Wherein the general conduct of human life is taxed with too importunate a pursuit of knowledge in general.
1.HAVING past the two first stages of our intellectual conduct, that of the end [♦]and that of the means, and reflected on the irregularities of each, I come now to the third and last, which consists not in the choice of the object, or of the method to it, but in the degree of affection wherewith it is prosecuted. And this part of our conduct is as irregular and faulty, if not more so, than either of the former: and the fault of it is, a too importunate pursuit of knowledge in general.
[♦] duplicate word “and” removed
2. This charge is of a larger extent than either of the preceding: those concerning such only, as either misplace the object, or mistake the method of learning. But not only they who err in the placing of learning, or in the way to it, but even they who are right in both come under this censure; they all agree in pursuing it too importunately.
3. In order to make out the truth of this charge it will be necessary first to consider, how far it becomes man to employ himself in the prosecution of knowledge; and then it will be easy to determine, whether our general pursuit of it be immoderate or no. Now for the determination of the former, let us observe the present state of man, the posture wherein he now stands.
4. And, First, The utmost knowledge man can arrive at in this world, by his utmost endeavours, is very inconsiderable.
*God indeed has given us reason enough to distinguish us from the brute creation, and we may improve it so far, as to distinguish ourselves from one another: and so one man may deserve to be called learned and knowing, in comparison of another that is less so. But absolutely speaking, the most that any or all of us either know or can know, is of little consideration. What we know of God is but little; for as the apostle says, We see through a glass darkly: what we know of ourselves perhaps is less, and what we know of the world about us, is not much. “We have seen but a few of God’s works,” and we understand yet fewer. There are almost an infinite number of things which we never so much as thought of: and of most things we conceive very darkly and uncertainly; and there is not one thing from the greatest to the least, which we do or can understand throughly. Those that apply their whole study to any one thing, can never come to the end of that; for not only every science, but every particular of each has its unmeasurable depths and recesses. ’Tis confest by a great enquirer into the nature of antimony (as ’tis related by Mr. Boyle) “That ’tis impossible for one man to understand throughly that single mineral only.” And if a man can’t understand all of so little, how little must he understand of all? Suppose farther, that all the knowledge of all the learned were put together, it would weigh but light. For what one art or science is there, that is brought to any tolerable perfection? And if the common stock be so little, how small a pittance is it that must fall to every particular man’s share? And where is that man, who after all his poring and studying, is able to answer all the questions, I will not say which God put to Job, but which may be asked him by the next idiot he meets?
5. ’Tis superfluous, as well as endless, to display the particulars of our ignorance; though indeed, when all accounts are cast up, that will be found to be our best knowledge. This only in general, our life is so short, our progress in learning so slow, and learning itself so long and tedious, and what we do or can know so very little, that the sceptics had much more reason to conclude from the disability of our faculties, and the slightness of our attainments, than from the uncertainty and instability of truth, that there is no knowledge.
*6. But, Secondly, If it were possible for us to attain a considerable measure of knowledge, yet our life is so short and so encumbered, that we could make but little of the enjoyment of it. All the morning of our days is spent in the preliminaries of learning, in mastering words and terms of art, wherein there is nothing but toil and drudgery. And before we can taste any of the fruits of the tree of knowledge, before we can relish what is rational, our sun is got into the meridian, and then it presently begins to decline, and our learning with it. Our light, our strength, and our time make haste to consume; nothing increases now but the shadows, that is, our ignorance and darkness of mind; and while we consider and look about us, the sun sets, and all is concluded in the dark shadow of death. But often the sun is intercepted by a cloud before it sets, and we live backward again, grow weak and childish, silly and forgetful, and unlearn faster than we learned. Or if it chance to shine bright to the last, then we grow too wise for ourselves, and reject the greatest part of what we had learned before, as idle and insignificant.
*7. Thirdly, There is no necessity of being so wonderfully learned and knowing here. ’Tis neither necessary, as enjoined by God, nor as a means to any considerable end. We can be good and we can be happy without it. And lest any advantages in our after-state should be alledged, this makes it more unnecessary than any consideration besides. For though we are never so unlearned now, yet if we know enough to do our duty, we shall in a short time arrive at such a degree of knowledge as is requisite to our supreme perfection, to which our present learning cannot add, and which our present ignorance will not diminish. Perhaps not immediately upon our discharge from the body, though even then there must be a vast enlargement of our understanding; but doubtless, when we are admitted to the vision of God, we shall then commence instantaneously wise and learned, and be fully possest of the tree of knowledge, as well as of the tree of life. For then that glass, through which we now see darkly, shall be laid aside, and the field of truth shall be clearly displayed before us. And though even then there shall be degrees of knowledge, yet the variety of this dispensation shall not proceed by the degree of our knowledge in this life, but by another measure. For,