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diff --git a/old/69466-0.txt b/old/69466-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index cb0bd2c..0000000 --- a/old/69466-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4981 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of A few days in Athens, by Frances -Wright - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: A few days in Athens - being the translation of a Greek manuscript discovered in - Herculaneum - -Author: Frances Wright - -Release Date: December 4, 2022 [eBook #69466] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading - Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from - images generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A FEW DAYS IN ATHENS *** - - - - - - A FEW DAYS IN ATHENS; - BEING - THE TRANSLATION - OF - A GREEK MANUSCRIPT - DISCOVERED IN HERCULANEUM. - - - BY - - FRANCES WRIGHT, - - AUTHOR OF - - “VIEWS OF SOCIETY AND MANNERS IN AMERICA.” - - - “——joining bliss to virtue, the glad ease - Of Epicurus, seldom understood.” - - - BOSTON: - - PUBLISHED BY J. P. MENDUM. - - 1850. - - - - - TO - - JEREMY BENTHAM, - - AS A TESTIMONY - - OF - - HER ADMIRATION OF HIS ENLIGHTENED SENTIMENTS, - - USEFUL LABORS, - - AND ACTIVE PHILANTHROPY, - - AND OF - - HER GRATITUDE FOR HIS FRIENDSHIP, - - THIS WORK - - IS - - RESPECTFULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY - - INSCRIBED - - BY - - FRANCES WRIGHT. - - London, - _March 12th, 1822_. - - - - - TO THE READER. - - -That I may not obtain credit for more learning than I possess, I beg to -acknowledge the assistance I have received in my version of the curious -relict of antiquity now offered to the public from the beautiful Italian -MSS. of the erudite Professor of Greek in the university of *****. I -hesitate to designate more clearly the illustrious Hellenist whose -labors have brought to light this curious fragment. Since the -establishment of the saintly domination of the Vandals throughout the -territories of the rebellious and heterodox Italy, and particularly in -consequence of the ordinance of his most orthodox, most legitimate, and -most Austrian majesty, bearing that his dominions being in want of good -subjects, his colleges are forbidden to send forth good scholars,[1] it -has become necessary for the gownsmen of the classic peninsula to banish -all profane learning from their lectures and their libraries, and to -evince a holy abhorrence of the sciences and arts which they erst -professed. The list of the class books now employed in the transalpine -schools is exceedingly curious; I regret that I have mislaid the one -lately supplied to me by an illustrious Italian exile. My memory recalls -to me only that, in the school of rhetoric, the orations of Cicero are -superseded by those of the Marquis of Londonderry, and the philippics of -Demosthenes by those of M. de Peyronnet; that the professors of history -have banished the decades of Livy for _the Martyrs_ of Mons. de -Chateaubriand; and that the students of Greek, in place of the Odes of -Pindar, and the retreat of the ten thousand from Cunaxa, construe the -hexameters of the English Laureate, and the advance of Louis the XVIII. -upon Ghent. In this state of the Italian world of Letters, it is not -surprising that the scholar, to whose perseverance, ingenuity, and -learning, the public are indebted for the following fragment, should -object to lay claim to the honor which is his due. - -Footnote 1: - - _Je ne veux pas de savans dans mes etats, je veux de bons sujets_, was - the dictum of the Austrian Autocrat to an Italian Professor. - -The original MS. fell into the hands of my erudite correspondent in the -autumn of the year 1817. From that period until the commencement of last -winter, all his leisure hours were devoted to the arduous task of -unrolling the leaves, and decyphering the half defaced characters. The -imperfect condition of the MS. soon obliged him to forego his first -intention of transcribing the original Greek; he had recourse, -therefore, to an Italian version, supplying the chasms, consisting -sometimes of a word, sometimes of a line, and occasionally of a phrase, -with a careful and laborious study of the context. While this version -was printing at Florence, a MS. copy was transmitted to me in Paris, -with a request that I would forthwith see it translated into the English -and French languages. The former version I undertook myself, and can -assure the reader that it possesses the merit of fidelity. The first -erudite translator has not conceived it necessary to encumber the volume -with marginal notes; nor have I found either the inclination or the -ability to supply them. Those who should wish to refer to the allusions -scattered through the old classics to the characters and systems here -treated of, will find much assistance from the marginal authorities of -the eloquent and ingenious Bayle. - -I have only to add, that the present volume comprises little more than a -third of the original MS.; it will be sufficient, however, to enable the -public to form an estimate of the probable value of the whole. - - - - - A FEW DAYS IN ATHENS. - - - - - CHAPTER I. - - -“Oh! monstrous,” cried the young Theon, as he came from the portico of -Zeno. “Ye Gods! and will ye suffer your names to be thus blasphemed? Why -do ye not strike with thunder the actor and teacher of such enormities? -What! will ye suffer our youth, and the youth of after ages, to be -seduced by this shameless Gargettian? Shall the Stoic portico be -forsaken for the garden of Epicurus? Minerva, shield thy city! Shut the -ears of thy sons against the voice of this deceiver!” - -Thus did Theon give vent to the indignation which the words of -Timocrates had worked up within him. Timocrates had been a disciple of -the new school; but, quarrelling with his master, had fled to the -followers of Zeno; and to make the greater merit of his apostacy, and -better to gain the hearts of his new friends, poured forth daily -execrations on his former teacher, painting him and his disciples in the -blackest colors of deformity; revealing, with a countenance distorted as -with horror, and a voice hurried and suppressed as from the agonies of -dreadful recollections, the secrets of those midnight orgies, where, in -the midst of his pupils, the philosopher of Gargettium officiated as -master of the accursed ceremonies of riot and impiety. - -Full of these nocturnal horrors the young Theon traversed with hasty -steps the streets of Athens, and, issuing from the city, without -perceiving that he did so, took the road to the Piræus. The noise of the -harbor roused him to recollection, and feeling it out of tune with his -thoughts, he turned up the more peaceful banks of Cephisus, and, seating -himself on the stump of a withered olive, his feet almost washed by the -water, he fell back again into his reverie. How long he had sat he knew -not, when the sound of gently approaching footsteps once more recalled -him. He turned his head, and, after a start and gaze of astonishment, -bent with veneration to the figure before him. It was of the middle -size, and robed in white, pure as the vestments of the Pythia. The -shape, the attitude, the foldings of the garment, were such as the -chisel of Phidias would have given to the God of Elocution. The head -accorded with the rest of the figure; it sat upon the shoulders with a -grace that a painter would have paused to contemplate—elevated, yet -somewhat inclining forward, as if habituated gently to seek and -benevolently to yield attention. The face a poet would have gazed upon, -and thought he beheld in it one of the images of his fancy embodied. The -features were not cast for the statuary; they were noble but not -regular. Wisdom beamed mildly from the eye, and candor was on the broad -forehead: the mouth reposed in a soft, almost imperceptible smile, that -did not curl the lips or disturb the cheeks, and was seen only in the -serene and holy benignity that shone over the whole physiognomy: It was -a gleam of sunshine sleeping on a lucid lake. The first lines of age -were traced on the brow and round the chin, but so gently as to mellow -rather than deepen expression: the hair indeed seemed prematurely -touched by time, for it was of a pure silver, thrown back from the -forehead, and fringing the throat behind with short curls. He received -benignly the salutation of the youth, and gently with his hand returning -it—“Let me not break your meditations; I would rather share than disturb -them.” If the stranger’s appearance had enchanted Theon, his voice did -now more so: never had a sound so sweet, so musical, struck upon his -ear. - -“Surely I behold and hear a divinity!” he cried, stepping backwards, and -half stooping his knee with veneration. - -“From the groves of the academy, I see,” said the sage, advancing and -laying his hand on the youth’s shoulder. - -Theon looked up with a modest blush, and encouraged by the sweet aspect -of the sage, replied, “No; from the Stoic portico.” - -“Ah! I had not thought Zeno could send forth such a dreamer. You are in -a good school,” he continued, observing the youth confused by this -remark, “a school of real virtue; and, if I read faces well, as I think -I do, I see a pupil that will not disgrace its doctrines.” - -Theon’s spirit returned; the stranger had that look, and voice, and -manner, which instantly give security to the timid, and draw love from -the feeling heart. “If you _be_ man, you exert more than human influence -over the souls of your fellows. I have seen you but one moment, and that -moment has laid me at your feet.” - -“Not quite so low, I hope,” returned the sage with a smile; “I had -always rather be the companion than the master.” - -“Either, both,” said the eager youth, and seizing the half-extended hand -of the sage, pressed it respectfully to his lips. - -“You are an enthusiast, I see. Beware, my young friend! such as you must -be the best or the worst of men.” - -“Then, had I you for a guide, I should be the best.” - -“What! do you a stoic ask a guide?” - -“I, a stoic! Oh! would I were! I yet stand but on the threshhold of the -temple.” - -“But standing there you have at least looked within and seen the -glories, and will not that encourage you to advance? Who that hath seen -virtue doth not love her, and pant after her possession?” - -“True, true; I have seen virtue in her noblest form—Alas! so noble, that -my eyes have been dazzled by the contemplation. I have looked upon Zeno -with admiration and despair.” - -“Learn rather to look with love. He who but admires virtue, yields her -but half her due. She asks to be approached, to be embraced—not with -fear, but with confidence—not with awe but with rapture.” - -“Yet who can gaze on Zeno and ever hope to rival him?” - -“You, my young friend: Why should you not? You have innocence; you have -sensibility; you have enthusiasm; you have ambition—With what better -promise could Zeno begin his career? Courage! courage! my son!” -stopping, for they had insensibly walked towards the city during the -dialogue, and laying his hand on Theon’s head, “We want but the will to -be as great as Zeno.” - -Theon had drawn his breath for a sigh, but his action and the look that -accompanied it, changed the sigh to a smile. “You would make me vain.” - -“No; but I would make you confident. Without confidence Homer had never -written his Iliad—No; nor would Zeno now be worshipped in his portico.” - -“Do you then think confidence would make all men Homers and Zenos?” - -“Not all; but a good many. I believe thousands to have the seeds of -excellence in them, who never discover the possession. But we were not -speaking of poetry and philosophy, only of virtue—all men certainly -cannot be poets or philosophers, but all men may be virtuous.” - -“I believe,” returned the youth with a modest blush, “if I might walk -with you each day on the borders of Cephisus, I should sometimes play -truant at the portico.” - -“Ye gods forbid (exclaimed the sage playfully) that I should steal a -proselyte! From Zeno too? It might cost me dear.—What are you thinking -of?” he resumed, after a pause. - -“I was thinking,” replied Theon, “what a loss for man that you are not -teacher in the gardens in place of the son of Neocles.” - -“Do you know the son of Neocles?” asked the sage. - -“The gods forbid that I should know him more than by report! No, -venerable stranger; wrong me not so much as to think I have entered the -gardens of Epicurus. It is not long that I have been in Athens, but I -hope, if I should henceforth live my life here, I should never be -seduced by the advocate of vice.” - -“From my soul I hope the same. But you say you have not long been in -Athens—You are come here to study philosophy.” - -“Yes; my father was a scholar of Xenocrates; but when he sent me from -Corinth, he bade me attend all the schools, and fix with that which -should give me the highest views of virtue.” - -“And you have found it to be that of Zeno.” - -“I think I have: but I was one day nearly gained by a young Pythagorean, -and have been often in danger of becoming one of the academy.” - -“You need not say _in danger_: For though I think you choose well in -standing mainly by Zeno, I would have you attend all the schools, and -that with a willing ear. There is some risk in following one particular -sect, even the most perfect, lest the mind become warped and the heart -contracted. Yes, young man! it is possible that this should happen even -in the portico. No sect without its prejudices and its predilections.” - -“I believe you say true.” - -“I _know_ I say true,” returned the sage in a tone of playfulness he had -more than once used; “I _know_ I say true; and had I before needed -evidence to confirm my opinion, this our present conversation would have -afforded it.” - -“How so?” - -“Nay, were I to explain, you would not now credit me: No man can see his -own prejudices; no, though a philosopher should point at them. But -patience, patience! Time and opportunity shall right all things. Why, -you did not think,” he resumed after a short pause, “you did not really -think you were without prejudices? Eighteen, not more, if I may judge by -complexion, and without prejudices! Why, I should hardly dare to assert -I was myself without them, and I believe I have fought harder and -somewhat longer against them than you can have done.” - -“What would you have me do?” asked the youth, timidly. - -“Have you do?—Why, I would have you do a very odd thing—No other than to -take a turn or two in Epicurus’s garden.” - -“Epicurus’s garden! Oh! Jupiter!” - -“Very true, by Juno!” - -“What! To hear the laws of virtue confounded and denied?—To hear vice -exculpated, advocated, panegyrized?—Impiety and atheism professed and -inculcated?—To witness the nocturnal orgies of vice and debauchery?—Ye -gods, what horrors has Timocrates revealed!” - -“Horrors, in truth, somewhat appalling, my young friend; but I should -apprehend Timocrates to be a little mistaken. That the laws of virtue -were ever confounded and denied, or vice advocated and panegyrized, by -any professed teacher, I incline to doubt. And were I really to hear -such things, I should simply conclude the speaker mad, or otherwise that -he was amusing himself by shifting the meaning of words, and that by the -term virtue he understood vice, and so by the contrary. As to the -inculcating of impiety and atheism, this may be exaggerated or -misunderstood. Many are called impious, not for having a worse, but a -different religion from their neighbors; and many atheistical, not for -the denying of God, but for thinking somewhat peculiarly concerning him. -Upon the nocturnal orgies of vice and debauchery I can say nothing; I am -too profoundly ignorant of these matters, either to exculpate or condemn -them. Such things may be, and I never hear of them. All things are -possible. Yes,” turning his benignant face full upon the youth, “even -that Timocrates should lie.” - -“This possibility had indeed not occurred to me.” - -“No, my young friend; and shall I tell you why? Because he told you -absurdities. Let an impostor keep to probability, and he will hardly -impose. By dealing in the marvellous, he tickles the imagination, and -carries away the judgment; and judgment once gone, what shall save even -a wise man from folly?” - -“I should truly rejoice, to find the Gargettian’s doctrine less -monstrous than I have hitherto thought them. I say _less monstrous_, for -you would not wish me to think them good.” - -“I would wish you to think nothing good, or bad either, upon _my_ -decision. The first and the last thing I would say to man is, _think for -yourself_! It is a bad sentence of the Pythagoreans, ‘The master said -so.’ If the young disciple you mentioned should ever succeed in your -conversion, believe in the metempsychosis for some other reason than -that Pythagoras ‘taught it.’” - -“But, if I may ask, do you think well of Epicurus?” - -“I meant not to make an apology for Epicurus, only to give a caution -against Timocrates—but see, we are in the city; and fortunately so, for -it is pretty nigh dark. I have a party of young friends awaiting me, -and, but that you may be apprehensive of nocturnal orgies, I would ask -you to join us.” - -“I shall not fear them where I have such a conductor,” replied the -youth, laughing. - -“I do not think it quite so impossible, however, as you seem to do,” -said the sage, laughing in his turn, with much humor, and entering a -house as he spoke; then throwing open with one arm a door, and with the -other gently drawing the youth along with him, “I am Epicurus!” - - - - - CHAPTER II. - - -The astonished, the affrighted Theon started from the arm of the sage, -and, staggering backwards, was saved, probably, from falling, by a -statue that stood against the wall on one side of the door: he leaned -against it, pale and almost fainting. He knew not what to do, scarcely -what to feel, and was totally blind to all the objects around him. His -conductor, who had possibly expected his confusion, did not turn to -observe it, but advanced in such a manner as to cover him from the view -of the company, and, still to give time for recollection, stood -receiving and returning salutations. - -“Well met, my sons! and I suppose you say well met, also. Are you -starving, or am I to be starved? Have you ate up the supper, or only sat -longing for it, cursing my delay?” - -“The latter, only the latter,” cried a lively youth, hurrying to meet -his master. Another and another advanced, and in a moment he was locked -in a close circle. - -“Mercy! mercy!” cried the philosopher, “drive me a step further and you -will overturn a couple of statues.” Then, looking over his shoulder, “I -have brought you, if he has not run away, a very pleasant young -Corinthian, for whom, until he gain his own tongue, I shall demand -reception.” He held out his hand with a look of bewitching -encouragement, and the yet faltering Theon advanced. The mist had now -passed from his eyes, and the singing from his ears, and both room and -company stood revealed before him. Perhaps, had it not been for this -motion, and still more this look of the sage, he had just now made a -retreat instead of an advance. “In the hall of Epicurus—in that hall -where Timocrates had beheld”—oh! horrid imagination! “And he a disciple -of Zeno, the friend of Cleanthes—the son of a follower of Plato—had he -crossed the threshhold of vice, the threshhold of the impious -Gargettian!” Yes; he had certainly fled, but for that extended hand, and -that bewitching smile. These however conquered. He advanced, and with an -effort at composure, met the offered hand. The circle made way, and -Epicurus presented “a friend.” “His name you must learn from himself, I -am only acquainted with his heart, and that, on a knowledge of two -hours, I pronounce myself in love with.” - -“Then he shall be my brother,” cried the lively youth who had before -spoken, and he ran to the embrace of Theon. - -“When shall we use our own eyes, ears, and understandings?” said the -sage, gently stroking his scholar’s head. “See! our new friend knows not -how to meet your premature affection.” - -“He waits,” returned the youth archly, “to receive the same commendation -of me that I have of him. Let the master say he is in love with my -heart, and he too will open his arms to a brother.” - -“I hope he is not such a fool,” gaily replied the sage. Then with an -accent more serious, but still sweeter, “I hope he will judge all -things, and all people, with his own understanding, and not with that of -Epicurus, or yet of a wiser man. When may I hope this of Sofron,” -smiling and shaking his head, “can Sofron tell me?” - -“No, indeed he cannot,” rejoined the scholar, smiling and shaking his -head also, as in mimicry of his master. - -“Go, go, you rogue! and show us to our supper: I more than half suspect -you have devoured it.” He turned, and familiarly taking Theon by the -shoulder, walked up the room, or rather gallery, and entered a spacious -rotunda. - -A lamp, suspended from the centre of the ceiling, lighted a table spread -beneath it with a simple but elegant repast. Round the walls, in niches -at equal distances, stood twelve statues, the work of the best masters; -on either hand of these burned a lamp on a small tripod. Beside one of -the lamps, a female figure was reclining on a couch, reading with -earnest study from a book that lay upon her knee. Her head was so much -bowed forward as to conceal her face, besides that it was shadowed by -her hand, which, the elbow supported on an arm of the couch, was spread -above her brows as a relief from the glare of the light. At her feet was -seated a young girl, by whose side lay a small cithara, silent, and -forgotten by its mistress. Crete might have lent those eyes their -sparkling jet, but all the soul of tenderness that breathed from them -was pure Ionian. The full and ruddy lips, half parted, showed two rows -of pearls which Thetis might have envied. Still a vulgar eye would not -have rested on the countenance: the features wanted the Doric harmony, -and the complexion was tinged as by an Afric sun. Theon, however, saw -not this, as his eyes fell on those of the girl, uplifted to the -countenance of her studious companion. Never was a book read more -earnestly than was that face by the fond and gentle eyes which seemed to -worship as they gazed. The sound of approaching feet caught the ear of -the maiden. She rose, blushed, half returned the salute of the master, -and timidly drew back some paces. The student was still intent upon the -scroll over which she hung, when the sage advanced towards her, and -laying a finger on her shoulder, “What read you, my daughter?” She -dropped her hand, and looked up in his face. What a countenance was then -revealed! It was not the beauty of blooming, blushing youth, courting -love and desire. It was the self-possessed dignity of ripened womanhood, -and the noble majesty of mind, that asked respect and promised delight -and instruction. The features were not those of Venus, but Minerva. The -eye looked deep and steady from beneath two even brows, that sense, not -years, had slightly knit in the centre of the forehead, which else was -uniformly smooth and polished as marble. The nose was rather Roman than -Grecian, yet perfectly regular, and though not masculine, would have -been severe in expression, but for a mouth where all that was lovely and -graceful habited. The chin was elegantly rounded, and turned in the -Greek manner. The color of the cheeks was of the softest and palest -rose, so pale, indeed, as scarcely to be discernible until deepened by -emotion. It was so at this moment: startled by the address of the sage, -a bright flush passed over her face. She rolled up the book, dropped it -on the couch, and rose. Her stature was much above the female standard, -but every limb and every motion was symmetry and harmony. “A treatise of -Theophrastus;—eloquent, ingenious and chimerical. I have a fancy to -answer it.” Her voice was full and deep, like the tones of a harp when -its chords are struck by the hand of a master. - -“No one could do it better,” replied the sage. “But I should have -guessed the aged Peripatetic already silenced by the most acute, -elegant, and subtle pen of Athens.” She bowed to the compliment. - -“Is that then the famous Leontium?” muttered Theon. “Timocrates must be -a liar.” - -“I know not,” resumed Leontium, “that I should this evening have so -frequently thought Theophrastus wrong, if he had not made me so -continually feel that he thought himself right. Must I seek the cause of -this in the writer’s or the reader’s vanity?” - -“Perhaps,” said the master, smiling, “you will find that it lies in -both.” - -“I believe you have it,” returned Leontium. “Theophrastus, in betraying -his self-love, hurt mine. He who is about to prove that his own way of -thinking is right, must bear in mind that he is about also to prove that -all other ways of thinking are wrong. And if this should make him slow -to enter on the undertaking, it should make him yet more careful, when -he does enter on it, to do it with becoming modesty. We are surely -imperiously called upon to make a sacrifice of our own vanity, before we -call upon others to make a sacrifice of theirs. But I would not -particularize Theophrastus for sometimes forgetting this, as I have -never known but one who always remembers it. Gentleness and modesty are -qualities at once the most indispensable to a teacher, and the most -rarely possessed by him. It was these that won the ears of the Athenian -youth to Socrates, and it is these,” inclining to the Master, “that will -secure them to Epicurus.” - -“Could I accept your praise, my daughter, I should have no doubt of the -truth of your prophecy. For, indeed, the mode of delivering a truth -makes, for the most part, as much impression on the mind of the listener -as the truth itself. It is as hard to receive the words of wisdom from -the ungentle, as it is to love, or even to recognize virtue in the -austere.” He drew near the table as he spoke. Often during supper were -the eyes of Theon riveted on the face of this female disciple. Such -grace! such majesty! More than all, such intellect! And this—this was -the Leontium Timocrates had called a prostitute without shame or -measure! And this was the Epicurus he had blasted with names too vile -and horrible to repeat even in thought! And these—continuing his inward -soliloquy as he looked round the board—these were the devoted victims of -the vice of an impious master. - -“You arrived most seasonably this evening,” cried Sofron, addressing the -Philosopher; “most seasonably for the lungs of two of your scholars.” - -“And for the ears of a third,” interrupted Leontium. “I was fairly -driven into exile.” - -“What was the subject?” asked Epicurus. - -“Whether the vicious were more justly objects of indignation or of -contempt: Metrodorus argued for the first, and I for the latter. Let the -master decide.” - -“He will give his opinion certainly; but that is not decision.” - -“Well; and your opinion is that of——.” - -“Neither.” - -“Neither! I had no idea the question had more than two sides.” - -“It has yet a third; and I hardly ever heard a question that had not. -Had I regarded the vicious with indignation, I had never gained one to -virtue. Had I viewed them with contempt, I had never sought to gain -one.” - -“How is it,” said Leontium, “that the scholars are so little familiar -with the temper of their master? When did Epicurus look on the vicious -with other than compassion?” - -“True,” said Metrodorus. “I know not how I forgot this, when perhaps it -is the only point which I have more than once, presumed to argue with -him: and upon which I have persisted in retaining a different opinion.” - -“Talk not of presumption, my son. Who has not a right to think for -himself? Or who is he whose voice is infallible, and worthy to silence -those of his fellow-men? And remember, that your remaining unconvinced -by my arguments on one occasion, can only tend to make your conviction -more flattering to me upon others. Yet, on the point in question, were I -anxious to bring you over to my opinion, I know one, whose argument, -better and more forcible than mine, will ere long most effectually do -so.” - -“Who mean you?” - -“No other than old hoary Time,” said the Master, “who, as he leads us -gently onwards in the path of life, demonstrates to us many truths that -we never heard in the schools, and some that, hearing there, we found -hard to receive. Our knowledge of human life must be acquired by our -passage through it; the lessons of the sage are not sufficient to impart -it. Our knowledge of men must be acquired by our own study of them; the -report of others will never convince us. When you, my son, have seen -more of life, and studied more men, you will find, or at least, I -_think_ you will find, that the judgment is not false which makes us -lenient to the failings—yea! even to the crimes of our fellows. In -youth, we act on the impulse of feeling, and we feel without pausing to -judge. An action, vicious in itself, or that is so merely in our -estimation, fills us with horror, and we turn from its agent without -waiting to listen to the plea which his ignorance could make to our -mercy. In our ripened years, supposing our judgment to have ripened -also, when all the insidious temptations that misguided him, and all the -disadvantages that he has labored under, perhaps from his birth, are -apparent to us—it is then, and not till then, that our indignation at -the crime is lost in our pity of the man.” - -“I am the last,” said Metrodorus, a crimson blush spreading over his -face, “who should object to my master his clemency towards the -offending. But there are vices, different from those he saved me from, -which, if not more unworthy, are perhaps more unpardonable, because -committed with less temptation; and more revolting, as springing less -from thoughtless ignorance than calculating depravity.” - -“Are we not prone,” said the sage, “to extenuate our foibles, even while -condemning them? And does it not flatter our self-love, to weigh our own -vices against those of more erring neighbors?” - -The scholar leaned forwards, and stooping his face towards the hand of -his master, where it rested on the table, laid the deepening crimson of -his cheek upon it. “I mean not to exculpate the early vices of -Metrodorus. I love to consider them in all their enormity; for the more -heinous the vices of his youth, the greater is the debt of gratitude his -manhood has to repay to thee. But tell me,” he added, and lifted his -eyes to the benignant face of the sage, “tell me, oh! my friend and -guide! was the soul of Metrodorus, found base or deceitful; or has his -heart proved false to gratitude and affection?” - -“No, my son, no,” said Epicurus, his face beaming with goodness, and a -tear glistening in his eye. “No! Vice never choked the warm feelings of -thy heart, nor clouded the fair ingenuousness of thy soul. But, my son, -a few years later, and who shall say what _might_ have been? Trust me, -none can drink of the cup of vice with impunity. But you will say, that -there are qualities of so mean or so horrible a nature, as to place the -man that is governed by them out of the pale of communion with the -virtuous. Malice, cruelty, deceit, ingratitude—crimes such as these, -should you think, draw down upon those convicted of them no feelings -more mild than abhorrence, execration, and scorn. And yet, perhaps, -these were not always natural to the heart they now sway. Fatal -impressions, vicious example, operating on the plastic frame of -childhood, may have perverted all the fair gifts of nature, may have -distorted the tender plant from the seedling, and crushed all the -blossoms of virtue in the germ. Say, shall we not compassionate the -moral disease of our brother, and try our skill to restore him to -health? But is the evil beyond cure? Is the mind strained into -changeless deformity, and the heart corrupted in the core? Greater then, -much greater, will be our compassion. For is not his wretchedness -complete, when his errors are without hope of correction? Oh! my sons! -the wicked may work mischief to others, but they never can inflict a -pang such as they endure themselves. I am satisfied, that of all the -miseries that tear the heart of man, none may compare with those it -feels beneath the sway of baleful passions.” - -“Oh!” cried Theon, turning with a timid blush towards Epicurus, “I have -long owned the power of virtue, but surely till this night I never felt -its persuasion.” - -“I see you were not born for a stoic,” said the master smiling, “Why, my -son, what made you fall in love with Zeno?” - -“His virtues,” said the youth, proudly. - -“His fine face, and fine talking,” returned the philosopher, with a tone -of playful irony. “Nay! don’t be offended;” and stretched his hand to -Theon’s shoulder, who reclined on the sofa next him. “I admire your -master very much, and go to hear him very often.” - -“Indeed!” - -“Indeed? Yes, indeed. Is it so wonderful?” - -“You were not there”—Theon stopped and looked down in confusion. - -“To-day, you mean? Yes, I was; and heard a description of myself that -might match in pleasantry with that in ‘_The Clouds_’[2] of old -Socrates. Pray don’t you find it very like?” He leaned over the side of -the couch, and looked in Theon’s face. - -Footnote 2: - - Alluding to the comedy of Aristophanes, in which Socrates was - indecently ridiculed. - -“I—I—” The youth stammered and looked down. - -“Think it is,” said the sage, as if concluding the sentence for him. - -“No, think it is not; swear it is not;” burst forth the eager youth, and -looked as he would have thrown himself at the philosopher’s feet. “Oh! -why did you not stand forth and silence the liar?” - -“Truly, my son, the liar was too pleasant to be angry with, and too -absurd to be answered.” - -“And yet he was believed?” - -“Of course.” - -“But why then not answer him?” - -“And so I do. I answer him in my life. The only way in which a -philosopher should ever answer a fool, or, as in this case, a knave.” - -“I am really bewildered,” cried Theon, gazing in the philosopher’s, and -then in Leontium’s countenance, and then throwing a glance round the -circle. “I am really bewildered with astonishment and with shame,” he -continued, casting down his eyes, “that I should have listened to that -liar Timocrates! What a fool you must think me!” - -“No more of a fool than Zeno,” said the sage, laughing. “What a -philosopher listened to, I cannot much blame a scholar for believing.” - -“Oh! that Zeno knew you!” - -“And then he would certainly hate me.” - -“You joke.” - -“Quite serious. Don’t you know that who quarrels with your doctrine, -must always quarrel with your practice? Nothing is so provoking as that -a man should preach viciously and act virtuously.” - -“But you do not preach viciously.” - -“I hope not. But those will call it so, aye! and in honest heart think -it so, who preach a different, it need not be a _better_, doctrine.” - -“But Zeno mistakes your doctrine.” - -“I have no doubt he expounds it wrong.” - -“He mistakes it altogether. He believes that you own no other law—no -other principle of action—than pleasure.” - -“He believes right.” - -“Right? Impossible! That you teach men to laugh at virtue, and to riot -in luxury and vice.” - -“There he believes wrong.” - -Theon looked as he felt, curious and uncertain. He gazed first on the -philosopher, and, when he did not proceed, timidly round the circle. -Every face had a smile on it. - -“The orgies are concluded,” said Epicurus, rising, and turning with -affected gravity to the young Corinthian. “You have seen the horrors of -the night; if they have left any curiosity for the mysteries of the day, -seek our garden to-morrow at sunrise, and you shall be initiated.” - - - - - CHAPTER III. - - -The steeds of the sun had not mounted the horizon, when Theon took the -road to the garden. He found the gate open. The path he entered on was -broad and even, and shaded on either side by rows of cork, lime, oak, -and other the finest trees of the forest: pursuing this for some way, he -suddenly opened on a fair and varied lawn, through which the Illissus, -now of the whitest silver in the pale twilight, stole with a gentle and -noiseless course. Crossing the lawn, he struck into a close thicket: the -orange, the laurel, and the myrtle, hung over his head, whose flowers, -slowly opening to the breeze and light of morning, dropped dews and -perfumes. A luxurious indolence crept over his soul; he breathed the -airs, and felt the bliss of Elysium. With slow and measured steps he -threaded the maze, till he entered suddenly on a small open plot of -verdure in face of a beautiful temple. The place was three parts -encircled with a wood of flowering shrubs, the rest was girded by the -winding Illissus, over which the eye wandered to glades and softly -swelling hills, whose bosoms now glowed beneath the dyes of Aurora. The -building was small and circular; Doric, and of the marble of Paros: an -open portico, supported by twenty pillars, ran round the edifice: the -roof rose in a dome. The roseate tints of the east fell on the polished -columns, like the blush of love on the cheek of Diana, when she stood -before her Endymion. - -Theon stopped: the scene was heavenly. Long had he gazed in silent and -calm delight, when his eye was attracted by the waving of a garment on -one side of the temple.—He advanced, and beheld a figure leaning against -one of the pillars. The sun at that moment shot his first beam above the -hills: it fell full upon the face of the son of Neocles: it was raised, -and the eyes were fixed as in deep meditation. The features reposed in -the calm of wisdom: the arms were folded, and the drapery fell in masses -to the feet. Theon flew towards him then suddenly stopped, fearing to -break upon his thoughts. At the sound, the sage turned his head, -“Welcome, my son,” he said, advancing to meet him, “Welcome to the -garden of pleasure, may you find it the abode of peace, of wisdom, and -of virtue.” - -Theon bowed his head upon the hand of the master. “Teach me, guide me, -make me what you will—my soul is in your hand.” - -“It is yet tender, yet pure,” said the Gargettian; “years shall -strengthen it—Oh! let them not sully it! See that luminary! lovely and -glorious in the dawn, he gathers strength and beauty to his meridian, -and passes in peace and grandeur to his rest. So do thou, my son. Open -your ears and your eyes; know, and choose what is good; enter the path -of virtue, and thou shalt follow it, for thou shalt find it sweet. -Thorns are not in it, nor is it difficult or steep: like the garden you -have now entered, all there is pleasure and repose.” - -“Ah!” cried Theon, “how different is virtue in your mouth and in -Zeno’s.” - -“The doctrine of Zeno,” replied the sage, “is sublime: many great men -shall come from his school; an amiable world, from mine. Zeno hath his -eye on man, I—mine on men: none but philosophers can be stoics; -Epicureans all may be.” - -“But,” asked Theon, “is there more than one virtue?” - -“No, but men clothe her differently; some in clouds and thunders; some -in smiles and pleasures. Doctors, my son, quarrel more about words than -things, and more about the means than the end. In the Portico, in the -Lycæum, in the Academy, in the school of Pythagoras, in the Tub of -Diogenes, the teacher points you to virtue; in the Garden he points you -to happiness. Now open your eyes, my son, and examine the two -Deities.—Say, are they not the same? virtue, is it not happiness? and is -not happiness, virtue?” - -“Is this, then, the secret of your doctrine?” - -“No other.” - -“But—but—where then is the dispute? Truly, as you have said, in words -not things.” - -“Yes, in a great measure, yet not altogether: We are all the wooers of -virtue, but we are wooers of a different character.” - -“And may she not then favor one, more than another?” - -“That is a question,” replied the Gargettian playfully, “that each will -answer in his own favor. If you ask me,” he continued with one of his -sweetest tones and smiles, “I shall say—that I feel myself virtuous, -because my soul is at rest.” - -“If this be your criterion, you should with the stoics deny that pain is -an evil.” - -“By no means: so much the contrary, I hold it the greatest of all evils, -and the whole aim of my life, and of my philosophy, is to escape from -it. To deny that pain is an evil is such another quibble as the Elean’s -denial of motion: that must exist to man which exists to his senses; and -as to existence or non-existence abstracted from them, though it may -afford an idle argument for an idle hour, it can never enter as a truth, -from which to draw conclusions, in the practical lessons of a master. To -deny that pain is an evil, seems more absurd than to deny its existence, -which has also been done, for its existence is only apparent from its -effect upon our senses; how then shall we admit the existence, and deny -the effect, which alone forces that admittance? But we will leave these -matters to the dialecticians of the Portico. I feel myself virtuous -because my soul is at rest: With evil passions I should be disturbed and -uneasy; with uncontrolled appetites I should be disordered in body as -well as mind,—for this reason, and for this reason only, I avoid both.” - -“Only!” - -“Only: virtue is pleasure; were it not so, I should not follow it.” - -Theon was about to break forth in indignant astonishment: the Sage -softly laid a hand upon his arm; and, with a smile and bend of the head -demanding attention, proceeded: “The masters who would have us to follow -virtue for her own sake, independent of any pleasure or advantage that -we may find in the pursuit, are sublime visionaries, who build a theory -without examining the ground on which they build it, who advance -doctrines without examining principles. Why do I gaze on the Cupid of -Praxiteles? because it is beautiful; because it gives me pleasurable -sensations. If it gave me no pleasurable sensations, should I find it -beautiful; should I gaze upon it; or would you call me wise if then I -gave a drachma for its possession? What other means have we of judging -of things than by the effect they produce upon our senses? Our senses -then being the judges of all things, the aim of all men is to gratify -their senses; in other words, their aim is pleasure or happiness: and if -virtue were not found to conduce to this, men would do well to shun her, -as they now do well to shun vice.” - -“You own then no pleasure but virtue, and no misery but vice.” - -“Not at all: I think virtue only the highest pleasure, and vice, or -ungoverned passions and appetites, the worst misery. Other pleasures are -requisite to form a state of perfect ease; which is happiness; and other -miseries are capable of troubling, perhaps destroying, the peace of the -most virtuous and the wisest man.” - -“I begin to see more reason in your doctrine,” said the youth, looking -up with a timid blush in the face of the Philosopher. - -“And less monstrous depravity,” replied the Gargettian, laughing. “My -young friend,” he continued more seriously, “learn henceforth to form -your judgments upon knowledge, not report. Credulity is always a -ridiculous, often a dangerous failing: it has made of many a clever man, -a fool; and of many a good man, a knave. But have you nothing to urge -against me? You say you see more reason in my doctrine, which implies -that you think me less wrong, but not right.” - -“I am a young disputant,” answered Theon, “and very unfit to engage with -such a master.” - -“That does not follow; a bad logician may have a good understanding; and -a young mind may be an acute one. If my argument have truth in it, less -than a philosopher will see it; and if it have not, less than a logician -may refute it.” - -“I think I could urge some objections,” replied Theon; “but they are so -confused and indistinct, I almost fear to bring them forth.” - -“I dare say I could forestall the most of them,” said the Master. “But I -had rather leave your mind to its own exercise. Think over the matter at -leisure, and you shall start your questions some evening or morning -among my scholars. Knowledge is better imparted in a dialogue than a -lecture; and a dialogue is not the worse for having more than two -interlocutors. So! our walk has well ended with our subject. Let us see -what friends are here. There are surely voices.” - -Their route had been circular, and had brought them again in front of -the temple. “This is a favorite lodgment of mine,” said the Sage, -ascending the noble flight of steps and entering the open door. The -apartment, spacious, vaulted, and circular, occupied the whole of the -building. The walls were adorned with fine copies of the best pieces of -Zeuxis and Parrhasius, and some beautiful originals of Appelles. A -statue, the only one in the apartment, was raised on a pedestal in the -centre. It was a Venus Urania, by the hand of Lysippus, well chosen as -the presiding deity in the gardens of virtuous pleasure. The ceiling, -rising into a noble dome, represented the heavens—a ground of deep blue; -the stars, sun, and planets in raised gold. But two living figures soon -fixed the attention of Theon. In one he recognized Metrodorus, though he -had not the evening before much observed his countenance. He stood at a -painter’s easel. His figure was more graceful than dignified, his face -more expressive than handsome. The eyes, dark, piercing and brilliant, -were bent in a painter’s earnest gaze on his living study. The forehead -was short, raised much at the temples and singularly over the brows. The -hair of a dark glossy brown, short and curled. The cheeks at the moment -deeply flushed with the eagerness and, perhaps, the impatience, of an -artist. The mouth curled voluptuously, yet not without a mixture of -satire; the chin curved upwards, slightly Grecian, assisted this -expression. His study was Leontium. She stood, rather than leaned, -against a pilaster of the wall; one arm supported on a slab of marble, -an unrolled book half lying on the same, and half in her opened hand. -The other arm, partly hid in the drapery, dropped loosely by her side. -Her fine face turned a little over the left shoulder, to meet the eye of -the painter. Not a muscle played; the lips seemed not to breathe: so -calm, so pale, so motionless—she looked a statue; so noble, so severely -beautiful—she looked the Minerva of Phidias. - -“I cannot do it!” cried Metrodorus, flinging down his pencil. “I had -need be Appelles, to take that face.” He pushed back his easel in -disgust. - -“What!” said Leontium, her fine features relaxing into a heavenly smile, -“and is all my patience to go for nothing?” - -“I am a blundering blind Bœotian! a savage Spartan!” continued the -disappointed artist. “There!” and seizing a brush, was about to demolish -his work. - -“For your life!” cried Leontium; and starting forward, pulled aside his -hand. “Oh! the mad ill-temper of a genius! Why, friend, if my face were -half so fine as that, Juno would be jealous of it.” - -“And who knows that she is not? A daub! a vile daub!” still muttered the -impatient scholar, yet his face gradually relaxing its anger, as in -spite of itself, till it turned to meet Leontium’s with a smile. - -“And there stand the Master and the young Corinthian laughing at you,” -said Leontium. - -They approached. “Are you a judge?” asked Metrodorus of Theon. - -“I am afraid not, though the confession will mar my compliments.” - -“But I am,” said the Gargettian humorously: “And though I have all the -inclination in the world, yet I cannot quarrel with the performance. -Well outlined and finely colored. The attitude and air hit exactly. The -features too—perhaps—the only possible perhaps my ill-nature can stumble -on, perhaps the expression is too blooming, and less mental than that of -the original.” - -“Why there—there it is!” cried the scholar, his face resuming all its -vexation. “The look of an idiot instead of a genius.” - -“Not quite that either: only of a Hebe instead of a Juno. More like our -Hedeia.” - -“Like a monster!” muttered the angry artist. - -“Oh! Hercules, oh! Hercules!” cried the sage. “What it is to rub a sore -place! Better break a man’s leg than blow a feather on his razed shin. -Had I (turning to Theon) told him he had drawn a humpbacked Thersites he -would have blessed me, rather than for this pretty compliment of a -blooming-faced Hebe.” - -“I might as well have done one as the other: they were equally like the -original.” - -“I must bow to that compliment,” said Leontium, laying her hand on her -breast, and inclining with affected gravity to the painter. - -He tried in vain to resist the laugh; then looking to the master—“What -would you have me turn it to?” - -“As you object to a Hebe, to a philosopher by all means. Silver the head -a little, it may be an admirable Epicurus.” - -“Nay! don’t make the madman furious,” said Leontium, placing her hand on -Metrodorus’s shoulder; then, addressing Theon, “Pray, young man, if you -want to be a philosopher, never find an eye for painting, a finger for -music, or a brain for poetry. Any one of these will keep a man from -wisdom.” - -“But not a woman, I suppose,” retorted Metrodorus, “as you have all -three.” - -“Ready at compliments this morning: but if you wanted a bow for this, -you should have given it with a more gracious face. But come, my poor -friend; we will try to put you in good humor—Nothing like a little -flattery for this. Here, my young Corinthian! (walking to the other side -of the room to a newly finished picture that stood against the wall, and -beckoning Theon towards her) you may without skill perceive the beauty -of this work, and the excellence of the likeness.” - -It was indeed striking. “Admirable!” cried Theon after a long gaze of -admiration, and then turning to compare it with the original. - -“A little flattered, and more than a little, I fear,” said Epicurus with -a smile, as he moved towards them. - -“Flattered!” exclaimed Metrodorus; “a Parrhasius could not flatter such -an original.” - -“You see how my scholars spoil me,” said the Gargettian to Theon. - -“But you think,” continued Metrodorus, “that I have done it common -justice.” - -“Much more than common:—It is your master’s self. The dignity of his -figure, the grace of his attitude, the nobility of his features, the -divine benignity of his expression.—Had we not the original to worship, -we might worship your copy.” - -They were interrupted by the entrance of a crowd of disciples, in the -midst of whose salutations young Sofron rushed in, breathless with -running and convulsed with laughter. - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - - -“Prepare yourselves! Prepare yourselves!” cried the panting scholar. -“Oh! Pollux! such a couple! The contrast might convulse a Scythian.” - -“What is it? What is the matter?” cried a dozen voices. - -“I’ll explain directly—Give me breath—and yet I must be quick, for they -are close on my heels. Gryphus, the cynic—some of you must have seen -him. Well, he’s coming side by side with young Lycaon.” - -“Coming here!” said the master smiling. “What can have procured me the -honor of such a visit?” - -“Oh! your fame, of course.” - -“I suspect you are making a fool of the old cynic,” said Epicurus. - -“Nay, if he be a fool, he is one without my assistance: Lycaon and I -were standing on the steps of the Prytaneum, disputing about something, -I forget what, when by came Gryphus, and stopping short at bottom of the -steps, ‘Are you disciples of Epicurus, of Gargettium?’ ‘We are,’ -answered I, for Lycaon only stood staring in amazement. ‘You may show me -the way to him then.’ ‘With all my heart,’ I again replying, Lycaon not -yet finding his tongue. ‘We are, at present, for the Gardens, and shall -hold it an honor to be conductors to so extraordinary a personage.’ I -wanted to put him between us, but Lycaon seemed unambitious of his share -in this distinction, for, stepping back, he slipped round to my other -side. Oh! Jupiter! I shall never forget the contrast between my two -companions. The rough, dirty, hairy cynic on my right hand, and the -fine, smooth, delicate, pretty Aristippian on my left. We brought the -whole street at our heels. Lycaon would have slunk away, but I held him -tight by the sleeve. When we were fairly in the Gardens, I gave them the -slip at a cross-path, and run on before to give timely notice, as you -see. But, lo! Behold!” - -The two figures now appeared at the door. The contrast was not much less -singular than the scholar had represented; and there was a sort of faint -prelude to a universal laugh, which, however, a timely look from the -Master instantly quelled. Lycaon, from the lightness of his figure, and -delicacy of his features and complexion, might have been mistaken for a -female: his skin had the whiteness of the lily, and the blushing red of -the rose: his lips the vermil of coral: his hair soft and flowing; in -texture, silk; in color, gold: his dress was chosen with studied nicety, -and disposed with studied elegance: the tunic of the whitest and finest -linen, fastened at the shoulder with a beautiful onyx: the sash of -exquisite embroidery, and the robe of the richest Tyrian, falling in -luxuriant folds from the shoulders, and over the right arm, which -gracefully sustained its length, for the greater convenience in walking: -the sandals, purple, with buttons of gold. Gryphus, short, square, and -muscular; his tunic of the coarsest and not the cleanest woollen, in -some places worn threadbare, and with one open rent of considerable -magnitude that proved the skin to be as well engrained as its covering; -his girdle, a rope: his cloak, or rather rag, had the appearance of a -sail taken from the wreck of an old trader: his feet bare, and thickly -powdered with dust: of his face, little more might be distinguished than -the nose; the lower part being obscured by a bushy and wide-spreading -beard, and the upper, by a profusion of long, tangled and grisly hair. -The wondering disciples opened a passage for this singular intruder, -who, without looking to the right or the left, walked on, and stopped -before Epicurus. - -“I suppose you are the Master, by the needless trouble I see you take, -in coming to meet me.” - -“When Gryphus has possibly walked a mile to meet Epicurus, Epicurus may -without much trouble walk a step to meet Gryphus.” - -“In my walk of a mile,” returned the cynic, “there was no trouble: I -took it for my own pleasure.” - -“And my walk of a step I also took for mine.” - -“Aye, the pleasure of ceremony!” - -“I may hope, then, this your visit is from something more than -ceremony—perhaps a feeling of real friendship, or as a mark of your good -opinion.” - -“I hate useless words,” returned the cynic, “and am not come here either -to make any, or hearken to any. I have heard you much talked of lately. -Our streets and our porticoes buzz eternally with your name, till now -all wise men are weary of it. I come to tell you this, and to advise you -to shut the gates of your gardens forthwith, and to cease the harangues -of a master; since you only pass for a philosopher among fools, and for -a fool among philosophers.” - -“I thank you for your honest advice and information, friend; but as the -object of a master is not to teach the wise, but only the unwise, do you -not think I may still harangue among fools to some little purpose, -though Gryphus, and all sages, will of course justly hold me in -contempt?” - -“And so that fools may be made wise, the wise are to be plagued with -folly?” - -“Nay, you would surely cease to think that folly which could make a fool -wise.” - -“A fool wise! And who but a fool would think that possible?” - -“I grant it were difficult: but may it not also sometimes be difficult -to discover who is a fool, and who not? Among my scholars there, some -doubtless may be fools, and some possibly may not be fools.” - -“No,” interrupted the cynic; “or they would not be your scholars.” - -“Ah! I being a fool myself. Well reminded! I had forgot that was one of -our premises. But then, I being a fool, and all my scholars being fools, -I do not see how much harm can be done, either by my talking folly, or -their hearkening to it.” - -“No, if wise men were not forced to hearken also. I tell you that our -streets and our porticoes buzz with your name and your nonsense. Keep -all the fools of Athens in your gardens, and lock the gates, and you may -preach folly as long and as loud as you please.” - -“I have but one objection to this; namely, that my gardens would not -hold all the fools of Athens. Suppose, therefore, the wise men, being a -smaller body, were shut into a garden, and the city and the rest of -Attica left for the fools?” - -“I told you,” cried the cynic, in a voice of anger, “that I hate useless -words.” - -“Nay, friend, why then walk a mile to speak advice to me? No words so -useless as those thrown at a fool.” - -“Very true, very true;” and so saying, the stranger turned his back, and -quitted the temple. - -“There,” said the son of Neocles to his smiling disciples, “is a good -warning to any, or all of us, who would be philosophers.” - -“Nay, master,” cried Sofron, “do you think us in danger of following the -pleasant example of this savage? Do you, indeed, expect to see Lycaon -there, with beard, head and clothing, after the fashion of Gryphus?” - -“Not beard, head and clothing, perhaps,” answered the Gargettian; -“pride, vanity, and ambition, may take less fearful coverings than -these.” - -“Pride, vanity, and ambition? I should rather suspect Gryphus of the -want of all three.” - -“Nay, my son, believe me all those three qualities were concerned in the -carving of those three frightful appendages of our cynic’s person. Pride -need not always lead a man to cut mount Athos in two, like Xerxes; nor -ambition, to conquer a world, and weep that there is yet not another to -conquer, like Alexander; nor vanity, to look in a stream at his own face -till he fall in love with it, like Narcissus. When we cannot cut an -Athos, we may leave uncut our beard; when we cannot mount a throne, we -may crawl into a tub; and when we have no beauty, we may increase our -ugliness. If a man of small, or even of moderate talents, be smitten -with a great desire of distinction, there is nothing too absurd, perhaps -nothing too mischievous, for him to commit. Our friend, the cynic, -happily for himself and his neighbors, seems disposed to rest with the -absurd. Erostratus took to the mischievous—to eternize his name -destroying that temple, by the building of which Ctesiphon immortalized -his. Be it our care to keep equally clear of the one as of the other.” - -“Do you, then,” asked Theon, “think a desire of distinction a vicious -desire?” - -“I think it is often a dangerous desire, and very often an unhappy one.” - -“But surely very often a fortunate one,” said Leontium. “Without it, -would there ever have been a hero?” - -“And perhaps,” returned the sage, with a smile, “the world might have -been as happy if there had not.” - -“Well, without arguing for an Achilles, would there have been a Homer?” - -“I agree with you,” replied the Master, more seriously. “The desire of -distinction, though often a dangerous, and often an unhappy desire, is -likewise often, though I believe here _sometimes_ were a better word, a -fortunate one. It is dangerous in the head of a fool; unhappy, in that -of a man of moderate abilities, or unfavorable situation, who can -conceive a noble aim, but lacks the talent or the means necessary for -its attainment. It is fortunate only in the head of a genius, the heart -of a sage, and in a situation convenient for its development and -gratification. These three things you will allow do not often meet in -one person.” - -“Yet,” said Theon, “how many great men has Athens produced?” - -“But it is not a consequent that they were happy?” - -“Happy or not happy, who would refuse their fate?” - -“I like that feeling,” replied the Gargettian; “nor do I dissent from -it. The fate of greatness will always be enviable, even when the darkest -storms trouble its course. Well-merited fame has in itself a pleasure so -much above all pleasures, that it may weigh in the balance against all -the accumulated evils of mortality. Grant then our great men to have -been fortunate; are they, as you say, so many?—Alas! my son, we may -count them on our fingers. A generation, the most brilliant in genius, -leaves out of its thousands and millions but three or four, or a dozen, -to the worship, even to the knowledge of futurity.” - -“And these, only these three, four, or a dozen, have a right to the -desire of distinction?” - -“As to the right,” replied the sage, playfully, “I mean not to dispute -that. The right lies with all men in our democracy to sit in a tub, or -to walk in a dirty tunic.” - -“But you will allow of no end in ambition but an absurd one.” - -“I have not expressed myself well, or you have not understood me well, -if you draw that conclusion. I surely have granted our great men to have -had great ends of ambition.” - -“But is it only great men, or men destined to be great, that may have -such ends?” - -“I allowed that others might; I only said that they would be unhappy in -consequence. The perfection of wisdom, and the end of true philosophy, -is to proportion our wants to our possessions, our ambitions to our -capacities.” - -“Then,” cried Metrodorus, “I have substantially proved myself this -morning to be no philosopher, when I chose a study beyond the reach of -my pencil.” - -“No,” said Leontium, playfully tapping his shoulder, “the Master will -make a distinction between what is beyond the reach of our capacity, and -what beyond the reach of our practice. Erostratus might _never_ have -planned the edifice he destroyed; Ctesiphon could not _always_ have -planned it.” The smile that accompanied these words, lighted one yet -more brilliant in the face of Metrodorus. Theon guessed that he felt -more than admiration and more than friendship for this female disciple. - -“Your remark was well timed and well pointed,” said the Master, “and has -saved me some talking.” - -“I am not sure of that,” cried Sofron, stepping forwards; “for though -Leontium has so nicely worded the distinction between want of capacity -and want of practice in the general, I should like to be told, how a man -is to make this distinction between his own in particular? For instance, -I have a fancy to turn philosopher, and supersede my master; how am I to -tell, at my first nonplus in logic or invention, whether the defect be -in my capacity or my practice?” - -“If it be only in the last, I apprehend you will easily perceive it; if -in the first, not so readily. A man, if he set about the search, will -quickly discover his talents; he may continue it to his death without -discovering his deficiencies. The reason is plain; the one hurts our -self-love, the other flatters it.” - -“And yet,” interrupted Theon, “I think, in my first interview with the -Philosopher of Gargettium, he remarked, that thousands had the seeds of -excellence in them who never found them out.” - -“I see you have a good memory,” returned the Master, “I did say so, and -I think it still. Many might have been heroes, and many philosophers, -had they had a desire to be either; had accident or ambition made them -look into themselves, and inquire into their powers; but though jewels -be hid in a sack of oats, they will never be found, unless the oats be -shaken. Remember, however, we are now speaking of one class of men -only—the ambitious: and the ambitious will never have any seeds in them, -bad or good, that will not generate and produce their proper fruit. -Ambition is the spur, and the necessary spur, of a great mind to great -action; when acting upon a weak mind it impels it to absurdity, or sours -it with discontent.” - -“Nay, then,” said Sofron, “’tis but a dangerous inmate, as minds go; and -I, for one, had better have none of it, for I doubt I am not born to be -an Epicurus, and I am certain I have no inclination to be a Gryphus.” - -“Well,” said the Master, “we have at least to thank Gryphus for our -morning’s dialogue. If any of us wish to prosecute it farther, we may do -it over our repast—the sun has reached his noon, so let us to the bath.” - -They left the temple, and crossing the gardens in an opposite direction -from that by which Theon had entered, soon reached a gate, which, to his -surprise, opened on a court at the back of the Gargettian’s house, the -same in which he had supped the preceding evening. - - - - - CHAPTER V. - - -The fervor of the day had declined, when Theon issued to the street from -the house of Epicurus: at that instant he met in the face his friend -Cleanthes; he ran to his embrace; but the young stoic, receding with -mingled astonishment and horror—“Ye gods! from the house of Epicurus?” - -“I do not marvel at your surprise,” returned Theon, “nor, if I recall my -own feelings of yesterday, at your indignation.” - -“Answer me quickly,” interrupted Cleanthes; “is Theon yet my friend?” - -“And does Cleanthes doubt it?” - -“What may I not doubt, when I see you come from such a mansion?” - -“Nay, my brother,” said Theon, kindly throwing his arm round the neck of -his friend, and drawing him onwards, “I have been in no mansion of vice, -or of folly.” - -“I do not understand you,” returned the stoic, but half yielding to his -kindness; “I do not know what to think, or what to fear.” - -“Fear nothing; and think only good,” said the Corinthian: “True, I come -from the gardens of pleasure, where I have heard very little of -pleasure, and a very great deal of virtue.” - -“I see how it is,” returned the other; “you have lost your principles, -and I, my friend.” - -“I do not think I have lost the first, and I am very sure you have not -lost the last!” - -“No!” exclaimed Cleanthes; “but I tell you, yes;” and his cheeks -flushed, and his eyes flashed with indignation: “I _have_ lost my -friend, and you have lost yours. Go!” he continued, and drew himself -from the arm of Theon. “Go! Cleanthes hath no fellowship with an -apostate and a libertine.” - -“You wrong me; and you wrong Epicurus,” said his friend, in a tone of -more reproach than anger: “But I cannot blame you; yesterday I had -myself been equally unjust. You must see him, you must hear him, -Cleanthes. This alone can undeceive you—can convince you; convince you -of my innocence, and Epicurus’s virtue.” - -“Epicurus’s virtue! your innocence?—What is Epicurus to me? What is he, -or should he be to you? Your innocence? And is this fastened to the -mantle of Epicurus: see him to be convinced of your innocence?” - -“Yes, and of your own injustice: Oh! Cleanthes, what a fool do I now -know myself to have been! To have listened to the lies of Timocrates! To -have believed all his absurdities! Come, my friend! come with me and -behold the face of the Master he blasphemes!” - -“Theon, one master, and but one master, is mine. To me, whether -Timocrates exaggerate or even lie, it matters nothing.” - -“It does, or it should,” said the Corinthian. “Will a disciple of Zeno -not open his eyes to truth? Not see an error and atone for it, by -acknowledging it? I do not ask you to be the disciple of Epicurus—I only -ask you to be just to him, and that for your own sake, more than mine, -or even his.” - -“I see you are seduced—I see you are lost,” cried the stoic, fixing on -him a look in which sorrow struggled with indignation. “I thought myself -a stoic, but I feel the weakness of a woman in my eyes.—Thou wert as my -brother, Theon; and thou—thou also art beguiled by the Syren—left virtue -for pleasure, Zeno for Epicurus.” - -“I have not left Zeno.” - -“You cannot follow both—you cannot be in the day and under the night at -one and the same time.” - -“I tell you there is no night in the gardens of Epicurus.” - -“Is there no pleasure there,” cried the stoic, his mouth and brows -curling with irony. - -“Yes, there is pleasure there: the pleasure of wisdom and virtue.” - -“Ah! have you learnt the Gargettian subtleties so soon? You have -doubtless already worshipped virtue under the form of the courtezan -Leontium; and wisdom under that of her master and paramour, the son of -Neocles.” - -“How little you know of either!” returned Theon. “But I knew as little -yesterday.” - -Cleanthes stopped. They were before the stoic portico. “Farewell! Return -to your gardens. Farewell!” - -“We do not yet part,” said Theon: “Zeno is still my master.” He followed -his friend up the steps. A crowd of disciples were assembled, waiting -the arrival of their master. Some, crowded into groups, listened to the -harangues of an elder or more able scholar: others walking in parties of -six or a dozen, reasoning, debating, and disputing: while innumerable -single figures, undisturbed by the buzz around them, leaned against the -pillars, studying each from a manuscript, or stood upon the steps with -arms folded, and heads dropped on their bosoms, wrapped in silent -meditations. At the entrance of Cleanthes, the favored pupil of their -master, the scholars made way, and the loud hum slowly hushed into -silence. He advanced to the centre, and the floating crowd gathered and -compressed into a wide and deep circle. All eyes bent on the youth in -expectant curiosity, for his countenance was disturbed, and his manner -abrupt. - -Cleanthes was of the middle size: so slender, that you wondered at the -erectness of his gait and activity of his motion. His neck was small; -his shoulders falling; his head elegantly formed; the hair smooth and -close cut; the forehead narrow, and somewhat deeply lined for one so -young: the eyebrows marked and even, save a slight bend upwards, as by a -frown, above the nose. The eyes blue; but their gaze was too earnest, -and their spirit too clear, to leave any of the melting softness so -usual with that color:—And yet there were moments when this would appear -in them; and when it did, it went to the soul of him who observed it, -but such moments were short and rare. The nose was finely and perhaps -too delicately turned; the mouth—mild and always in repose. The cheeks -were thin, and though slightly flushed, the face had a look of paleness -till enthusiasm awoke, and deepened all its dyes. The whole expression -had more spirituality and variety, and the manner more agitation, than -you would have looked for in the first and favorite pupil of Zeno. The -youth turned a rapid glance round the circle: he threw out his right -arm; the mantle dropped from his shoulder, and in a varied, piercing, -and yet melodious voice he began— - -“My friends! My brothers! Disciples of Zeno and of virtue. Give me your -ears, and awake your faculties! How shall I tell the dangers that -surround you? How shall I paint the demon that would ensnare you; -Timocrates hath escaped from his enchantments, and told us that riot and -revelling were in his halls, that impiety was in his mouth; vice in his -practice; deformity in his aspect: and we thought that none but souls -born for error, already steeped in infamy, or sunk in effeminacy, could -be taken in his toils and seduced by his example. But behold! he hath -changed his countenance—he hath changed his tongue:—amid his revels he -hath put on the garb of decency: in his riot he talks of innocence; in -his licentiousness, of virtue. Behold the youth! they run to him with -greedy ears—they throng his gardens and his porticoes. Athens, Attica, -Greece, all are the Gargettian’s. Asia, Italy, the burning Africa and -the frozen Scythia—all, all send ready pupils to his feet. Oh! what -shall we say? Oh! how shall we stem the torrent? Oh! how shall we fence -our hearts—how our ears from the song of the Syren?—to what mast shall -we bind ourselves, to what pilot shall we trust, that we may pass the -shores in safety without dashing on the rocks?—But why do I speak? Why -do I enquire? Why do I exhort? Is not the contagion already among us? In -the school of Zeno—in this portico—in this circle are there not -waverers—Yea, are there not apostates?” Emotion choked his utterance: he -paused, and glanced his kindled eyes round upon the audience. Every -breath was held in expectation; each looked on the other in doubt, -dismay, and inquiry. Theon’s heart beat quick and high: he advanced one -step, and raised his arm to speak; but Cleanthes, gathering his breath, -again in a rapid voice continued:— - -“Does this silence speak conscious guilt, or startled innocence? The -last: I will believe the last. Praise be to the gods! praise to our -guardian, Minerva! praise to our great, our glorious master, there are -yet some sons left to Athens and to Greece, who shall respect, follow, -and attain to virtue! Some choice and disciplined souls who shall stand -forth the light and ornament of their age, and whose names shall be in -honor with those yet unborn. Rouse, rouse up your energies! Oh! be firm -to Zeno, and to virtue! I tell you not—Zeno tells you not, that virtue -is found in pleasure’s repose. Resistance, energy, watchfulness, -patience, and endurance—these, these must be your practice, must be your -habit, ere you can reach the perfection of your nature. The ascent is -steep, is long, is arduous. To-day you must ascend a step, and to-morrow -a step, and to-morrow, and to-morrow—and yet shall you be far from the -summit, from rest, and from security. Does this appal you? Does this -disgust you? Go then to the Gardens! Go to the man of Gargettium—he who -calls himself philosopher, and who loves and teaches folly! Go, go to -him, and he shall encourage and soothe you. He shall end your pursuit, -and give you your ambition! He shall show you virtue robed in pleasures, -and lolling in ease! He shall teach you wisdom in a song, and happiness -in impiety!—But I am told, that Timocrates hath lied; that Epicurus is -not a libertine; nor Leontium a prostitute; nor the youth of the Garden -the ministers to their lusts. Be it so. Timocrates must answer to -himself, whether his tale be the outpourings of indignant truth, or the -subtle inventions of malevolence: with his own conscience be the secret: -to us it matters nothing. We, who have nought to do with the doctrines -of Epicurus, have nought to do with his practice. Let him who would -vindicate the one, vindicate the other: let him come forth and say, that -the master in the Gardens is not only pure in action, but perfect in -theory. Let him say, that he worships virtue as virtue, and shuns vice -as vice. Let him say that he arms the soul with fortitude, ennobles it -with magnanimity, chastens it with temperance, enlarges it with -beneficence, perfects it with justice;—and let him moreover say, that he -does this, not that the soul so schooled and invigorated may lie in the -repose of virtue, but that it may exult in its honor, and be fitted for -its activity. Fie on that virtue which prudence alone directs! Which -teaches to be just that the laws may not punish, or our neighbors -revenge:—to be enduring—because complainings were useless, and weakness -would bring on us insult and contempt:—to be temperate—that our body may -keep its vigor, our appetites retain their acuteness, and our -gratifications and sensualities their zest:—to serve our friends—that -they may serve us;—our country—because its defence and well-being -comprehends our own. Why all this is well—but is there nothing more? Is -it our ease alone we shall study, and not our dignity?—Though all my -fellow-men were swept away, and not a mortal nor immortal eye were left -to approve or condemn—should I not here—within this breast, have a judge -to dread, and a friend to conciliate? Prudence and pleasure! Was it from -such principles as these that the virtue of Solon, of Miltiades, of -Aristides, of Socrates, of Plato, of Xenophon, of all our heroes and all -our sages, had its spring and its nourishment? Was it such virtue as -this that in Lycurgus put by the offered crown?—that in Leonidas stood -at Thermopylæ?—that in the dying Pericles gloried that he had never -caused a citizen to mourn? Was it such virtue as this—that spoke in -Socrates before his judges?—that sustained him in his prison—and when -the door was open, and the sails of the ready ship unfurled, made him -prefer death to flight; his dignity to his existence?” - -Again the young orator paused, but his indignant soul seemed still to -speak from his flashing eyes. His cheeks glowed as fire, and the big -drops rolled from his forehead. At this moment the circle behind him -gave way. Zeno advanced into the midst: he stood by the head and -shoulders above the crowd: his breast, broad and manly: his limbs, cast -in strength and symmetry: his gait, erect, calm, and dignified: his -features, large, grand, and regular, seemed sculptured by the chisel for -a colossal divinity: the forehead, broad and serene, was marked with the -even lines of wisdom and age; but no harsh wrinkles, nor playing muscles -disturbed the repose of his cheeks, nor had sixty years touched with one -thread of silver his close black hair; the eyes, dark and full, fringed -with long straight lashes, looked in severe and steady wisdom from under -their correct and finely arched brows: the nose came from the forehead, -straight and even: the mouth and chin, were firm and silent. Wisdom -undisturbable, fortitude unshakeable, self-respect, self-possession, and -self-knowledge perfected, were in his face, his carriage, and his tread. - -He stopped before the youth, who had turned at his approach. “My son,” -fixing his calm gaze on the working countenance of his pupil, “what hath -disturbed thy soul?” Cleanthes laid a hand on his laboring breast: he -made one violent effort for composure and speech: it failed. The hot -blood forsook his cheeks: it rushed again: again it fled: he gasped, and -dropped fainting at the feet of his Master. - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - - -Theon rushed forward: He knelt; he raised the head of his friend: -Breathless, agitated, terrified, he called his name with the piercing -cry of agony and despair. All was commotion and confusion. The scholars -pressed forward tumultuously; but Zeno, raising his arm, and looking -steadily round, cried “Silence!” The crowd fell back, and the stillness -of night succeeded. Then motioning the circle towards the street, to -give way and admit the air, he stooped and assisted Theon to support his -reviving pupil. Cleanthes raised his head, turned his eyes wildly -around, and then fixed them on his master. - -“Gently,” said Zeno, as the youth struggled in their arms for -recollection, “gently, my son.” But he made the effort: he gained his -feet, and throwing out his arm to a pillar near him, turned his head -aside, and for some moments combated with his weakness in silence. His -limbs still trembled, and his face had yet the hues of death, when, -pressing his hand with convulsive strength against the pillar, he -proudly drew up his form, turned his eyes again upon his master, and -mustering his broken respiration, “Blame me, but do not despise me.” - -“I shall do neither, my son: the weakness was in the body, not the -mind.” - -“There has been want of command in both. I ask not to be excused.” Then -turning round to his companions, “I may be a warning if not an example. -The Spartans expose the drunkenness of their Helots to confirm their -youth in sobriety: let the weakness of Cleanthes teach the sons of Zeno -equanimity; and let them say, If in the portico weakness be found, what -shall it be in the Gardens? But,” he continued, addressing his master, -“will Zeno pardon the scholar who, while enforcing his nervous doctrines -on others, has swerved from them himself?” - -“Thou judgest thy fault as thou shouldst judge it,” returned Zeno; “but -comfort, my son! He who knows, and knowing can acknowledge his -deficiency, though his foot be not on the summit, yet hath he his eye -there. But say the cause, and surely it must be a great one, that could -disturb the self-possession of my disciple.” - -“The cause was indeed a great one; no less than the apostacy of a -scholar from Zeno to Epicurus.” - -Zeno turned his eyes round the circle: there was no additional severity -in them, and no change in his manner, or in his deep, sonorous voice, -when, addressing them, he said, “If one or more, or all of my disciples -be wearied of virtue, let them depart. Let them not fear upbraidings or -exhortations; the one were useless to you, the other unworthy of me. He -who sighs for pleasure, the voice of wisdom can never reach, nor the -power of virtue touch. In this Portico truth will never be softened to -win a sickly ear; nor the severity of virtue, will it ever be veiled to -win a feeble heart. He who obeys in act and not in thought; he who -disciplines his body and not his mind; he who hath his foot in the -Portico, and his heart in the Gardens; he hath no more to do with Zeno, -than a wretch sunk in all the effeminacy of a Median, or the gross -debauchery of a Scythian. There is no midway in virtue; no halting place -for the soul but perfection. You must be all, or you may be nothing. You -must determine to proceed to the utmost, or I encourage ye not to begin. -I say to ye, one and all, give me your ears, your understandings, your -souls, and your energies, or _depart_!” Again he looked round upon his -scholars. A long and deep silence succeeded: when young Theon, breaking -through his awe, and his timidity, advanced into the centre, and craving -sufferance with his hand, addressed the assembly. - -“Though I should forfeit the esteem of Zeno and the love of his -disciples, I have no choice but to speak. Honor and justice demand this -of me: first, to remove suspicion from this assembly; next, to vindicate -the character of a sage whom the tongue of a liar hath traduced; and, -lastly, to conciliate my own esteem, which I value beyond even the -esteem of the venerated Zeno, and of my beloved Cleanthes.” He paused; -and turning to Zeno,—“With permission of the master, I would speak.” - -“Speak, my son: we attend.” Zeno retreated among his disciples; and -Cleanthes, anxious and agitated for his friend, placed himself behind -the screen of a pillar. With a varying cheek and a tremulous voice, the -youth began:— - -“In addressing an assembly accustomed to the manly elocution of a Zeno, -and the glowing eloquence of a Cleanthes, I know I shall be forgiven by -my companions, and I hope even by my severe master, the blushes and -hesitations of timidity and inexperience. I open my mouth for the first -time in public; and in what a public is it? Let not, therefore, my -confusion be thought the confusion of guilt; but, as it truly is, of -bashful inexperience. First, to remove suspicion from this assembly:—let -not the scholars look with doubt on each other; let not the master look -with doubt on his scholars. I am he who have communed with the son of -Neocles;—I am he who have entered the gardens of pleasure;—I am he whom -Cleanthes hath pointed at as the apostate from Zeno to Epicurus.” A -tumult arose among the scholars. Surprise, indignation, and scorn, -variously looked from their faces, and murmured from their tongues. - -“Silence!” cried Zeno, casting his severe glance round the circle. -“Young man, proceed.” - -This burst of his audience rather invigorated than dashed the youth. He -freely threw forth his arm; his eyes lighted with fire, and the ready -words flowed from his lips:—“I merit not the hiss of scorn, nor the -burst of indignation. Desist, my brothers, till my artless tale be -told;—till you have heard, not my apology, but my justification. -Yesterday, at this hour, I left the Portico, heated to fury by the -philippic of Timocrates against Epicurus and his disciples; indignant at -the city that did not drive such a teacher from its walls; against the -gods who did not strike him with their thunders. Thus venting my -feelings in soliloquy, after a long ramble I seated myself on the banks -of Cephisus, and was awakened from a reverie by the approach of a -stranger: his aspect had the wisdom of a sage, and the benignity of a -divinity. I yielded him the homage of youthful respect and admiration: -he condescended to address me. He gave me the precepts of virtue with -the gentle and honied tongue of kindness and persuasion. I listened, I -admired, and I loved. We did not conclude our walk until sunset: he bade -me to his supper. I entered his house, and he told me I beheld Epicurus. -Could I have drawn back? _Should_ I have drawn back? No: my heart -answers, no. Your sufferance, my friends! Do not interrupt me! Do not -call me an apostate! In the presence of the gods; in the presence of my -master, whom I fear as them; in the presence of my own conscience, which -I fear more than both, I swear that I am not so! I mean not to explain -or to justify the philosophy of Epicurus: I know but little of it. I -only know—I only affirm, that his tongue has given new warmth to my love -of virtue, and new vigor to my pursuit of it:—I only affirm, that -persuasion, simple, ungarnished persuasion, is in his lips; benevolence -in his aspect; urbanity in his manners: generosity, truth, and candor in -his sentiments:—I only affirm, that order, innocence, and content, are -in his halls and his gardens; peace and brotherly love with his -disciples; and that, in the midst of these, he is himself the -philosopher, the parent, and the friend. I see the sneer of contempt -upon your lips, my brothers; alas! even on the unperturbed countenance -of my master I read displeasure.” - -“No, my son,” said Zeno, “thou dost not. Continue thy artless tale. If -there be error, it lies with the deceiver, not the deceived. And you, my -sons and disciples, banish from your faces and your breasts every -expression and every thought unworthy of your honest companion, and your -upright sect. For remember, if to abhor falsehood and vice be noble, to -distrust truth and innocence is mean. My son, proceed.” - -“Thanks for your noble confidence, my master: it makes me proud, for I -deserve it. Yes! even should I, as I perceive you apprehend, be -deceived, I feel that this open confession of my present perfect -conviction is honorable both to myself and to Zeno.—It proves that in -his school I have learnt candor, though I have yet to learn discernment. -And yet, methinks, however imperfect my youthful discernment, it is not -now in error. If ever I saw simple, unadorned goodness; if ever I heard -simple, unadorned truth; it is in—it is from Epicurus. Again your -sufferance, my friends! Again your sufferance, my master! I am not—I -wish not to be, a disciple of the Gardens: virtue may be in them—excuse -me, virtue is in them, but there is a virtue in the Portico which I -shall worship to my latest hour. Here, here I first learned—here I first -saw to what a glorious height of greatness a mortal might ascend—how -independent he might be of fortune; how triumphant over fate! Young, -innocent, and inexperienced, I came to Athens in search of wisdom and -virtue. ‘Attend all the schools, and fix with that which shall give you -the noblest aims,’ said my father, when he gave me his parting blessing. -He being an academician, I had, of course, somewhat imbibed the -principles of Plato, and conceived a love for his school: On first -hearing Crates, therefore, I thought myself satisfied. Accident made me -acquainted with a young Pythagorean: I listened to his simple precepts; -I loved his virtues, and almost fell into his superstitions. From these -Theophrastus awakened me; and I was nearly fixed as a Peripatetic, when -I met the eloquent, enthusiastic Cleanthes. He brought me to the -Portico, where I found all the virtues of all the schools united, and -crowned with perfection. But when I preferred Zeno, I did not despise my -former masters. I still sometimes visit the Lycæum and the Academy, and -still the young Pythagorean is my friend. A pure mind should, I think, -respect virtue wherever it be found: and if then in the Lycæum and the -Academy, why not the Gardens? Zeno, in teaching austerity, does not -teach intolerance; much less, I am sure, does he teach ingratitude: and -if I did not feel for the sage of Gargettium both respect and love, I -were the most ungrateful soul in Athens; and if feeling both, I feared -to acknowledge both, I were the meanest. And now, my brothers, ask -yourselves what would be your indignation at the youth, who for his -vices being driven from this Portico, should run to the Lycæum, and -accuse, to the sons of Aristotle, our great Zeno of that sensuality and -wickedness which had here wrought his own disgrace, and his own -banishment? Would ye not hate such a wretch? Would ye not loathe him? -Would ye not curse him? My brothers! this day have I learned such a -wretch to be Timocrates. Is he here?—I hope he is: I hope he hears me -denounce him for a defamer and an ingrate.” - -“’Tis false!” cried Timocrates, bursting in fury from the crowd. “’Tis -false! I swear”— - -“Beware of perjury!” said a clear, silver voice, from without the -circle. “Give way, Athenians! ’Tis for me to take up this quarrel.” - -The crowd divided. Every eye turned towards the opening. Theon shouted -with triumph, Timocrates stood blank with dismay—for they recognised the -voice and the form of the son of Neocles. - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - - -The Sage advanced towards Theon: he laid a hand on either of his -shoulders, and kissed his glowing forehead. “Thanks to my generous -defender. Your artless tale, my son, if it have not gained the ear of -Zeno, hath fixed the heart of Epicurus. Oh! ever keep this candor and -this innocence!” He turned his benign face round the circle: “Athenians! -I am Epicurus.” This name so despised and execrated, did it not raise a -tumult in the assembly? No; every tongue was chained, every breath -suspended, every eye riveted with wonder and admiration. Theon had said -the truth: it was the aspect of a sage and a divinity. The face was a -serene mirror of a serene mind: its expression spoke like music to the -soul. Zeno’s was not more calm and unruffled; but here was no severity, -no authority, no reserve, no unapproachable majesty, no repelling -superiority: all was benevolence, mildness, openness and soothing -encouragement. To see, was to love; and to hear, was to trust. -Timocrates shrunk from the eye of his master: it fell upon him with a -fixed and deep gaze, that struck more agony into his guilty soul, than -had the flash of a Cleanthes, or the glance of a Zeno. The wretch sunk -beneath it: he trembled; he crouched; he looked as he would have -supplicated mercy; but his tongue cleaved to his palate, and shame -withheld him from quite dropping on his knees. “Go! I will spare thee. -Give way, Athenians!” The scholars opened a passage: again the Sage -waved his hand, and the criminal slunk away. - -“Your pardon, Zeno,” said the Gargettian, “I know the youth: he is not -worthy to stand in the Portico.” - -“I thank you,” returned the Master, “and my disciples thank you. The -gods forbid that we should harbor vice, or distrust virtue. I see, and I -recant my error: henceforth if I cannot respect the teacher, I shall -respect the man.” - -“I respect both,” said Epicurus, reclining his head to the stoic. “I -have long known and admired Zeno: I have often mixed with the crowd in -his Portico, and felt the might of his eloquence. I do not expect a -similar return from him, nor do I wish to allure his scholars to my -Gardens. I know the severity of their master, and the austerity, may I -say, the intolerance of his rules. But for one,” and he laid his hand -upon the head of Theon, “for this one, I would bespeak clemency. Let not -that be imputed to him as a crime, which has been the work of accident -and of Epicurus: and let me also say for him, as well as for myself—he -has lost in the Gardens no virtues, if a few prejudices.” - -“Son of Neocles,” said Zeno, “I feared you yesterday, but I fear you -doubly to-day. Your doctrines are in themselves enticing, but coming -from such lips, I fear they are irresistible. Methinks I cast a -prophet’s eye on the map of futurity, and I see the sage of Gargettium -standing on the pinnacle of fame, and a world at his feet. The world is -prepared for this: the Macedonian, when he marched our legions to the -conquest of Persia, struck the death-blow at Greece. Persian luxury, and -Persian effeminacy, which before crept, now came with strides upon us. -Our youth, dandled on the lap of indulgence, shall turn with sickened -ears from the severe moral of Zeno, and greedily suck in the honied -philosophy of Epicurus. You will tell me that you too teach virtue. It -may be so. I do not see it; but it may be so. I do not conceive how -there can be two virtues, nor yet how two roads to the same. This, -however, I shall not argue. I will grant that in your system, as -elucidated by your practice, there may be something to admire, and much -to love; but when your practice shall be dead, and your system alone -shall survive, where then shall be the security of its innocence;—where -the antidote of its poison? Think not that men shall take the good and -not the evil; soon they shall take the evil and leave the good. They -shall do more; they shall pervert the very nature of the good, and make -of the whole, evil unmixed. Soon, in the shelter of your bowers, all -that is vicious shall find a refuge. Effeminacy shall steal in under the -name of ease; sensuality and debauchery in the place of innocence and -refinement; the pleasures of the body instead of those of the mind. -Whatever may be your virtues, they are but the virtues of temperament, -not of discipline; and such of your followers as shall be like you in -temperament may be like you in practice: but let them have boiling -passions and urgent appetites, and your doctrines shall set no fence -against the torrent; shall ring no alarm to the offender. Tell us not -that that is right which admits of evil construction—that that is virtue -which leaves an open gate to vice. I said that with a prophet’s eye I -saw your future fame; but such fame as I foresee can but ill satisfy the -ambition of a sage. Your Gardens shall be crowded, but they shall be -disgraced; your name shall be in every mouth, but every mouth shall be -unworthy that speaks it; nations shall have you in honor, but ere it is -so they shall be in ruin: our degenerated country shall worship you, and -expire at your feet. Zeno, meantime, may be neglected, but he shall -never be slandered; the Portico may be forsaken, but shall never be -disgraced; its doctrines may be discarded, but shall never be -misconstrued. I am not deceived by my present popularity. No school now -in such repute as mine; but I know this will not last. The iron and the -golden ages are run; youth and manhood are departed; and the weakness of -old age steals upon the world. But, Oh! son of Neocles! in this gloomy -prospect a proud comfort is mine: I have raised the last bulwark to the -fainting virtue of man, and the departing glory of nations:—I have done -more: when the virtue and glory of nations shall be dead, and when in -their depraved generations some solitary souls, born for better things, -shall see and mourn the vices around them, here in the abandoned Portico -shall they find a refuge; here, shutting their eyes upon the world, they -shall learn to be a world to themselves;—here, steeled in fortitude, -shall they look down in high, unruffled majesty on the slaves and the -tyrants of earth. Epicurus! when thou canst say this of the Gardens, -then, and not till then, call thyself a sage and a man of virtue.” He -ceased; but his full tones seemed yet to sound in the ears of his -listening auditors. There was a long pause, when the Gargettian in -notes, like the breathing flutes of Arcadia, began his reply. - -“Zeno, in his present speech, has rested much of the truth of his system -on its expediency: I therefore shall do the same by mine. The door of my -Gardens is ever open, and my books are in the hands of the public; to -enter therefore, here, into the detail or the expounding of the -principles of my philosophy were equally out of place and out of season. -‘Tell us not that that is right which admits of evil construction;—that -that is virtue which leaves an open gate to vice.’ This is the thrust -which Zeno now makes at Epicurus; and did it hit, I grant it were a -mortal one. From the flavor, we pronounce of the fruit; from the beauty -and the fragrance, of the flower; and in a system of morals, or of -philosophy, or of whatever else, what tends to produce good we pronounce -to be good, what to produce evil, we pronounce to be evil. I might -indeed support the argument, that our opinion with regard to the first -principles of morals has nought to do with our practice;—that whether I -stand my virtue upon prudence, or propriety, or justice, or benevolence, -or self-love, that my virtue is still one and the same;—that the dispute -is not about the end, but the origin; that of all the thousands who have -yielded homage to virtue, hardly one has thought of inspecting the -pedestal she stands upon; that as the mariner is guided by the tides, -though ignorant of their causes, so does a man obey the rules of virtue -though ignorant of the principles on which those rules are founded; and -that the knowledge of those principles would affect the conduct of the -man, no more than acquaintance with the causes of the tides would affect -the conduct of the mariner. But this I shall not argue; in doing so I -might seem but to fight you flying. I shall meet your objection in the -face. And I say—that allowing the most powerful effects to spring from -the first grounds of a moral system;—the worst or the best,—that mine, -if the best is to be so judged by the good it does and the evil it -prevents, must be ranked among the best. If, as you say, and I partly -believe, the iron and the golden ages are past, the youth and the -manhood of the world, and that the weakness of old age is creeping on -us,—then, as you also say, our youth, dandled on the lap of indulgence, -shall turn with sickened ears from the severe moral of Zeno; and then -_I_ say, that in the Gardens, and in the Gardens only, shall they find a -food, innocent, yet adapted to their sickly palates; an armor, not of -iron fortitude, but of silken persuasion, that shall resist the progress -of their degeneracy, or throw a beauty even over their ruin. But, -perhaps, though Zeno should allow this last effect of my philosophy to -be probable, he will not approve it: his severe eye looks with scorn, -not pity, on the follies and vices of the world. He would annihilate -them, change them to their opposite virtues, or he would leave them to -their full and natural sweep. ‘Be perfect, or be as you are. I allow of -no degrees of virtue, so care not for the degrees of vice. Your ruin, if -it must be, let it be in all its horrors, in all its vileness: let it -attract no pity, no sympathy: let it be seen in all its naked deformity, -and excite the full measure of its merited abhorrence and disgust.’ Thus -says the sublime Zeno, who sees only man as he should be. Thus says the -mild Epicurus, who sees man as he is: With all his weaknesses, all his -errors, all his sins, still owning fellowship with him, still rejoicing -in his welfare and sighing over his misfortunes: I call from my Gardens -to the thoughtless, the headstrong, and the idle.—‘Where do ye wander, -and what do ye seek?—Is it pleasure? behold it here. Is it ease? enter -and repose.’ Thus do I court them from the table of drunkenness and the -bed of licentiousness: I gently awaken their sleeping faculties, and -draw the veil from their understandings. ‘My sons! do you seek pleasure? -I seek her also. Let us make the search together. You have tried wine, -you have tried love; you have sought amusement in revelling, and -forgetfulness in indolence. You tell me you are disappointed: that your -passions grew, even while you gratified them; your weariness increased -even while you slept. Let us try again. Let us quiet our passions, not -by gratifying, but subduing them; let us conquer our weariness, not by -rest, but by exertion.’ Thus do I win their ears and their confidence. -Step by step I lead them on. I lay open the mysteries of science; I -expose the beauties of art; I call the graces and the muses to my aid; -the song, the lyre, and the dance. Temperance presides at the repast; -innocence, at the festival; disgust is changed to satisfaction; -listlessness, to curiosity; brutality, to elegance; lust gives place to -love; Bacchanalian hilarity to friendship. Tell me not, Zeno, that the -teacher is vicious who washes depravity from the youthful heart; who -lays the storm of its passions, and turns all its sensibilities to good. -I grant that I do not look to make men happy. To teach them that in the -discharge of their duties as sons, as husbands, as fathers, as citizens, -lies their pleasure and their interest;—and when the sublime motives of -Zeno shall cease to affect an enervated generation, the gentle -persuasions of Epicurus shall still be heard and obeyed. But you warn me -that I shall be slandered, my doctrines misinterpreted, and my school -and my name disgraced. I doubt it not. What teacher is safe from -malevolence, what system from misconstruction? And does Zeno really -think himself and his doctrines secure? He knows not, then, man’s -ignorance and man’s folly. Some few generations, when the amiable -virtues of Epicurus, and the sublime excellence of Zeno shall live no -longer in remembrance or tradition, the fierce or ambitious bigots of -some new sect may alike calumniate both; proclaim the one for a -libertine, and the other for a hypocrite. But I will allow that I am -more open to detraction than Zeno: that while your school shall be -abandoned, mine shall more probably be disgraced. But it will be the -same cause that produces the two effects. It will be equally the -degeneracy of man that shall cause the discarding of your doctrines, and -the perversion of mine. Why then should the prospect of the future -disturb Epicurus more than Zeno? The fault will not lie with me any more -than you; but with the vices of my followers, and the ignorance of my -judges. I follow my course, guided by what I believe to be wisdom; with -the good of man at my heart, adapting my advice to his situation, his -disposition, and his capacities. My efforts may be unsuccessful, my -intentions may be calumniated; but as I know these to be benevolent, so -I shall continue these, unterrified and unruffled by reproaches, -unchilled by occasional ingratitude and frequent disappointment.” He -ceased, and again laying his hand on the shoulder of Theon, led him to -his Master. “I ask not Zeno to admire me as a teacher, but let him not -blame this scholar for loving me as a man.” - -“I shall not blame him,” said the Stoic, “but I wish that I may not soon -distrust him. I wish he may not soon forget Zeno, and forsake the -Portico.” - -The shades of evening now fell on the city, and the assembly divided. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - - -The sun was in its fervor, when Theon issued from one of the public -baths. He was not disposed for rest, yet the heat of the streets was -insufferable. “I will seek the Gardens,” he thought, “and loiter in -their cool shades until the Master join me.” Reaching the house of the -Gargettian, and the entrance to the Gardens being shorter through it -than by the public gate, he entered, and sought the passage he had -before traversed. He however took a wrong one, and, after wandering for -some time, opened a door, and found himself in a library. Epicurus was -sitting in deep study, with his tablets before him; his pen in one hand, -his forehead supported on the other. Metrodorus, on the opposite side of -the room, was engaged in transcribing. - -Theon stopped, and, making a short apology, hastily retired. “Stay!” -cried the Master. Theon again entered, but did not advance much within -the threshhold. - -“When I bade you stay, I did not mean to fix you as doorkeeper. Come in, -and shut the door behind you.” Theon joyfully obeyed, and hurried to -seize the extended hand of the sage. “Since you have intruded on the -sanctuary, I shall not drive you out.” He motioned the youth to a place -on his couch. “And now, what pretty things am I to say to you for your -yesterday’s defence of the wicked Gargettian? You should have come home -with me last night, when we were both hot from the combat, and then I -could have made you an eloquent compliment in full assembly at the -Symposium, and you would as eloquently have disclaimed it with one of -your modest blushes.” - -“Then, truly, if the Master had such an intention, I am very glad I did -not follow him. But I passed the evening at my own lodgings, with my -friend Cleanthes.” - -“Trying to talk him into good humor and charity, was it?” - -“Something so.” - -“And you succeeded?” - -“Why, I don’t know; he did not leave me in worse humor than he came.” - -“Nay, then it must have been in better. Explanation always approaches or -widens the differences between friends.” - -“Yes, but we also entered into argument.” - -“Dangerous ground that, to be sure. And your fight, of course, ended in -a drawn battle?” - -“You pay me more than a merited compliment, in concluding that to be a -thing of course.” - -“Nay, your pardon! I pay you any thing but a compliment. It is not that -I conclude your rhetoric and your logic equal, but your obstinacy and -your vanity.” - -“Do you know, I don’t think myself either obstinate or vain,” said -Theon, smiling. - -“Had I supposed you did, I might not have seen occasion to give you the -information.” - -“But on what grounds do you think me obstinate and vain?” - -“Your years; your years. And do you think there is a man under twenty -that is not both?” - -“Why, I should think an old man, at least, more obstinate than a young -one.” - -“I grant you when he _is_ obstinate, which is pretty often, but not -quite always; and when he is vain, the same. But whilst many old men -have vanity and obstinacy in the superlative degree, all young men have -those qualities in the positive. I believe your share to be tolerably -moderate, but do not suppose that you have no share at all. Well, and -now tell me, was it not a drawn battle?” - -“I confess it was. At least, we neither of us convinced the other.” - -“My son, it would have added one more to the seven wonders if you had. I -incline to doubt, if two men, in the course of an olympiad, enter on an -argument from the honest and single desire of coming at the truth, or -if, in the course of a century, one man comes from an argument convinced -by his opponent.” - -“Well, then, if you will allow me no credit for not being convinced, you -may at least for my not being silenced, I, so young an arguer, and -Cleanthes so practised a one!” - -“You broke the ice beforehand yesterday in the Portico,” said the -Philosopher, tapping his shoulder. “After that generous instance of -confidence, I shall not marvel if you now find a tongue upon all proper -occasions. And trust me, the breaking of the ice is a very important -matter. Many an orator has made but one spring to the land, and his -legs, after he had taken courage to make the first stroke. Cleanthes -himself found this. You know his history? He first appeared in Athens as -a wrestler, a stranger to philosophy and learning of all kinds. In our -streets, however, the buzz of it could not fail to reach him. He ran -full speed into the school of Crates. His curiosity, joined to his -complete ignorance, gave him so singular an appearance, and produced -from him so many simple questions, and blundering replies, that he -received from his fellow disciples the nickname of the Ass. But the Ass -persevered, and soon after, entering the Portico he applied with such -intense diligence to the unravelling the mysteries of Zeno’s philosophy, -that he speedily secured the esteem of his Master, and the respect of -his companions. But his timidity was for some time extreme, and probably -nothing but a sudden excitement could have enabled him to break through -it. This, however, accidentally occurred, and he is now the ready and -powerful orator that you know him.” - -“I have often heard,” said Theon, “and really not without some -scepticism, the change that a few years have wrought in Cleanthes;—_a -brawny wrestler_! who could believe it? and a dull, ignorant Barbarian!” - -“The world always adds marvel to the marvellous. A _brawny_ wrestler he -never was; though certainly something stouter and squarer in person than -he is now; and though ignorant, he was not dull. Intense application, -and some say, the fasting of poverty, as well as temperance, rapidly -reduced his body, and spiritualized his mind.” - -“The fasting of poverty!” cried Theon, “do you believe this?” - -“I fear it is possible,” returned the Master. “At least it is asserted -that he possessed but four drachmas when he left the school of wrestling -for that of philosophy; and it does not well appear that he now follows -any other trade than that of a scholar; one which certainly brings very -little nourishment to the body, whatever it might do to the mind.” - -“But his Master; do you think Zeno would suffer him to want the -necessaries of life?” - -“The actual necessaries, somehow or other, he certainly has; but I can -believe he will make very few serve, and procure those few with some -difficulty, rather than be indebted even to his Master.” - -“Or his friend!” said Theon. - -“Nay, remember, you are not a friend of very long standing, and -something his junior in years.” - -“But should that prevent him from giving me his confidence on such an -occasion?” - -“Perhaps not, but allow something to the Stoic pride.” - -“I can allow nothing to it here.” - -“No, because it touches your own. ‘_Thus do I tread on the pride of -Plato_,’ said Diogenes, setting his foot on the robe of the Academic. -‘_Yes, with the greater pride of Diogenes_,’ returned Plato. But I have -made you grave, which was not my intention. Metrodorus, how go you on?” - -“Writing the last word.—There!—And now,” rising and advancing towards -Theon, “let me embrace the youth who so nobly took up the vindication of -my insulted Master. Perhaps you may not know how peculiarly I am -indebted to you. Timocrates is the brother of Metrodorus.” - -“How!” - -“I blush to own it.” - -“You need not blush, my loved son; you have done more than a brother’s -duty towards him, and more than a disciple’s duty towards me. I -suppose,” turning to Theon, “as you are a Stoic, you have not read the -able treatises of Metrodorus in support of my doctrines, and defence of -my character. In the last, indeed, he has done more than I wished.” - -“I own I have not, but I will read them.” - -“What! in the face of Zeno?” - -“Aye, and of the whole Portico.” - -“We need not doubt the young Corinthian’s courage,” said Metrodorus, -“after his noble confidence yesterday.” - -“I see the Master has not been silent,” returned Theon, “and that he has -given me more praise than is my due.” - -“Metrodorus can tell you that is not my custom,” said the Gargettian. -“By Pollux! if you continue your visits to the Garden, you must look to -be handled very roughly. I aim the blow at every fault I see; and I have -a very acute pair of eyes. I find out the most secret sins,—turn the -souls of my scholars inside out; so be warned in time!” - -“I do not fear you,” returned the Corinthian. - -“Not fear me, you rogue?” - -“No, I love you too well. But,” continued Theon, “let me now make my -acknowledgments to the Master for his coming forward so seasonably -yesterday, and giving me the victory. How you astonished me! I almost -took you a second time for a divinity.” - -“I will tell you how it happened,” returned Epicurus: “Chancing to be -called into the street yesterday, just after you left the house, I saw -your meeting with Cleanthes; and guessing from his first address, that -you would have to stand a siege, I followed you to the Portico, and took -my place, unnoticed, among the crowd, ready, if occasion should require, -to offer my succor.” - -“And you heard then all that passed?” - -“I did.” - -“I beg your pardon for the digression,” said Theon; “but I think you -have more forbearance and more candor than any man I ever heard of.” - -“If it be so, these useful qualities have not been attained without much -study and discipline; for Zeno is mistaken in thinking all my virtues -the children of temperament. I very early perceived candor to be the -quality the most indispensable in the composition of a philosopher, and -therefore very early set my whole efforts to the attaining of it. And -when once I fairly engaged in the work, I did not find it either long or -difficult. I had naturally a mild temper, and a sensitive heart, and -these gifts were here of inconceivable use to me. Feeling kindly towards -my fellow-creatures, I could the easier learn to pity rather than hate -their faults; to smile, rather than frown at their follies.—This was a -great step gained, but the next was more difficult—to be slow in -pronouncing what is a fault, and what is a folly. Our superstition would -haunt with the furies the man who should take his sister to wife, while -the customs of Egypt would commend him. How has the astronomer been -laughed at, who made the earth revolve round the stationary sun; and yet -who can say but the age may come, when this shall be established as a -truth? Prejudices, when once seen as prejudices, are easily yielded. The -difficulty is to come at the knowledge of them. A thousand lectures had -I read to myself, ere I could calmly say, upon all occasions, It does -not follow that the thing is, because I _think it is_; and till I could -say this, I never presumed to call myself a philosopher. When I had -schooled myself into candor, I found I was possessed of forbearance; -for, indeed, it is hardly possible to possess the one without the -other.” - -“I cannot understand,” said Theon, “how, with your mildness, your -candor, and your good humor, you have so many enemies.” - -“Am I not the founder of a new sect?” - -“Yes, but so have been many others.” - -“And you think I have more enemies than any? If it be so, perhaps in -those peaceable qualities you have enumerated, you may seek the cause. -Remember the Cynics and Stoics, (and I believe most of my enemies are -either among them, or of their making,) do you think any of those three -unpresuming virtues would secure their approbation? They do not love to -see a man take the place of a philosopher, without the airs of one, and, -as you may perceive, I want these most entirely. Then you must remember -also my popularity; for of course my mildness, candor, and good humor, -along with other agreeable virtues which shall be nameless, help to -secure me a thousand friends; and he who has many friends, must have -many enemies, for you know he must be the mark of envy, jealousy, and -spleen.” - -“I cannot endure to think that it should be so,” said Theon. - -“Much less can I,” said Metrodorus. - -“My sons, never pity the man who can count more than a friend for every -enemy, and I do believe that I can do this! Yes, my young Stoic, Zeno -may have fewer enemies, and as many disciples, but I doubt if he have so -many devoted children as Epicurus.” - -“I know he has not,” cried Metrodorus, curling his lip in proud scorn. - -“You need not look so fierce upon your knowledge,” said the Master, -smiling. - -“You are too mild, too candid,” returned the scholar, “and that is your -only fault.” - -“Then I am a most faultless person, and I only wish I could return the -compliment to Metrodorus, but his lip curls too much, and his cheeks are -too apt to kindle.” - -“I know it, I know it,” said the scholar. - -“Then why not mend it?” - -“Because I am not at all sure, but that it is better unmended. If you -would but turn more fiercely upon your enemies, or let me do so for you, -they would respect you more, for they would fear you more.” - -“But as I am not a god, nor a king, nor a soldier, I have no claim to -fear; and as I am a philosopher, I have no wish for it. Then, as to -respect, do you really think yourself more worthy of it than your -Master?” - -“Nay,” said Metrodorus, blushing, “that is too severe a rub.” - -“Grant that it was merited. No, no, my son, we will convince all we can, -we will silence as few as possible, and we will terrify none.” - -“Remember the exit of Timocrates,” said Theon, “was not that made in -terror?” - -“Yes; but it was the work of his conscience, not of my eyes; if the -first had been silent, I imagine he would have stood the last very -well.” - -“Do not name the wretch,” cried Metrodorus indignantly. “Oh! my young -Corinthian, did you know all the patience and forbearance that his -Master had shown towards him, all the pains he took with him, the -gentleness with which he admonished him, the seriousness with which he -warned him, the thousand times that he forgave him; and then at last, -when he dared to insult his Master’s adopted child, the lovely Hedeia, -and the indignant disciples thrust him from the Gardens, he goes to our -enemies, the enemies of his Master, and feeds their malice with infernal -lies. Curses of the furies on the wretch!” - -“Fie! how darest thou?” said Epicurus, thrusting his scholar -indignantly from him. “Thy anger is unworthy of a man, how much then -of a brother! Go, and recollect thyself, my son!” softening his voice, -as he saw a tear in Metrodorus’s eye.—“The Corinthian will accompany -you to the Gardens, I will join you when I have concluded this -treatise.”—Metrodorus took the arm of Theon, and they left the -apartment. - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - - -“Do not,” said Metrodorus to Theon, “take me as the best sample of the -pupils of Epicurus. We are not all so hot brained and hot tongued.” - -“Nay!” returned his companion, “I am too young in philosophy to blame -your warmth. In your place, I should have been as hot myself.” - -“I am glad to hear it. I like you the better for the sentiment. But the -sun scorches dreadfully, let us seek shelter.” - -They turned into a thicket, and proceeding some way, caught on the still -air the notes of a flute. They advanced and came to a beautiful bank of -verdure, bordered by the river, and shadowed by a group of thick and -wide spreading oaks. “It is Leontium,” said Metrodorus. “No other in -Attica can breathe the flute so sweetly.” They turned one of the trunks, -and found her lying on the turf; her shoulder leaning against a tree, -and her figure raised on one elbow. Beside her was seated the black eyed -girl, whom Theon had before seen; her taper fingers twining into a -wreath the scented flowers, which were lightly thrown into her lap by -the gay Sofron, who stood at some distance among the shrubs. - -“Enough! enough!” said the gentle voice of the girl, as the youth shook -down in showers the leaves and nectareous odors of the overripe -blossoms. “Enough! enough! stay thy hand, thou heedless ravager!” - -“Thank thee for thy words, although they chide me,” said the boy, -letting go the bough which he had just seized, with a bound, light as -that of the shrub when it sprung upward from his hand. “Thou hast but -one feeling in thy soul, Boidion; and thy nature belies the sunny clime -which saw its birth. Friendship is all to thee, and that friendship is -but for one.” - -“In truth, thou repayest his cares but coldly,” said Leontium, taking -the pipe from her mouth, and smiling on the dark haired maiden. - -“But I repay not thine coldly,” said Boidion, kissing the hand of her -friend. - -“I am well punished for the neglect of my morning’s lecture,” said -Sofron impatiently, as he snatched his book from the ground, and turned -away. - -“Part not in anger, brother!” exclaimed Boidion. But the youth had -vanished, and in his place, Metrodorus and Theon stood before her. - -The startled girl was about to rise, when Leontium laying her hand on -her arm, “Rest thee, thou timid fawn,” and the maiden resumed her seat. - -“I rejoice,” said Theon, as he placed himself with Metrodorus by the -side of Leontium, and took up the pipe which had fallen from her hand, -“I rejoice to find this little instrument restored to Athens.” - -“Say not restored to Athens,” returned Leontium, “only admitted into the -Garden. I doubt our vain youth still remember the curse of Alcibiades, -and looking in their mirror, vow that none but fools would play on it.” - -“This recalls to me,” said Theon, “that I have heard, among the various -reports concerning the Garden current in the mouths of the Athenians, -very contradictory ones as to the place allowed in it to the sciences -and liberal arts, and to music in particular.” - -“I suppose,” said Metrodorus, “that you heard our whole employment was -eating, drinking, and rioting in all licentiousness.” - -“True I did hear so; and I fear I must confess, half believed it. But I -also heard your licentiousness described in various ways; sometimes as -grossly sensual, enlivened by no elegancies of art; veiled, adorned, if -I may use the expression, by no refinement. In short, that Epicurus -laughed as well at the fine arts as the grave sciences. From others -again, I learned that music, dancing, poetry, and painting were pressed -into the service of his philosophy; that Leontium strung the lyre, -Metrodorus the harp, Hedeia moved in the dance, Boidion raised the song -to Venus; that his halls were covered with voluptuous pictures, the -walks of his gardens lined with indecent statues.” - -“And you may now perceive the truth,” replied Metrodorus, “with your own -eyes and ears.” - -“But,” said Leontium, “the young Corinthian may be curious to know the -sentiments of our Master, and his advice regarding the pursuit of the -sciences and the liberal arts. I can readily perceive,” addressing -herself to Theon, “the origin of the two contradictory reports you have -just mentioned. The first you would hear from the followers of -Aristippus, who, though not acknowledging the name, follow the _tenets_ -of his philosophy, and have long been very numerous in our degenerate -city. These, because Epicurus recommends but a moderate culture of those -arts, which by them are too often made the elegant incentives to -licentious pleasure, accuse him of neglecting them altogether. The -Cynics, and other austere sects, who condemn all that ministers to the -luxury, ease, or recreation of man, exaggerate his moderate use of these -arts into a vicious encouragement of voluptuousness and effeminacy. You -will perceive, therefore, that between the two reports lies the truth. -Every innocent recreation is permitted in the Garden. It is not poetry, -but licentious poetry, that Epicurus condemns; not music, but voluptuous -music; not painting, but licentious pictures; not dancing, but loose -gestures. Yet thus he displeases alike the profligate and the austere, -for these he is too moderate, and for those too severe. With regard to -the sciences, if it be said, that they are neglected among us, I do not -say that our Master, though himself versed in them, as in all other -branches of knowledge, greatly recommends them to our study. But that -they are not unknown, let Polyœnus be evidence. He, one of the most -amiable men of our school, and one most highly favored by our Master, -you must have heard mentioned throughout Greece as a profound -geometrician.” - -“Yes,” replied Theon; “but I have also heard, that since entering the -Garden, he has ceased to respect his science.” - -“I am not aware of that,” said Leontium, “though I believe he no longer -devotes to it all his time, and all his faculties. Epicurus called him -from his diagrams, to open to him the secrets of physics, and the -beauties of ethics; to show him the springs of human action, and lead -him to the study of the human mind. He taught him that any single study, -however useful and noble in itself, was yet unworthy the entire employ -of a curious and powerful intellect: that the man who pursued one line -of knowledge, to the exclusion of others, though he should follow it up -to its very head, would never be either learned or wise: that he who -pursues knowledge, should think no branch of it unworthy attention; -least of all, should he confine it to those which are unconnected with -the business, and add nothing to the pleasures of life: that further not -our acquaintance with ourselves, nor our fellows; that tend not to -enlarge the sphere of our affections, to multiply our ideas and -sensations, nor extend the scope of our inquiries. On this ground, he -blamed the devotion of Polyœnus to a science that leads to other truths -than those of virtue, to other study than that of man.” - -“I am obliged to you for the explanation,” said Theon; “not because I -could any longer have given credit to the absurd reports of your -Master’s enemies; but because whatever opens to me the character and -opinions of such a man, interests and improves me.” - -“You will find this,” said Metrodorus, “the more you consider them. The -life of Epicurus is a lesson of wisdom. It is by example, even more than -precept, that he guides his disciples. Without issuing commands, he -rules despotically. His wishes are divined, and obeyed as laws; his -opinions are repeated as oracles; his doctrines adopted as demonstrated -truths. All is unanimity in the Garden. We are a family of brothers, of -which Epicurus is the father. And I say not this in the praise of the -scholars, but the Master. Many of us have had bad habits, many of us -evil propensities, many of us violent passions. That our habits are -corrected, our propensities changed, our passions restrained, lies all -with Epicurus. What I myself owe him, none but myself know. The giddy -follower of licentious pleasure, the headstrong victim of my passions, -he has made me taste of the sweets of innocence, and brought me into the -calm of philosophy. It is thus—thus, by rendering us happy, that he lays -us at his feet,—thus that he gains, and holds the empire of our -minds,—thus that by proving himself our friend, he secures our respect, -our submission, and our love. He cannot but know his power, yet he -exerts it in no other way, than to mend our lives, or to keep them -innocent. In argument, as you may have observed, he always seeks to -convince rather than sway. He is as free from arrogance as from -duplicity; he would neither force an opinion on the mind, nor conceal -from it a truth. Ask his advice, and it is ever ready,—his opinion, and -he gives it clearly. Free from prejudice himself, he is tender to that -of others; yet no fear of censure, or desire of popularity, ever leads -him to humor it, either in his lessons, or his writings. Candor, as you -have already remarked, is the prominent feature of his mind; it is the -crown of his perfect character.—I say this, my young Corinthian, who -know him. His soul, indeed, is open to all; but I have approached very -near it, and considered its inmost recesses. Yes, I am proud to say it—I -am one of those he has drawn most closely into his intimacy. With all my -imperfections and errors, he has adopted me as a son; and, inferior as I -am in years, wisdom, and virtue, he deigns to call me his friend.” - -Tears here filled the eyes of the scholar;—he seemed about to resume, -when a slight sound made the party turn their heads, and they saw the -Master at their side.—“Do not rise, my children, I will seat myself -among you.” Theon perceived he had heard the closing sentence of -Metrodorus, for the water glistened in his eyes as he fixed them -tenderly upon him. “Thanks, my son, for this tribute of thy gratitude; I -have heard thy eulogy, and I accept it joyfully. Let all men,” and he -turned his eye upon Theon, “be above flattery; but let not a sage be -above praise. He that is so is either arrogant or insincere. For myself, -I own that the commendations of my friends fill me with triumph, as the -assurance of their affection does with satisfaction. The approbation of -our familiars, who are with us in our secret hours, hear our private -converse, know the habits of our lives, and the bent of our -dispositions, is, or should be to us, far more pleasing and triumphant -than the shouts of a multitude, or the worship of the world.” - -There was a pause of some minutes, when Leontium took up the word. “I -have been explaining, though very shortly and imperfectly, your views -concerning the studies most proper to be pursued by men. I believe the -Corinthian has some curiosity on this point.” - -Theon assented. - -“Knowledge,” said the Master, “is the best riches that man can possess. -Without it, he is a brute; with it, he is a god. But like happiness, he -often pursues it without finding it; or, at best, obtains of it but an -imperfect glimpse. It is not that the road to it is either dark or -difficult, but that he takes a wrong one; or if he enters on the right, -he does so unprepared for the journey. Now he thinks knowledge one with -erudition, and shutting himself up in his closet, he cons all the lore -of antiquity; he fathoms the sciences, heaps up in his memory all the -sayings of the dead, and reckoning the value of his acquisitions by the -measure of the time and labor he hath expended on them, he is satisfied -he hath reached his end, and from his retirement, looking down upon his -more ignorant, because less learned, brethren, he calls them children -and barbarians. But, alas! learning is not wisdom, nor will books give -understanding. Again, he takes a more inviting road: he rushes into the -crowd; he rolls down the stream of pleasure; he courts the breath of -popularity; he unravels or weaves the riddles of intrigue; he humors the -passions of his fellows, and rises upon them to name and power. Then, -laughing at the credulity, ignorance, and vice, he hath set his throne -upon, he says, that to know the world is the only knowledge, and to see -to dupe it, is to be wise. Yet knowledge of the world is not knowledge -of man, nor to triumph in the passions of others, is not to triumph over -our own. No, my sons, that only is real, is sterling knowledge, which -goes to make us better and happier men, and which fits us to assist the -virtue and happiness of others. All learning is useful, all the sciences -are curious, all the arts are beautiful; but more useful, more curious, -and more beautiful, is the perfect knowledge and perfect government of -ourselves. Though a man should read the heavens, unravel their laws, and -their revolutions; though he should dive into the mysteries of matter, -and expound the phenomena of earth and air; though he should be -conversant with all the writings, and the sayings, and the actions of -the dead; though he should hold the pencil of Parrhasius, the chisel of -Polycletes, or the lyre of Pindar; though he should do one or all of -these things, yet know not the secret springs of his own mind, the -foundation of his opinions, the motives of his actions; if he hold not -the rein over his passions; if he have not cleared the mist of all -prejudices from his understanding; if he have not rubbed off all -intolerance from his judgments; if he know not to weigh his own actions, -and the actions of others, in the balance of justice—that man hath not -knowledge; nor, though he be a man of science, a man of learning, or an -artist, he is not a sage. He must yet sit down, patient, at the feet of -philosophy. With all his learning, he hath yet to learn, and perhaps a -harder task, he hath to unlearn.” - -The Master here paused, but the ears of Theon still hung upon his lips. -“Do not cease,” he exclaimed. “I could listen to you through eternity.” - -“I cannot promise to declaim quite so long,” returned the sage, smiling. -“But if you wish it, we will follow out the topic when we have joined -our other friends.” - -They rose, and bent their steps to the public walk. - - - - - CHAPTER X. - - -Epicurus stood in the midst of his expectant scholars. “My sons,” he -said, “why do you enter the Garden? Is it to seek happiness, or to seek -virtue and knowledge?—Attend, and I will show you that in finding one, -you shall find the three. To be happy, we must be virtuous; and when we -are virtuous, we are wise. Let us then begin: and first, let us for -awhile hush our passions into slumber, forget our prejudices, and cast -away our vanity and our pride. Thus patient and modest, let us come to -the feet of Philosophy; let us say to her, ‘Behold us, scholars and -children, gifted by nature with faculties, affections, and -passions.—Teach us their use, and their guidance. Show us how to turn -them to account—how best to make them conduce to our ease, and minister -to our enjoyment.’ - -“‘Sons of earth,’ says the Deity, ‘you have spoken wisely; you feel that -you are gifted by nature with faculties, affections, and passions; and -you perceive that on the right exertion and direction of these depends -your well-being. It does so. Your affections both of soul and body may -be shortly reduced to two, pleasure and pain; the one troublesome, and -the other agreeable. It is natural and befitting, therefore, that you -shun pain, and desire and follow after pleasure. Set forth then on the -pursuit; but ere you start, be sure that it is in the right road, and -that you have your eye on the true object. Perfect pleasure, which is -happiness, you will have attained when you have brought your bodies and -souls into a state of satisfied tranquillity. To arrive at this, much -previous exertion is requisite; yet exertion, not violent, only constant -and even. And first, the body, with its passions and appetites, demands -gratification and indulgence. But beware! for here are the hidden rocks -which may shipwreck your bark on its passage, and shut you out forever -from the haven of repose. Provide yourselves then with a skilled pilot, -who may steer you through the Scylla and Charybdis of your carnal -affections, and point the steady helm through the deep waters of your -passions. Behold her! It is Prudence, the mother of the virtues, and the -handmaid of wisdom. Ask, and she will tell you, that gratification will -give new edge to the hunger of your appetites, and that the storm of the -passions shall kindle with indulgence. Ask, and she will tell you, that -sensual pleasure is pain covered with the mask of happiness. Behold, she -strips it from her face, and reveals the features of disease, -disquietude, and remorse. Ask, and she will tell you, that happiness is -not found in tumult, but tranquillity; and that, not the tranquillity of -indolence and inaction, but of a healthy contentment of soul and body. -Ask, and she will tell you, that a _happy life is like neither to a -roaring torrent, nor a stagnant pool, but to a placid and crystal -stream, that flows gently and silently along_. And now, Prudence shall -bring to you the lovely train of the virtues. Temperance, throwing a -bridle on your desires, shall gradually subdue and annihilate those -whose present indulgence would only bring future evil; and others more -necessary and more innocent, she shall yet bring down to such becoming -moderation, as shall prevent all disquiet to the soul, and injury to the -body. Fortitude shall strengthen you to bear those diseases which even -temperance may not be efficient to prevent; those afflictions which fate -may level at you; those persecutions which the folly or malice of man -may invent. It shall fit you to bear all things, to conquer fear, and to -meet death. Justice shall give you security among your fellows, and -satisfaction in your own breasts. Generosity shall endear you to others, -and sweeten your own nature to yourselves. Gentleness shall take the -sting from the malice of your enemies, and make you extract double sweet -from the kindness of friends. Gratitude shall lighten the burden of -obligation, or render it even pleasant to bear. Friendship shall put the -crown on your security and your joy. With these, and yet more virtues, -shall prudence surround you. And, thus attended, hold on your course in -confidence, and moor your barks in the haven of repose.’ - -“Thus says Philosophy, my sons, and says she not wisely? Tell us, ye who -have tried the slippery paths of licentiousness, who have given the rein -to your passions, and sought pleasure in the lap of voluptuousness; tell -us, did ye find her there? No, ye did not, or ye would not now inquire -of her from Epicurus. Come, then, Philosophy hath shown ye the way. -Throw off your old habits, wash impurity from your hearts; take up the -bridle of your passions; govern your minds, and be happy. And ye, my -sons, to whom all things are yet new; whose passions, yet in the bud, -have never led you to pain and regret; ye who have yet to begin your -career, come ye, also! Philosophy hath shown ye the way. Keep your -hearts innocent, hold the bridle of your passions, govern your minds, -and be happy. But, my sons, methinks I hear you say, ‘You have shown us -the virtues rather as modifiers and correctors of evil, than as the -givers of actual and perfect good. Happiness, you tell us, consists in -ease of body and mind; yet temperance cannot secure the former from -disease, nor can all the virtues united ward affliction from the -latter.’ True, my children, Philosophy cannot change the laws of nature; -but she may teach us to accommodate to them. She cannot annul pain; but -she can arm us to bear it. And though the evils of fate be many, are not -the evils of man’s coming more? Nature afflicts us with disease; but for -once that it is the infliction of nature, ninety-nine times it is the -consequence of our own folly. Nature levels us with death; but how mild -is the death of nature, with Philosophy to spread the pillow, and -friendship to take the last sigh, to the protracted agonies of -debauchery, subduing the body by inches, while Philosophy is not there -to give strength, nor friendship consolation, but while the flames of -fever are heated by impatience, and the stings of pain envenomed by -remorse! And tell me, my sons, when the body of the sage is stretched on -the couch of pain, hath he not his mind to minister delight to him? Hath -he not conscience whispering that his present evil is not chargeable to -his own past folly, but to the laws of nature, which no effort or -foresight of his could have prevented? Hath he not memory to bring to -him past pleasures, the pleasures of a well-spent life, on which he may -feed even while pain racks his members, and fever consumes his vitals? -Or, what if agony overpower his frame, and cripple his faculties, is -there not death at hand to reach him deliverance? Here, then, is death, -that giant of terror, acting as a friend. But does he interrupt our -enjoyments as well as our sufferings? And is it for this we fear him? -Ought we not rather to rejoice, seeing that the day of life has its -bright and its clouded hours, that we are laid to sleep while the sun of -joy yet shines, before the storm of fate has broken our tranquillity, or -the evening of age bedimmed our prospect? Death, then, is never our foe. -When not a friend, he cannot be worse than indifferent. _For while we -are, death is not; and while death is, we are not._ To the wise, then, -death is nothing. Examine the ills of life, are they not of our own -creation, or take they not their darkest hues from our passions or our -ignorance? What is poverty, if we have temperance, and can be satisfied -with a crust, and a draught from the spring?—if we have modesty, and can -wear a woollen garment as gladly as a Tyrian robe? What is slander, if -we have no vanity that it can wound, and no anger that it can kindle? -What is neglect, if we have no ambition that it can disappoint, and no -pride that it can mortify? What is persecution, if we have our own -bosoms in which to retire, and a spot of earth to sit down and rest -upon? What is death, when without superstition to clothe him with -terrors, we can cover our heads, and go to sleep in his arms? What a -list of human calamities are here expunged—Poverty, slander, neglect, -disappointment, persecution, death! What yet remains? Disease? That, -too, we have shown temperance can often shun, and Philosophy can always -alleviate. But there is yet a pain, which the wisest and the best of men -cannot escape; that all of us, my sons, have felt, or have to feel. Do -not your hearts whisper it? Do you not tell me, that in death there is -yet a sting? That ere he aim at us, he may level the beloved of our -soul? The father, whose tender care hath reared our infant minds—the -brother, whom the same breast hath nourished, and the same roof -sheltered, with whom, side by side, we have grown like two plants by a -river, sucking life from the same fountain and strength from the same -sun—the child whose gay prattle delights our ears, or whose opening -understanding fixes our hopes; the friend of our choice, with whom we -have exchanged hearts, and shared all our pains and pleasures, whose eye -hath reflected the tear of sympathy, whose hand hath smoothed the couch -of sickness. Ah! my sons, here is indeed a pain, a pain that cuts into -the soul. There are masters who will tell you otherwise, who will tell -you that it is unworthy of a man to mourn even here. But such, my sons, -speak not the truth of experience, or Philosophy, but the subtleties of -sophistry and pride. He who feels not the loss, hath never felt the -possession. He who knows not the grief, hath never known the joy. See -the price of a friend in the duties we render him, and the sacrifices we -make to him, and which, in making, we count not sacrifices, but -pleasures! We sorrow for his sorrow; we supply his wants, or if we -cannot, we share them. We follow him to exile. We close ourselves in his -prison; we soothe him in sickness; we strengthen him in death: nay, if -it be possible, we throw down our life for his. Oh! what a treasure is -that for which we do so much! And is it forbidden us to mourn its loss? -If it be, the power is not with us to obey. Should we, then, to avoid -the evil, forego the good? Shall we shut love from our hearts, that we -may not feel the pain of his departure? No; happiness forbids it. -Experience forbids it. Let him who hath laid on the pyre the dearest of -his soul, who hath washed the urn with the bitterest tears of grief—let -him say if his heart hath ever formed the wish that it had never shrined -within it whom he now deplores. Let him say if the pleasures of the -sweet communion of his former days doth not still live in his -remembrance. If he love not to recall the image of the departed, the -tones of his voice, the words of his discourse, the deeds of his -kindness, the amiable virtues of his life! If, while he weeps the loss -of his friend, he smiles not to think that he once possessed him. He who -knows not friendship, knows not the purest pleasure of earth. Yet if -fate deprive us of it, though we grieve, we do not sink; Philosophy is -still at hand, and she upholds us with fortitude. And think, my sons, -perhaps in the very evil we dread, there is a good; perhaps the very -uncertainty of the tenure gives it value in our eyes; perhaps all our -pleasures take their zest from the known possibility of their -interruption. What were the glories of the sun, if we knew not the gloom -of darkness? What the refreshing breezes of morning and evening, if we -felt not the fervors of noon? Should we value the lovely flower, if it -bloomed eternally; or the luscious fruit, if it hung always on the -bough? Are not the smiles of the heavens more beautiful in contrast with -their frowns, and the delights of the seasons more grateful from their -vicissitudes? Let us then be slow to blame nature, for perhaps in her -apparent errors there is a hidden wisdom. Let us not quarrel with fate, -for perhaps in our evils lie the seeds of our good. Were our body never -subject to sickness, we might be insensible to the joy of health. Were -our life eternal, our tranquillity might sink into inaction. Were our -friendship not threatened with interruption, it might want much of its -tenderness. This, then, my sons, is our duty, for this is our interest -and our happiness: to seek our pleasures from the hands of the virtues, -and for the pain which may befall us, to submit to it with patience, or -bear up against it with fortitude. _To walk, in short, through life -innocently and tranquilly: and to look on death as its gentle -termination, which it becomes us to meet with ready minds, neither -regretting the past, nor anxious for the future._” - -The Sage had scarcely ceased, when a scholar advanced from the crowd, -and bowing his head with reverence, stooped and touched the knees of his -Master. “Refuse not my homage,” he said, “nor call the expression of it -presumptuous.” Epicurus raised him in his arms, “Colotes, I am more -proud of the homage of thy young mind, than I should be of that of the -assembled crowd of Olympia. May thy master, my son, never lose his power -over it, as I feel that he will never abuse it.” - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - - -The sun had far declined from its meridian, yet no cool breeze tempered -the fervors of the heat. The air was chained in oppressive stillness, -when suddenly a bustling wind shook the trees, and a low growling -reverberated round the horizon. The scholars retired before the -threatening storm; but Theon, his ear still filled with the musical -voice of the sage, and his heart imbued with his gentle precepts, -lingered to feed alone upon the thoughts they had awakened in him. “How -mad is the folly of man!” he said, as he threw his back against a -tree.—“Professing to admire wisdom and love virtue, and yet ever -persecuting and slandering both.—How vain is it to look for credit by -teaching truth, or to seek fame by the road of virtue!” - -“Thy regret is idle, my son,” said a well known voice in his ear. - -“Oh! my guardian spirit!” cried the startled youth—“Is it you?” - -“I linger,” said the Gargettian, “to watch the approach of the storm, -and I suppose you do the same.” - -“No,” returned the youth, “I hardly heeded the heavens.” - -“They are singular, however, at this moment.” Theon looked where the -sage pointed; a dark mass of vapors was piled upon the head of Hymettus, -from which two columns, shooting forth like the branches of some giant -oak, spread themselves over the sky. The opposing sun, fast travelling -to the horizon, looked red through the heated atmosphere, and flashed a -deep glare on their murky sides. Soon half the landscape was blackened -with the sinking clouds, that each moment increasing in bulk and -density, seemed to touch the bosom of the earth. The western half glowed -with a brilliant light, like molten gold. The distant outline was marked -with a pencil of fire, while the gardens and villas that speckled the -plaid, seemed illuminated in jubilee. - -“See,” said the sage, stretching his hand towards the gilded scene, “see -the image of that fame which is not founded in virtue. Thus bright may -it shine for a moment, but the cloud of oblivion or infamy comes fast to -cover its glory.” - -“Is it so?” said Theon. “Do not the vile of the earth fill the tongues -of men, and are not the noble forgotten? Does not the titled murderer -inscribe his name on the tablets of eternity, with the sword which is -dipped in the blood of his fellows?—And does not the man who hath spent -his youth, and manhood, and age, in the courts of wisdom—who has planted -peace at the hearth, and given truth to the rising age, does he not go -down to the grave in silence, his bones unhonored, and his name -forgotten?” - -“Possibly his name; but, if he have planted peace at the hearth, and -given truth to the rising age, surely not his better part—his virtues. -Do not confound noise with fame. The man who is remembered, is not -always honored; and reflect, what a man toils for, that probably will he -win. The titled murderer, who weaves his fate with that of empires, will -with them go down to posterity. The sage, who does his work in the -silence of retirement, unobserved in his own generation, will pass into -the silence of the grave, unknown to the future.” - -“But suppose he be known? How few worshippers crowd to his shrine, and -what millions to that of the other!” - -“And those few, my son, who are they? The wise of the earth, the -enlightened patriot, the discerning philosopher. And who are the -millions? The ignorant, the prejudiced, and the idle. Nor yet, let us so -wrong the reason of our species, as to say, that they always give honor -to the mischievous rather than the useful—gratitude to their oppressors, -rather than their benefactors. In instances they may be blind, but in -the gross they are just. The splendor of action, the daring of -enterprise, or the glitter of majesty, may seize their imagination, and -so drown their judgment, but never is it the tyranny of power, the -wantonness of cruelty, the brutality of vice, which they adore, any more -than it is the innocence and usefulness of virtue, which they despise. -The united experience of mankind has pronounced virtue to be the great -good: nay, so universal is the conviction, that even those who insult -her in their practice, bow to her in their understanding. Man is for the -most part more fool than knave, more weak than depraved in action, more -ignorant than vicious in judgment; and seldom is he so weak and so -ignorant, as not to see his own interest, and value him who promotes it. -But say, that he often slanders the virtuous, and persecutes the wise; -he does it more in error than from depravity. He is credulous, and on -the report of malice, takes virtue for hypocrisy:—he is superstitious, -and some of the truths of wisdom appear to him profane. Say he does -homage to vice;—you will find when he does it, he believes her to be -virtue. Hypocrisy has masked her deformity, or talent decked her with -beauty. Is here, then, subject for wrath? Rather, surely, for -compassion. Is here matter for disgust? Rather, surely, for exertion. -The darker the ignorance, the more praise to the sage who dispels -it;—the deeper the prejudice, more fame to the courage which braves it. -But may the courage be vain? May the sage fall the victim of the -ignorance he combats?—He may; he often has. But ere he engage, knows he -not the risk?—The risk is to himself; the profit to mankind. To a -benevolent soul, the odds is worth the throw; and though it be against -him at the present, he may win it in the future. The sage, whose vision -is cleared from the mists of prejudice, can stretch it over the existing -age, to the kindling horizon of the succeeding, and see, perhaps, unborn -generations weeping the injustice of their fathers, and worshipping -those truths which they condemned. Or is it otherwise? Lives he in the -old age of the world, and does he see the stream of time flowing through -a soil yet more rank with prejudice and evil? Say, then,—were the praise -of such a world a fit object of his ambition, or shall he be jealous of -the fame which ignorance yields to the unworthy? But any way, my son, it -is not the voice of fame that we should seek in the practice of virtue, -but the peace of self-satisfaction. The object of the sage is to make -himself independent of all that he cannot command within himself. Yet, -when I speak of independence, I mean not indifference; while we make -ourselves sufficient for ourselves, we need not forget the crowd about -us. We are not wise in the contempt of others, but in calm approbation -of ourselves.” - -“Still dost thou drop thy head, my son?” said the gentle philosopher, -laying a hand on the shoulder of his young friend. - -“Your words sink deep into my soul,” replied Theon; “yet they have not -chased the melancholy they found there. I have not such a world in -myself as to be independent of that about me, nor can I forgive the -offences of my fellows, merely because they commit them from ignorance. -Nay, is not their very ignorance often a crime, when the voice of truth -is whispering in their ear?” - -“And if they do not hear her whisper in the one ear, it is because -prejudice is crying aloud into the other.” - -“Prejudice! I hate prejudice,” said Theon. - -“And so do I,” said the Master. - -“Yes, but I am provoked with it.” - -“I suspect that will not remove the evil.” - -“Nothing will remove it. It is inherent in men’s nature.” - -“Then as we are men, it may be inherent in ours. Trust me, my son, it is -better to correct ourselves, than to find fault with our neighbors.” - -“But is it not allowed to do both? Can we help seeing the errors of the -world in which we live, and seeing, can we help being angry at them?” - -“Certainly not the seeing them, but I hope, very possibly, the being -angry with them. He that loses temper with the folly of others, shows -that he has folly himself. In which case they have as much right to -complain of his, as he of theirs. And have I not been trying to show -you, that when you are wise you will be independent of all that you -cannot command within yourself? You say you are not so now. I admit it, -but when you are wise you will be so. And _till_ you are wise, you have -surely no title to quarrel with another’s ignorance.” - -“I can never be independent of my friends,” returned Theon. “I must ever -feel the injustice done to them, though I might be regardless of that -which affected merely myself.” - -“Why so? What would enable you to disregard that done to yourself?” - -“Conscious innocence. Pride, if you will. Contempt of the folly and -ignorance of my judges.” - -“Well, and are you less conscious of the innocence of your friend? If -you are, where is your indignation? And if you are not, have you less -pride for him than for yourself? Do you respect that folly and ignorance -in his judges that you despise in your own?” - -“I believe it will not stand argument,” said Theon. “But you must -forgive me if, when I contemplate Epicurus, I feel indignant at the -slander which dares to breathe upon his purity.” - -“And do you think you were yourself an object of indignation, when you -spoke of him as a monster of vice!” - -“Yes, I feel I was.” - -“But he felt otherwise,” said the Master, “and which, think you, is -likely to feel most wisely?” - -“Ah! I hope it is Epicurus,” said the youth, snatching his instructor’s -hand. Their conversation was here interrupted by the bursting of the -storm. The fire flashed round the horizon, the thunder cracked over the -zenith, and the first big drops fell from the burdened clouds. “We are -near the Temple,” said the sage, “let us seek shelter under its portico. -We may watch the storm there, without a wet skin.” They had hardly -gained it, when the rain poured down in torrents. Ilissus, whom the -burning sun had of late faded into a feeble rill, soon filled and -overflowed his bed: wave after wave, in sudden swell, came roaring down, -as if he now first burst to life from the womb of his parent mountain. -But the violence of the storm soon spent its strength. Already the -thunder broke with longer intervals, and a faint light, like the opening -of morning, gleamed over the western heavens. At length the sun cleared -his barrier of clouds. He stood on the verge of the waves, and shot his -level rays over the blazing Salamis and the glistening earth. The sage -stood with his young friend in silent admiration, when the eye of the -latter was attracted by a horseman, who came full gallop over the plain, -directly towards them. The object of his attention had nearly reached -the river, when he perceived the rider to be a female. The swift feet of -the steed now touched the opposite brink. “Great Jove! she will not -attempt the passage!” exclaimed the youth, as he sprung towards the -river. “Stop! stop!” he cried. She checked the rein, but too late. The -animal, accustomed to the passage, and blinded by speed, plunged into -the flood. Theon tore his robe from his shoulders, and was about to make -the plunge on his side, when he was grasped by Epicurus. - -“Be not rash. The horse is strong, and the rider skilful.” The voice -that uttered these words was calm and distinct, but its wonted music was -changed into the deep tone of suppressed horror. Even at that moment, -the accent struck Theon’s ear. - -“Do you know her? Is she your friend? Is she dear to you? If so—,” he -made another effort to throw himself forward, but was still restrained -by Epicurus. He looked into the philosopher’s face. There was no motion -in it, save a quivering round the mouth, while the eyes were fixed in -aching gaze on the struggling animal. He breasted the water midway, when -seemingly frightened at the rapidity of the current, he tried to turn. -The rider saw the danger, she curbed the rein, she tried with voice and -effort to urge him to the conflict. Theon looked again at the sage. He -saw he had loosened his mantle, and was prepared to try the flood. “I -conjure you, by the gods!” said the youth, “what is my life to yours?” -He grasped the sage in his turn. “Let me save her! I will save her—I -swear it!” They both struggled a moment for the leap. “I swear,” -continued Theon, with furious energy, “that if you go, I will follow.” -He made another effort, and dashed from the hold of Epicurus into the -river. Naturally strong, he was doubly so at this moment. He felt not -fear, he saw not danger. In a moment he was in the centre of the -current—another stroke, and he had seized the mane of the steed. But the -terrified animal even then gave way to the stream. The rider still -struggled for her seat. But her strength fast failed, she stretched out -her hand with a feeble cry of despair. Theon shot forward yet swifter -than the tide; he drove with a shock against the horse, and caught with -one arm the expiring girl. Then, half yielding to the current, he parted -with the other the roaring waters, and with effort almost superhuman -grappled with their fury. Panting, choking, bewildered, yet never -relaxing, he reached, but he knew not how, the land. When he recovered -recollection he found himself lying on a couch, in the arms of Epicurus. -“Where am I,” he said, “and where is the lovely girl?” - -“Safe, safe, as her generous deliverer. Oh! my son! now indeed my son, -when I owe to thee my Hedeia.” - -“Was it your adopted child, then?” cried the youth, with a shout of -delirious joy, as he threw himself on the breast of the sage. “But tell -me,” he said, rising and looking round on Metrodorus, who, with two -other scholars, stood beside the couch, “how came I here?” - -“I believe,” said Metrodorus, “the Master swam to your aid—at least, we -found him lifting you and Hedeia from the water.” - -“I watched your strength, my son, and reserved mine till it should fail; -when I observed it to do so, I came to your assistance. Now, compose -yourself awhile, and I will go and put myself into a dry tunic.” - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - - -Theon, rising recruited from the warm bath, and his limbs being well -rubbed with ointments, joined the party at supper in health and spirits. -It consisted of the Master, Leontium, Metrodorus, and two other -scholars, whose persons were new to him. There was something in the -gentle manners of one, not unmixed with a little awkwardness, the grave -repose of his features, the abstract thought that lined his forehead, -and fixed his mild eye, that led him to guess it was Polyœnus. The -other, whose gait had the dignity of manhood, and the polish of art; -whose face, without being handsome, had that beauty which refined -sentiment and a well stored mind always throw more or less into the -features; whose whole appearance showed at once the fine scholar and the -amiable man, fixed instantly Theon’s attention and curiosity. All -received the youth with congratulations, and Metrodorus, as he held him -in his embrace, jokingly upbraided him as a greedy and barbarous -invader, who was carrying off, in his single person, the whole love and -honor of the Garden. “But yet,” he added, “have a care; for I doubt you -have secured the envy also.” - -“I believe it,” said Theon. “At least I know I should envy you, or any -of your fraternity, who had risked his life, aye, or lost it, in the -service of your Master, or any your Master loved.” - -“Well said, my dear youth,” said the stranger, taking his hand; “and -when you have seen more of the nymph you so gallantly rescued, you will -perhaps think the man a no less object of envy, who should risk his life -for her, or any she loved.” - -They moved to the table, when Leontium whispered Theon, “Hermachus of -Mytelene, the bosom friend of Epicurus.” - -“I thank you,” replied Theon, “you have well read my curiosity.” - -The party were about to place themselves, when a sound in the passage -turned all eyes to the door. “Yes, nurse, you may just peaceably let me -take my own way. Go, go, I am quite well, quite warm, and quite active. -I tell you, you have rubbed my skin off—would you rub away my flesh -too?” And in came, with the light foot of a nymph of Dian, the young -Hedeia. A white garment, carelessly adjusted, fell, with inimitable -grace, over her airy form; in equal negligence, her long hair, still -moist from the recent waves, and dishevelled by the anxious rubbing of -her careful attendant, hung down her shoulders to her zone. Her face, -though pale from late alarm and fatigue, beaming with life and joy. Her -full dark eyes sparkling with intelligence, and her lips, though their -coral was slightly faded, lovely with smiles. In one hand she held a -goblet, in the other a chaplet of myrtle. “Which is my hero?” she asked, -in a voice more sweet than the evening zephyr, as she looked round the -board. “Am I right?” approaching Theon. The youth, as he gazed on the -lovely face, forgot to answer. “Nay, is it a statue?” leaning forward, -and gazing in her turn, as if in curious inspection. - -“No, a slave,” said Theon, half smiling, half blushing, as he stooped -his knee, while she placed the garland on his head. - -“I come to pledge you,” she said, putting the cup to her lips, “and to -bid you pledge me,” presenting it with bewitching grace to the youth. He -took it in speechless ecstasy from her taper fingers, and turning that -side to his mouth which had received the touch of her’s, quaffed off at -once the draught of wine and love. - -“Beware,” said a voice in his ear; “it is the cup of Circe.” He turned, -Polyœnus stood behind him; but when he saw his motionless features, he -could hardly believe the whisper had been uttered by him. - -“I know,” continued the fair one, pointing to the table, “there is but -cold beverage here for a drowned man. My wise father may know to give -comfort to the mind, but come to my good nurse, when you want the -comfort of the body. She is the most skilful compounder of elixirs, -philters, and every palatable medicine that you might haply find in all -Greece, all Asia, aye, or all the earth. And now make way,” putting back -the surrounding company, and leading Theon by the arm to the upper end -of the table. “Behold the king of the feast.” - -“That is, if you are the queen,” said the intoxicated youth. - -“Oh! certainly,” placing herself by his side, “I never refuse -consequence, whenever I can get it.” - -“Wherever you can take it, you mean,” said the Master laughing. - -“And is not that every where?” said Hermachus, bowing to the fair girl. - -“Yes, I believe it is. A pretty face, my friends, may presume much; a -willful nature may carry all things. I have both to perfection; have I -not?” - -“Praise to Venus, and the Graces!” said Leontium; “our sister has -brought a heart as gay from the college of Pythagoras, as she took into -it.” - -“To be sure; and did you expect otherwise? Psha! you philosophers know -nothing of human nature. I could have told you before this last -experiment, that humor lies in contrast, and that a wag will find more -subject in a synod of grave sages than a crew of laughing wits. You must -know,” turning to Theon, “I have been on a visit to a wise man, a _very_ -wise man, who has followed from his youth up the whim, and all very wise -men have whims, of restoring the neglected school of Pythagoras to its -pristine greatness. Accordingly, he has collected and brought up some -dozen submissive youths to his full satisfaction; for not one of them -dare know his right hand from his left, but on his master’s authority, -doubly backed by that of the great founder. They have, in short, no -purse of their own, no time of their own, no tongue of their own, no -will of their own, and no thought of their own. You cannot conceive a -more perfect community. One more virtuously insipid, more scientifically -absurd, or more wisely ignorant.” - -“Fie, fie, you giddy jade,” said the Master, smiling, while he tried to -frown. - -“Giddy, not at all. I am delivering grave matter of fact story.” - -“And we are all ear,” said Hermachus, “so pray let us have the whole of -it.” - -“The whole? nay, you have it already. An abode of the blessed; a house -with twelve bodies in it, and one brain to serve them all.” - -“Why,” replied Hermachus, “I believe you have at home some hundred -bodies in the same predicament.” - -“To be sure; and so I told the sage Pythagorean, when he looked so -complacently on his twelve pieces of mechanism, and assured him that -were it not for me, there would not be a single original in the Garden -save the Master. I assure you, father, I gave just as matter of fact a -description of your household, as I now do of the old Pythagorean’s. -And, a most singular coincidence, I remember he cried, ‘Fie, fie,’ just -as you did now. Once more, it was a most perfect household; with the -men, all peace, method, virtue, learning, and absurdity: with the women, -all silence, order, ignorance, modesty, and stupidity.” - -“And pray, sister,” said Metrodorus, “what made you leave a society that -afforded such food to your satire?” - -“Because, brother, the richest food cloys the fastest. I passed three -days to my perfect satisfaction; a fourth would have killed me.” - -“And your friends, too,” said the philosopher, shaking his head. - -“Killed them? They never knew they had life, till I found it out for -them. No, no, I left sore hearts behind me. The Master indeed,—ah! the -Master!—Poor man, shall I confess it? Before I left the house, he caught -one of his pupils looking into a mirror with a candle, heard that -another had stirred the fire with a sword, and oh! more dreadful than -all, that a third had swallowed a bean.[3] If I could have staid three -days longer, I might have wound my girdle round the necks of the whole -dozen, brought them on my back, and laid them at the feet of Epicurus.” - -Footnote 3: - - Alluding to the whimsical superstitions of Pythagoras, or, perhaps it - were more just to say, of his followers. - -“And what said the Master all this time?” said Leontium. - -“Said he? what said he? umph! I never heard what he said, for I was -reading what he felt.” - -“And what felt he?” asked Hermachus. - -“Just what _you_ have felt—and you too,” looking at Polyœnus. “Aye, and -you also, very sage philosopher;” and turning short round to Theon, -“what you have to feel, if you have to feel, if you have not yet -felt—that I was vastly witty, vastly amusing, and vastly beautiful.” - -“And do you think,” said the Gargettian, “when we feel all this, we -can’t be angry with you?” - -“Nay, what do _you_ think? But no, no, I know you all better than you -know yourselves. And I think you _cannot_, or if you _can_, ’tis as the -poet, who curses the muse he burns to propitiate. Oh! philosophy! -philosophy! thou usest hard maxims and showest a grave face, yet thy -maxims are but words, and thy face but a mask. A skilful histrion, who, -when the buskin is off, paint, plaster, and garment thrown aside, stands -no higher, no fairer, and no more mighty, than the youngest, poorest, -and simplest of thy gaping worshippers. Ah! friends! laugh and frown; -but show me the man, the wisest, the gravest, or the sourest, that a -bright pair of eyes can’t make a fool of.” - -“Ah! you proud girl,” said Hermachus, “tremble! remember the blue-eyed -Sappho died at last for a Phaon.” - -“Well, if such be my fate, I must submit. I do not deny, because I have -been wise hitherto, that I may not turn fool with the philosophers, -before I die.” - -“What an excellent school for the rearing of youth,” said the Master, -“the old Pythagorean must think mine.” - -“Judging from me as a specimen, you mean. And trust me now, father, I am -the best. Do I not practise what you preach? What you show the way to, -do I not possess? Look at my light foot, look in my laughing eye, read -my gay heart, and tell—if pleasure be not mine. Confess then, that I -take a shorter cut to the goal than your wiser scholars, aye, than your -wisest self. You study, you lecture, you argue, you exhort. And what is -it all for? as if you could not be good without so much learning, and -happy without so much talking. Here am I—I think I am very good, and I -am quite sure I am very happy; yet I never wrote a treatise in my life, -and can hardly listen to one without a yawn.” - -“Theon,” said Epicurus, smiling, “you see now the priestess of our -midnight orgies.” - -“Ah! poor youth, you must have found the Garden but a dull place in my -absence. But have patience, it will be better in future.” - -“More dangerous,” said Polyœnus. - -“Never mind him,” whispered Hedeia, in the Corinthian’s ear,—“he is not -the grave man that a bright pair of eyes cannot make a fool of. This is -very odd,” she continued, looking round the board. “Here am I, the -stranger, and one too half drowned, charged with the entertaining of -this whole learned society.” - -“Nay, my girl,” said the Master, “thou hadst need to be whole drowned, -ere your friends might secure the happiness of being listened to.” - -“Indeed, I believe it’s true; and considering that the greatest pleasure -of life is the being listened to, I wonder how any one was found to pick -me out of the water. The Corinthian, to be sure, did not know what he -saved; but that the Master should wet his tunic in my service, is a very -unaccountable circumstance. Is there any reason for it in philosophy?” - -“I am afraid none.” - -“Or in mathematics?” turning to Polyœnus. “Now, just see there a proof -of my argument. Can any man look more like wisdom, or less like -happiness? This comes of diagrams and ethics. My young Corinthian, take -warning.” - -“I wish we could fix you to a diagram,” said Leontium. - -“The Graces forfend! and why should you wish it? Think you it would make -me wiser? Let Polyœnus be judge, if I am not wiser than he. I admire the -different prescriptions that are given by different doctors. The wife of -the good Pythagorean recommended me a distaff.” - -“Well,” said Hermachus, “that might do equally.” - -“Pray, why don’t you take one yourself?” - -“I, you see, am busy with philosophy.” - -“And so am I, with laughing at it. Ah! my sage brother, every man thinks -_that_ perfection, that he is himself—_that_ the only knowledge that he -possesses—and _that_ the only pleasure that he pursues. Trust me, there -are as many ways of living as there are men, and one is no more fit to -lead another, than a bird to lead a fish, or a fish a quadruped.” - -“You would make a strange world, were you the queen of it,” said -Hermachus, laughing. - -“Just as strange, and no stranger than it is at present. For why? I -should take it as I found it, and leave it as I found it. ’Tis you -philosophers, who would rub and twist, and plague and doctor it, and -fret your souls out, to bring all its heterogeneous parts, fools, wits, -knaves, simpletons, grave, gay, light, heavy, long faced and short -faced, black, white, brown, straight and crooked, tall, short, thin and -fat, to fit together, and patient reflect each other, like the acorns of -an oak, or the modest wives and helpless daughters of the good citizens -of Athens; ’tis you, I say, who would make a strange world, were you -kings of it—you would shorten and lengthen, clip, pull, and carve men’s -minds to fit your systems, as the tyrant did men’s bodies to fit his -bed.” - -“I grant there’s some truth, my girl, in thy nonsense,” said the Master. - -“And I grant that there is not a philosopher in Athens, who would have -granted as much, save thyself. You will find, my young hero,” turning to -Theon, “that my father philosophises more sense, that is, less -absurdity, than any man since the seven sages, nay! even than the seven -sages philosophized themselves. He only lacks to be a perfectly wise -man——” - -“To burn,” said the Master, “his books of philosophy, and to sing a tune -to thy lyre.” - -“No, it shall do to let me sing a tune to it myself.” She bounded from -the couch and the room, and returned in a moment, with the instrument in -her hand. “Fear not,” she said, nodding to the sage, as she lightly -swept the chords, “I shall not woo my own lover, but your mistress.” - - “Come, Goddess! come! not in thy power, - With gait and garb austere, - And threatening brow severe, - Like stern Olympus in the judgment hour; - But come with looks and heart assuring, - Come with smiling eyes alluring, - Moving soft to Lydian measures, - Girt with graces, loves, and pleasures, - Bound with Basilea’s zone. - Come, Virtue! come! in joyous tone - We bid thee welcome to our hearth, - For well we know, that thou alone - Canst give the purest bliss of earth.” - -“No thanks, no thanks. I shall take my own reward,” and stealing behind -Epicurus, she threw her white arms round his neck, and laid her cheek on -his lips. Then rising, “Good dreams be with you!” and waving round her -hand, and throwing a smile on Theon, vanished in an instant. The youth -saw and heard no more, but sat as in a dream, until the party divided. - -“Have a care,” whispered the Master, as he followed him into the -vestibule. “Cupid is a knavish god, he can pierce the hearts of others, -and hold a shield before his own.” - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - - -Night’s refreshing airs fanned the cheeks of Theon, and rustled the -myrtle on his brow; but the subtle fever of love which swept through his -veins, and throbbed in his heart and temples, was beyond their cooling -influence. The noisy business of life had now given place in the streets -to noisy merriment. The song and the dance sounded from the open -portals; and the young votaries of Bacchus, in all the frenzy of the -god, rushed from the evening banquet, to the haunts of midnight excess, -while the trembling lover glided past to the stolen interview, shrinking -even from the light of Day’s pale sister. Theon turned abruptly from the -crowd, and sought instinctively a public walk, at this hour always -private, where he had often mused on the mysteries of philosophy, and -taxed his immature judgment to hold the balance between the doctrines of -her contending schools. No thoughts so deep and high now filled his -youthful fancy. He wandered on, his senses steeped in delirium not less -potent than that of wine, until his steps were suddenly arrested by a -somewhat rude encounter with a human figure, advancing with a pace more -deliberate than his own. He started backwards and his eyes met those of -Cleanthes. The stoic paused a moment, then moved to pass on. But Theon, -however little he might have desired such a companion at such a moment, -hailed him by name, and placed himself at his side. Again Cleanthes -gazed on him in silence; when Theon, following the direction of his -glance, raised a hand to his temples, and removed, with a conscious -blush, the offending garland. He held it for a moment; then, placing it -in his bosom—“You misjudge this innocent token;—a pledge of -acknowledgment for a life redeemed from the waves.” - -“Would that I might receive a pledge of the redemption of thy virtue, -Theon, from the flood of destruction! For thy sake I have opened the -volumes of this smooth deceiver. And shall a few fair words and a fairer -countenance shield such doctrines from opprobrium? Shall he who robs -virtue of her sublimity, the Gods of their power, man of his -immortality, and creation of its providence, pass for a teacher of -truth, and expounder of the laws of nature? Where is thy reason, Theon? -where thy moral sense? to see, in doctrines such as these, aught but -impiety and crime, or to imagine, that he, who advocates them, can merit -aught but the scorn of the wise, and the opprobrium of the good?” - -“I know not such to be the doctrines of Epicurus,” said the youth, “and -you will excuse my farther reply, until I shall have examined the -philosophy you so bitterly, and apparently so justly condemn.” - -“The philosophy? honor it not with the name.” - -“Nay,” returned Theon with a smile, “there are so many absurdities -honored with that appellative, in Athens, that the compliment might pass -unchallenged, although applied to one less worthy than, in my eyes, -appears the sage of Gargettium. But,” preventing the angry interruption -of the stoic, “my slowness to judge and to censure offends your -enthusiasm. The experience of three days has taught me this caution. My -acquaintance, as yet, is rather with the philosopher than the -philosophy; my prejudices at first were equally strong against both. -Having discovered my error with respect to one, ought I not to read, -listen, and examine, before I condemn the other? And, the rather, as all -that I have heard in the garden has hitherto convinced my reason, and -awakened my admiration and love.” - -“Permit me the question,” said Cleanthes, stopping short, and fixing his -piercing glance on the countenance of his companion—“Honor ye the Gods, -and believe ye in a creating cause, and a superintending Providence?” - -“Surely I do,” said Theon. - -“How, then, venerate ye the man who proclaims his doubt of both?” - -“So, in my hearing, has never the son of Neocles.” - -“But he has and does in the hearing of the world.” - -“I have so heard, and ranked it among the libels of his enemies.” - -“He has so written, and the fact is acknowledged by his friends.” - -“I will read his works,” said Theon, “and question the writer. A mind -more candid, whatever be its errors, exists not, I am persuaded, than -that of Epicurus; I should have said also, a mind more free of errors. -But he has taught me to think no mind, however wise, infallible.” - -“Call ye such doctrines, errors? I should rather term them crimes.” - -“I object not to the word,” said Theon. “I will examine into this. The -Gods have ye in their keeping! Good night.” They entered the city, and -the friends divided. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - - -Uneasy thoughts bred unquiet slumbers; and Theon rose from a restless -couch, before the first blush of Aurora tinged the forehead of the sky. -He trod the paths of the garden, and waited with impatience, for the -first time not unmixed with apprehension, the appearance of the Master. -The assertions of Cleanthes were corroborated by the testimony of the -public; but that testimony he had learned to despise. They were made -after perusal of Epicurus’s writings; with these writings he was still -unacquainted. Had they been misinterpreted? Cleanthes was no Timocrates. -If prejudiced, he was incapable of wilful misrepresentation; and he was -too familiar with the science of philosophy, so grossly to misunderstand -a reasoner, as lucid as appeared to be Epicurus. These musings were soon -interrupted. The morning star still glowed in the kindling east, when he -heard approaching footsteps, and turning from the shades upon a small -open lawn where a crystal fountain flowed from the inverted urn of a -recumbent naiad, he was greeted by the Sage. - -“Oh! no,” exclaimed Theon, half audibly, as he gazed on the serene -countenance before him, “this man is not an atheist.” - -“What thoughts are with you, my son, this morning?” said the -philosopher, with kind solicitude. “I doubt your plunge in Ilyssus -disturbed your dreams. Did the image of a fair nymph, or of a river god -flit round your couch, and drive sleep from your eyelids?” - -“I was in some danger from the first,” said the youth, half smiling, -half blushing, “until a visitant of a different character, and one, I -imagine, more wont to soothe than to disturb the mind, brought to my -imagination a host of doubts and fears, which your presence alone has -dispelled.” - -“And who played the part of your incubus?” demanded the Sage. - -“Even yourself, most benign and indulgent of men.” - -“Truly, I grieve to have acted so ill by thee, my son. It shall be well, -however, if having inflicted the disease, I may be its physician.” - -“On leaving you last night,” said Theon, “I encountered Cleanthes. He -came from the perusal of your writings, and brought charges against them -which I was unprepared to answer.” - -“Let us hear them, my son; perhaps, until you shall have perused them -yourself, we may assist your difficulty.” - -“First, that they deny the existence of the Gods.” - -“I see but one other assertion, that could equal that in folly,” said -Epicurus. - -“I knew it!” exclaimed Theon, triumphantly; “I knew it was impossible. -But where will not prejudice lead men, when even the upright Cleanthes -is capable of slander?” - -“He is utterly incapable of it,” said the Master; “and the inaccuracy, -in this case, I rather suspect to rest with you than with him. To _deny_ -the existence of the Gods would indeed be presumption in a philosopher; -a presumption equalled only by that of him who should _assert_ their -existence.” - -“How!” exclaimed the youth, with a countenance in which astonishment -seemed to suspend every other expression. - -“As I never saw the Gods, my son,” calmly continued the Sage, “I cannot -_assert_ their existence; and, that I never saw them, is no reason for -my _denying_ it.” - -“But do we believe nothing except that of which we have ocular -demonstration?” - -“Nothing, at least, for which we have not the evidence of one or more of -our senses; that is, when we believe on just grounds, which, I grant, -taking men collectively, is very seldom.” - -“But where would this spirit lead us? To impiety!—to Atheism!—to all, -against which I felt confidence in defending the character and -philosophy of Epicurus!” - -“We will examine presently, my son, into the meaning of the terms you -have employed. But as respects your defence of my philosophy, I am sorry -that you presumed so much, where you knew so little. Let this serve for -another caution against pronouncing before you examine, and asserting -before you enquire. It is my usual custom,” continued the Master, “with -the youth who frequent my School, to defer the discussion of all -important questions, until they are naturally, in the course of events, -suggested to their own minds. Their curiosity once excited, it is my -endeavor, so far as in me lies, to satisfy it. When you first entered -the Garden, your mind was unfit for the examination of the subject you -have now started: it is no longer so; and we will therefore enter upon -the enquiry, and pursue it in order.” - -“Forgive me if I express—if I acknowledge,” said the youth, slightly -recoiling from his instructor, “some reluctance to enter on the -discussion of truths, whose very discussion would seem to argue a -doubt,—and—” - -“And what then?” - -“That very doubt were a crime.” - -“It is there that I wished to lead you; and with the examination of this -point we shall rest, until time and circumstances lead you to push the -investigation farther. I have in me little of the spirit of proselytism. -A mere abstract opinion, supposing it not to affect the conduct or -disposition of him who holds it, would be in my eyes of very minor -importance. And it is only in so far as I believe that all our opinions, -however apparently removed from any practical consequences, do always -more or less affect one or the other—our conduct or our -dispositions—that I am at the pains to correct in my scholars, those -which appear to me erroneous. I understand you to say, that to enter -upon the discussion of certain opinions, which you consider as sacred -truths, would appear to argue a doubt of those truths, and that a doubt -would here constitute a crime. Now as I think such a belief inconsistent -with candor and charity—two feelings, indispensable both for the -enjoyment of happiness ourselves, and for its distribution to others, I -shall challenge its investigation. If the doubt of any truth shall -constitute a crime, then the belief of the same truth should constitute -a virtue.” - -“Perhaps a duty would rather express it.” - -“When you charge the neglect of any duty as a crime, or account its -fulfilment a virtue, you suppose the existence of a power to neglect or -fulfil; and it is the exercise of this power, in the one way or the -other, which constitutes the merit or demerit. Is it not so?” - -“Certainly.” - -“Does the human mind possess the power to believe or disbelieve, at -pleasure, any truths whatsoever?” - -“I am not prepared to answer: but I think it does, since it possesses -always the power of investigation.” - -“But, possibly, not the will to exercise the power. Take care lest I -beat you with your own weapons. I thought this very investigation -appeared to you a crime.” - -“Your logic is too subtle,” said the youth, “for my inexperience.” - -“Say rather, my reasoning too close. Did I bear you down with sounding -words and weighty authorities, and confound your understanding with -hair-drawn distinctions, you would be right to retreat from the -battery.” - -“I have nothing to object to the fairness of your deductions,” said -Theon. “But would not the doctrine be dangerous that should establish -our inability to help our belief; and might we not stretch the -principle, until we asserted our inability to help our actions?” - -“We might and with reason. But we will not now traverse the ethical -_pons asinorum_ of necessity—the most simple and evident of moral -truths, and the most darkened, tortured, and belabored by moral -teachers. You enquire if the doctrine we have essayed to establish, be -not dangerous. I reply—not, if it be true. Nothing is so dangerous as -error,—nothing so safe as truth. A dangerous truth would be a -contradiction in terms, an anomaly in things.” - -“But what is a truth?” said Theon. - -“It is pertinently asked. A truth I consider to be an ascertained fact; -which truth would be changed into an error, the moment the fact, on -which it rested, was disproved.” - -“I see, then, no fixed basis for truth.” - -“It surely has the most fixed of all—the nature of things. And it is -only an imperfect insight into that nature, which occasions all our -erroneous conclusions, whether in physics or morals.” - -“But where, if we discard the gods, and their will, as engraven on our -hearts, are our guides in the search after truth?” - -“Our senses, and our faculties as developed in and by the exercise of -our senses, are the only guides with which I am acquainted. And I do not -see why, even admitting a belief in the gods, and in a superintending -providence, the senses should not be viewed as the guides, provided by -them, for our direction and instruction. But here is the evil attendant -on an ungrounded belief, whatever be its nature. The moment we take one -thing for granted we take other things for granted: we are started in a -wrong road, and it is seldom we can gain the right one, until we have -trodden back our steps to the starting place. I know of but one thing, -that a philosopher should take for granted; and that only because he is -forced to do it by an irresistible impulse of his nature; and because, -without doing so, neither truth nor falsehood could exist for him. He -must take for granted the evidence of his senses; in other words, he -must believe in the existence of things, as they exist to his senses. I -_know_ of no other existence, and can therefore _believe_ in no other; -although, reasoning from analogy, I may _imagine_ other existences to -be. This, for instance, I do as respects the gods. I see around me in -the world I inhabit an infinite variety in the arrangement of matter;—a -multitude of sentient beings, possessing different kinds, and varying -grades of power and intelligence,—from the worm that crawls in the dust, -to the eagle that soars to the sun, and man who marks to the sun its -course. It is possible, it is moreover probable, that, in the worlds -which I see not,—in the boundless infinitude and eternal duration of -matter, beings may exist, of every countless variety, and varying grades -of intelligence, inferior and superior to our own, until we descend to a -minimum, and rise to a maximum, to which the range of our observation -affords no parallel, and of which our senses are inadequate to the -conception. Thus far, my young friend, I believe in the gods, or in what -you will of existences removed from the sphere of my knowledge. That you -should believe, with positiveness, in one unseen existence or another, -appears to me no crime, although it may appear to me unreasonable: and -so, my doubt of the same should appear to you no moral offence, although -you might account it erroneous. I fear to fatigue your attention, and -will, therefore, dismiss, for the present, these abstruse subjects. - -“But we shall both be amply repaid for their discussion, if this truth -remain with you—that an opinion, right or wrong, can never constitute a -moral offence, nor be in itself a moral obligation. It may be mistaken; -it may involve an absurdity, or a contradiction. It is a truth; or it is -an error: it can never be a crime or a virtue.” - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - - -Theon remained transfixed to the same spot of earth on which the Sage -left him. A confused train of thoughts travelled through his brain, -which his reason sought in vain to arrest, or to analyze. At one moment -it seemed as if a ray of light had dawned upon his mind, opening to it a -world of discovery as interesting as it was novel. Then suddenly he -started as from the brink of a precipice, whose depths were concealed in -darkness. “Cleanthes then had justly expounded the doctrines of the -garden.—But did these doctrines involve the delinquency which he had -hitherto supposed? Were they inconsistent with reason, and -irreconcilable with virtue? If so, I shall be able to detect their -fallacy,” said the youth, pursuing his soliloquy aloud. “It were a poor -compliment to the truths I have hitherto worshipped, did I shrink from -their investigation. And yet, to question the power of the Gods! To -question their very existence! To refuse the knee of homage to that -great first cause of all things, that speaks, and breathes, and shines -resplendent throughout all animated nature! To dispute I know not -what—of truths, as self-evident as they are sacred; which speak to our -eyes and our ears; to those very senses whose testimony alone is without -appeal in the garden!” - -“Do you object to the testimony, young Corinthian?” said a voice, which -Theon recognised as that of Metrodorus. - -“You arrive opportunely,” said Theon; “that is, if you will listen to -the questions of my doubting and embarrassed mind.” - -“Say rather, if I can answer them.” - -“I attribute to you the ability,” said Theon, “since I have heard you -quoted as an able expounder of the philosophy of the garden.” - -“In the absence of our Zeno,” said the scholar with a smile, “I -sometimes play the part of his Cleanthes. And though you may find me -less eloquent than my brother of the porch, I will promise equal -fidelity to the text of my original. But here is one, who can expound -the doctrine in the letter and the spirit; and, with such an assistant, -I should not fear to engage all the scholars and all the masters in -Athens.” - -“Nay, boast rather of thy cause than of thy assistant,” said Leontium, -approaching, and playfully tapping the shoulder of Metrodorus; “nor yet -belie thy own talents, my brother. The Corinthian will smile at thy -false modesty, when he shall have studied thy writings, and listened to -thy logical discourses. I imagine,” she continued, turning her placid -gaze on the youth, “that you have hitherto listened to more declamation -than reasoning. I might also say, to more sophistry, seeing that you -have walked and talked in the Lyceum.” - -“Say rather, walked and listened.” - -“In truth and I believe it,” she returned with a smile, “and would that -your good sense in this were more common; and that men would rest -content with straining their ears, and forbear from submitting their -understandings, or torturing those of their neighbors.” - -“It might seem strange,” said Metrodorus, “that the pedantry of -Aristotle should find so many imitators, and his dark sayings so many -believers, in a city, too, now graced and enlightened by the simple -language, and simple doctrines of an Epicurus.—But the language of truth -is too simple for inexperienced ears. We start in search of knowledge, -like the demi-gods of old in search of adventure, prepared to encounter -giants, to scale mountains, to pierce into Tartarean gulfs, and to carry -off our prize from the gripe of some dark enchanter, invulnerable to all -save to charmed weapons and deity-gifted assailants. To find none of all -these things, but, in their stead, a smooth road through a pleasant -country, with a familiar guide to direct our curiosity, and point out -the beauties of the landscape, disappoints us of all exploit and all -notoriety; and our vanity turns but too often from the fair and open -champaign, into error’s dark labyrinths, where we mistake mystery for -wisdom, pedantry for knowledge, and prejudice for virtue.” - -“I admit the truth of the metaphor,” said Theon. “But may we not -simplify too much as well as too little? May we not push investigation -beyond the limits assigned to human reason, and, with a boldness -approaching to profanity, tear, without removing, the veil which enwraps -the mysteries of creation from our scrutiny?” - -“Without challenging the meaning of the terms you have employed,” said -Metrodorus, “I would observe, that there is little danger of our pushing -investigation too far. Unhappily the limits prescribed to us by our few -and imperfect senses must ever cramp the sphere of our observation, as -compared to the boundless range of things; and that, even when we shall -have strained and improved our senses to the uttermost. We trace an -effect to a cause, and that cause to another cause, and so on, till we -hold some few links of a chain, whose extent, like the charmed circle, -is without beginning as without end.” - -“I apprehend the difficulties,” observed Leontium, “which embraces the -mind of our young friend. Like most aspirants after knowledge, he has a -vague and incorrect idea of what he is pursuing, and still more, of what -may be attained. In the schools you have hitherto frequented,” she -continued, addressing the youth, “certain images of virtue, vice, truth, -knowledge, are presented to the imagination, and these abstract -qualities, or we may call them, figurative beings, are made at once the -objects of speculation and adoration. A law is laid down, and the -feelings and opinions of men are predicated upon it; a theory is built, -and all animate and inanimate nature is made to speak in its support; an -hypothesis is advanced, and all the mysteries of nature are treated as -explained. You have heard of, and studied various systems of philosophy; -but real philosophy is opposed to all systems. Her whole business is -observation; and the results of that observation constitute all her -knowledge. She receives no truths, until she has tested them by -experience; she advances no opinions, unsupported by the testimony of -facts; she acknowledges no virtue, but that involved in beneficial -actions; no vice, but that involved in actions hurtful to ourselves or -to others. Above all, she advances no dogmas,—is slow to assert what -is,—and calls nothing impossible. The science of philosophy is simply a -science of observation, both as regards the world without us, and the -world within; and, to advance in it, are requisite only sound senses, -well developed and exercised faculties, and a mind free of prejudice. -The objects she has in view, as regards the external world, are, first, -to see things as they are, and secondly, to examine their structure, to -ascertain their properties, and to observe their relations one to the -other.—As respects the world within, or the philosophy of mind, she has -in view, first, to examine our sensations, or the impressions of -external things on our senses; which operation involves, and is involved -in, the examination of those external things themselves: secondly, to -trace back to our sensations, the first development of all our -faculties; and again, from these sensations, and the exercise of our -different faculties as developed by them, to trace the gradual formation -of our moral feelings, and of all our emotions: thirdly, to analyze all -these our sensations, thoughts, and emotions,—that is, to examine the -qualities of our own internal, sentient matter, with the same, and yet -more, closeness of scrutiny, than we have applied to the examination of -the matter that is without us: finally, to investigate the justness of -our moral feelings, and to weigh the merit and demerit of human actions; -which is, in other words, to judge of their tendency to produce good or -evil,—to excite pleasurable or painful feelings in ourselves or others. -You will observe, therefore, that, both as regards the philosophy of -physics, and the philosophy of mind, all is simply a process of -investigation. It is a journey of discovery, in which, in the one case, -we commission our senses to examine the qualities of that matter which -is around us, and in the other, endeavor, by attention to the varieties -of our consciousness, to gain a knowledge of those qualities of matter, -which constitute our susceptibilities of thought and feeling.” - -“This explanation is new to me,” observed Theon, “and, I will confess, -startling to my imagination. It is pure materialism!” - -“You may so call it,” rejoined Leontium, “but, when you have so called -it—what then? The question remains: is it true? or is it false?” - -“I should be disposed to say—false, since it confounds all my -preconceived notions of truth and error, of right and wrong.” - -“Of truth and error, of right and wrong, in the sense of _correct_ or -_incorrect_ is, I presume, your meaning,” said Leontium. “You do not -involve moral rectitude or the contrary, in a matter of opinion?” - -“If the opinion have a moral or immoral tendency I do,” said the youth. - -“A simple matter of fact can have no such tendency, or ought not, if we -are rational creatures.” - -“And would not, if we were always reasoning beings,” said Metrodorus; -“but as the ignorance and superstition which surround our infancy and -youth, favor the development of the imagination at the expense of the -judgment, we are ever employed in the coining of chimeras, rather than -in the discovery of truths; and if ever the poor judgment make an effort -to dispel these fancies of the brain, she is repulsed, like a -sacrilegious intruder into religious mysteries.” - -“Until our opinions are made to rest on facts,” said Leontium, “the -error of our young friend—the most dangerous of all errors, being one of -principle and involving many—must ever pervade the world. And it was -because I suspected this leading misconception of the very nature—of the -very end and aim of the science he is pursuing, that I attempted an -explanation of what should be sought, and of what can alone be attained. -In philosophy—that is, in knowledge—enquiry is every thing: theory and -hypothesis are worse than nothing. Truth is but approved facts. Truth, -then, is one with the knowledge of these facts. To shrink from enquiry, -is to shrink from knowledge. And to prejudge an opinion as true or -false, because it interferes with some preconceived abstraction we call -vice or virtue, is as if we were to draw the picture of a man we had -never seen, and then, upon seeing him, were to dispute his being the man -in question, because unlike our picture.” - -“But if this opinion interfered with another, of whose truth we imagined -ourselves certain?” - -“Then clearly, in one or the other, we are mistaken; and the only way to -settle the difficulty, is to examine and compare the evidences of both.” - -“But are there not some truths self-evident?” - -“There are a few which we may so call. That is to say, there are some -facts, which we admit upon the evidence of a simple sensation; as, for -instance, that a whole is greater than its part; that two are more than -one: which we receive immediately upon the testimony of our sense of -sight or of touch.” - -“But are there no moral truths of the same nature?” - -“I am not aware of any. Moral truth, resting entirely upon the -ascertained consequences of actions, supposes a process of observation -and reasoning.” - -“What call you, then, a belief in a presiding providence, and a great -first cause?” - -“A belief resting upon testimony; which belief will be true or false, -according to the correctness or incorrectness of that testimony.” - -“Is it not rather a self-evident moral truth?” - -“In my answer, I shall have to divide your question into two. First, it -cannot be a moral truth, since it is not deduced from the consequences -of human action. It can be simply a truth, that is, a fact. Secondly, it -is not a self-evident truth, since it is not evident to all minds, and -frequently becomes less and less evident, the more it is examined.” - -“But is not the existence of a first or creating cause demonstrated to -our senses, by all we see, and hear, and feel?” - -“The existence of all that we see and hear and feel is demonstrated to -our senses; and the belief we yield to this existence is immediate and -irresistible, that is, intuitive.—The existence of the creating cause, -that you speak of, is not demonstrated to our senses; and therefore the -belief in it cannot be immediate and irresistible. I prefer the -expression ‘creating’ to ‘first’ cause, because it seems to present a -more intelligible meaning. When you shall have examined farther into the -phenomena of nature, you will see, that there can be as little a _first_ -as a _last_ cause.” - -“But there must be always a cause, producing an effect?” - -“Certainly; and so your cause,—creating all that we see and hear and -feel—must itself have a producing cause, otherwise you are in the same -difficulty as before.” - -“I suppose it a Being unchangeable and eternal, itself unproduced, and -producing all things.” - -“Unchangeable it _may_ be,—eternal it _must_ be—since every thing is -eternal.” - -“Every thing eternal?” - -“Yes; that is, the elements composing all substances are, so far as we -know and can reason, eternal, and in their nature unchangeable; and it -is apparently only the different disposition of these eternal and -unchangeable atoms that produces all the varieties in the substances -constituting the great material whole, of which we form a part. Those -particles, whose peculiar agglomeration or arrangement, we call a -vegetable to-day, pass into, and form part of, an animal to-morrow; and -that animal again, by the falling asunder of its constituent atoms, and -the different approximation and agglomeration of the same,—or, of the -same with other atoms,—is transformed into some other substance -presenting a new assemblage of qualities. To this simple exposition of -the phenomena of nature (which, you will observe, is not _explaining_ -their wonders, for that is impossible, but only _observing_ them,) we -are led by the exercise of our senses. In studying the existences which -surround us, it is clearly our business to use our eyes, and not our -imaginations. To see things as they are, is all we should attempt, and -is all that is possible to be done. Unfortunately, we can do but little -even here, as our eyes serve us to see but a very little way. But, were -our eyes better—were they so good as to enable us to observe all the -arcana of matter, we could never acquire any other knowledge of them, -than that they are as they are;—and, in knowing this, that is, in seeing -every link in the chain of occurrences, we should know all that even an -omniscient being _could_ know. One astronomer traces the course of the -sun round the earth, another imagines that of the earth round the sun. -Some future improvements in science may enable us to ascertain which -conjecture is the true one. We shall then have ascertained a fact, which -fact may lead to the discovery of other facts, and so on. Until this -plain and simple view of the nature of all science be generally -received, all the advances we may make in it are comparatively as -nothing. Until we occupy ourselves in examining, observing, and -ascertaining, and not in _explaining_, we are idly and childishly -employed.—With every truth we may discover we shall mix a thousand -errors; and, for one matter of fact, we shall charge our brain with a -thousand fancies. To this leading misconception of the real, and only -possible object of philosophical enquiry, I incline to attribute all the -modes and forms of human superstition. The vague idea that some -mysterious cause not merely _precedes_ but _produces_ the effect we -behold, occasions us to wander from the real object in search of an -imaginary one. We see the sun rise in the east: Instead of confining our -curiosity to the discovery of the time and manner of its rising, and of -its course in the heavens, we ask also—_why_ does it rise? What _makes_ -it move? The more ignorant immediately conceive some Being spurring it -through the heavens, with fiery steeds, and on wheels of gold, while the -more learned tell us of laws of motion, decreed by an almighty fiat, and -sustained by an almighty will. Imagine the truth of both suppositions: -In the one case, we should see the application of what we call physical -power in the driver and the steeds followed by the motion of the sun, -and in the other, an almighty volition followed by the motion of the -sun. But, in either case, should we understand _why_ the sun -moved?—_why_ or _how_ its motion followed what we call the impulse of -the propelling power, or the propelling volition? All that we could -_then_ know, more than we _now_ know, would be, that the occurrence of -the motion of the sun was preceded by another occurrence; and if we -afterwards frequently observed the same sequence of occurrences, they -would become associated in our mind as necessary precedent and -consequent—as cause and effect: and we might give to them the -appellation of law of nature, or any other appellation; but they would -still constitute merely a truth—that is, _a fact_, and envelope no other -mystery, than that involved in every occurrence and every existence.” - -“But, according to this doctrine,” said Theon, “there would be no less -reason in attributing the beautiful arrangement of the material world to -the motion of a horse, than to the volition of an almighty mind.” - -“If I saw the motion of a horse followed by the effect you speak of, I -should believe in some relation between them; and if I saw it follow the -volition of an almighty mind—the same.” - -“But the cause would be inadequate to the effect.” - -“It could not be so, if it were the cause. For what constitutes the -adequacy of which you speak? Clearly only the contact, or immediate -proximity of the two occurrences. If any sequence could in fact be more -wonderful than another, it should rather seem to be for the consequent -to impart grandeur to the precedent—the effect to the cause,—than for -the cause to impart grandeur to the effect. But in reality all sequences -are equally wonderful. That light should follow the appearance of the -sun, is just as wonderful, and no more so, as if it were to follow the -appearance of any other body—and did light follow the appearance of a -black stone it would excite astonishment simply because we never saw -light follow such an appearance before. Accustomed, as we now are, to -see light when the sun rises, our wonder would be, if we did not see -light when he rose: but were light regularly to attend the appearance of -any other body, our wonder at such a sequence would, after a time, -cease; and we should then say, as we now say, there is light, _because_ -such a body has risen; and imagine _then_, as we imagine _now_, that we -understand _why_ light is. - -“In like manner all existences are equally wonderful. An African lion is -in himself nothing more extraordinary than a Grecian horse; although the -whole people of Athens will assemble to gaze on the lion, and exclaim, -how wonderful! while no man observes the horse.” - -“True—but this is the wondering of ignorance.” - -“I reply—true again, but so is all wondering. If, indeed, we should -consider it in this and in all other cases as simply an emotion of -pleasurable surprise, acknowledging the presence of a novel object, the -feeling is perfectly rational; but if it imagine any thing more -intrinsically marvellous in the novel existence than in the familiar -one, it is then clearly the idle—that is, the unreasoned and -unreflecting marvelling of ignorance. There is but one real wonder to -the thinking mind: it is the existence of all things; that is, the -existence of matter. And the only rational ground of this one great -wonder is, that the existence of matter is the last link in the chain of -cause and effect, at which we can arrive. You imagine yet another -link—the existence of a power creating that matter.—My only objections -to this additional link, or superadded cause, are, that it is -_imagined_, and that it leaves the wonder as before; unless, indeed, we -should say that it has superadded other wonders, since it supposes a -power, or rather, an existence possessing a power, of which we never saw -an example.” - -“How so? Does not even man possess a species of creating power? And do -you not suppose, in your inert matter, that very property which others -attribute, with more reason it appears to me, to some superior and -unknown existence?” - -“By no means. No existence, that we know of, possesses creating power, -in the sense you suppose. Neither the existence we call a man, nor any -of the existences, comprised under the generic names of matter, physical -world, nature, &c., possesses the power of calling into being its own -constituent elements, nor the constituent elements of any other -substance. It can change one substance into another substance, by -altering the position of its particles, or intermingling them with -others: but it cannot call into being, any more than it can annihilate, -those particles themselves. The hand of man causes to approach particles -of earth and of water, and by their approximation, produces clay; to -which clay it gives a regular form, and, by the application of fire, -produces the vessel we call a vase. You may say that the hand of man -creates the vase; but it does not create the earth, or the water, or the -fire; neither has the admixture of these substances added to, or -subtracted from, the sum of their elementary atoms. Observe, therefore, -there is no analogy between the power inherent in matter of changing its -appearance and qualities, by a simple change in the position of its -particles, and that which you attribute to some unseen existence, who, -by a simple volition, should have called into being matter itself, with -all its wonderful properties. An existence possessing such a power I -have never seen; and though this says nothing against the possibility of -such an existence, it says every thing against _my belief_ in it. And -farther, the power which you attribute to this existence—that of willing -every thing out of nothing,—being, not only what I have never seen, but -that of which I cannot with any distinctness conceive—it must appear to -me the greatest of all improbabilities.” - -“Our young friend,” observed Metrodorus, “lately made use of an -expression, the error involved in which, seems to be at the root of his -difficulty. In speaking of matter,” he continued, turning to Theon, “you -employed the epithet _inert_. What is your meaning? And what matter do -you here designate?” - -“All matter surely is, in itself, inert.” - -“All matter surely is, in itself, as it is,” said Metrodorus with a -smile; “and that, I should say, is living and active. Again, what is -matter?” - -“All that is evident to our senses,” replied Theon, “and which stands -opposed to mind.” - -“All matter then is inert which is devoid of mind. What, then, do you -understand by mind?” - -“I conceive some error in my definition,” said Theon, smiling. “Should I -say—_thought_—you would ask if every existence devoid of thought was -inert, or if every existence, possessing life, possessed thought?” - -“I should so have asked. Mind or thought I consider a quality of that -matter constituting the existence we call a man, which quality we find -in a varying degree in other existences; many, perhaps all animals, -possessing it. Life is another quality, or combination of qualities, of -matter, inherent in—we know not how many existences. We find it in -vegetables; we might perceive it even in stones, could we watch their -formation, growth, and decay. We may call that active principle, -pervading the elements of all things, which approaches and separates the -component particles of the ever changing, and yet ever during -world—life. Until you discover some substance, which undergoes no -change, you cannot speak of inert matter: it can only be so, at least, -relatively,—that is, as compared with other substances.” - -“The classing of thought and life among the qualities of matter is new -to me.” - -“What is in a substance cannot be separate from it. And is not all -matter a compound of qualities? Hardness, extension, form, color, -motion, rest—take away all these, and where is matter? To conceive of -mind independent of matter, is as if we should conceive of color -independent of a substance colored: What is form, if not a body of a -particular shape? What is thought, if not something which thinks? -Destroy the substance, and you destroy its properties; and so -equally—destroy the properties, and you destroy the substance. To -suppose the possibility of retaining the one, without the other, is an -evident absurdity.” - -“The error of conceiving a quality in the abstract often offended me in -the Lyceum,” returned the youth, “but I never considered the error as -extending to mind and life, any more than to vice and virtue.” - -“You stopped short with many others,” said Leontium. “It is indeed -surprising how many acute minds will apply a logical train of reasoning -in one case, and invert the process in another exactly similar.” - -“To return, and, if you will, to conclude our discussion,” said -Metrodorus, “I will observe that no real advances can be made in the -philosophy of mind, without a deep scrutiny into the operations of -nature, or material existences. Mind being only a quality of matter, the -study we call the philosophy of mind, is necessarily only a branch of -general physics, or the study of a particular part of the philosophy of -matter.” - -“I am indebted to your patience,” said the youth, “and would fain -intrude farther on it. I will confine myself at present, however, to one -observation. The general view of things, which you present to my mind, -the simplicity of which I will confess to be yet more fascinating than -its novelty, is evidently unfavorable to religion,—and, if so, -unfavorable to virtue.” - -“An opportunity will, to-day, be afforded you,” said Leontium, “of -examining this important question in detail. At the request of some of -our youth, the Master will himself give his views on the subject.” - -“I am all curiosity,” said Theon. “Other teachers have commanded my -respect, inflamed my imagination, and, I believe, often controlled my -reason. The son of Neocles inspires me with love, and wins me to -confidence by encouraging me to exercise my own judgment, in scanning -his arguments, and examining the groundwork of his own opinions. With -such a teacher, and in such a school, I feel suspicion to be wholly -misplaced; and I shall now start in the road of enquiry, anxious only to -discover truth, and willing to part with every erroneous opinion, the -moment it shall be proved to be erroneous.” - - NOTE, BY THE TRANSLATOR. How beautifully have the modern discoveries - in chymistry and natural philosophy, and the more accurate analysis of - the human mind—sciences unknown to the ancient world—substantiated the - leading principles of the Epicurean ethics and physics—the only - ancient school of either, really deserving the name! - - To what have all our ingenious inventions and contrivances, for the - analysis of material substances, led us, but to the atoms of Epicurus? - To what, our accurate observation of the decomposition of substances, - and the arresting and weighing of their most subtle and invisible - elements, but to the eternal and unchangeable nature of those atoms? - We have, in the course of our scrutiny, superadded to the wonderful - qualities of matter with which he was acquainted, those which we call - attraction, repulsion, electricity, magnetism, &c. How do these - discoveries multiply and magnify the living powers inherent in the - simple elements of all existences, and point our admiration to the - sagacity of that intellect which, 2,000 years ago, started in the true - road of enquiry; while, at this day, thousands of teachers and - millions of scholars are stumbling in the paths of error! - - If we look to our mental philosophy, to what has our scrutiny led, but - to the leading principles of Epicurean ethics? In the - pleasure,—utility,—propriety of human action—(whatever word we employ, - the meaning is the same)—in the consequences of human actions, that - is, in their tendency to promote our good or our evil, we must ever - find the only test of their intrinsic merit or demerit. - - It might seem strange that, while the truth of the leading principles - of the Epicurean philosophy have been long admitted by all sound - reasoners, the abuse of the school and of its founder is continued to - this day: this might and would seem strange and incomprehensible, did - we not, on every subject, find the same cowardly fear of facing, - openly and honestly, the prejudices of men. Teachers, aware of the - ignorance of those they teach, develope their doctrines in language - intelligible only to the few; or, where they hazard a more distinct - exposition of truth, shelter themselves from obloquy, by echoing the - vulgar censure against those who have taught the same truth, with more - explicitness, before them. The mass, even of what is called the - educated world, know nothing of the principles they decry, or of the - characters they abuse. It is easy, therefore, by joining in the abuse - against the one, to encourage a belief that we cannot be advocating - the other. This desire of standing fair with the wise, without - incurring the enmity of the ignorant, may suit with the object of - those who acquire knowledge only for its display, or for the - gratification of mere curiosity. But they, whose nobler aim, and - higher gift it is, to advance the human mind in the discovery of - truth, must stand proof equally to censure and to praise. That such - lips and such pens should employ equivocation, or other artifice, to - turn aside the wrath of ignorance, is degrading to themselves and - mortifying to their admirers. The late amiable and enlightened - teacher, Thomas Brown, of Edinburgh, whose masterly exposition of old - and new truths, and exposure of modern as well as ancient errors, has - so advanced the science he professed, is yet chargeable with this - weakness. After inculcating the leading principles, the whole of his - beautiful system, he condescends to soothe the prejudices which all - his arguments have tended to uproot, by passing a sweeping censure on - the school, whose doctrines he has borrowed and taught. We might - say—how unworthy of such a mind! But we will rather say—how is it to - be lamented that such a mind bears not within itself the conviction, - that _all_ truths are important to _all_ men; and that to employ - deception with the ignorant, is to defeat our own purpose; which is, - surely, not to open the eyes of those who already see, but to - enlighten the blind! - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - - -A more than usual crowd attended the instructions of the Sage. The gay, -and the curious, the learned, and the idle, of all ages, and of either -sex, from the restless population of the city; many citizens of note, -collected from various parts of Attica; and no inconsiderable portion of -strangers from foreign states and countries. - -They were assembled on the lawn, surrounding the temple already -frequently mentioned. The contracting waters of Ilyssus flowed nearly in -their accustomed bed; and earth and air, refreshed by the storm of the -preceding night, resisted the rays of the uncurtained sun, now climbing -high in the heavens. A crowd of recollections rushed on the young mind -of Theon, as he entered the beautiful enclosure, and gazed on the stream -which formed one of its boundaries. His thoughts again played truant to -philosophy, and his rapid glance sought another and a fairer form than -any it found there, when the approach of Epicurus divided the throng, -and hushed the loud murmur of tongues into silence. The Sage passed on, -and it was not till he ascended the marble steps, and turned to address -the assembly, that Theon perceived he had been followed by the beautiful -being who ruled his fancy. The hues of Hebe now dyed her lips and her -cheeks; but the laughing smiles of the preceding evening were changed -for the composure of respectful attention. Her eye caught that of Theon. -She gave a blush and a smile of recognition. Then, seating herself at -the base of a column to the right of her father, her face resumed its -composure, and her full dark eyes fastened on the countenance of the -Sage, in a gaze of mingled admiration and filial love. - -“Fellow citizens, and fellow-men! We purpose, this day, to examine a -question of vital importance to human kind: no less a one than the -relations we bear to all the existences that surround us; the position -we hold in this beautiful material world; the origin, the object, and -the end of our being; the source from which we proceed, and the goal to -which we tend.—This question embraces many. It embraces all most -interesting to our curiosity, and influential over our happiness. Its -correct or incorrect solution must ever regulate, as it now regulates, -our rule of conduct, our conceptions of right and wrong; must start us -in the road of true or false enquiry, and either open our minds to such -a knowledge of the wonders working in and around us, as our senses and -faculties can attain, or close them forever with the bands of -superstition, leaving us a prey to fear, the slaves of our ungoverned -imaginations, wondering and trembling at every occurrence in nature, and -making our own existence and destiny sources of dread and of mystery.” - -“Ere we come to this important enquiry, it behooves us to see that we -come with willing minds; that we say not, ‘so far will we go and no -farther; we will make one step, but not two; we will examine, but only -so long as the result of our examination shall confirm our preconceived -opinions.’ In our search after truth, we must equally discard -presumption and fear. We must come with our eyes and our ears, our -hearts and our understandings, open; anxious, not to find _ourselves_ -right, but to discover what is right; asserting nothing which we cannot -prove; believing nothing which we have not examined; and examining all -things fearlessly, dispassionately, perseveringly.” - -“In our preceding discourses, and, for such as have not attended these, -in our writings, we have endeavored to explain the real object of -philosophical enquiry; we have directed you to the investigation of -nature, to all that you see of existences and occurrences around you; -and we have shown that, in these existences, and occurrences, all that -_can_ be known, and all that _there is_ to be known, lies hid. We have -exhorted you to use your eyes, and your judgments, never your -imagination; to abstain from theory, and rest with facts; and to -understand that in the accumulation of facts, as regards the nature and -properties of substances, the order of occurrences, and the consequences -of actions, lies the whole science of philosophy, physical and moral. We -have seen, in the course of our enquiry, that in matter itself, exist -all causes and effects; that the eternal particles, composing all -substances, from the first and last links in the chain of occurrences, -or of cause and effect, at which we can arrive; that the qualities, -inherent in these particles, produce, or are followed by certain -effects; that the changes, in position, of these particles, produce or -are followed by certain other qualities and effects; that the sun -appears, and that light follows his appearance; that we throw a pearl -into vinegar, and that the pearl vanishes from our eyes, to assume the -form or forms of more subtle, but not less real substances; that the -component particles of a human being fall asunder, and that, instead of -a man, we find a variety of other substances or existences, presenting -new appearances, and new properties or powers; that a burning coal -touches our hand, that the sensation of pain follows the contact, that -the desire to end this sensation is the next effect in succession, and -that the muscular motion of withdrawing the hand, following the desire, -is another. That in all this succession of existences and events, there -is nothing but what we see, or what we could see, if we had better eyes; -that there is no mystery in nature, but that involved in the very -existence of all things; and that things being as they are, is no more -wonderful, than it would be, if they were different. That an analogous -course of events, or chain of causes and effects, takes place in morals -as in physics: that is to say, in examining those qualities, of the -matter composing our own bodies, which we call mind, we can only trace a -train of occurrences, in like manner as we do in the external world; -that our sensations, thoughts, and emotions, are simply effects -following causes, a series of consecutive phenomena, mutually producing -and produced.” - -“When we have taken this view of things, observe how all abstruse -questions disappear; how all science is simplified; all knowledge -rendered easy and familiar to the mind! Once started in this only true -road of enquiry, every step we make is one in advance. To whatever -science we apply, that is, to whatever part of matter, or to whichever -of its qualities, we direct our attention, we shall, in all probability, -make important, because true, discoveries. Is it the philosophy of -nature in general, or any one of those subdivisions of it, which we call -the philosophy of Mind, Ethics, Medicine, Astronomy, Geometry, &c., the -moment we occupy ourselves in observing and arranging in order the -facts, which are discovered in the course of observation, we acquire -positive knowledge, and may safely undertake to develope it to others.” - -“The ascertaining the nature of existences, the order of occurrences, -and the consequences of human actions constituting, therefore, the whole -of knowledge, what is there to prevent each and all of us from extending -our discoveries to the full limits prescribed by the nature of our -faculties and duration of our existence? What noble employment can we -invent? what pleasure so pure, so little liable to disappointment? What -is there to hold us back?—What is there not to spur us forward? Does our -ignorance start from the very simplicity of knowledge? Do we fear to -open our eyes lest we should see the light? Does the very truth we seek -alarm us in its attainment?—How is it that, placed in this world as on a -theatre of observation, surrounded by wonders and endowed with faculties -wherewith to scan these wonders, we know so little of what is, and -imagine so much of what is not? Other animals, to whom man accounts -himself superior, exercise the faculties they possess, trust their -testimony, follow the impulses of their nature, and enjoy the happiness -of which they are capable. Man alone, the most gifted of all known -existences, doubts the evidence of his superior senses, perverts the -nature and uses of his multiplied faculties, controls his most innocent, -as well as his noblest impulses, and turns to poison all the sources of -his happiness. To what are we to trace this fatal error, this cruel -self-martyrdom, this perversion of things from their natural bent? In -the over-development of one faculty and neglect of another, we must seek -the cause. In the imagination, that source of our most beautiful -pleasures, when under the control of judgment, we find the source of our -worst afflictions.” - -“From an early age I have made the nature and condition of man my study. -I have found him in many countries of the earth, under the influence of -all varieties of climate and circumstance; I have found him the savage -lord of the forest, clothed in the rough skins of animals less rude than -himself, sheltered in the crevices of the mountains and caves of the -earth from the blasts of winter and heats of the summer sun; I have -found him the slave of masters debased as himself, crouching to the foot -that spurns him, and showing no signs of miscalled civilization but its -sloth and its sensualities; I have found him the lord over millions, -clothed in purple and treading courts of marble; the cruel destroyer of -his species, marching through blood and rapine, to thrones of extended -dominion; the iron-hearted tyrant, feasting on the agonies of his -victims, and wringing his treasure from the hard earned mite of -industry; I have found him the harmless but ignorant tiller of the soil, -eating the simple fruits of his labor, sinking to rest only to rise -again to toil, toiling to live and living only to die; I have found him -the polished courtier, the accomplished scholar, the gifted artist, the -creating genius; the fool and the knave; rich and a beggar; spurning and -spurned. - -“Under all these forms and varieties of the external and internal man, -still, with hardly an exception, I have found him unhappy. With more -capacity for enjoyment than any other creature, I have seen him -surpassing the rest of existences only in suffering and crime. Why is -this and from whence? What master error, for some there must be, leads -to results so fatal—so opposed to the apparent nature and promise of -things? Long have I sought this error—this main-spring of human folly -and human crime. I have traced, through all their lengthened train of -consequents and causes, human practice and human theory; I have threaded -the labyrinth to its dark beginning; I have found the first link in the -chain of evil; I have found it—in all countries—among all tribes and -tongues and nations; I have found it,—Fellow-men, I have found it -in—RELIGION!” - -A low murmur here rose from one part of the assembly. A deep and -breathless silence succeeded. The Sage turned his gaze slowly around, -and with a countenance, pure and serene as the skies which shone above -him, proceeded:— - -“We have named the leading error of the human mind,—the bane of human -happiness—the perverter of human virtue! It is Religion—that dark -coinage of trembling ignorance! It is Religion—that poisoner of human -felicity! It is Religion—that blind guide of human reason! It is -Religion—that dethroner of human virtue! which lies at the root of all -the evil and all the misery that pervade the world! - -“Not hastily formed, still less hastily expressed, has been the opinion -you hear this day. A long train of reflection led to the discarding of -religion as an error, a life of observation to the denouncing it as an -evil. In considering it as devoid of truth, I am but one of many. Few -have looked deeply and steadily into the nature of things, and not -called in question belief in existences unseen and causes unknown. But -while smiling at the credulity of their fellow-beings, philosophers have -thought reason good only for themselves. They have argued that religion, -however childish a chimera in itself, was useful in its tendencies: -that, if it rested upon nothing, it supported all things; that it was -the stay of virtue, and the source of happiness. However opposed to -every rule in philosophy, physical and moral; however apparently in -contradiction to reason and common sense, that a thing untrue could be -useful; that a belief in facts disproved or unproved could afford a -sustaining prop to a just rule of practice; the assertion came supported -by so universal a testimony of mankind, and by individual names of such -authority in practical wisdom and virtue, that I hesitated to call it -mistaken. And as human happiness appeared to me the great desideratum, -and its promotion the only object consistent with the views of a teacher -of men, I forbore from all expression of opinion, until I had fully -substantiated, to my own conviction, both its truth and its tendency. -The _truth_ of my opinion is substantiated, as we have seen, by an -examination into the nature of things; that is, into the properties of -matter, which are alone sufficient to produce all the chances and -changes that we behold. Its _tendency_ is discovered by an examination -into the moral condition of man. - -“The belief in supernatural existences, and expectation of a future -life, are said to be sources of happiness, and stimuli to virtue. How, -and in what way? Is it proved by experience? Look abroad over the earth: -every where the song of praise, the prayer of supplication, the smoke of -incense, the blow of sacrifice, arise from forest, and lawn, from -cottage, palace, and temple, to the gods of human idolatry. Religion is -spread over the earth. If she be the parent of virtue and happiness, -they too should cover the earth. Do they so? Read the annals of human -tradition! Go forth and observe the actions of men! Who shall speak of -virtue—who of happiness, that hath eyes to see and ears to hear and -hearts to feel? No! experience is against the assertion. The world is -full of religion, and full of misery and crime. - -“Can the assertion be sustained by argument, by any train of reasoning -whatsoever? Imagine a Deity under any fashion of existence; how are our -dreams concerning him in an imaginary heaven to affect our happiness or -our conduct on a tangible earth? Affect it indeed they may for evil, but -how for good? The idea of an unseen Being, ever at work around and about -us, may afflict the human intellect with idle terrors, but can never -guide the human practice to what is rational and consistent with our -nature. Grant that, by any possibility, we could ascertain the existence -of one god, or of a million of gods: we see them not, we hear them not, -we feel them not. Unless they were submitted to our observation, were -fashioned like unto us, had similar desires, similar faculties, a -similar organization, how could their mode of existence afford a guide -for ours? As well should the butterfly take pattern from the lion, or -the lion from the eagle, as man from a god. To say nothing of the -inconsistency of the attributes, with which all gods are decked, it is -enough that none of them are ours. We are men; they are gods. They -inhabit other worlds; we inhabit the earth. Let them enjoy their -felicity; and let us, my friends, seek ours. - -“But it is not that religion is merely useless, it is mischievous. It is -mischievous by its idle terrors; it is mischievous by its false -morality; it is mischievous by its hypocrisy; by its fanaticism; by its -dogmatism; by its threats; by its hopes; by its promises. Consider it -under its mildest and most amiable form, it is still mischievous as -inspiring false motives of action, as holding the human mind in bondage, -and diverting the attention from things useful, to things useless. The -essence of religion is fear, as its source is ignorance. In a certain -stage of human knowledge, the human mind must of necessity, in its -ignorance of the properties of matter, and its dark insight into the -chain of phenomena arising out of those properties—must of necessity -reason falsely on every occurrence and existence in nature; it must of -necessity, in the absence of fact, give the rein to fancy, see a miracle -in every uncommon event, and imagine unseen agents as producing all that -it beholds. In proportion as the range of our observation is enlarged, -and as we learn to connect and arrange the phenomena of nature, we -curtail our list of miracles, the number of our supernatural agents. An -eclipse is alarming to the vulgar, as denoting the wrath of offended -deities; to the man of science it is a simple occurrence, as easily -traced to its cause, as any the most familiar to our observation. The -knowledge of one generation is the ignorance of the next. Our -superstitions decrease as our attainments multiply; and the fervor of -our religion declines as we draw nearer to the conclusion which destroys -it entirely. The conclusion, based upon accumulated facts, as we have -seen, that matter alone is at once the thing acting, and the thing acted -upon,—eternal in duration, infinitely various and varying in appearance; -never diminishing in quantity, and always changing in form. Without some -knowledge of what is styled natural philosophy, or physics, no -individual can attain this conclusion. And in a _certain_ stage of that -knowledge, more or less advanced according to the acuteness of the -intellect, it will be impossible for any individual, not mentally -obtuse, to shun that conclusion. This truth is one of infinite -importance. The moment we consider the hostility directed against what -is called Atheism, as the natural result of deficient information, the -mind must be diseased which could resent that hostility. And perhaps a -simple statement of the truth would best lead to examination of the -subject, and to the conversion of mankind. - -“Imagine this conversion, my friends! Imagine the creature man in the -full exercise of all his faculties; not shrinking from knowledge, but -eager in its pursuit; not bending the knee of adulation to visionary -beings armed by fear for his destruction, but standing erect in calm -contemplation of the beautiful face of nature; discarding prejudice, and -admitting truth without fear of consequences; acknowledging no judge but -reason, no censor but that in his own breast! Thus considered, he is -transformed into the god of his present idolatry, or rather into a far -nobler being, possessing all the attributes consistent with virtue and -reason, and none opposed to either. How great a contrast with his actual -state! His best faculties dormant; his judgment unawakened within him; -his very senses misemployed; all his energies misdirected; trembling -before the coinage of his own idle fancy; seeing over all creation a -hand of tyranny extended; and instead of following virtue, worshipping -power! Monstrous creation of ignorance! monstrous degradation of the -noblest of known existences! Man, boasting of superior reason, of moral -discrimination, imagines a being at once unjust, cruel, and -inconsistent; then kissing the dust, calls himself its slave! ‘This -world _is_,’ says the Theist, ‘therefore it was made’—By whom?—‘By a -being more powerful than I.’ Grant this infantine reasoning, what -follows as the conclusion? ‘That we must fear him,’ says the Theist.—And -why? Is his power directed against our happiness? Does your god amuse -himself by awakening the terrors of more helpless beings? Fear him then -indeed we may; and, let our conduct be what it will, fear him we _must_. -‘He is good as well as powerful,’ says the Theist; ‘therefore the object -of love.’—How do we ascertain his goodness? I see indeed a beautiful and -curious world; but I see it full of moral evils, and presenting many -physical imperfections. Is he all-powerful? perfect good or perfect evil -might exist. Is he all-powerful _and_ all-good? perfect good _must_ -exist. Of the sentient beings comprised in the infinity of matter I know -but those which I behold. I set no limits to the number of those which I -behold not; no bounds to their power. One or many, may have given -directions to the elementary atoms, and may have fashioned this earth as -the potter fashions its clay. Beings possessing such power may exist, -and may have exercised it. _All_-powerful still they are not, or being -so, they are wicked: _evil exists_. I know not what _may_ be—but this my -moral sense tells me CANNOT be—a fashioner of the world I inhabit, in -his nature all-good and all-powerful. I see yet another impossibility; a -fashioner of this world in his nature all-good and _fore-knowing_. -Granting the possibility of the attributes, their united existence were -an impossible supposition in the architect of our earth. - -‘Let us accord his goodness, the most pleasing and valuable attribute. -Your god is then the object of our love, and of our pity. Of our love, -because being benevolent in his own nature, he must have intended to -produce happiness in forming ours; of our pity, because we see that he -has failed in his intention. I cannot conceive a condition more -unfortunate than that of a deity contemplating this world of his -creation. Is he the author of some—say, of much happiness? of what -untold misery is he equally the author? I cannot conceive a being more -desperately—more hopelessly wretched than that we have now pictured. The -worst of human miseries shrink into comparative insignificancy before -those of their author. How must every sigh drawn from the bosom of man -rend the heart of his god! How must every violence committed on earth -convulse the peace of heaven! unable to alter what he had fashioned, how -must he equally curse his power and his impotence! And, in bewailing our -existence, how must he burn to annihilate his own! - -“We will now suppose his power without limit; and his knowledge -extending to the future, as to the past. How monstrous the conception! -What demon drawn from the fevered brain of insanity, ever surpassed this -deity in malignity! Able to make perfection, he hath sown through all -nature the seed of evil. The lion pursues the lamb; the vulture, in his -rage, tears the dove from her nest. Man, the universal enemy, triumphs -even in the sufferings of his fellow-beings; in their pain finds his own -joy; in their loss, his gain; in the frenzy of his violence, working out -his own destruction; in the folly of his ignorance cursing his own race, -and blessing its cruel author! Your deity is the author of evil, and you -call him good; the inventor of misery, and you call him happy! What -virtuous mind shall yield homage to such a Being? Who shall say, that -homage, if rendered, degrades not the worshipper? Or, who shall say, -that homage, when rendered, shall pacify the idol? Will abjectness in -the slave ensure mercy in the tyrant? Or, if it should, my friends, -which of us would be the abject? Are men found bold to resist earthly -oppression, and shall they bow before injustice, because she speak from -Heaven? Does the name of Harmodius inspire our songs? Do crowns of -laurel bind the temples of Aristogition? Let our courage rise higher -than theirs, my friends; and, if worthy of ambition, our fame! Dethrone, -not the tyrant of Athens, but the tyrant of the earth!—not the oppressor -of Athenians, but the oppressor of mankind! Stand forth! Stand erect! -Say to this god, ‘if you made us in malice, we will not worship you in -fear. We will judge of you by your works: and judge your works with our -reason. If evil pervade them, you are chargeable with it, as their -author. We care not to conciliate your injustice, any more than to -strive with your power. We judge of the future from the past. And as you -have disposed of us in this world, so, if it please you to continue our -being, must you dispose of us in another. It would be idle to strive -with Omnipotence, or to provide against the decrees of Omniscience. We -will not torment ourselves by imagining your intentions; nor debase -ourselves by expostulations. Should you punish, in us, the evil you have -made, you will punish it as unjustly as you made it maliciously. Should -you reward in us the good, you will reward it absurdly, as it was -equally your work, and not ours.’ - -“Let us now concede in argument the union of all the enumerated -attributes. Let us accord the existence of a being perfect in goodness, -wisdom, and power, who shall have made all things by his volition, and -decreed all occurrences in his wisdom. Such a being must command our -admiration and approval: he can command no more. As he is good and wise, -he is superior to all praise; as he is great and happy, he is -independent of all praise. As he is the author of our happiness, he has -ensured our love; but as he is our creator, he may command from us no -duties. Supposing a god, all duties rest with him. If he has made us, he -is bound to make us happy; and failing in the duty, he must be an object -of just abhorrence to all his sentient creation. Kindness received must -necessarily inspire affection. This kindness, in a divine creator, as in -an earthly parent, is a solemn duty,—a sacred obligation,—the -non-performance of which were the most atrocious of crimes. When -performed, love from the creature, as from the child, is a necessary -consequence, and an all-sufficient reward. - -“Allowing then to the Theist his god, we stand to him in no relation -that can inspire fear, or involve duty. He can give us no happiness that -he was not bound to bestow: he can cherish us with no tenderness, that -he was not bound to yield. It is for him to gratify all our desires,—or, -if they be erroneous, to correct them. It is for us to demand every good -in his power to grant, or in ours to enjoy. Let then, the theologist -banish fear and duty from his creed. It is love—love alone that can be -claimed by gods or yielded by men. - -“Have we said enough! Surely the absurdity of all the doctrines of -religion, and the iniquity of many, are sufficiently evident. To fear a -being on account of his power, is degrading; to fear him if he be good, -ridiculous. Prove to us his existence; and prove to us his perfections; -prove to us his parental care; love springs up in our bosoms, and repays -his bounty. If he care not to show us his existence, he desires not the -payment of our love, and finds in the contemplation of his own works, -their reward. - -“But, says the Theist, his existence is evident—and, not to acknowledge -it, a crime. It is not so to me, my friends. I see no sufficient -evidence of his existence; and to reason of its possibility, I hold to -be an idle speculation. To doubt that which is evident is not in our -power. To believe that which is not evident, is equally impossible to -us. Theist! thou makest of thy god a being more weak, more silly than -thyself. He punisheth as a crime the doubt of his existence! Why, then, -let him declare his existence, and we doubt no more. Should the -wandering tribes of Scythia doubt the existence of Epicurus, should -Epicurus be angry? What vanity—what absurdity—what silliness, oh! -Theist! do ye not suppose in your god! Let him exist, this god, in all -the perfection of a poet’s imagery; I lift to him a forehead assured and -serene. ‘I see thee, oh! God! in thy power, and admire thee: I see thee -in thy goodness, and approve thee. Such homage only is worthy of thee to -receive, and of me to render.’ And what does he reply? ‘Thou art right, -creature of my fashioning! Thou canst not add nor take away from the sum -of my felicity. I made thee to enjoy thy own, not to wonder at mine. I -have placed thee amid objects of desire, I have given thee means of -enjoyment. Enjoy, then! Be happy! It was for that I made thee.’ - -“Harken, then, my children! hearken to your teacher! Let it be a god or -a philosopher who speaks, the injunction is the same: _Enjoy, and be -happy!_ Is life short? It is an evil: But render life happy, its -shortness is the _only_ evil. I call to you, as, if he exist, God must -call to you from heaven: _Enjoy, and be happy!_ Do you doubt the way? -Let Epicurus be your guide. The source of every enjoyment is within -yourselves. Good and evil lie before you. The good is—all which can -yield you pleasure: the evil—what must bring you pain. Here is no -paradox, no dark saying, no moral hid in fables. - -“We have considered the unsound fabric of religion. It remains to -consider that, equally unsound, of morals. The virtue of man is false as -his faith. What folly invented, knavery supports. Let us arise in our -strength, examine, judge, and be free!” - -The teacher here paused. The crowd stood, as if yet listening. “At a -convenient season, my children, we will examine farther into the nature -of man and the science of life.” - - - THE END. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES - - - 1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in - spelling. - 2. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed. - 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A FEW DAYS IN ATHENS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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