History of Tom Jones, a Foundling

  Chapter i.

  Of love.

  In our last book we have been obliged to deal pretty much with thepassion of love; and in our succeeding book shall be forced to handlethis subject still more largely. It may not therefore in this place beimproper to apply ourselves to the examination of that moderndoctrine, by which certain philosophers, among many other wonderfuldiscoveries, pretend to have found out, that there is no such passionin the human breast.

  Whether these philosophers be the same with that surprising sect, whoare honourably mentioned by the late Dr Swift, as having, by the mereforce of genius alone, without the least assistance of any kind oflearning, or even reading, discovered that profound and invaluablesecret that there is no God; or whether they are not rather the samewith those who some years since very much alarmed the world, byshowing that there were no such things as virtue or goodness reallyexisting in human nature, and who deduced our best actions from pride,I will not here presume to determine. In reality, I am inclined tosuspect, that all these several finders of truth, are the veryidentical men who are by others called the finders of gold. The methodused in both these searches after truth and after gold, being indeedone and the same, viz., the searching, rummaging, and examining into anasty place; indeed, in the former instances, into the nastiest of allplaces, A BAD MIND.

  But though in this particular, and perhaps in their success, thetruth-finder and the gold-finder may very properly be comparedtogether; yet in modesty, surely, there can be no comparison betweenthe two; for who ever heard of a gold-finder that had the impudence orfolly to assert, from the ill success of his search, that there was nosuch thing as gold in the world? whereas the truth-finder, havingraked out that jakes, his own mind, and being there capable of tracingno ray of divinity, nor anything virtuous or good, or lovely, orloving, very fairly, honestly, and logically concludes that no suchthings exist in the whole creation.

  To avoid, however, all contention, if possible, with thesephilosophers, if they will be called so; and to show our owndisposition to accommodate matters peaceably between us, we shall heremake them some concessions, which may possibly put an end to thedispute.

  First, we will grant that many minds, and perhaps those of thephilosophers, are entirely free from the least traces of such apassion.

  Secondly, that what is commonly called love, namely, the desire ofsatisfying a voracious appetite with a certain quantity of delicatewhite human flesh, is by no means that passion for which I herecontend. This is indeed more properly hunger; and as no glutton isashamed to apply the word love to his appetite, and to say he LOVESsuch and such dishes; so may the lover of this kind, with equalpropriety, say, he HUNGERS after such and such women.

  Thirdly, I will grant, which I believe will be a most acceptableconcession, that this love for which I am an advocate, though itsatisfies itself in a much more delicate manner, doth neverthelessseek its own satisfaction as much as the grossest of all ourappetites.

  And, lastly, that this love, when it operates towards one of adifferent sex, is very apt, towards its complete gratification, tocall in the aid of that hunger which I have mentioned above; and whichit is so far from abating, that it heightens all its delights to adegree scarce imaginable by those who have never been susceptible ofany other emotions than what have proceeded from appetite alone.

  In return to all these concessions, I desire of the philosophers togrant, that there is in some (I believe in many) human breasts a kindand benevolent disposition, which is gratified by contributing to thehappiness of others. That in this gratification alone, as infriendship, in parental and filial affection, as indeed in generalphilanthropy, there is a great and exquisite delight. That if we willnot call such disposition love, we have no name for it. That thoughthe pleasures arising from such pure love may be heightened andsweetened by the assistance of amorous desires, yet the former cansubsist alone, nor are they destroyed by the intervention of thelatter. Lastly, that esteem and gratitude are the proper motives tolove, as youth and beauty are to desire, and, therefore, though suchdesire may naturally cease, when age or sickness overtakes its object;yet these can have no effect on love, nor ever shake or remove, from agood mind, that sensation or passion which hath gratitude and esteemfor its basis.

  To deny the existence of a passion of which we often see manifestinstances, seems to be very strange and absurd; and can indeed proceedonly from that self-admonition which we have mentioned above: but howunfair is this! Doth the man who recognizes in his own heart no tracesof avarice or ambition, conclude, therefore, that there are no suchpassions in human nature? Why will we not modestly observe the samerule in judging of the good, as well as the evil of others? Or why, inany case, will we, as Shakespear phrases it, "put the world in our ownperson?"

  Predominant vanity is, I am afraid, too much concerned here. This isone instance of that adulation which we bestow on our own minds, andthis almost universally. For there is scarce any man, how much soeverhe may despise the character of a flatterer, but will condescend inthe meanest manner to flatter himself.

  To those therefore I apply for the truth of the above observations,whose own minds can bear testimony to what I have advanced.

  Examine your heart, my good reader, and resolve whether you do believethese matters with me. If you do, you may now proceed to theirexemplification in the following pages: if you do not, you have, Iassure you, already read more than you have understood; and it wouldbe wiser to pursue your business, or your pleasures (such as theyare), than to throw away any more of your time in reading what you canneither taste nor comprehend. To treat of the effects of love to you,must be as absurd as to discourse on colours to a man born blind;since possibly your idea of love may be as absurd as that which we aretold such blind man once entertained of the colour scarlet; thatcolour seemed to him to be very much like the sound of a trumpet: andlove probably may, in your opinion, very greatly resemble a dish ofsoup, or a surloin of roast-beef.