Lord Shaftesbury

Methinks, said he, Philocles! (changing to a familiar Voice) we had better leave these unsociable Places, whither our Fancy has transported us, and return to our-selves here again, in our more conversable Woods, and temperate Climates. Here no fierce Heats nor Colds annoy us, no Precipices nor Cataracts amaze us. Nor need we here be afraid of our own Voices; whilst we hear the Notes of such a chearful Quire, and find the Echoes rather agreeable, and inviting us to talk.

I confess, said I, those foreign Nymphs (if there were any belonging to those miraculous Woods) were much too awful Beautys to please me. I found our familiar Home-Nymphs a great deal more to my humour. Yet for all this, I cannot help being concern’d for your breaking off just when we were got half the World over, and wanted only to take America in our way home. Indeed as for Europe, I cou’d excuse your making any great Tour there, because of the little Variety it wou’d afford us. Besides that it wou’d be hard to see it in any view, without meeting still that politick Face of Affairs, which wou’d too much disturb us in our philosophical Flights. But for the Western Tract, I cannot imagine why you shou’d neglect such noble Subjects as are there; unless perhaps the Gold and Silver, to which I find you such a bitter Enemy, frighted you from a Mother-Soil so full of it. If these Countrys had been as bare of those Metals as old Sparta, we might have heard more perhaps of the Peru’s and Mexico’s than of all Asia and Africa. We might have had Creatures, Plants, Woods, Mountains, Rivers, beyond any of those we have pass’d. How sorry am I to lose the noble Amazon! How sorry—

Here as I wou’d have proceeded, I saw so significant a Smile on Theocles’s Face, that it stopt me, out of Curiosity, to ask him his Thought.

Nothing, said he; nothing but this very Subject it-self.—Go on.—I see you’ll finish it for me. The Spirit of this sort of Prophecy has seiz’d you. And Philocles, the cold indifferent Philocles, is become a Pursuer of the same mysterious Beauty.

‘Tis true, said I, (Theocles!) I own it. Your Genius, the Genius of the Place, and the Great Genius have at last prevail’d. I shall no longer resist the Passion growing in me for Things of a natural kind; where neither Art, nor the Conceit or Caprice of Man has spoil’d their genuine Order, by breaking in upon that primitive State. Even the rude Rocks, the mossy Caverns, the irregular unwrought Grottos, and broken Falls of Waters, with all the horrid Graces of the Wilderness it-self, as representing Nature more, will be the more engaging, and appear with a Magnificence beyond the formal Mockery of princely Gardens.——But tell me, I intreat you, how comes it, That, excepting a few Philosophers of your sort, the only People who are enamour’d in this way, and seek the Woods, the Rivers, or Sea-shores, are your poor vulgar Lovers?

Say not this, reply’d he, of Lovers only. For is it not the same with Poets, and all those other Students in Nature, and the Arts which copy after her? In short, is not this the real Case of all who are Lovers either of the Muses or the Graces?

However, said I, all those who are deep in this romantick way, are look’d upon, you know, as a People either plainly out of their wits, or over-run with Melancholy and [2]Enthusiasm. We always endeavour to recall ’em from these solitary Places. And I must own, that often when I have found my Fancy run this way, I have check’d my-self; not knowing what it was possess’d me, when I was passionately struck with Objects of this kind.

No wonder, reply’d he, if we are at a loss, when we pursue the Shadow for the Substance. For if we may trust to what our Reasoning has taught us; whatever in Nature is beautiful or charming, is only the faint Shadow of that First Beauty. So that every real Love depending on the Mind, and being only the Contemplation of Beauty, either as it really is in it-self, or as it appears imperfectly in the Objects which strike the Sense; how can the rational Mind rest here, or be satisfy’d with the absurd Enjoyment which reaches the Sense alone?

From this time forward then, said I, I shall no more have reason to fear those Beautys which strike a sort of Melancholy, like the Places we have nam’d, or like these solemn Groves. No more shall I avoid the moving Accents of soft Musick, or fly from the enchanting Features of the fairest human Face.

If you are already, reply’d he, such a Proficient in this new Love, that you are sure never to admire the Representative-Beauty, except for the sake of the Original; nor aim at other Enjoyment, than of the rational kind; you may then be confident. I am so; and presume accordingly, to answer for myself. However I shou’d not be ill satisfy’d, if you explain’d your-self a little better as to this Mistake of mine you seem to fear. Wou’d it be any help to tell you, “That the Absurdity lay in seeking the Enjoyment elsewhere than in the Subject lov’d?” The Matter, I must confess, is still mysterious. Imagine then, good Philocles, if being taken with the Beauty of the Ocean which you see yonder at a distance, it shou’d come into your head, to seek how to command it; and like some mighty Admiral, ride Master of the Sea; wou’d not the Fancy be a little absurd? Absurd enough, in conscience. The next thing I shou’d do, ’tis likely, upon this Frenzy, wou’d be to hire some Bark, and go in Nuptial Ceremony, Venetian-like, to wed the Gulf, which I might call perhaps as properly my own.

Let who will call it theirs, reply’d Theocles, you will own the Enjoyment of this kind to be very different from that which shou’d naturally follow from the Contemplation of the Ocean’s Beauty. The Bridegroom-Doge, who in his stately Bucentaur floats on the Bosom of his Thetis, has less Possession than the poor Shepherd, who from a hanging Rock, or Point of some high Promontory, stretch’d at his ease, forgets his feeding Flocks, while he admires her Beauty.—But to come nearer home, and make the Question still more familiar. Suppose (my Philocles!) that, viewing such a Tract of Country, as this delicious Vale we see beneath us, you shou’d for the Enjoyment of the Prospect, require the Property or Possession of the Land.

The covetous Fancy, reply’d I, wou’d be as absurd altogether, as that other ambitious one.

O Philocles! said he; May I bring this yet a little nearer? And will you follow me once more? Suppose that being charm’d, as you seem to be, with the Beauty of these Trees, under whose shade we rest, you shou’d long for nothing so much as to taste some delicious Fruit of theirs; and having obtain’d of Nature some certain Relish by which these Acorns or Berrys of the Wood became as palatable as the Figs or Peaches of the Garden, you shou’d afterwards, as oft as you revisted these Groves, seek hence the Enjoyment of them, by satiating your-self in these new Delights.

The Fancy of this kind, reply’d I, wou’d be sordidly luxurious; and as absurd, in my Opinion, as either of the former.

Can you not then, on this occasion, said he, call to mind some other Forms of a fair kind among us, where the Admiration of Beauty is apt to lead to as irregular a Consequence?

I fear’d, said I, indeed, where this wou’d end, and was apprehensive you wou’d force me at last to think of certain powerful Forms in human Kind, which draw after ’em a Set of eager Desires, Wishes, and Hopes; no way sutable, I must confess, to your rational and refin’d Contemplation of Beauty. The Proportions of this living Architecture, as wonderful as they are, inspire nothing of a studious or contemplative kind. The more they are view’d, the further they are from satisfying by mere View. Let that which satisfies be ever so disproportionable an Effect, or ever so foreign to its Cause; censure it as you please, you must allow however that it’s natural. So that you, Theocles, for ought I see, are become the Accuser of Nature, by condemning a natural Enjoyment.

Far be it from us both, said he, to condemn a Joy which is from Nature. But when we spoke of the Enjoyment of these Woods and Prospects, we understood by it a far different kind from that of the inferior Creatures, who rifling in these places, find here their choicest Food. Yet we too live by tasteful Food; and feel those other Joys of Sense in common with them. But ’twas not here (my Philocles!) that we had agreed to place our Good; nor consequently our Enjoyment. We who were rational, and had Minds, methought, shou’d place it rather in those Minds; which were indeed abus’d, and cheated of their real Good, when drawn to seek absurdly the Enjoyment of it in the Objects of Sense, and not in those Objects they might properly call their own: in which kind, as I remember, we comprehended all which was truly Fair, Generous, or Good.

So that Beauty, said I, and Good, with you, Theocles, I perceive are still [3]one and the same.

‘Tis so, said he. And thus are we return’d again to the Subject of our Yesterday’s Morning Conversation. Whether I have made good my Promise to you, in shewing [4]the true Good, I know not. But so, doubtless, I shou’d have done with good success, had I been able in my poetick Extasys, or by any other Efforts, to have led you into some deep View of Nature, and the Sovereign Genius. We then had prov’d the Force of Divine Beauty; and form’d in our-selves an Object capable and worthy of real Enjoyment.

O Theocles! said I, well do I remember now the Terms in which you engag’d me, that Morning when you bespoke my Love of this mysterious Beauty. You have indeed made good your part of the Condition, and may now claim me for a Proselyte. If there be any seeming Extravagance in the case, I must comfort my-self the best I can, and consider that all sound Love and Admiration is [5]Enthusiasm: “The Transports of Poets, the Sublime of Orators, the Rapture of Musicians, the high Strains of the Virtuosi; all mere Enthusiasm! Even Learning it-self, the Love of Arts and Curiositys, the Spirit of Travellers and Adventurers; Gallantry, War, Heroism; All, all Enthusiasm!"——‘Tis enough: I am content to be this new Enthusiast, in a way unknown to me before.

And I, reply’d Theocles, am content you shou’d call this Love of ours Enthusiasm: allowing it the Privilege of its Fellow-Passions. For is there a fair and plausible Enthusiasm, a reasonable Extasy and Transport allow’d to other Subjects, such as Architecture, Painting, Musick; and shall it be exploded here? Are there Senses by which all those other Graces and Perfections are perceiv’d? and none by which this higher Perfection and Grace is comprehended? Is it so preposterous to bring that Enthusiasm hither, and transfer it from those secondary and scanty Objects, to this original and comprehensive One? Observe how the Case stands in all those other Subjects of Art or Science. What difficulty to be in any degree knowing! How long ere a true Taste is gain’d! how many things shocking, how many offensive at first, which afterwards are known and acknowledg’d the highest Beautys! For ’tis not instantly we acquire the Sense by which these Beautys are discoverable. Labour and Pains are requir’d, and Time to cultivate a natural Genius, ever so apt or forward. But Who is there once thinks of cultivating this Soil, or of improving any Sense or Faculty which Nature may have given of this kind? And is it a wonder we shou’d be dull then, as we are, confounded, and at a loss in these Affairs, blind as to this higher Scene, these nobler Representations? Which way shou’d we come to understand better? which way be knowing in these Beautys? Is Study, Science, or Learning necessary to understand all Beautys else? And for the Sovereign Beauty, is there no Skill or Science requir’d? In Painting there are Shades and masterly Strokes, which the Vulgar understand not, but find fault with: in Architecture there is the Rustick; in Musick the Chromatick kind, and skilful Mixture of Dissonancys. And is there nothing which answers to this, in The Whole?

I must confess, said I, I have hitherto been one of those Vulgar, who cou’d never relish the Shades, the Rustick, or the Dissonancys you talk of. I have never dreamt of such Master-pieces in Nature. ‘Twas my way to censure freely on the first view. But I perceive I am now oblig’d to go far in the pursuit of Beauty; which lies very absconded and deep: And if so, I am well assur’d that my Enjoyments hitherto have been very shallow. I have dwelt, it seems, all this while upon the Surface, and enjoy’d only a kind of slight superficial Beautys; having never gone in search of Beauty it-self, but of what I fancy’d such. Like the rest of the unthinking World, I took for granted that what I liked was beautiful; and what I rejoic’d in, was my Good. I never scrupled loving what I fancy’d; and aiming only at the Enjoyment of what I lov’d, I never troubled my-self with examining what the Subjects were, nor ever hesitated about their Choice.

Begin then, said he, and chuse. See what the Subjects are; and which you wou’d prefer; which honour with your Admiration, Love and Esteem. For by these again you will be honour’d in your turn. Such, Philocles, as is the Worth of these Companions, such will your Worth be found. As there is Emptiness or Fulness here, so will there be in your Enjoyment. See therefore where Fulness is, and where Emptiness. See in what Subject resides the chief Excellence: where Beauty reigns: where ’tis intire, perfect, absolute; where broken, imperfect, short. View these terrestrial Beautys, and whatever has the appearance of Excellence, and is able to attract. See that which either really is, or stands as in the room of Fair, Beautiful, and Good: “A Mass of Metal; a Tract of Land; a Number of Slaves; a Pile of Stones; a human Body of certain Lineaments and Proportions.” Is this the highest of the kind? Is Beauty founded then in Body only; and not in Action, Life, or Operation?—

Hold! hold! said I, (good Theocles!) you take this in too high a Key, above my reach. If you wou’d have me accompany you, pray lower this Strain a little; and talk in a more familiar way.

THUS THEN, said he, (smiling) Whatever Passion you may have for other Beautys; I know, good Philocles, you are no such Admirer of Wealth in any kind, as to allow much Beauty to it; especially in a rude Heap or Mass. But in Medals, Coins, Imbost-work, Statues, and well-fabricated Pieces, of whatever sort, you can discover Beauty, and admire the Kind. True, said I; but not for the Metal’s sake. ’Tis not then the Metal or Matter which is beautiful with you. No. But the Art. Certainly. The Art then is the Beauty. Right. And the Art is that which beautifies. The same. So that the Beautifying, not the Beautify’d, is the really Beautiful. It seems so. For that which is beautify’d, is beautiful only by the accession of something beautifying: and by the recess or withdrawing of the same, it ceases to be beautiful. Be it. In respect of Bodys therefore, Beauty comes and goes. So we see. Nor is the Body it-self any Cause either of its coming or staying. None. So that there is no Principle of Beauty in Body. None at all. For Body can no-way be the Cause of Beauty to it-self. No-way. Nor govern nor regulate it-self. Nor yet this. Nor mean nor intend it-self. Nor this neither. Must not that therefore, which means and intends for it, regulates and orders it, be the Principle of Beauty to it? Of necessity. And what must that be? Mind, I suppose; for what can it be else?

Here then, said he, is all I wou’d have explain’d to you before: “That the Beautiful, the Fair, the Comely, were never in the Matter, but in the Art and Design; never in Body it-self, but in the Form or forming Power.” Does not the beautiful Form confess this, and speak the Beauty of the Design, whene’er it strikes you? What is it but the Design which strikes? What is it you admire but Mind, or the Effect of Mind? ’Tis Mind alone which forms. All which is void of Mind is horrid: and Matter formless is Deformity it-self.

Of all Forms then, said I, Those (according to your Scheme) are the most amiable, and in the first Order of Beauty, which have a power of making other Forms themselves: From whence methinks they may be styl’d the forming Forms. So far I can easily concur with you, and gladly give the advantage to the human Form, above those other Beautys of Man’s Formation. The Palaces, Equipages and Estates shall never in my account be brought in competition with the original living Forms of Flesh and Blood. And for the other, the dead Forms of Nature, the Metals and Stones, however precious and dazling; I am resolv’d to resist their Splendour, and make abject Things of ’em, even in their highest Pride, when they pretend to set off human Beauty, and are officiously brought in aid of the Fair.

Do you not see then, reply’d Theocles, that you have establish’d Three Degrees or Orders of Beauty? As how? Why first, the dead Forms, as you properly have call’d ’em, which bear a Fashion, and are form’d, whether by Man, or Nature; but have no forming Power, no Action, or Intelligence. Right. Next, and as the second kind, the Forms which form; that is, which have Intelligence, Action, and Operation. Right still. Here therefore is double Beauty. For here is both the Form (the Effect of Mind) and Mind it-self: The first kind low and despicable in respect of this other; from whence the dead Form receives its Lustre and Force of Beauty. For what is a mere Body, tho a human one, and ever so exactly fashion’d, if inward Form be wanting, and the Mind be monstrous or imperfect, as in an Idiot, or Savage? This too I can apprehend,” said I; “but where is the third Order?

Have patience, reply’d he, and see first whether you have discover’d the whole Force of this second Beauty. How else shou’d you understand the Force of Love, or have the Power of Enjoyment? Tell me, I beseech you, when first you nam’d these the Forming Forms, did you think of no other Productions of theirs besides the dead Kinds, such as the Palaces, the Coins, the Brazen or the Marble Figures of Men? Or did you think of something nearer Life?

I cou’d easily, said I, have added, that these Forms of ours had a Virtue of producing other living Forms, like themselves. But this Virtue of theirs, I thought was from another Form above them, and cou’d not properly be call’d their Virtue or Art; if in reality there was a superior Art, or something Artist-like, which guided their Hand, and made Tools of them in this specious Work.

Happily thought, said he! You have prevented a Censure which I hardly imagin’d you cou’d escape. And here you have unawares discover’d that third Order of Beauty, which forms not only such as we call mere Forms, but even the Forms which form. For we our-selves are notable Architects in Matter, and can shew lifeless Bodys brought into Form, and fashion’d by our own hands: but that which fashions even Minds themselves, contains in it-self all the Beautys fashion’d by those Minds; and is consequently the Principle, Source, and Fountain of all Beauty. It seems so.

Therefore whatever Beauty appears in our second Order of Forms, or whatever is deriv’d or produc’d from thence, all this is eminently, principally, and originally in this last Order of Supreme and Sovereign Beauty. True.

Thus Architecture, Musick, and all which is of human Invention, resolves it-self into this last Order. Right, said I: and thus all the Enthusiasms of other kinds resolve themselves into ours. The fashionable Kinds borrow from us, and are nothing without us: We have undoubtedly the Honour of being Originals.

NOW therefore say again, reply’d Theocles; Whether are those Fabricks of Architecture, Sculpture, and the rest of that sort, the greatest Beautys which Man forms; or are there greater and better? None which I know, reply’d I. Think, think again, said he: and setting aside those Productions which just now you excepted against, as Master-pieces of another Hand; think What there are which more immediately proceed from us, and may more truly be term’d our Issue. I am barren, said I, for this time: you must be plainer yet, in helping me to conceive. How can I help you, reply’d he? Wou’d you have me be conscious for you, of that which is immediately your own, and is solely in, and from your-self? You mean my Sentiments, said I. Certainly, reply’d he: and together with your Sentiments, your Resolutions, Principles, Determinations, Actions; whatsoever is handsom and noble in the kind; whatever flows from your good Understanding, Sense, Knowledge and Will; whatever is ingender’d in your Heart, (good Philocles!) or derives it-self from your Parent-Mind, which, unlike to other Parents, is never spent or exhausted, but gains Strength and Vigor by producing. So You (my Friend!) have prov’d it, by many a Work: not suffering that fertile Part to remain idle and unactive. Hence those good Parts, which from a natural Genius you have rais’d by due Improvement. And here, as I cannot but admire the pregnant Genius, and Parent-Beauty; so am I satisfy’d of the Offspring, that it is and will be ever beautiful.

I took the Compliment, and wish’d (I told him) the Case were really as he imagin’d, that I might justly merit his Esteem and Love. My Study therefore shou’d be to grow beautiful, in his way of Beauty; and from this time forward I wou’d do all I cou’d to propagate that lovely Race of mental Children, happily sprung from such a high Enjoyment, and from a Union with what was Fairest and Best. But ’tis you, Theocles, continu’d I, must help my labouring Mind, and be as it were the Midwife to those Conceptions; which else, I fear, will prove abortive.

You do well, reply’d he, to give me the Midwife’s part only: For the Mind conceiving of it-self, can only be, as you say, assisted in the Birth. Its Pregnancy is from its Nature. Nor cou’d it ever have been thus impregnated by any other Mind, than that which form’d it at the beginning; and which, as we have already prov’d, is Original to all mental, as well as other Beauty.

Do you maintain then, said I, that these mental Children, the Notions and Principles, of Fair, Just, and Honest, with the rest of these Ideas, are innate?

Anatomists, said he, tell us that the Eggs, which are Principles in Body, are innate; being form’d already in the Fœtus before the Birth. But When it is, whether before, or at, or after the Birth, or at What time after, that either these, or other Principles, Organs of Sensation, or Sensations themselves, are first form’d in us, is a matter, doubtless, of curious Speculation, but of no great Importance. The Question is, whether the Principles spoken of are from Art, or Nature? If from Nature purely; ’tis no matter for the Time: nor wou’d I contend with you, tho you shou’d deny Life it-self to be innate, as imagining it follow’d rather than preceded the moment of Birth. But this I am certain of; that Life, and the Sensations which accompany Life, come when they will, are from mere Nature, and nothing else. Therefore if you dislike the word Innate, let us change it, if you will, for Instinct; and call Instinct, that which Nature teaches, exclusive of Art, Culture, or Discipline. Content, said I. Leaving then, reply’d he, those admirable Speculations to the Virtuosi, the Anatomists, and School-Divines; we may safely aver, with all their Consents, that the several Organs, particularly those of Generation, are form’d by Nature. Whether is there also from Nature, think you, any Instinct for the after-Use of them? Or whether must Learning and Experience imprint this Use? ’Tis imprinted, said I, enough in Conscience. The Impression, or Instinct, is so strong in the Case, that ’twou’d be absurdity not to think it natural, as well in our own Species, as in other Creatures: amongst whom (as you have already taught me) not only the mere engendring of the Young, but the various and almost infinite Means and Methods of providing for them, are all foreknown. For thus much we may indeed discern in the preparatory Labours and Arts of these wild Creatures; which demonstrate their anticipating Fancys, Pre-conceptions, or Pre-sensations; if I may use a word you taught me [6] yesterday.

I allow your Expression, said Theocles, and will endeavour to show you that the same Pre-conceptions, of a higher degree, have place in human Kind. Do so, said I, I intreat you: For so far am I from finding in my-self these Pre-conceptions of Fair and Beautiful, in your sense, that methinks, till now of late, I have hardly known of any thing like them in Nature. How then, said he, wou’d you have known that outward Fair and Beautiful of human Kind; if such an Object (a fair fleshly one) in all its Beauty, had for the first time appear’d to you, by your-self, this morning, in these Groves? Or do you think perhaps you shou’d have been unmov’d, and have found no difference between this Form and any other; if first you had not been instructed?

I have hardly any Right, reply’d I, to plead this last Opinion, after what I have own’d just before.

Well then, said he, that I may appear to take no advantage against you; I quit the dazling Form, which carrys such a Force of complicated Beautys; and am contented to consider separately each of those simple Beautys, which taken all together, create this wonderful effect. For you will allow, without doubt, that in respect of Bodys, whatever is commonly said of the unexpressible, the unintelligible, the I-know-not-what of Beauty; there can lie no Mystery here, but what plainly belongs either to Figure, Colour, Motion or Sound. Omitting therefore the three latter, and their dependent Charms; let us view the Charm in what is simplest of all, mere Figure. Nor need we go so high as Sculpture, Architecture, or the Designs of those who from this Study of Beauty have rais’d such delightful Arts. ’Tis enough if we consider the simplest of Figures; as either a round Ball, a Cube, or Dye. Why is even an Infant pleas’d with the first View of these Proportions? Why is the Sphere or Globe, the Cylinder and Obelisk prefer’d; and the irregular Figures, in respect of these, rejected and despis’d?

I am ready, reply’d I, to own there is in certain Figures a natural [7] Beauty, which the Eye finds as soon as the Object is presented to it.

Is there then, said he, a natural Beauty of Figures? and is there not as natural a one of Actions? No sooner the Eye opens upon Figures, the Ear to Sounds, than straight the Beautiful results, and Grace and Harmony are known and acknowledg’d. No sooner are Actions view’d, no sooner the human Affections and Passions discern’d (and they are most of ’em as soon discern’d as felt) than straight an inward Eye distinguishes, and sees the Fair and Shapely, the Amiable and Admirable, apart from the Deform’d, the Foul, the Odious, or the Despicable. How is it possible therefore not to own, “That as these Distinctions have their Foundation in Nature, the Discernment it-self is natural, and from Nature alone?”

If this, I told him, were as he represented it; there cou’d never, I thought, be any Disagreement among Men concerning Actions and Behaviour: as which was Base, which Worthy; which Handsom, and which Deform’d. But now we found perpetual Variance among Mankind; whose Differences were chiefly founded on this Disagreement in Opinion; “The one affirming, the other denying, that this, or that, was fit or decent.”

Even by this then, reply’d he, it appears there is Fitness and Decency in Actions; since the Fit and Decent is in this Controversy ever pre-suppos’d: And whilst Men are at odds about the Subjects, the Thing it-self is universally agreed. For neither is there Agreement in Judgments about other Beautys. ’Tis controverted “Which is the finest Pile, the loveliest Shape, or Face”: But without controversy, ’tis allow’d “There is a Beauty of each kind.” This no-one goes about to teach: nor is it learnt by any; but confess’d by All. All own the Standard, Rule, and Measure: But in applying it to Things, Disorder arises, Ignorance prevails, Interest and Passion breed Disturbance. Nor can it otherwise happen in the Affairs of Life, whilst that which interests and engages Men as Good, is thought different from that which they admire and praise as Honest.—But with us (Philocles!) ’tis better settled; since for our parts, we have already decreed, “That [8] Beauty and Good are still the same.”

I REMEMBER, said I, what you forc’d me to acknowledge more than once before. And now, good Theocles! that I am become so willing a Disciple, I want not so much to be convinc’d, me-thinks, as to be confirm’d and strengthen’d. And I hope this last Work may prove your easiest Task.

Not unless you help in it your-self, reply’d Theocles: For this is necessary, as well as becoming. It had been indeed shameful for you to have yielded without making good Resistance. To help one’s-self to be convinc’d, is to prevent Reason, and bespeak Error and Delusion. But upon fair Conviction, to give our heart up to the evident side, and reinforce the Impression, this is to help Reason heartily. And thus we may be said honestly to persuade our-selves. Shew me then how I may best persuade my-self.

Have courage, said he, Philocles! (raising his Voice) Be not offended that I say, Have Courage! ’Tis Cowardice alone betrays us. For whence can false Shame be, except from Cowardice? To be asham’d of what one is sure can never be shameful, must needs be from the want of Resolution. We seek the Right and Wrong in things; we examine what is Honourable, what Shameful: and having at last determin’d, we dare not stand to our own judgment, and are asham’d to own there is really a Shameful and an Honourable. “Hear me (says one who pretends to value Philocles, and be valu’d by him) There can be no such thing as real Valuableness or Worth; nothing in it-self estimable or amiable, odious or shameful. All is Opinion: ’Tis Opinion which makes Beauty, and unmakes it. The Graceful or Ungraceful in things, the Decorum and its Contrary, the Amiable and Un-amiable, Vice, Virtue, Honour, Shame, all this is founded in Opinion only. Opinion is the Law and Measure. Nor has Opinion any Rule besides mere Chance; which varys it, as Custom varys: and makes now this, now that, to be thought worthy, according to the Reign of Fashion, and the ascendent Power of Education.” What shall we say to such a one? How represent to him his Absurdity and Extravagance? Will he desist the sooner? Or shall we ask what Shame, of one who acknowledges no Shameful? Yet he derides, and cries, Ridiculous! By what Right? what Title? For thus, if I were Philocles, wou’d I defend my-self: “Am I ridiculous? As how? What is ridiculous? Every-thing? or Nothing?” Ridiculous indeed! But something then, something there is Ridiculous: and the Notion, it seems, is right, “of a Shameful and a Ridiculous, in things.” How then shall we apply the Notion? For this being wrong apply’d, cannot it-self but be ridiculous. Or will he who cries Shame, refuse to acknowledge any in his turn? Does he not blush, nor seem discountenanc’d on any occasion? If he does, the Case is very distinct from that of mere Grief or Fear. The Disorder he feels is from a Sense of what is shameful and odious in it-self, not of what is hurtful or dangerous in its Consequences. For the greatest Danger in the world can never breed Shame: nor can the Opinion of all the World compel us to it, where our own Opinion is not a Party. We may be afraid of appearing impudent, and may therefore feign a Modesty. But we can never really blush for any thing beside what we think truly Shameful, and what we shou’d still blush for, were we ever so secure as to our Interest, and out of the reach of all Inconvenience, which cou’d happen to us from the thing we were asham’d of.

Thus, continu’d he, shou’d I be able, by Anticipation, to defend my-self; and looking narrowly into Mens Lives, and that which influenc’d ’em on all occasions, I shou’d have Testimony enough to make me say within my-self, “Let who will be my Adversary in this Opinion, I shall find him some way or other prepossess’d with that of which he wou’d endeavour to dispossess me.” Has he Gratitude or Resentment, Pride or Shame? Whichever way it be, he acknowledges a Sense of Just and Unjust, Worthy and Mean. If he be Grateful, or expects Gratitude, I ask “Why? and on What account?” If he be angry, if he indulges Revenge, I ask “How? and in what Case? Reveng’d of What? of a Stone, or Madman?” Who is so mad? “But for What? For a Chance-hurt? an Accident against Thought, or Intention?” Who is so unjust? Therefore there is Just and Unjust; and belonging to it a natural Presumption or Anticipation, on which the Resentment or Anger is founded. For what else shou’d make the wickedest of Mankind often prefer the Interest of their Revenge to all other Interests, and even to Life it-self, except only a Sense of Wrong, natural to all Men, and a Desire to prosecute that Wrong at any rate? Not for their own sakes, since they sacrifice their very Being to it; but out of hatred to the imagin’d Wrong, and from a certain Love of Justice, which even in unjust Men is by this Example shewn to be beyond the Love of Life it-self.

Thus as to Pride, I ask, “Why proud? Why conceited? and of What? Does any-one who has Pride, think meanly or indifferently of himself?” No: but honourably. And how this, if there be no real Honour or Dignity presuppos’d? For Self-valuation supposes Self-worth; and in a Person conscious of real Worth, is either no Pride, or a just and noble one. In the same manner, Self-contempt supposes a Self-meanness or Defectiveness; and may be either a just Modesty, or unjust Humility. But this is certain, that whoever is proud, must be proud of something. And we know that Men of thorow Pride will be proud even in the meanest Circumstances, and when there is no visible Subject for them to be proud of. But they descry a Merit in themselves, which others cannot: And ’tis this Merit they admire. No matter whether it be really in them, as they imagine: It is a Worth still, an Honour, or Merit which they admire, and wou’d do, wherever they saw it, in any Subject besides. For then it is, then only, that they are humbled, “When they see in a more eminent degree in others, What they respect and admire so much in themselves."——And thus as long as I find Men either angry or revengeful, proud or asham’d, I am safe: For they conceive an Honourable and Dishonourable, a Foul and Fair, as well as I. No matter where they place it, or how they are mistaken in it: This hinders not my being satisfy’d “That the Thing is, and is universally acknowledg’d; That it is of Nature’s Impression, naturally conceiv’d, and by no Art or Counter-Nature to be eradicated or destroy’d.”

And now, what say you, Philocles (continu’d he) to this Defence I have been making for you? ‘Tis grounded, as you see, on the Supposition of your being deeply ingag’d in this philosophical Cause. But perhaps you have yet many Difficultys to get over, ere you can so far take part with Beauty, as to make this to be your Good.

I have no difficulty so great, said I, as not to be easily remov’d. My Inclinations lead me strongly this way: for I am ready enough to yield there is no real Good beside the Enjoyment of Beauty. And I am as ready, reply’d Theocles, to yield There is no real Enjoyment of Beauty beside what is Good. Excellent! But upon reflection, I fear I am little beholden to you for your Concession. As how? Because shou’d I offer to contend for any Enjoyment of Beauty out of your mental Way, you wou’d, I doubt, call such Enjoyment of mine absurd; as you did once before. Undoubtedly I shou’d. For what is it shou’d enjoy, or be capable of Enjoyment, except Mind? Or shall we say, Body enjoys? By the help of Sense, perhaps; not otherwise. Is Beauty, then, the Object of Sense? Say how? Which way? For otherwise the help of Sense is nothing in the Case: And if Body be of it-self incapable, and Sense no help to it, to apprehend or enjoy Beauty, there remains only the Mind which is capable either to apprehend or to enjoy.

True, said I; but show me, then, “Why Beauty may not be the Object of the Sense?” Shew me first, I intreat you, “Why, Where, or in What you fancy it may be so?” Is it not Beauty which first excites the Sense, and feeds it afterwards in the Passion we call Love? Say in the same manner, “That it is Beauty first excites the Sense, and feeds it afterwards in the Passion we call Hunger."——You will not say it. The Thought, I perceive, displeases you. As great as the Pleasure is of good Eating, you disdain to apply the Notion of Beauty to the good Dishes which create it. You wou’d hardly have applauded the preposterous Fancy of some luxurious Romans of old, who cou’d relish a Fricassee the better for hearing it was compos’d of Birds which wore a beautiful Feather, or had sung deliciously. Instead of being incited by such a historical Account of Meats, you wou’d be apt, I believe, to have less Appetite, the more you search’d their Origin, and descended into the Kitchen-Science, to learn the several Forms and Changes they had undergone, ere they were serv’d at this elegant voluptuous Table. But tho the Kitchen-Forms be ever so disgraceful, you will allow that the Materials of the Kitchen, such, for instance, as the Garden furnishes, are really fair and beautiful in their kind. Nor will you deny Beauty to the wild Field, or to these Flowers which grow around us, on this verdant Couch. And yet, as lovely as are these Forms of Nature, the shining Grass, or silver’d Moss, the flowry Thyme, wild Rose, or Honey-suckle: ’tis not their Beauty allures the neighbouring Herds, delights the brouzing Fawn, or Kid, and spreads the Joy we see amidst the feeding Flocks: ‘Tis not the Form rejoices; but that which is beneath the Form: ’tis Savouriness attracts, Hunger impels; and Thirst, better allay’d by the clear Brook than the thick Puddle, makes the fair Nymph to be prefer’d, whose Form is otherwise slighted. For never can the Form be of real force where it is uncontemplated, unjudg’d of, unexamin’d, and stands only as the accidental Note or Token of what appeases provok’d Sense, and satisfies the brutish Part. Are you persuaded of this, good Philocles? or rather than not give Brutes the advantage of Enjoyment, will you allow them also a Mind and rational Part? Not so, I told him.

If Brutes therefore, said he, be incapable of knowing and enjoying Beauty, as being Brutes, and having Sense only (the brutish part) for their own share; it follows, “That neither can Man by the same Sense or brutish Part, conceive or enjoy Beauty: But all the Beauty and Good he enjoys, is in a nobler way, and by the help of what is noblest, his Mind and Reason.” Here lies his Dignity and highest Interest: Here his Capacity toward Good and Happiness. His Ability or Incompetency, his Power of Enjoyment, or his Impotence, is founded in this alone. As this is sound, fair, noble, worthy; so are its Subjects, Acts and Employments. For as the riotous Mind, captive to Sense, can never enter in competition, or contend for Beauty with the virtuous Mind of Reason’s Culture; so neither can the Objects which allure the former, compare with those which attract and charm the latter. And when each gratifies it-self in the Enjoyment and Possession of its Object; how evidently fairer are the Acts which join the latter Pair, and give a Soul the Enjoyment of what is generous and good? This at least, Philocles, you will surely allow, That when you place a Joy elsewhere than in the Mind; the Enjoyment it-self will be no beautiful Subject, nor of any graceful or agreeable Appearance. But when you think how Friendship is enjoy’d, how Honour, Gratitude, Candour, Benignity, and all internal Beauty; how all the social Pleasures, Society it-self, and all which constitutes the Worth and Happiness of Mankind; you will here surely allow Beauty in the Act, and think it worthy to be view’d, and pass’d in review often by the glad Mind, happily conscious of the generous Part, and of its own Advancement and Growth in Beauty.

Thus, Philocles, (continu’d he, after a short Pause) thus have I presum’d to treat of Beauty before so great a Judge, and such a skilful Admirer as your-self. For taking rise from Nature’s Beauty, which transported me, I gladly ventur’d further in the Chase; and have accompany’d you in search of Beauty, as it relates to us, and makes our highest Good, in its sincere and natural Enjoyment. And if we have not idly spent our hours, nor rang’d in vain thro’ these deserted Regions; it shou’d appear from our strict Search, that there is nothing so divine as Beauty: which belonging not to Body, nor having any Principle or Existence except in Mind and Reason, is alone discover’d and acquir’d by this diviner Part, when it inspects it-self, the only Object worthy of it-self. For whate’er is void of Mind, is Void and Darkness to the Mind’s Eye. This languishes and grows dim, whene’er detain’d on foreign Subjects; but thrives and attains its natural Vigour, when employ’d in Contemplation of what is like it-self. ‘Tis thus the improving Mind, slightly surveying other Objects, and passing over Bodys, and the common Forms, (where only a Shadow of Beauty rests) ambitiously presses onward to its Source, and views the Original of Form and Order in that which is intelligent. And thus, O Philocles! may we improve and become Artists in the kind; learning “To know Our-selves, and what That is, which by improving, we may be sure to advance our Worth, and real Self-Interest.” For neither is this Knowledge acquir’d by Contemplation of Bodys, or the outward Forms, the View of Pageantrys, the Study of Estates and Honours: nor is He to be esteem’d that self-improving Artist, who makes a Fortune out of these; but he (He only) is the wise and able Man, who with a slight regard to these Things, applies himself to cultivate another Soil, builds in a different Matter from that of Stone or Marble; and having righter Models in his Eye, becomes in truth the Architect of his own Life and Fortune; by laying within himself the lasting and sure Foundations of Order, Peace, and Concord.——But now ’tis time to think of returning home. The Morning is far spent. Come! Let us away, and leave these uncommon Subjects; till we retire again to these remote and unfrequented Places.

At these words Theocles mending his pace, and going down the Hill, left me at a good distance; till he heard me calling earnestly after him. Having join’d him once again, I begg’d he wou’d stay a little longer: or if he were resolv’d so soon to leave both the Woods, and that Philosophy which he confin’d to ’em; that he wou’d let me however part with ’em more gradually, and leave the best Impression on me he cou’d, against my next Return. For as much convinc’d as I was, and as great a Convert to his Doctrine, my Danger still, I own’d to him, was very great: and I foresaw that when the Charm of these Places, and his Company was ceas’d, I shou’d be apt to relapse, and weakly yield to that too powerful Charm, the World. Tell me, continu’d I, how is it possible to hold out against it, and withstand the general Opinion of Mankind, who have so different a Notion of that which we call Good? Say truth now, Theocles, can any thing be more odd, or dissonant from the common Voice of the World, than what we have determin’d in this matter?

Whom shall we follow then? reply’d he. Whose Judgment or Opinion shall we take, concerning What is Good, What contrary? If All, or any part of Mankind are consonant with themselves, and can agree in this; I am content to leave Philosophy, and follow them: If otherwise; Why shou’d we not adhere to what we have chosen?—Let us then, in another View, consider how this Matter stands.