Solitude: With the Life of the Author. In Two PartsZimmermann, Johann Georg
Philosophy
Solitude: With the Life of the Author. In Two Parts
Zimmermann, Johann Georg
Solitude
of access; so that it was not to be wondered at if he found no ready
admission to the ears of a young king, already spoiled by flattery.
Willing to impute the irregularities of Dionysius to ignorance and bad
education, Dion endeavored to engage him in a course of liberal studies,
and to give him a taste for those sciences which have a tendency to moral
improvement. But in this wise and virtuous resolution he was opposed by
all the artifices of court intrigue.
Men, in proportion as their minds are dignified with noble sentiments,
and their hearts susceptible of refined sensibility, feel a justifiable
aversion to the society of such characters, and shrink from the scenes
they frequent; but they should cautiously guard against the intrusions
of that austerity and moroseness with which such a conduct is but too
apt to inspire the most benevolent minds. Disgusted by the vices and
follies of the age, the mind becomes insensibly impressed with a hatred
toward the species, and loses, by degrees, that mild and humane temper
which is so indispensably necessary to the enjoyment of social happiness.
Even he who merely observes the weak or vicious frailties of his fellow
creatures with an intention to study philosophically the nature and
disposition of man, cannot avoid remembering their defects with severity,
and viewing the character he contemplates with contempt, especially if
he happens to be the object of their artifices, and the dupe of their
villanies. Contempt is closely allied with hatred; and hatred of mankind
will corrupt, in time, the fairest mind: it tinges, by degrees, every
object with the bile of misanthropy; perverts the judgment; and at length
looks indiscriminately with an evil eye on the good and bad, engenders
suspicion, fear, jealousy, revenge, and all the black catalogue of
unworthy and malignant passions: and when these dreadful enemies have
extirpated every generous sentiment from the breast, the unhappy victim
abhors society, disclaims his species, sighs, like St. Hyacinth, for
some distant and secluded island, and with savage barbarity, defends the
inviolability of its boundaries by the cruel repulsion, and, perhaps, the
death of those unhappy mortals whom misfortune may drive, hapless and
unpitied, to its inhospitable shores.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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