THE WISDOM OF PRESERVING MODERATION IN OUR WISHES.
“Life runs best on little: nature’s store
Can make all happy that will use their power.”
IN the extended range of our wishes and their diversified character, the reflective man will recognise one of the greatest sources of human misery. The many desires which impel us affect alike the mind and heart, frequently disturbing the healthy repose of the one, and rendering the other cold and selfish. The illusory nature of life and its schemes, and the changing influences which ever surround us, seldom permit us to attain the most moderate aspirations of our youth. Through the lively impetus constantly given to the imagination during that period of life, we are prone to devise certain plans and arrange magnificent schemes to accomplish our desires; yet the weight of years steals upon us gradually, until we look upon the past but as a long chain of circumstances, and our present life and condition as its result. One by one our determinations, however long and fervently cherished, pass away unrealized; whilst our sanguine wishes, with their ardor perhaps somewhat abated through the influence of experience and the cool meditations of riper age, still remain ungratified. He who had contrived and contemplated schemes to amass wealth, and then retire to repose amid the comforts and luxuries of the world, may linger out a life of toil and poverty in some humble hamlet; he who had longed to ascend the steeps of science and gather in abundance its noble treasures, may feel the admonishing wrinkles upon his brow even before he has made one permanent acquisition; and he who had encouraged dreams of ambition, and courted the uncertain plaudits of fame, may die at last forgotten and unknown.
Moderation in our wishes is as rarely witnessed as their realization. It was an argument with the Cynics that absence of all want was the natural condition of the Gods, and therefore he who stood in need of but few things most resembled them. The remark ascribed to Taxilles is admirable and philosophic, “What occasion is there, Alexander, that you and I must needs quarrel and fight; since you neither came to rob us of our water nor of our food, which are the only two things that men in their wits think worth contending for?” The idea of the Cynics is rarely exemplified in human life, and the moderate desires expressed by Taxilles equally seldom infuse into men the modest wishes they suggest to our minds. St. Cyprian, and others before and after him, distributed their possessions amongst their fellows, reducing themselves to poverty. If all cannot admire the wisdom of their action, certainly none can find anything in their motives to condemn. They who have thus mastered their selfishness and avarice, two vices sufficiently powerful to destroy many of the nobler virtues, have obtained a command over themselves more desirable than wealth or distinction. They have conquered impulses whose end not unfrequently is agony of mind and destruction to all the sensibilities of the soul; they have subjected their wishes and tamed their desires to encounter the vicissitudes of life with philosophic calmness.
The present pleasure may pass away into oblivion, or it may leave a permanent sting behind; and yet it is for this that extravagant wishes leap into being and expand to the limit of possibility, or to the extent of our comprehension. The diviner philosophy which teaches us the vanity of our desires, and the vexation of spirit attending even their full gratification, is neglected until forced upon us by the irresistible teachings of experience. The most excellent lessons of virtue are treated with indifference to further imposing schemes for riches, for fame, or for power; yet the one is not attended by peace of mind, the other brings no quiet comfort to the soul, and the third fails to realize happiness and contentment. The flatteries of friends and sycophants which follow you in each, only fill your face with frowns and your heart with loathing and disgust. The wealth of Crassus, the Rich, brought him neither contentment nor protection; the distinction of Pompey could not brook the rising glory of his great rival, and but provoked his malice and his envy; the power of Cæsar only increased his ambition, which continued to prey upon his soul and in his longings for the crown it became his own avenger; and the flatterers of Canute but made him feel his insignificance and aroused his contempt.
The wish for distinction and renown, however, may not only be blameless in itself, but when restrained within proper bounds, highly honorable. There is a medium between ambition and a total neglect of reputation as hard distinctly to define as it is difficult to practice. Few have known how to follow it, and many whose wishes were at first confined to the rule of a town, afterwards aspired to empire. History even refuses to agree with Cicero in according to Cæsar the credit of having, at the beginning of his career, devised and pursued a definite plan to subvert the Roman Commonwealth and elevate himself to the tyranny. None would add to the infamy of Marius or Sylla by supposing that the first aspirations of either were for absolute power. When it is remembered how difficult it is to be restrained within this medium, it will not appear strange that so many should have overstepped it, often to the great injury of themselves and more frequently still to the great affliction of the people. If our wishes be prompted by motives to promote the public good, they may justly acquire the title of patriotism; and when, in addition, they are so wholly under our control as to enable us to assume the command to-day and renounce it to-morrow should the interests of the country require it, we are eminently qualified for every sphere or position in the Republic. Frederick, the Elector of Saxony, refused the crown under the impression that an Emperor more powerful than himself was needed to preserve Germany; and the humble Cincinnatus found more repose and pleasure in the cultivation of his little fields than in the exercise of power or the trappings of wealth. Unlike the treacherous decemviri, when the duties of his high positions had been performed, he meekly resigned them again to seek the approving smiles of his Attillia and the content of his humble home. These are examples with which history does not abound, and whatever credit we may accord to their deeds of worth and valor, we yet see more to admire in their generous humility and the noble command they constantly reserved over themselves.
It is a small matter to wish for virtue, yet a more worthy desire never entered the mind of man. Virtue is the highest of all treasures, and however rarely it may be seen, is neither beyond the reach of any nor above his comprehension. The high and low, the prince and the peasant, are alike possessed with the power of attaining it. All the greater excellencies of nature are free and within universal reach. It is the remark of an old philosopher, that “many people, without having their reason improved by study, live nevertheless in a manner conformable to the dictates of right reason;” and Montaigne observes that the life of the peasant is frequently more agreeable to philosophy than that of the philosopher himself. This wish is none the less ennobling because its answer is within universal reach. It is even more rarely realized than desires for wealth or power, and is infinitely preferable to either when attained. There is nothing in nature more useful, for what evils does it not avert? It renders us impregnable to the stealthy encroachments of vice; relieves us of all selfishness, guile, and hypocrisy; robs us of all malice, deceit, and treachery; frees us from the gnawings of envy, the miseries of hate, and the slavery of passion; delivers us from the bondage of avarice, ambition, and the remorse which so frequently attends them; and fits us not only to think of but to do “whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report.” It is no less permanent than it is useful. We scarcely know which most to admire, the cool indifference of Phalereus, or the tribute which he pays to the durable nature of virtue, in his reply, when told that the Athenian people had thrown down and destroyed his statues: “Well, but they cannot overturn that virtue for the sake of which they were erected.” It is a noble companion for every sphere of life, teaching us how to wear, with just humility, the honors we may acquire, and how to submit, with becoming dignity, to the reverses of fortune, the treachery of friends, and the persecution of enemies. Under its guidance, the world is seen in its true character, and our duties towards it discharged with forbearance and charity. Without it, none can be truly great nor truly happy. With it, all may obtain a just share of human happiness and contentment, and each secure for himself the noble tribute which history has paid to Epaminondas, a higher eulogy than ever yet was acquired through the realization of the grandest schemes for wealth or glory: “HE WAS A MAN ADORNED WITH EVERY VIRTUE, AND STAINED BY NO VICE.”