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AGAIN: Is not power of every degree as much contested for as wealth? Are not magiftracies, honours, principalities and empire, the fubjects of ftrife and everlasting contention I replied, they were. And why, faid he, this? To obtain what end? Is it not to help us, like wealth, to the possesfion of what we defire? Is it not farther to ascertain, to fecure our enjoyments; that when others would deprive us, we may be ftrong enough to refift them? I replied, it was.

OR, to invert the whole: Why are there, who seek receffes the most diftant and retired; flee courts and power, and fubmit to parfimony and obfcurity? Why all this, but from the fame intention? From an opinion that small poffeffions, ufed moderately, are permanent: That larger poffeffions raise envy, and are more frequently invaded : That the fafety of power and dignity is more precarious than that of retreat; and that therefore they have chofen, what is most eligible upon the whole? It is not, faid I, improbable, that they act by fome fuch motive.

Do you not fee then continued he, two or three more preconceptions of the Sovereign Good, which are fought for by all, as effential to constitute it? And what, faid I, are these? That it should not be tranfient, nor derived from the will of others, nor in their power to take away; but be durable, selfderived, and (if I may use the expreffion) indeprivable. I confefs, faid I, it appears fo. But we have already found it to be confidered, as fomething agreeable to our nature; conducive not to mere being, but to well-being; and what we aim to have accommodated to all places and times. We have.

THERE may be other characteristics, faid he, but these f think fufficient. See then its idea; behold it, as collected from the original, natural and univerfal pre-conceptions of all mankind. The Sovereign Good, they have taught us, ought

to

to be fomething agreeable to our nature; conducive to well-being; accommodated to all places and times; durable, felf-deserved, and indeprivable. Your account, faid I, appears just.

HARRIS

CHA P. II.

THE SAME SUBJECT.

BRUTUS perished untimely, and Cæfar did no more.—

These words I was repeating the next day to myself, when my friend appeared, and cheerfully bade me good-morrow. I could not return his compliment with an equal gaiety, being intent, fomewhat more than usual, on what had passed the day before. Seeing this, he propofed a walk into the fields. The face of Nature, faid he, will perhaps difpel these. glooms. No affiftance on my part, fhall be wanting, you may be affured. I accepted his propofal; the walk began ; and our former converfation infenfibly renewed.

BRUTUS, faid he, perished untimely, and Cæfar did no more. It was thus, as I remember, not long fince you were expreffing yourself. And yet fuppofe their fortunes to have been exactly parallel-Which would you have preferred Would you have been Cæfar or Brutus? Brutus, replied I, beyond ali controverfy. He asked me, Why? Where was the difference, when their fortunes, as we now fuppofed them, were confidered as the fame? There feems, faid I, abftract from their fortunes, fomething, I know not what, intrinfically preferable in the life and character of Brutus. If

that

that, faid he, be true, then must we derive it, not from the fuccefs of his endeavours, but from their truth and rectitude. He had the comfort to be confcious, that his caufe was a just one. It was impoffible the other fhould have any fuch feeling. I believe, faid I, you have explained it.

SUPPOSE then, continued he, (it is but merely an hypothefis) fuppofe, I fay, we were to place the Sovereign Good in fuch a rectitude of conduct, in the conduct merely, and not in the event. Suppofe we were to fix our happiness, not in the actual attainment of that health, that perfection of a focial ftate, that fortunate concurrence of externals, which is congruous to our nature, and which all have a right to purfue; but folely fix it in the mere doing whatever is correspondent to fuch an end, even though we never attain, or are near attaining it. In fewer words; What if we make our natural state the standard only to determine our conduc and place our happiness in the rectitude of this conduct alone? On fuch an hypothefis (and we confider it as nothing farther) we should not want a good, perhaps, to correfpond to our pre-conceptions; for this, it is evident, would be correfpondent to them all. Your doctrine, replied I, is fo newand ftrange, that though you have been copious in explaining, I can hardly yet comprehend you..

Ir amounts all, faid he, but to this: Place your happiness where your praife is. I afked, Where he fuppofed that Not, replied he, in the pleasures which you feel, more than your difgrace lies in the pain; not in the casual prosperity of fortune, more than your difgrace in the cafual adverfity; but in just complete action throughout every part of life, whatever be the face of things, whether favourable or the contrary.

BUT

BUT why then, faid I, fuch accuracy about externals? So much pains to be informed, what are pursuable, what avoidable? It behoves the pilot, replied he, to know the feas and the winds; the nature of tempefts, calms, and tides. They are the fubjects, about which his art is converfant. Without a juft experience of them, he can never prove himself an artist. Yet we look not for his reputation either in fair gales, or in adverse; but in the fkilfulness of his conduct, be thefe events as they happen. In like manner fares it with the moral artist. He, for a fubject, has the whole of human life: health and fickness; pleasure and pain; with every other poffible incident, which can befal him during his existence. If his knowledge of all these be accurate and exact, so too muft his conduct, in which we place his happiness. But if his knowledge be defective, must not his conduct be defective alfo ? I replied, So it fhould feem. And if his conduct, then his happiness? It is true.

You fee then, continued he, even though externals were as nothing; though it was true, in their own nature, they were neither good nor evil; yet an accurate knowledge of them is, from our hypothefis, abfolutely neceffary. Indeed,. faid I, you have proved it.

He continued-Inferior artifts may be at a ftand, becaufe they want materials. From their stubbornness and intractability, they may often be disappointed. But as long as life is paffing, and nature continues to operate, the moral artift of life has at all times all he defires. He can never want a fubject fit to exercise him in his proper calling; and that with this happy motive to the conftancy of his endeavours, that the croffer, the harsher, the more untoward the events, the greater his praise, the more illuftrious his reputation.

ALL

ALL this, faid I, is true, and cannot be denied. But one circumftance there appears, where your fimile feems to fail. The praise indeed of the pilot we allow to be in his conduct; but it is in the fuccefs of that conduct, where we look for his happiness. If a storm arise, and the ship be loft, we call him not happy, how well foever he may have conducted it. It is then only we congratulate him, when he has reached the defired haven. Your diftinction, said he, is just. And it is here lies the noble prerogative of moral artists, above all others. But yet I know not how to explain myself, I fear my doctrine will appear fo ftrange. You may proceed, faid I fafely, fince you advance it but as an hypothefis.

THUS then, continued he-the end in other arts is ever diftant and removed. It confifts not in the mere conduct, much less in a single energy; but it is the just result of many energies, each of which are effential to it. Hence, by obftacles unavoidable, it may often be retarded: nay more, may be fo embarraffed, as never poffibly to be attained. But in the moral art of life, the very conduct is the End; the very conduct, I fay, itself, throughout every its minutest energy; because each of these, however minute, partake as truly of rectitude, as the largest combinations of them, whenconfidered collectively. Hence, of all arts this is the only one perpetually complete in every inftant, because it needs not, like other arts, time to arrive at that perfection, at which in every instant it is arrived already. Hence, by duration, it is not rendered either more or less perfect; completion, like truth, admitting of no degrees, and being in no fense capable of either intention or remiffion. And hence too by neceffary connection (which is a greater paradox than all) even that Happiness or Sovereign Good, the end of this

moral

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