Some persons perhaps will say, then we have no idea of it; but, as I can support the contrary by such undoubted authority, I shall, instead of trying to confute such idle opinions, proceed to show; first, what nothing is: secondly, I shall disclose the various kinds of nothing; and, lastly shall prove its great dignity, and that it is the end of every thing.
It is extremely hard to define nothing in positive terms, I shall therefore do it in negative. Nothing then is not something. And here I must object to a third error concerning it, which is, that it is in no place; which is an indirect way of depriving it of its existence; where as indeed it possesses the greatest and noblest place on this earth; viz., the human brain. But indeed this mistake had been sufficiently refuted by many very wise men; who, having spent their whole lives in the contemplation and pursuit of nothing, have at last gravely concluded — That there is nothing in this world.
Farther, as nothing is not something, so every thing which is not something is nothing; and wherever something is not nothing is: a very large allowance in its favour, as must appear to persons well skilled in human affairs.
For instance, when a bladder is full of wind, it is full of something; but when that is let out, we aptly say, there is nothing in it.
The same may be as justly asserted of a man as of a bladder. However well he may be bedaubed with lace, or with title, yet if he have not something in him, we may predicate the same of him as of an empty bladder.
But if we cannot reach an adequate knowledge of the true essence of nothing, no more than we can of matter, let us, in imitation of the experimental philosophers, examine some of its properties or accidents.
And here we shall see the infinite advantages which nothing hath over something; for, while the latter is confined to one sense, or two perhaps at the most, nothing is the object of them all.
For, first nothing may be seen, as is plain from the relation of persons who have recovered from high fevers; and perhaps may be susj ected from some (at least) of those who have seen apparitions., both on earth and in the clouds. Nay, I have often heard it confessed by men, when asked what they saw at such a place and time, that they saw nothing. Admitting then that there are two sights, viz a first and second sight, according to the firm belief of some, nothing must be allowed to have a very large share of the first; and as to the second, it hath it all entirely to itself.
Secondly, nothing may be heard: of which the same proofs may be given as of the foregoing. The Argive mentioned by Horace is a strong instance of this.
“Fuit haud ignobilis Argis
Qui se eredébat miros accdire
Tragœdos In vacuo lœtos sessor,
Plausorque Theatro.”
That nothing may be tasted and smelt is not only known to persons of delicate palates and nostrils. How commonly do we hear, that such a thing smells or tastes of nothing? The latter I have heard asserted of a dish compounded of five or six savoury ingredients. And as to the former, I remember an elderly gentlewoman who had a great antipathy to the smell of apples; who, upon discovering that an idle boy had fastened some mellow apple to her tail, contracted a habit of smelling them whenever that boy came within her sight, though there were then none within a mile of her.
Lastly, feeling; and sure if any sense seems more particularly the object of matter only, which must be allowed to be something, this doth. Nay, I have heard it asserted (and with a colour of truth) of several persons that they can feel nothing but a cudgel. Notwithstanding which some have felt the motions of the spirit; and others have felt very bitterly the misfortunes of their friends, without endeavouring to relieve them. Now these seem two plain instances, that nothing is an object of this sense. Nay, I have heard a surgeon declare, while he was cutting off a patient’s leg, that he was sure he felt nothing.
Nothing is as well the object of our passions as our senses. Thus there are many who love nothing, some who hate nothing, and some who fear nothing, &c.
We have already mentioned three of the properties of a noun to belong to nothing; we shall find the fourth likewise to be as justly claimed by it: and that nothing is as often the object of the understanding as of the senses.
Indeed some have imagined that knowledge, with the adjective human placed before it, is another word for nothing. And one of the wisest men in the world declared he knew nothing.
But, without carrying it so far, this I believe may be allowed, that it is at least possible for a man to know nothing. And whoever hath read over many works of our ingenious moderns, with proper attention and emolument, will, I believe, confess, that if he understands them right, he understands nothing.
This is a secret not known to all readers; and want of this knowledge hath occasioned much puzzling; for where a book, or chapter, or paragraph, hath seemed to the reader to contain nothing, his modesty hath sometimes persuaded him, that the true meaning of the author hath escaped him, instead of concluding, as in reality the fact was, that the author, in the said book, &c., did truly, and bonà fide, mean nothing. I remember once, at the table of a person of great eminence, and one no less distinguished by superiority of wit than fortune, when a very dark passage was read out of a poet famous for being so sublime that he is often out of the sight of his reader, some persons present declared they did not understand the meaning. The gentleman himself, casting his eye over the performance, testified a surprise at the dulness of his company; seeing nothing could, he said, possibly be plainer than the meaning of the passage which they stuck at. This set all of us to puzzling again; but with like success; we frankly owned we could not find it out, and desired he would explain it. Explain it! said the gentleman, why he means nothing.
In fact, this mistake arises from a too vulgar error among persons unacquainted with the mystery of writing, who imagine it impossible that a man should sit down to write without any meaning at all! whereas, in reality, nothing is more common for, not to instance in myself, who have confessedly set down to write this essay with nothing in my head, or, which is much the same thing, to write about nothing, it may be incontestably proved, ab effectu, that nothing is commoner among the moderns. The inimitable author of a preface to the Posthumous Eclogues of a late ingenious young gentleman, says,— “There are men who sit down to write what they think, and others to think what they shall write. But indeed there is a third, and much more numerous sort, who never think either before they sit down or afterwards; and who, when they produce on paper what was before in their heads, are sure to produce nothing.”
Thus we have endeavoured to demonstrate the nature of nothing, by showing first, definitively, what it is not; and, secondly, by describing what it is. The next thing therefore proposed is to show its various kinds.
Now some imagine these several kinds differ in name only. But without endeavouring to confute so absurd an opinion, especially as these different kinds of nothing occur frequently in the best authors, I shall content myself with setting them down, and leave it to the determination of the distinguished reader, whether it is probable, or indeed possible, that they should all convey one and the same meaning.
These are, nothing per se nothing; nothing at all; nothing in the least; nothing in nature; nothing in the world; nothing in the whole world; nothing in the whole universal world. And perhaps many ‘others of which we say — nothing.
SECTION III. OF THE DIGNITY OF NOTHING; AND AN ENDEAVOUR TO PROVE, THAT IT IS THE END AS WELL AS BEGINNING OF ALL THINGS.
NOTHING contains so much dignity as nothing. Ask an infamous worthless nobleman (if any such be) in what his dignity consists? It may not be perhaps consistent with his dignity to give you an answer, but suppose he should be willing to condescend so far, what could lie in effect say. Should he say he had it from his ancestors, I apprehend a lawyer would oblige him to prove that the virtues to which his dignity was annexed descended to him. If he claims it as inherent in the title, might he not be told, that a title originally implied dignity, as it implied the presence of those virtues to which dig
nity is inseparably annexed; but that no implication will fly in the face of downright positive proof to the contrary. In short, to examine no farther, since his endeavour to derive it from any other fountain would be equally impotent, his dignity arises from nothing, and in reality is nothing. Yet, that this dignity really exists, that it glares in the eyes of men, and produces much good to the person who wears it, is, I believe, incontestable.
Perhaps this may appear in the following syllogism.
The respect paid to men on account of their titles is paid at least to the supposai of their superior virtues and abilities, or it is paid to nothing.
But when a man is a notorious knave or fool it is impossible there should be any such supposai.
The conclusion is apparent.
Now that no man is ashamed of either paying or receiving this respect I wonder not, since the great importance of nothing seems, I think, to be pretty apparent: but that they should deny the Deity worshipped, and endeavour to represent nothing as something, is more worthy reprehension. This is a fallacy extremely common. I have seen a fellow, whom all the world knew to have nothing in him, not only pretend to something himself, but supported in that pretension by others who have been less liable to be deceived. Now whence can this proceed but from their being ashamed of nothing? A modesty very peculiar to this age.
But, notwithstanding all such disguises and deceit, a man must have very little discernment who can live very long in courts, or populous cities, without being convinced of the great dignity of nothing; and though he should, through corruption or necessity, comply with the vulgar worship and adulation, he will know to what it is paid; namely, to nothing.
The most astonishing instance of this respect, so frequently paid to nothing, is when it is paid (if I may so express myself) to something less than nothing; when the person who receives it is not only void of the quality for which he is respected, but is in reality notoriously guilty of the vices directly opposite to the virtues whose applause he receives. This is, indeed, the highest degree of nothing, or (if I may be allowed the word), the nothingest of all nothings.
Here it is to be known, that respect may be aimed at something and really light on nothing. For instance, when mistaking certain things called gravity, canting, blustering, ostentation, pomp, and such like, for wisdom, piety, magnanimity, charity, true greatness, &c., we give to the former the honour and reverence due to the latter. Not that I would be understood so far to discredit my subject as to insinuate that gravity, canting, &c are really nothing; on the contrary, there is much more reason to suspect (if we judge from the practice of the world) that wisdom, piety, and other virtues, have a good title to that name. But we do not, in fact, pay our respect to the former, but to the latter: in other words, we pay it to that which is not, and consequently pay it to nothing.
So far then for the dignity of the subject on which I am treating. I am now to show, that nothing is the end as well as beginning of all things.
That every thing is resolvable, and will be resolved into its first principles, will be, I believe, readily acknowledged by all philosophers. As, therefore, we have sufficiently proved the world came from nothing, it follows that it will likewise end in the same: but as I am writing to a nation of Christians, I have no need to be prolix on this head; since every one of my readers, by his faith acknowledges that the world is to have an end, i e is to come to nothing.
And, as nothing is the end of the world, so is it of every thing in the world. Ambition, the greatsst, highest, noblest, finest, most heroic and godlike of all passions, what doth it end in? — Nothing. What did Alexander, Cæsar, and all the rest of that heroic band, who have plundered and massacred so many millions, obtain by all their care, labour, pain, fatigue, and danger? — Could they speak for themselves, must they not own, that the end of all theii; pursuit was nothing? Nor is this the end of private ambition only. What is become of that proud mistress of the world, — the Caput triumphati orbis? that Rome, of which her own flatterers so liberally prophesied the immortality. In what hath all her glory ended? Surely in nothing.
Again, what is the end of avarice? Not power, onpleasure, as some think, for the miser will part with a shilling for neither: not ease or happiness; for the more he attains of what he desires, the more uneasy and miserable he is. If every good in this world was put to him, he could not say he pursued one. Shall we say then he pursues misery only? That surely would be contradictory to the first principles of human nature. May we not therefore, nay, must we not confess, that he aims at nothing? especially if he be himself unable to tell us what is the end of all this bustle and hurry, this watching and toiling, this self-denial and self-constraint?
It will not, I apprehend, be sufficient for him to plead that his design is to amass a large fortune, which he never can nor will use himself, nor would willingly quit to any other person; unless he can show us some substantial good which this fortune is to produce, we shall certainly be justified in concluding, that his end is the same with that of ambition.
The great Mr. Hobbes so plainly saw this, that as he was an enemy to that notable immaterial substance which we have here handled, and therefore unwilling to allow it the large province we have contended for, he advanced a very strange doctrine, and asserted truly, — That in all these grand pursuits the means themselves were the end proposed, viz to ambition, plotting, fighting, danger, difficulty, and such like: — to avarice, cheating, starving, watching, and the numberless painful arts by which this passion proceeds.
However easy it may be to demonstrate the absurdity of this opinion it will be needless to my purpose, since, if we are driven to confess that the means are the only end attained. I think we must likewise confess, that the end proposed is absolutely nothing.
As I have shown the end of our two greatest and noblest pursuits, one or other of which engages almost every individual of the busy part of mankind, I shall not tire the reader with carrying him through all the rest, since I believe the same conclusion may be easily drawn from them all.
I shall therefore finish this essay with an inference, which aptly enough suggests itself from what hath been said; seeing that such is its dignity and importance, and that it is really the end of all those things which are supported with so much pomp and solemnity, and looked on with such respect and esteem, surely it becomes a wise man to regard nothing with the utmost awe and adoration; to pursue it with all his parts and pains; and to sacrifice to it his ease, his innocence, and his present happiness. To which noble pursuit we have this great incitement, that we may assure ourselves of never being cheated or deceived in the end proposed. The virtuous, wise, and learned, may then be unconcerned at all the changes of ministries and of government; since they may be well satisfied, that while ministers of state are rogues themselves, and have inferior knavish tools to bribe and reward; true virtue, wisdom, learning, wit, and integrity, will most certainly bring their possessors — nothing.
THE OPPOSITION: A VISIO N
WHATEVER makes a strong impression on our waking minds, either from its novelty, or any other cause, is generally the subject of our dreams. The object being once laid up in our memory, fancy culls it out at her pleasure, and uses it at her discretion; raising or lowering, adding or diminishing, or confounding other ideas with it, till it at last often bears very little resemblance to that, whence it was originally derived. In this confusion, however, a skilful observer may always discover something of method, some concatenation in the objects; and the irregularity in dreams, as well as in the waking thoughts of madmen, is probably owing to nothing more than the quick succession of ideas, which it is the province of judgment to prevent.
The following dream, or vision, seems to exemplify these observations; for the reader, notwithstanding the confession I have noted, may easily trace the chain of ideas from their first link, viz from the player to a company of players; from a company of players to the comical romance of Scarron; and from thence to any subject extremely farcical and ridiculous.
The accident which, as I apprehend, gave the first rise to my vision was this: I lately opened a large quarto book, intituled, An Apology for the Life of Mr. Colley Cibber, Comedian; where I had not read many lines, before the following remarkable expression occurred, Here I met the revolution. As my curiosity seldom suffers me to quit any passage in an author, before I have comprehended, at least guessed, at its sense, I found myself extremely puzzled on this occasion; and after having considered and turned it every way in my thoughts, I was at last obliged to lay down the book in despair of ever finding out what the Author meant by that extraordinary sentence. As soon as I retired to my chamber, I renewed my enquiry, but with no greater satisfaction. Sleep at length overtook me in this meditation, and fancy represented the following vision before my eyes.
Methought I was walking in the high-way, not far from London, where I met the opposition, a phrase which may at first puzzle the reader no less than that in the renowned book above-mentioned did me. It was a waggon extremely heavy laden, and (which surprised me greatly) was drawn by asses instead of horses; the asses were of different colours and sizes, and so extremely ill matched, that the whole made the most ridiculous appearance imaginable, to which the shagged coats of many did not a little contribute. An immense number of persons on foot, who all seemed of the mobile order, attended it with frequent huzzas. I suddenly stopped at this strange sight, expecting it to approach me; but finding, at last, that, instead of moving forwards, it stood quite still, I walked up to the asses, when one of the drivers (for there were several) asked me, which was his way? Whither Sir, cried I? to which he returned no answer. But a passenger from the waggon seeing me look surprised, told me plainly, he believed the driver scarce knew himself whither he was going. For his part, he honestly confessed he did not; he added, the waggon had stood still so long that he was extremely cold, and begun to despair of ever seeing it move again. I now surveyed this strange vehicle all round; its lading seemed to be chiefly a vast trunk, on which was inscribed the word grievances, and a huge box with public spirit written in large golden characters on its outside; these were so placed, that they seemed contrived to catch the eye of every beholder; there was another large trunk tied behind, which had nothing written on it, but contained, as I was whispered, motions for the 1741-2, on which rode an ill-looked fellow, carrying a large flag; the waggon was, besides, full of a great number of passengers, who sat back to back, and (which was very remarkable) scarce two of them looked the same way. I observed, moreover, many of them distinguished by white roses in their hats, other by red, and no small number of a sour complexion, without any rose at all. Whilst I was thus entertained, several from behind called aloud to the head-carter to go on, and others in the fore part of the waggon gave, at the same time, different directions, some bidding him drive to the right, some to the left, and some calling to him to move directly forwards, -without regarding the dirtiness of the way. He answered, he only waited for a fresh supply of asses, and then intended to drive through thick and thin; for he was obliged to pass such abominable bad ways, that it would require immense strength to drag them through. He had no sooner uttered these words, than the honest gentleman, whom I have before mentioned, and who rode one of the foremost in the waggon, leaped down, crying out, “If such are your intention, I will go no farther with you; I think we have travelled through dirt enough already; I was so bespattered with the last motion the waggon made, that I almost despaired of ever making myself appear clean again.” He had no sooner quitted his post, than there was a great confusion in the cart, all contending who should come forward upon this vacancy; elbowing and pushing one another with great eagerness, many of them swearing they would not go a step farther, if this or that person rode before them. One cried, it was very hard, that he who had taken a place when the waggon first set out, should sit behind that gentleman who came in only at Turn-em Green. Another said, “If he had not been assured of a better place, he would never have come into the cart; for it was wiser to ride behind a coach, for which he had wages, than to pay for a seat in the tail of a waggon.” Some in the middle of the vehicle were desirous to help drive, and some for changing the chief driver, alleging he was too fond of whipping, that the asses would draw better with good words. Nay, one passenger cried out, that the driver was a stranger to the English roads. And though there were numberless drivers to the waggon there was scarce one who did not profess himself as well qualified to drive as the best. A fellow who rode in the very tail, got up and made a speech, he said, “He wondered they did not go on, when they had nothing but a green sward to pass over; that if the asses would not draw in such pleasant roads, they were no longer worthy of the name of British asses; that he was surprised to hear gentlemen mention dirt with such abhorrence, for his part he loved the very dirt of his country; let us fix our eyes (said he) on the summit of the hill we aim at, and we shall no longer regard whether the ways are good or bad which lead to it. I should be astonished that the waggon doth not move, did I not perceive that the asses do not draw together; for while some of them stretch their traces, others prick up their ears, stand still, and bray only. I could wish our asses were all of the same size; but it is plain some of them are of the higher, some of the lower kind, and with pain I observe these will never pull the same way.” He was proceeding, when a gentleman of a meagTe aspect cried out, he was perishing with hunger, upon which one of his companions chid him for his impatience, and set forth, in a florid style, the dainties they should find on the summit of that hill whither they were travelling; but, cries a gentleman, I wish I had a morsel of bread and cheese in the mean time, for we move so slowly, that we may all be starved before we get half way; another told him, he might have that from a neighbouring alehouse; but he answered, he had no money left; but his friends had promised him when he set out, that they would have been at their journey’s end long before this; concluding, that if the waggon did not go on shortly he should turn about, and make the best of his way home again; upon which the other replied, he hoped he would not leave his friends in such a situation; damn me, cries he, if I will suffer myself to be starved for the sake of any obstinate fellow whatever; but I hope, replied the other, (shaking him by the hand, and whispering) you’ll take me along with you; upon which they both jumped down, and instantly disappeared. They were no sooner gone, than all the passengers who sat in the hinder part, and saw their secession, began to squeeze to the tail of the waggon, as the others had done towards its head, and many were actually out, when one of the passengers, who sat almost at the upper end, called out to them to stop, and not desert their friends, who were just at their journey’s end; a very few pulls more, says he, will carry us to the top of the hill. He then called to the driver to go on; and now began such a terrible outcry, the drivers encouraging their beasts, the mob holloing, and the asses braying all together, that it is difficult to conceive an adequate idea of the discord and confusion which ensued, but all to no purpose, the waggon was stuck, nor could the long-eared beasts move it an inch. One of the passengers, who seemed to have an honester countenance than most of the rest, and who declared he travelled only to bear his friends company, but knew not whither he was going, told the drivers they whipped the poor creatures in vain; for they could never stir the waggon whilst that vast, heavy trunk of grievances was in it; that if they would consent to leave that behind, he imagined the waggon might move on easily enough. This was presently opposed by several, who said it contained all the provisions for themselves, and their asses too; and not only so, but it afforded seats to most of the passengers in the waggon, and it was this which occasioned all the huzzas which the mob gave them as they passed, or rather whilst they stood still. The gentleman, however, persisted in his opinion, which was seconded by another, who stood up and said, as to provision, when they were once arrived at the top of the hill, they should easily procure enough for themselves, and as for their asses, they had no intention to fatten them, but when they had done their business would turn the
m out to graze on thistles, a food very proper and wholesome for asses, and of which they would have no reason to fear their finding a sufficient quantity; that he did not apprehend the trunk of such consequence. As to the mob, if they were told the trunk was in the waggon, they would hollo as much as if they really saw it; for observe, says he, pointing to one without shoes or stockings, with what a noble voice that fellow bellows for property; and that other there who trumpets forth’ liberty, would you think, sir, he was but yesterday discharged out of Bridewell, and ten to one but to-morrow lie will be committed to Newgate; for can you imagine if the trunk of grievances was ever so full, these honest gentlemen could have any concern in it. A warm debate now arose, till a fly fellow who sat at the head of the waggon, who as my friend told me softly, intended to drive the Lord knows whither, calling to some of those who were hottest in the interest of the trunk, pulled out a key, and opened it so wide, that methought I could see its inside, which, to my great surprise, contained little more than a few newspapers, on one of which I read the word champion, and on another was the word onsense, the letter N being, I suppose, folded down; there were indeed one or two little parcels at the bottom, which seemed to have something in them; they appeared, however, fastened to the trunk, and my friend told me, were not intended to be removed by any there, when they came to their journey’s end. I observed they were directed to the same person, at his house in Dowing-Street, but my friend assured me they did not honestly belong to him. The gentleman who had opened the trunk, now addressed those to whom he had discovered the secret, in the following manner:
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 414
