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The Pleasures of Life

S >> Sir John Lubbock >> The Pleasures of Life




The writings of the Apostolic Fathers have been collected in one volume by
Wake. It is but a small one, and though I must humbly confess that I was
disappointed, they are perhaps all the more curious from the contrast they
afford to those of the Apostles themselves. Of the later Fathers I have
included only the _Confessions_ of St. Augustine, which Dr. Pusey selected
for the commencement of the _Library of the Fathers_, and which, as he
observes, has "been translated again and again into almost every European
language, and in all loved;" though Luther was of opinion that St.
Augustine "wrote nothing to the purpose concerning faith." But then Luther
was no great admirer of the Father. St. Jerome, he says, "writes, alas!
very coldly;" Chrysostom "digresses from the chief points;" St. Jerome is
"very poor;" and in fact, he says, "the more I read the books of the
Fathers the more I find myself offended;" while Renan, in his interesting
autobiography, compared theology to a Gothic Cathedral, "elle a la
grandeur, les vides immenses, et le peu de solidité."

Among other devotional works most frequently recommended are Thomas à
Kempis' _Imitation of Christ_, Pascal's _Pensées_, Spinoza's _Tractatus
Theologico-Politicus_, Butler's _Analogy of Religion_, Jeremy Taylor's
_Holy Living and Dying_, Bunyan's _Pilgrim's Progress_, and last, not
least, Keble's beautiful _Christian Year_.

Aristotle and Plato again stand at the head of another class. The
_Politics_ of Aristotle, and Plato's _Dialogues_, if not the whole, at any
rate the _Phaedo_, the _Apology_, and the _Republic_, will be of course
read by all who wish to know anything of the history of human thought,
though I am heretical enough to doubt whether the latter repays the minute
and laborious study often devoted to it.

Aristotle being the father, if not the creator, of the modern scientific
method, it has followed naturally--indeed, almost inevitably--that his
principles have become part of our very intellectual being, so that they
seem now almost self-evident, while his actual observations, though very
remarkable--as, for instance, when he observes that bees on one journey
confine themselves to one kind of flower--still have been in many cases
superseded by others, carried on under more favorable conditions. We must
not be ungrateful to the great master, because his lessons have taught us
how to advance.

Plato, on the other hand, I say so with all respect, seems to me in some
cases to play on words: his arguments are very able, very philosophical,
often very noble; but not always conclusive; in a language differently
constructed they might sometimes tell in exactly the opposite sense. If
this method has proved less fruitful, if in metaphysics we have made but
little advance, that very fact in one point of view leaves the
_Dialogues_ of Socrates as instructive now as ever they were; while the
problems with which they deal will always rouse our interest, as the calm
and lofty spirit which inspires them must command our admiration. Of the
_Apology_ and the _Phaedo_ especially it would be impossible to speak too
gratefully.

I would also mention Demosthenes' _De Coronâ_, which Lord Brougham
pronounced the greatest oration of the greatest of orators; Lucretius,
Plutarch's Lives, Horace, and at least the _De Officiis_, _De Amicitiâ_,
and _De Senectute_ of Cicero.

The great epics of the world have always constituted one of the most
popular branches of literature. Yet how few, comparatively, ever read
Homer or Virgil after leaving school.

The _Nibelungenlied_, our great Anglo-Saxon epic, is perhaps too much
neglected, no doubt on account of its painful character. Brunhild and
Kriemhild, indeed, are far from perfect, but we meet with few such "live"
women in Greek or Roman literature. Nor must I omit to mention Sir T.
Malory's _Morte d'Arthur_, though I confess I do so mainly in deference to
the judgment of others.

Among the Greek tragedians I include Aeschylus, if not all his works, at
any rate _Prometheus_, perhaps the sublimest poem in Greek literature, and
the _Trilogy_ (Mr. Symonds in his _Greek Poets_ speaks of the "unrivalled
majesty" of the _Agamemnon_, and Mark Pattison considered it "the grandest
work of creative genius in the whole range of literature"); or, as Sir M.
E. Grant Duff recommends, the _Persae_; Sophocles (_Oedipus Tyrannus_),
Euripides (_Medea_), and Aristophanes (_The Knights_ and _Clouds_);
unfortunately, as Schlegel says, probably even the greatest scholar does
not understand half his jokes; and I think most modern readers will prefer
our modern poets.

I should like, moreover, to say a word for Eastern poetry, such as
portions of the _Maha Bharata_ and _Ramayana_ (too long probably to be
read through, but of which Talboys Wheeler has given a most interesting
epitome in the first two volumes of his _History of India_); the
_Shah-nameh_, the work of the great Persian poet Firdusi; Kalidasa's
_Sakuntala_, and the Sheking, the classical collection of ancient Chinese
odes. Many I know, will think I ought to have included Omar Khayyam.

In history we are beginning to feel that the vices and vicissitudes of
kings and queens, the dates of battles and wars, are far less important
than the development of human thought, the progress of art, of science,
and of law, and the subject is on that very account even more interesting
than ever. I will, however, only mention, and that rather from a literary
than a historical point of view, Herodotus, Xenophon (the _Anabasis_),
Thucydides, and Tacitus (_Germania_); and of modern historians, Gibbon's
_Decline and Fall_ ("the splendid bridge from the old world to the new"),
Hume's _History of England_, Carlyle's _French Revolution_, Grote's
_History of Greece_, and Green's _Short History of the English People_.

Science is so rapidly progressive that, though to many minds it is the
most fruitful and interesting subject of all, I cannot here rest on that
agreement which, rather than my own opinion, I take as the basis of my
list. I will therefore only mention Bacon's _Novum Organum_, Mill's
_Logic_, and Darwin's _Origin of Species_; in Political Economy, which
some of our rulers do not now sufficiently value, Mill, and parts of
Smith's _Wealth of Nations_, for probably those who do not intend to make
a special study of political economy would scarcely read the whole.

Among voyages and travels, perhaps those most frequently suggested are
Cook's _Voyages_, Humboldt's _Travels_, and Darwin's _Naturalist's
Journal_; though I confess I should like to have added many more.

Mr. Bright not long ago specially recommended the less known American
poets, but he probably assumed that every one would have read Shakespeare,
Milton (_Paradise Lost_, _Lycidas_, _Comus_ and minor poems), Chaucer,
Dante, Spencer, Dryden, Scott, Wordsworth, Pope, Byron, and others, before
embarking on more doubtful adventures.

Among other books most frequently recommended are Goldsmith's _Vicar of
Wakefield_, Swift's _Gulliver's Travels_, Defoe's _Robinson Crusoe_, _The
Arabian Nights_, _Don Quixote_, Boswell's _Life of Johnson_, White's
_Natural History of Selborne_, Burke's Select Works (Payne), the Essays of
Bacon, Addison, Hume, Montaigne, Macaulay, and Emerson, Carlyle's _Past
and Present_, Smiles' _Self-Help_, and Goethe's _Faust_ and
_Autobiography_.

Nor can one go wrong in recommending Berkeley's _Human Knowledge_,
Descartes' _Discours sur la Méthode_, Locke's _Conduct of the
Understanding_, Lewes' _History of Philosophy_; while, in order to keep
within the number one hundred, I can only mention Moliere and Sheridan
among dramatists. Macaulay considered Marivaux's _La Vie de Marianne_ the
best novel in any language, but my number is so nearly complete that I
must content myself with English: and will suggest Thackeray (_Vanity
Fair_ and _Pendennis_), Dickens (_Pickwick_ and _David Copperfield_), G.
Eliot (_Adam Bede_ or _The Mill on the Floss_), Kingsley (_Westward Ho!_),
Lytton (_Last Days of Pompeii_), and last, not least, those of Scott,
which indeed constitute a library in themselves, but which I must ask, in
return for my trouble, to be allowed, as a special favor, to count as one.

To any lover of books the very mention of these names brings back a crowd
of delicious memories, grateful recollections of peaceful home hours,
after the labors and anxieties of the day. How thankful we ought to be for
these inestimable blessings, for this numberless host of friends who never
weary, betray, or forsake us!


LIST OF 100 BOOKS.

_Works by Living Authors are omitted_.

The Bible
The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius
Epictetus
Aristotle's Ethics
Analects of Confucius
St. Hilaire's "Le Bouddha et sa religion"
Wake's Apostolic Fathers
Thos. à Kempis' Imitation of Christ
Confessions of St. Augustine (Dr. Pusey)
The Koran (portions of)
Spinoza's Tractatus Theologico-Politicus
Comte's Catechism of Positive Philosophy
Pascal's Pensées
Butler's Analogy of Religion
Taylor's Holy Living and Dying
Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress
Keble's Christian Year

* * * * *

Plato's Dialogues; at any rate, the Apology, Crito, and Phaedo
Xenophon's Memorabilia
Aristotle's Politics
Demosthenes' De Corona.
Cicero's De Officiis, De Amicitia, and De Senectute
Plutarch's Lives
Berkeley's Human Knowledge
Descartes' Discours sur la Methode
Locke's On the Conduct of the Understanding

* * * * *

Homer
Hesiod
Virgil
Maha Bharata |Epitomized in Talboys Wheeler's
Ramayana |History of India, vols. i. and ii.
The Shahnameh
The Nibelungenlied
Malory's Morte d'Arthur

* * * * *

The Sheking
Kalidasa's Sakuntala or The Lost Ring
Aeschylus' Prometheus
Trilogy of Orestes
Sophocles' OEdipus
Euripides' Medea
Aristophanes' The Knights and Clouds
Horace

* * * * *

Chaucer's Canterbury Tales (perhaps in Morris' edition; or, if
expurgated, in C. Clarke's, or Mrs. Haweis')
Shakespeare
Milton's Paradise Lost, Lycidas, Comus, and the shorter poems
Dante's Divina Commedia
Spenser's Fairie Queen
Dryden's Poems
Scott's Poems
Wordsworth (Mr. Arnold's selection)
Pope's Essay on Criticism
Essay on Man
Rape of the Lock
Burns
Byron's Childe Harold
Gray

* * * * *

Herodotus
Xenophon's Anabasis and Memorabilia
Thucydides
Tacitus' Germania
Livy
Gibbon's Decline and Fall
Hume's History of England
Grote's History of Greece
Carlyle's French Revolution
Green's Short History of England
Lewes' History of Philosophy

* * * * *

Arabian Nights
Swift's Gulliver's Travels
Defoe's Robinson Crusoe
Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield
Cervantes' Don Quixote
Boswell's Life of Johnson
Molière
Schiller's William Tell
Sheridan's The Critic, School for Scandal, and The Rivals
Carlyle's Past and Present

* * * * *

Bacon's Novum Organum
Smith's Wealth of Nations (part of)
Mill's Political Economy
Cook's Voyages
Humboldt's Travels
White's Natural History of Selborne
Darwin's Origin of Species
Naturalist's Voyage
Mill's Logic

* * * * *

Bacon's Essays
Montaigne's Essays
Hume's Essays
Macaulay's Essays
Addison's Essays
Emerson's Essays
Burke's Select Works
Smiles' Self-Help

* * * * *

Voltaire's Zadig and Micromegas
Goethe's Faust, and Autobiography
Thackeray's Vanity Fair
Pendennis
Dickens' Pickwick
David Copperfield
Lytton's Last Days of Pompeii
George Eliot's Adam Bede
Kingsley's Westward Ho!
Scott's Novels

[1] Several longer lists have been given; for instance, by Comte,
_Catechism, of Positive Philosophy_; Pycroft, _Course of English Reading_;
Baldwin, _The Book Lover_; Perkins, _The Best Reading_; and by Mr.
Ireland, _Books for General Readers_.

[2] It is much to be desired that some one would publish a selection from
the works of Seneca.




CHAPTER V.

THE BLESSING OF FRIENDS.


"They seem to take away the sun from the world who withdraw friendship
from life; for we have received nothing better from the Immortal Gods,
nothing more delightful."--CICERO.


Most of those who have written in praise of books have thought they could
say nothing more conclusive than to compare them to friends.

"All men," said Socrates, "have their different objects of
ambition--horses, dogs, money, honor, as the case may be; but for his own
part he would rather have a good friend than all these put together." And
again, men know "the number of their other possessions, although they
might be very numerous, but of their friends, though but few, they were
not only ignorant of the number, but even when they attempted to reckon it
to such as asked them, they set aside again some that they had previously
counted among their friends; so little did they allow their friends to
occupy their thoughts. Yet in comparison with what possession, of all
others, would not a good friend appear far more valuable?"

"As to the value of other things," says Cicero, "most men differ;
concerning friendship all have the same opinion. What can be more foolish
than, when men are possessed of great influence by their wealth, power,
and resources, to procure other things which are bought by money--horses,
slaves, rich apparel, costly vases--and not to procure friends, the most
valuable and fairest furniture of life?" And yet, he continues, "every man
can tell how many goats or sheep he possesses, but not how many friends."
In the choice, moreover, of a dog or of a horse, we exercise the greatest
care: we inquire into its pedigree, its training and character, and yet we
too often leave the selection of our friends, which is of infinitely
greater importance--by whom our whole life will be more or less influenced
either for good or evil--almost to chance.

It is no doubt true, as the _Autocrat of the Breakfast Table_ says, that
all men are bores except when we want them. And Sir Thomas Browne quaintly
observes that "unthinking heads who have not learnt to be alone, are a
prison to themselves if they be not with others; whereas, on the contrary,
those whose thoughts are in a fair and hurry within, are sometimes fain to
retire into company to be out of the crowd of themselves." Still I do not
quite understand Emerson's idea that "men descend to meet." In another
place, indeed, he qualifies the statement, and says, "Almost all people
descend to meet." Even so I should venture to question it, especially
considering the context. "All association," he adds, "must be a
compromise, and, what is worse, the very flower and aroma of the flower of
each of the beautiful natures disappears as they approach each other."
What a sad thought! Is it really so; need it be so? And if it were, would
friends be any real advantage? I should have thought that the influence of
friends was exactly the reverse: that the flower of a beautiful nature
would expand, and the colors grow brighter, when stimulated by the warmth
and sunshine of friendship.

It has been said that it is wise always to treat a friend, remembering
that he may become an enemy, and an enemy, remembering that he may become
a friend; and whatever may be thought of the first part of the adage,
there is certainly much wisdom in the latter. Many people seem to take
more pains and more pleasure in making enemies, than in making friends.
Plutarch, indeed, quotes with approbation the advice of Pythagoras "not to
shake hands with too many," but as long as friends are well chosen, it is
true rather that

"He who has a thousand friends,
Has never a one to spare,
And he who has one enemy,
Will meet him everywhere,"

and unfortunately, while there are few great friends there is no little
enemy.

I guard myself, however, by saying again--As long as they are well chosen.
One is thrown in life with a great many people who, though not actively
bad, though they may not wilfully lead us astray, yet take no pains with
themselves, neglect their own minds, and direct the conversation to petty
puerilities or mere gossip; who do not seem to realize that conversation
may by a little effort be made most instructive and delightful, without
being in any way pedantic; or, on the other hand, may be allowed to drift
into a mere morass of muddy thought and weedy words. There is hardly
anyone from whom we may not learn much, if only they will trouble
themselves to tell us. Nay, even if they teach us nothing, they may help
us by the stimulus of intelligent questions, or the warmth of sympathy.
But if they do neither, then indeed their companionship, if companionship
it can be called, is mere waste of time, and of such we may well say, "I
do desire that we be better strangers."

Much certainly of the happiness and purity of our lives depends on our
making a wise choice of our companions and friends. If our friends are
badly chosen they will inevitably drag us down; if well they will raise us
up. Yet many people seem to trust in this matter to the chapter of
accident. It is well and right, indeed, to be courteous and considerate to
every one with whom we are brought into contact, but to choose them as
real friends is another matter. Some seem to make a man a friend, or try
to do so, because he lives near, because he is in the same business,
travels on the same line of railway, or for some other trivial reason.
There cannot be a greater mistake. These are only, in the words of
Plutarch, "the idols and images of friendship."

To be friendly with every one is another matter; we must remember that
there is no little enemy, and those who have ever really loved any one
will have some tenderness for all. There is indeed some good in most men.
"I have heard much," says Mr. Nasmyth in his charming autobiography,
"about the ingratitude and selfishness of the world. It may have been my
good fortune, but I have never experienced either of these unfeeling
conditions." Such also has been my own experience.

"Men talk of unkind hearts, kind deeds
With coldness still returning.
Alas! the gratitude of men
Has oftener left me mourning."

I cannot, then, agree with Emerson that "we walk alone in the world.
Friends such as we desire are dreams and fables. But a sublime hope cheers
ever the faithful heart, that elsewhere in other regions of the universal
power souls are now acting, enduring, and daring, which can love us, and
which we can love."

No doubt, much as worthy friends add to the happiness and value of life,
we must in the main depend on ourselves, and every one is his own best
friend or worst enemy.

Sad, indeed, is Bacon's assertion that "there is little friendship in the
world, and least of all between equals, which was wont to be magnified.
That that is, is between superior and inferior, whose fortunes may
comprehend the one to the other." But this can hardly be taken as his
deliberate opinion, for he elsewhere says, "but we may go farther, and
affirm most truly, that it is a mere and miserable solitude to want true
friends, without which the world is but a wilderness." Not only, he adds,
does friendship introduce "daylight in the understanding out of darkness
and confusion of thoughts;" it "maketh a fair day in the affections from
storm and tempests:" in consultation with a friend a man "tosseth his
thoughts more easily; he marshalleth them more orderly; he seeth how they
look when they are turned into words; finally, he waxeth wiser than
himself, and that more by an hour's discourse than by a day's
meditation."... "But little do men perceive what solitude is, and how far
it extendeth, for a crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of
pictures, and talk but a tinkling cymbal where there is no love."

With this last assertion I cannot altogether concur. Surely even strangers
may be most interesting! and many will agree with Dr. Johnson when,
describing a pleasant evening, he summed it up--"Sir, we had a good talk."

Epictetus gives excellent advice when he dissuades from conversation on
the very subjects most commonly chosen, and advises that it should be on
"none of the common subjects--not about gladiators, nor horse-races, nor
about athletes, nor about eating or drinking, which are the usual
subjects; and especially not about men, as blaming them;" but when he
adds, "or praising them," the injunction seems to me of doubtful value.
Surely Marcus Aurelius more wisely advises that "when thou wishest to
delight thyself, think of the virtues of those who live with thee; for
instance, the activity of one, and the modesty of another, and the
liberality of a third, and some other good quality of a fourth. For
nothing delights so much as the examples of the virtues, when they are
exhibited in the morals of those who live with us and present themselves
in abundance, as far as is possible. Wherefore we must keep them before
us." Yet how often we know merely the sight of those we call our friends,
or the sound of their voices, but nothing whatever of their mind or soul.

We must, moreover, be as careful to keep friends as to make them. If every
one knew what one said of the other, Pascal assures us that "there would
not be four friends in the world." This I hope and think is too strong,
but at any rate try to be one of the four. And when you have made a
friend, keep him. Hast thou a friend, says an Eastern proverb, "visit him
often, for thorns and brushwood obstruct the road which no one treads."
The affections should not be mere "tents of a night."

Still less does Friendship confer any privilege to make ourselves
disagreeable. Some people never seem to appreciate their friends till they
have lost them. Anaxagoras described the Mausoleum as the ghost of wealth
turned into stone.

"But he who has once stood beside the grave to look back on the
companionship which has been for ever closed, feeling how impotent _then_
are the wild love and the keen sorrow, to give one instant's pleasure to
the pulseless heart, or atone in the lowest measure to the departed spirit
for the hour of unkindness, will scarcely for the future incur that debt
to the heart which can only be discharged to the dust." [1]

Death, indeed, cannot sever friendship. "Friends," says Cicero, "though
absent, are still present; though in poverty they are rich; though weak,
yet in the enjoyment of health; and, what is still more difficult to
assert, though dead they are alive." This seems a paradox, yet it there
not much truth in his explanation? "To me, indeed, Scipio still lives, and
will always live; for I love the virtue of that man, and that worth is not
yet extinguished.... Assuredly of all things that either fortune or time
has bestowed on me, I have none which I can compare with the friendship of
Scipio."

If, then, we choose our friends for what they are, not for what they have,
and if we deserve so great a blessing, then they will be always with us,
preserved in absence, and even after death, in the "amber of memory."

[1] Ruskin.




CHAPTER VI.

THE VALUE OF TIME.


Each day is a little life.


All other good gifts depend on time for their value. What are friends,
books, or health, the interest of travel or the delights of home, if we
have not time for their enjoyment? Time is often said to be money, but it
is more-it is life; and yet many who would cling desperately to life,
think nothing of wasting time.

Ask of the wise, says Schiller in Lord Sherbrooke's translation,

"The moments we forego
Eternity itself cannot retrieve."

And, in the words of Dante,

"For who knows most, him loss of time most grieves."

Not that a life of drudgery should be our ideal. Far from it. Time spent
in innocent and rational enjoyments, in healthy games, in social and
family intercourse, is well and wisely spent. Games not only keep the body
in health, but give a command over the muscles and limbs which cannot be
overvalued. Moreover, there are temptations which strong exercise best
enables us to resist.

It is the idle who complain they cannot find time to do that which they
fancy they wish. In truth, people can generally make time for what they
choose to do; it is not really the time but the will that is wanting: and
the advantage of leisure is mainly that we may have the power of choosing
our own work, not certainly that it confers any privilege of idleness.

"Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I'll tell you who time
ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time gallops withal, and who he
stands still withal." [1]

For it is not so much the hours that tell, as the way we use them.

"Circles are praised, not that excel
In largeness, but th'exactly framed;
So life we praise, that doth excel
Not in much time, but acting well." [2]

"Idleness," says Jeremy Taylor, "is the greatest prodigality in the world;
it throws away that which is invaluable in respect of its present use, and
irreparable when it is past, being to be recovered by no power of art or
nature."

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