CHAPTER XXI.

THE SURPRISING CONTRARIETIES IN THE NATURE OF MAN, WITH REGARD TO TRUTH, HAPPINESS, AND VARIOUS OTHER THINGS.

NOTHING is more astonishing in the nature of man, than the contrarieties which are observable in him, with regard to every subject. He is made for the knowledge of truth; he ardently desires and pursues it; and yet when he endeavours to lay hold on it, he so dazzles and confounds himself, that he makes it doubtful whether he has actually attained it. This gave rise to the two sects of Pyrrhonians and Dogmatists; of which one endeavoured utterly to deprive men of all knowledge of truth, while the other endeavoured infallibly to assure him of it; but each with reasons so improbable, that they only increase our confusion and perplexity, as long as we continue without any other light than that which we find in ourselves.

The principal arguments of the Pyrrhonians, or Sceptics, are as follow. That we have no other certainty of the truth of any principles (if we except faith and revelation) than that we naturally feel them within ourselves. But this natural perception of them is no convincing evidence of their truth, because, since without faith we have no assurance whether man was created by a good God, or by some evil demon, whether he has existed from eternity,

of reason, and keeps it from this degree of extravagance; but shall a man say, on the contrary, that he is in sure possession of truth; he who, if you press him ever so little, can produce no title to belief, and is obliged to quit his hold?

Who shall unravel this perplexity? Nature confutes the Pyrrhonians; reason the Dogmatists. What then will become of thee, O man, who art seeking the knowledge of thine own condition, by thy natural reason? Thou canst neither avoid both these sects, nor continue in either.

Such is man, with regard to truth. Let us now consider him with respect to felicity, which he seeks with so much earnestness through the whole of his actions; for all men desire to be happy; this is a rule without exception. How different soever may be the means they employ, all have the same end in view. That which makes one man go to the wars, and that which makes another stay away, is the same desire, attended in each with different views. The will never stirs the least step but toward this object. It is the motive of all the actions of all men, not excepting even those who hang and destroy themselves.

And yet, after so many ages, no person without faith has ever arrived at this point, toward which all are continually tending. Every body is discontented; princes, subjects, nobles, beggars; the old, the young, the strong, the weak, the learned, the ignorant, the healthy, the sick, of all countries, of all times, of all ages, and of all conditions.

So long, so constant, and uniform a proof, ought fully to convince us of our own inability to arrive at happiness by our own endeavours. But example does not teach us; it is never so perfectly parallel as to be without some trifling difference, which leads us to expect that we shall not be deceived on the next occasion, as we were on the last. Thus the present never satisfying us, hope urges us on from

misfortune to misfortune, till at last it leads us to death, the sum of misery without end,

It is truly astonishing, that there should not be any one thing in nature which has not at some time been looked to, to fill the place of the last end and happiness of man; stars, elements, plants, animals, insects, diseases, wars, vices, crimes. Man being. fallen from his natural state, there is nothing so extravagant as to be incapable of attracting him. Ever since he lost his real good, every thing cheats him with the appearance of it; not excepting even the destruction of himself, contrary as it is both to reason and nature together.

Some have sought for happiness in authority, others in curiosities and the sciences; and others in pleasure. These three passions have produced three sects; and those whom we call philosophers, have really done nothing else but follow one of the three. Such amongst them as approached nearest to the truth, considered, that the universal good which all men desire, and in which each should have a portion, could not consist in any peculiar thing which can be in the possession of one person alone, and which, if it were divided, would more grieve him who might possess it, for want of the part he has not, than it could gratify him by the enjoyment of the part which he has. They saw that the true good must be something which all may possess at once, without diminution or envy; and which no man can be deprived of against his will. They understood this, but they were unable to find it; and instead of solid and substantial good, they at last embraced the empty shadow of a chimerical virtue..

Our instinct makes us feel that we ought to seek our happiness within ourselves. Our passions hurry us abroad, even when no objects present themselves to excite them; and external objects are themselves our tempters, and attract us even when we are not thinking about them. Therefore, though philoso

phers should weary themselves with crying, 'Enter into yourselves, your real felicity is within you,' people give them no credit; and those who do, are the more unsatisfied and ridiculous on that account; for what is there more vain and ridiculous, than that which the Stoics call happiness, or more false than the reasonings from which they deduce it!

They conclude, that what has been done once, may always be done; and that, because the desire of glory sometimes makes those who possess it, perform actions which are praiseworthy, others may also do the same. But those are feverish exertions, which health cannot imitate.

The internal contest between reason and the passions, has occasioned those who were desirous of peace to become divided into sects. Some were for renouncing their passions, and becoming Gods; and others for renouncing their reason, and becoming beasts. But neither of them could do either the one or the other. Reason still remains to censure the baseness and injustice of the passions, and to disturb the repose of those who give themselves up to them and the passions still remain alive, even in those who pretend to renounce them.

This then is the account of what man can accomplish by himself and his own efforts, both with regard to truth and to happiness. We have an idea of truth, not to be effaced by the Sceptic; we have an incapacity of argument, not to be rectified by the Dogmatist. We wish for truth, and find nothing in ourselves but uncertainty. We seek after happiness, and find nothing but misery. We are incapable of ceasing to wish both for happiness and truth, and yet are incapable of procuring either certainty or felicity. This desire is left in us, partly as a punishment, and partly as an indication from whence we are fallen.

If man was not made for God, how is it that he can only be happy in God? and how is he so opposite to God?

Man cannot tell where he is to place himself. He is unquestionably out of his way, and feels within himself the remains of a happy state, from whence he is fallen, and which he is unable to recover. He is ever seeking after it with earnestness, but without success, encompassed with impenetrable darkness.

Hence arose the disputes of the philosophers; some taking upon them to elevate man, by displaying his greatness, and others to depress him, by representing his misery. And what seems more strange, is, that each party employed the argument of the other, to strengthen his own opinion. For the misery of man may be inferred from his greatness, and his greatness may be inferred from his misery. Thus one sect more clearly demonstrated his misery, by deducing it from his greatness; and another more forcibly demonstrated his greatness, because they inferred it from his misery. Whatever one party

adduced in proof of his greatness, served as an argument for the other to demonstrate his misery; because the greater the height from whence we have fallen, the greater is the calamity of having fallen, and vice-versa. So that each became uppermost by turns, revolving in an endless circle of dispute: for it is certain, that the greater the degree of light men enjoy, the more will they discern in man, both of misery and of greatness. In a word, man knows himself to be miserable; he is therefore miserable, because he knows it; but he is likewise eminently great, because he is conscious of his misery.

What a chimera then is man! What a novelty! What a chaos! What a subject of contradiction! A judge of every thing, and yet a feeble worm of the earth; the depository of truth, and yet a mere heap of uncertainty; the glory and the outcast of the universe. If he boasts, I humble him; if he humbles himself, I boast of him; and always contradict him, till he is brought to comprehend that he is an incomprehensible monster.