He is told by one, to search for it amongst the more gay and youthful pleasures of life, in scenes of mirth and sprightliness where happiness ever presides, and is ever to be known by the joy and laughter which he will see, at once painted in her looks.
A second, with a graver aspect, points out to the costly dwellings which pride and extravagance have erected — tells the enquirer that the object he is in search of inhabits there — that happiness lives only in company with the great in the midst of much pomp and outward state. That he will easily find her out by the coat of many colours she has on, and the great luxury and expence of equipage and furniture with which she always sits surrounded.
The miser blesses GOD! — wonders how any one would mislead, and wilfully put him upon so wrong a scent — convinces him that happiness and extravagance never inhabited under the same roof — that if he would not be disappointed in his search, he must look into the plain and thrifty dwelling of the prudent man, who knows and understands the worth of money, and cautiously lays it up against an evil hour: that it is not the prostitution of wealth upon the passions, or the parting with it at all, that constitutes happiness — but that it is the keeping it together, and the having and holding it fast to their heirs for ever which are the chief attributes that form this great idol of human worship to which so much incense is offered up every day.
The epicure, though he easily rectifies so gross a mistake, yet at the same time he plunges him, if possible, into a greater; for, hearing the object of his pursuit to be happiness, and knowing of no other happiness than what is seated immediately in the senses — He sends the enquirer there — tells him ’tis in vain to search elsewhere for it, than where nature herself has placed it — in the indulgence and gratification of the appetites which are given us for that end: and in a word — if he will not take his opinion in the matter — he may trust the word of a much wiser man who has assured us — that there is nothing better in this world, than that a man should eat and drink and rejoice in his works, and make his soul enjoy good in his labour — for that is his portion.
To rescue him from this brutal experiment — ambition takes him by the hand and carries him into the world — shews him all the kingdoms of the earth and the glory of them — points out the many ways of advancing his fortune and raising himself to honour — lays before his eyes all the charms and bewitching temptations of power, and asks if there can be any happiness in this world like that of being caressed, courted, flattered and followed?
To close all, the philosopher meets him bustling in the full career of this pursuit — stops him — tells him, if he is in search of happiness, he is far gone out of his way.
That this deity has long been banished from noise and tumults, where there was no rest found for her, and was fled into solitude far from all commerce of the world; and in a word, if he would find her, he must leave this busy and intriguing scene, and go back to that peaceful scene of retirement and books, from which he at first set out.
In this circle too often does man run, tries all experiments, and generally sits down weary and dissatisfied with them all at last — in utter despair of ever accomplishing what he wants — nor knowing what to trust to after so many disappointments; or where to lay the fault, whether in the incapacity of his own nature, or the insufficiency of the enjoyments themselves.
In this uncertain and perplexed state — without knowledge which way to turn or where to betake ourselves for refuge — so often abused and deceived by the many who pretend thus to shew us any good — LORD! says the psalmist, Lift up the light of thy countenance upon us. Send us, some rays of thy grace and heavenly wisdom in this benighted search after happiness to direct us safely to it. O GOD! let us not wander for ever without a guide in this dark region in endless pursuit of our mistaken good, but lighten our eyes that we sleep not in death — but open to them the comforts of thy holy word and religion — lift up the light of thy countenance upon us, — and make us know the joy and satisfaction of living in the true faith and fear of thee, which only can carry us to this haven of rest where we would be — that sure haven, where true joys are to be found, which will at length not only answer all our expectations — but satisfy the most unbounded of our wishes for ever and ever.
The words thus opened, naturally reduce the remaining part of the discourse under two heads — The first part of the verse — there be many that say, who will shew us any good — To make some reflections upon the insufficiency of most of our enjoyments towards the attainment of happiness, upon some of the most received plans on which ’tis generally sought.
The examination of which will lead us up to the source, and true secret of all happiness, suggested to us in the latter part of the verse — LORD! lift thou up the light of thy countenance upon us — that there can be no real happiness without religion and virtue, and the assistance of GOD’s grace and Holy Spirit to direct our lives in the true pursuit of it.
Let us enquire into the Disappointments of human happiness, on some of the most received plans on which ’tis generally sought for and expected, by the bulk of mankind.
There is hardly any subject more exhausted, or which at one time or other has afforded more matter for argument and declamation, than this one, of the insufficiency of our enjoyments. Scarce a reformed sensualist from Solomon down to our own days, who has not in some fits of repentance or disappointment uttered some sharp reflection upon the emptiness of human pleasure, and of the vanity of vanities which discovers itself in all the pursuits of mortal man. — But the mischief has been, that though so many good things have been said, they have generally had the fate to be considered either as the overflowings of disgust from sated appetites which could no longer relish the pleasures of life, or as the declamatory opinions of recluse and splenetic men who had never tasted them at all, and consequently were thought no judges of the matter. So that ’tis no great wonder, if the greatest part of such reflections, however just in themselves and founded on truth and a knowledge of the world, are found to leave little impression where the imagination was already heated with great expectations of future happiness; and that the best lectures that have been read upon the vanity of the world, so seldom stop a man in the pursuit of the object of his desire, or give him half the conviction, that the possession of it will, and what the experience of his own life, or a careful observation upon the life of others, do at length generally confirm to us all.
Let us endeavour then to try the cause upon this issue; and instead of recurring to the common arguments or taking any one’s word in the case, let us trust to matter of fact; and if upon enquiry, it appears that the actions of mankind are not to be accounted for upon any other principle, but this of the insufficiency of our enjoyments, ‘twill go further towards the establishment of the truth of this part of the discourse, than a thousand speculative arguments which might be offered upon the occasion.
Now if we take a survey of the life of man from the time he is come to reason, to the latest decline of it in old age. — we shall find him engaged, and generally hurried on in such a succession of different pursuits, and different opinions of things, through the different stages of his life — as will admit of no explication, but this, that he finds no rest for the sole of his foot, on any of the plans where he has been led to expect it.
The moment he is got loose from tutors and governors, and is left to judge for himself, and pursue this scheme his own way — his first thoughts are generally full of the mighty happiness which he is going to enter upon, from the free enjoyment of the pleasures in which he sees others of his age and fortune engaged.
In consequence of this — take notice, how his imagination is caught by every glittering appearance that flatters this expectation. — Observe what impressions are made upon his senses, by diversions, music, dress and beauty — and how his spirits are upon the wing, flying in pursuit of them; that you would think he could never have enough.
Leave him to himself a few years, till the edge of appetite is wore d
own — and you will scarce know him again. You will find him entered into engagements, and setting up for a man of business and conduct, talking of no other happiness but what centers in projects of making the most of this world, and providing for his children, and children’s children after them. Examine his notions, he will tell you, that the gayer pleasures of youth, are fit only for those who know not how to dispose of themselves and time to better advantage. That however fair and promising they might appear to a man unpracticed in them — they were no better than a life of folly and impertinence, and so far from answering your expectations of happiness, ’twas well if you escaped without pain. — That in every experiment he had tried, he had found more bitter than sweet, and for the little pleasure one could snatch — it too often left a terrible sting behind it: Besides, did the ballance lay on the other side, he would tell you, there could be no true satisfaction where a life runs on in so giddy a circle, out of which a wise man should extricate himself as soon as he can, that he may begin to look forwards. — That it becomes a man of character and consequence to lay aside childish things, to take care of his interests, to establish the fortune of his family, and place it out of want and dependance: and in a word, if there is such a thing as happiness upon earth, it must consist in the accomplishment of this; — and for his own part, if GOD should prosper his endeavours so as to be worth such a sum, or to be able to bring such a point to bear — he shall be one of the happiest of the sons of men. — In full assurance of this, on he drudges — plots — contrives — rises early — late takes rest, and eats the bread of carefulness, till at length, by hard labour and perseverance, he has reached, if not outgone the object he had first in view. — When he has got thus far — if he is a plain and sincere man, he will make no scruple to acknowledge truly, what alteration he has found in himself — if you ask him — he will tell you, that his imagination painted something before his eyes, the reality of which he has not yet attained to: that with all the accumulation of his wealth, he neither lives the merrier, sleeps the sounder, or has less care and anxiety upon his spirits, than at his first setting out.
Perhaps, you’ll say, some dignity, honour, or title is only wanting — Oh! could I accomplish that, as there would be nothing left then for me to wish, good GOD! how happy should I be?— ’tis still the same — the dignity or title — though they crown his head with honor — add not one cubit to his happiness. Upon summing up the account, all is found to be seated merely in the imagination — The faster he has pursued, the faster the phantom fled before him, and to use the Satyrist’s comparison of the chariot wheels, — haste as they will, they must for ever keep the same distance.
But what? though I have been thus far disappointed in my expectations of happiness from the possession of riches —
“Let me try, whether I shall not meet with it, in the spending and fashionable enjoyment of them.”
Behold! I will get me down, and make me great works, and build me houses, and plant me vineyards, and make me gardens and pools of water. And I will get me servants and maidens, and whatsoever my eyes desire, I will not keep from them.
In prosecution of this — he drops all gainful pursuits — withdraws himself from the busy part of the world — realizes — pulls down — builds up again. — Buys statues, pictures — plants — and plucks up by the roots — levels mountains — and fills up vallies — turns rivers into dry ground, and dry ground into rivers. — Says unto this man, go, and he goeth, and unto another, do this, and he doeth it, — and whatsoever his soul lusteth after of this kind, he withholds not from it. When every thing is thus planned by himself, and executed according to his wish and direction, surely he is arrived to the accomplishment of his wishes, and has got to the summit of all human happiness? — Let the most fortunate adventurers in this way, answer the question for him, and say — how often, it rises higher than a bare and simple amusement — and well, if you can compound for that — since ’tis often purchased at so high a price, and soured by a mixture of other incidental vexations, as to become too often a work of repentance, which in the end will extort the same sorrowful confession from him, which it did from Solomon, in the like case. — Lo! I looked on all the Works that my hands had wrought, and on the labour that I had laboured to do — and behold all was vanity and vexation of spirit — and there was no profit to me under the sun.
To inflame this account the more— ‘twill be no miracle, if upon casting up he has gone further lengths than he first intended, run into expences which have entangled his fortune, and brought himself into such difficulties as to make way for the last experiment he can try — to turn miser with no happiness in view but what is to rise out of the little designs of a sordid mind, set upon saving and scraping up — all he has injudiciously spent. In this last stage — behold him a poor trembling wretch, shut up from all mankind — sinking into utter contempt, spending careful days and sleepless nights in pursuit of what a narrow and contracted heart can never enjoy: — And here let us leave him to the conviction he will one day find — That there is no end of his labour — That his eyes will never be satisfied with riches, or will say — For whom do I labour and bereave myself of rest? — This is also a sore travel.
I believe this is no uncommon picture of the disappointments of human life — and the manner our pleasures and enjoyments slip from under us in every stage of our life. And though I would not be thought by it, as if I was denying the reality of pleasures, disputing the being of them, any more, than one would, the reality of pain — Yet I must observe on this head, that there is a plain distinction to be made betwixt pleasure and happiness. For tho’ there can be no happiness without pleasure — yet the converse of the proposition will not hold true. — We are so made, that from the common gratifications of our appetites, and the impressions of a thousand objects, we snatch the one, like a transient gleam, without being suffered to taste the other, and enjoy that perpetual sun-shine and fair weather which constantly attend it. This, I contend, is only to be found in religion — in the consciousness of virtue — and the sure and certain hopes of a better life, which brightens all our prospects, and leaves no room to dread disappointments — because the expectation of it is built upon a rock, whose foundations are as deep as those of heaven and hell.
And tho’ in our pilgrimage through this world — some of us may be so fortunate as to meet with some clear fountains by the way, that may cool for a few moments, the heat of this great thirst of happiness — yet our Saviour, who knew the world, tho’ he enjoyed but little of it, tells us, that whosoever drinketh of this water will thirst again: — and we all find by experience it is so, and by reason that it always must be so.
I conclude with a short observation upon Solomon’s evidence in this case.
Never did the busy brain of a lean and hectick chymist search for the philosopher’s stone with more pains and ardour than this great man did after happiness. — He was one of the wisest enquirers into nature — had tried all her powers and capacities, and after a thousand vain speculations and vile experiments, he affirmed at length, it lay hid in no one thing he had tried — like the chymick’s projections, all had ended in smoak, or what was worse, in vanity and vexation of spirit: — the conclusion of the whole matter was this — that he advises every man who would be happy, to fear GOD and keep his commandments.
SERMON II. THE HOUSE OF FEASTING AND THE HOUSE OF MOURNING DESCRIBED.
ECCLESIASTES VII. 2, 3.
It is better to go to the house of mourning, than to the house of feasting. —
THAT I deny — but let us hear the wise man’s reasoning upon it — for that is the end of all men, and the living will lay it to his heart: sorrow is better than laughter — for a crack’d-brain’d order of Carthusian monks, I grant, but not for men of the world: For what purpose do you imagine, has GOD made us? for the social sweets of the well watered vallies where he has planted us, or for the dry and dismal deserts of a Sierra Morena? are the sad accidents of life, and the uncheery hou
rs which perpetually overtake us, are they not enough, but we must sally forth in quest of them, — belie our own hearts, and say, as your text would have us, that they are better than those of joy? did the Best of Beings send us into the world for this end — to go weeping through it, — to vex and shorten a life short and vexatious enough already? do you think my good preacher, that he who is infinitely happy, can envy us our enjoyments? or that a being so infinitely kind would grudge a mournful traveller, the short rest and refreshments necessary to support his spirits through the stages of a weary pilgrimage? or that he would call him to a severe reckoning, because in his way he had hastily snatch’d at some little fugacious pleasures, merely to sweeten this uneasy journey of life, and reconcile him to the ruggedness of the road, and the many hard justlings he is sure to meet with? Consider, I beseech you, what provision and accommodation, the Author of our being has prepared for us, that we might not go on our way sorrowing — how many caravansera’s of rest — what powers and faculties he has given us for taking it — what apt objects he has placed in our way to entertain us; — some of which he has made so fair, so exquisitely for this end, that they have power over us for a time to charm away the sense of pain, to cheer up the dejected heart under poverty and sickness, and make it go and remember its miseries no more.
I will not contend at present against this rhetorick; I would choose rather for a moment to go on with the allegory, and say we are travellers, and, in the most affecting sense of that idea, that like travellers, though upon business of the last and nearest concern to us, may surely be allowed to amuse ourselves with the natural or artificial beauties of the country we are passing through, without reproach of forgetting the main errand we are sent upon; and if we can so order it, as not to be led out of the way, by the variety of prospects, edifices, and ruins which sollicit us, it would be a nonsensical piece of saint errantry to shut our eyes.
Complete Works of Laurence Sterne Page 76