; as the charms of novelty, on the other hand, serve to counterbalance the force of custom, and to hinder us from contenting ourselves with too small a stock of ideas and knowledge. And therefore, in education, due attention ought to be given to nurse, as it were, these antagonist movers in our mind, so as neither to create satiety, nor a rambling disposition, but to accustom youth to dwell patiently upon the consideration of an object, till they sufficiently understand it, yet so as not to tire and disgust them, by detaining their attention too long, without giving any entertainment to their desire of newness. But how easily may every lesson be sufficiently diversified? For suppose any machine moves their curiosity, when its use and contrivance for that use is explained; the inventor and improvers of it, and the gradual progress of the invention, may be laid before them; and the principle in nature upon which it depends ought not to be forgotten; and from it they may be gradually led to other machines depending on the same natural principle or law—and from thence to the consideration of the wisdom and kindness of the Author of nature in appointing such a law—and from thence to reflect upon the usefulness of those studies, which by discovering the principles or laws of nature, enable men from thence to deduce many serviceable adminicles to mankind.
Our natural delight in symmetry, proportion, and the beauty resulting from, or always accompanying them, which discovers itself so early in children, by their particular satisfaction in regular figures, is of admirable use, to spur us on to seek after what is indeed the perfection of every art, simplicity; and to give us high pleasure in observing nature’s simplicity. This affection is therefore to be carefully attended to in education; and will be perfected, or receive its proper turn, by early leading young minds to give due attention to the connexion in nature between beauty and utility; by shewing them that nature does nothing in vain, but always avoiding superfluity accomplishes its end with the least labour or expence that may be: that in every structure there is a principal end, to which all the parts conspire, and which is gained in the shortest and simplest manner—That in the human body, and every animal or vegetable structure, what creates the chief beauty, in the kind, is the most natural, healthful, or convenient state of that whole.—And that it is so also in every machine of human invention; in every art, as architecture, painting, statuary, and likewise in every ingenious composition of the pen. ’Tis easy to one well instructed in all the arts, and in nature their mistress and guide, to lead young minds gradually from any natural body, to the imitations of it by arts, from thence to some machine, in which the end is obtained by similar simplicity and frugality—and from thence to what makes the beauty of a description of any natural or artificial whole, viz. as much brevity as is consistent with perspicuity. Our itch after novelty, may, if not rightly guided, engage us to pass over the things which every day occur to us, without giving any pains to understand them, it may hurry us on to remoter and obscure things; nay, it may degenerate from the liking of rare things for the sake of rarity, into monster-hunting, or a taste for what is preternatural and deformed. But because this passion for novelty may take very wrong turns, it does not surely follow, that the passion itself is not of great use? Creatures made for progress towards perfection of intelligent power, could ill want such an incentive to their proper business. And our natural sense of beauty, together with our delight in perceiving the final causes, or the utilities of things, is of excellent use in our frame, to guide our passion for novelty to proper objects, and to direct it into its best channel. None of the inferior animals seem to have this sense or faculty; and it by being united with our senses, prompts and directs us to seek our entertainment from such objects, chiefly, as at once may gratify our desire of novelty, and our delight in symmetry, beauty and utility. And, as the same author, from whom this observation is taken, sagely remarks, Tho’ it be sensible objects that strike us first and most strongly; yet it is easy for a skilful preceptor to lead young minds from the contemplation of regularity and beauty in material objects, to the contemplation of regularity and beauty of the moral kind, in affections, actions and characters; and thus to teach them chiefly to delight in moral beauty. Very near a-kin to our sense of beauty is our natural sense of greatness, or the high admiration with which great objects elevate our minds; and it ought to be early directed and managed in the same manner. Young minds ought to be early entertained with the beauty, the regularity, the magnificence of nature, and the greatness which she manifests in her minutest works.—But from this consideration the contemplator ought to be immediately led to consider and admire the moral beauty and greatness of the original Mind, the former of all things, and the source of all beauty and greatness, as well as of our faculty of perceiving, and of imitating them, not merely in arts, but in the conduct of life, or in the beauty and greatness of actions, in which the greatness of the human mind consists. For, as were there not an original mind, which with perfect wisdom and goodness unerringly pursues the best, noblest, and greatest end in all his productions, our capacity of discerning order, beauty and greatness, and the regularity, harmony and grandeur of created things, would be the work of blind chance: So, since there is a first Mind, which is consummate beauty, truth and greatness, the dignity of every created mind must consist in bearing the nearest resemblance that can be attained, to this fountain of all beauty and perfection. Beauty and greatness in effects have so strict a relation to the moral beauty and greatness of their author, that as they cannot be sever’d in nature, so ought they not to be divided or separated in contemplation. And by joining them together, or accustoming the mind to pass from the former to the latter, as its source and cause, moral beauty and greatness will keep the ascendant in the mind, and be the principal object of its esteem and admiration. We cannot turn our eyes inward to consider what passes in our mind, when we are affected either by sensible or moral objects, in an agreeable manner, and are by some greatly elevated above our more ordinary pitch, without being forced to acknowledge the necessary being and prevalency of an imagination, or sense of something beautiful, great, and becoming in things, natural and common to all men, of original growth in the mind, the ground of our admiration, contempt, shame, honour, disdain, and other natural and unavoidable impressions. These affections presuppose this sense, and could not indeed have place without it. All the elegant and polite arts likewise presuppose its existence, and are indeed founded in it. All men court some species of decorum, beauty or grandeur. And therefore is it, that when our sense of beauty and our admiration are not turned towards moral beauty, we pursue and worship some false image of it, some deceitful idol, and make mere outward symmetry and grandeur in dress, equipage, table, and other such external shews, the principal object of our affection. Why indeed are we dazled by pomp and pageantry, ribbons, jewels, and other shining gew-gaws? It is merely because we are strangers to true beauty, real honour, and genuine unfading greatness: It is because we have not been sufficiently accustomed to bring things to the true standard, and to examine appearances strictly, and with due attendance to the source and foundation of true beauty and greatness, viz. large, comprehensive, and generous views, at once engaging and directing a mind to the pursuit of what is best, that is, usefulest. Thus the Author of nature operates, and for this reason the works of nature are beautiful and great: Thus the arts which imitate or rival nature in their highest perfection, work towards their respective ends: And it is being steadily actuated and directed by just and benign views towards the pursuit of public good in all our actions, that constitutes a regular, orderly, beautiful and great mind. From what hath been said of our sense of beauty and greatness, and our delight in novelty, it appears in general, that our loves, desires, hatreds and aversions are not to be left to themselves, but that the great art of education is, to accustom young minds early to the inward work of regulating fancy, and rectifying opinion, on which all depends; to examine the associations that are formed in our minds by the frequent appearances of things; that we may withdraw the fancy or opinion of good or ill, from that to which justly and by necessity it is not joined, and apply it with the strongest resolution to that to which it naturally agrees. This is wisdom, this is freedom, this is strength of mind, this is order and good discipline; this is keeping consort, as near as created agents can, with the Author of nature in all his works, where there is evidently no caprice, no fickleness, no tumult, no disorder, but perfect consonancy, perfect uniformity, consummate order, wisdom and goodness. This strict tutorage of fancy, appetite and affection, is the very reverse of the prevailing easy philosophy of taking that for good which pleases us, or what we merely fancy to be such. Yet ’tis evident; that without perseverance in this discipline, our minds and conduct must be absolute inconsistency and disorder; one cannot be master of himself, but must be a ready prey to every foolish, dangerous imagination and desire. Nor is it less so, that if the fancy and opinion of good be annexed to what is not durable and solid, nor in our power either to acquire or to retain, the more such an opinion prevails, the more we must be exposed to disappointment and vexation. But if there be that to which whenever we apply the opinion of good or great, we find the opinion more consistent, and the good more lasting and solid, and within our power and command, then the more such an opinion prevails in us, the more satisfaction and happiness we will enjoy. For there must be a real measure and standard of good in the nature of things, or comparison and computation are words without a meaning: And the natures and connexions, the properties, effects and consequences of things, will not submit to our fancy or caprice. If there be any such thing as happiness or pain and misery, the idea of good may be misplaced. But how easy is it to make young minds perceive, nay feel, that if the opinion of good be joined to the possessions of the mind, to self-command and mastership of the appetites, to honesty, integrity, friendship, benevolence, honour, and consciousness of inward beauty and worth, resembling in kind to the beauty of that mind which is the Author of all beauty and good.—That this being the fixed opinion and judgment of the mind, if there be likewise resolution enough to adhere to it in our conduct, ’tis impossible we can ever, in this respect, rejoice amiss, or meet with disappointment? How easy is it to satisfy young minds, that it is fancy, merely, which gives the force of good to things of outward dependency, and makes them pass with us as an essential part of our happiness; and that the more we take from imagination in this respect, the more strength we give to the goods of the mind, and consequently to ourselves, on whom the purchase and increase of them depends? If I apply the idea of honour and dignity to the possession of plate, jewels, titles, precedencies, and am thus betrayed to seek them, not as mere conveniencies and helps in life, or means of doing good, but as excellent in themselves, as proper objects of my admiration, and as the causes of my greatest satisfaction and happiness, then will these necessarily be pursued by me preferably to virtue, and consequently integrity will often be sacrificed to them. These false opinions of good may not, at first, be able wholly to subdue our natural sense of moral obligations, but, in proportion as they prevail, they will take from its force, and they will be gradually impairing and diminishing it, as they become stronger by indulgence. But how obvious is it, that the passion raised by such ideas (call it avarice, pride, ambition, vanity or luxury) is indeed incapable of giving any real satisfaction, even in the most successful course of fortune, but is then too attended with perpetual fears of disappointment and loss? How obvious is it, that strict adherence to virtue can alone give true and lasting peace and satisfaction to the mind; and that in this pursuit only, there is no fear of disappointment, nor danger of nauseating or remorse? Whereas, if the conscience be tainted, and a breach be once made upon our integrity, nothing but hurry and confusion, or the perpetual intoxication of debauch can preserve us from the horrors of conscious guilt? In proportion as we are led or rather driven by appetites after external goods, in proportion do we lose our liberty and self-mastership. But the more we are fixed in the esteem of what depends on ourselves, that is, of the riches of the mind, the greater is our liberty and strength of mind; for so much the farther are we removed from depending on others, and the more compleat or sufficient are we in ourselves. In order to understand the force of this reasoning, and know our true self-interest, one needs only to have tasted of liberty and inward strength. And therefore it is the business of education, to give an early notion and taste of inward liberty, and of the value and importance of command over our appetites, and of a confirmed regard to virtue, as our chief good; as that which exalts us to our highest glory, making us like our Creator, and giving us a joy and content able to support us even under the most calamitous outward condition of life. We may know by a little reflexion upon the power of habits, that it is, by indulging any wrong appetite, as malice, revenge, debauch, the opinion of the false good increases; and the appetite, which is a real ill, grows so much the stronger: On the other hand, by restraining this affection, and nourishing a contrary sort in opposition to it, we cannot fail to diminish what is ill, and increase what is properly our good and happiness. The proper method therefore of establishing virtuous affections and habits in the mind, is to teach and inure youth early to make those fancies and appetites themselves the objects of their aversion which justly deserve it, by being the cause of a wrong estimation and measure of good and ill, and consequently exposing to disturbance, vexation, disappointment and unhappiness. And for this reason, the best masters in morals, and the arts of education, have recommended beginning rather by forming our aversion, than by encouraging our admiration, or advised to work rather by weaning our passions from false goods, than by engaging our affections in the warm admiration and pursuit of any good, however true and substantial; that is, to begin by raising their aversion and indignation against the meannesses of opinion and sentiment, which are the causes of corruption and misconduct. Thus the covetous fancy, if considered as the cause of misery, by engaging in pursuits that can never yield solid satisfaction, and betraying into the most shameful vices, and if consequently it be detested as a real ill, must of necessity abate. And the ambitious fancy, if opposed in the same manner with resolution by better thought, must quit the field, and leave the mind free and disincumbered in the pursuit of its better objects. Nor is the case different in the passion of cowardice or fear of pain. For whereas, if we leave this passion to grow upon us, and become our master, it will lead us to the most mean, abject and tormenting state of life; if contrariwise, it be opposed by a juster estimation of real ill, it must diminish of course; and the natural result of such a practice must be the deliverance of the mind from numberless fears and uneasinesses, and the full establishment of freedom and independency of mind, or impregnable virtue. When the mind is made acquainted with the greatest ills it hath to fear, with its worst enemies, its obstructers or seducers from the pursuit of virtue, perceives them to be wholly from itself, and from false opinions, and feels its own power to controul its appetites, and chastise and correct its fancies, then is the principal point in education gained, the resolution and habit of calling appearances of pleasure and good to a severe trial, and of thus giving law and check, instead of loose reins to our affections. And this power, this self-controul, in which the very essence of virtue consists, being once established and confirmed in the mind, then may we adventure to teach youth to admire; because this habit of examination will teach them to admire with reason, and not suffer their admiration to run away with them, or to warm them to such a pitch as to obscure their reason. ’Tis dangerous to give way to admiration by loving and applauding even what is truly great and good, without accustoming ourselves to keep, if we may so speak, so good a bridle-hand, as to be able to stop our fancy, and to make it ply to reason, and give an account of its raptures to it whenever we please. The poet, as well as the rider, must be absolute master of his steed, and be able to let him out and take him in at his will. Do you not see how Bellerophon commands Pegasus, how he keeps him in on our friends ring? And the same command that makes a good poet is necessary to prevent errors in life, which may not improperly be compared with those in writing, to which the high flights of too towering an imagination, not balanced by a cool and accurate judgment, expose. The eye and the ear ought early to be formed to a just relish of true harmony. But we know by experience, that one may become too zealous a lover of painting, architecture or music. The taste of these arts may be just and well-formed, and therefore the admiration may not be foolish, and yet it may be very faulty and blameable. There are other vices belonging to love and admiration, besides not knowing why we love and applaud. Intelligent love of the polite arts may have too large a share of our affections, and enhance too much of our time and expence: It may warm the mind to a ridiculous extravagant excess, and take it off from more serious and important pursuits. The same may happen with respect to delight in botany, or any other science, and to the love of speculation and study in general. One may be too fond of contemplation, not merely to the prejudice of his health, but to the hurt of society, as is most evidently the case, when a person of high birth and fortune, born to serve his country in the higher offices of the state, contracts an aversion to action and business, and wholly devotes himself to any branch of speculative philosophy. Nay, religious admiration itself may be excessive; for persons may be so extasied by rapturous adoration of the supreme Author of all beauty and good, as to forget the unwearied activity in doing good, in which he ought chiefly to be imitated by his active creatures, and their own immediate connexion with mankind, and their first and main business resulting from this natural union and dependence, namely, laying themselves out to be useful to society to the utmost of their power. Love of the first beauty may so engross the imagination, so transport and charm it, that the admirer may be unwilling to be disturbed in his devotion by the most necessary and momentous duties of social life. And in general, the best, the most reasonable passions, if frequently indulged, without being called to an account at the bar of cool and sedate reason, and made to explain their foundation, and thus resolved, as it were, into their first principles, will naturally become too ardent and impetuous to bear controul, occupy too large a share in the mind, and so justle reason out of its empire, and become absolute masters within our breasts in the room of reason, which ought to be maintained sovereign ruler there over every idea, fancy or affection. And hence it is, that the best grounded affections, thro’ over indulgence, and thro’ the want of the discipline that hath been mentioned often, totally unhinge the mind, and create great disorder in the inward oeconomy. ’Tis not wrong and ill-founded opinions and passions only, which produce phrenzy: The best also may become very fatal to the mind, and out it, if we may so speak. In reality, every affection, tho’ never so reasonable in its foundation, which is become too violent to bear to be stopt in its carreer, and brought to a deliberate trial, is in this respect extravagant, and consequently a proportionable step towards demency or madness. Now therefore, the only safeguard against this excess, this ardour and impetuosity of the best affections, is to inure ourselves to call all our affections often to a strict account; and thus, by frequently exercising our reason in its proper province, to keep it up in full power, for ’tis its prevalency over them all that makes a rational state of mind. This prevalency of reason may justly be called presence of reason or mind, because, in consequence of it, the mind is ever capable of discerning what is best and fittest, and of upholding its authority. But as often as reason exerts itself in catechizing our affections, what else is the standard by which it ought to measure and try them, but their tendencies in respect of public utility? This is the sole standard by which all our affections are to be regulated; for public utility is the most valuable end, and what is such must be the ultimate rule. And in proportion as one is acquainted with this measure, is he fitted for the trial and government of his opinions and passions. But it is not enough to know rules; the actual application of them is the chief thing. And therefore then is the mind well instructed and well disciplined, or truly rational, when reason presiding, steadily and calmly approportionates all the affections in their exercises to their best use and end, the public good. ’Tis in this sense that reason is said, even by those philosophers who speak most of cultivating our moral taste or sense, to be our superior and guiding faculty. For by it ought every sentiment to be often and profoundly canvassed in the coolest and strictest manner; and under its government, tho’ excellent sentiments may often warm the mind to a very sublime pitch, yet the general or habitual temper of the mind is cool and sedate; for which cause, its constant presidence is properly termed presence of mind, and in other words calmness or equanimity.
But what requires our closest watching is, lest any false ideas of good should carry off our affections into unprofitable or hurtful pursuits; and therefore, the principal business of education is to inure youth to take a just view of the goods of human life, and to place their chief happiness not where fancy may chance to place it, but where nature hath really fixed it, viz. in a virtuous disposition. The goods which divide human desires and pursuits, are the riches of the mind and external advantages; and according to our estimation of them such must our conduct be. For where our treasure is, there will our heart and affections be. Now, what the true value of external in comparison of internal goods is, these reflections will easily shew us. First, it is evident from experience, that with regard to the public, ’tis virtuous industry, benevolence, and resignation to providence, that make a worthy and beneficial member of society. Secondly, with regard to private happiness, this likewise is the best temper of mind. ’Tis the affections which under the guidance of reason work towards the general good of our kind, that are the pleasantest exercises of the mind, either in their immediate exertions, or upon after reflexion. Thirdly, the goods of the body are unstable and unsatisfactory, while they last, and they must cease with our mortal part: But the improvements of the mind are not only of a stable unchanging kind, but everlasting, the soul being immortal; and consequently they follow us into another state, in which we are strip’d of our bodily organs, and consequently of all the instruments and means of mere carnal gratification. From these considerations it clearly follows, that it is wiser and greater to despise external means of enjoyment than to possess them. And these are the truths which ought to be early insinuated into and deeply impressed upon young minds. Nor is there indeed any part of real knowledge from which the mind may not easily and naturally be led to some, or rather all, of these useful and important reflexions. Every work of nature shews us in what the dignity, perfection and happiness of the supreme cause consists, viz. in the most benevolent use of his knowledge and power. And in what else can the dignity, perfection, and happiness of any intelligent active creature consist, but in imitating and being like the supreme Mind, that is, in the best or most benevolent use of all his powers and faculties; in improving our power for doing good, and exercising it, as we have opportunity, to the greatest good of our fellow-creatures? All nature must be reversed before this can cease to be true, “That a well-improved understanding and benevolent orderly affections, duly submitted to the government of reason, constitute our highest excellence, merit and happiness.” While the Author of the world governs all things by the best laws and in the most excellent manner; while by the constitution of the human mind it continues to be more charmed with the contemplation of order, harmony and good, than of confusion, discord and ill; nay, while reason continues to be reason, or understanding and judgment to be preferable to ignorance and irrationality, it must be an unchangeable truth, “That virtue, or an improved and well-governed mind, is our noblest and best, or most perfect state: And the happiness and the perfection of a being can no more jar or differ, than the essence of a thing can differ from itself.” But it is not our business here to confirm this truth. All we have to observe is, that if the power or habit of bringing our fancies and affections to a fair trial, by some accurately considered and improved standard, in consequence of right institution and discipline, be firmly established in the mind, the chief point of education is gained; and there is no danger that our affections go wrong or mislead us. For what hath been said of rational government with respect to admiration, and the other affections which have been mentioned, is equally applicable to all the rest, to love of fame, love of power, compassion, resentment, friendship, and natural affections, properly so called. They are then all of them in their due tones, when they operate under the presidence and direction of reason, towards the greater good of our kind. But that we may leave none of them unconsidered in an enquiry concerning what is principal in education, viz. the right discipline of the passions, instead of explaining further upon the doctrine of the best moralists on this subject, (for I have hitherto been only commenting upon some of their sage precepts) I shall give you the substance of a dialogue concerning the passions between two philosophers of very different sentiments upon this head. The one maintained, that all our affections tending towards interesting us in the concerns of others, ought to be extirpated, and that self-interest was the only thing we had to mind, and therefore self-love was the only legitimate principle in our frame, and all the rest were to be curb’d, or rather lop’d off, as invaders upon its property. The other maintained, that every affection originally implanted in us is necessary to our dignity and happiness, and capable of very noble improvement, and that the affections which engage us in the interests of others are so far from being contrary to self-interest, that without them self-love would be robb’d of its best means of giving us enjoyment, or gratifying itself. The former, I think, was called Speusippus, a disciple of Epicurus. The other followed Plato, and his name was Hermogenes.
Speusippus finding Hermogenes indisposed, took occasion to tell him, that it was high time for him, after having impaired his health so much by his continued application to public affairs, and his patriotism, as it is called, to mind himself. For, said he, one’s self is one’s all, and what can deserve the name of folly, if to waste and consume one’s all for others be not? ’Tis demonstration, continued he, that it is the height of wisdom to pursue our true interest. But how can the advantage of others, when it is directly contrary to private quiet, ease and good, be our own interest or happiness?
Hermogenes replied in a pleasant manner, I know, my friend, for a friend, a very good friend you are by your constitution, in spite of your very unfriendly philosophy—I know, my friend, that you so far follow the sage founder of the selfish doctrine you profess, that you have not only avoided all share in public business, all offices or employments in the state, but likewise all family engagements and cares. For I am persuaded, it is not nature but philosophy that has made you obstinately refuse so many sollicitations to change your batchelor state, and become husband, father, and head of a family.
Sp.
I am glad to find you so well as to be disposed to rally. I indeed intended very grave and kind advice to you, whose present disorder is intirely owing to your fatigue for the public, which is to you more than wife and children, nay than yourself, through the influence not of nature surely, the first and strongest principle in which is self-preservation, if it be not the only one of her growth, as I am apt to think.—But that I may have the better title to claim a hearing from you in my turn, I am very willing to listen to what you may have to suggest, in concert, no doubt, with my other relations, about changing my condition.
Her.
I did not, indeed, my friend, intend to enter upon that subject with you. I meant no more than an encomium upon the sagacious insight into human nature of your great master in philosophy.
Sp.
What is it, pray?
Her.
Why, I think he well understood the power of nature, and gave an advice to his disciples, without following which they can never attain to the wise self-interestedness he takes to be the perfection of wisdom. ’Twas on this account he sagely exhorted his followers, neither to beget children nor to engage in public affairs. There was no dealing with nature, he foresaw, while these alluring objects stood in the way. Relations, friends, countrymen, laws, politics, constitutions, the beauty and order of government, and the interest of society and mankind were objects which he well understood, would naturally raise a stronger affection than any which was grounded upon the narrow bottom of mere self. His advice, therefore, not to marry, nor engage at all in the public, was wise and suitable to his design. There is no way to be truly a disciple of this philosophy, but to leave family, friends, country and society, to cleave to it. And in good earnest, who would not do it if it were happiness to do so?
Sp.
And what can be more evident than that it is so. For where is happiness to be found? Not sure without one’s self? Not sure in perplexing cares and toils? Not in sacrificing health and every enjoyment to provide for others? Pray think but a moment upon this one plain question, Is my happiness another’s, or is it my own? Can any thing be my interest but my own interest?
Her.
I know this is your philosopher’s way of reasoning—and no doubt you were just going to tell me, with him, Suffer not yourself to be imposed upon. Beware of the illusion of designing politicians. Take my word for it, there is naturally no such thing as society among mankind. Those who affirm there is, only abuse your credulity. The generous affections, as they are called, are a political engraftment upon nature—Have I not prevented you?
Sp.
Is it not really so?
Her.
If it be, may I not ask Epicurus, or any of his followers, how this concerns them? Leave us, pray, in quiet possession of our error. What damage will you suffer, if all but you and your followers should be persuaded that there is a natural society among mankind, and that we ought to do all in our power for its support? Why so much concern for us? What can induce you to light your lamp and spend whole nights in your study for our sakes? Why are you at the pains of composing so many books? You will tell us, it is with a view of undeceiving us in these particulars, “That the Gods interest themselves in our affairs, and that happiness consists in something else than in selfishness.”—But what is it to you, whether others form a right judgment on these points or not? What tie is there between you and us? Have you any compassion for the sheep because they submit to be shorn, milked and slaughtered? Ought not you to wish that men, lulled to sleep and enchanted by false philosophy or designing politics, would as tamely deliver themselves to the direction of you and your companions?—In short, what was it depriv’d Epicurus of his rest, and engaged him to write all he published? Nature, without doubt, that most powerful principle of human motions, strongly influenced him, and forced his obedience, in spite of all the resistance he could make; such is the invincible force of the social principle in the human mind.—As it is neither possible, my friend, nor conceivable that a vine should shoot like an olive tree, and not according to the impulse of its own nature; so neither is it possible for man to divest himself intirely of human affections. If you castrate a man you cannot extinguish all carnal desires in him. Thus Epicurus, as much as in him lies, has cut off in theory all the relations of husband, father, master of a family, citizen, friend, but the several inclinations of human nature were still intire in him, and had their influence even when he imagined he was opposing them. It was no more in his power to rid himself of those than it was in that of the Pyrrhonists to throw away or put out their senses, tho’ no set of men ever took so much pains to do it.
Sp.
Sure you do not call this reasoning. But this is the way with those who have once allowed themselves to be worked into an enthusiastic admiration of what they call beauty and order; they like to rant and declaim, giving way to their enchanted imaginations, and will not come to close and cool argumentation.
Her.
I am, I assure you, at present, in a very cool mood, and am willing to debate this point with you in the coldest manner you please. Let me therefore, in order to state the case, that we may not wrangle about words, only ask you plainly your opinion, Whether you think kindness of every sort, tenderness, compassion, and in short, all public affection, should be industriously suppressed, and as mere folly and weakness of nature, be resisted and overcome, that by this means there may be nothing remaining in us, which is contrary to a direct self-end; nothing which may stand in opposition to a steady and deliberate pursuit of the most narrowly confined self-interest? Is this your opinion?
Sp.
That is neither my opinion nor my master’s, as you call him.
Her.
What then do you maintain?
Sp.
I do not say, that social love, friendship, gratitude, or whatever else by its nature taking place of the self-interesting passions, draws us out of ourselves, and makes us disregardful of our own safety, convenience and good, ought to be suppressed.—For that would be to grant, that they are of nature’s growth; but that they are contrary to the only affections of nature’s implantation, and ought to be kept out as enemies to private interest, and disturbers of our happiness?
Her.
I understand you. But whence then come these affections, if they are not natural to us?
Sp.
They are all the offspring of political flattery.
Her.
But if they have a father they must likewise have a mother. Upon what stock or principle in human nature are they begot or grafted, call it what you please?
Sp.
I did not intend to mislead from the argument by an allegory, when I called them the offspring of political flattery.—But if you would know their mother, it is the pride natural to mankind, upon which they are begot.
Her.
So be it. Let us examine a little into the nature of this pride, without which, I think, you have owned, a social principle could not possibly have taken root in any human breast. For to shew you how much I am disposed to avoid rant, and even allegory too, let me tell you, almost in logical form, that if by the pride you have represented as the principle upon which political flattery works, and only can work, in order to excite in us any social regard to others, if, I say, by it you mean any principle in our nature impelling us to affect the regard of others, your argument amounts to this: “There is naturally in the human breast no regard to others but what is grafted by art or flattery, upon a principle in our nature that is in itself regard to others.”
Sp.
I profess I can see no sophistry in saying, that there is no other regard to others natural to us, but desire of esteem, and of power and interest with others by that means; and that all other affections that respect others, which work contrary to self-interest, are political misguidances of our natural appetite after praise and power. But had you asked me to define the pride natural to us, you would have had no occasion for this subtlety, by which, no doubt, you thought to demolish or confound me at once. For I should not have called pride regard to others, but a desire to greaten ourselves in the opinion of others. But to make shorter work with our dispute, or to reduce it into a narrower compass, let me tell you what I assert is, That self-love, or the desire of private good, is the only affection or principle natural to man, and that into however many different pursuits this one principle may be drawn by differing ideas or opinions of good, yet whatever any one pursues, that good is pursued by him under the notion of private good.
Her.
Why, truly, if this be all you have to say, our dispute will indeed be very soon over. For I know none who have asserted, that we can be pleased without having pleasure; or pursue as good what we do not conceive to be good. At least, for my own part I am ready to grant to you, that the man who places his good or happiness in serving the public, is as selfish as he who places it in eating and drinking. For had he not supreme pleasure in benevolence; or did he not place his happiness more in it than in any thing else, he would not pursue benevolence, but that something else, whatever it is, which he apprehended to be a greater good. As frivolous as you may think this concession you have now made to me, yet if you stick to it, our dispute is indeed brought to a very narrow point. For it will not be, how many various opinions of good, men may artfully be misled into by flattery, or other methods; nor whether all men are not equally selfish; but merely who is wisest for himself, or who understands his interest and good best. If I do not mistake you, you own that self-love is not what constitutes happiness, but barely the principle that excites to the pursuit of pleasure or gratification. So that the question between us will be, whether nature hath placed the true happiness of mankind in the exercises of social affections and benevolence; or it is ill-grounded fancy which hath misled some men to do so, contrary to the direction and instigation of nature.
Sp.
Now you have fairly stated the question.
Her.
If I have, then I may expect that you are to prove to me, That in the system of mankind, the interest of the private nature is directly opposite to that of the common one; the interest of the particulars directly opposite to that of the public in general: For if to be well-affected towards the public interest be one’s own private interest or good, then must virtue, or benevolence and its exercises, be the advantage, and vice, or disregardlesness of the public, be the injury and disadvantage of every individual. Now, not to mention that such a constitution would be very unlike to what we observe elsewhere in nature; for in no vegetable or animal body, is any part or member ever supposed to be in a good or prosperous state as to itself, when it is under a contrary disposition, and in an unnatural growth or habit as to its whole: Not to mention this consideration, since it only affords a mere presumption, that we may expect to find the same good order and regular constitution in minds.—Let me ask you, whether these affections which draw us out of ourselves, so as to engage us in hazards, toils and hardships, whether they be natural to us, or only raised in us by false opinions of good, must not be exceeding powerful, and therefore exceeding pleasant; for according to the concession I have made, and shall not retract, motives are powerful in proportion to the opinion we have of the goods they set before us.
Sp.
What affections do you mean? For, if I grant on the one hand, that when family cares, for instance, make us neglect our own sustinance, and expose ourselves to great sufferings, the affections and the ideas of good, exciting and supporting them must be very strong; it must be owned, on the other, that anger, revenge, and many other passions, which rush us into no less toilsom and hazardous outrages, are likewise very impetuous, and consequently inflamed and maintained by no less strong ideas of good. The fatigues, sufferings or perils, passions drive us upon, will only prove their force, and the power of the fancies which inflame them, it will not prove them to be wise. Men, whatever they do or pursue, whether they scratch themselves or others, if I may be allowed to use so homely a phrase, are pleased with so doing, while the fancy and appetite prevails. But in order to judge of affections, whencesoever they arise, that is, by whatever opinions they are excited, the only rule is, to compare sedately the pleasure with the pain they bring; according to the sage maxim, which indeed contains the whole of wisdom. “Nocet empta dolore voluptas.” If there be any such thing as wisdom or prudence this must be its measure; for there can be no other ultimate standard of things but the quantity of real satisfaction they bring; and therefore, unless pleasure be superior to all the pain that succeeds it, the balance lies on the side of pain and not of pleasure. Now, according to this rule, as I must give up revenge, raging lust, furious avarice, and every such passion, which not seeing one inch before them, runs us upon terrible shelves and rocks; so you must, for the same reason give up with patriotism, heroism, magnanimity, and all the so much boasted of public affections, indulgence to which is no less dangerous to safety, ease, quiet, health, and the chief of goods, calm undisturbed repose, miscalled, by reproach, indolence.
Her.
Now, I apprehend you have disclosed your whole system. And indeed I am so far from being against your standard, that I think reason, calm reason, ought to preside over and guide all our pursuits. So far therefore we are agreed. But let our enjoyments be as calm and sedate as you please, as remote from all these transports and warmths of fancy, which hinder us from discerning their consequences, and so from making a fair computation of true advantage, pleasure, or interest—yet still enjoyments we must have. Now, I would fain know, whether the public affections, which according to your system are not natural to us, but introduced into our minds by art and opinion, be not such a source of enjoyment to us, that if it were intirely cut off, our provision for happiness would be very narrow and scanty? If they may be so regulated as to be means of enjoyment to us, without involving us in pains superior to the pleasure they afford, whether they proceed from nature or from art and opinion, they ought to be preserved as such. Without appetite or affection no one thing can please us more than another, that is, there could be no pleasure, no enjoyment at all. Wherefore, the more appetites and affections we have, the greater capacity we have for happiness. And the conclusion from this, according to your own principle, should, must be, that none of our affections, that we have, or may have the power and means of gratifying, ought to be suppressed or extirpated. That they should be regulated, in consequence of your maxim, from which I do not dissent, so as that they may not create us more pain and uneasiness than pleasure, I own: But that they should be rooted out, I deny, since that would be to diminish or restrict our capacity of enjoyment. Now, for my own part, as I think our affections or appetites after sensible gratifications ought not to be totally erazed, but on the contrary, to be indulged within wise and regular bounds, as one part of our capacity for receiving gratifications; so I think the affections which have something in others for their objects, their good, their love and approbation, or whatever it be, ought not to be extirpated, but to be regulated; because, whereas being extirpated, we would be incapable of receiving enjoyment by them, and so our furniture for happiness would be lessened, while they are duly governed, we may have pleasures from them that are not the least considerable ones, in our stock or provision. For in truth I can’t help thinking, that were these taken away, so very few capacities of enjoyment would remain to us, that if they be from art, we are more obliged to such art than to nature for our provision.
Sp.
Do you then think that the appetites or affections which carry us out of, or beyond ourselves, and have somethings in others for their end, often very incompatible with private good, are as selfish, as those which immediately respect and terminate in our own private and separate advantage?
Her.
Pray, my friend, let us avoid all equivocations and quibblings with words, as much as possible. If by selfish, you understand terminating in some private interest, as its ultimate good, then to say the affections which carry us beyond ourselves, to something in others as their end, are as selfish as those which terminate directly and immediately in ourselves, would be to say, those which have not some private good for their immediate end, have private good as much for their immediate end as those which have it. But if by selfish be meant, either what ever is a part of ourselves, as all our feelings, all our sensations or sentiments, and all the affections and appetites which work in us, and affect us by their motions are—or whatever may be a mean of pain or pleasure to us, however distant from our immediate selves that object may be, then are all our sensations, sentiments, feelings, affections, and all the objects and means whereby we may receive pain or pleasure, equally selfish. But why again have recourse to mere definitions of the various senses in which self and selfish may be used, since we have both agreed, that it is only good or pleasure, apprehended as such, that can be desired, or move our affection towards it; and vice versa, only ill or pain, apprehended as such, that can be hated or move our aversion. For if we adhere to this simple truth (and nothing can be simpler, since it is really to say no more than that pleasure is pleasure, and pain pain) all that remains, all that can remain to be debated is, what pleasures, all things fairly computed, are the most eligible. For he who computes and chooses best, is certainly wisest for himself. And if affections operating steadily towards the good of our kind, which are called virtuous affections, be really, upon a fair calculation, the best means of self-enjoyment, the most eligible pleasures, then is virtue the best choice. In such reasoning we beg nothing, for it is taking nothing for granted without proof, to give the name of virtuous affections to those which are directed towards the public good by and with conscious free choice, and the name of vitious to those which with free conscious choice work contrary to public good, if there really be any difference between public good and public ill, or the happiness and misery of mankind. In fine, therefore, the debate between us is, whether social and benevolent affections are not the best gratifications we know any thing of, in consequence of the frame and constitution of the human mind? It would be to desert this question to say, that tho’ it were yielded that they are excellent, nay the best pleasures we know, yet it is art that brings this pleasure about, and not nature. For that much must be done by art to bring the human mind to its best state, as well as to bring all flowers and plants to their respective perfections, I grant; yet this being confessed, it will not follow, that the best state we can be brought to, by proper culture, is not the intention of nature, with regard to us, in the same sense that the most perfect state plants and flowers can be cultivated to, by proper care and art, is allowed to be the intention of nature with regard to them, since it is plain, that with regard to minds, as well as to vegetable bodies, the effects of all different sorts of applications must be of nature’s settlement or appointment. Vegetables are cultivated by art, yet art does not create, but only brings forth a certain effect, fixed by nature as the effect of certain applications. In like manner, minds open and expand, become capable of relishing knowledge and carrying on curious researches; and they are improved into a social and benevolent disposition, and a capacity of easily, readily and justly discerning the public good, by proper care in the cultivation and exercise of their faculties; but in this case, likewise, art does not create, but only brings forth the moral effects appointed by nature to be the effects of certain means of moral cultivation and exercise. Had not nature so constituted or determined the human mind, that the image of proportion, the image of beauty and order, the image of power, the image of public good, should be pleasing to us, they could never be rendered so by any art.
Sp.
Hold there, pray; for granting all that you have said on the subject besides, I would but just know how you can possibly, upon this hypothesis, account for the present state of mankind, among whom we see few acquainted with the charms of proportion, nay, many in love with disproportion and irregularity; very few, indeed, not intoxicated with the love of power, but very few captivated by what you Platonists call in your language the moral species, and the chief of beauties and goods, public good. Does not this variety, this contrariety, rather, among mankind, prove that nature hath fixed nothing, but that chance or art does all, moulds minds into any forms, gives them any casts, and fashions and refashions, makes and unmakes tempers and affections without any rule, or at least in ways and manners we cannot ascertain.
Her.
Would you keep, my friend, to this objection, I think I could easily explain this phenomenon very consistently with what I have affirmed of nature.
Sp.
Go on, if you please.
Her.
That some men have no notion of proportion, suppose in architecture, will only prove that the mind must be opened or prepared to comprehend and relish proportion: It will not prove, there is not an original aptitude in the human mind to be cultivated into this taste, in consequence of an original determination of the mind to receive pleasure from the view of proportion or symmetry. The very thing is daily owned with respect to proportion of another kind, that harmony, namely, which we call music. Is there no such thing as music; are there no fixed proportions respecting sounds of nature’s institution, and which cannot be changed, because the plurality of mankind are unacquainted with these true proportions, and take up with noise very grating to a well-formed ear? To say, which is fact, that the ear and the eye must be formed by right institution, in order to have a quick and just relish of the harmonies with which these senses may be entertained, is no more than to say, that this part of our happiness is made by nature dependent upon culture or education: For ask yourself, whether there could be any such arts as architecture or music, were there not proportions and harmonies settled by nature; and you must immediately perceive, in general, that there can be no arts but in consequence of laws, connexions and determinations settled by nature. Whatever change is introduced by mechanical arts into a body, is so introduced, because nature hath fixed the effects of certain operations upon bodies, and whatever is produced or introduced into minds, to the better or to the worse, is brought about because nature hath settled all the effects of all the different mental applications and operations, as well as of bodily ones. When I say certain good modifications of the mind, which make it a better disposed member of the general community of mankind, are natural, I neither say that they can be produced without art, nor do I say the contrary modifications are not natural, or that they may not be brought about by corruptive applications and excesses. All I say is, that in consequence of the constitution of the human mind, and of the settled connexions relating to it, there is an art of improving, as well as a method of depraving the human mind: And that as we would think it unreasonable to say, That because plants and flowers may be neglected, and so never arrive to their most beautiful and perfect state, therefore their most beautiful and perfect state to which they may be brought by proper culture, is not the state nature intended; so it must be equally unreasonable, by parity of argument, to say, that because there are various ways of corrupting human minds, therefore the beautiful state to which they may be improved and trained by care, early begun and steadily pursued, is not the state nature intended them for. Let me just add, that nothing could be more absurd, than to assert in direct terms, that there is a perfection and imperfection with regard to every vegetable, and that mental powers or qualities are the only ones in nature to which neither perfection nor imperfection can be attributed. But if this be so, then ’twere to be wished men would enquire into the perfection attainable by the human mind, and into the arts of bringing the human mind early to such perfection. Indeed we see, confess and admire every day, in many instances, ancient and modern, the perfection attainable by the human mind. And this is none other but a benevolent disposition united with the capacity of discerning and pursuing the good of mankind. It is this we admire as the beauty, the strength, the glory of an Epaminondas, a Scipio, and every great character in history. And if we cannot help admiring this perfection, and considering it as yielding greater happiness, even in adversity, than the most luxuriant prosperity can afford to one of the reverse temper and character, let us own the human mind is made to approve and to pursue virtue, and that virtue, and virtue alone, is true honour and happiness—and forsaking all other meaner cares and studies, let us think first, how we may improve daily in virtue ourselves, and next, how we may form our youth early to the love of virtue, and to the capacity of quickly and readily discerning what the love of it, i.e. the love of public justice, liberty and happiness requires in every condition, circumstance, and incident of human life. For human life is so diversified and chequered as it is, merely, that it may be a school for training, and a theatre for exercising and displaying various virtues—and after formation and trial, cometh in its due place, the time and scene of rewards.
Sp.
You are, as to your sect generally happens, immediately warmed by the very name of virtue. However, I can’t but own, that some definitions and principles you have cooly enough laid down in the beginning of this discourse, begin to stagger me a little, and to create a suspicion in my mind, that some of the maxims which I have hitherto been accustomed to take on trust in my reasonings about virtue, and the obligations to it, may be at bottom but quibbles. I am far from being weary of the discourse; but would, before I venture further, have some time to recollect what hath passed, and to examine accurately with my self, “What we of our sect mean by selfish, and what by disinterested, what by natural, and what by artificial.” You, I find, are willing to take these words in any sense we please, if we will keep to it. And I own, that when one of a lively warm genius comes to paint out to me virtuous characters, men capable of serving the public, and solely delighting in so employing themselves, I can’t help loving, admiring, and ambitioning the character, whether this be nature or the effect of education.
Her.
Well do I know, my friend, that your heart and your philosophy are at variance; and so it was with your grand master. You are none of those who have taken up Epicurus’s doctrine to be a screen to them against the natural upbraidings of their consciences for the dissoluteness of their manners. On the contrary, the honesty of your heart and practice, I know, often makes bold struggles within you, against a system of opinions, the general prevalence of which, you cannot but see and own, must destroy all that is great or glorious in human life. For did they once spread and become universal, who would labour for society, who would contend for liberty, who would toil for the improvement of the arts of peace, or who would risk their lives in war for public good?—Have you considered, that according to the philosophy you now and then maintain, all the great legislators and patriots in ancient and modern times, which are the glory of mankind, are fools?
Sp.
Away with the mean, ungrateful thought.—Any doctrines which result in such a base, ungenerous, ignominious conclusion, must be false. But you have now warmed me too much to be able to judge.
Her.
Let us not, however part till I have added, That if those great men in history, to whose labours human society have owed their happiness, their useful arts, their excellent laws and policies, their liberty, be truly great, a real honour to mankind, and were truly happy, whatever fate they had, thro’ whatever opposition and persecution they passed,—then to cherish the benevolent disposition, and to educate in the knowledge of the interests of mankind, is the way to train youth to true happiness and greatness; and therefore the true education, and the most useful study and employment of the experienced. But I have done, being unwilling to tire you.
In these recitals, my friend, of conversations, every thing, almost, relating to ancient education, hath been handled, two things only excepted: Their care to accustom youth to read prose and verse with intelligent graceful voice and gesture; for this, you know, was the chief part of what they called music amongst the Greeks: And their care to unite, with their studies, such exercises as tended to give health, vigour and grace of body; and at the same time, to form betimes a manly intrepidity and presence of mind in danger. But as your question chiefly regarded the instructive or didactic part of education, I think it hath been sufficiently answered. We find they preferred to private or public education a middle way between the two, in which there would be place for exciting emulation, and yet sufficient care could be taken of the morals of youth, and due regard be had to variety of genius’s.—We have observed how necessary they thought it was, to join good discipline and right practice with instruction, in order to form good habits. And we have found that the chief end of all their instructions being to fit and qualify youth for the various duties of life, in its different stations, conditions and relations, they took care to render all the arts subservient to this lesson, by which means the lesson was agreeably sweetened and diversified, and, at the same time, a just taste was also formed of beauty in writing, and in every other ingenious art. In these conversations it hath also been enquired, why nature hath left so much to education or art; or why the happiness of every particular is so dependent upon the examples, the manners, and the instructions of others. This momentuous question hath been fully treated of, and in discussing it, we have had full occasion to shew the sentiments of the ancients concerning the rich furniture of the human mind, and the perfection to which it might be brought by proper culture, and likewise to delineate the chief parts or branches of that culture, which would soon establish virtuous habits, right self-government, and the capacity of judging concerning good and evil, fit and unfit, with relation to private or public happiness in the most complicated cases. That I may not tire instead of satisfying you, I shall add no more upon this most important subject, but one admirable conversation between Socrates and Demodocus, who came to the former with his son Theages, to consult with him about his education.
Dem.
I have something, Socrates, that I would gladly communicate to you if you are at leisure; nay, if your business be not of very great consequence, I could wish you would take leisure for my sake to hear me.
Soc.
I am quite at leisure, especially if I can be of any use to you. Therefore, pray, tell me what you have to say.
Dem.
Shall we then retire a little into the portico of Jupiter the Saver, which is here just by.
Soc.
So be it, if you choose it.
Dem.
Let us go then, Socrates. There is a great affinity, methinks, between the condition of plants, and all the fruits of the earth, nay, and that of all animals too, and the condition of mankind. We who apply ourselves to agriculture, find it easy enough to do all the preparatory work for planting; and even the planting business itself is soon dispatched: But after what we have planted hath taken root, and begins to live, then the plant requires no small care and culture. That after-work, of cherishing and cultivating plants to their perfection is very difficult. And so it appears to me to be with regard to men. For I judge of other men’s experience by my own. The planting or generation, call it which you will, of this son of mine was an easy matter: But rearing him up and educating him hath cost me many an anxious thought, much trouble and sollicitude. I have many things to say on this subject, such are my concerns and fears.—But a desire which hath lately seized him greatly disquiets me; not that it is a mean or an ignoble one, but because it is attended with great danger.—For, you must know, Socrates, that he hath taken a strong fancy to be what we call a wise man, or philosopher; some of his equals, as I imagine, who have frequented the city, by repeating some discourses they had heard there, having excited his emulation. They have in truth so edged him, that he has been for some time past incessantly importuning me to take more care of his instruction, and lay out some of my money upon some sophist, capable to render him a wise man or a philosopher. I don’t much value money. But I apprehend no small danger to him from this his new flame, which makes him so impatient. I have therefore endeavoured to moderate this his zeal, by words, as much as I could, in order to elude and divert, if not extinguish it: But since I find this won’t do any longer, I have thought it wiser to yield to him, lest company he may fall into, when I am not with him, should corrupt him. This, in fine, is my business here at present, to find out some one of your most celebrated sophists, to whose discipline I may commit him. Wherefore, if you can give me any advice about this matter, I desire and expect it from you.
Soc.
’Tis a true proverb, Demodocus, that advice is a sacred thing. And if the saying hold true in any case, it must be chiefly so in respect to the affair you now propose. For there is nothing about which one ought to deliberate and consult with more seriousness and solemnity, than one’s own right conduct, and the proper institution of his children. Let us therefore, in order to come to the best resolution about this affair, first settle and agree about the thing in question, lest having had from the beginning different ideas of the matter, we should lose much time and many words in debating and consulting, and then at last find out, to our mutual shame, that we had been long conferring together, without understanding what we were about.
Dem.
You are much in the right, Socrates. So certainly ought we to do.
Soc.
To be sure we should, but yet not quite in the way I first thought of. I have changed my mind a little as to that. It has just come into my head, that the youth may not be desiring precisely what we imagine, but something else. And if this should happen to be the case, we would still act an absurder part both of us, by consulting gravely about yielding or not yielding to what he had not at all in his head. The best way, therefore, in my opinion, is to begin with him, and to endeavour to learn from himself what he desires.
Dem.
What you propose is indeed the best course.
Soc.
What is your son’s name, Demodocus, that I may know how to accost him.
Dem.
His name is Theages.
Soc.
You have given him a very august one. Come here, pray, Theages, and tell me, Do you desire to be a wise man, and do you, in earnest ask your father to endeavour to find some person by whose conversation and instruction you may be rendered such?
Theag.
That truly is my most earnest request.
Soc.
Whom then do you call wise, those who are skilled in somethings or not?
Theag.
Those who are skilled and learned, no doubt.
Soc.
Why? hath not your father taken care to have you instructed in those things in which young gentlemen generally are instructed, as reading, music, and the genteel exercises?
Theag.
He has.
Soc.
Do you think there is still some science wanting to compleat your education, which your father ought not to neglect?
Theag.
I do.
Soc.
What is it, pray? Tell us that we may take care to have it done.
Theag.
My father knows very well what it is, for I have often told him. But he hath put you upon this art with me, by pretending not to understand what I had desired of him. For by this and other shifts hath he often endeavoured to elude my sollicitations, and he will not put me under the care of any master.
Soc.
But there were no witnesses to what formerly passed between you. Now, therefore, take me for a witness to your request, and speak out plainly before me, what that wisdom is in which you desire to be instructed.—Let us hear; for if, e.g. it was the art of navigation you had a mind to learn, and I should ask what science you desired to know, would you not immediately call it by its name, and tell me you meant the skill or art of navigation?
Theag.
I would.
Soc.
Or if it was the art of driving chariots, would not you tell me it was so, and name it directly.
Theag.
Most certainly.
Soc.
Well then, the science or art you now desire to learn has it a name or not?
Theag.
Yes surely, it has a fixed name.
Soc.
Do you then know the art but not know its appellation; or do you know both?
Theag.
I know very well how it is called.
Soc.
Tell me then what it is?
Theag.
Who gives it any other name but that of wisdom?
Soc.
What do you think of the art we were just now speaking of, the art of charioteership, is it knowledge or is it ignorance in your opinion.
Theag.
I don’t think it ignorance.
Soc.
It is therefore knowledge or wisdom.
Theag.
It is so.
Soc.
You call it so, don’t you, because it is the art of yoking horses and directing courses?
Theag.
Just so.
Soc.
In like manner, you allow navigation to be an art, because it is the science or art of directing ships, don’t you?
Theag.
I do.
Soc.
Well then, Is there any thing which we learn to govern, rule or manage, by the art you are desirous of being instructed in?
Theag.
Yes, I take it to be the art of ruling or managing men.
Soc.
Do you mean sick men?
Theag.
No truly.
Soc.
Right, because that is the business of the medicinal art.
Theag.
Just so.
Soc.
Is it the art of directing singers in the choirs?
Theag.
No.
Soc.
For that you’ll say is music.
Theag.
It is.
Soc.
Is it then the skill of presiding and directing in the schools or theatres of the exercises.
Theag.
Nor that neither.
Soc.
For that you call the gymnastic art.
Theag.
Yes.
Soc.
Tell me in the manner I have explained to you, the subjects of these other arts, what men and in what affairs your art governs, or teaches to direct?
Theag.
I take it to be conversant about ruling of those who are united together in communities or cities.
Soc.
I understand now what art you mean: you do not mean the art that directs plowers and planters; for that is agriculture: Nor that which directs smiths and joiners, and other artisans; for that is skill in the mechanical arts.
Theag.
It is neither.
Soc.
It is then the art of governing all men and women, whatever their different employments and conditions may be, as men and citizens? Is it not?
Theag.
Yes, this is the wisdom I have long desired to be instructed in.
Soc.
Then you can tell me whether Aegisthus, he, to wit, who killed Agamemnon at Argos, had this skill of governing all sorts of classes and conditions of men.
Theag.
Not at all.
Soc.
What then do you think of Peleus the son of Aeacus in Pthia? Or of Periander at Corinth?—Or to name no more, Archilaus, the son of Perdiccas, who lately ruled over Macedonia? Did not they know the art you desire to learn?
Theag.
They did.
Soc.
And Hippias too, the son of Pisistratus, who lately ruled over this city, did not he too know how to rule over men?
Theag.
Sure.
Soc.
Tell me then, if you please, by what name you think Bacis and Sibylla, and our own Amphilytus ought to be distinguished?
Theag.
By what other, pray, but that of prophets?
Soc.
Very right; and therefore tell me by what name Periander and Hippias ought to be called on account of their way and manner of ruling?
Theag.
What else but tyrants?
Soc.
Does not then every one who desires to rule over men as they did, desire to be a tyrant?
Theag.
So it would seem.
Soc.
Is then the science you are desirous of, the art of tyranny?
Theag.
It appears to follow from what I have said.
Soc.
And since you, little rogue, have been desiring to rule over us tyranically, are you angry with your father for not sending you to be instructed in the arts of tyranny. But let us go on now we know your desire. And what if we should here call in the authority of Euripides. For he says somewhere,
Σοφόι τυρραννοι τών σοφων συνοισιά.
If therefore any one should have asked Euripides how tyrants may attain to their art; the answer he would have given would have been to the same effect as if he had said, Husbandmen learn their skill by commerce with the skilled in that art; cooks theirs, in the same manner, by conversation with those who are skilled in theirs, and so must rulers and tyrants learn their science.
Theag.
You now trifle with me when I thought we were just come to the point.
Soc.
Why so? Did not you say it was the art of empire over citizens you desired to understand?
Theag.
Yes, I am not ashamed to speak it out. I could wish to have the universal empire of the world; and if that can’t be, the larger the empire the better. And I believe you and all men desire power and empire; some perhaps to be God: But that I have not said I desire.
Soc.
However, what you desire is to rule over subjects or citizens?
Theag.
Yes indeed, but not violently as tyrants, but over voluntary free men, as other illustrious magistrates in our city.
Soc.
You mean as Themistocles, and Pericles, and Cimon, and all the others who excelled in the administration of our republic.
Theag.
Just so indeed.
Soc.
Well, if you would be instructed in the art of horsemanship, would you not have recourse to one skilled and experienced in the practice of that art.
Theag.
I would.
Soc.
Well then, in the present case, ought you not to have recourse to persons experienced and practised in the arts of government?
Theag.
I have heard of discourses ascribed to you, in which you said that the sons of persons experienced in magistracy and rule, were generally no wiser than the sons of ordinary artisans. And I take it to be very true, as far as I have been able to observe, or am capable of judging. And would it not be very foolish in me to expect instruction from those who take no care of the institution of their own sons?
Soc.
Well, if it be so, what would you think, suppose you were a father, and your son desired to be bred a painter, if he should be angry with you for not giving him the proper institution in that art, when in the mean time he refused to go to the painters to be instructed—What, I say, would you think of your son in this case? Would you not think him very unreasonable?
Theag.
I should have reason.
Soc.
But is not this the case between you and your father? You are angry because he does not send you where you may learn the arts of civil government; and yet you yourself do not expect to find this instruction where alone surely it can be expected?
Theag.
Come, Socrates, would you take me under your care I should be happy. I desire no other master.
Dem.
My son judges well. That would be a happiness indeed. Let me therefore intreat you by all the sacred bonds of friendship, and by your love of the public, and of virtue.
Soc.
You are right, my friend, to be deeply concerned about the education of your son: But what vain things have I said or done that could make you imagine I could think myself fitter for undertaking that task than yourself, who are more aged and experienced in all parts of life than I, and have honourably discharged several high public trusts, with none of which I ever intermedled? If your son desires to be instructed, and yet does not expect instruction from persons who have been conversant in public affairs, but is looking about for one who professes the art of educating youth, there is Prodicus the Cean, Gorgias Leontinus, and Polus of Agrigentum, who are followed wherever they go, by bands of our noblest and richest youth, who leave the inspection and tutorage of their fathers and illustrious relations, to be instructed by them, and do not grudge very large sums to these preceptors. I know none of those arts which they boast of. All I pretend to is the skill of insinuating into young minds the love of virtue. I know the secret of gaining their esteem and confidence; and I have made it the chief business of my life to warn them against the snares and dangers of the world, and to enamour them of virtue, as the chief beauty and good in human life. These teachers vaunt of deep erudition, of profound insight into the mysteries of nature, and of the art of giving an appearance of probability to any side of any question: They teach their scholars to define and divide, to subtilize, perplex and dispute, and these talents make indeed a dazling shew: But all I pretend to is, to instil into young minds the love of justice, of truth, of mankind, and to raise their abhorrence and aversion against every vice. I shew them the beauty of virtuous actions in real characters, and paint out to them the strength of mind, and the quiet, the self-satisfaction, and undisturbable happiness which virtue and virtue only can give. And I show them the absurdity and ridiculousness of some vices, and the fatal consequences of others; their pernicious effects within the breast of the guilty person himself, as well as to society. I take pleasure in pointing out to them, in the final causes of nature’s operations, as far as we can trace them, the wisdom and goodness of the first Cause, by which all things were brought into being, subsist and operate, in order to lead them to the admiration and love of this first universal mind, union with whom, by the love and imitation of that goodness which is his happiness and excellency, is the supreme felicity of a rational being: The only one that can abide: The only one that can support under adversity: And indeed the chief joy of prosperity; for what is the greatest pleasure it affords, is it not the power of doing good, and banishing or alleviating misery. I go with them to the portico’s and temples adorned with pictures and sculptures, and by pointing out to them the beauties of such works, lead them to attend to the measures, the proportions, which make at once natural beauty and utility, in whatever class of objects these arts imitate or take their rules from. I thus lead them from nature to art, and reciprocally from the arts which emulate nature to nature herself, and inure them to entertain themselves with the admiration of nature’s wisdom and goodness, and to inculcate upon their minds from that consideration, their own proper business, in imitation of, and in concert with the great Author of nature; to fit themselves for doing all the good they can, by cultivating in their hearts a benevolent principle, and by giving all diligence to replenish their minds with the knowledge of what is best in every circumstance. And believe me, after the mind is well disposed, and capable to judge of fit and unfit, in the more ordinary circumstances of human life, it will not be difficult to judge well of more abstruse and complex cases, which require keeping in mind many circumstances, such as civil constitutions, laws and policies. For inuring youth to keep but one maxim in their view, as the standard to try these by, will, after the habit of thinking is well established, make that much easier work than is imagined. The maxim is, “That policies, constitutions and laws are good or evil, in proportion to their tendency to encourage or discourage the benevolent industry which is the cement of societies, and indeed the mother of all the blessings in human life.” I have not time now to explain upon this maxim, and shew how, in consequence of it, honours ought to lie open in states to all ingenious and good men, or to point out many other such conclusions of great moment, which result with equal clearness from this principle. But the maxim itself is evident, and it is the standard by which we are to try and judge of all civil establishments. And in order to lead to it, and inculcate it deeply on the minds of youth, I am ever telling them proper parts of our own history in particular, and unfolding the characters of the persons who were chiefly concerned in these transactions, the different parts they acted, and the different motives and views they were actuated by in their behaviours. This is all I can pretend to. I take all opportunities of doing this; and the oftner I see Theages the welcomer he shall be to me. For thus shall I be assured, that he loves true virtue, and desires the best knowledge, the science of human duties. He who loves virtue will soon understand what it requires in any circumstance of life, and what are the properest ways of expressing, i.e. of enforcing and endearing its precepts, in which last consists the excellency of writing.
The End of Part II.
- As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake,
- The centre mov’d, a circle strait succeeds
- Another still, and still another spreads.
- Friend, parent, neighbour, first it will embrace,
- His country next, and next all human race;
- Wide and more wide, th’ o’erflowings of the mind,
- Take ev’ry creature in of ev’ry kind.
- Earth smiles around, with boundless bounty blest,
- And heav’n beholds its image in his breast. Essay on man.
Titles (by Subject) 
