{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_743/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_743","id":"gutenberg_743","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/743","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Human beings","Psychology -- Early works to 1850"],"text":"Produced by Charles Keller\n\n\n\n\n\nTHOUGHTS ON MAN\n\nHIS NATURE, PRODUCTIONS AND DISCOVERIES INTERSPERSED WITH SOME\nPARTICULARS RESPECTING THE AUTHOR\n\n\nBy William Godwin\n\n\n                Oh, the blood more stirs\n               To rouse a lion, than to start a hare!\n\n               SHAKESPEARE\n\n\nLONDON:\n\nEFFINGHAM WILSON, ROYAL EXCHANGE.\n\n1831.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nIn the ensuing volume I have attempted to give a defined and permanent\nform to a variety of thoughts, which have occurred to my mind in the\ncourse of thirty-four years, it being so long since I published a\nvolume, entitled, the Enquirer,--thoughts, which, if they have presented\nthemselves to other men, have, at least so far as I am aware, never been\ngiven to the public through the medium of the press. During a part of\nthis period I had remained to a considerable degree unoccupied in my\ncharacter of an author, and had delivered little to the press that bore\nmy name.--And I beg the reader to believe, that, since I entered in\n1791 upon that which may be considered as my vocation in life, I\nhave scarcely in any instance contributed a page to any periodical\nmiscellany.\n\nMy mind has been constitutionally meditative, and I should not have\nfelt satisfied, if I had not set in order for publication these special\nfruits of my meditations. I had entered upon a certain career; and I\nheld it for my duty not to abandon it.\n\nOne thing further I feel prompted to say. I have always regarded it as\nmy office to address myself to plain men, and in clear and unambiguous\nterms. It has been my lot to have occasional intercourse with some of\nthose who consider themselves as profound, who deliver their oracles\nin obscure phraseology, and who make it their boast that few men can\nunderstand them, and those few only through a process of abstract\nreflection, and by means of unwearied application.\n\nTo this class of the oracular I certainly did not belong. I felt that\nI had nothing to say, that it should be very difficult to understand.\nI resolved, if I could help it, not to \"darken counsel by words without\nknowledge.\" This was my principle in the Enquiry concerning Political\nJustice. And I had my reward. I had a numerous audience of all classes,\nof every age, and of either sex. The young and the fair did not feel\ndeterred from consulting my pages.\n\nIt may be that that book was published in a propitious season. I am\ntold that nothing coming from the press will now be welcomed, unless it\npresents itself in the express form of amusement. He who shall propose\nto himself for his principal end, to draw aside in one particular or\nanother the veil from the majesty of intellectual or moral truth, must\nlay his account in being received with little attention.\n\nI have not been willing to believe this: and I publish my speculations\naccordingly. I have aimed at a popular, and (if I could reach it) an\ninteresting style; and, if I am thrust aside and disregarded, I shall\nconsole myself with believing that I have not neglected what it was in\nmy power to achieve.\n\nOne characteristic of the present publication will not fail to\noffer itself to the most superficial reader. I know many men who are\nmisanthropes, and profess to look down with disdain on their species. My\ncreed is of an opposite character. All that we observe that is best\nand most excellent in the intellectual world, is man: and it is easy to\nperceive in many cases, that the believer in mysteries does little\nmore, than dress up his deity in the choicest of human attributes and\nqualifications. I have lived among, and I feel an ardent interest in and\nlove for, my brethren of mankind. This sentiment, which I regard with\ncomplacency in my own breast, I would gladly cherish in others. In such\na cause I am well pleased to enrol myself a missionary.\n\n     February 15, 1831.\n\n\nThe particulars respecting the author, referred to in the title-page,\nwill be found principally in Essays VII, IX, XIV, and XVIII.\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n     Essay.\n     I.      Of Body and Mind.  The Prologue\n     II.     Of the Distribution of Talents\n     III.    Of Intellectual Abortion\n     IV.     Of the Durability of Human Achievements and Productions\n     V.      Of the Rebelliousness of Man\n     VI.     Of Human Innocence\n     VII.    Of the Duration of Human Life\n     VIII.   Of Human Vegetation\n     IX.     Of Leisure\n     X.      Of Imitation and Invention\n     XI.     Of Self-Love and Benevolence\n     XII.    Of the Liberty of Human Actions\n     XIII.   Of Belief\n     XIV.    Of Youth and Age\n     XV.     Of Love and Friendship\n     XVI.    Of Frankness and Reserve\n     XVII.   Of Ballot\n     XVIII.  Of Diffidence\n     XIX.    Of Self Complacence\n     XX.     Of Phrenology\n     XXI.    Of Astronomy\n     XXII.   Of the Material Universe\n     XXIII.  Of Human Virtue.  The Epilogue\n\n\n\n\nTHOUGHTS, &c.\n\n\n\n\nESSAY I. OF BODY AND MIND.\n\nTHE PROLOGUE.\n\nThere is no subject that more frequently occupies the attention of the\ncontemplative than man: yet there are many circumstances concerning him\nthat we shall hardly admit to have been sufficiently considered.\n\nFamiliarity breeds contempt. That which we see every day and every hour,\nit is difficult for us to regard with admiration. To almost every one\nof our stronger emotions novelty is a necessary ingredient. The simple\nappetites of our nature may perhaps form an exception. The appetite\nfor food is perpetually renewed in a healthy subject with scarcely any\ndiminution and love, even the most refined, being combined with one\nof our original impulses, will sometimes for that reason withstand a\nthousand trials, and perpetuate itself for years. In all other cases it\nis required, that a fresh impulse should be given, that attention should\nanew be excited, or we cannot admire. Things often seen pass feebly\nbefore our senses, and scarcely awake the languid soul.\n\n\"Man is the most excellent and noble creature of the world, the\nprincipal and mighty work of God, the wonder of nature, the marvel of\nmarvels(1).\"\n\n\n   (1) Anatomy of Melancholy, p. 1.\n\n\nLet us have regard to his corporeal structure. There is a simplicity in\nit, that at first perhaps we slightly consider. But how exactly is it\nfashioned for strength and agility! It is in no way incumbered. It\nis like the marble when it comes out of the hand of the consummate\nsculptor; every thing unnecessary is carefully chiseled away; and the\njoints, the muscles, the articulations, and the veins come out, clean\nand finished. It has long ago been observed, that beauty, as well as\nvirtue, is the middle between all extremes: that nose which is neither\nspecially long, nor short, nor thick, nor thin, is the perfect nose; and\nso of the rest. In like manner, when I speak of man generally, I do not\nregard any aberrations of form, obesity, a thick calf, a thin calf; I\ntake the middle between all extremes; and this is emphatically man.\n\nMan cannot keep pace with a starting horse: but he can persevere, and\nbeats him in the end.\n\nWhat an infinite variety of works is man by his corporeal form enabled\nto accomplish! In this respect he casts the whole creation behind him.\n\nWhat a machine is the human hand! When we analyse its parts and its\nuses, it appears to be the most consummate of our members. And yet there\nare other parts, that may maintain no mean rivalship against it.\n\nWhat a sublimity is to be attributed to his upright form! He is not\nfashioned, veluti pecora, quae natura prona atque ventri obedientia\nfinxit. He is made coeli convexa tueri. The looks that are given him in\nhis original structure, are \"looks commercing with the skies.\"\n\nHow surpassingly beautiful are the features of his countenance; the\neyes, the nose, the mouth! How noble do they appear in a state of\nrepose! With what never-ending variety and emphasis do they express the\nemotions of his mind! In the visage of man, uncorrupted and undebased,\nwe read the frankness and ingenuousness of his soul, the clearness\nof his reflections, the penetration of his spirit. What a volume of\nunderstanding is unrolled in his broad, expanded, lofty brow! In his\ncountenance we see expressed at one time sedate confidence and awful\nintrepidity, and at another godlike condescension and the most melting\ntenderness. Who can behold the human eye, suddenly suffused with\nmoisture, or gushing with tears unbid, and the quivering lip, without\nunspeakable emotion? Shakespear talks of an eye, \"whose bend could awe\nthe world.\"\n\nWhat a miraculous thing is the human complexion! We are sent into the\nworld naked, that all the variations of the blood might be made visible.\nHowever trite, I cannot avoid quoting here the lines of the most\ndeep-thinking and philosophical of our poets:\n\n                         We understood\n      Her by her sight:  her pure and eloquent blood\n      Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought,\n      That one might almost say her body thought.\n\nWhat a curious phenomenon is that of blushing! It is impossible to\nwitness this phenomenon without interest and sympathy. It comes at once,\nunanticipated by the person in whom we behold it. It comes from the\nsoul, and expresses with equal certainty shame, modesty, and vivid,\nuncontrollable affection. It spreads, as it were in so many stages, over\nthe cheeks, the brow, and the neck, of him or her in whom the sentiment\nthat gives birth to it is working.\n\nThus far I have not mentioned speech, not perhaps the most inestimable\nof human gifts, but, if it is not that, it is at least the endowment,\nwhich makes man social, by which principally we impart our sentiments to\neach other, and which changes us from solitary individuals, and\nbestows on us a duplicate and multipliable existence. Beside which\nit incalculably increases the perfection of one. The man who does not\nspeak, is an unfledged thinker; and the man that does not write, is but\nhalf an investigator.\n\nNot to enter into all the mysteries of articulate speech and the\nirresistible power of eloquence, whether addressed to a single hearer,\nor instilled into the ears of many,--a topic that belongs perhaps less\nto the chapter of body than mind,--let us for a moment fix our thoughts\nsteadily upon that little implement, the human voice. Of what unnumbered\nmodulations is it susceptible! What terror may it inspire! How may it\nelectrify the soul, and suspend all its functions! How infinite is its\nmelody! How instantly it subdues the hearer to pity or to love! How does\nthe listener hang upon every note praying that it may last for ever,\n\n               ----that even silence\n      Was took ere she was ware, and wished she might\n      Deny her nature, and be never more,\n      Still to be so displaced.\n\nIt is here especially that we are presented with the triumphs of\ncivilisation. How immeasurable is the distance between the voice of the\nclown, who never thought of the power that dwells in this faculty, who\ndelivers himself in a rude, discordant and unmodulated accent, and is\naccustomed to confer with his fellow at the distance of two fields, and\nthe man who understands his instrument as Handel understood the organ,\nand who, whether he thinks of it or no, sways those that hear him as\nimplicitly as Orpheus is said to have subdued the brute creation!\n\nFrom the countenance of man let us proceed to his figure. Every limb\nis capable of speaking, and telling its own tale. What can equal the\nmagnificence of the neck, the column upon which the head reposes! The\nample chest may denote an almost infinite strength and power. Let us\ncall to mind the Apollo Belvidere, and the Venus de Medicis, whose very\n\"bends are adornings.\" What loftiness and awe have I seen expressed in\nthe step of an actress, not yet deceased, when first she advanced, and\ncame down towards the audience! I was ravished, and with difficulty kept\nmy seat! Pass we to the mazes of the dance, the inimitable charms and\npicturesque beauty that may be given to the figure while still unmoved,\nand the ravishing grace that dwells in it during its endless changes and\nevolutions.\n\nThe upright figure of man produces, incidentally as it were, and by the\nbye, another memorable effect. Hence we derive the power of meeting\nin halls, and congregations, and crowded assemblies. We are found \"at\nlarge, though without number,\" at solemn commemorations and on festive\noccasions. We touch each other, as the members of a gay party are\naccustomed to do, when they wait the stroke of an electrical machine,\nand the spark spreads along from man to man. It is thus that we have\nour feelings in common at a theatrical representation and at a public\ndinner, that indignation is communicated, and patriotism become\nirrepressible.\n\nOne man can convey his sentiments in articulate speech to a thousand;\nand this is the nursing mother of oratory, of public morality, of public\nreligion, and the drama. The privilege we thus possess, we are indeed\ntoo apt to abuse; but man is scarcely ever so magnificent and so awful,\nas when hundreds of human heads are assembled together, hundreds of\nfaces lifted up to contemplate one object, and hundreds of voices\nuttered in the expression of one common sentiment.\n\nBut, notwithstanding the infinite beauty, the magazine of excellencies\nand perfections, that appertains to the human body, the mind claims,\nand justly claims, an undoubted superiority. I am not going into an\nenumeration of the various faculties and endowments of the mind of man,\nas I have done of his body. The latter was necessary for my purpose.\nBefore I proceeded to consider the ascendancy of mind, the dominion and\nloftiness it is accustomed to assert, it appeared but just to recollect\nwhat was the nature and value of its subject and its slave.\n\nBy the mind we understand that within us which feels and thinks, the\nseat of sensation and reason. Where it resides we cannot tell, nor\ncan authoritatively pronounce, as the apostle says, relatively to a\nparticular phenomenon, \"whether it is in the body, or out of the body.\"\nBe it however where or what it may, it is this which constitutes the\ngreat essence of, and gives value to, our existence; and all the wonders\nof our microcosm would without it be a form only, destined immediately\nto perish, and of no greater account than as a clod of the valley.\n\nIt was an important remark, suggested to me many years ago by an eminent\nphysiologer and anatomist, that, when I find my attention called to any\nparticular part or member of my body, I may be morally sure that there\nis something amiss in the processes of that part or member. As long as\nthe whole economy of the frame goes on well and without interruption,\nour attention is not called to it. The intellectual man is like a\ndisembodied spirit.\n\nHe is almost in the state of the dervise in the Arabian Nights, who had\nthe power of darting his soul into the unanimated body of another, human\nor brute, while he left his own body in the condition of an insensible\ncarcase, till it should be revivified by the same or some other spirit.\nWhen I am, as it is vulgarly understood, in a state of motion, I use my\nlimbs as the implements of my will. When, in a quiescent state of the\nbody, I continue to think, to reflect and to reason, I use, it may be,\nthe substance of the brain as the implement of my thinking, reflecting\nand reasoning; though of this in fact we know nothing.\n\nWe have every reason to believe that the mind cannot subsist without the\nbody; at least we must be very different creatures from what we are at\npresent, when that shall take place. For a man to think, agreeably and\nwith serenity, he must be in some degree of health. The corpus sanum is\nno less indispensible than the mens sana. We must eat, and drink, and\nsleep. We must have a reasonably good appetite and digestion, and a\nfitting temperature, neither too hot nor cold. It is desirable that we\nshould have air and exercise. But this is instrumental merely. All these\nthings are negatives, conditions without which we cannot think to the\nbest purpose, but which lend no active assistance to our thinking.\n\nMan is a godlike being. We launch ourselves in conceit into illimitable\nspace, and take up our rest beyond the fixed stars. We proceed without\nimpediment from country to country, and from century to century,\nthrough all the ages of the past, and through the vast creation of the\nimaginable future. We spurn at the bounds of time and space; nor would\nthe thought be less futile that imagines to imprison the mind within\nthe limits of the body, than the attempt of the booby clown who is said\nwithin a thick hedge to have plotted to shut in the flight of an eagle.\n\nWe never find our attention called to any particular part or member of\nthe body, except when there is somewhat amiss in that part or member.\nAnd, in like manner as we do not think of any one part or member in\nparticular, so neither do we consider our entire microcosm and frame.\nThe body is apprehended as no more important and of intimate connection\nto a man engaged in a train of reflections, than the house or\napartment in which he dwells. The mind may aptly be described under\nthe denomination of the \"stranger at home.\" On set occasions and at\nappropriate times we examine our stores, and ascertain the various\ncommodities we have, laid up in our presses and our coffers. Like the\ngovernor of a fort in time of peace, which was erected to keep out a\nforeign assailant, we occasionally visit our armoury, and take account\nof the muskets, the swords, and other implements of war it contains, but\nfor the most part are engaged in the occupations of peace, and do not\ncall the means of warfare in any sort to our recollection.\n\nThe mind may aptly be described under the denomination of the \"stranger\nat home.\" With their bodies most men are little acquainted. We are \"like\nunto a man beholding his natural face in a glass, who beholdeth himself,\nand goeth his way, and straightway forgetteth what manner of man he is.\"\nIn the ruminations of the inner man, and the dissecting our thoughts and\ndesires, we employ our intellectual arithmetic, we add, and subtract,\nand multiply, and divide, without asking the aid, without adverting to\nthe existence, of our joints and members. Even as to the more corporeal\npart of our avocations, we behold the external world, and proceed\nstraight to the object of our desires, without almost ever thinking\nof this medium, our own material frame, unaided by which none of these\nthings could be accomplished. In this sense we may properly be said\nto be spiritual existences, however imperfect may be the idea we are\nenabled to affix to the term spirit.\n\nHence arises the notion, which has been entertained ever since the birth\nof reflection and logical discourse in the world, and which in some\nfaint and confused degree exists probably even among savages, that the\nbody is the prison of the mind. It is in this sense that Waller, after\ncompleting fourscore years of age, expresses himself in these affecting\nand interesting couplets.\n\n      When we for age could neither read nor write,\n      The subject made us able to indite.\n      The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed,\n      Lets in new light by chinks that time hath made:\n      Stronger by weakness, wiser, men become,\n      As they draw near to their eternal home.\n\nThus it is common with persons of elevated soul to talk of neglecting,\noverlooking, and taking small account of the body. It is in this spirit\nthat the story is recorded of Anaxarchus, who, we are told, was ordered\nby Nicocreon, tyrant of Salamis, to be pounded in a mortar, and who,\nin contempt of his mortal sufferings, exclaimed, \"Beat on, tyrant! thou\ndost but strike upon the case of Anaxarchus; thou canst not touch the\nman himself.\" And it is in something of the same light that we must\nregard what is related of the North American savages. Beings, who scoff\nat their tortures, must have an idea of something that lies beyond the\nreach of their assailants.\n\nIt is just however to observe, that some of the particulars here\nrelated, belong not less to the brute creation than to man. If men are\nimperfectly acquainted with their external figure and appearance,\nthis may well be conceived to be still more predicable of the inferior\nanimals. It is true that all of them seem to be aware of the part in\ntheir structure, where lie their main strength and means of hostility.\nThus the bull attacks with his horns, and the horse with his heels, the\nbeast of prey with his claws, the bird with his beak, and insects and\nother venomous creatures with their sting. We know not by what\nimpulse they are prompted to the use of the various means which are so\nintimately connected with their preservation and welfare; and we call it\ninstinct. We may be certain it does not arise from a careful survey of\ntheir parts and members, and a methodised selection of the means which\nshall be found most effectual for the accomplishment of their ends.\nThere is no premeditation; and, without anatomical knowledge, or any\ndistinct acquaintance with their image and likeness, they proceed\nstraight to their purpose.\n\nHence, even as men, they are more familiar with the figures and\nappearance of their fellows, their allies, or their enemies, than with\ntheir own.\n\nMan is a creature of mingled substance. I am many times a day compelled\nto acknowledge what a low, mean and contemptible being I am. Philip of\nMacedon had no need to give it in charge to a page, to repair to him\nevery morning, and repeat, \"Remember, sir, you are a man.\" A variety of\ncircumstances occur to us, while we eat, and drink, and submit to the\nhumiliating necessities of nature, that may well inculcate into us this\nsalutary lesson. The wonder rather is, that man, who has so many things\nto put him in mind to be humble and despise himself, should ever have\nbeen susceptible of pride and disdain. Nebuchadnezzar must indeed have\nbeen the most besotted of mortals, if it were necessary that he should\nbe driven from among men, and made to eat grass like an ox, to convince\nhim that he was not the equal of the power that made him.\n\nBut fortunately, as I have said, man is a \"stranger at home.\" Were it\nnot for this, how incomprehensible would be\n\n      The ceremony that to great ones 'longs,\n      The monarch's crown, and the deputed sword,\n      The marshal's truncheon, and the judge's robe!\n\nHow ludicrous would be the long procession and the caparisoned horse,\nthe gilded chariot and the flowing train, the colours flying, the drums\nbeating, and the sound of trumpets rending the air, which after all only\nintroduce to us an ordinary man, no otherwise perhaps distinguished from\nthe vilest of the ragged spectators, than by the accident of his birth!\n\nBut what is of more importance in the temporary oblivion we are enabled\nto throw over the refuse of the body, it is thus we arrive at the\nmajesty of man. That sublimity of conception which renders the poet, and\nthe man of great literary and original endowments \"in apprehension like\na God,\" we could not have, if we were not privileged occasionally\nto cast away the slough and exuviae of the body from incumbering and\ndishonouring us, even as Ulysses passed over his threshold, stripped of\nthe rags that had obscured him, while Minerva enlarged his frame, and\ngave loftiness to his stature, added a youthful beauty and grace to his\nmotions, and caused his eyes to flash with more than mortal fire. With\nwhat disdain, when I have been rapt in the loftiest moods of mind, do I\nlook down upon my limbs, the house of clay that contains me, the gross\nflesh and blood of which my frame is composed, and wonder at a lodging,\npoorly fitted to entertain so divine a guest!\n\nA still more important chapter in the history of the human mind has its\norigin in these considerations. Hence it is that unenlightened man, in\nalmost all ages and countries, has been induced, independently of\ndivine revelation, to regard death, the most awful event to which we are\nsubject, as not being the termination of his existence. We see the\nbody of our friend become insensible, and remain without motion, or\nany external indication of what we call life. We can shut it up in an\napartment, and visit it from day to day. If we had perseverance enough,\nand could so far conquer the repugnance and humiliating feeling with\nwhich the experiment would be attended, we might follow step by step the\nprocess of decomposition and putrefaction, and observe by what degrees\nthe \"dust returned unto earth as it was.\" But, in spite of this\ndemonstration of the senses, man still believes that there is something\nin him that lives after death. The mind is so infinitely superior\nin character to this case of flesh that incloses it, that he cannot\npersuade himself that it and the body perish together.\n\nThere are two considerations, the force of which made man a religious\nanimal. The first is, his proneness to ascribe hostility or benevolent\nintention to every thing of a memorable sort that occurs to him in the\norder of nature. The second is that of which I have just treated, the\nsuperior dignity of mind over body. This, we persuade ourselves,\nshall subsist uninjured by the mutations of our corporeal frame, and\nundestroyed by the wreck of the material universe.\n\n\n\n\nESSAY II. OF THE DISTRIBUTION OF TALENTS.\n\n{Greek--omitted} Thucydides, Lib.I, cap. 84.\n\nSECTION I.\n\nPRESUMED DEARTH OF INTELLECTUAL POWER.--SCHOOLS FOR THE EDUCATION OF\nYOUTH CONSIDERED.--THE BOY AND THE MAN COMPARED.\n\nOne of the earliest judgments that is usually made by those whose\nattention is turned to the characters of men in the social state, is\nof the great inequality with which the gifts of the understanding are\ndistributed among us.\n\nGo into a miscellaneous society; sit down at table with ten or twelve\nmen; repair to a club where as many are assembled in an evening to relax\nfrom the toils of the day--it is almost proverbial, that one or two of\nthese persons will perhaps be brilliant, and the rest \"weary, stale,\nflat and unprofitable.\"\n\nGo into a numerous school--the case will be still more striking. I have\nbeen present where two men of superior endowments endeavoured to enter\ninto a calculation on the subject; and they agreed that there was not\nabove one boy in a hundred, who would be found to possess a penetrating\nunderstanding, and to be able to strike into a path of intellect that\nwas truly his own. How common is it to hear the master of such a school\nsay, \"Aye, I am proud of that lad; I have been a schoolmaster these\nthirty years, and have never had such another!\"\n\nThe society above referred to, the dinner-party, or the club, was to\na considerable degree select, brought together by a certain supposed\ncongeniality between the individuals thus assembled. Were they\ntaken indiscriminately, as boys are when consigned to the care of\na schoolmaster, the proportion of the brilliant would not be a whit\ngreater than in the latter case.\n\nA main criterion of the superiority of the schoolboy will be found in\nhis mode of answering a casual question proposed by the master. The\nmajority will be wholly at fault, will shew that they do not understand\nthe question, and will return an answer altogether from the purpose. One\nin a hundred perhaps, perhaps in a still less proportion, will reply\nin a laudable manner, and convey his ideas in perspicuous and spirited\nlanguage.\n\nIt does not certainly go altogether so ill, with men grown up to years\nof maturity. They do not for the most part answer a plain question in a\nmanner to make you wonder at their fatuity.\n\nA main cause of the disadvantageous appearance exhibited by the ordinary\nschoolboy, lies in what we denominate sheepishness. He is at a loss, and\nin the first place stares at you, instead of giving an answer. He does\nnot make by many degrees so poor a figure among his equals, as when he\nis addressed by his seniors.\n\nOne of the reasons of the latter phenomenon consists in the torpedo\neffect of what we may call, under the circumstances, the difference of\nranks. The schoolmaster is a despot to his scholar; for every man is\na despot, who delivers his judgment from the single impulse of his own\nwill. The boy answers his questioner, as Dolon answers Ulysses in the\nIliad, at the point of the sword. It is to a certain degree the same\nthing, when the boy is questioned merely by his senior. He fears he\nknows not what,--a reprimand, a look of lofty contempt, a gesture\nof summary disdain. He does not think it worth his while under these\ncircumstances, to \"gird up the loins of his mind.\" He cannot return a\nfree and intrepid answer but to the person whom he regards as his equal.\nThere is nothing that has so disqualifying an effect upon him who is\nto answer, as the consideration that he who questions is universally\nacknowledged to be a being of a higher sphere, or, as between the\nboy and the man, that he is the superior in conventional and corporal\nstrength.\n\nNor is it simple terror that restrains the boy from answering his senior\nwith the same freedom and spirit, as he would answer his equal. He does\nnot think it worth his while to enter the lists. He despairs of doing\nthe thing in the way that shall gain approbation, and therefore will not\ntry. He is like a boxer, who, though skilful, will not fight with one\nhand tied behind him. He would return you the answer, if it occurred\nwithout his giving himself trouble; but he will not rouse his soul, and\ntask his strength to give it. He is careless; and prefers trusting to\nwhatever construction you may put upon him, and whatever treatment you\nmay think proper to bestow upon him. It is the most difficult thing in\nthe world, for the schoolmaster to inspire into his pupil the desire to\ndo his best.\n\nAmong full-grown men the case is different. The schoolboy, whether under\nhis domestic roof, or in the gymnasium, is in a situation similar to\nthat of the Christian slaves in Algiers, as described by Cervantes in\nhis History of the Captive. \"They were shut up together in a species of\nbagnio, from whence they were brought out from time to time to perform\ncertain tasks in common: they might also engage in pranks, and get into\nscrapes, as they pleased; but the master would hang up one, impale\nanother, and cut off the ears of a third, for little occasion, or even\nwholly without it.\" Such indeed is the condition of the child almost\nfrom the hour of birth. The severities practised upon him are not so\ngreat as those resorted to by the proprietor of slaves in Algiers; but\nthey are equally arbitrary and without appeal. He is free to a certain\nextent, even as the captives described by Cervantes; but his freedom is\nupon sufferance, and is brought to an end at any time at the pleasure of\nhis seniors. The child therefore feels his way, and ascertains by\nrepeated experiments how far he may proceed with impunity. He is like\nthe slaves of the Romans on the days of the Saturnalia. He may do\nwhat he pleases, and command tasks to his masters, but with this\ndifference--the Roman slave knew when the days of his licence would be\nover, and comported himself accordingly; but the child cannot foresee at\nany moment when the bell will be struck, and the scene reversed. It is\ncommonly enough incident to this situation, that the being who is at the\nmercy of another, will practise, what Tacitus calls, a \"vernacular\nurbanity,\" make his bold jests, and give utterance to his saucy\ninnuendoes, with as much freedom as the best; but he will do it with a\nwary eye, not knowing how soon he may feel his chain plucked! and\nhimself compulsorily reduced into the established order. His more usual\nrefuge therefore is, to do nothing, and to wrap himself up in that\nneutrality towards his seniors, that may best protect him from their\nreprimand and their despotism.\n\nThe condition of the full-grown man is different from that of the child,\nand he conducts himself accordingly. He is always to a certain degree\nunder the control of the political society of which he is a member. He\nis also exposed to the chance of personal insult and injury from\nthose who are stronger than he, or who may render their strength more\nconsiderable by combination and numbers. The political institutions\nwhich control him in certain respects, protect him also to a given\ndegree from the robber and assassin, or from the man who, were it\nnot for penalties and statutes, would perpetrate against him all the\nmischiefs which malignity might suggest. Civil policy however subjects\nhim to a variety of evils, which wealth or corruption are accustomed to\ninflict under the forms of justice; at the same time that it can never\nwholly defend him from those violences to which he would be every moment\nexposed in what is called the state of nature.\n\nThe full-grown man in the mean time is well pleased when he escapes\nfrom the ergastulum where he had previously dwelt, and in which he had\nexperienced corporal infliction and corporal restraint. At first, in the\nnewness of his freedom, he breaks out into idle sallies and escapes, and\nis like the full-fed steed that manifests his wantonness in a thousand\nantics and ruades. But this is a temporary extravagance. He presently\nbecomes as wise and calculating, as the schoolboy was before him.\n\nThe human being then, that has attained a certain stature, watches and\npoises his situation, and considers what he may do with impunity. He\nventures at first with no small diffidence, and pretends to be twice\nas assured as he really is. He accumulates experiment after experiment,\ntill they amount to a considerable volume. It is not till he has passed\nsuccessive lustres, that he attains that firm step, and temperate and\nsettled accent, which characterise the man complete. He then no longer\ndoubts, but is ranged on the full level of the ripened members of the\ncommunity.\n\nThere is therefore little room for wonder, if we find the same\nindividual, whom we once knew a sheepish and irresolute schoolboy, that\nhung his head, that replied with inarticulated monotony, and stammered\nout his meaning, metamorphosed into a thoroughly manly character, who\nmay take his place on the bench with senators, and deliver a grave and\nmatured opinion as well as the best. It appears then that the trial and\nreview of full-grown men is not altogether so disadvantageous to the\nreckoning of our common nature, as that of boys at school.\n\nIt is not however, that the full-grown man is not liable to be checked,\nreprimanded and rebuked, even as the schoolboy is. He has his wife\nto read him lectures, and rap his knuckles; he has his master, his\nlandlord, or the mayor of his village, to tell him of his duty in an\nimperious style, and in measured sentences; if he is a member of a\nlegislature, even there he receives his lessons, and is told, either\nin phrases of well-conceived irony, or by the exhibition of facts and\nreasonings which take him by surprise, that he is not altogether the\nperson he deemed himself to be. But he does not mind it. Like Iago in\nthe play, he \"knows his price, and, by the faith of man, that he is\nworth no worse a place\" than that which he occupies. He finds out the\nvalue of the check he receives, and lets it \"pass by him like the idle\nwind\"--a mastery, which the schoolboy, however he may affect it, never\nthoroughly attains to.\n\nBut it unfortunately happens, that, before he has arrived at that degree\nof independence, the fate of the individual is too often decided for\never. How are the majority of men trampled in the mire, made \"hewers\nof wood, and drawers of water,\" long, very long, before there was an\nopportunity of ascertaining what it was of which they were capable! Thus\nalmost every one is put in the place which by nature he was least fit\nfor: and, while perhaps a sufficient quantity of talent is extant in\neach successive generation, yet, for want of each man's being duly\nestimated, and assigned his appropriate duty, the very reverse may\nappear to be the case. By the time that they have attained to that sober\nself-confidence that might enable them to assert themselves, they are\nalready chained to a fate, or thrust down to a condition, from which no\ninternal energies they possess can ever empower them to escape.\n\n\nSECTION II.\n\nEQUALITY OF MAN WITH MAN.--TALENTS EXTENSIVELY DISTRIBUTED.--WAY IN\nWHICH THIS DISTRIBUTION IS COUNTERACTED.--THE APTITUDE OF CHILDREN\nFOR DIFFERENT PURSUITS SHOULD BE EARLY SOUGHT OUT.--HINTS FOR A BETTER\nSYSTEM OF EDUCATION.--AMBITION AN UNIVERSAL PRINCIPLE.\n\nThe reflections thus put down, may assist us in answering the question\nas to the way in which talents are distributed among men by the hand of\nnature.\n\nAll things upon the earth and under the earth, and especially all\norganised bodies of the animal or vegetable kingdom, fall into classes.\nIt is by this means, that the child no sooner learns the terms, man,\nhorse, tree, flower, than, if an object of any of these kinds which\nhe has never seen before, is exhibited to him, he pronounces without\nhesitation, This is a man, a horse, a tree, a flower.\n\nAll organised bodies of the animal or vegetable kingdom are cast in a\nmould of given dimension and feature belonging to a certain number of\nindividuals, though distinguished by inexhaustible varieties. It is by\nmeans of those features that the class of each individual is determined.\n\nTo confine ourselves to man.\n\nAll men, the monster and the lusus naturae excepted, have a certain\nform, a certain complement of limbs, a certain internal structure, and\norgans of sense--may we not add further, certain powers of intellect?\n\nHence it seems to follow, that man is more like and more equal to\nman, deformities of body and abortions of intellect excepted, than the\ndisdainful and fastidious censors of our common nature are willing to\nadmit.\n\nI am inclined to believe, that, putting idiots and extraordinary cases\nout of the question, every human creature is endowed with talents,\nwhich, if rightly directed, would shew him to be apt, adroit,\nintelligent and acute, in the walk for which his organisation especially\nfitted him.\n\nBut the practices and modes of civilised life prompt us to take the\ninexhaustible varieties of man, as he is given into our guardianship by\nthe bountiful hand of nature, and train him in one uniform exercise, as\nthe raw recruit is treated when he is brought under the direction of his\ndrill-serjeant.\n\nThe son of the nobleman, of the country-gentleman, and of those parents\nwho from vanity or whatever other motive are desirous that their\noffspring should be devoted to some liberal profession, is in nearly all\ninstances sent to the grammar-school. It is in this scene principally,\nthat the judgment is formed that not above one boy in a hundred\npossesses an acute understanding, or will be able to strike into a path\nof intellect that shall be truly his own.\n\nI do not object to this destination, if temperately pursued. It is fit\nthat as many children as possible should have their chance of figuring\nin future life in what are called the higher departments of intellect.\nA certain familiar acquaintance with language and the shades of language\nas a lesson, will be beneficial to all. The youth who has expended only\nsix months in acquiring the rudiments of the Latin tongue, will probably\nbe more or less the better for it in all his future life.\n\nBut seven years are usually spent at the grammar-school by those who are\nsent to it. I do not in many cases object to this. The learned languages\nare assuredly of slow acquisition. In the education of those who are\ndestined to what are called the higher departments of intellect, a long\nperiod may advantageously be spent in the study of words, while the\nprogress they make in theory and dogmatical knowledge is too generally\na store of learning laid up, to be unlearned again when they reach the\nperiod of real investigation and independent judgment. There is small\ndanger of this in the acquisition of words.\n\nBut this method, indiscriminately pursued as it is now, is productive\nof the worst consequences. Very soon a judgment may be formed by the\nimpartial observer, whether the pupil is at home in the study of the\nlearned languages, and is likely to make an adequate progress.\nBut parents are not impartial. There are also two reasons why the\nschoolmaster is not the proper person to pronounce: first, because,\nif he pronounces in the negative, he will have reason to fear that the\nparent will be offended; and secondly, because he does not like to lose\nhis scholar. But the very moment that it can be ascertained, that the\npupil is not at home in the study of the learned languages, and is\nunlikely to make an adequate progress, at that moment he should be taken\nfrom it.\n\nThe most palpable deficiency that is to be found in relation to the\neducation of children, is a sound judgment to be formed as to the\nvocation or employment in which each is most fitted to excel.\n\nAs, according to the institutions of Lycurgus, as soon as a boy was\nborn, he was visited by the elders of the ward, who were to decide\nwhether he was to be reared, and would be made an efficient member of\nthe commonwealth, so it were to be desired that, as early as a clear\ndiscrimination on the subject might be practicable, a competent decision\nshould be given as to the future occupation and destiny of a child.\n\nBut this is a question attended with no common degree of difficulty.\nTo the resolving such a question with sufficient evidence, a very\nconsiderable series of observations would become necessary. The child\nshould be introduced into a variety of scenes, and a magazine, so to\nspeak, of those things about which human industry and skill may be\nemployed, should be successively set before him. The censor who is to\ndecide on the result of the whole, should be a person of great sagacity,\nand capable of pronouncing upon a given amount of the most imperfect\nand incidental indications. He should be clear-sighted, and vigilant\nto observe the involuntary turns of an eye, expressions of a lip, and\ndemonstrations of a limb.\n\nThe declarations of the child himself are often of very small use in the\ncase. He may be directed by an impulse, which occurs in the morning, and\nvanishes in the evening. His preferences change as rapidly as the shapes\nwe sometimes observe in the evening clouds, and are governed by whim\nor fantasy, and not by any of those indications which are parcel of his\nindividual constitution. He desires in many instances to be devoted to\na particular occupation, because his playfellow has been assigned to it\nbefore him.\n\nThe parent is not qualified to judge in this fundamental question,\nbecause he is under the dominion of partiality, and wishes that his\nchild may become a lord chancellor, an archbishop, or any thing else,\nthe possessor of which condition shall be enabled to make a splendid\nfigure in the world. He is not qualified, because he is an interested\nparty, and, either from an exaggerated estimate of his child's merits,\nor from a selfish shrinking from the cost it might require to mature\nthem, is anxious to arrive at a conclusion not founded upon the\nintrinsic claims of the case to be considered.\n\nEven supposing it to be sufficiently ascertained in what calling it is\nthat the child will be most beneficially engaged, a thousand extrinsical\ncircumstances will often prevent that from being the calling chosen.\nNature distributes her gifts without any reference to the distinctions\nof artificial society. The genius that demanded the most careful and\nassiduous cultivation, that it might hereafter form the boast and\nornament of the world, will be reared amidst the chill blasts of\npoverty; while he who was best adapted to make an exemplary carpenter\nor artisan, by being the son of a nobleman is thrown a thousand fathoms\nwide of his true destination.\n\nHuman creatures are born into the world with various dispositions.\nAccording to the memorable saying of Themistocles, One man can play upon\na psaltery or harp, and another can by political skill and ingenuity\nconvert a town of small account, weak and insignificant, into a city\nnoble, magnificent and great.\n\nIt is comparatively a very little way that we can penetrate into the\nmysteries of nature.\n\nMusic seems to be one of the faculties most clearly defined in early\nyouth. The child who has received that destination from the hands of\nnature, will even in infancy manifest a singular delight in musical\nsounds, and will in no long time imitate snatches of a tune. The present\nprofessor of music in the university of Oxford contrived for himself,\nI believe at three years old, a way for playing on an instrument, the\npiano forte, unprompted by any of the persons about him. This is called\nhaving an ear.\n\nInstances nearly as precocious are related of persons, who afterwards\ndistinguished themselves in the art of painting.\n\nThese two kinds of original destination appear to be placed beyond the\nreach of controversy.\n\nHorace says, The poet is born a poet, and cannot be made so by the\ningenuity of art: and this seems to be true. He sees the objects about\nhim with an eye peculiarly his own; the sounds that reach his ear,\nproduce an effect upon him, and leave a memory behind, different\nfrom that which is experienced by his fellows. His perceptions have a\nsingular vividness.\n\n      The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,\n      Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;\n\n      And his imagination bodies forth\n      The forms of things unknown,\n\nIt is not probable that any trainings of art can give these endowments\nto him who has not received them from the gift of nature.\n\nThe subtle network of the brain, or whatever else it is, that makes a\nman more fit for, and more qualified to succeed in, one occupation than\nanother, can scarcely be followed up and detected either in the living\nsubject or the dead one. But, as in the infinite variety of human beings\nno two faces are so alike that they cannot be distinguished, nor even\ntwo leaves plucked from the same tree(2), so it may reasonably be\npresumed, that there are varieties in the senses, the organs, and the\ninternal structure of the human species, however delicate, and to the\ntouch of the bystander evanescent, which may give to each individual a\npredisposition to rise to a supreme degree of excellence in some certain\nart or attainment, over a million of competitors.\n\n\n   (2) Papers between Clarke and Leibnitz, p. 95.\n\n\nIt has been said that all these distinctions and anticipations are\nidle, because man is born without innate ideas. Whatever is the\nincomprehensible and inexplicable power, which we call nature, to which\nhe is indebted for his formation, it is groundless to suppose, that\nthat power is cognisant of, and guides itself in its operations by, the\ninfinite divisibleness of human pursuits in civilised society. A child\nis not designed by his original formation to be a manufacturer of shoes,\nfor he may be born among a people by whom shoes are not worn, and\nstill less is he destined by his structure to be a metaphysician, an\nastronomer, or a lawyer, a rope-dancer, a fortune-teller, or a juggler.\n\nIt is true that we cannot suppose nature to be guided in her operations\nby the infinite divisibleness of human pursuits in civilised society.\nBut it is not the less true that one man is by his structure best fitted\nto excel in some one in particular of these multifarious pursuits,\nhowever fortuitously his individual structure and that pursuit may be\nbrought into contact. Thus a certain calmness and steadiness of purpose,\nmuch flexibility, and a very accurate proportion of the various limbs of\nthe body, are of great advantage in rope-dancing; while lightness of the\nfingers, and a readiness to direct our thoughts to the rapid execution\nof a purpose, joined with a steadiness of countenance adapted to what is\nfiguratively called throwing dust in the eyes of the bystander, are of\nthe utmost importance to the juggler: and so of the rest.\n\nIt is as much the temper of the individual, as any particular subtlety\nof organ or capacity, that prepares him to excel in one pursuit rather\nthan a thousand others. And he must have been a very inattentive\nobserver of the indications of temper in an infant in the first\nmonths of his existence, who does not confess that there are various\npeculiarities in that respect which the child brings into the world with\nhim.\n\nThere is excellent sense in the fable of Achilles in the island of\nScyros. He was placed there by his mother in female attire among the\ndaughters of Lycomedes, that he might not be seduced to engage in the\nTrojan war. Ulysses was commissioned to discover him, and, while he\nexhibited jewels and various woman's ornaments to the princesses,\ncontrived to mix with his stores a suit of armour, the sight of which\nimmediately awakened the spirit of the hero.\n\nEvery one has probably within him a string more susceptible than the\nrest, that demands only a kindred impression to be made, to call forth\nits latent character. Like the war-horse described in the Book of Job:\n\"He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength; he goeth on to\nmeet the armed men; he smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the\ncaptains, and the shouting.\"\n\nNothing can be more unlike than the same man to himself, when he is\ntouched, and not touched, upon\n\n           the master-string\n                That makes most harmony or discord to him.\n\nIt is like the case of Manlius Torquatus in Livy, who by his father was\nbanished among his hinds for his clownish demeanour and untractableness\nto every species of instruction that was offered him, but who,\nunderstanding that his parent was criminally arraigned for barbarous\ntreatment of him, first resolutely resorted to the accuser, compelling\nhim upon pain of death to withdraw his accusation, and subsequently,\nhaving surmounted this first step towards an energetic carriage and\ndemeanour, proved one of the most illustrious characters that the Roman\nrepublic had to boast.\n\nThose children whose parents have no intention of training them to\nthe highest departments of intellect, and have therefore no thought of\nbestowing on them a classical education, nevertheless for the most part\nsend them to a school where they are to be taught arithmetic, and the\nprinciples of English grammar. I should say in this case, as I said\nbefore on the subject of classical education, that a certain initiation\nin these departments of knowledge, even if they are pursued a very\nlittle way, will probably be beneficial to all.\n\nBut it will often be found, in these schools for more ordinary\neducation, as in the school for classical instruction, that the majority\nof the pupils will be seen to be unpromising, and, what is usually\ncalled, dull. The mistake is, that the persons by whom this is\nperceived, are disposed to set aside these pupils as blockheads, and\nunsusceptible of any species of ingenuity.\n\nIt is unreasonable that we should draw such a conclusion.\n\nIn the first place, as has been already observed, it is the most\ndifficult thing in the world for the schoolmaster to inspire into his\npupil the desire to do his best. An overwhelming majority of lads at\nschool are in their secret hearts rebels to the discipline under which\nthey are placed. The instructor draws, one way, and the pupil another.\nThe object of the latter is to find out how he may escape censure and\npunishment with the smallest expence of scholastic application. He\nlooks at the task that is set him, without the most distant desire of\nimprovement, but with alienated and averted eye. And, where this is the\ncase, the wonder is not that he does not make a brilliant figure. It is\nrather an evidence of the slavish and subservient spirit incident to\nthe majority of human beings, that he learns any thing. Certainly\nthe schoolmaster, who judges of the powers of his pupil's mind by the\nprogress he makes in what he would most gladly be excused from learning,\nmust be expected perpetually to fall into the most egregious mistakes.\n\nThe true test of the capacity of the individual, is where the desire to\nsucceed, and accomplish something effective, is already awakened in the\nyouthful mind. Whoever has found out what it is in which he is qualified\nto excel, from that moment becomes a new creature. The general torpor\nand sleep of the soul, which is incident to the vast multitude of the\nhuman species, is departed from him. We begin, from the hour in which\nour limbs are enabled to exert themselves freely, with a puerile love of\nsport. Amusement is the order of the day. But no one was ever so fond\nof play, that he had not also his serious moments. Every human creature\nperhaps is sensible to the stimulus of ambition. He is delighted\nwith the thought that he also shall be somebody, and not a mere\nundistinguished pawn, destined to fill up a square in the chess-board\nof human society. He wishes to be thought something of, and to be gazed\nupon. Nor is it merely the wish to be admired that excites him: he acts,\nthat he may be satisfied with himself. Self-respect is a sentiment dear\nto every heart. The emotion can with difficulty be done justice to, that\na man feels, who is conscious that he is breathing his true element,\nthat every stroke that he strikes will have the effect he designs, that\nhe has an object before him, and every moment approaches nearer to\nthat object. Before, he was wrapped in an opake cloud, saw nothing\ndistinctly, and struck this way and that at hazard like a blind man. But\nnow the sun of understanding has risen upon him; and every step that he\ntakes, he advances with an assured and undoubting confidence.\n\nIt is an admirable remark, that the book which we read at the very time\nthat we feel a desire to read it, affords us ten times the improvement,\nthat we should have derived from it when it was taken up by us as a\ntask. It is just so with the man who chooses his occupation, and feels\nassured that that about which he is occupied is his true and native\nfield. Compare this person with the boy that studies the classics, or\narithmetic, or any thing else, with a secret disinclination, and, as\nShakespear expresses it, \"creeps like snail, unwillingly, to school.\"\nThey do not seem as if they belonged to the same species.\n\nThe result of these observations certainly strongly tends to support the\nproposition laid down early in the present Essay, that, putting idiots\nand extraordinary cases out of the question, every human creature is\nendowed with talents, which, if rightly directed, would shew him to\nbe apt, adroit, intelligent and acute, in the walk for which his\norganisation especially fitted him.\n\n\nSECTION III.\n\nENCOURAGING VIEW OF OUR COMMON NATURE.--POWER OF SOUND EXPOSITION\nAFFORDED TO ALL.--DOCTRINE OF THIS ESSAY AND THE HYPOTHESIS OF HELVETIUS\nCOMPARED.--THE WILLING AND UNWILLING PUPIL CONTRASTED.--MISCHIEVOUS\nTENDENCY OF THE USUAL MODES OF EDUCATION.\n\nWhat a beautiful and encouraging view is thus afforded us of our common\nnature! It is not true, as certain disdainful and fastidious censurers\nof their fellow-men would persuade us to believe, that a thousand seeds\nare sown in the wide field of humanity, for no other purpose than that\nhalf-a-dozen may grow up into something magnificent and splendid, and\nthat the rest, though not absolutely extinguished in the outset, are\nmerely suffered to live that they may furnish manure and nourishment to\ntheir betters. On the contrary, each man, according to this hypothesis,\nhas a sphere in which he may shine, and may contemplate the exercise of\nhis own powers with a well-grounded satisfaction. He produces something\nas perfect in its kind, as that which is effected under another form\nby the more brilliant and illustrious of his species. He stands forward\nwith a serene confidence in the ranks of his fellow-creatures, and says,\n\"I also have my place in society, that I fill in a manner with which I\nhave a right to be satisfied.\" He vests a certain portion of ingenuity\nin the work he turns out. He incorporates his mind with the labour\nof his hands; and a competent observer will find character and\nindividuality in it.\n\nHe has therefore nothing of the sheepishness of the ordinary schoolboy,\nthe tasks imposed upon whom by his instructor are foreign to the true\nbent of his mind, and who stands cowed before his seniors, shrinking\nunder the judgment they may pass upon him, and the oppression they may\nexercise towards him. He is probably competent to talk in a manner that\nmay afford instruction to men in other respects wise and accomplished,\nand is no less clear and well-digested in his discourse respecting the\nsubjects to which his study and labour have been applied, than they are\non the questions that have exercised the powers of analysis with which\nthey are endowed. Like Elihu in the Book of Job, he says, \"I am young,\nand you are old; I said therefore, Days shall speak, and multitude\nof years shall teach wisdom. But there is a spirit in man; and the\ninspiration of the Almighty giveth him understanding. Great men are not\nalways wise; neither do the aged understand judgment. Hearken therefore\nto me; and I also will shew my opinion.\"\n\nWhat however in the last instance is affirmed, is not always realised\nin the experiment. The humblest mechanic, who works con amore, and feels\nthat he discharges his office creditably, has a sober satisfaction in\nthe retrospect, and is able to express himself perspicuously and well on\nthe subject that has occupied his industry. He has a just confidence in\nhimself. If the occasion arises, on which he should speak on the subject\nof what he does, and the methods he adopts for effecting it, he will\nundoubtedly acquit himself to the satisfaction of those who hear him. He\nknows that the explanations he can afford will be sound and masculine,\nand will stand the test of a rigid examination.\n\nBut, in proportion as he feels the ground on which he stands, and his\nown power to make it good, he will not fail to retire from an audience\nthat is not willing to be informed by him. He will often appear in the\npresence of those, whom the established arrangements of society call\nhis superiors, who are more copiously endowed with the treasures of\nlanguage, and who, confident perhaps in the advantage of opulence, and\nwhat is called, however they may have received it, a liberal education,\nregard with disdain his artless and unornamented explanations. He did\nnot, it may be, expect this. And, having experienced several times such\nunmerited treatment, he is not willing again to encounter it. He knew\nthe worth of what he had to offer. And, finding others indisposed to\nlisten to his suggestions, he contentedly confines them within the\ncircle of his own thoughts.\n\nTo this it must be added that, though he is able to explain himself\nperspicuously, yet he is not master of the graces of speech, nor even\nperhaps of the niceties of grammar. His voice is not tuned to those\nwinning inflections by which men, accustomed to the higher ranks of\nsociety, are enabled so to express themselves,\n\n      That aged ears play truant at their tales,\n      And younger hearings are quite ravished,\n      So sweet and voluble is their discourse.\n\nOn the contrary there is a ruggedness in his manner that jars upon\nthe sense. It is easy for the light and supercilious to turn him into\nridicule. And those who will not be satisfied with the soundness of his\nmatter, expounded, as he is able to expound it, in clear and appropriate\nterms, will yield him small credit, and listen to him with little\ndelight.\n\nThese considerations therefore bring us back again to the reasons of\nthe prevalent opinion, that the majority of mankind are dull, and of\napprehension narrow and confused. The mass of boys in the process of\ntheir education appear so, because little of what is addressed to them\nby their instructors, awakens their curiosity, and inspires them with\nthe desire to excel. The concealed spark of ambition is not yet cleared\nfrom the crust that enveloped it as it first came from the hand of\nnature. And in like manner the elder persons, who have not experienced\nthe advantages of a liberal education, or by whom small profit was made\nby those advantages, being defective in exterior graces, are generally\nlistened to with impatience, and therefore want the confidence and the\ninclination to tell what they know.\n\nBut these latter, if they are not attended to upon the subjects to which\ntheir attention and ingenuity have been applied, do not the less possess\na knowledge and skill which are intrinsically worthy of applause. They\ntherefore contentedly shut up the sum of their acquisitions in their own\nbosoms, and are satisfied with the consciousness that they have not been\ndeficient in performing an adequate part in the generation of men among\nwhom they live.\n\nThose persons who favour the opinion of the incessant improveableness of\nthe human species, have felt strongly prompted to embrace the creed of\nHelvetius, who affirms that the minds of men, as they are born into\nthe world, are in a state of equality, alike prepared for any kind\nof discipline and instruction that may be afforded them, and that\nit depends upon education only, in the largest sense of that word,\nincluding every impression that may be made upon the mind, intentional\nor accidental, from the hour of our birth, whether we shall be poets\nor philosophers, dancers or singers, chemists or mathematicians,\nastronomers or dissectors of the faculties of our common nature.\n\nBut this is not true. It has already appeared in the course of this\nEssay, that the talent, or, more accurately speaking, the original\nsuitableness of the individual for the cultivation, of music or\npainting, depends upon certain peculiarities that we bring into the\nworld with us. The same thing may be affirmed of the poet. As, in the\ninfinite variety of human beings, there are no two faces so alike that\nthey cannot be distinguished, nor even two leaves plucked from the same\ntree, so there are varieties in the senses, the organs, and the internal\nstructure of the human species, however delicate, and to the touch of\nthe bystander evanescent, which give to each individual a predisposition\nto rise to excellence in one particular art or attainment, rather than\nin any other.\n\nAnd this view of things, if well considered, is as favourable, nay, more\nso, to the hypothesis of the successive improveableness of the human\nspecies, as the creed of Helvetius. According to that philosopher, every\nhuman creature that is born into the world, is capable of becoming,\nor being made, the equal of Homer, Bacon or Newton, and as easily and\nsurely of the one as the other. This creed, if sincerely embraced, no\ndoubt affords a strong stimulus to both preceptor and pupil, since, if\ntrue, it teaches us that any thing can be made of any thing, and that,\nwherever there is mind, it is within the compass of possibility, not\nonly that that mind can be raised to a high pitch of excellence, but\neven to a high pitch of that excellence, whatever it is, that we shall\nprefer to all others, and most earnestly desire.\n\nStill this creed will, after all, leave both preceptor and pupil in a\nstate of feeling considerably unsatisfactory. What it sets before us,\nis too vast and indefinite. We shall be left long perhaps in a state of\nbalance as to what species of excellence we shall choose; and, in\nthe immense field of accessible improvement it offers to us, without\nland-mark or compass for the direction of our course, it is scarcely\npossible that we should feel that assured confidence and anticipation of\nsuccess, which are perhaps indispensibly required to the completion of a\ntruly arduous undertaking.\n\nBut, upon the principles laid down in this Essay, the case is widely\ndifferent. We are here presented in every individual human creature with\na subject better fitted for one sort of cultivation than another. We\nare excited to an earnest study of the individual, that we may the\nmore unerringly discover what pursuit it is for which his nature and\nqualifications especially prepare him. We may be long in choosing.\nWe may be even on the brink of committing a considerable mistake. Our\nsubsequent observations may enable us to correct the inference we were\ndisposed to make from those which went before. Our sagacity is flattered\nby the result of the laborious scrutiny which this view of our common\nnature imposes upon us.\n\nIn addition to this we reap two important advantages.\n\nIn the first place, we feel assured that every child that is born has\nhis suitable sphere, to which if he is devoted, he will not fail to make\nan honourable figure, or, in other words, will be seen to be endowed\nwith faculties, apt, adroit, intelligent and acute. This consideration\nmay reasonably stimulate us to call up all our penetration for the\npurpose of ascertaining the proper destination of the child for whom we\nare interested.\n\nAnd, secondly, having arrived at this point, we shall find ourselves\nplaced in a very different predicament from the guardian or instructor,\nwho, having selected at random the pursuit which his fancy dictates, and\nin the choice of which he is encouraged by the presumptuous assertions\nof a wild metaphysical philosophy, must often, in spite of himself, feel\na secret misgiving as to the final event. He may succeed, and present to\na wondering world a consummate musician, painter, poet, or philosopher;\nfor even blind chance may sometimes hit the mark, as truly as the most\nperfect skill. But he will probably fail. Sudet multum, frustraque\nlaboret. And, if he is disappointed, he will not only feel that\ndisappointment in the ultimate result, but also in every step of his\nprogress. When he has done his best, exerted his utmost industry, and\nconsecrated every power of his soul to the energies he puts forth,\nhe may close every day, sometimes with a faint shadow of success, and\nsometimes with entire and blank miscarriage. And the latter will happen\nten thousand times, for once that the undertaking shall be blessed with\na prosperous event.\n\nBut, when the destination that is given to a child has been founded\nupon a careful investigation of the faculties, tokens, and accidental\naspirations which characterise his early years, it is then that\nevery step that is made with him, becomes a new and surer source of\nsatisfaction. The moment the pursuit for which his powers are adapted is\nseriously proposed to him, his eyes sparkle, and a second existence, in\naddition to that which he received at his birth, descends upon him. He\nfeels that he has now obtained something worth living for. He feels\nthat he is at home, and in a sphere that is appropriately his own. Every\neffort that he makes is successful. At every resting-place in his\nrace of improvement he pauses, and looks back on what he has done with\ncomplacency. The master cannot teach him so fast, as he is prompted to\nacquire.\n\nWhat a contrast does this species of instruction exhibit, to the\nordinary course of scholastic education! There, every lesson that is\nprescribed, is a source of indirect warfare between the instructor and\nthe pupil, the one professing to aim at the advancement of him that\nis taught, in the career of knowledge, and the other contemplating\nthe effect that is intended to be produced upon him with aversion, and\nlonging to be engaged in any thing else, rather than in that which is\npressed upon his foremost attention. In this sense a numerous school\nis, to a degree that can scarcely be adequately described, the\nslaughter-house of mind. It is like the undertaking, related by Livy,\nof Accius Navius, the augur, to cut a whetstone with a razor--with this\ndifference, that our modern schoolmasters are not endowed with the gift\nof working miracles, and, when the experiment falls into their hands,\nthe result of their efforts is a pitiful miscarriage. Knowledge is\nscarcely in any degree imparted. But, as they are inured to a dogged\nassiduity, and persist in their unavailing attempts, though the shell\nof science, so to speak, is scarcely in the smallest measure penetrated,\nyet that inestimable gift of the author of our being, the sharpness of\nhuman faculties, is so blunted and destroyed, that it can scarcely ever\nbe usefully employed even for those purposes which it was originally\nbest qualified to effect.\n\nA numerous school is that mint from which the worst and most flagrant\nlibels on our nature are incessantly issued. Hence it is that we are\ntaught, by a judgment everlastingly repeated, that the majority of our\nkind are predestinated blockheads.\n\nNot that it is by any means to be recommended, that a little writing and\narithmetic, and even the first rudiments of classical knowledge, so far\nas they can be practicably imparted, should be withheld from any. The\nmischief is, that we persist, month after month, and year after year,\nin sowing our seed, when it has already been fully ascertained, that no\nsuitable and wholsome crop will ever be produced.\n\nBut what is perhaps worse is, that we are accustomed to pronounce, that\nthat soil, which will not produce the crop of which we have attempted to\nmake it fertile, is fit for nothing. The majority of boys, at the very\nperiod when the buds of intellect begin to unfold themselves, are so\naccustomed to be told that they are dull and fit for nothing, that\nthe most pernicious effects are necessarily produced. They become half\nconvinced by the ill-boding song of the raven, perpetually croaking in\ntheir ears; and, for the other half, though by no means assured that\nthe sentence of impotence awarded against them is just, yet, folding\nup their powers in inactivity, they are contented partly to waste their\nenergies in pure idleness and sport, and partly to wait, with minds\nscarcely half awake, for the moment when their true destination shall be\nopened before them.\n\nNot that it is by any means to be desired that the child in his earlier\nyears should meet with no ruggednesses in his way, and that he should\nperpetually tread \"the primrose path of dalliance.\" Clouds and tempests\noccasionally clear the atmosphere of intellect, not less than that\nof the visible world. The road to the hill of science, and to the\npromontory of heroic virtue, is harsh and steep, and from time to time\nputs to the proof the energies of him who would ascend their topmost\nround.\n\nThere are many things which every human creature should learn, so far\nas, agreeably to the constitution of civilised society, they can be\nbrought within his reach. He should be induced to learn them, willingly\nif possible, but, if that cannot be thoroughly effected, yet with half a\nwill. Such are reading, writing, arithmetic, and the first principles of\ngrammar; to which shall be added, as far as may be, the rudiments of all\nthe sciences that are in ordinary use. The latter however should not be\nbrought forward too soon; and, if wisely delayed, the tyro himself\nwill to a certain degree enter into the views of his instructor, and be\ndisposed to essay Quid valeant humeri, quid ferre recusent. But, above\nall, the beginnings of those studies should be encouraged, which\nunfold the imagination, familiarise us with the feelings, the joys and\nsufferings of our fellow-beings, and teach us to put ourselves in their\nplace and eagerly fly to their assistance.\n\n\nSECTION IV.\n\nHOW FAR OUR GENUINE PROPENSITIES AND VOCATION SHOULD BE\nFAVOURED.--SELF-REVERENCE RECOMMENDED.--CONCLUSION.\n\nI knew a man of eminent intellectual faculties(3), one of whose\nfavourite topics of moral prudence was, that it is the greatest mistake\nin the world to suppose, that, when we have discovered the special\naspiration of the youthful mind, we are bound to do every thing in our\npower to assist its progress. He maintained on the contrary, that it is\nour true wisdom to place obstacles in its way, and to thwart it: as we\nmay be well assured that, unless it is a mere caprice, it will shew its\nstrength in conquering difficulties, and that all the obstacles that\nwe can conjure up will but inspire it with the greater earnestness to\nattain final success.\n\n\n   (3) Henry Fuseli.\n\n\nThe maxim here stated, taken to an unlimited extent, is doubtless a very\ndangerous one. There are obstacles that scarcely any strength of man\nwould be sufficient to conquer. \"Chill penury\" will sometimes \"repress\nthe noblest rage,\" that almost ever animated a human spirit: and our\nwisest course will probably be, secretly to favour, even when we seem\nmost to oppose, the genuine bent of the youthful aspirer.\n\nBut the thing of greatest importance is, that we should not teach him\nto estimate his powers at too low a rate. One of the wisest of all the\nprecepts comprised in what are called the Golden Verses of Pythagoras,\nis that, in which he enjoins his pupil to \"reverence himself.\" Ambition\nis the noblest root that can be planted in the garden of the human soul:\nnot the ambition to be applauded and admired, to be famous and looked up\nto, to be the darling theme of \"stupid starers and of loud huzzas;\" but\nthe ambition to fill a respectable place in the theatre of society, to\nbe useful and to be esteemed, to feel that we have not lived in vain,\nand that we are entitled to the most honourable of all dismissions, an\nenlightened self-approbation. And nothing can more powerfully tend to\nplace this beyond our acquisition, even our contemplation, than the\nperpetual and hourly rebuffs which ingenuous youth is so often doomed\nto sustain from the supercilious pedant, and the rigid decision of his\nunfeeling elders.\n\nSelf-respect to be nourished in the mind of the pupil, is one of the\nmost valuable results of a well conducted education. To accomplish this,\nit is most necessary that it should never be inculcated into him,\nthat he is dull. Upon the principles of this Essay, any unfavourable\nappearances that may present themselves, do not arise from the dulness\nof the pupil, but from the error of those upon whose superintendence he\nis cast, who require of him the things for which he is not adapted, and\nneglect those in which he is qualified to excel.\n\nIt is further necessary, if self-respect is one of the most desirable\nresults of a well-conducted education, that, as we should not humble\nthe pupil in his own eyes by disgraceful and humiliating language, so\nwe should abstain, as much as possible, from personal ill-treatment, and\nthe employing towards him the measures of an owner towards his purchased\nor indentured slave. Indignity is of all things the most hostile to the\nbest purposes of a liberal education. It may be necessary occasionally\nto employ, towards a human creature in his years of nonage, the\nstimulants of exhortation and remonstrance even in the pursuits to which\nhe is best adapted, for the purpose of overcoming the instability and\nfits of idleness to which all men, and most of all in their early\nyears, are subject: though in such pursuits a necessity of this sort can\nscarcely be supposed. The bow must not always be bent; and it is good\nfor us that we should occasionally relax and play the fool. It may more\nreadily be imagined, that some incitement may be called for in those\nthings which, as has been mentioned above, it may be fit he should learn\nthough with but half a will. All freaks must not be indulged; admonition\nis salutary, and that the pupil should be awakened by his instructor to\nsober reflection and to masculine exertion. Every Telemachus should have\nhis Mentor.--But through the whole it is necessary that the spirit of\nthe pupil should not be broken, and that he should not be treated with\ncontumely. Stripes should in all instances be regarded as the last\nresort, and as a sort of problem set up for the wisdom of the wise to\nsolve, whether the urgent case can arise in which it shall be requisite\nto have recourse to them.\n\nThe principles here laid down have the strongest tendency to prove to\nus how little progress has yet been made in the art of turning human\ncreatures to the best account. Every man has his place, in which if\nhe can be fixed, the most fastidious judge cannot look upon him with\ndisdain. But, to effect this arrangement, an exact attention is required\nto ascertain the pursuit in which he will best succeed. In India the\nwhole mass of the members of the community is divided into castes; and,\ninstead of a scrupulous attention being paid to the early intimations of\nindividual character, it is already decided upon each, before he comes\ninto the world, which child shall be a priest, and which a soldier, a\nphysician, a lawyer, a merchant, and an artisan. In Europe we do not\ncarry this so far, and are not so elaborately wrong. But the rudiments\nof the same folly flourish among us; and the accident of birth for\nthe most part decides the method of life to which each individual with\nwhatever violence shall be dedicated. A very few only, by means of\nenergies that no tyranny can subdue, escape from the operation of this\nmurderous decree.\n\nNature never made a dunce. Imbecility of mind is as rare, as deformity\nof the animal frame. If this position be true, we have only to bear it\nin mind, feelingly to convince ourselves, how wholesale the error\nis into which society has hitherto fallen in the destination of its\nmembers, and how much yet remains to be done, before our common nature\ncan be vindicated from the basest of all libels, the most murderous of\nall proscriptions.\n\nThere is a passage in Voltaire, in which he expresses himself to this\neffect: \"It is after all but a slight line of separation that divides\nthe man of genius from the man of ordinary mould.\" I remember the place\nwhere, and the time when, I read this passage. But I have been unable to\nfind the expression. It is however but reasonable that I should refer\nto it on this occasion, that I may hereby shew so eminent a modern\nconcurring with the venerable ancient in an early era of letters, whose\ndictum I have prefixed to this Essay, to vouch to a certain extent for\nthe truth of the doctrine I have delivered.\n\n\n\n\nESSAY III. OF INTELLECTUAL ABORTION.\n\nIn the preceding Essay I have endeavoured to establish the proposition,\nthat every human creature, idiots and extraordinary cases excepted, is\nendowed with talents, which, if rightly directed, would shew him to\nbe apt, adroit, intelligent and acute, in the walk for which his\norganisation especially fitted him.\n\nThere is however a sort of phenomenon, by no means of rare occurrence,\nwhich tends to place the human species under a less favourable point of\nview. Many men, as has already appeared, are forced into situations and\npursuits ill assorted to their talents, and by that means are exhibited\nto their contemporaries in a light both despicable and ludicrous.\n\nBut this is not all. Men are not only placed, by the absurd choice\nof their parents, or an imperious concurrence of circumstances,\nin destinations and employments in which they can never appear to\nadvantage: they frequently, without any external compulsion, select\nfor themselves objects of their industry, glaringly unadapted to their\npowers, and in which all their efforts must necessarily terminate in\nmiscarriage.\n\nI remember a young man, who had been bred a hair-dresser, but who\nexperienced, as he believed, the secret visitations of the Muse, and\nbecame inspired. \"With sad civility, and aching head,\" I perused no\nfewer than six comedies from the pen of this aspiring genius, in no page\nof which I could discern any glimmering of poetry or wit, or in reality\ncould form a guess what it was that the writer intended in his elaborate\neffusions. Such are the persons enumerated by Pope in the Prologue to\nhis Satires,\n\n          a parson, much bemused in beer,\n      A maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer,\n      A clerk, foredoomed his father's sou to cross,\n      Who pens a stanza, when he should engross.\n\nEvery manager of a theatre, and every publishing bookseller of eminence,\ncan produce you in each revolving season whole reams, almost cartloads,\nof blurred paper, testifying the frequent recurrence of this phenomenon.\n\nThe cause however of this painful mistake does not lie in the\ncircumstance, that each man has not from the hand of nature an\nappropriate destination, a sphere assigned him, in which, if life\nshould be prolonged to him, he might be secure of the respect of his\nneighbours, and might write upon his tomb, \"I have filled an honourable\ncareer; I have finished my course.\"\n\nOne of the most glaring infirmities of our nature is discontent. One of\nthe most unquestionable characteristics of the human mind is the love\nof novelty. Omne ignotum pro magnifico est. We are satiated with those\nobjects which make a part of our business in every day, and are desirous\nof trying something that is a stranger to us. Whatever we see through\na mist, or in the twilight, is apt to be apprehended by us as something\nadmirable, for the single reason that it is seen imperfectly. What we\nare sure that we can easily and adequately effect, we despise. He that\ngoes into battle with an adversary of more powerful muscle or of greater\npractice than himself, feels a tingling sensation, not unallied to\ndelight, very different from that which would occur to him, when his\nvictory was easy and secure.\n\nEach man is conscious what it is that he can certainly effect. This does\nnot therefore present itself to him as an object of ambition. We have\nmany of us internally something of the spirit expressed by the apostle:\n\"Forgetting the things that are behind, we press forward to those that\nremain.\" And, so long as this precept is soberly applied, no conduct can\nbe more worthy of praise. Improvement is the appropriate race of man. We\ncannot stand still. If we do not go forward, we shall inevitably recede.\nShakespear, when he wrote his Hamlet, did not know that he could produce\nMacbeth and Othello.\n\nBut the progress of a man of reflection will be, to a considerable\ndegree, in the path he has already entered. If he strikes into a new\ncareer, it will not be without deep premeditation. He will attempt\nnothing wantonly. He will carefully examine his powers, and see for what\nthey are adapted. Sudet multum. He will be like the man, who first in a\nfrail bark committed himself to the treachery of the waves. He will\nkeep near to the shore; he will tremble for the audaciousness of\nhis enterprise; he will feel that it calls for all his alertness and\nvigilance. The man of reflection will not begin, till he feels his mind\nswelling with his purposed theme, till his blood flows fitfully and\nwith full pulses through his veins, till his eyes sparkle with the\nintenseness of his conceptions, and his \"bosom labours with the God.\"\n\nBut the fool dashes in at once. He does not calculate the dangers of his\nenterprise. He does not study the map of the country he has to traverse.\nHe does not measure the bias of the ground, the rising knolls and the\ndescending slopes that are before him. He obeys a blind and unreflecting\nimpulse.\n\nHis case bears a striking resemblance to what is related of Oliver\nGoldsmith. Goldsmith was a man of the most felicitous endowments. His\nprose flows with such ease, copiousness and grace, that it resembles the\nsong of the sirens. His verses are among the most spirited, natural and\nunaffected in the English language. Yet he was not contented. If he saw\na consummate dancer, he knew no reason why he should not do as well,\nand immediately felt disposed to essay his powers. If he heard an\naccomplished musician, he undertook to enter the lists with him. His\nconduct was of a piece with that of the countryman, who, cheapening\nspectacles, and making experiment of them for ever in vain upon the\nbook before him, was at length asked, \"Could you ever read without\nspectacles?\" to which he was obliged to answer, \"I do not know; I never\ntried.\" The vanity of Goldsmith was infinite; and his failure in such\nattempts must necessarily have been ludicrous.\n\nThe splendour of the thing presented to our observation, awakens\nthe spirit within us. The applause and admiration excited by certain\nachievements and accomplishments infects us with desire. We are like\nthe youthful Themistocles, who complained that the trophies of Miltiades\nwould not let him sleep. We are like the novice Guido, who, while\nlooking on the paintings of Michael Angelo, exclaimed, \"I also am a\npainter.\" Themistocles and Guido were right, for they were of kindred\nspirit to the great men they admired. But the applause bestowed on\nothers will often generate uneasiness and a sigh, in men least of all\nqualified by nature to acquire similar applause. We are not contented to\nproceed in the path of obscure usefulness and worth. We are eager to be\nadmired, and thus often engage in pursuits for which perhaps we are of\nall men least adapted Each one would be the man above him.\n\nAnd this is the cause why we see so many individuals, who might have\npassed their lives with honour, devote themselves to incredible efforts,\nonly that they may be made supremely ridiculous.\n\nTo this let it be added, that the wisest man that ever existed, never\nyet knew himself, especially in the morning of life. The person, who\nultimately stamped his history with the most heroic achievements, was\nfar perhaps even from suspecting, in the dawn of his existence, that he\nshould realise the miracles that mark its maturity. He might be ready to\nexclaim, with Hazael in the Scriptures, \"Is thy servant more than man,\nthat he should do this great thing?\" The sublimest poet that ever sung,\nwas peradventure, while a stripling, unconscious of the treasures which\nformed a part of the fabric of his mind, and unsuspicious of the high\ndestiny that in the sequel awaited him. What wonder then, that, awaking\nfrom the insensibility and torpor which precede the activity of the\nsoul, some men should believe in a fortune that shall never be theirs,\nand anticipate a glory they are fated never to sustain! And for the same\nreason, when unanticipated failure becomes their lot, they are unwilling\nat first to be discouraged, and find a certain gallantry in persevering,\nand \"against hope believing in hope.\"\n\nThis is the explanation of a countless multitude of failures that\noccur in the career of literature. Nor is this phenomenon confined to\nliterature. In all the various paths of human existence, that appear\nto have something in them splendid and alluring, there are perpetual\ninstances of daring adventures, unattended with the smallest rational\nhope of success. Optat ephippia bos piger.\n\n          All quit their sphere, and rush into the skies.\n\nBut, beside these instances of perfect and glaring miscarriage, there\nare examples worthy of a deeper regret, where the juvenile candidate\nsets out in the morning of life with the highest promise, with colours\nflying, and the spirit-stirring note of gallant preparation, when yet\nhis voyage of life is destined to terminate in total discomfiture. I\nhave seen such an one, whose early instructors regarded him with\nthe most sanguine expectation, and his elders admired him, while his\nyouthful competitors unreluctantly confessed his superiority, and gave\nway on either side to his triumphant career; and all this has terminated\nin nothing.\n\nIn reality the splendid march of genius is beset with a thousand\ndifficulties. \"The race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to\nthe strong.\" A multitude of unthought-of qualifications are required;\nand it depends at least as much upon the nicely maintained balance\nof these, as upon the copiousness and brilliancy of each, whether the\nresult shall be auspicious. The progress of genius is like the flight of\nan arrow; a breath may turn it out of its course, and cause that course\nto terminate many a degree wide of its purposed mark. It is therefore\nscarcely possible that any sharpness of foresight can pronounce of the\nnoblest beginnings whether they shall reach to an adequate conclusion.\n\nI have seen such a man, with the most fervent imagination, with the\nmost diligent study, with the happiest powers of memory, and with an\nunderstanding that apparently took in every thing, and arranged every\nthing, at the same time that by its acuteness it seemed able to add to\nthe accumulated stores of foregone wisdom and learning new treasures of\nits own; and yet this man shall pass through the successive stages of\nhuman life, in appearance for ever active, for ever at work, and leave\nnothing behind that shall embalm his name to posterity, certainly\nnothing in any degree adequately representing those excellencies, which\na chosen few, admitted to his retired and his serenest hours, knew to\nreside in him.\n\nThere are conceptions of the mind, that come forth like the coruscations\nof lightning. If you could fix that flash, it would seem as if it\nwould give new brightness to the sons of men, and almost extinguish the\nluminary of day. But, ere you can say it is here, it is gone. It\nappears to reveal to us the secrets of the world unknown; but the clouds\ncongregate again, and shut in upon us, before we had time to apprehend\nits full radiance and splendour.\n\nTo give solidity and permanence to the inspirations of genius two things\nare especially necessary. First, that the idea to be communicated should\nbe powerfully apprehended by the speaker or writer; and next, that he\nshould employ words and phrases which might convey it in all its truth\nto the mind of another. The man who entertains such conceptions, will\nnot unfrequently want the steadiness of nerve which is required for\ntheir adequate transmission. Suitable words will not always wait upon\nhis thoughts. Language is in reality a vast labyrinth, a scene like the\nHercinian Forest of old, which, we are told, could not be traversed in\nless than sixty days. If we do not possess the clue, we shall infallibly\nperish in the attempt, and our thoughts and our memory will expire with\nus.\n\nThe sentences of this man, when he speaks, or when he writes, will be\nfull of perplexity and confusion. They will be endless, and never\narrive at their proper termination. They will include parenthesis on\nparenthesis. We perceive the person who delivers them, to be perpetually\nlabouring after a meaning, but never reaching it. He is like one flung\nover into the sea, unprovided with the skill that should enable him\nto contend with the tumultuous element. He flounders about in pitiable\nhelplessness, without the chance of extricating himself by all his\nefforts. He is lost in unintelligible embarrassment. It is a delightful\nand a ravishing sight, to observe another man come after him, and\ntell, without complexity, and in the simplicity of self-possession,\nunconscious that there was any difficulty, all that his predecessor had\nfruitlessly exerted himself to unfold.\n\nThere are a multitude of causes that will produce a miscarriage of this\nsort, where the richest soil, impregnated with the choicest seeds of\nlearning and observation, shall entirely fail to present us with such\na crop as might rationally have been anticipated. Many such men waste\ntheir lives in indolence and irresolution. They attempt many things,\nsketch out plans, which, if properly filled up, might illustrate the\nliterature of a nation, and extend the empire of the human mind, but\nwhich yet they desert as soon as begun, affording us the promise of a\nbeautiful day, that, ere it is noon, is enveloped in darkest tempests\nand the clouds of midnight. They skim away from one flower in the\nparterre of literature to another, like the bee, without, like the bee,\ngathering sweetness from each, to increase the public stock, and\nenrich the magazine of thought. The cause of this phenomenon is an\nunsteadiness, ever seduced by the newness of appearances, and never\nsettling with firmness and determination upon what had been chosen.\n\nOthers there are that are turned aside from the career they might have\naccomplished, by a visionary and impracticable fastidiousness. They can\nfind nothing that possesses all the requisites that should fix their\nchoice, nothing so good that should authorise them to present it to\npublic observation, and enable them to offer it to their contemporaries\nas something that we should \"not willingly let die.\" They begin often;\nbut nothing they produce appears to them such as that they should say of\nit, \"Let this stand.\" Or they never begin, none of their thoughts being\njudged by them to be altogether such as to merit the being preserved.\nThey have a microscopic eye, and discern faults unworthy to be\ntolerated, in that in which the critic himself might perceive nothing\nbut beauty.\n\nThese phenomena have introduced a maxim which is current with many,\nthat the men who write nothing, and bequeath no record of themselves\nto posterity, are not unfrequently of larger calibre, and more gigantic\nstandard of soul, than such as have inscribed their names upon the\ncolumns of the temple of Fame. And certain it is, that there are\nextraordinary instances which appear in some degree to countenance this\nassertion. Many men are remembered as authors, who seem to have owed the\npermanence of their reputation rather to fortune than merit. They were\ndaring, and stepped into a niche that was left in the gallery of art or\nof science, where others of higher qualifications, but of unconquerable\nmodesty, held back. At the same time persons, whose destiny caused them\nto live among the elite of an age, have seen reason to confess that they\nhave heard such talk, such glorious and unpremeditated discourse, from\nmen whose thoughts melted away with the breath that uttered them, as the\nwisest of their vaunted contemporary authors would in vain have sought\nto rival.\n\nThe maxim however, notwithstanding these appearances, may safely be\npronounced to be a fallacious one. It has been received in various\nquarters with the greater indulgence, inasmuch as the human mind is\nprone in many cases to give a more welcome reception to seeming truths,\nthat present us at the first blush the appearance of falshood.\n\nIt must however be recollected that the human mind consists in the first\ninstance merely of faculties prepared to be applied to certain purposes,\nand susceptible of improvement. It cannot therefore happen, that the\nman, who has chosen a subject towards which to direct the energy of his\nfaculties, who has sought on all sides for the materials that should\nenable him to do that subject justice, who has employed upon it his\ncontemplations by day, and his meditations during the watches of the\nnight, should not by such exercise greatly invigorate his powers. In\nthis sense there was much truth in the observation of the author who\nsaid, \"I did not write upon the subject you mention because I understood\nit; but I understood it afterward, because I had written upon it.\"\n\nThe man who merely wanders through the fields of knowledge in search\nof its gayest flowers and of whatever will afford him the most enviable\namusement, will necessarily return home at night with a very slender\ncollection. He that shall apply himself with self-denial and\nan unshrinking resolution to the improvement of his mind, will\nunquestionably be found more fortunate in the end.\n\nHe is not deterred by the gulphs that yawn beneath his feet, or the\nmountains that may oppose themselves to his progress. He knows that the\nadventurer of timid mind, and that is infirm of purpose, will never make\nhimself master of those points which it would be most honourable to him\nto subdue. But he who undertakes to commit to writing the result of\nhis researches, and to communicate his discoveries to mankind, is the\ngenuine hero. Till he enters on this task, every thing is laid up in\nhis memory in a certain confusion. He thinks he possesses a thing whole;\nbut, when he brings it to the test, he is surprised to find how much he\nwas deceived. He that would digest his thoughts and his principles into\na regular system, is compelled in the first place to regard them in all\ntheir clearness and perspicuity, and in the next place to select the\nfittest words by which they may be communicated to others. It is through\nthe instrumentality of words that we are taught to think accurately and\nseverely for ourselves; they are part and parcel of all our propositions\nand theories. It is therefore in this way that a preceptor, by\nundertaking to enlighten the mind of his pupil, enlightens his own. He\nbecomes twice the man in the sequel, that he was when he entered on his\ntask. We admire the amateur student in his public essays, as we admire\na jackdaw or a parrot: he does considerably more than could have been\nexpected from him.\n\nIn attending to the subject of this Essay we have been led to observe\nthe different ways, in which the mind of man may be brought into\na position tending to exhibit its powers in a less creditable and\nprepossessing point of view, than that in which all men, idiots and\nextraordinary cases excepted, are by nature qualified to appear. Many,\nnot contented with those occupations, modest and humble in certain\ncases, to which their endowments and original bent had designed them,\nshew themselves immoderately set upon more alluring and splendid\npursuits in which they are least qualified to excel. Other instances\nthere are, still more entitled to our regret, where the individual is\nseen to be gifted with no ordinary qualities, where his morning of life\nhas proved auspicious, and the highest expectations were formed of a\ntriumphant career, while yet in the final experiment he has been found\nwanting, and the \"voyage of his life\" has passed \"in shallows and in\nmiseries.\"\n\nBut our survey of the subject of which I treat will not be complete,\nunless we add to what has been said, another striking truth respecting\nthe imperfection of man collectively taken. The examples of which the\nhistory of our species consists, not only abound in cases, where, from\nmistakes in the choice of life, or radical and irremediable imperfection\nin the adventurer, the most glaring miscarriages are found to\nresult,--but it is also true, that all men, even the most illustrious,\nhave some fatal weakness, obliging both them and their rational admirers\nto confess, that they partake of human frailty, and belong to a race of\nbeings which has small occasion to be proud. Each man has his assailable\npart. He is vulnerable, though it be only like the fabled Achilles in\nhis heel. We are like the image that Nebuchadnezzar saw in his dream, of\nwhich though the head was of fine gold, and the breast and the arms were\nsilver, yet the feet were partly only of iron, and partly of clay. No\nman is whole and entire, armed at all points, and qualified for every\nundertaking, or even for any one undertaking, so as to carry it through,\nand to make the achievement he would perform, or the work he would\nproduce, in all its parts equal and complete.\n\nIt is a gross misapprehension in such men as, smitten with admiration of\na certain cluster of excellencies, or series of heroic acts, are\nwilling to predicate of the individual to whom they belong, \"This man\nis consummate, and without alloy.\" Take the person in his retirement, in\nhis hours of relaxation, when he has no longer a part to play, and one\nor more spectators before whom he is desirous to appear to advantage,\nand you shall find him a very ordinary man. He has \"passions,\ndimensions, senses, affections, like the rest of his fellow-creatures,\nis fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, warmed and\ncooled by the same summer and winter.\" He will therefore, when narrowly\nobserved, be unquestionably found betraying human weaknesses, and\nfalling into fits of ill humour, spleen, peevishness and folly. No man\nis always a sage; no bosom at all times beats with sentiments lofty,\nself-denying and heroic. It is enough if he does so, \"when the matter\nfits his mighty mind.\"\n\nThe literary genius, who undertakes to produce some consummate work,\nwill find himself pitiably in error, if he expects to turn it out of his\nhands, entire in all its parts, and without a flaw.\n\nThere are some of the essentials of which it is constituted, that he has\nmastered, and is sufficiently familiar with them; but there are others,\nespecially if his work is miscellaneous and comprehensive, to which he\nis glaringly incompetent. He must deny his nature, and become another\nman, if he would execute these parts, in a manner equal to that which\ntheir intrinsic value demands, or to the perfection he is able to give\nto his work in those places which are best suited to his powers. There\nare points in which the wisest man that ever existed is no stronger than\na child. In this sense the sublimest genius will be found infelix operas\nsumma, nam ponere totum nescit. And, if he properly knows himself, and\nis aware where lies his strength, and where his weakness, he will look\nfor nothing more in the particulars which fall under the last of these\nheads, than to escape as he can, and to pass speedily to things in which\nhe finds himself at home and at his ease.\n\nShakespear we are accustomed to call the most universal genius that ever\nexisted. He has a truly wonderful variety. It is almost impossible\nto pronounce in which he has done best, his Hamlet, Macbeth, Lear,\nor Othello. He is equally excellent in his comic vein as his tragic.\nFalstaff is in his degree to the full as admirable and astonishing, as\nwhat he achieved that is noblest under the auspices of the graver\nmuse. His poetry and the fruits of his imagination are unrivalled. His\nlanguage, in all that comes from him when his genius is most alive, has\na richness, an unction, and all those signs of a character which admits\nnot of mortality and decay, for ever fresh as when it was first uttered,\nwhich we recognise, while we can hardly persuade ourselves that we\nare not in a delusion. As Anthony Wood says(4), \"By the writings of\nShakespear and others of his time, the English tongue was exceedingly\nenriched, and made quite another thing than what it was before.\" His\nversification on these occasions has a melody, a ripeness and variety\nthat no other pen has reached.\n\n\n   (4) Athenae Oxonienses, vol. i. p. 592.\n\n\nYet there were things that Shakespear could not do. He could not make\na hero. Familiar as he was with the evanescent touches of mind en\ndishabille, and in its innermost feelings, he could not sustain the\ntone of a character, penetrated with a divine enthusiasm, or fervently\ndevoted to a generous cause, though this is truly within the compass of\nour nature, and is more than any other worthy to be delineated. He could\nconceive such sentiments, for there are such in his personage of Brutus;\nbut he could not fill out and perfect what he has thus sketched. He\nseems even to have had a propensity to bring the mountain and the\nhill to a level with the plain. Caesar is spiritless, and Cicero is\nridiculous, in his hands. He appears to have written his Troilus and\nCressida partly with a view to degrade, and hold up to contempt, the\nheroes of Homer; and he has even disfigured the pure, heroic affection\nwhich the Greek poet has painted as existing between Achilles and\nPatroclus with the most odious imputations.\n\nAnd, as he could not sustain an heroic character throughout, so neither\ncould he construct a perfect plot, in which the interest should be\nperpetually increasing, and the curiosity of the spectator kept alive\nand in suspense to the last moment. Several of his plays have an unity\nof subject to which nothing is wanting; but he has not left us any\nproduction that should rival that boast of Ancient Greece in the conduct\nof a plot, the OEdipus Tyrannus, a piece in which each act rises upon\nthe act before, like a tower that lifts its head story above story to\nthe skies. He has scarcely ever given to any of his plays a fifth act,\nworthy of those that preceded; the interest generally decreases after\nthe third.\n\nShakespear is also liable to the charge of obscurity. The most sagacious\ncritics dispute to this very hour, whether Hamlet is or is not mad,\nand whether Falstaff is a brave man or a coward. This defect is perhaps\npartly to be imputed to the nature of dramatic writing. It is next to\nimpossible to make words, put into the mouth of a character, develop all\nthose things passing in his mind, which it may be desirable should be\nknown.\n\nI spoke, a short time back, of the language of Shakespear in his finest\npassages, as of unrivalled excellence and beauty; I might almost have\ncalled it miraculous. O, si sic omnia! It is to be lamented that this\nfelicity often deserts him. He is not seldom cramp, rigid and pedantic.\nWhat is best in him is eternal, of all ages and times; but what is\nworst, is crusted with an integument, almost more cumbrous than that of\nany other writer, his contemporary, the merits of whose works continue\nto invite us to their perusal.\n\nAfter Shakespear, it is scarcely worth while to bring forward any\nother example, of a writer who, notwithstanding his undoubted claims to\nexcellencies of the highest order, yet in his productions fully displays\nthe inequality and non-universality of his genius. One of the most\nremarkable instances may be alleged in Richardson, the author of\nClarissa. In his delineation of female delicacy, of high-souled\nand generous sentiments, of the subtlest feelings and even mental\naberrations of virtuous distress strained beyond the power of human\nendurance, nothing ever equalled this author. But he could not shape\nout the image of a perfect gentleman, or of that winning gaiety of soul,\nwhich may indeed be exemplified, but can never be defined, and never be\nresisted. His profligate is a man without taste; and his coquettes are\ninsolent and profoundly revolting. He has no resemblance of the art,\nso conspicuous in Fletcher and Farquhar, of presenting to the reader\nor spectator an hilarity, bubbling and spreading forth from a perennial\nspring, which we love as surely as we feel, which communicates its own\ntone to the bystander, and makes our very hearts dance within us with\na responsive sportiveness. We are astonished however that the formal\npedant has acquitted himself of his uncongenial task with so great a\ndisplay of intellectual wealth; and, though he has not presented to us\nthe genuine picture of an intellectual profligate, or of that lovely\ngaiety of the female spirit which we have all of us seen, but which it\nis scarcely possible to fix and to copy, we almost admire the more the\nastonishing talent, that, having undertaken a task for which it was so\neminently unfit, yet has been able to substitute for the substance so\namazing a mockery, and has treated with so much copiousness and power\nwhat it was unfit ever to have attempted.\n\n\n\n\nESSAY IV. OF THE DURABILITY OF HUMAN ACHIEVEMENTS AND PRODUCTIONS.\n\nThere is a view of the character of man, calculated more perhaps than\nany other to impress us with reverence and awe.\n\nMan is the only creature we know, that, when the term of his natural\nlife is ended, leaves the memory of himself behind him.\n\nAll other animals have but one object in view in their more considerable\nactions, the supply of the humbler accommodations of their nature. Man\nhas a power sufficient for the accomplishment of this object, and a\nresidue of power beyond, which he is able, and which he not unfrequently\nfeels himself prompted, to employ in consecutive efforts, and thus,\nfirst by the application and arrangement of material substances, and\nafterward by the faculty he is found to possess of giving a permanent\nrecord to his thoughts, to realise the archetypes and conceptions which\npreviously existed only in his mind.\n\nOne method, calculated to place this fact strongly before us, is, to\nsuppose ourselves elevated, in a balloon or otherwise, so as to enable\nus to take an extensive prospect of the earth on which we dwell. We\nshall then see the plains and the everlasting hills, the forests and the\nrivers, and all the exuberance of production which nature brings\nforth for the supply of her living progeny. We shall see multitudes of\nanimals, herds of cattle and of beasts of prey, and all the varieties\nof the winged tenants of the air. But we shall also behold, in a manner\nalmost equally calculated to arrest our attention, the traces and the\nmonuments of human industry. We shall see castles and churches, and\nhamlets and mighty cities. We shall see this strange creature, man,\nsubjecting all nature to his will. He builds bridges, and he constructs\naqueducts. He \"goes down to the sea in ships,\" and variegates the ocean\nwith his squadrons and his fleets. To the person thus mounted in the\nair to take a wide and magnificent prospect, there seems to be a sort\nof contest between the face of the earth, as it may be supposed to have\nbeen at first, and the ingenuity of man, which shall occupy and possess\nitself of the greatest number of acres. We cover immense regions of the\nglobe with the tokens of human cultivation.\n\nThus the matter stands as to the exertions of the power of man in the\napplication and arrangement of material substances.\n\nBut there is something to a profound and contemplative mind much more\nextraordinary, in the effects produced by the faculty we possess of\ngiving a permanent record to our thoughts.\n\nFrom the development of this faculty all human science and literature\ntake their commencement. Here it is that we most distinctly, and with\nthe greatest astonishment, perceive that man is a miracle. Declaimers\nare perpetually expatiating to us upon the shortness of human life.\nAnd yet all this is performed by us, when the wants of our nature have\nalready by our industry been supplied. We manufacture these sublimities\nand everlasting monuments out of the bare remnants and shreds of our\ntime.\n\nThe labour of the intellect of man is endless. How copious is the\nvolume, and how extraordinary the variety, of our sciences and our\narts! The number of men is exceedingly great in every civilised state of\nsociety, that make these the sole object of their occupation. And this\nhas been more or less the condition of our species in all ages, ever\nsince we left the savage and the pastoral modes of existence.\n\nFrom this view of the history of man we are led by an easy transition\nto the consideration of the nature and influence of the love of fame in\nmodifying the actions of the human mind. We have already stated it to be\none of the characteristic distinctions of our species to erect monuments\nwhich outlast the existence of the persons that produced them. This at\nfirst was accidental, and did not enter the design of the operator. The\nman who built himself a shed to protect him from the inclemency of\nthe seasons, and afterwards exchanged that shed for a somewhat more\ncommodious dwelling, did not at first advert to the circumstance that\nthe accommodation might last, when he was no longer capable to partake\nof it.\n\nIn this way perhaps the wish to extend the memory of ourselves beyond\nthe term of our mortal existence, and the idea of its being practicable\nto gratify that wish, descended upon us together. In contemplating\nthe brief duration and the uncertainty of human life, the idea must\nnecessarily have occurred, that we might survive those we loved, or that\nthey might survive us. In the first case we inevitably wish more or less\nto cherish the memory of the being who once was an object of affection\nto us, but of whose society death has deprived us. In the second case\nit can scarcely happen but that we desire ourselves to be kindly\nrecollected by those we leave behind us. So simple is the first germ\nof that longing after posthumous honour, which presents us with so\nmemorable effects in the page of history.\n\nBut, previously to the further consideration of posthumous fame, let us\nturn our attention for a moment to the fame, or, as in that sense it\nis more usually styled, popularity, which is the lot of a few favoured\nindividuals while they live. The attending to the subject in this point\nof view, will be found to throw light upon the more extensive prospect\nof the question to which we will immediately afterwards proceed.\n\nPopularity is an acquisition more level to the most ordinary capacities,\nand therefore is a subject of more general ambition, than posthumous\nfame. It addresses itself to the senses. Applause is a species of good\nfortune to which perhaps no mortal ear is indifferent. The persons who\nconstitute the circle in which we are applauded, receive us with smiles\nof approbation and sympathy. They pay their court to us, seem to be made\nhappy by our bare presence among them, and welcome us to their houses\nwith congratulation and joy. The vulgar portion of mankind scarcely\nunderstand the question of posthumous fame, they cannot comprehend how\npanegyric and honour can \"soothe the dull, cold ear of death:\" but\nthey can all conceive the gratification to be derived from applauding\nmultitudes and loud huzzas.\n\nOne of the most obvious features however that attends upon popularity,\nis its fugitive nature. No man has once been popular, and has lived\nlong, without experiencing neglect at least, if he were not also at some\ntime subjected to the very intelligible disapprobation and censure of\nhis fellows. The good will and kindness of the multitude has a devouring\nappetite, and is like a wild beast that you should stable under your\nroof, which, if you do not feed with a continual supply, will turn about\nand attack its protector.\n\n     One touch of nature makes the whole world kin,--\n     That all, with one consent, praise new-born gauds,\n     And give to dust, that is a little gilt,\n     More laud than they will give to gold o'erdusted.\n\nCromwel well understood the nature of this topic, when he said, as we\nare told, to one of his military companions, who called his attention to\nthe rapturous approbation with which they were received by the crowd on\ntheir return from a successful expedition, \"Ah, my friend, they would\naccompany us with equal demonstrations of delight, if, upon no distant\noccasion, they were to see us going to be hanged!\"\n\nThe same thing which happens to the popularity attendant on the real\nor imaginary hero of the multitude, happens also in the race after\nposthumous fame.\n\nAs has already been said, the number of men is exceedingly great\nin every civilised state of society, who make the sciences and arts\nengendered by the human mind, the sole or the principal objects of their\noccupation.\n\nThis will perhaps be most strikingly illustrated by a retrospect of\nthe state of European society in the middle, or, as they are frequently\nstyled, the dark ages.\n\nIt has been a vulgar error to imagine, that the mind of man, so far as\nrelates to its active and inventive powers, was sunk into a profound\nsleep, from which it gradually recovered itself at the period when\nConstantinople was taken by the Turks, and the books and the teachers of\nthe ancient Greek language were dispersed through Europe. The epoch from\nwhich modern invention took its rise, commenced much earlier. The feudal\nsystem, one of the most interesting contrivances of man in society, was\nintroduced in the ninth century; and chivalry, the offspring of that\nsystem, an institution to which we are mainly indebted for refinement\nof sentiment, and humane and generous demeanour, in the eleventh. Out of\nthese grew the originality and the poetry of romance.\n\nThese were no mean advancements. But perhaps the greatest debt which\nafter ages have contracted to this remote period, arose out of the\nsystem of monasteries and ecclesiastical celibacy. Owing to these a\nnumerous race of men succeeded to each other perpetually, who were\nseparated from the world, cut off from the endearments of conjugal and\nparental affection, and who had a plenitude of leisure for solitary\napplication. To these men we are indebted for the preservation of\nthe literature of Rome, and the multiplied copies of the works of the\nancients. Nor were they contented only with the praise of never-ending\nindustry. They forged many works, that afterwards passed for classical,\nand which have demanded all the perspicacity of comparative criticism to\nrefute. And in these pursuits the indefatigable men who were dedicated\nto them, were not even goaded by the love of fame. They were satisfied\nwith the consciousness of their own perseverance and ingenuity.\n\nBut the most memorable body of men that adorned these ages, were the\nSchoolmen. They may be considered as the discoverers of the art of\nlogic. The ancients possessed in an eminent degree the gift of genius;\nbut they have little to boast on the score of arrangement, and discover\nlittle skill in the strictness of an accurate deduction. They rather\narrive at truth by means of a felicity of impulse, than in consequence\nof having regularly gone through the process which leads to it. The\nschools of the middle ages gave birth to the Irrefragable and\nthe Seraphic doctors, the subtlety of whose distinctions, and the\nperseverance of whose investigations, are among the most wonderful\nmonuments of the intellectual power of man. The thirteenth century\nproduced Thomas Aquinas, and Johannes Duns Scotus, and William Occam,\nand Roger Bacon. In the century before, Thomas a Becket drew around him\na circle of literary men, whose correspondence has been handed down to\nus, and who deemed it their proudest distinction that they called each\nother philosophers. The Schoolmen often bewildered themselves in their\nsubtleties, and often delivered dogmas and systems that may astonish\nthe common sense of unsophisticated understandings. But such is man.\nSo great is his persevering labour, his invincible industry, and the\nresolution with which he sets himself, year after year, and lustre after\nlustre, to accomplish the task which his judgment and his zeal have\ncommanded him to pursue.\n\nBut I return to the question of literary fame. All these men, and men of\na hundred other classes, who laboured most commendably and gallantly in\ntheir day, may be considered as swept away into the gulph of oblivion.\nAs Swift humorously says in his Dedication to Prince Posterity, \"I had\nprepared a copious list of Titles to present to your highness, as an\nundisputed argument of the prolificness of human genius in my own time:\nthe originals were posted upon all gates and corner's of streets: but,\nreturning in a very few hours to take a review, they were all torn down,\nand fresh ones put in their places. I enquired after them among readers\nand booksellers, but in vain: the memorial of them was lost among men;\ntheir place was no more to be found.\"\n\nIt is a just remark that had been made by Hume(5): \"Theories of abstract\nphilosophy, systems of profound theology, have prevailed during one\nage. In a successive period these have been universally exploded; their\nabsurdity has been detected; other theories and systems have supplied\ntheir place, which again gave way to their successors; and nothing has\nbeen experienced more liable to the revolutions of chance and fashion\nthan these pretended decisions of science. The case is not the same with\nthe beauties of eloquence and poetry. Just expressions of passion and\nnature are sure, after a little time, to gain public applause, which\nthey maintain for ever. Aristotle and Plato and Epicurus and Descartes\nmay successively yield to each other: but Terence and Virgil maintain\nan universal, undisputed empire over the minds of men. The abstract\nphilosophy of Cicero has lost its credit: the vehemence of his oratory\nis still the object of our admiration.\"\n\n(5) Essays, Part 1, Essay xxiii.\n\n\nA few examples of the instability of fame will place this question in\nthe clearest light.\n\nNicholas Peiresk was born in the year 1580. His progress in knowledge\nwas so various and unprecedented, that, from the time that he was\ntwenty-one years of age, he was universally considered as holding the\nhelm of learning in his hand, and guiding the commonwealth of letters.\nHe died at the age of fifty-seven. The academy of the Humoristi at Rome\npaid the most extraordinary honours to his memory; many of the cardinals\nassisted at his funeral oration; and a collection of verses in his\npraise was published in more than forty languages.\n\nSalmasius was regarded as a prodigy of learning; and various princes\nand powers entered into a competition who should be so fortunate as to\nsecure his residence in their states. Christina, queen of Sweden,\nhaving obtained the preference, received him with singular reverence and\nattention; and, Salmasius being taken ill at Stockholm, and confined to\nhis bed, the queen persisted with her own hand to prepare his caudles,\nand mend his fire. Yet, but for the accident of his having had Milton\nfor his adversary, his name would now be as little remembered, even by\nthe generality of the learned, as that of Peiresk.\n\nDu Bartas, in the reign of Henry the Fourth of France, was one of the\nmost successful poets that ever existed. His poem on the Creation of the\nWorld went through upwards of thirty editions in the course of five\nor six years, was translated into most European languages, and\nits commentators promised to equal in copiousness and number the\ncommentators on Homer.\n\nOne of the most admired of our English poets about the close of the\nsixteenth century, was Donne. Unlike many of those trivial writers of\nverse who succeeded him after an interval of forty or fifty years, and\nwho won for themselves a brilliant reputation by the smoothness of their\nnumbers, the elegance of their conceptions, and the politeness of their\nstyle, Donne was full of originality, energy and vigour. No man can\nread him without feeling himself called upon for earnest exercise of\nhis thinking powers, and, even with the most fixed attention and\napplication, the student is often obliged to confess his inability\nto take in the whole of the meaning with which the poet's mind was\nperceptibly fraught. Every sentence that Donne writes, whether in verse\nor prose, is exclusively his own. In addition to this, his thoughts are\noften in the noblest sense of the word poetical; and passages may be\nquoted from him that no English poet may attempt to rival, unless it be\nMilton and Shakespear. Ben Jonson observed of him with great truth and a\nprophetic spirit: \"Donne for not being understood will perish.\" But this\nis not all. If Waller and Suckling and Carew sacrificed every thing to\nthe Graces, Donne went into the other extreme. With a few splendid and\nadmirable exceptions, his phraseology and versification are crabbed and\nrepulsive. And, as poetry is read in the first place for pleasure, Donne\nis left undisturbed on the shelf, or rather in the sepulchre; and\nnot one in an hundred even among persons of cultivation, can give any\naccount of him, if in reality they ever heard of his productions.\n\nThe name of Shakespear is that before which every knee must bow. But it\nwas not always so. When the first novelty of his pieces was gone, they\nwere seldom called into requisition. Only three or four of his plays\nwere upon the acting list of the principal company of players during\nthe reign of Charles the Second; and the productions of Beaumont and\nFletcher, and of Shirley, were acted three times for once of his. At\nlength Betterton revived, and by his admirable representation gave\npopularity to, Macbeth, Hamlet and Lear, a popularity they have ever\nsince retained. But Macbeth was not revived (with music, and alterations\nby sir William Davenant) till 1674; and Lear a few years later, with\nlove scenes and a happy catastrophe by Nahum Tate.\n\nIn the latter part of the reign of Charles the Second, Dryden and Otway\nand Lee held the undisputed supremacy in the serious drama.\n\nSuch was the insensibility of the English public to nature, and her high\npriest, Shakespear. The only one of their productions that has survived\nupon the theatre, is Venice Preserved: and why it has done so it is\ndifficult to say; or rather it would be impossible to assign a just and\nhonourable reason for it. All the personages in this piece are of an\nabandoned and profligate character. Pierre is a man resolved to destroy\nand root up the republic by which he was employed, because his mistress,\na courtesan, is mercenary, and endures the amorous visits of an\nimpotent old lecher. Jaffier, without even the profession of any public\nprinciple, joins in the conspiracy, because he has been accustomed\nto luxury and prodigal expence and is poor. He has however no sooner\nentered into the plot, than he betrays it, and turns informer to the\ngovernment against his associates. Belvidera instigates him to this\ntreachery, because she cannot bear the thought of having her father\nmurdered, and is absurd enough to imagine that she and her husband shall\nbe tender and happy lovers ever after. Their love in the latter acts of\nthe play is a continued tirade of bombast and sounding nonsense, without\none real sentiment, one just reflection, or one strong emotion working\nfrom the heart, and analysing the nature of man. The folly of this love\ncan only be exceeded, by the abject and despicable crouching and fawning\nof Jaffier to the man he had so basely betrayed, and their subsequent\nreconciliation. There is not a production in the whole realms of\nfiction, that has less pretension to manly, or even endurable feeling,\nor to common propriety. The total defect of a moral sense in this piece\nis strongly characteristic of the reign in which it was written. It has\nin the mean while a richness of melody, and a picturesqueness of action,\nthat enables it to delude, and that even draws tears from the eyes\nof, persons who can be won over by the eye and the ear, with almost\nno participation of the understanding. And this unmeaning rant and\nsenseless declamation sufficed for the time to throw into shade those\nexquisite delineations of character, those transcendent bursts of\npassion, and that perfect anatomy of the human heart, which render the\nmaster-pieces of Shakespear a property for all nations and all times.\n\nWhile Shakespear was partly forgotten, it continued to be totally\nunknown that he had contemporaries as inexpressibly superior to the\ndramatic writers that have appeared since, as these contemporaries were\nthemselves below the almighty master of scenic composition. It was the\nfashion to say, that Shakespear existed alone in a barbarous age, and\nthat all his imputed crudities, and intermixture of what was noblest\nwith unparalleled absurdity and buffoonery, were to be allowed for to\nhim on that consideration.\n\nCowley stands forward as a memorable instance of the inconstancy of\nfame. He was a most amiable man; and the loveliness of his mind shines\nout in his productions. He had a truly poetic frame of soul; and he\npours out the beautiful feelings that possessed him unreservedly and\nat large. He was a great sufferer in the Stuart cause, he had been a\nprincipal member of the court of the exiled queen; and, when the king\nwas restored, it was a deep sentiment among his followers and friends\nto admire the verses of Cowley. He was \"the Poet.\" The royalist rhymers\nwere set lightly by in comparison with him. Milton, the republican, who,\nby his collection published during the civil war, had shewn that he was\nentitled to the highest eminence, was unanimously consigned to oblivion.\nCowley died in 1667; and the duke of Buckingham, the author of the\nRehearsal, eight years after, set up his tomb in the cemetery of the\nnation, with an inscription, declaring him to be at once \"the Pindar,\nthe Horace and Virgil of his country, the delight and the glory of\nhis age, which by his death was left a perpetual mourner.\"--Yet--so\ncapricious is fame--a century has nearly elapsed, since Pope said,\n\n     Who now reads Cowley?  If he pleases yet,\n     His moral pleases, not his pointed wit;\n     Forgot his epic, nay, Pindaric art,\n     But still I love the language of his heart.\n\nAs Cowley was the great royalist poet after the Restoration, Cleveland\nstood in the same rank during the civil war. In the publication of his\nworks one edition succeeded to another, yearly or oftener, for more than\ntwenty years. His satire is eminently poignant; he is of a strength and\nenergy of thinking uncommonly masculine; and he compresses his meaning\nso as to give it every advantage. His imagination is full of coruscation\nand brilliancy. His petition to Cromwel, lord protector of England, when\nthe poet was under confinement for his loyal principles, is a singular\nexample of manly firmness, great independence of mind, and a happy\nchoice of topics to awaken feelings of forbearance and clemency. It is\nunnecessary to say that Cleveland is now unknown, except to such as feel\nthemselves impelled to search into things forgotten.\n\nIt would be endless to adduce all the examples that might be found of\nthe caprices of fame. It has been one of the arts of the envious to set\nup a contemptible rival to eclipse the splendour of sterling merit. Thus\nCrowne and Settle for a time disturbed the serenity of Dryden. Voltaire\nsays, the Phaedra of Pradon has not less passion than that of Racine,\nbut expressed in rugged verse and barbarous language. Pradon is now\nforgotten: and the whole French poetry of the Augustan age of Louis the\nFourteenth is threatened with the same fate. Hayley for a few years was\napplauded as the genuine successor of Pope; and the poem of Sympathy\nby Pratt went through twelve editions. For a brief period almost each\nsuccessive age appears fraught with resplendent genius; but they go out\none after another; they set, \"like stars that fall, to rise no more.\"\nFew indeed are endowed with that strength of construction, that should\nenable them to ride triumphant on the tide of ages.\n\nIt is the same with conquerors. What tremendous battles have been\nfought, what oceans of blood have been spilled, by men who were resolved\nthat their achievements should be remembered for ever! And now even\ntheir names are scarcely preserved; and the very effects of the\ndisasters they inflicted on mankind seem to be swept away, as of no more\nvalidity than things that never existed. Warriors and poets, the authors\nof systems and the lights of philosophy, men that astonished the earth,\nand were looked up to as Gods, even like an actor on the stage, have\nstrutted their hour, and then been heard of no more.\n\nBooks have the advantage of all other productions of the human head or\nhand. Copies of them may be multiplied for ever, the last as good as\nthe first, except so far as some slight inadvertent errors may have\ninsinuated themselves. The Iliad flourishes as green now, as on the\nday that Pisistratus is said first to have stamped upon it its present\norder. The songs of the Rhapsodists, the Scalds, and the Minstrels,\nwhich once seemed as fugitive as the breath of him who chaunted them,\nrepose in libraries, and are embalmed in collections. The sportive\nsallies of eminent wits, and the Table Talk of Luther and Selden, may\nlive as long as there shall be men to read, and judges to appreciate\nthem.\n\nBut other human productions have their date. Pictures, however\nadmirable, will only last as long as the colours of which they are\ncomposed, and the substance on which they are painted. Three or four\nhundred years ordinarily limit the existence of the most favoured. We\nhave scarcely any paintings of the ancients, and but a small portion of\ntheir statues, while of these a great part are mutilated, and various\nmembers supplied by later and inferior artists. The library of Bufo is\nby Pope described,\n\n          where busts of poets dead,\n      And a true Pindar stood without a head.\n\nMonumental records, alike the slightest and the most solid, are\nsubjected to the destructive operation of time, or to the being removed\nat the caprice or convenience of successive generations. The pyramids\nof Egypt remain, but the names of him who founded them, and of him\nwhose memory they seemed destined to perpetuate, have perished together.\nBuildings for the use or habitation of man do not last for ever. Mighty\ncities, as well as detached edifices, are destined to disappear. Thebes,\nand Troy, and Persepolis, and Palmyra have vanished from the face of the\nearth.\n\n\"Thorns and brambles have grown up in their palaces: they are\nhabitations for serpents, and a court for the owl.\"\n\nThere are productions of man however that seem more durable than any\nof the edifices he has raised. Such are, in the first place, modes of\ngovernment. The constitution of Sparta lasted for seven hundred years.\nThat of Rome for about the same period. Institutions, once deeply\nrooted in the habits of a people, will operate in their effects through\nsuccessive revolutions. Modes of faith will sometimes be still more\npermanent. Not to mention the systems of Moses and Christ, which we\nconsider as delivered to us by divine inspiration, that of Mahomet\nhas continued for twelve hundred years, and may last, for aught that\nappears, twelve hundred more. The practices of the empire of China are\ncelebrated all over the earth for their immutability.\n\nThis brings us naturally to reflect upon the durability of the sciences.\nAccording to Bailly, the observation of the heavens, and a calculation\nof the revolutions of the heavenly bodies, in other words, astronomy,\nsubsisted in maturity in China and the East, for at least three thousand\nyears before the birth of Christ: and, such as it was then, it bids fair\nto last as long as civilisation shall continue. The additions it has\nacquired of late years may fall away and perish, but the substance shall\nremain. The circulation of the blood in man and other animals, is a\ndiscovery that shall never be antiquated. And the same may be averred\nof the fundamental elements of geometry and of some other sciences.\nKnowledge, in its most considerable branches shall endure, as long as\nbooks shall exist to hand it down to successive generations.\n\nIt is just therefore, that we should regard with admiration and awe the\nnature of man, by whom these mighty things have been accomplished, at\nthe same time that the perishable quality of its individual monuments,\nand the temporary character and inconstancy of that fame which in many\ninstances has filled the whole earth with its renown, may reasonably\nquell the fumes of an inordinate vanity, and keep alive in us the\nsentiment of a wholsome diffidence and humility.\n\n\n\n\nESSAY V. OF THE REBELLIOUSNESS OF MAN.\n\nThere is a particular characteristic in the nature of the human mind,\nwhich is somewhat difficult to be explained.\n\nMan is a being of a rational and an irrational nature.\n\nIt has often been said that we have two souls. Araspes, in the\nCyropedia, adopts this language to explain his inconsistency, and\ndesertion of principle and honour. The two souls of man, according to\nthis hypothesis, are, first, animal, and, secondly, intellectual.\n\nBut I am not going into any thing of this slight and every-day\ncharacter.\n\nMan is a rational being. It is by this particular that he is eminently\ndistinguished from the brute creation. He collects premises and deduces\nconclusions. He enters into systems of thinking, and combines systems of\naction, which he pursues from day to day, and from year to year. It is\nby this feature in his constitution that he becomes emphatically the\nsubject of history, of poetry and fiction. It is by this that he is\nraised above the other inhabitants of the globe of earth, and that the\nindividuals of our race are made the partners of \"gods, and men like\ngods.\"\n\nBut our nature, beside this, has another section. We start occasionally\nten thousand miles awry. We resign the sceptre of reason, and the high\ndignity that belongs to us as beings of a superior species; and, without\nauthority derived to us from any system of thinking, even without the\nscheme of gratifying any vehement and uncontrolable passion, we are\nimpelled to do, or at least feel ourselves excited to do, something\ndisordinate and strange. It seems as if we had a spring within us, that\nfound the perpetual restraint of being wise and sober insupportable.\nWe long to be something, or to do something, sudden and unexpected,\nto throw the furniture of our apartment out at window, or, when we are\nleaving a place of worship, in which perhaps the most solemn feelings\nof our nature have been excited, to push the grave person that is\njust before us, from the top of the stairs to the bottom. A thousand\nabsurdities, wild and extravagant vagaries, come into our heads, and we\nare only restrained from perpetrating them by the fear, that we may be\nsubjected to the treatment appropriated to the insane, or may perhaps be\nmade amenable to the criminal laws of our country.\n\nA story occurs to me, which I learned from the late Dr. Parr at Hatton,\nthat may not unhappily illustrate the point I am endeavouring to\nexplain.\n\nDr. Samuel Clarke, rector of St. James's, Westminster, the especial\nfriend of Sir Isaac Newton, the distinguished editor of the poems of\nHomer, and author of the Demonstration of the Being and Attributes of\nGod, was one day summoned from his study, to receive two visitors in\nthe parlour. When he came downstairs, and entered the room, he saw\na foreigner, who by his air seemed to be a person of distinction, a\nprofessor perhaps of some university on the continent; and an alderman\nof London, a relation of the doctor, who had come to introduce the\nforeigner. The alderman, a man of uncultivated mind and manners, and\nwhom the doctor had been accustomed to see in sordid attire, surrounded\nwith the incumbrances of his trade, was decked out for the occasion in a\nfull-dress suit, with a wig of majestic and voluminous structure. Clarke\nwas, as it appears, so much struck with the whimsical nature of this\nunexpected metamorphosis, and the extraordinary solemnity of his\nkinsman's demeanour, as to have felt impelled, almost immediately upon\nentering the room, to snatch the wig from the alderman's head, and throw\nit against the ceiling: after which this eminent person immediately\nescaped, and retired to his own apartment. I was informed from the same\nauthority, that Clarke, after exhausting his intellectual faculties by\nlong and intense study, would not unfrequently quit his seat, leap upon\nthe table, and place himself cross-legged like a tailor, being prompted,\nby these antagonist sallies, to relieve himself from the effect of the\ntoo severe strain he had previously put upon his intellectual powers.\n\nBut the deviousness and aberration of our human faculties frequently\namount to something considerably more serious than this.\n\nI will put a case.\n\nI will suppose myself and another human being together, in some spot\nsecure from the intrusion of spectators. A musket is conveniently at\nhand. It is already loaded. I say to my companion, \"I will place myself\nbefore you; I will stand motionless: take up that musket, and shoot me\nthrough the heart.\" I want to know what passes in the mind of the man to\nwhom these words are addressed.\n\nI say, that one of the thoughts that will occur to many of the persons\nwho should be so invited, will be, \"Shall I take him at his word?\"\n\nThere are two things that restrain us from acts of violence and crime.\nThe first is, the laws of morality. The second is, the construction that\nwill be put upon our actions by our fellow-creatures, and the treatment\nwe shall receive from them.--I put out of the question here any\nparticular value I may entertain for my challenger, or any degree of\nfriendship and attachment I may feel for him.\n\nThe laws of morality (setting aside the consideration of any documents\nof religion or otherwise I may have imbibed from my parents and\ninstructors) are matured within us by experience. In proportion as I am\nrendered familiar with my fellow-creatures, or with society at large, I\ncome to feel the ties which bind men to each other, and the wisdom\nand necessity of governing my conduct by inexorable rules. We are thus\nfurther and further removed from unexpected sallies of the mind, and the\ndanger of suddenly starting away into acts not previously reflected on\nand considered.\n\nWith respect to the censure and retaliation of other men on my\nproceeding, these, by the terms of my supposition, are left out of the\nquestion.\n\nIt may be taken for granted, that no man but a madman, would in the\ncase I have stated take the challenger at his word. But what I want to\nascertain is, why the bare thought of doing so takes a momentary hold of\nthe mind of the person addressed?\n\nThere are three principles in the nature of man which contribute to\naccount for this.\n\nFirst, the love of novelty.\n\nSecondly, the love of enterprise and adventure. I become insupportably\nwearied with the repetition of rotatory acts and every-day occurrences.\nI want to be alive, to be something more than I commonly am, to change\nthe scene, to cut the cable that binds my bark to the shore, to launch\ninto the wide sea of possibilities, and to nourish my thoughts with\nobserving a train of unforeseen consequences as they arise.\n\nA third principle, which discovers itself in early childhood, and which\nnever entirely quits us, is the love of power. We wish to be assured\nthat we are something, and that we can produce notable effects upon\nother beings out of ourselves. It is this principle, which instigates\na child to destroy his playthings, and to torment and kill the animals\naround him.\n\nBut, even independently of the laws of morality, and the fear of censure\nand retaliation from our fellow-creatures, there are other things which\nwould obviously restrain us from taking the challenger in the above\nsupposition at his word.\n\nIf man were an omnipotent being, and at the same time retained all\nhis present mental infirmities, it would be difficult to say of what\nextravagances he would be guilty. It is proverbially affirmed that power\nhas a tendency to corrupt the best dispositions. Then what would not\nomnipotence effect?\n\nIf, when I put an end to the life of a fellow-creature, all vestiges of\nwhat I had done were to disappear, this would take off a great part of\nthe control upon my actions which at present subsists. But, as it is,\nthere are many consequences that \"give us pause.\" I do not like to see\nhis blood streaming on the ground. I do not like to witness the spasms\nand convulsions of a dying man. Though wounded to the heart, he may\nspeak. Then what may be chance to say? What looks of reproach may he\ncast upon me? The musket may miss fire. If I wound him, the wound may be\nless mortal than I contemplated. Then what may I not have to fear? His\ndead body will be an incumbrance to me. It must be moved from the place\nwhere it lies. It must be buried. How is all this to be done by me? By\none precipitate act, I have involved myself in a long train of loathsome\nand heart-sickening consequences.\n\nIf it should be said, that no one but a person of an abandoned character\nwould fail, when the scene was actually before him, to feel an instant\nrepugnance to the proposition, yet it will perhaps be admitted, that\nalmost every reader, when he regards it as a supposition merely, says to\nhimself for a moment, \"Would I? Could I?\"\n\nBut, to bring the irrationality of man more completely to the test,\nlet us change the supposition. Let us imagine him to be gifted with the\npowers of the fabled basilisk, \"to monarchise, be feared, and kill with\nlooks.\" His present impulses, his passions, his modes of reasoning\nand choosing shall continue; but his \"will is neighboured to his act;\"\nwhatever he has formed a conception of with preference, is immediately\nrealised; his thought is succeeded by the effect; and no traces are\nleft behind, by means of which a shadow of censure or suspicion can be\nreflected on him.\n\nMan is in truth a miracle. The human mind is a creature of celestial\norigin, shut up and confined in a wall of flesh. We feel a kind of\nproud impatience of the degradation to which we are condemned. We beat\nourselves to pieces against the wires of our cage, and long to escape,\nto shoot through the elements, and be as free to change at any instant\nthe place where we dwell, as to change the subject to which our thoughts\nare applied.\n\nThis, or something like this, seems to be the source of our most\nportentous follies and absurdities. This is the original sin upon which\nSt. Austin and Calvin descanted. Certain Arabic writers seem to have had\nthis in their minds, when they tell us, that there is a black drop\nof blood in the heart of every man, in which is contained the fomes\npeccati, and add that, when Mahomet was in the fourth year of his age,\nthe angel Gabriel caught him up from among his playfellows, and taking\nhis heart from his bosom, squeezed out of it this first principle of\nfrailty, in consequence of which he for ever after remained inaccessible\nto the weaknesses of other men(6).\n\n\n   (6) Life of Mahomet, by Prideaux.\n\n\nIt is the observation of sir Thomas Browne: \"Man is a noble animal,\nsplendid in ashes, and pompous in the grave.\" One of the most remarkable\nexamples of this is to be found in the pyramids of Egypt. They are\ngenerally considered as having been erected to be the tombs of the kings\nof that country. They have no opening by which for the light of heaven\nto enter, and afford no means for the accommodation of living man. An\nhundred thousand men are said to have been constantly employed in the\nbuilding; ten years to have been consumed in hewing and conveying the\nstones, and twenty more in completing the edifice. Of the largest the\nbase is a square, and the sides are triangles, gradually diminishing as\nthey mount in the air. The sides of the base are two hundred and twenty\nfeet in length, and the perpendicular height is above one hundred and\nfifty-five feet. The figure of the pyramid is precisely that which is\nmost calculated for duration: it cannot perish by accident; and it would\nrequire almost as much labour to demolish it, as it did to raise it at\nfirst.\n\nWhat a light does this fact convey into the inmost recesses of the human\nheart! Man reflects deeply, and with feelings of a mortified nature,\nupon the perishableness of his frame, and the approaching close, so far\nas depends upon the evidence of our senses, of his existence. He has\nindeed an irrepressible \"longing after immortality;\" and this is one of\nthe various and striking modes in which he has sought to give effect to\nhis desire.\n\nVarious obvious causes might be selected, which should be calculated to\ngive birth to the feeling of discontent.\n\nOne is, the not being at home.\n\nI will here put together some of the particulars which make up the idea\nof home in the most emphatical sense of the word.\n\nHome is the place where a man is principally at his ease. It is the\nplace where he most breathes his native air: his lungs play without\nimpediment; and every respiration brings a pure element, and a\ncheerful and gay frame of mind. Home is the place where he most easily\naccomplishes all his designs; he has his furniture and materials and the\nelements of his occupations entirely within his reach. Home is the place\nwhere he can be uninterrupted. He is in a castle which is his in full\npropriety. No unwelcome guests can intrude; no harsh sounds can disturb\nhis contemplations; he is the master, and can command a silence equal to\nthat of the tomb, whenever he pleases.\n\nIn this sense every man feels, while cribbed in a cabin of flesh,\nand shut up by the capricious and arbitrary injunctions of human\ncommunities, that he is not at home.\n\nAnother cause of our discontent is to be traced to the disparity of the\ntwo parts of which we are composed, the thinking principle, and the body\nin which it acts. The machine which constitutes the visible man, bears\nno proportion to our thoughts, our wishes and desires. Hence we are\nnever satisfied; we always feel the want of something we have not; and\nthis uneasiness is continually pushing us on to precipitate and abortive\nresolves.\n\nI find in a book, entitled, Illustrations of Phrenology, by Sir George\nMackenzie, Baronet, the following remark. 'If this portrait be correctly\ndrawn, the right side does not quite agree with the left in the\nregion of ideality. This dissimilarity may have produced something\ncontradictory in the feelings of the person it represents, which he may\nhave felt extremely annoying(7).' An observation of this sort may be\nurged with striking propriety as to the dissimilar attributes of the\nbody and the thinking principle in man.\n\n\n\n   (7) The remark thus delivered is applied to the portrait of the author\nof the present volume.\n\n\nIt is perhaps thus that we are to account for a phenomenon, in itself\nsufficiently obvious, that our nature has within it a principle of\nboundless ambition, a desire to be something that we are not, a feeling\nthat we are out of our place, and ought to be where we are not. This\nfeeling produces in us quick and earnest sallies and goings forth of the\nmind, a restlessness of soul, and an aspiration after some object that\nwe do not find ourselves able to chalk out and define.\n\nHence comes the practice of castle-building, and of engaging the soul in\nendless reveries and imaginations of something mysterious and unlike\nto what we behold in the scenes of sublunary life. Many writers, having\nremarked this, have endeavoured to explain it from the doctrine of\na preexistent state, and have said that, though we have no clear and\ndistinct recollection of what happened to us previously to our being\nlaunched in our present condition, yet we have certain broken and\nimperfect conceptions, as if, when the tablet of the memory was cleared\nfor the most part of the traces of what we had passed through in some\nother mode of being, there were a few characters that had escaped the\ndiligence of the hand by which the rest had been obliterated.\n\nIt is this that, in less enlightened ages of the world, led men to\nengage so much of their thoughts upon supposed existences, which,\nthough they might never become subject to our organs of vision, were yet\nconceived to be perpetually near us, fairies, ghosts, witches, demons\nand angels. Our ancestors often derived suggestions from these, were\ninformed of things beyond the ken of ordinary faculties, were tempted to\nthe commission of forbidden acts, or encouraged to proceed in the paths\nof virtue.\n\nThe most remarkable of these phenomena was that of necromancy, sorcery\nand magic. There were men who devoted themselves to \"curious arts,\" and\nhad books fraught with hidden knowledge. They could \"bedim\"\n\n\n      The noon-tide sun, call forth the mutinous winds,\n     And 'twixt the green sea and the azured vault\n     Set roaring war:  to the dread, rattling thunder\n     They could give fire, and rift even Jove's stout oak\n     With his own bolt--graves at their command\n     Have waked their sleepers, oped and let them forth.\n\n\nAnd of these things the actors in them were so certain, that many\nwitches were led to the stake, their guilt being principally established\non their own confessions. But the most memorable matters in the history\nof the black art, were the contracts which those who practised it not\nunfrequently entered into with the devil, that he should assist them by\nhis supernatural power for ten or twenty years, and, in consideration of\nthis aid, they consented to resign their souls into his possession, when\nthe period of the contract was expired.\n\nIn the animal creation there are some species that may be tamed, and\nothers whose wildness is irreclaimable. Horace says, that all men are\nmad: and no doubt mankind in general has one of the features of madness.\nIn the ordinary current of our existence we are to a considerable degree\nrational and tractable. But we are not altogether safe. I may converse\nwith a maniac for hours; he shall talk as soberly, and conduct himself\nwith as much propriety, as any other of the species who has never been\nafflicted with his disease; but touch upon a particular string, and,\nbefore you are aware of it, he shall fly out into the wildest and most\nterrifying extravagances. Such, though in a greatly inferior degree, are\nthe majority of human beings.\n\nThe original impulse of man is uncontrolableness. When the spirit of\nlife first descends upon us, we desire and attempt to be as free as air.\nWe are impatient of restraint. This is the period of the empire of will.\nThere is a power within us that wars against the restraint of another.\nWe are eager to follow our own impulses and caprices, and are with\ndifficulty subjected to those who believe they best know how to control\ninexperienced youth in a way that shall tend to his ultimate advantage.\n\nThe most moderate and auspicious method in which the old may endeavour\nto guide and control the pursuits of the young, undoubtedly is by the\nconviction of the understanding. But this is not always easy. It is not\nat all times practicable fully to explain to the apprehension of a very\nyoung person the advantage, which at a period a little more advanced he\nwould be able clearly to recognise.\n\nThere is a further evil appertaining to this view of the subject.\n\nA young man even, in the early season of life, is not always disposed to\nobey the convictions of his understanding. He has prescribed to himself\na task which returns with the returning day; but he is often not\ndisposed to apply. The very sense that it is what he conceives to be an\nincumbent duty, inspires him with reluctance.\n\nAn obvious source of this reluctance is, that the convictions of our\nunderstanding are not always equally present to us. I have entered into\na deduction of premises, and arrived at a conclusion; but some of the\nsteps of the chain are scarcely obvious to me, at the time that I am\ncalled upon to act upon the conclusion I have drawn. Beside which,\nthere was a freshness in the first conception of the reasons on which\nmy conduct was to be framed, which, by successive rehearsals, and\nby process of time, is no longer in any degree spirit-stirring and\npregnant.\n\nThis restiveness and impracticability are principally incident to us in\nthe period of youth. By degrees the novelties of life wear out, and we\nbecome sober. We are like soldiers at drill, and in a review. At first\nwe perform our exercise from necessity, and with an ill grace. We had\nrather be doing almost any thing else.\n\nBy degrees we are reconciled to our occupation. We are like horses in a\nmanege, or oxen or dogs taught to draw the plough, or be harnessed to a\ncarriage. Our stubbornness is subdued; we no longer exhaust our strength\nin vain efforts to free ourselves from the yoke.\n\nConviction at first is strong. Having arrived at years of discretion,\nI revolve with a sobered mind the different occupations to which my\nefforts and my time may be devoted, and determine at length upon\nthat which under all the circumstances displays the most cogent\nrecommendations. Having done so, I rouse my faculties and direct my\nenergies to the performance of my task. By degrees however my resolution\ngrows less vigorous, and my exertions relax. I accept any pretence to be\nlet off, and fly into a thousand episodes and eccentricities.\n\nBut, as the newness of life subsides, the power of temptation becomes\nless. That conviction, which was at first strong, and gradually became\nfainter and less impressive, is made by incessant repetitions a part\nof my nature. I no more think of doubting its truth, than of my own\nexistence. Practice has rendered the pursuits that engage me more easy,\ntill at length I grow disturbed and uncomfortable if I am withheld from\nthem. They are like my daily bread. If they are not afforded me, I grow\nsick and attenuated, and my life verges to a close. The sun is not surer\nto rise, than I am to feel the want of my stated employment.\n\nIt is the business of education to tame the wild ass, the restive and\nrebellious principle, in our nature. The judicious parent or instructor\nessays a thousand methods to accomplish his end. The considerate elder\ntempts the child with inticements and caresses, that he may win his\nattention to the first rudiments of learning.\n\nHe sets before him, as he grows older, all the considerations\nand reasons he can devise, to make him apprehend the advantage of\nimprovement and literature. He does his utmost to make his progress\neasy, and to remove all impediments. He smooths the path by which he\nis to proceed, and endeavours to root out all its thorns. He exerts his\neloquence to inspire his pupil with a love for the studies in which he\nis engaged. He opens to him the beauties and genius of the authors he\nreads, and endeavours to proceed with him hand in hand, and step by\nstep. He persuades, he exhorts, and occasionally he reproves. He awakens\nin him the love of excellence, the fear of disgrace, and an ambition to\naccomplish that which \"the excellent of the earth\" accomplished before\nhim.\n\nAt a certain period the young man is delivered into his own hands,\nand becomes an instructor to himself. And, if he is blessed with an\ningenuous disposition, he will enter on his task with an earnest desire\nand a devoted spirit. No person of a sober and enlarged mind can for a\nmoment delude himself into the opinion that, when he is delivered into\nhis own hands, his education is ended. In a sense to which no one is\na stranger, the education of man and his life terminate together. We\nshould at no period of our existence be backward to receive information,\nand should at all times preserve our minds open to conviction. We\nshould through every day of our lives seek to add to the stores of our\nknowledge and refinement. But, independently of this more extended sense\nof the word, a great portion of the education of the young man is left\nto the direction of the man himself. The epoch of entire liberty is a\ndangerous period, and calls upon him for all his discretion, that he\nmay not make an ill use of that, which is in itself perhaps the first of\nsublunary blessings. The season of puberty also, and all the excitements\nfrom this source, \"that flesh is heir to,\" demand the utmost vigilance\nand the strictest restraint. In a word, if we would counteract the\ninnate rebelliousness of man, that indocility of mind which is at all\ntimes at hand to plunge us into folly, we must never slumber at our\npost, but govern ourselves with steady severity, and by the dictates\nof an enlightened understanding. We must be like a skilful pilot in a\nperilous sea, and be thoroughly aware of all the rocks and quicksands,\nand the multiplied and hourly dangers that beset our navigation.\n\nIn this Essay I have treated of nothing more than the inherent\nrestiveness and indocility of man, which accompany him at least through\nall the earlier sections and divisions of his life. I have not treated\nof those temptations calculated to lead him into a thousand excesses and\nmiseries, which originate in our lower nature, and are connected with\nwhat we call the passion of love. Nor have I entered upon the still\nmore copious chapter, of the incentives and provocations which are\nadministered to us by those wants which at all times beset us as living\ncreatures, and by the unequal distribution of property generally in\ncivil society. I have not considered those attributes of man which may\nserve indifferently for good or for ill, as he may happen to be or not\nto be the subject of those fiercer excitements, that will oft times\ncorrupt the most ingenuous nature, and have a tendency to inspire into\nus subtle schemes and a deep contrivance. I have confined myself to\nthe consideration of man, as yet untamed to the modes of civilised\ncommunity, and unbroken to the steps which are not only prescribed by\nthe interests of our social existence, but which are even in some degree\nindispensible to the improvement and welfare of the individual. I have\nconsidered him, not as he is often acted upon by causes and motives\nwhich seem almost to compel him to vice, but merely as he is restless,\nand impatient, and disdainful both of the control of others, and the\nshackles of system.\n\nFor the same reason I have not taken notice of another species of\nirrationality, and which seems to answer more exactly to the Arabic\nnotion of the fomes peccati, the black drop of blood at the bottom of\nthe heart. We act from motives apprehended by the judgment; but we do\nnot stop at them. Once set in motion, it will not seldom happen that we\nproceed beyond our original mark. We are like Othello in the play:\n\n\n     Our blood begins our safer guides to rule;\n     And passion, having our best judgment quelled,\n     Assays to lead the way.\n\n\nThis is the explanation of the greatest enormities that have been\nperpetrated by man, and the inhuman deeds of Nero and Caligula. We\nproceed from bad to worse. The reins of our discretion drop from our\nhands. It fortunately happens however, that we do not in the majority of\ncases, like Phaeton in the fable, set the world on fire; but that, with\nordinary men, the fiercest excesses of passion extend to no greater\ndistance than can be reached by the sound of their voice.\n\n\n\n\nESSAY VI. OF HUMAN INNOCENCE.\n\nOne of the most obvious views which are presented to us by man\nin society is the inoffensiveness and innocence that ordinarily\ncharacterise him.\n\nSociety for the greater part carries on its own organization. Each man\npursues his proper occupation, and there are few individuals that feel\nthe propensity to interrupt the pursuits of their neighbours by personal\nviolence. When we observe the quiet manner in which the inhabitants of a\ngreat city, and, in the country, the frequenters of the fields, the\nhigh roads, and the heaths, pass along, each engrossed by his private\ncontemplations, feeling no disposition to molest the strangers he\nencounters, but on the contrary prepared to afford them every courteous\nassistance, we cannot in equity do less than admire the innocence of our\nspecies, and fancy that, like the patriarchs of old, we have fallen in\nwith \"angels unawares.\"\n\nThere are a few men in every community, that are sons of riot and\nplunder, and for the sake of these the satirical and censorious throw a\ngeneral slur and aspersion upon the whole species.\n\nWhen we look at human society with kind and complacent survey, we are\nmore than half tempted to imagine that men might subsist very well in\nclusters and congregated bodies without the coercion of law; and in\ntruth criminal laws were only made to prevent the ill-disposed few\nfrom interrupting the regular and inoffensive proceedings of the vast\nmajority.\n\nFrom what disposition in human nature is it that all this accommodation\nand concurrence proceed?\n\nIt is not primarily love. We feel in a very slight degree excited to\ngood will towards the stranger whom we accidentally light upon in our\npath.\n\nNeither is it fear.\n\nIt is principally forecast and prudence. We have a sensitiveness, that\nforbids us for a slight cause to expose ourselves to we know not what.\nWe are unwilling to be disturbed.\n\nWe have a mental vis inertiae, analogous to that quality in material\nsubstances, by means of which, being at rest, they resist being put into\na state of motion. We love our security; we love our respectability;\nand both of these may be put to hazard by our rashly and unadvisedly\nthrusting ourselves upon the course of another. We like to act for\nourselves. We like to act with others, when we think we can foresee the\nway in which the proposed transaction will proceed, and that it will\nproceed to our wish.\n\nLet us put the case, that I am passing along the highway, destitute and\npennyless, and without foresight of any means by which I am to procure\nthe next meal that my nature requires.\n\nThe vagrant, who revolves in his mind the thought of extorting from\nanother the supply of which he is urgently in need, surveys the person\nupon whom he meditates this violence with a scrutinising eye. He\nconsiders, Will this man submit to my summons without resistance, or in\nwhat manner will he repel my trespass? He watches his eye, he measures\nhis limbs, his strength, and his agility. Though they have met in the\ndeserts of Africa, where there is no law to punish the violator, he\nknows that he exposes himself to a fearful hazard; and he enters upon\nhis purpose with desperate resolve. All this and more must occur to the\nman of violence, within the pale of a civilised community.\n\nBegging is the mildest form in which a man can obtain from the stranger\nhe meets, the means of supplying his urgent necessities.\n\nBut, even here, the beggar knows that he exposes himself not only to\nrefusal, but to the harsh and opprobrious terms in which that refusal\nmay be conveyed. In this city there are laws against begging; and\nthe man that asks alms of me, is an offender against the state. In\ncountry-towns it is usual to remark a notice upon entering, to say,\nWhoever shall be found begging in this place, shall be set in the\nstocks.\n\nThere are modes however in which I may accost a stranger, with small\napprehension that I shall be made to repent of it. I may enquire of him\nmy way to the place towards which my business or my pleasure invites me.\nEnnius of old has observed, that lumen de lumine, to light my candle\nat my neighbour's lamp, is one of the privileges that the practices of\ncivil society concede.\n\nBut it is not merely from forecast and prudence that we refrain from\ninterrupting the stranger in his way. We have all of us a certain degree\nof kindness for a being of our own species. A multitude of men feel this\nkindness for every thing that has animal life. We would not willingly\nmolest the stranger who has done us no injury. On the contrary we would\nall of us to a certain extent assist him, under any unforeseen casualty\nand tribulation. A part therefore of the innocence that characterises\nour species is to be attributed to philanthropy.\n\nChildhood is diffident. Children for the most part are averse to the\naddressing themselves to strangers, unless in cases where, from the mere\nwant of anticipation and reflection, they proceed as if they were wholly\nwithout the faculty of making calculations and deducing conclusions. The\nchild neither knows himself nor the stranger he meets in his path. He\nhas not measured either the one or the other. He does not know what the\nstranger may be able, or may likely be prompted to do to him, nor what\nare his own means of defence or escape. He takes refuge therefore in a\nwary, sometimes an obstinate silence. It is for this reason that a boy\nat school often appears duller and more inept, than would be the amount\nof a fair proportion to what he is found to be when grown up to a man.\n\nAs we improve in judgment and strength, we know better ourselves and\nothers, and in a majority of instances take our due place in the ranks\nof society. We acquire a modest and cautious firmness, yield what\nbelongs to another, and assert what is due to ourselves. To the last\nhowever, we for the most part retain the inoffensiveness described in\nthe beginning of this Essay.\n\nHow comes it then that our nature labours under so bitter an aspersion?\nWe have been described as cunning, malicious and treacherous. Other\nanimals herd together for mutual convenience; and their intercourse with\ntheir species is for the most part a reciprocation of social feeling\nand kindness. But community among men, we are told, is that condition of\nhuman existence, which brings out all our evil qualities to the face\nof day. We lie in wait for, and circumvent each other by multiplied\nartifices. We cannot depend upon each other for the truth of what is\nstated to us; and promises and the most solemn engagements often seem\nas if they were made only to mislead. We are violent and deadly in our\nanimosities, easily worked up to ferocity, and satisfied with scarcely\nany thing short of mutilation and blood. We are revengeful: we lay up an\ninjury, real or imaginary, in the store-house of an undecaying memory,\nwaiting only till we can repay the evil we have sustained tenfold, at a\ntime when our adversary shall be lulled in unsuspecting security. We\nare rapacious, with no symptom that the appetite for gain within us will\never be appeased; and we practise a thousand deceits, that it may be\nthe sooner, and to the greater degree glutted. The ambition of man is\nunbounded; and he hesitates at no means in the course it prompts him to\npursue. In short, man is to man ever the most fearful and dangerous foe:\nand it is in this view of his nature that the king of Brobdingnag says\nto Gulliver, \"I cannot but conclude the bulk of your race to be the most\npernicious generation of little, odious vermin, that were ever suffered\nto crawl upon the surface of the earth.\" The comprehensive faculties of\nman therefore, and the refinements and subtlety of his intellect, serve\nonly to render him the more formidable companion, and to hold us up as a\nspecies to merited condemnation.\n\nIt is obvious however that the picture thus drawn is greatly\novercharged, that it describes a very small part of our race, and that\neven as to them it sets before us a few features only, and a partial\nrepresentation.\n\nHistory--the successive scenes of the drama in which individuals play\ntheir part--is a labyrinth, of which no man has as yet exactly seized\nthe clue.\n\nIt has long since been observed, that the history of the four great\nmonarchies, of tyrannies and free states, of chivalry and clanship, of\nMahometanism and the Christian church, of the balance of Europe and\nthe revolution of empires, is little else than a tissue of crimes,\nexhibiting nations as if they were so many herds of ferocious animals,\nwhose genuine occupation was to tear each other to pieces, and to deform\ntheir mother-earth with mangled carcases and seas of blood.\n\nBut it is not just that we should establish our opinion of human nature\npurely from the records of history. Man is alternately devoted to\ntranquillity and to violence. But the latter only affords the proper\nmaterials of narration. When he is wrought upon by some powerful\nimpulse, our curiosity is most roused to observe him. We remark his\nemotions, his energies, his tempest. It is then that he becomes the\nperson of a drama. And, where this disquietude is not the affair of a\nsingle individual, but of several persons together, of nations, it is\nthere that history finds her harvest. She goes into the field with all\nthe implements of her industry, and fills her storehouses and magazines\nwith the abundance of her crop. But times of tranquillity and peace\nfurnish her with no materials. They are dismissed in a few slight\nsentences, and leave no memory behind.\n\nLet us divide this spacious earth into equal compartments, and see in\nwhich violence, and in which tranquillity prevails. Let us look through\nthe various ranks and occupations of human society, and endeavour to\narrive at a conclusion of a similar sort. The soldier by occupation,\nand the officer who commands him, would seem, when they are employed\nin their express functions, to be men of strife. Kings and ministers of\nstate have in a multitude of instances fallen under this description.\nConquerors, the firebrands of the earth, have sufficiently displayed\ntheir noxious propensities.\n\nBut these are but a small part of the tenantry of the many-peopled\nglobe. Man lives by the sweat of his brow. The teeming earth is\ngiven him, that by his labour he may raise from it the means of his\nsubsistence. Agriculture is, at least among civilised nations, the\nfirst, and certainly the most indispensible of professions. The\nprofession itself is the emblem of peace. All its occupations, from\nseed-time to harvest, are tranquil; and there is nothing which belongs\nto it, that can obviously be applied to rouse the angry passions, and\nplace men in a frame of hostility to each other. Next to the cultivator,\ncome the manufacturer, the artificer, the carpenter, the mason, the\njoiner, the cabinet-maker, all those numerous classes of persons, who\nare employed in forming garments for us to wear, houses to live in,\nand moveables and instruments for the accommodation of the species. All\nthese persons are, of necessity, of a peaceable demeanour. So are those\nwho are not employed in producing the conveniencies of life, but in\nconducting the affairs of barter and exchange. Add to these, such as\nare engaged in literature, either in the study of what has already been\nproduced, or in adding to the stock, in science or the liberal arts,\nin the instructing mankind in religion and their duties, or in the\neducation of youth. \"Civility,\" \"civil,\" are indeed terms which express\na state of peaceable occupation, in opposition to what is military, and\nimply a tranquil frame of mind, and the absence of contention, uproar\nand violence. It is therefore clear, that the majority of mankind are\ncivil, devoted to the arts of peace, and so far as relates to acts of\nviolence innocent, and that the sons of rapine constitute the exception\nto the general character.\n\nWe come into the world under a hard and unpalatable law, \"In the\nsweat of thy brow shalt thou eat bread.\" It is a bitter decree that is\npromulgated against us, \"He that will not work, neither shall he eat.\"\nWe all of us love to do our own will, and to be free from the manacles\nof restraint. What our hearts \"find us to do,\" that we are disposed\nto execute \"with all our might.\" Some men are lovers of strenuous\noccupation. They build and they plant; they raise splendid edifices, and\nlay out pleasure-grounds of mighty extent. Or they devote their minds to\nthe acquisition of knowledge; they\n\n               ----outwatch the bear,\n     With thrice great Hermes, or unsphere\n     The spirit of Plato, to unfold\n     What worlds, or what vast regions hold\n     The immortal mind.\n\nOthers again would waste perhaps their whole lives in reverie and\nidleness. They are constituted of materials so kindly and serene,\nthat their spirits never flag from want of occupation and external\nexcitement. They could lie for ever on a sunny bank, in a condition\ndivided between thinking and no thinking, refreshed by the fanning\nbreeze, viewing the undulations of the soil, and the rippling of the\nbrook, admiring the azure heavens, and the vast, the bold, and the\nsublime figure of the clouds, yielding themselves occasionally to\n\"thick-coming fancies,\" and day-dreams, and the endless romances of an\nundisciplined mind;\n\n     And find no end, in wandering mazes lost.\n\nBut all men, alike the busy of constitution and the idle, would desire\nto follow the impulses of their own minds, unbroken in upon by harsh\nnecessity, or the imperious commands of their fellows.\n\nWe cannot however, by the resistless law of our existence, live, except\nthe few who by the accident of their birth are privileged to draw\ntheir supplies from the labour of others, without exerting ourselves to\nprocure by our efforts or ingenuity the necessaries of food, lodging and\nattire. He that would obtain them for himself in an uninhabited island,\nwould find that this amounted to a severe tax upon that freedom of\nmotion and thought which would otherwise be his inheritance. And he who\nhas his lot cast in a populous community, exists in a condition somewhat\nanalogous to that of a negro slave, except that he may to a limited\nextent select the occupation to which he shall addict himself, or may at\nleast starve, in part or in whole, uncontroled, and at his choice. Such\nis, as it were, the universal lot.\n\n     'Tis destiny unshunnable like death:\n      Even then this dire necessity falls on us,\n      When we do quicken.\n\n\nI go forth in the streets, and observe the occupations of other men.\nI remark the shops that on every side beset my path. It is curious and\nstriking, how vast are the ingenuity and contrivance of human beings, to\nwring from their fellow-creatures, \"from the hard hands of peasants\"\nand artisans, a part of their earnings, that they also may live. We\nsoon become feelingly convinced, that we also must enter into the vast\nprocession of industry, upon pain that otherwise,\n\n     Like to an entered tide, they all rush by,\n     And leave you hindmost:  there you lie,\n     For pavement to the abject rear, o'errun\n     And trampled on.\n\n\nIt is through the effect of this necessity, that civilised communities\nbecome what they are. We all fall into our ranks. Each one is member of\na certain company or squadron. We know our respective places, and are\nmarshaled and disciplined with an exactness scarcely less than that of\nthe individuals of a mighty army. We are therefore little disposed to\ninterrupt the occupations of each other. We are intent upon the peculiar\nemployment to which we have become devoted. We \"rise up early, and lie\ndown late,\" and have no leisure to trouble ourselves with the pursuits\nof others. Hence of necessity it happens in a civilised community, that\na vast majority of the species are innocent, and have no inclination to\nmolest or interrupt each other's avocations.\n\nBut, as this condition of human society preserves us in comparative\ninnocence, and renders the social arrangement in the midst of which we\nexist, to a certain degree a soothing and agreeable spectacle, so on the\nother hand it is not less true that its immediate tendency is, to clip\nthe wings of the thinking principle within us, and plunge the members\nof the community in which we live into a barren and ungratifying\nmediocrity. Hence it should be the aim of those persons, who from\ntheir situation have more or less the means of looking through the\nvast assemblage of their countrymen, of penetrating \"into the seeds\" of\ncharacter, and determining \"which grain will grow, and which will not,\"\nto apply themselves to the redeeming such as are worthy of their care\nfrom the oblivious gulph into which the mass of the species is of\nnecessity plunged. It is therefore an ill saying, when applied in the\nmost rigorous extent, \"Let every man maintain himself, and be his own\nprovider: why should we help him?\"\n\nThe help however that we should afford to our fellow-men requires of\nus great discernment in its administration. The deceitfulness of\nappearances is endless. And nothing can well be at the same time more\nlamentable and more ludicrous, than the spectacle of those persons, the\nweaver, the thresher, and the mechanic, who by injudicious patronage\nare drawn from their proper sphere, only to exhibit upon a larger stage\ntheir imbecility and inanity, to shew those moderate powers, which in\ntheir proper application would have carried their possessors through\nlife with respect, distorted into absurdity, and used in the attempt to\nmake us look upon a dwarf, as if he were one of the Titans who in the\ncommencement of recorded time astonished the earth.\n\nIt is also true to a great degree, that those efforts of the human\nmind are most healthful and vigorous, in which the possessor of talents\n\"administers to himself,\" and contends with the different obstacles that\narise,\n\n               --------throwing them aside,\n              And stemming them with hearts of controversy.\n\n\nMany illustrious examples however may be found in the annals of\nliterature, of patronage judiciously and generously applied, where\nmen have been raised by the kindness of others from the obscurest\nsituations, and placed on high, like beacons, to illuminate the world.\nAnd, independently of all examples, a sound application of the common\nsense of the human mind would teach us, that the worthies of the earth,\nthough miracles, are not omnipotent, and that a certain aid, from those\nwho by counsel or opulence are enabled to afford it, have oft times\nproduced the noblest effects, have carried on the generous impulse that\nworks within us, and prompted us manfully to proceed, when the weakness\nof our nature was ready to give in from despair.\n\nBut the thing that in this place it was most appropriate to say, is,\nthat we ought not quietly to affirm, of the man whose mind nature or\neducation has enriched with extraordinary powers, \"Let him maintain\nhimself, and be his own provider: why should we help him?\" It is a thing\ndeeply to be regretted, that such a man will frequently be compelled to\ndevote himself to pursuits comparatively vulgar and inglorious, because\nhe must live. Much of this is certainly inevitable. But what glorious\nthings might a man with extraordinary powers effect, were he not hurried\nunnumbered miles awry by the unconquerable power of circumstances? The\nlife of such a man is divided between the things which his internal\nmonitor strongly prompts him to do, and those which the external power\nof nature and circumstances compels him to submit to. The struggle on\nthe part of his better self is noble and admirable. The less he gives\nway, provided he can accomplish the purpose to which he has vowed\nhimself, the more he is worthy of the admiration of the world. If, in\nconsequence of listening too much to the loftier aspirations of his\nnature, he fails, it is deeply to be regretted--it is a man to a certain\ndegree lost--but surely, if his miscarriage be not caused by undue\npresumption, or the clouds and unhealthful atmosphere of self-conceit,\nhe is entitled to the affectionate sympathy and sorrow of every generous\nmind.\n\n\n\n\nESSAY VII. OF THE DURATION OF HUMAN LIFE.\n\nThe active and industrious portion of the human species in civilised\ncountries, is composed of those who are occupied in the labour of the\nhand, and in the labour of the head.\n\nThe following remarks expressly apply only to the latter of these\nclasses, principally to such as are occupied in productive literature.\nThey may however have their use to all persons a considerable portion of\nwhose time is employed in study and contemplation, as, if well founded,\nthey will form no unimportant chapter in the science of the human mind.\n\nIn relation to all the members of the second class then, I should say,\nthat human life is made up of term and vacation, in other words, of\nhours that may be intellectually employed, and of hours that cannot be\nso employed.\n\nHuman life consists of years, months and days: each day contains\ntwenty-four hours. Of these hours how many belong to the province of\nintellect?\n\n\"There is,\" as Solomon says, \"a time for all things.\" There must be a\ntime for sleep, a time for recreation, a time for exercise, a time for\nsupplying the machine with nourishment, and a time for digestion. When\nall these demands have been supplied, how many hours will be left for\nintellectual occupation?\n\nThese remarks, as I have said, are intended principally to apply to the\nsubject of productive literature. Now, of the hours that remain when\nall the necessary demands of human life have been supplied, it is but a\nportion, perhaps a small portion, that can be beneficially, judiciously,\nemployed in productive literature, or literary composition.\n\nIt is true, that there are many men who will occupy eight, ten, or\ntwelve hours in a day, in the labour of composition. But it may be\ndoubted whether they are wisely so occupied.\n\nIt is the duty of an author, inasmuch as he is an author, to consider,\nthat he is to employ his pen in putting down that which shall be fit for\nother men to read. He is not writing a letter of business, a letter\nof amusement, or a letter of sentiment, to his private friend. He is\nwriting that which shall be perused by as many men as can be prevailed\non to become his readers. If he is an author of spirit and ambition,\nhe wishes his productions to be read, not only by the idle, but by the\nbusy, by those who cannot spare time to peruse them but at the expence\nof some occupations which ought not to be suspended without an adequate\noccasion. He wishes to be read not only by the frivolous and the\nlounger, but by the wise, the elegant, and the fair, by those who are\nqualified to appreciate the merit of a work, who are endowed with a\nquick sensibility and a discriminating taste, and are able to pass a\nsound judgment on its beauties and defects. He advances his claim\nto permanent honours, and desires that his lucubrations should be\nconsidered by generations yet unborn.\n\nA person, so occupied, and with such aims, must not attempt to pass\nhis crudities upon the public. If I may parody a celebrated aphorism\nof Quintilian, I would say, \"Magna debetur hominibus reverentia(8):\" in\nother words, we should carefully examine what it is that we propose\nto deliver in a permanent form to the taste and understanding of our\nspecies. An author ought only to commit to the press the first fruits of\nhis field, his best and choicest thoughts. He ought not to take up the\npen, till he has brought his mind into a fitting tone, and ought to lay\nit down, the instant his intellect becomes in any degree clouded, and\nhis vital spirits abate of their elasticity.\n\n\n   (8) Mankind is to be considered with reverence.\n\n\nThere are extraordinary cases. A man may have so thoroughly prepared\nhimself by long meditation and study, he may have his mind so charged\nwith an abundance of thought, that it may employ him for ten or twelve\nhours consecutively, merely to put down or to unravel the conceptions\nalready matured in his soul. It was in some such way, that Dryden,\nwe are told, occupied a whole night, and to a late hour in the next\nmorning, in penning his Alexander's Feast. But these are the exceptions.\nIn most instances two or three hours are as much as an author can spend\nat a time in delivering the first fruits of his field, his choicest\nthoughts, before his intellect becomes in some degree clouded, and his\nvital spirits abate of their elasticity.\n\nNor is this all. He might go on perhaps for some time longer with a\nreasonable degree of clearness. But the fertility which ought to be his\nboast, is exhausted. He no longer sports in the meadows of thought,\nor revels in the exuberance of imagination, but becomes barren and\nunsatisfactory. Repose is necessary, and that the soil should be\nrefreshed with the dews of another evening, the sleep of a night, and\nthe freshness and revivifying influence of another morning.\n\nThese observations lead, by a natural transition, to the question of the\ntrue estimate and value of human life, considered as the means of the\noperations of intellect.\n\nA primary enquiry under this head is as to the duration of life: Is it\nlong, or short?\n\nThe instant this question is proposed, I hear myself replied to from\nall quarters: What is there so well known as the brevity of human life?\n\"Life is but a span.\" It is \"as a tale that is told.\" \"Man cometh\nforth like a flower, and is cut down: he fleeth also as a shadow, and\ncontinueth not.\" We are \"as a sleep; or as grass: in the morning\nit flourisheth, and groweth up; in the evening it is cut down, and\nwithereth.\"\n\nThe foundation of this sentiment is obvious. Men do not live for ever.\nThe longest duration of human existence has an end: and whatever it is\nof which that may be affirmed, may in some sense be pronounced to be\nshort. The estimation of our existence depends upon the point of\nview from which we behold it. Hope is one of our greatest enjoyments.\nPossession is something. But the past is as nothing. Remorse may give it\na certain solidity; the recollection of a life spent in acts of virtue\nmay be refreshing. But fruition, and honours, and fame, and even pain,\nand privations, and torment, when they ere departed, are but like a\nfeather; we regard them as of no account. Taken in this sense, Dryden's\ncelebrated verses are but a maniac's rant:\n\n     To-morrow, do thy worst, for I have lived to-day:\n         Be fair, or foul, or rain, or shine,\n     The joys I have possessed, in spite of fate are mine.\n        Not heaven itself upon the past has power,\n     But what has been has been, and I have had my hour.\n\n\nBut this way of removing the picture of human life to a certain distance\nfrom us, and considering those things which were once in a high degree\ninteresting as frivolous and unworthy of regard, is not the way by which\nwe shall arrive at a true and just estimation of life. Whatever is now\npast, and is of little value, was once present: and he who would form a\nsound judgment, must look upon every part of our lives as present in its\nturn, and not suffer his opinion to be warped by the consideration of\nthe nearness or remoteness of the object he contemplates.\n\nOne sentence, which has grown into a maxim for ever repeated, is\nremarkable for the grossest fallacy: Ars longa, vita brevis(9). I would\nfain know, what art, compared with the natural duration of human life\nfrom puberty to old age, is long.\n\n\n   (9) Art is long; life is short.\n\n\nIf it is intended to say, that no one man can be expected to master all\npossible arts, or all arts that have at one time or another been the\nsubject of human industry, this indeed is true. But the cause of this\ndoes not lie in the limited duration of human life, but in the nature of\nthe faculties of the mind. Human understanding and human industry cannot\nembrace every thing. When we take hold of one thing, we must let go\nanother. Science and art, if we would pursue them to the furthest extent\nof which we are capable, must be pursued without interruption. It would\ntherefore be more to the purpose to say, Man cannot be for ever\nyoung. In the stream of human existence, different things have their\nappropriate period. The knowledge of languages can perhaps be most\neffectually acquired in the season of nonage.\n\nAt riper years one man devotes himself to one science or art, and\nanother man to another. This man is a mathematician; a second studies\nmusic; a third painting. This man is a logician; and that man an orator.\nThe same person cannot be expected to excel in the abstruseness of\nmetaphysical science, and in the ravishing effusions of poetical genius.\nWhen a man, who has arrived at great excellence in one department of art\nor science, would engage himself in another, he will be apt to find the\nfreshness of his mind gone, and his faculties no longer distinguished by\nthe same degree of tenacity and vigour that they formerly displayed. It\nis with the organs of the brain, as it is with the organs of speech,\nin the latter of which we find the tender fibres of the child easily\naccommodating themselves to the minuter inflections and variations of\nsound, which the more rigid muscles of the adult will for the most part\nattempt in vain.\n\nIf again, by the maxim, Ars longa, vita brevis, it is intended to\nsignify, that we cannot in any art arrive at perfection; that in reality\nall the progress we can make is insignificant; and that, as St. Paul\nsays, we must \"not count ourselves to have already attained; but that,\nforgetting the things that are behind, it becomes us to press forward\nto the prize of our calling,\"--this also is true. But this is only\nascribable to the limitation of our faculties, and that even the shadow\nof perfection which man is capable to reach, can only be attained by\nthe labour of successive generations. The cause does not lie in the\nshortness of human life, unless we would include in its protracted\nduration the privilege of being for ever young; to which we ought\nperhaps to add, that our activity should never be exhausted, the\nfreshness of our minds never abate, and our faculties for ever retain\nthe same degree of tenacity and vigour, as they had in the morning of\nlife, when every thing was new, when all that allured or delighted us\nwas seen accompanied with charms inexpressible, and, as Dryden expresses\nit(10), \"the first sprightly running\" of the wine of life afforded a\nzest never after to be hoped for.\n\n\n   (10) Aurengzebe.\n\n\nI return then to the consideration of the alleged shortness of life. I\nmentioned in the beginning of this Essay, that \"human life consists of\nyears, months and days; each day containing twenty-four hours.\" But,\nwhen I said this, I by no means carried on the division so far as it\nmight be carried. It has been calculated that the human mind is capable\nof being impressed with three hundred and twenty sensations in a second\nof time.(11)\n\n\n   (11) See Watson on Time, Chapter II.\n\n\n\"How infinitely rapid is the succession of thought! While I am speaking,\nperhaps no two ideas are in my mind at the same time, and yet with\nwhat facility do I slide from one to another! If my discourse be\nargumentative, how often do I pass in review the topics of which it\nconsists, before I utter them; and, even while I am speaking, continue\nthe review at intervals, without producing any pause in my discourse!\nHow many other sensations are experienced by me during this period,\nwithout so much as interrupting, that is, without materially diverting,\nthe train of my ideas! My eye successively remarks a thousand objects\nthat present themselves. My mind wanders to the different parts of my\nbody, and receives a sensation from the chair on which I sit, or the\ntable on which I lean. It reverts to a variety of things that occurred\nin the course of the morning, in the course of yesterday, the most\nremote from, the most unconnected with, the subject that might seem\nwholly to engross me. I see the window, the opening of a door, the\nsnuffing of a candle. When these most perceptibly occur, my mind passes\nfrom one to the other, without feeling the minutest obstacle, or being\nin any degree distracted by their multiplicity(12).\"\n\n\n   (12) Political Justice, Book IV, Chapter ix.\n\n\nIf this statement should appear to some persons too subtle, it may\nhowever prepare us to form a due estimate of the following remarks.\n\n\"Art is long.\" No, certainly, no art is long, compared with the natural\nduration of human life from puberty to old age. There is perhaps no art\nthat may not with reasonable diligence be acquired in three years, that\nis, as to its essential members and its skilful exercise. We may improve\nafterwards, but it will be only in minute particulars, and only by fits.\nOur subsequent advancement less depends upon the continuance of our\napplication, than upon the improvement of the mind generally, the\nrefining of our taste, the strengthening our judgment, and the\naccumulation of our experience.\n\nThe idea which prevails among the vulgar of mankind is, that we must\nmake haste to be wise. The erroneousness of this notion however has from\ntime to time been detected by moralists and philosophers; and it has\nbeen felt that he who proceeds in a hurry towards the goal, exposes\nhimself to the imminent risk of never reaching it.\n\nThe consciousness of this danger has led to the adoption of the modified\nmaxim, Festina lente, Hasten, but with steps deliberate and cautious.\n\nIt would however be a more correct advice to the aspirant, to say, Be\nearnest in your application, but let your march be vigilant and slow.\n\nThere is a doggrel couplet which I have met with in a book on elocution:\n\n     Learn to speak slow:  all other graces\n     Will follow in their proper places.\n\nI could wish to recommend a similar process to the student in the course\nof his reading.\n\nToplady, a celebrated methodist preacher of the last age, somewhere\nrelates a story of a coxcomb, who told him that he had read over\nEuclid's Elements of Geometry one afternoon at his tea, only leaving out\nthe A's and B's and crooked lines, which seemed to be intruded merely to\nretard his progress.\n\nNothing is more easy than to gabble through a work replete with the\nprofoundest elements of thinking, and to carry away almost nothing, when\nwe have finished.\n\nThe book does not deserve even to be read, which does not impose on\nus the duty of frequent pauses, much reflecting and inward debate,\nor require that we should often go back, compare one observation and\nstatement with another, and does not call upon us to combine and knit\ntogether the disjecta membra.\n\nIt is an observation which has often been repeated, that, when we come\nto read an excellent author a second and a third time, we find in him a\nmultitude of things, that we did not in the slightest degree perceive\nin a first reading. A careful first reading would have a tendency in a\nconsiderable degree to anticipate this following crop.\n\nNothing is more certain than that a schoolboy gathers much of his most\nvaluable instruction when his lesson is not absolutely before him.\nIn the same sense the more mature student will receive most important\nbenefit, when he shuts his book, and goes forth in the field, and\nruminates on what he has read. It is with the intellectual, as with the\ncorporeal eye: we must retire to a certain distance from the object we\nwould examine, before we can truly take in the whole. We must view it\nin every direction, \"survey it,\" as Sterne says, \"transversely, then\nforeright, then this way, and then that, in all its possible directions\nand foreshortenings(13);\" and thus only can it be expected that we\nshould adequately comprehend it.\n\n\n   (13) Tristram Shandy, Vol. IV, Chap. ii.\n\n\nBut the thing it was principally in my purpose to say is, that it is one\nof the great desiderata of human life, not to accomplish our purposes\nin the briefest time, to consider \"life as short, and art as long,\" and\ntherefore to master our ends in the smallest number of days or of years,\nbut rather to consider it as an ample field that is spread before us,\nand to examine how it is to be filled with pleasure, with advantage, and\nwith usefulness. Life is like a lordly garden, which it calls forth all\nthe skill of the artist to adorn with exhaustless variety and beauty; or\nlike a spacious park or pleasure-ground, all of whose inequalities\nare to be embellished, and whose various capacities of fertilisation,\nsublimity or grace, are to be turned to account, so that we may wander\nin it for ever, and never be wearied.\n\nWe shall perhaps understand this best, if we take up the subject on a\nlimited scale, and, before we consider life in its assigned period of\nseventy years, first confine our attention to the space of a single day.\nAnd we will consider that day, not as it relates to the man who earns\nhis subsistence by the labour of his hands, or to him who is immersed in\nthe endless details of commerce. But we will take the case of the man,\nthe whole of whose day is to be disposed of at his own discretion.\n\nThe attention of the curious observer has often been called to the\ntediousness of existence, how our time hangs upon our hands, and in\nhow high estimation the art is held, of giving wings to our hours, and\nmaking them pass rapidly and cheerfully away. And moralists of a\ncynical disposition have poured forth many a sorrowful ditty upon the\ninconsistency of man, who complains of the shortness of life, at\nthe same time that he is put to the greatest straits how to give an\nagreeable and pleasant occupation to its separate portions. \"Let us\nhear no more,\" say these moralists, \"of the transitoriness of human\nexistence, from men to whom life is a burthen, and who are willing to\nassign a reward to him that shall suggest to them an occupation or an\namusement untried before.\"\n\nBut this inconsistency, if it merits the name, is not an affair of\nartificial and supersubtle refinement, but is based in the fundamental\nprinciples of our nature. It is unavoidable that, when we have reached\nthe close of any great epoch of our existence, and still more when we\nhave arrived at its final term, we should regret its transitory nature,\nand lament that we have made no more effectual use of it. And yet the\nperiods and portions of the stream of time, as they pass by us, will\noften be felt by us as insufferably slow in their progress, and we would\ngive no inconsiderable sum to procure that the present section of our\nlives might come to an end, and that we might turn over a new leaf in\nthe volume of existence.\n\nI have heard various men profess that they never knew the minutes\nthat hung upon their hands, and were totally unacquainted with what,\nborrowing a term from the French language, we call ennui. I own I have\nlistened to these persons with a certain degree of incredulity, always\nexcepting such as earn their subsistence by constant labour, or as,\nbeing placed in a situation of active engagement, have not the leisure\nto feel apathy and disgust.\n\nBut we are talking here of that numerous class of human beings, who\nare their own masters, and spend every hour of the day at the choice of\ntheir discretion. To these we may add the persons who are partially so,\nand who, having occupied three or four hours of every day in discharge\nof some function necessarily imposed on them, at the striking of a given\nhour go out of school, and employ themselves in a certain industry or\nsport purely of their own election.\n\nTo go back then to the consideration of the single day of a man, all\nof whose hours are at his disposal to spend them well or ill, at the\nbidding of his own judgment, or the impulse of his own caprice.\n\nWe will suppose that, when he rises from his bed, he has sixteen hours\nbefore him, to be employed in whatever mode his will shall decide. I\nbar the case of travelling, or any of those schemes for passing the day,\nwhich by their very nature take the election out of his hands, and fill\nup his time with a perpetual motion, the nature of which is ascertained\nfrom the beginning.\n\nWith such a man then it is in the first place indispensibly necessary,\nthat he should have various successive occupations. There is no one\nstudy or intellectual enquiry to which a man can apply sixteen hours\nconsecutively, unless in some extraordinary instances which can occur\nbut seldom in the course of a life. And even then the attention will\nfrom time to time relax, and the freshness of mental zeal and activity\ngive way, though perhaps, after the lapse of a few minutes they may be\nrevived and brought into action again.\n\nIn the ordinary series of human existence it is desirable that, in\nthe course of the same day, a man should have various successive\noccupations. I myself for the most part read in one language at one part\nof the day, and in another at another. I am then in the best health and\ntone of spirits, when I employ two or three hours, and no more, in the\nact of writing and composition. There must also in the sixteen hours\nbe a time for meals. There should be a time for fresh air and bodily\nexercise. It is in the nature of man, that we should spend a part of\nevery day in the society of our fellows, either at public spectacles and\nplaces of concourse, or in the familiar interchange of conversation\nwith one, two, or more persons with whom we can give ourselves up to\nunrestrained communication. All human life, as I have said, every day\nof our existence, consists of term and vacation; and the perfection\nof practical wisdom is to interpose these one with another, so as to\nproduce a perpetual change, a well-chosen relief, and a freshness and\nelastic tone which may bid defiance to weariness.\n\nTaken then in this point of view, what an empire does the man of leisure\npossess in each single day of his life! He disposes of his hours much\nin the same manner, as the commander of a company of men whom it is his\nbusiness to train in the discipline of war.\n\nThis officer directs one party of his men to climb a mountain, and\nanother to ford or swim a stream which rushes along the valley. He\norders this set to rush forward with headlong course, and the other\nto wheel, and approach by circuitous progress perhaps to the very same\npoint. He marches them to the right and the left. He then dismisses them\nfrom the scene of exercise, to furbish their arms, to attend to their\naccoutrements, or to partake of necessary refection. Not inferior to\nthis is the authority of the man of leisure in disposing of the hours\nof one single day of his existence. And human life consists of many\nsuch days, there being three hundred and sixty-five in each year that we\nlive.\n\nHow infinitely various may be the occupations of the life of man from\npuberty to old age! We may acquire languages; we may devote ourselves\nto arts; we may give ourselves up to the profoundness of science. Nor is\nany one of these objects incompatible with the others, nor is there\nany reason why the same man should not embrace many. We may devote one\nportion of the year to travelling, and another to all the abstractions\nof study. I remember when I was a boy, looking forward with terror to\nthe ample field of human life, and saying, When I have read through all\nthe books that have been written, what shall I do afterwards? And there\nis infinitely more sense in this, than in the ludicrous exclamations of\nmen who complain of the want of time, and say that life affords them no\nspace in which to act their imaginings.\n\nOn the contrary, when a man has got to the end of one art or course of\nstudy, he is compelled to consider what he shall do next. And, when\nwe have gone through a cycle of as many acquisitions, as, from the\nlimitation of human faculties, are not destructive of each other, we\nshall find ourselves frequently reduced to the beginning some of them\nover again. Nor is this the least agreeable occupation of human leisure.\nThe book that I read when I was a boy, presents quite a new face to me\nas I advance in the vale of years. The same words and phrases suggest to\nme a new train of ideas. And it is no mean pleasure that I derive from\nthe singular sensation of finding the same author and the same book,\nold and yet not old, presenting to me cherished and inestimable\nrecollections, and at the same time communicating mines of wealth, the\nshaft of which was till now unexplored.\n\nThe result then of these various observations is to persuade the\ncandid and ingenuous man, to consider life as an important and ample\npossession, to resolve that it shall be administered with as much\njudgment and deliberation as a person of true philanthropy and wisdom\nwould administer a splendid income, and upon no occasion so much to\nthink upon the point of in how short a time an interesting pursuit is\nto be accomplished, as by what means it shall be accomplished in a\nconsummate and masterly style. Let us hear no more, from those who have\nto a considerable degree the command of their hours, the querulous and\npitiful complaint that they have no time to do what they ought to do and\nwould wish to do; but let them feel that they have a gigantic store of\nminutes and hours and days and months, abundantly sufficient to enable\nthem to effect what it is especially worthy of a noble mind to perform!\n\n\n\n\nESSAY VIII. OF HUMAN VEGETATION.\n\nThere is another point of view from which we may look at the subject of\ntime as it is concerned with the business of human life, that will lead\nus to conclusions of a very different sort from those which are set down\nin the preceding Essay.\n\nMan has two states of existence in a striking degree distinguished from\neach other: the state in which he is found during his waking hours; and\nthe state in which he is during sleep.\n\nThe question has been agitated by Locke and other philosophers, \"whether\nthe soul always thinks,\" in other words, whether the mind, during those\nhours in which our limbs lie for the most part in a state of\ninactivity, is or is not engaged by a perpetual succession of images and\nimpressions. This is a point that can perhaps never be settled. When the\nempire of sleep ceases, or when we are roused from sleep, we are often\nconscious that we have been to that moment busily employed with that\nsort of conceptions and scenes which we call dreams. And at times when,\non waking, we have no such consciousness, we can never perhaps be sure\nthat the shock that waked us, had not the effect of driving away these\nfugitive and unsubstantial images. There are men who are accustomed to\nsay, they never dream. If in reality the mind of man, from the hour of\nhis birth, must by the law of its nature be constantly occupied with\nsensations or images (and of the contrary we can never be sure), then\nthese men are all their lives in the state of persons, upon whom the\nshock that wakes them, has the effect of driving away such fugitive\nand unsubstantial images.--Add to which, there may be sensations in\nthe human subject, of a species confused and unpronounced, which never\narrive at that degree of distinctness as to take the shape of what we\ncall dreaming.\n\nSo much for man in the state of sleep.\n\nBut during our waking hours, our minds are very differently occupied at\ndifferent periods of the day. I would particularly distinguish the two\ndissimilar states of the waking man, when the mind is indolent, and when\nit is on the alert.\n\nWhile I am writing this Essay, my mind may be said to be on the alert.\nIt is on the alert, so long as I am attentively reading a book of\nphilosophy, of argumentation, of eloquence, or of poetry.\n\nIt is on the alert, so long as I am addressing a smaller or a greater\naudience, and endeavouring either to amuse or instruct them. It is on\nthe alert, while in silence and solitude I endeavour to follow a train\nof reasoning, to marshal and arrange a connected set of ideas, or in any\nother way to improve my mind, to purify my conceptions, and to advance\nmyself in any of the thousand kinds of intellectual process. It is on\nthe alert, when I am engaged in animated conversation, whether my cue\nbe to take a part in the reciprocation of alternate facts and remarks in\nsociety, or merely to sit an attentive listener to the facts and remarks\nof others.\n\nThis state of the human mind may emphatically be called the state of\nactivity and attention.\n\nSo long as I am engaged in any of the ways here enumerated, or in any\nother equally stirring mental occupations which are not here set down,\nmy mind is in a frame of activity.\n\nBut there is another state in which men pass their minutes and hours,\nthat is strongly contrasted with this. It depends in some men upon\nconstitution, and in others upon accident, how their time shall be\ndivided, how much shall be given to the state of activity, and how much\nto the state of indolence.\n\nIn an Essay I published many years ago there is this passage.\n\n\"The chief point of difference between the man of talent and the\nman without, consists in the different ways in which their minds are\nemployed during the same interval. They are obliged, let us suppose,\nto walk from Temple-Bar to Hyde-Park-Corner. The dull man goes straight\nforward; he has so many furlongs to traverse. He observes if he meets\nany of his acquaintance; he enquires respecting their health and their\nfamily. He glances perhaps the shops as he passes; he admires the\nfashion of a buckle, and the metal of a tea-urn. If he experiences any\nflights of fancy, they are of a short extent; of the same nature as the\nflights of a forest-bird, clipped of his wings, and condemned to pass\nthe rest of his life in a farm-yard. On the other hand the man of talent\ngives full scope to his imagination. He laughs and cries. Unindebted to\nthe suggestions of surrounding objects, his whole soul is employed.\nHe enters into nice calculations; he digests sagacious reasonings.\nIn imagination he declaims or describes, impressed with the deepest\nsympathy, or elevated to the loftiest rapture. He makes a thousand\nnew and admirable combinations. He passes through a thousand imaginary\nscenes, tries his courage, tasks his ingenuity, and thus becomes\ngradually prepared to meet almost any of the many-coloured events of\nhuman life. He consults by the aid of memory the books he has read, and\nprojects others for the future instruction and delight of mankind. If he\nobserve the passengers, he reads their countenances, conjectures their\npast history, and forms a superficial notion of their wisdom or folly,\ntheir virtue or vice, their satisfaction or misery. If he observe the\nscenes that occur, it is with the eye of a connoisseur or an artist.\nEvery object is capable of suggesting to him a volume of reflections.\nThe time of these two persons in one respect resembles; it has brought\nthem both to Hyde-Park-Corner. In almost every other respect it is\ndissimilar;(14).\"\n\n\n   (14) Enquirer, Part 1, Essay V.\n\n\nThis passage undoubtedly contains a true description of what may happen,\nand has happened.\n\nBut there lurks in this statement a considerable error.\n\nIt has appeared in the second Essay of this volume, that there is not\nthat broad and strong line of distinction between the wise man and the\ndull that has often been supposed. We are all of us by turns both the\none and the other. Or, at least, the wisest man that ever existed\nspends a portion of his time in vacancy and dulness; and the man, whose\nfaculties are seemingly the most obtuse, might, under proper management\nfrom the hour of his birth, barring those rare exceptions from the\nordinary standard of mind which do not deserve to be taken into the\naccount, have proved apt, adroit, intelligent and acute, in the walk for\nwhich his organisation especially fitted him(15).\n\n\n   (15) See above, Essay 3.\n\n\nMany men without question, in a walk of the same duration as that above\ndescribed between Temple-Bar and Hyde-Park-Corner, have passed their\ntime in as much activity, and amidst as strong and various excitements,\nas those enumerated in the passage above quoted.\n\nBut the lives of all men, the wise, and those whom by way of contrast\nwe are accustomed to call the dull, are divided between animation and\ncomparative vacancy; and many a man, who by the bursts of his genius has\nastonished the world, and commanded the veneration of successive\nages, has spent a period of time equal to that occupied by a walk from\nTemple-Bar to Hyde-Park-Corner, in a state of mind as idle, and as\nlittle affording materials for recollection, as the dullest man that\never breathed the vital air.\n\nThe two states of man which are here attempted to be distinguished, are,\nfirst, that in which reason is said to fill her throne, in which will\nprevails, and directs the powers of mind or of bodily action in one\nchannel or another; and, secondly, that in which these faculties, tired\nof for ever exercising their prerogatives, or, being awakened as it were\nfrom sleep, and having not yet assumed them, abandon the helm, even as\na mariner might be supposed to do, in a wide sea, and in a time when\nno disaster could be apprehended, and leave the vessel of the mind to\ndrift, exactly as chance might direct.\n\nTo describe this last state of mind I know not a better term that can\nbe chosen, than that of reverie. It is of the nature of what I have seen\ndenominated BROWN STUDY(16) a species of dozing and drowsiness, in which\nall men spend a portion of the waking part of every day of their lives.\nEvery man must be conscious of passing minutes, perhaps hours of the\nday, particularly when engaged in exercise in the open air, in this\nspecies of neutrality and eviration. It is often not unpleasant at the\ntime, and leaves no sinking of the spirits behind. It is probably of\na salutary nature, and may be among the means, in a certain degree\nbeneficial like sleep, by which the machine is restored, and the man\ncomes forth from its discipline reinvigorated, and afresh capable of his\nactive duties.\n\n\n   (16) Norris, and Johnson, Dictionary of the English Language.\n\n\nThis condition of our nature has considerably less vitality in it, than\nwe experience in a complete and perfect dream. In dreaming we are often\nconscious of lively impressions, of a busy scene, and of objects and\nfeelings succeeding each other with rapidity. We sometimes imagine\nourselves earnestly speaking: and the topics we treat, and the words we\nemploy, are supplied to us with extraordinary fluency. But the sort\nof vacancy and inoccupation of which I here treat, has a greater\nresemblance to the state of mind, without distinct and clearly unfolded\nideas, which we experience before we sink into sleep. The mind is in\nreality in a condition, more properly accessible to feeling and capable\nof thought, than actually in the exercise of either the one or the\nother. We are conscious of existence and of little more. We move our\nlegs, and continue in a peripatetic state; for the man who has gone out\nof his house with a purpose to walk, exercises the power of volition\nwhen he sets out, but proceeds in his motion by a semi-voluntary act,\nby a sort of vis inertiae, which will not cease to operate without\nan express reason for doing so, and advances a thousand steps without\ndistinctly willing any but the first. When it is necessary to turn to\nthe right or the left, or to choose between any two directions on which\nhe is called upon to decide, his mind is so far brought into action as\nthe case may expressly require, and no further.\n\nI have here instanced in the case of the peripatetic: but of how\nmany classes and occupations of human life may not the same thing be\naffirmed? It happens to the equestrian, as well as to him that walks on\nfoot. It occurs to him who cultivates the fruits of the earth, and to\nhim who is occupied in any of the thousand manufactures which are the\nresult of human ingenuity. It happens to the soldier in his march, and\nto the mariner on board his vessel. It attends the individuals of\nthe female sex through all their diversified modes of industry, the\nlaundress, the housemaid, the sempstress, the netter of purses, the\nknotter of fringe, and the worker in tambour, tapestry and embroidery.\nIn all, the limbs or the fingers are employed mechanically; the\nattention of the mind is only required at intervals; and the thoughts\nremain for the most part in a state of non-excitation and repose.\n\nIt is a curious question, but extremely difficult of solution, what\nportion of the day of every human creature must necessarily be spent in\nthis sort of intellectual indolence. In the lower classes of society its\nempire is certainly very great; its influence is extensive over a large\nportion of the opulent and luxurious; it is least among those who are\nintrusted in the more serious affairs of mankind, and among the\nliterary and the learned, those who waste their lives, and consume the\nmidnight-oil, in the search after knowledge.\n\nIt appeared with sufficient clearness in the immediately preceding\nEssay, that the intellect cannot be always on the stretch, nor the bow\nof the mind for ever bent. In the act of composition, unless where the\nprovince is of a very inferior kind, it is likely that not more than two\nor three hours at a time can be advantageously occupied. But in literary\nlabour it will often occur, that, in addition to the hours expressly\nengaged in composition, much time may be required for the collecting\nmaterials, the collating of authorities, and the bringing together a\nvariety of particulars, so as to sift from the mass those circumstances\nwhich may best conduce to the purpose of the writer. In all these\npreliminary and inferior enquiries it is less necessary that the mind\nshould be perpetually awake and on the alert, than in the direct\noffice of composition. The situation is considerably similar of the\nexperimental philosopher, the man who by obstinate and unconquerable\napplication resolves to wrest from nature her secrets, and apply them\nto the improvement of social life, or to the giving to the human mind\na wider range or a more elevated sphere. A great portion of this\nemployment consists more in the motion of the hands and the opportune\nglance of the eye, than in the labour of the head, and allows to the\noperator from time to time an interval of rest from the momentous\nefforts of invention and discovery, and the careful deduction of\nconsequences in the points to be elucidated.\n\nThere is a distinction, sufficiently familiar to all persons who occupy\na portion of their time in reading, that is made between books of\ninstruction, and books of amusement. From the student of mathematics or\nany of the higher departments of science, from the reader of books of\ninvestigation and argument, an active attention is demanded. Even in the\nperusal of the history of kingdoms and nations, or of certain\nmemorable periods of public affairs, we can scarcely proceed with any\nsatisfaction, unless in so far as we collect our thoughts, compare one\npart of the narrative with another, and hold the mind in a state of\nactivity.\n\nWe are obliged to reason while we read, and in some degree to construct\na discourse of our own, at the same time that we follow the statements\nof the author before us. Unless we do this, the sense and spirit of what\nwe read will be apt to slip from under our observation, and we shall by\nand by discover that we are putting together words and sounds only,\nwhen we purposed to store our minds with facts and reflections. We\napprehended not the sense of the writer even when his pages were under\nour eye, and of consequence have nothing laid up in the memory after the\nhour of reading is completed.\n\nIn works of amusement it is otherwise, and most especially in writings\nof fiction. These are sought after with avidity by the idle, because\nfor the most part they are found to have the virtue of communicating\nimpressions to the reader, even while his mind remains in a state of\npassiveness. He finds himself agreeably affected with fits of mirth or\nof sorrow, and carries away the facts of the tale, at the same time that\nhe is not called upon for the act of attention. This is therefore one of\nthe modes of luxury especially cultivated in a highly civilized state of\nsociety.\n\nThe same considerations will also explain to us the principal part of\nthe pleasure that is experienced by mankind in all states of society\nfrom public shews and exhibitions. The spectator is not called upon to\nexert himself; the amusement and pleasure come to him, while he remains\nvoluptuously at his ease; and it is certain that the exertion we make\nwhen we are compelled to contribute to, and become in part the cause\nof our own entertainment, is more than the human mind is willing to\nsustain, except at seasons in which we are specially on the alert and\nawake.\n\nThis is further one of the causes why men in general feel prompted to\nseek the society of their fellows. We are in part no doubt called upon\nin select society to bring our own information along with us, and a\ncertain vein of wit, humour or narrative, that we may contribute our\nproportion to the general stock. We read the newspapers, the newest\npublications, and repair to places of fashionable amusement and resort;\npartly that we may at least be upon a par with the majority of the\npersons we are likely to meet. But many do not thus prepare themselves,\nnor does perhaps any one upon all occasions.\n\nThere is another state of human existence in which we expressly dismiss\nfrom our hands the reins of the mind, and suffer our minutes and our\nhours to glide by us undisciplined and at random.\n\nThis is, generally speaking, the case in a period of sickness. We have\nno longer the courage to be on the alert, and to superintend the march\nof our thoughts. It is the same with us for the most part when at any\ntime we lie awake in our beds. To speak from my own experience, I am in\na restless and uneasy state while I am alone in my sitting-room, unless\nI have some occupation of my own choice, writing or reading, or any of\nthose employments the pursuit of which was chosen at first, and which is\nmore or less under the direction of the will afterwards. But when awake\nin my bed, either in health or sickness, I am reasonably content to let\nmy thoughts flow on agreeably to those laws of association by which I\nfind them directed, without giving myself the trouble to direct them\ninto one channel rather than another, or to marshal and actively to\nprescribe the various turns and mutations they may be impelled to\npursue.\n\nIt is thus that we are sick; and it is thus that we die. The man that\nguides the operations of his own mind, is either to a certain degree\nin bodily health, or in that health of mind which shall for a longer or\nshorter time stand forward as the substitute of the health of the body.\nWhen we die, we give up the game, and are not disposed to contend any\nfurther. It is a very usual thing to talk of the struggles of a man in\narticulo mortis. But this is probably, like so many other things that\noccur to us in this sublunary stage, a delusion. The bystander mistakes\nfor a spontaneous contention and unwillingness to die, what is in\nreality nothing more than an involuntary contraction and convulsion of\nthe nerves, to which the mind is no party, and is even very probably\nunconscious.--But enough of this, the final and most humiliating state\nthrough which mortal men may be called on to pass.\n\nI find then in the history of almost every human creature four different\nstates or modes of existence. First, there is sleep. In the strongest\ndegree of contrast to this there is the frame in which we find\nourselves, when we write! or invent and steadily pursue a consecutive\ntrain of thinking unattended with the implements of writing, or read\nin some book of science or otherwise which calls upon us for a fixed\nattention, or address ourselves to a smaller or greater audience, or are\nengaged in animated conversation. In each of these occupations the mind\nmay emphatically be said to be on the alert.\n\nBut there are further two distinct states or kinds of mental indolence.\nThe first is that which we frequently experience during a walk or any\nother species of bodily exercise, where, when the whole is at an end,\nwe scarcely recollect any thing in which the mind has been employed, but\nhave been in what I may call a healthful torpor, where our limbs have\nbeen sufficiently in action to continue our exercise, we have felt the\nfresh breeze playing on our cheeks, and have been in other respects in\na frame of no unpleasing neutrality. This may be supposed greatly to\ncontribute to our bodily health. It is the holiday of the faculties:\nand, as the bow, when it has been for a considerable time unbent, is\nsaid to recover its elasticity, so the mind, after a holiday of this\nsort, comes fresh, and with an increased alacrity, to those occupations\nwhich advance man most highly in the scale of being.\n\nBut there is a second state of mental indolence, not so complete as\nthis, but which is still indolence, inasmuch as in it the mind is\npassive, and does not assume the reins of empire. Such is the state in\nwhich we are during our sleepless hours in bed; and in this state our\nideas, and the topics that successively occur, appear to go forward\nwithout remission, while it seems that it is this busy condition of the\nmind, and the involuntary activity of our thoughts, that prevent us from\nsleeping.\n\nThe distinction then between these two sorts of indolence is, that\nin the latter our ideas are perfectly distinct, are attended with\nconsciousness, and can, as we please, be called up to recollection. This\ntherefore is not what we understand by reverie. In these waking hours\nwhich are spent by us in bed, the mind is no less busy, than it is\nin sleep during a dream. The other and more perfect sort of mental\nindolence, is that which we often experience during our exercise in the\nopen air. This is of the same nature as the condition of thought which\nseems to be the necessary precursor of sleep, and is attended with no\nprecise consciousness.\n\nBy the whole of the above statement we are led to a new and a modified\nestimate of the duration of human life.\n\nIf by life we understand mere susceptibility, a state of existence in\nwhich we are accessible at any moment to the onset of sensation, for\nexample, of pain--in this sense our life is commensurate, or nearly\ncommensurate, to the entire period, from the quickening of the child in\nthe womb, to the minute at which sense deserts the dying man, and his\nbody becomes an inanimate mass.\n\nBut life, in the emphatical sense, and par excellence, is reduced to\nmuch narrower limits. From this species of life it is unavoidable that\nwe should strike off the whole of the interval that is spent in sleep;\nand thus, as a general rule, the natural day of twenty-four hours is\nimmediately reduced to sixteen.\n\nOf these sixteen hours again, there is a portion that falls under the\ndirection of will and attention, and a portion that is passed by us in a\nstate of mental indolence. By the ordinary and least cultivated class of\nmankind, the husbandman, the manufacturer, the soldier, the sailor, and\nthe main body of the female sex, much the greater part of every day\nis resigned to a state of mental indolence. The will does not actively\ninterfere, and the attention is not roused. Even the most intellectual\nbeings of our species pass no inconsiderable portion of every day in a\nsimilar condition. Such is our state for the most part during the time\nthat is given to bodily exercise, and during the time in which we read\nbooks of amusement merely, or are employed in witnessing public shews\nand exhibitions.\n\nThat portion of every day of our existence which is occupied by us with\na mind attentive and on the alert, I would call life in a transcendant\nsense. The rest is scarcely better than a state of vegetation.\n\nAnd yet not so either. The happiest and most valuable thoughts of the\nhuman mind will sometimes come when they are least sought for, and we\nleast anticipated any such thing. In reading a romance, in witnessing a\nperformance at a theatre, in our idlest and most sportive moods, a\nvein in the soil of intellect will sometimes unexpectedly be broken\nup, \"richer than all the tribe\" of contemporaneous thoughts, that shall\nraise him to whom it occurs, to a rank among his species altogether\ndifferent from any thing he had looked for. Newton was led to the\ndoctrine of gravitation by the fall of an apple, as he indolently\nreclined under the tree on which it grew. \"A verse may find him, who\na sermon flies.\" Polemon, when intoxicated, entered the school of\nXenocrates, and was so struck with the energy displayed by the master,\nand the thoughts he delivered, that from that moment he renounced the\nlife of dissipation he had previously led, and applied himself entirely\nto the study of philosophy. --But these instances are comparatively of\nrare occurrence, and do not require to be taken into the account.\n\nIt is still true therefore for the most part, that not more than eight\nhours in the day are passed by the wisest and most energetic, with a\nmind attentive and on the alert. The remainder is a period of vegetation\nonly. In the mean time we have all of us undoubtedly to a certain degree\nthe power of enlarging the extent of the period of transcendant life in\neach day of our healthful existence, and causing it to encroach upon the\nperiod either of mental indolence or of sleep.--With the greater part\nof the human species the whole of their lives while awake, with the\nexception of a few brief and insulated intervals, is spent in a passive\nstate of the intellectual powers. Thoughts come and go, as chance, or\nsome undefined power in nature may direct, uninterfered with by the\nsovereign will, the steersman of the mind. And often the understanding\nappears to be a blank, upon which if any impressions are then made, they\nare like figures drawn in the sand which the next tide obliterates, or\nare even lighter and more evanescent than this.\n\nLet me add, that the existence of the child for two or three years from\nthe period of his birth, is almost entirely a state of vegetation. The\nimpressions that are made upon his sensorium come and go, without\neither their advent or departure being anticipated, and without the\ninterference of the will. It is only under some express excitement, that\nthe faculty of will mounts its throne, and exercises its empire. When\nthe child smiles, that act is involuntary; but, when he cries,\nwill presently comes to mix itself with the phenomenon. Wilfulness,\nimpatience and rebellion are infallible symptoms of a mind on the alert.\nAnd, as the child in the first stages of its existence puts forth the\nfaculty of will only at intervals, so for a similar reason this\nperiod is but rarely accompanied with memory, or leaves any traces of\nrecollection for our after-life.\n\nThere are other memorable states of the intellectual powers, which if\nI did not mention, the survey here taken would seem to be glaringly\nimperfect. The first of these is madness. In this humiliating condition\nof our nature the sovereignty of reason is deposed:\n\n               Chaos umpire sits,\n               And by decision more embroils the fray.\n\nThe mind is in a state of turbulence and tempest in one instant, and in\nanother subsides into the deepest imbecility; and, even when the will is\noccasionally roused, the link which preserved its union with good sense\nand sobriety is dissolved, and the views by which it has the appearance\nof being regulated, are all based in misconstruction and delusion.\n\nNext to madness occur the different stages of spleen, dejection\nand listlessness. The essence of these lies in the passiveness and\nneutrality of the intellectual powers. In as far as the unhappy sufferer\ncould be roused to act, the disease would be essentially diminished,\nand might finally be expelled. But long days and months are spent by the\npatient in the midst of all harassing imaginations, and an everlasting\nnightmare seems to sit on the soul, and lock up its powers in\ninterminable inactivity. Almost the only interruption to this, is when\nthe demands of nature require our attention, or we pay a slight and\nuncertain attention to the decencies of cleanliness and attire.\n\nIn all these considerations then we find abundant occasion to humble\nthe pride and vain-glory of man. But they do not overturn the principles\ndelivered in the preceding Essay respecting the duration of human life,\nthough they certainly interpose additional boundaries to limit the\nprospects of individual improvement.\n\n\n\n\nESSAY IX. OF LEISURE.\n\nThe river of human life is divided into two streams; occupation and\nleisure--or, to express the thing more accurately, that occupation,\nwhich is prescribed, and may be called the business of life, and that\noccupation, which arises contingently, and not so much of absolute and\nset purpose, not being prescribed: such being the more exact description\nof these two divisions of human life, inasmuch as the latter is often\nnot less earnest and intent in its pursuits than the former.\n\nIt would be a curious question to ascertain which of these is of the\nhighest value.\n\nTo this enquiry I hear myself loudly and vehemently answered from\nall hands in favour of the first. \"This,\" I am told by unanimous\nacclamation, \"is the business of life.\"\n\nThe decision in favour of what we primarily called occupation, above\nwhat we called leisure, may in a mitigated sense be entertained as true.\nMan can live with little or no leisure, for millions of human beings\ndo so live: but the species to which we belong, and of consequence\nthe individuals of that species, cannot exist as they ought to exist,\nwithout occupation.\n\nGranting however the paramount claims that occupation has to our regard,\nlet us endeavour to arrive at a just estimate of the value of leisure.\n\nIt has been said by some one, with great appearance of truth, that\nschoolboys learn as much, perhaps more, of beneficial knowledge in their\nhours of play, as in their hours of study.\n\nThe wisdom of ages has been applied to ascertain what are the most\ndesirable topics for the study of the schoolboy. They are selected for\nthe most part by the parent. There are few parents that do not feel a\nsincere and disinterested desire for the welfare of their children. It\nis an unquestionable maxim, that we are the best judges of that of which\nwe have ourselves had experience; and all parents have been children.\nIt is therefore idle and ridiculous to suppose that those studies\nwhich have for centuries been chosen by the enlightened mature for the\noccupation of the young, have not for the most part been well chosen. Of\nthese studies the earliest consist in the arts of reading and writing.\nNext follows arithmetic, with perhaps some rudiments of algebra and\ngeometry. Afterward comes in due order the acquisition of languages,\nparticularly the dead languages; a most fortunate occupation for those\nyears of man, in which the memory is most retentive, and the reasoning\npowers have yet acquired neither solidity nor enlargement. Such are the\noccupations of the schoolboy in his prescribed hours of study.\n\nBut the schoolboy is cooped up in an apartment, it may be with a number\nof his fellows. He is seated at a desk, diligently conning the portion\nof learning that is doled out to him, or, when he has mastered his\nlesson, reciting it with anxious brow and unassured lips to the senior,\nwho is to correct his errors, and pronounce upon the sufficiency of his\nindustry. All this may be well: but it is a new and more exhilarating\nspectacle that presents itself to our observation, when he is dismissed\nfrom his temporary labours, and rushes impetuously out to the open air,\nand gives free scope to his limbs and his voice, and is no longer under\nthe eye of a censor that shall make him feel his subordination and\ndependence.\n\nMeanwhile the question under consideration was, not in which state he\nexperienced the most happiness, but which was productive of the greatest\nimprovement.\n\nThe review of the human subject is conveniently divided under the heads\nof body and mind.\n\nThere can be no doubt that the health of the body is most promoted by\nthose exercises in which the schoolboy is engaged during the hours of\nplay. And it is further to be considered that health is required, not\nonly that we may be serene, contented and happy, but that we may be\nenabled effectually to exert the faculties of the mind.\n\nBut there is another way, in which we are called upon to consider the\ndivision of the human subject under the heads of body and mind.\n\nThe body is the implement and instrument of the mind, the tool by which\nmost of its purposes are to be effected. We live in the midst of\na material world, or of what we call such. The greater part of the\npursuits in which we engage, are achieved by the action of the limbs and\nmembers of the body upon external matter.\n\nOur communications with our fellow-men are all of them carried on by\nmeans of the body.\n\nNow the action of the limbs and members of the body is infinitely\nimproved by those exercises in which the schoolboy becomes engaged\nduring his hours of play. In the first place it is to be considered that\nwe do those things most thoroughly and in the shortest time, which are\nspontaneous, the result of our own volition; and such are the exercises\nin which the schoolboy engages during this period. His heart and soul\nare in what he does. The man or the boy must be a poor creature indeed,\nwho never does any thing but as he is bid by another. It is in his\nvoluntary acts and his sports, that he learns the skilful and effective\nuse of his eye and his limbs. He selects his mark, and he hits it. He\ntries again and again, effort after effort, and day after day, till he\nhas surmounted the difficulty of the attempt, and the rebellion of\nhis members. Every articulation and muscle of his frame is called into\naction, till all are obedient to the master-will; and his limbs are\nlubricated and rendered pliant by exercise, as the limbs of the Grecian\nathleta were lubricated with oil.\n\nThus he acquires, first dexterity of motion, and next, which is of no\nless importance, a confidence in his own powers, a consciousness that\nhe is able to effect what he purposes, a calmness and serenity which\nresemble the sweeping of the area, and scattering of the saw-dust, upon\nwhich the dancer or the athlete is to exhibit with grace, strength and\neffect.\n\nSo much for the advantages reaped by the schoolboy during his hours of\nplay as to the maturing his bodily powers, and the improvement of those\nfaculties of his mind which more immediately apply to the exercise of\nhis bodily powers.\n\nBut, beside this, it is indispensible to the well-being and advantage\nof the individual, that he should employ the faculties of his mind in\nspontaneous exertions. I do not object, especially during the period\nof nonage, to a considerable degree of dependence and control. But\nhis greatest advancement, even then, seems to arise from the interior\nimpulses of his mind. The schoolboy exercises his wit, and indulges in\nsallies of the thinking principle. This is wholsome; this is fresh; it\nhas twice the quickness, clearness and decision in it, that are to be\nfound in those acts of the mind which are employed about the lessons\nprescribed to him.\n\nIn school our youth are employed about the thoughts, the acts and\nsuggestions of other men. This is all mimicry, and a sort of second-hand\nbusiness. It resembles the proceeding of the fresh-listed soldier at\ndrill; he has ever his eye on his right-hand man, and does not raise his\narm, nor advance his foot, nor move his finger, but as he sees another\nperform the same motion before him. It is when the schoolboy proceeds to\nthe playground, that he engages in real action and real discussion. It\nis then that he is an absolute human being and a genuine individual.\n\nThe debates of schoolboys, their discussions what they shall do, and how\nit shall be done, are anticipations of the scenes of maturer life. They\nare the dawnings of committees, and vestries, and hundred-courts, and\nward-motes, and folk-motes, and parliaments. When boys consult when and\nwhere their next cricket-match shall be played, it may be regarded as\nthe embryo representation of a consult respecting a grave enterprise to\nbe formed, or a colony to be planted. And, when they enquire respecting\npoetry and prose, and figures and tropes, and the dictates of taste,\nthis happily prepares them for the investigations of prudence, and\nmorals, and religious principles, and what is science, and what is\ntruth.\n\nIt is thus that the wit of man, to use the word in the old Saxon sense,\nbegins to be cultivated. One boy gives utterance to an assertion; and\nanother joins issue with him, and retorts. The wheels of the engine of\nthe brain are set in motion, and, without force, perform their healthful\nrevolutions. The stripling feels himself called upon to exert his\npresence of mind, and becomes conscious of the necessity of an immediate\nreply. Like the unfledged bird, he spreads his wings, and essays their\npowers. He does not answer, like a boy in his class, who tasks his\nunderstanding or not, as the whim of the moment shall prompt him, where\none boy honestly performs to the extent of his ability, and others\ndisdain the empire assumed over them, and get off as cheaply as they\ncan. He is no longer under review, but is engaged in real action. The\ndebate of the schoolboy is the combat of the intellectual gladiator,\nwhere he fences and parries and thrusts with all the skill and judgment\nhe possesses.\n\nThere is another way in which the schoolboy exercises his powers during\nhis periods of leisure. He is often in society; but he is ever and anon\nin solitude. At no period of human life are our reveries so free\nand untrammeled, as at the period here spoken of. He climbs the\nmountain-cliff; and penetrates into the depths of the woods. His\njoints are well strung; he is a stranger to fatigue. He rushes down the\nprecipice, and mounts again with ease, as though he had the wings of\na bird. He ruminates, and pursues his own trains of reflection and\ndiscovery, \"exhausting worlds,\" as it appears to him, \"and then\nimagining new.\" He hovers on the brink of the deepest philosophy,\nenquiring how came I here, and to what end. He becomes a castle-builder,\nconstructing imaginary colleges and states, and searching out the\nbusinesses in which they are to be employed, and the schemes by which\nthey are to be regulated. He thinks what he would do, if he possessed\nuncontrolable strength, if he could fly, if he could make himself\ninvisible. In this train of mind he cons his first lessons of liberty\nand independence. He learns self-reverence, and says to himself, I also\nam an artist, and a maker. He ruffles himself under the yoke, and feels\nthat he suffers foul tyranny when he is driven, and when brute force is\nexercised upon him, to compel him to a certain course, or to chastise\nhis faults, imputed or real.\n\nSuch are the benefits of leisure to the schoolboy: and they are not less\nto man when arrived at years of discretion. It is good for us to have\nsome regular and stated occupation. Man may be practically too free;\nthis is frequently the case with those who have been nurtured in the lap\nof opulence and luxury. We were sent into the world under the condition,\n\"In the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat bread.\" And those who, by the\nartificial institutions of society, are discharged from this necessity,\nare placed in a critical and perilous situation. They are bound, if\nthey would consult their own well-being, to contrive for themselves a\nfactitious necessity, that may stand them in the place of that necessity\nwhich is imposed without appeal on the vast majority of their brethren.\n\nBut, if it is desirable that every man should have some regular and\nstated occupation, so it is certainly not less desirable, that every man\nshould have his seasons of relaxation and leisure.\n\nUnhappy is the wretch, whose condition it is to be perpetually bound to\nthe oar, and who is condemned to labour in one certain mode, during all\nthe hours that are not claimed by sleep, or as long as the muscles of\nhis frame, or the fibres of his fingers will enable him to persevere.\n\"Apollo himself,\" says the poet, \"does not always bend the bow.\" There\nshould be a season, when the mind is free as air, when not only we\nshould follow without restraint any train of thinking or action, within\nthe bounds of sobriety, and that is not attended with injury to others,\nthat our own minds may suggest to us, but should sacrifice at the shrine\nof intellectual liberty, and spread our wings, and take our flight into\nuntried regions. It is good for man that he should feel himself at some\ntime unshackled and autocratical, that he should say, This I do, because\nit is prescribed to me by the conditions without which I cannot exist,\nor by the election which in past time I deliberately made; and this,\nbecause it is dictated by the present frame of my spirit, and is\ntherefore that in which the powers my nature has entailed upon me may be\nmost fully manifested. In addition to which we are to consider, that a\ncertain variety and mutation of employments is best adapted to humanity.\nWhen my mind or my body seems to be overwrought by one species of\noccupation, the substitution of another will often impart to me new\nlife, and make me feel as fresh as if no labour had before engaged me.\nFor all these reasons it is to be desired, that we should possess the\ninestimable privilege of leisure, that in the revolving hours of every\nday a period should arrive, at which we should lay down the weapons\nof our labour, and engage in a sport that may be no less active and\nstrenuous than the occupation which preceded it.\n\nA question, which deserves our attention in this place, is, how much of\nevery day it behoves us to give to regular and stated occupation, and\nhow much is the just and legitimate province of leisure. It has been\nremarked in a preceding Essay(17), that, if my main and leading pursuit\nis literary composition, two or three hours in the twenty-four will\noften be as much as can advantageously and effectually be so employed.\nBut this will unavoidably vary according to the nature of the\noccupation: the period above named may be taken as the MINIMUM.\n\n\n   (17) See above, Essay 7.\n\n\nSuch, let us say, is the portion of time which the man of letters is\ncalled on to devote to literary composition.\n\nIt may next be fitting to enquire as to the humbler classes of society,\nand those persons who are engaged in the labour of the hands, how much\ntime they ought to be expected to consume in their regular and stated\noccupations, and how much would remain to them for relaxation and\nleisure. It has been said(18), that half an hour in the day given by\nevery member of the community to manual labour, might be sufficient for\nsupplying the whole with the absolute necessaries of life. But there are\nvarious considerations that would inevitably lengthen this period. In\na community which has made any considerable advance in the race of\ncivilisation, many individuals must be expected to be excused from any\nportion of manual labour. It is not desirable that any community should\nbe contented to supply itself with necessaries only. There are many\nrefinements in life, and many advances in literature and the arts, which\nindispensibly conduce to the rendering man in society a nobler and more\nexalted creature than he could otherwise be; and these ought not to be\nconsigned to neglect.\n\n\n   (18) Political Justice, Book VIII, Chap. VI.\n\n\nOn the other hand however it is certain, that much of the ostentation\nand a multitude of the luxuries which subsist in European and Asiatic\nsociety are just topics of regret, and that, if ever those improvements\nin civilisation take place which philosophy has essayed to delineate,\nthere would be a great abridgment of the manual labour that we now see\naround us, and the humbler classes of the community would enter into the\ninheritance of a more considerable portion of leisure than at present\nfalls to their lot.\n\nBut it has been much the habit, for persons not belonging to the humbler\nclasses of the community, and who profess to speculate upon the genuine\ninterests of human society, to suppose, however certain intervals\nof leisure may conduce to the benefit of men whose tastes have been\ncultivated and refined, and who from education have many resources of\nliterature and reflection at all times at their beck, yet that leisure\nmight prove rather pernicious than otherwise to the uneducated and\nthe ignorant. Let us enquire then how these persons would be likely to\nemploy the remainder of their time, if they had a greater portion of\nleisure than they at present enjoy.--I would add, that the individuals\nof the humbler classes of the community need not for ever to merit the\nappellation of the uneducated and ignorant.\n\nIn the first place, they would engage, like the schoolboy, in active\nsports, thereby giving to their limbs, which, in rural occupation and\nmechanical labour, are somewhat too monotonously employed, and contract\nthe stiffness and experience the waste of a premature old age, the\nactivity and freedom of an athlete, a cricketer, or a hunter. Nor do\nthese occupations only conduce to the health of the body, they also\nimpart a spirit and a juvenile earnestness to the mind.\n\nIn the next place, they may be expected to devote a part of the day,\nmore than they do at present, to their wives and families, cultivating\nthe domestic affections, watching the expanding bodies and minds of\ntheir children, leading them on in the road of improvement, warning them\nagainst the perils with which they are surrounded, and observing with\nsomewhat of a more jealous and parental care, what it is for which by\ntheir individual qualities they are best adapted, and in what particular\nwalk of life they may most advantageously be engaged. The father and\nthe son would grow in a much greater degree friends, anticipating each\nother's wishes, and sympathising in each other's pleasures and pains.\n\nThirdly, one infallible consequence of a greater degree of leisure\nin the lower classes would be that reading would become a more common\npropensity and amusement. It is the aphorism of one of the most\nenlightened of my contemporaries, \"The schoolmaster is abroad:\" and many\nmore than at present would desire to store up in their little hoard a\ncertain portion of the general improvement. We should no longer have\noccasion to say,\n\n     But knowledge to their eyes her ample page,\n      Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unrol.\n\nNor should we be incited to fear that ever wakeful anticipation of the\nilliberal, that, by the too great diffusion of the wisdom of the wise,\nwe might cease to have a race of men adapted to the ordinary pursuits\nof life. Our ploughmen and artificers, who obtained the improvements\nof intellect through the medium of leisure, would have already received\ntheir destination, and formed their habits, and would be disposed to\nconsider the new lights that were opened upon them, as the ornament\nof existence, not its substance. Add to which, as leisure became more\nabundant, and the opportunities of intellectual improvement increased,\nthey would have less motive to repine at their lot. It is principally\nwhile knowledge and information are new, that they are likely to\nintoxicate the brain of those to whose share they have fallen; and, when\nthey are made a common stock upon which all men may draw, sound thinking\nand sobriety may be expected to be the general result.\n\nOne of the scenes to which the leisure of the laborious classes is seen\nto induce them to resort, is the public-house; and it is inferred\nthat, if their leisure were greater, a greater degree of drunkenness,\ndissipation and riot would inevitably prevail.\n\nIn answer to this anticipation, I would in the first place assert, that\nthe merits and demerits of the public-house are very unjustly rated by\nthe fastidious among the more favoured orders of society.\n\nWe ought to consider that the opportunities and amusements of the lower\norders of society are few. They do not frequent coffee-houses; theatres\nand places of public exhibition are ordinarily too expensive for them;\nand they cannot engage in rounds of visiting, thus cultivating a private\nand familiar intercourse with the few whose conversation might be most\ncongenial to them. We certainly bear hard upon persons in this rank of\nsociety, if we expect that they should take all the severer labour, and\nhave no periods of unbending and amusement.\n\nBut in reality what occurs in the public-house we are too much in the\nhabit of calumniating. If we would visit this scene, we should find it\npretty extensively a theatre of eager and earnest discussion. It is here\nthat the ardent and \"unwashed artificer,\" and the sturdy husbandman,\ncompare notes and measure wits with each other. It is their arena of\nintellectual combat, the ludus literarius of their unrefined university.\nIt is here they learn to think. Their minds are awakened from the sleep\nof ignorance; and their attention is turned into a thousand channels of\nimprovement. They study the art of speaking, of question, allegation\nand rejoinder. They fix their thought steadily on the statement that is\nmade, acknowledge its force, or detect its insufficiency. They examine\nthe most interesting topics, and form opinions the result of that\nexamination. They learn maxims of life, and become politicians. They\ncanvas the civil and criminal laws of their country, and learn the value\nof political liberty. They talk over measures of state, judge of the\nintentions, sagacity and sincerity of public men, and are likely in time\nto become in no contemptible degree capable of estimating what modes of\nconducting national affairs, whether for the preservation of the rights\nof all, or for the vindication and assertion of justice between man and\nman, may be expected to be crowned with the greatest success: in a word,\nthey thus become, in the best sense of the word, citizens.\n\nAs to excess in drinking, the same thing may be expected to occur here,\nas has been remarked of late years in better company in England. In\nproportion as the understanding is cultivated, men are found to be less\nthe victims of drinking and the grosser provocatives of sense. The king\nof Persia of old made it his boast that he could drink large quantities\nof liquor with greater impunity than any of his subjects. Such was\nnot the case with the more polished Greeks. In the dark ages the most\nglaring enormities of that kind prevailed. Under our Charles the\nSecond coarse dissipation and riot characterised the highest circles.\nRochester, the most accomplished man and the greatest wit of our island,\nrelated of himself that, for five years together, he could not affirm\nthat for any one day he had been thoroughly sober. In Ireland, a\ncountry less refined than our own, the period is not long past, when on\nconvivial occasions the master of the house took the key from his door,\nthat no one of his guests might escape without having had his dose. No\nsmall number of the contemporaries of my youth fell premature victims\nto the intemperance which was then practised. Now wine is merely used\nto excite a gayer and livelier tone of the spirits; and inebriety is\nscarcely known in the higher circles. In like manner, it may readily\nbe believed that, as men in the lower classes of society become less\nignorant and obtuse, as their thoughts are less gross, as they wear off\nthe vestigia ruris, the remains of a barbarous state, they will find\nless need to set their spirits afloat by this animal excitement, and\nwill devote themselves to those thoughts and that intercourse which\nshall inspire them with better and more honourable thoughts of our\ncommon nature.\n\n\n\n\nESSAY X. OF IMITATION AND INVENTION.\n\nOf the sayings of the wise men of former times none has been oftener\nrepeated than that of Solomon, \"The thing that hath been, is that which\nis; and that which is done, is that which shall be done; and there is no\nnew thing under the sun.\"\n\nThe books of the Old Testament are apparently a collection of the whole\nliterary remains of an ancient and memorable people, whose wisdom may\nfurnish instruction to us, and whose poetry abounds in lofty flights\nand sublime imagery. How this collection came indiscriminately to\nbe considered as written by divine inspiration, it is difficult to\npronounce. The history of the Jews, as contained in the Books of Kings\nand of Chronicles, certainly did not require the interposition of\nthe Almighty for its production; and the pieces we receive as the\ncompositions of Solomon have conspicuously the air of having emanated\nfrom a conception entirely human.\n\nIn the book of Ecclesiastes, from which the above sentence is taken,\nare many sentiments not in accordance with the religion of Christ. For\nexample; \"That which befalleth the sons of men, befalleth beasts; as the\none dieth, so dieth the other; yea, they have all one breath, so that a\nman hath no preeminence above a beast: all go to one place; all are of\nthe dust, and turn to dust again. Wherefore I perceive that there is\nnothing better, than that a man should rejoice in his works.\" And again,\n\"The living know that they shall die; but the dead know not any thing;\ntheir love, and their hatred, and their envy are perished; neither have\nthey any more a reward.\" Add to this, \"Wherefore I praise the dead which\nare already dead, more than the living which are yet alive: yea, better\nis he than both they, which hath not yet been.\" There can therefore be\nno just exception taken against our allowing ourselves freely to canvas\nthe maxim cited at the head of this Essay.\n\nIt certainly contains a sufficient quantity of unquestionable truth,\nto induce us to regard it as springing from profound observation, and\ncomprehensive views of what is acted \"under the sun.\"\n\nA wise man would look at the labours of his own species, in much the\nsame spirit as he would view an ant-hill through a microscope. He would\nsee them tugging a grain of corn up a declivity; he would see the tracks\nthat are made by those who go, and who return; their incessant activity;\nand would find one day the copy of that which went before; and their\nlabours ending in nothing: I mean, in nothing that shall carry forward\nthe improvement of the head and the heart, either in the individual or\nsociety, or that shall add to the conveniences of life, or the better\nproviding for the welfare of communities of men. He would smile at their\nearnestness and zeal, all spent in supplying the necessaries of the day,\nor, at most, providing for the revolution of the seasons, or for that\nephemeral thing we call the life of man.\n\nFew things can appear more singular, when duly analysed, than that\narticulated air, which we denominate speech. It is not to be wondered at\nthat we are proud of the prerogative, which so eminently distinguishes\nus from the rest of the animal creation. The dog, the cat, the horse,\nthe bear, the lion, all of them have voice. But we may almost consider\nthis as their reproach. They can utter for the greater part but one\nmonotonous, eternal sound.\n\nThe lips, the teeth, the palate, the throat, which in man are\ninstruments of modifying the voice in such endless variety, are in this\nrespect given to them in vain: while all the thoughts that occur,\nat least to the bulk of mankind, we are able to express in words, to\ncommunicate facts, feelings, passions, sentiments, to discuss, to argue,\nto agree, to issue commands on the one part, and report the execution on\nthe other, to inspire lofty conceptions, to excite the deepest feeling\nof commiseration, and to thrill the soul with extacy, almost too mighty\nto be endured.\n\nYet what is human speech for the most part but mere imitation? In the\nmost obvious sense this stands out on the surface. We learn the same\nwords, we speak the same language, as our elders. Not only our words,\nbut our phrases are the same. We are like players, who come out as if\nthey were real persons, but only utter what is set down for them. We\nrepresent the same drama every day; and, however stale is the eternal\nrepetition, pass it off upon others, and even upon ourselves, as if it\nwere the suggestion of the moment. In reality, in rural or vulgar\nlife, the invention of a new phrase ought to be marked down among the\nmemorable things in the calendar. We afford too much honour to ordinary\nconversation, when we compare it to the exhibition of the recognised\ntheatres, since men ought for the most part to be considered as no more\nthan puppets. They perform the gesticulations; but the words come from\nsome one else, who is hid from the sight of the general observer. And\nnot only the words, but the cadence: they have not even so much honour\nas players have, to choose the manner they may deem fittest by which to\nconvey the sense and the passion of what they speak. The pronunciation,\nthe dialect, all, are supplied to them, and are but a servile\nrepetition. Our tempers are merely the work of the transcriber. We are\nangry, where we saw that others were angry; and we are pleased, because\nit is the tone to be pleased. We pretend to have each of us a judgment\nof our own: but in truth we wait with the most patient docility, till he\nwhom we regard as the leader of the chorus gives us the signal, Here you\nare to applaud, and Here you are to condemn.\n\nWhat is it that constitutes the manners of nations, by which the\npeople of one country are so eminently distinguished from the people\nof another, so that you cannot cross the channel from Dover to Calais,\ntwenty-one miles, without finding yourself in a new world? Nay, I need\nnot go among the subjects of another government to find examples of\nthis; if I pass into Ireland, Scotland or Wales, I see myself surrounded\nwith a new people, all of whose characters are in a manner cast in one\nmould, and all different from the citizens of the principal state and\nfrom one another. We may go further than this. Not only nations,\nbut classes of men, are contrasted with each other. What can be more\ndifferent than the gentry of the west end of this metropolis, and the\nmoney-making dwellers in the east? From them I will pass to Billingsgate\nand Wapping. What more unlike than a soldier and a sailor? the children\nof fashion that stroll in St. James's and Hyde Park, and the care-worn\nhirelings, that recreate themselves, with their wives and their brats,\nwith a little fresh air on a Sunday near Islington? The houses of lords\nand commons have each their characteristic manners. Each profession has\nits own, the lawyer, the divine, and the man of medicine. We are all\napes, fixing our eyes upon a model, and copying him, gesture by gesture.\nWe are sheep, rushing headlong through the gap, when the bell-wether\nshews us the way. We are choristers, mechanically singing in a certain\nkey, and giving breath to a certain tone.\n\nOur religion, our civil practices, our political creed, are all\nimitation. How many men are there, that have examined the evidences of\ntheir religious belief, and can give a sound \"reason of the faith that\nis in them?\" When I was a child, I was taught that there were four\nreligions in the world, the Popish, the Protestant, the Mahometan, the\nPagan. It is a phenomenon to find the man, who has held the balance\nsteadily, and rendered full and exact justice to the pretensions of each\nof these. No: tell me the longitude and latitude in which a man is born,\nand I will tell you his religion.\n\n      By education most have been misled;\n      So they believe, because they so were bred:\n      The priest continues what the nurse began,\n      And thus the child imposes on the man.\n\nAnd, if this happens, where we are told our everlasting salvation is at\nissue, we may easily judge of the rest.\n\nThe author, with one of whose dicta I began this Essay, has observed,\n\"One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh; but the\nearth abideth for ever.\" It is a maxim of the English constitution, that\n\"the king never dies;\" and the same may with nearly equal propriety be\nobserved of every private man, especially if he have children. \"Death,\"\nsay the writers of natural history, \"is the generator of life:\" and what\nis thus true of animal corruption, may with small variation be affirmed\nof human mortality. I turn off my footman, and hire another; and he puts\non the livery of his predecessor: he thinks himself somebody; but he\nis only a tenant. The same thing is true, when a country-gentleman, a\nnoble, a bishop, or a king dies. He puts off his garments, and another\nputs them on. Every one knows the story of the Tartarian dervise,\nwho mistook the royal palace for a caravansera, and who proved to his\nmajesty by genealogical deduction, that he was only a lodger. In this\nsense the mutability, which so eminently characterises every thing\nsublunary, is immutability under another name.\n\nThe most calamitous, and the most stupendous scenes are nothing but an\neternal and wearisome repetition: executions, murders, plagues, famine\nand battle. Military execution, the demolition of cities, the conquest\nof nations, have been acted a hundred times before. The mighty\nconqueror, who \"smote the people in wrath with a continual stroke,\" who\n\"sat in the seat of God, shewing himself that he was God,\" and assuredly\npersuaded himself that he was doing something to be had in everlasting\nremembrance, only did that which a hundred other vulgar conquerors had\ndone in successive ages of the world, whose very names have long since\nperished from the records of mankind.\n\nThus it is that the human species is for ever engaged in laborious\nidleness. We put our shoulder to the wheel, and raise the vehicle out of\nthe mire in which it was swallowed, and we say, I have done something;\nbut the same feat under the same circumstances has been performed\na thousand times before. We make what strikes us as a profound\nobservation; and, when fairly analysed, it turns out to be about as\nsagacious, as if we told what's o'clock, or whether it is rain or\nsunshine. Nothing can be more delightfully ludicrous, than the important\nand emphatical air with which the herd of mankind enunciate the most\ntrifling observations. With much labour we are delivered of what is to\nus a new thought; and, after a time, we find the same in a musty volume,\nthrown by in a corner, and covered with cobwebs and dust.\n\nThis is pleasantly ridiculed in the well known exclamation, \"Deuce take\nthe old fellows who gave utterance to our wit, before we ever thought of\nit!\"\n\nThe greater part of the life of the mightiest genius that ever existed\nis spent in doing nothing, and saying nothing. Pope has observed of\nShakespear's plays, that, \"had all the speeches been printed without the\nnames of the persons, we might have applied them with certainty to\nevery speaker.\" To which another critic has rejoined, that that was\nimpossible, since the greater part of what every man says is unstamped\nwith peculiarity. We have all more in us of what belongs to the common\nnature of man, than of what is peculiar to the individual.\n\nIt is from this beaten, turnpike road, that the favoured few of mankind\nare for ever exerting themselves to escape. The multitude grow up,\nand are carried away, as grass is carried away by the mower. The\nparish-register tells when they were born, and when they died: \"known by\nthe ends of being to have been.\" We pass away, and leave nothing behind.\nKings, at whose very glance thousands have trembled, for the most\npart serve for nothing when their breath has ceased, but as a sort of\ndistance-posts in the race of chronology. \"The dull swain treads on\"\ntheir relics \"with his clouted shoon.\" Our monuments are as perishable\nas ourselves; and it is the most hopeless of all problems for the most\npart, to tell where the mighty ones of the earth repose.\n\nAll men are aware of the frailty of life, and how short is the span\nassigned us. Hence every one, who feels, or thinks he feels the power to\ndo so, is desirous to embalm his memory, and to be thought of by a late\nposterity, to whom his personal presence shall be unknown. Mighty are\nthe struggles; everlasting the efforts. The greater part of these we\nwell know are in vain. It is Aesop's mountain in labour: \"Dire was the\ntossing, deep the groans:\" and the result is a mouse. But is it always\nso?\n\nThis brings us back to the question: \"Is there indeed nothing new under\nthe sun?\"\n\nMost certainly there is something that is new. If, as the beast dies,\nso died man, then indeed we should be without hope. But it is his\ndistinguishing faculty, that he can leave something behind, to testify\nthat he has lived. And this is not only true of the pyramids of Egypt,\nand certain other works of human industry, that time seems to have no\nforce to destroy. It is often true of a single sentence, a single word,\nwhich the multitudinous sea is incapable of washing away:\n\n      Quod non imber edax, non Aquilo impotens\n      Possit diruere, aut innumerabilis\n      Annorum series, et fuga temporum.\n\n\nIt is the characteristic of the mind and the heart of man, that they are\nprogressive. One word, happily interposed, reaching to the inmost soul,\nmay \"take away the heart of stone, and introduce a heart of flesh.\"\nAnd, if an individual may be thus changed, then his children, and his\nconnections, to the latest page of unborn history.\n\nThis is the true glory of man, that \"one generation doth not pass away,\nand another come, velut unda supervenit undam;\" but that we leave our\nimprovements behind us. What infinite ages of refinement on refinement,\nand ingenuity on ingenuity, seem each to have contributed its quota, to\nmake up the accommodations of every day of civilised man; his table,\nhis chair, the bed he lies on, the food he eats, the garments that cover\nhim! It has often been said, that the four quarters of the world are\nput under contribution, to provide the most moderate table. To this\nwhat mills, what looms, what machinery of a thousand denominations, what\nship-building, what navigation, what fleets are required! Man seems\nto have been sent into the world a naked, forked, helpless animal, on\npurpose to call forth his ingenuity to supply the accommodations that\nmay conduce to his well-being. The saying, that \"there is nothing new\nunder the sun,\" could never have been struck out, but in one of the two\nextreme states of man, by the naked savage, or by the highly civilised\nbeings among whom the perfection of refinement has produced an\nartificial feeling of uniformity.\n\nThe thing most obviously calculated to impress us with a sense of the\npower, and the comparative sublimity of man, is, if we could make a\nvoyage of some duration in a balloon, over a considerable tract of the\ncultivated and the desert parts of the earth. A brute can scarcely move\na stone out of his way, if it has fallen upon the couch where he would\nrepose. But man cultivates fields, and plants gardens; he constructs\nparks and canals; he turns the course of rivers, and stretches vast\nartificial moles into the sea; he levels mountains, and builds a bridge,\njoining in giddy height one segment of the Alps to another; lastly, he\nfounds castles, and churches, and towers, and distributes mighty cities\nat his pleasure over the face of the globe. \"The first earth has passed\naway, and another earth has come; and all things are made new.\"\n\nIt is true, that the basest treacheries, the most atrocious cruelties,\nbutcheries, massacres, violations of all the restraints of decency, and\nall the ties of nature, fields covered with dead bodies, and flooded\nwith human gore, are all of them vulgar repetitions of what had been\nacted countless times already. If Nero or Caligula thought to perpetrate\nthat which should stand unparalleled, they fell into the grossest error.\nThe conqueror, who should lay waste vast portions of the globe, and\ndestroy mighty cities, so that \"thorns should come up in the palaces,\nand nettles in the fortresses thereof, and they should be a habitation\nof serpents, and a court for owls, and the wild beasts of the desert\nshould meet there,\" would only do what Tamerlane, and Aurengzebe, and\nZingis, and a hundred other conquerors, in every age and quarter of the\nworld, had done before. The splendour of triumphs, and the magnificence\nof courts, are so essentially vulgar, that history almost disdains to\nrecord them.\n\nAnd yet there is something that is new, and that by the reader of\ndiscernment is immediately felt to be so.\n\nWe read of Moses, that he was a child of ordinary birth, and, when he\nwas born, was presently marked, as well as all the male children of his\nrace, for destruction. He was unexpectedly preserved; and his first act,\nwhen he grew up, was to slay an Egyptian, one of the race to whom\nall his countrymen were slaves, and to fly into exile. This man, thus\nfriendless and alone, in due time returned, and by the mere energy of\nhis character prevailed upon his whole race to make common cause with\nhim, and to migrate to a region, in which they should become sovereign\nand independent. He had no soldiers, but what were made so by the\nascendancy of his spirit no counsellors but such as he taught to be\nwise, no friends but those who were moved by the sentiment they caught\nfrom him. The Jews he commanded were sordid and low of disposition,\nperpetually murmuring against his rule, and at every unfavourable\naccident calling to remembrance \"the land of Egypt, where they had\nsat by the fleshpots, and were full.\" Yet over this race he retained a\nconstant mastery, and finally made of them a nation whose customs and\nhabits and ways of thinking no time has availed to destroy. This was\na man then, that possessed the true secret to make other men his\ncreatures, and lead them with an irresistible power wherever he pleased.\nThis history, taken entire, has probably no parallel in the annals of\nthe world.\n\nThe invasion of Greece by the Persians, and its result, seem to\nconstitute an event that stands alone among men. Xerxes led against this\nlittle territory an army of 5,280,000 men. They drank up rivers, and\ncut their way through giant-mountains. They were first stopped at\nThermopylae by Leonidas and his three hundred Spartans. They fought for\na country too narrow to contain the army by which the question was to be\ntried. The contest was here to be decided between despotism and liberty,\nwhether there is a principle in man, by which a handful of individuals,\npervaded with lofty sentiments, and a conviction of what is of most\nworth in our nature, can defy the brute force, and put to flight the\nattack, of bones, joints and sinews, though congregated in multitudes,\nnumberless as the waves of the sea, or the sands on its shore. The flood\nfinally rolled back: and in process of time Alexander, with these Greeks\nwhom the ignorance of the East affected to despise, founded another\nuniversal monarchy on the ruins of Persia. This is certainly no vulgar\nhistory.\n\nChristianity is another of those memorable chapters in the annals of\nmankind, to which there is probably no second. The son of a carpenter in\na little, rocky country, among a nation despised and enslaved, undertook\nto reform the manners of the people of whom he was a citizen. The\nreformation he preached was unpalatable to the leaders of the state; he\nwas persecuted; and finally suffered the death reserved for the lowest\nmalefactors, being nailed to a cross. He was cut off in the very\nbeginning of his career, before he had time to form a sect. His\nimmediate representatives and successors were tax-gatherers and\nfishermen. What could be more incredible, till proved by the event, than\nthat a religion thus begun, should have embraced in a manner the whole\ncivilised world, and that of its kingdom there should be no visible end?\nThis is a novelty in the history of the world, equally if we consider\nit as brought about by the immediate interposition of the author of all\nthings, or regard it, as some pretend to do, as happening in the course\nof mere human events.\n\nRome, \"the eternal city,\" is likewise a subject that stands out from\nthe vulgar history of the human race. Three times, in three successive\nforms, has she been the mistress of the world. First, by the purity, the\nsimplicity, the single-heartedness, the fervour and perseverance of her\noriginal character she qualified herself to subdue all the nations\nof mankind. Next, having conquered the earth by her virtue and by the\nspirit of liberty, she was able to maintain her ascendancy for centuries\nunder the emperors, notwithstanding all her astonishing profligacy and\nanarchy. And, lastly, after her secular ascendancy had been destroyed by\nthe inroads of the northern barbarians, she rose like the phoenix from\nher ashes, and, though powerless in material force, held mankind in\nsubjection by the chains of the mind, and the consummateness of her\npolicy. Never was any thing so admirably contrived as the Catholic\nreligion, to subdue the souls of men by the power of its worship over\nthe senses, and, by its contrivances in auricular confession,\npurgatory, masses for the dead, and its claim magisterially to determine\ncontroversies, to hold the subjects it had gained in everlasting\nsubmission.\n\nThe great principle of originality is in the soul of man. And here again\nwe may recur to Greece, the parent of all that is excellent in art.\nPainting, statuary, architecture, poetry, in their most exquisite and\nravishing forms, originated in this little province. Is not the Iliad a\nthing new, and that will for ever remain new? Whether it was written by\none man, as I believe, or, as the levellers of human glory would have\nus think, by many, there it stands: all the ages of the world present us\nnothing that can come in competition with it.\n\nShakespear is another example of unrivalled originality. His fame is\nlike the giant-rivers of the world: the further it flows, the wider it\nspreads out its stream, and the more marvellous is the power with which\nit sweeps along.\n\nBut, in reality, all poetry and all art, that have a genuine claim to\noriginality, are new, the smallest, as well as the greatest.\n\nIt is the mistake of dull minds only, to suppose that every thing\nhas been said, that human wit is exhausted, and that we, who have\nunfortunately fallen upon the dregs of time, have no alternative left,\nbut either to be silent, or to say over and over again, what has been\nwell said already.\n\nThere remain yet immense tracts of invention, the mines of which have\nbeen untouched. We perceive nothing of the strata of earth, and the\nhidden fountains of water, that we travel over, unconscious of the\ntreasures that are immediately within our reach, till some person,\nendowed with the gift of a superior sagacity, comes into the country,\nwho appears to see through the opake and solid mass, as we see through\nthe translucent air, and tells us of things yet undiscovered, and\nenriches us with treasures, of which we had been hitherto entirely\nignorant. The nature of the human mind, and the capabilities of our\nspecies are in like manner a magazine of undiscovered things, till some\nmighty genius comes to break the surface, and shew us the wonderful\ntreasures that lay beneath uncalled for and idle.\n\nHuman character is like the contents of an ample cabinet, brought\ntogether by the untired zeal of some curious collector, who tickets his\nrarities with numbers, and has a catalogue in many volumes, in which are\nrecorded the description and qualities of the things presented to our\nview. Among the most splendid examples of character which the genius\nof man has brought to light, are Don Quixote and his trusty squire, sir\nRoger de Coverley, Parson Adams, Walter Shandy and his brother Toby.\nWho shall set bounds to the everlasting variety of nature, as she has\nrecorded her creations in the heart of man? Most of these instances\nare recent, and sufficiently shew that the enterprising adventurer, who\nwould aspire to emulate the illustrious men from whose writings these\nexamples are drawn, has no cause to despair.\n\nVulgar observers pass carelessly by a thousand figures in the crowded\nmasquerade of human society, which, when inscribed on the tablet by\nthe pencil of a master, would prove not less wondrous in the power\nof affording pleasure, nor less rich as themes for inexhaustible\nreflection, than the most admirable of these. The things are there, and\nall that is wanting is an eye to perceive, and a pen to record them.\n\nAs to a great degree we may subscribe to the saying of the wise man,\nthat \"there is nothing new under the sun,\" so in a certain sense it\nmay also be affirmed that nothing is old. Both of these maxims may be\nequally true. The prima materia, the atoms of which the universe is\ncomposed, is of a date beyond all record; and the figures which have\nyet been introduced into the most fantastic chronology, may perhaps be\nincompetent to represent the period of its birth. But the ways in which\nthey may be compounded are exhaustless. It is like what the writers on\nthe Doctrine of Chances tell us of the throwing of dice. How many men\nnow exist on the face of the earth? Yet, if all these were brought\ntogether, and if, in addition to this, we could call up all the men that\never lived, it may be doubted, whether any two would be found so\nmuch alike, that a clear-sighted and acute observer might not surely\ndistinguish the one from the other. Leibnitz informs us, that no\ntwo leaves of a tree exist in the most spacious garden, that, upon\nexamination, could be pronounced perfectly similar(19).\n\n\n   (19) See above, Essay 2.\n\n\nThe true question is not, whether any thing can be found that is new,\nbut whether the particulars in which any thing is new may not be so\nminute and trifling, as scarcely to enter for any thing, into that\ngrand and comprehensive view of the whole, in which matters of obvious\ninsignificance are of no account.\n\nBut, if art and the invention of the human mind are exhaustless, science\nis even more notoriously so. We stand but on the threshold of the\nknowledge of nature, and of the various ways in which physical power may\nbe brought to operate for the accommodation of man. This is a business\nthat seems to be perpetually in progress; and, like the fall of bodies\nby the power of gravitation, appears to gain in momentum, in proportion\nas it advances to a greater distance from the point at which the impulse\nwas given. The discoveries which at no remote period have been made,\nwould, if prophesied of, have been laughed to scorn by the ignorant\nsluggishness of former generations; and we are equally ready to regard\nwith incredulity the discoveries yet unmade, which will be familiar\nto our posterity. Indeed every man of a capacious and liberal mind is\nwilling to admit, that the progress of human understanding in science,\nwhich is now going on, is altogether without any limits that by the\nmost penetrating genius can be assigned. It is like a mighty river, that\nflows on for ever and for ever, as far as the words, \"for ever,\" can\nhave a meaning to the comprehension of mortals. The question that\nremains is, our practicable improvement in literature and morals, and\nhere those persons who entertain a mean opinion of human nature, are\nconstantly ready to tell us that it will be found to amount to nothing.\nHowever we may be continually improving in mechanical knowledge and\ningenuity, we are assured by this party, that we shall never surpass\nwhat has already been done in poetry and literature, and, which is\nstill worse, that, however marvellous may be our future acquisitions in\nscience and the application of science, we shall be, as much as ever,\nthe creatures of that vanity, ostentation, opulence and the spirit of\nexclusive accumulation, which has hitherto, in most countries (not in\nall countries), generated the glaring inequality of property, and the\noppression of the many for the sake of pampering the folly of the few.\n\nThere is another circumstance that may be mentioned, which, particularly\nas regards the question of repetition and novelty that is now under\nconsideration, may seem to operate in an eminent degree in favour of\nscience, while it casts a most discouraging veil over poetry and the\npure growth of human fancy and invention. Poetry is, after all, nothing\nmore than new combinations of old materials. Nihil est in intellectu,\nquod non fuit prius in sensu. The poet has perhaps in all languages been\ncalled a maker, a creator: but this seems to be a vain-glorious and an\nempty boast. He is a collector of materials only, which he afterwards\nuses as best he may be able. He answers to the description I have heard\ngiven of a tailor, a man who cuts to pieces whatever is delivered to him\nfrom the loom, that he may afterwards sew it together again. The poet\ntherefore, we may be told, adds nothing to the stock of ideas and\nconceptions already laid up in the storehouse of mind. But the man who\nis employed upon the secrets of nature, is eternally in progress; day\nafter day he delivers in to the magazine of materials for thinking and\nacting, what was not there before; he increases the stock, upon which\nhuman ingenuity and the arts of life are destined to operate. He does\nnot, as the poet may be affirmed by his censurers to do, travel for\never in a circle, but continues to hasten towards a goal, while at every\ninterval we may mark how much further he has proceeded from the point at\nwhich his race began.\n\nMuch may be said in answer to this, and in vindication and honour of the\npoet and the artist. All that is here alleged to their disadvantage,\nis in reality little better than a sophism. The consideration of the\narticles he makes use of, does not in sound estimate detract from the\nglories of which he is the artificer. Materiem superat opus. He changes\nthe nature of what he handles; all that he touches is turned into\ngold. The manufacture he delivers to us is so new, that the thing it\npreviously was, is no longer recognisable. The impression that he makes\nupon the imagination and the heart, the impulses that he communicates to\nthe understanding and the moral feeling, are all his own; and, \"if there\nis any thing lovely and of good report, if there is any virtue and any\npraise,\" he may well claim our applauses and our thankfulness for what\nhe has effected.\n\nThere is a still further advantage that belongs to the poet and the\nvotarist of polite literature, which ought to be mentioned, as strongly\ncalculated to repress the arrogance of the men of science, and the\nsupercilious contempt they are apt to express for those who are\nengrossed by the pursuits of imagination and taste. They are for ever\ntalking of the reality and progressiveness of their pursuits, and\ntelling us that every step they take is a point gained, and gained for\nthe latest posterity, while the poet merely suits himself to the taste\nof the men among whom he lives, writes up to the fashion of the day,\nand, as our manners turn, is sure to be swept away to the gulph of\noblivion. But how does the matter really stand? It is to a great degree\nthe very reverse of this.\n\nThe natural and experimental philosopher has nothing sacred and\nindestructible in the language and form in which he delivers truths. New\ndiscoveries and experiments come, and his individual terms and phrases\nand theories perish. One race of natural philosophers does but prepare\nthe way for another race, which is to succeed. They \"blow the trumpet,\nand give out the play.\" And they must be contented to perish before the\nbrighter knowledge, of which their efforts were but the harbingers. The\nPtolemaic system gave way to Tycho Brahe, and his to that of Copernicus.\nThe vortices of Descartes perished before the discoveries of Newton;\nand the philosophy of Newton already begins to grow old, and is found\nto have weak and decaying parts mixed with those which are immortal and\ndivine. In the science of mind Aristotle and Plato are set aside; the\ndepth of Malebranche, and the patient investigation of Locke have had\ntheir day; more penetrating, and concise, and lynx-eyed reasoners of\nour own country have succeeded; the German metaphysicians seem to have\nthrust these aside; and it perhaps needs no great degree of sagacity\nto foresee, that Kant and Fichte will at last fare no better than those\nthat went before them.\n\nBut the poet is immortal. The verses of Homer are of workmanship no less\ndivine, than the armour of his own Achilles. His poems are as fresh and\nconsummate to us now, as they were to the Greeks, when the old man of\nChios wandered in person through the different cities, rehearsing\nhis rhapsodies to the accompaniment of his lute. The language and the\nthoughts of the poet are inextricably woven together; and the first\nis no more exposed to decay and to perish than the last. Presumptuous\ninnovators have attempted to modernise Chaucer, and Spenser, and other\nauthors, whose style was supposed to have grown obsolete. But true taste\ncannot endure the impious mockery. The very words that occurred to these\nmen, when the God descended, and a fire from heaven tingled in all their\nveins, are sacred, are part of themselves; and you may as well attempt\nto preserve the man when you have deprived him of all his members, as\nthink to preserve the poet when you have taken away the words that he\nspoke. No part of his glorious effusions must perish; and \"the hairs of\nhis head are all numbered.\"\n\n\n\n\nESSAY XI. OF SELF-LOVE AND BENEVOLENCE.\n\nNO question has more memorably exercised the ingenuity of men who\nhave speculated upon the structure of the human mind, than that of\nthe motives by which we are actuated in our intercourse with our\nfellow-creatures. The dictates of a plain and unsophisticated\nunderstanding on the subject are manifest; and they have been asserted\nin the broadest way by the authors of religion, the reformers of\nmankind, and all persons who have been penetrated with zeal and\nenthusiasm for the true interests of the race to which they belong.\n\n\"The end of the commandment,\" say the authors of the New Testament, \"is\nlove.\" \"This is the great commandment of the law, Thou shalt love thy\nmaker with all thy heart; and the second is like unto it, Thou shalt\nlove thy neighbour as thyself.\" \"Though I bestow all my goods to feed\nthe poor, and give my body to be burned, and have not love, it profiteth\nme nothing.\" \"For none of us liveth to himself; and no man dieth to\nhimself.\"\n\nThe sentiments of the ancient Greeks and Romans, for so many centuries\nas their institutions retained their original purity, were cast in a\nmould of a similar nature. A Spartan was seldom alone; they were always\nin society with each other. The love of their country and of the public\ngood was their predominant passion, they did not imagine that they\nbelonged to themselves, but to the state. After the battle of Leuctra,\nin which the Spartans were defeated by the Thebans, the mothers of those\nwho were slain congratulated one another, and went to the temples to\nthank the Gods, that their children had done their duty; while the\nrelations of those who survived the defeat were inconsolable.\n\nThe Romans were not less distinguished by their self-denying patriotism.\nIt was in this spirit that Brutus put his two sons to death for\nconspiring against their country. It was in this spirit that the Fabii\nperished at their fort on the Cremera, and the Decii devoted themselves\nfor the public. The rigour of self-denial in a true Roman approached to\na temper which moderns are inclined to denominate savage.\n\nIn the times of the ancient republics the impulse of the citizens was to\nmerge their own individuality in the interests of the state. They held\nit their duty to live but for their country. In this spirit they were\neducated; and the lessons of their early youth regulated the conduct of\ntheir riper years.\n\nIn a more recent period we have learned to model our characters by a\ndifferent standard. We seldom recollect the society of which we are\npolitically members, as a whole, but are broken into detached parties,\nthinking only for the most part of ourselves and our immediate\nconnections and attachments.\n\nThis change in the sentiments and manners of modern times has among its\nother consequences given birth to a new species of philosophy. We have\nbeen taught to affirm, that we can have no express and pure regard for\nour fellow-creatures, but that all our benevolence and affection come to\nus through the strainers of a gross or a refined self-love. The coarser\nadherents of this doctrine maintain, that mankind are in all cases\nguided by views of the narrowest self-interest, and that those who\nadvance the highest claims to philanthropy, patriotism, generosity\nand self-sacrifice, are all the time deceiving others, or deceiving\nthemselves, and use a plausible and high-sounding language merely, that\nserves no other purpose than to veil from observation \"that hideous\nsight, a naked human heart.\"\n\nThe more delicate and fastidious supporters of the doctrine of universal\nself-love, take a different ground. They affirm that \"such persons\nas talk to us of disinterestedness and pure benevolence, have not\nconsidered with sufficient accuracy the nature of mind, feeling and\nwill. To understand,\" they say, \"is one thing, and to choose another.\"\nThe clearest proposition that ever was stated, has, in itself, no\ntendency to produce voluntary action on the part of the percipient. It\ncan be only something apprehended as agreeable or disagreeable to\nus, that can operate so as to determine the will. Such is the law\nof universal nature. We act from the impulse of our own desires and\naversions; and we seek to effect or avert a thing, merely because it is\nviewed by us as an object of gratification or the contrary.\n\nThe virtuous man and the vicious are alike governed by the same\nprinciple; and it is therefore the proper business of a wise instructor\nof youth, and of a man who would bring his own sentiments and feelings\ninto the most praise-worthy frame, to teach us to find our interest and\ngratification in that which shall be most beneficial to others.\"\n\nWhen we proceed to examine the truth of these statements, it certainly\nis not strictly an argument to say, that the advocate of self-love\non either of these hypotheses cannot consistently be a believer in\nChristianity, or even a theist, as theism is ordinarily understood. The\ncommandments of the author of the Christian religion are, as we have\nseen, purely disinterested: and, especially if we admit the latter of\nthe two explanations of self-love, we shall be obliged to confess, on\nthe hypothesis of this new philosophy, that the almighty author of\nthe universe never acts in any of his designs either of creation or\nprovidence, but from a principle of self-love. In the mean time, if\nthis is not strictly an argument, it is however but fair to warn the\nadherents of the doctrine I oppose, of the consequences to which their\ntheory leads. It is my purpose to subvert that doctrine by means of\nthe severest demonstration; but I am not unwilling, before I begin,\nto conciliate, as far as may be, the good-will of my readers to the\npropositions I proceed to establish.\n\nI will therefore further venture to add, that, upon the hypothesis\nof self-love, there can be no such thing as virtue. There are two\ncircumstances required, to entitle an action to be denominated virtuous.\nIt must have a tendency to produce good rather than evil to the race\nof man, and it must have been generated by an intention to produce such\ngood. The most beneficent action that ever was performed, if it did not\nspring from the intention of good to others, is not of the nature\nof virtue. Virtue, where it exists in any eminence, is a species of\nconduct, modelled upon a true estimate of the good intended to be\nproduced. He that makes a false estimate, and prefers a trivial and\npartial good to an important and comprehensive one, is vicious(20).\n\n\n   (20) Political Justice, Book 11, Chap. IV.\n\n\nIt is admitted on all hands, that it is possible for a man to sacrifice\nhis own existence to that of twenty others. But the advocates of the\ndoctrine of self-love must say, that he does this that he may escape\nfrom uneasiness, and because he could not bear to encounter the inward\nupbraiding with which he would be visited, if he acted otherwise. This\nin reality would change his action from an act of virtue to an act\nof vice. So far as belongs to the real merits of the case, his own\nadvantage or pleasure is a very insignificant consideration, and the\nbenefit to be produced, suppose to a world, is inestimable. Yet he\nfalsely and unjustly prefers the first, and views the latter as trivial;\nnay, separately taken, as not entitled to the smallest regard. If the\ndictates of impartial justice be taken into the account, then, according\nto the system of self-love, the best action that ever was performed,\nmay, for any thing we know, have been the action, in the whole world, of\nthe most exquisite and deliberate injustice. Nay, it could not have been\notherwise, since it produced the greatest good, and therefore was\nthe individual instance, in which the greatest good was most directly\npostponed to personal gratification(21). Such is the spirit of the\ndoctrine I undertake to refute.\n\n\n   (21) Political Justice, Book IV, Chap. X.\n\n\nBut man is not in truth so poor and pusillanimous a creature as this\nsystem would represent.\n\nIt is time however to proceed to the real merits of the question, to\nexamine what in fact is the motive which induces a good man to elect a\ngenerous mode of proceeding.\n\nLocke is the philosopher, who, in writing on Human Understanding, has\nspecially delivered the doctrine, that uneasiness is the cause which\ndetermines the will, and urges us to act. He says(22), \"The motive we\nhave for continuing in the same state, is only the present satisfaction\nwe feel in it; the motive to change is always some uneasiness: nothing\nsetting us upon the change of state, or upon any new action, but some\nuneasiness. This is the great motive that works on the mind.\"\n\n\n   (22) Book II, Chap. XXI, Sect. 29.\n\n\nIt is not my concern to enquire, whether Locke by this statement meant\nto assert that self-love is the only principle of human action. It has\nat any rate been taken to express the doctrine which I here propose to\nrefute.\n\nAnd, in the first place, I say, that, if our business is to discover\nthe consideration entertained by the mind which induces us to act, this\ntells us nothing. It is like the case of the Indian philosopher(23),\nwho, being asked what it was that kept the earth in its place, answered,\nthat it was supported by an elephant, and that elephant again rested on\na tortoise. He must be endowed with a slender portion of curiosity, who,\nbeing told that uneasiness is that which spurs on the mind to act, shall\nrest satisfied with this explanation, and does not proceed to enquire,\nwhat makes us uneasy?\n\n\n   (23) Locke on Understanding, Book 11, Chap. XIII, Sect. 19.\n\n\nAn explanation like this is no more instructive, than it would be, if,\nwhen we saw a man walking, or grasping a sword or a bludgeon, and we\nenquired into the cause of this phenomenon, any one should inform us\nthat he walks, because he has feet, and he grasps, because he has hands.\n\nI could not commodiously give to my thoughts their present form, unless\nI had been previously furnished with pens and paper. But it would be\nabsurd to say, that my being furnished with pens and paper, is the cause\nof my writing this Essay on Self-love and Benevolence.\n\nThe advocates of self-love have, very inartificially and unjustly,\nsubstituted the abstract definition of a voluntary agent, and made that\nstand for the motive by which he is prompted to act. It is true, that\nwe cannot act without the impulse of desire or uneasiness; but we do not\nthink of that desire and uneasiness; and it is the thing upon which the\nmind is fixed that constitutes our motive. In the boundless variety of\nthe acts, passions and pursuits of human beings, it is absurd on the\nface of it to say that we are all governed by one motive, and that,\nhowever dissimilar are the ends we pursue, all this dissimilarity is the\nfruit of a single cause.\n\nOne man chooses travelling, another ambition, a third study, a fourth\nvoluptuousness and a mistress. Why do these men take so different\ncourses?\n\nBecause one is partial to new scenes, new buildings, new manners,\nand the study of character. Because a second is attracted by the\ncontemplation of wealth and power. Because a third feels a decided\npreference for the works of Homer, or Shakespear, or Bacon, or Euclid.\nBecause a fourth finds nothing calculated to stir his mind in comparison\nwith female beauty, female allurements, or expensive living.\n\nEach of these finds the qualities he likes, intrinsically in the thing\nhe chooses. One man feels himself strongly moved, and raised to extacy,\nby the beauties of nature, or the magnificence of architecture. Another\nis ravished with the divine excellencies of Homer, or of some other of\nthe heroes of literature. A third finds nothing delights him so much\nas the happiness of others, the beholding that happiness increased, and\nseeing pain and oppression and sorrow put to flight. The cause of these\ndifferences is, that each man has an individual internal structure,\ndirecting his partialities, one man to one thing, and another to\nanother.\n\nFew things can exceed the characters of human beings in variety. There\nmust be something abstractedly in the nature of mind, which renders it\naccessible to these varieties. For the present we will call it taste.\nOne man feels his spirits regaled with the sight of those things which\nconstitute wealth, another in meditating the triumphs of Alexander or\nCaesar, and a third in viewing the galleries of the Louvre. Not one of\nthese thinks in the outset of appropriating these objects to himself;\nnot one of them begins with aspiring to be the possessor of vast\nopulence, or emulating the triumphs of Caesar, or obtaining in property\nthe pictures and statues the sight of which affords him so exquisite\ndelight. Even the admirer of female beauty, does not at first think of\nconverting this attractive object into a mistress, but on the contrary\ndesires, like Pygmalion, that the figure he beholds might become his\nsolace and companion, because he had previously admired it for itself.\n\nJust so the benevolent man is an individual who finds a peculiar delight\nin contemplating the contentment, the peace and heart's ease of other\nmen, and sympathises in no ordinary degree with their sufferings. He\nrejoices in the existence and diffusion of human happiness, though he\nshould not have had the smallest share in giving birth to the thing he\nloves. It is because such are his tastes, and what above all things he\nprefers, that he afterwards becomes distinguished by the benevolence of\nhis conduct.\n\nThe reflex act of the mind, which these new philosophers put forward as\nthe solution of all human pursuits, rarely presents itself but to the\nspeculative enquirer in his closet. The savage never dreams of it. The\nactive man, engaged in the busy scenes of life, thinks little, and on\nrare occasions of himself, but much, and in a manner for ever, of the\nobjects of his pursuit.\n\nSome men are uniform in their character, and from the cradle to the\ngrave prefer the same objects that first awakened their partialities.\nOther men are inconsistent and given to change, are \"every thing by\nstarts, and nothing long.\" Still it is probable that, in most cases,\nhe who performs an act of benevolence, feels for the time that he has a\npeculiar delight in contemplating the good of his fellow-man.\n\nThe doctrine of the modern philosophers on this point, is in many ways\nimbecil and unsound. It is inauspicious to their creed, that the\nreflex act of the mind is purely the affair of experience. Why did the\nliberal-minded man perform his first act of benevolence? The answer of\nthese persons ought to be, because the recollection of a generous deed\nis a source of the truest delight. But there is an absurdity on the face\nof this solution.\n\nWe do not experimentally know the delight which attends the recollection\nof a generous deed, till a generous deed has been performed by us. We do\nnot learn these things from books. And least of all is this solution\nto the purpose, when the business is to find a solution that suits the\nhuman mind universally, the unlearned as well as the learned, the savage\nas well as the sage.\n\nAnd surely it is inconsistent with all sound reasoning, to represent\nthat as the sole spring of our benevolent actions, which by the very\nterms will not fit the first benevolent act in which any man engaged.\n\nThe advocates of the doctrine of \"self-love the source of all our\nactions,\" are still more puzzled, when the case set before them is that\nof the man, who flies, at an instant's warning, to save the life of the\nchild who has fallen into the river, or the unfortunate whom he\nbeholds in the upper story of a house in flames. This man, as might\nbe illustrated in a thousand instances, treats his own existence as\nunworthy of notice, and exposes it to multiplied risks to effect the\nobject to which he devotes himself.\n\nThey are obliged to say, that this man anticipates the joy he will feel\nin the recollection of a noble act, and the cutting and intolerable pain\nhe will experience in the consciousness that a human being has perished,\nwhom it was in his power to save. It is in vain that we tell them that,\nwithout a moment's consideration, he tore off his clothes, or plunged\ninto the stream with his clothes on, or rushed up a flaming stair-case.\nStill they tell us, that he recollected what compunctious visitings\nwould be his lot if he remained supine--he felt the sharpest uneasiness\nat sight of the accident before him, and it was to get rid of that\nuneasiness, and not for the smallest regard to the unhappy being he has\nbeen the means to save, that he entered on the hazardous undertaking.\n\nUneasiness, the knowledge of what inwardly passes in the mind, is a\nthing not in the slightest degree adverted to but in an interval of\nleisure. No; the man here spoken of thinks of nothing but the object\nimmediately before his eyes; he adverts not at all to himself; he acts\nonly with an undeveloped, confused and hurried consciousness that he may\nbe of some use, and may avert the instantly impending calamity. He has\nscarcely even so much reflection as amounts to this.\n\nThe history of man, whether national or individual, and consequently the\nacts of human creatures which it describes, are cast in another mould\nthan that which the philosophy of self-love sets before us. A topic that\nfrom the earliest accounts perpetually presents itself in the records\nof mankind, is self-sacrifice, parents sacrificing themselves for their\nchildren, and children for their parents. Cimon, the Athenian, yet in\nthe flower of his youth, voluntarily became the inmate of a prison, that\nthe body of his father might receive the honours of sepulture. Various\nand unquestionable are the examples of persons who have exposed\nthemselves to destruction, and even petitioned to die, that so they\nmight save the lives of those, whose lives they held dearer than their\nown. Life is indeed a thing, that is notoriously set at nothing by\ngenerous souls, who have fervently devoted themselves to an overwhelming\npurpose. There have been instances of persons, exposed to all the\nhorrors of famine, where one has determined to perish by that slowest\nand most humiliating of all the modes of animal destruction, that\nanother, dearer to him than life itself, might, if possible, be\npreserved.\n\nWhat is the true explanation of these determinations of the human will?\nIs it, that the person, thus consigning himself to death, loved nothing\nbut himself, regarded only the pleasure he might reap, or the uneasiness\nhe was eager to avoid? Or, is it, that he had arrived at the exalted\npoint of self-oblivion, and that his whole soul was penetrated and\ningrossed with the love of those for whom he conceived so exalted a\npartiality?\n\nThis sentiment so truly forms a part of our nature, that a multitude\nof absurd practices, and a multitude of heart-rending fables, have been\nfounded upon the consciousness of man in different ages and nations,\nthat these modes of thinking form a constituent part of our common\nexistence. In India there was found a woman, whose love to the deceased\npartner of her soul was so overwhelming, that she resolved voluntarily\nto perish on his funeral pile. And this example became so fascinating\nand admirable, that, by insensible degrees, it grew into a national\ncustom with the Hindoos, that, by a sort of voluntary constraint, the\nwidows of all men of a certain caste, should consign themselves to the\nflames with the dead bodies of their husbands. The story of Zopyrus\ncutting off his nose and ears, and of Curtius leaping into the gulph,\nmay be fictitious: but it was the consciousness of those by whom these\nnarratives were written that they drew their materials from the mighty\nstore-house of the heart of man, that prompted them to record them.\nThe institutions of clientship and clans, so extensively diffused in\ndifferent ages of the world, rests upon this characteristic of our\nnature, that multitudes of men may be trained and educated so, as to\nhold their existence at no price, when the life of the individual they\nwere taught unlimitedly to reverence might be preserved, or might be\ndefended at the risk of their destruction.\n\nThe principal circumstance that divides our feelings for others from\nour feelings for ourselves, and that gives, to satirical observers, and\nsuperficial thinkers, an air of exclusive selfishness to the human\nmind, lies in this, that we can fly from others, but cannot fly from\nourselves. While I am sitting by the bed-side of the sufferer, while\nI am listening to the tale of his woes, there is comparatively but a\nslight line of demarcation, whether they are his sorrows or my own. My\nsympathy is vehemently excited towards him, and I feel his twinges and\nanguish in a most painful degree. But I can quit his apartment and the\nhouse in which he dwells, can go out in the fields, and feel the fresh\nair of heaven fanning my hair, and playing upon my cheeks. This is at\nfirst but a very imperfect relief. His image follows me; I cannot forget\nwhat I have heard and seen; I even reproach myself for the mitigation\nI involuntarily experience. But man is the creature of his senses. I am\nevery moment further removed, both in time and place, from the object\nthat distressed me. There he still lies upon the bed of agony: but\nthe sound of his complaint, and the sight of all that expresses his\nsuffering, are no longer before me. A short experience of human life\nconvinces us that we have this remedy always at hand (\"I am unhappy,\nonly while I please\")(24); and we soon come therefore to anticipate the\ncure, and so, even while we are in the presence of the sufferer, to feel\nthat he and ourselves are not perfectly one.\n\n\n   (24) Douglas.\n\n\nBut with our own distempers and adversities it is altogether different.\nIt is this that barbs the arrow. We may change the place of our local\nexistence; but we cannot go away from ourselves. With chariots, and\nembarking ourselves on board of ships, we may seek to escape from the\nenemy. But grief and apprehension enter the vessel along with us; and,\nwhen we mount on horseback, the discontent that specially annoyed\nus, gets up behind, and clings to our sides with a hold never to be\nloosened(25).\n\n\n   (25) Horace.\n\n\nIs it then indeed a proof of selfishness, that we are in a greater or\nless degree relieved from the anguish we endured for our friend, when\nother objects occupy us, and we are no longer the witnesses of his\nsufferings? If this were true, the same argument would irresistibly\nprove, that we are the most generous of imaginable beings, the most\ndisregardful of whatever relates to ourselves. Is it not the first\nejaculation of the miserable, \"Oh, that I could fly from myself? Oh,\nfor a thick, substantial sleep!\" What the desperate man hates is his own\nidentity. But he knows that, if for a few moments he loses himself in\nforgetfulness, he will presently awake to all that distracted him. He\nknows that he must act his part to the end, and drink the bitter cup\nto the dregs. He can do none of these things by proxy. It is the\nconsciousness of the indubitable future, from which we can never be\ndivorced, that gives to our present calamity its most fearful empire.\nWere it not for this great line of distinction, there are many that\nwould feel not less for their friend than for themselves. But they are\naware, that his ruin will not make them beggars, his mortal disease will\nnot bring them to the tomb, and that, when he is dead, they may yet be\nreserved for many years of health, of consciousness and vigour.\n\nThe language of the hypothesis of self-love was well adapted to\nthe courtiers of the reign of Louis the Fourteenth. The language of\ndisinterestedness was adapted to the ancient republicans in the purest\ntimes of Sparta and Rome.\n\nBut these ancients were not always disinterested; and the moderns are\nnot always narrow, self-centred and cold. The ancients paid, though with\ncomparative infrequency, the tax imposed upon mortals, and thought\nof their own gratification and ease; and the moderns are not utterly\ndisqualified for acts of heroic affection.\n\nIt is of great consequence that men should come to think correctly on\nthis subject. The most snail-blooded man that exists, is not so selfish\nas he pretends to be. In spite of all the indifference he professes\ntowards the good of others, he will sometimes be detected in a very\nheretical state of sensibility towards his wife, his child or his\nfriend; he will shed tears at a tale of distress, and make considerable\nsacrifices of his own gratification for the relief of others.\n\nBut his creed is a pernicious one. He who for ever thinks, that\nhis \"charity must begin at home,\" is in great danger of becoming an\nindifferent citizen, and of withering those feelings of philanthropy,\nwhich in all sound estimation constitute the crowning glory of man. He\nwill perhaps have a reasonable affection towards what he calls his own\nflesh and blood, and may assist even a stranger in a case of urgent\ndistress.--But it is dangerous to trifle with the first principles and\nsentiments of morality. And this man will scarcely in any case have his\nmind prepared to hail the first dawnings of human improvement, and to\nregard all that belongs to the welfare of his kind as parcel of his own\nparticular estate.\n\nThe creed of self-love will always have a tendency to make us Frenchmen\nin the frivolous part of that character, and Dutchmen in the plodding\nand shopkeeping spirit of barter and sale. There is no need that we\nshould beat down the impulse of heroism in the human character, and\nbe upon our guard against the effervescences and excess of a generous\nsentiment. One of the instructors of my youth was accustomed to say to\nhis pupils, \"Do not be afraid to commit your thoughts to paper in all\nthe fervour and glow of your first conception: when you come to look at\nthem the next day, you will find this gone off to a surprising degree.\"\nAs this was no ill precept for literary composition, even so in our\nactions and moral conduct we shall be in small danger of being too\nwarm-hearted and too generous.\n\nModern improvements in education are earnest in recommending to us the\nstudy of facts, and that we should not waste the time of young persons\nupon the flights of imagination. But it is to imagination that we\nare indebted for our highest enjoyments; it tames the ruggedness of\nuncivilised nature, and is the never-failing associate of all the\nconsiderable advances of social man, whether in throwing down the strong\nfences of intellectual slavery, or in giving firmness and duration to\nthe edifice of political freedom.\n\nAnd who does not feel that every thing depends upon the creed we\nembrace, and the discipline we exercise over our own souls?\n\nThe disciple of the theory of self-love, if of a liberal disposition,\nwill perpetually whip himself forward \"with loose reins,\" upon a\nspiritless Pegasus, and say, \"I will do generous things; I will not\nbring into contempt the master I serve--though I am conscious all\nthe while that this is but a delusion, and that, however I brag of\ngenerosity, I do not set a step forward, but singly for my own ends,\nand my own gratification.\" Meanwhile, this is all a forced condition of\nthought; and the man who cherishes it, will be perpetually falling back\ninto the cold, heartless convictions he inwardly retains. Self-love is\nthe unwholesome, infectious atmosphere in which he dwells; and, however\nhe may seek to rise, the wings of his soul will eternally be drawn\ndownwards, and he cannot be pervaded, as he might have been, with\nthe free spirit of genuine philanthropy. To be consistent, he ought\ncontinually to grow colder and colder; and the romance, which fired his\nyouth, and made him forget the venomous potion he had swallowed,\nwill fade away in age, rendering him careless of all but himself, and\nindifferent to the adversity and sufferings of all of whom he hears, and\nall with whom he is connected.\n\nOn the other hand, the man who has embraced the creed of disinterested\nbenevolence, will know that it is not his fitting element to \"live for\nhimself, or to die for himself.\" Whether he is under the dominion of\nfamily-affection, friendship, patriotism, or a zeal for his brethren\nof mankind, he will feel that he is at home. The generous man therefore\nlooks forward to the time when the chilling and wretched philosophy\nof the reign of Louis the Fourteenth shall be forgotten, and a fervent\ndesire for the happiness and improvement of the human species shall\nreign in all hearts.\n\nI am not especially desirous of sheltering my opinions under the\nauthority of great names: but, in a question of such vital importance\nto the true welfare of men in society, no fair advantage should be\nneglected. The author of the system of \"self-love the source of all\nour actions\" was La Rochefoucault; and the whole herd of the French\nphilosophers have not been ashamed to follow in the train of their\nvaunted master. I am grieved to say, that, as I think, the majority of\nmy refining and subtilising countrymen of the present day have enlisted\nunder his banner. But the more noble and generous view of the subject\nhas been powerfully supported by Shaftesbury, Butler, Hutcheson and\nHume. On the last of these I particularly pique myself; inasmuch as,\nthough he became naturalised as a Frenchman in a vast variety of topics,\nthe greatness of his intellectual powers exempted him from degradation\nin this.\n\nThat however which I would chiefly urge in the way of authority, is the\nthing mentioned in the beginning of this Essay, I mean, the sentiments\nthat have animated the authors of religion, that characterise the best\nages of Greece and Rome, and that in all cases display themselves when\nthe loftiest and most generous sentiments of the heart are called into\naction. The opposite creed could only have been engendered in the dregs\nof a corrupt and emasculated court; and human nature will never shew\nitself what it is capable of being, till the last remains of a doctrine,\ninvented in the latter part of the seventeenth century, shall have been\nconsigned to the execration they deserve.\n\n\n\n\nESSAY XII. OF THE LIBERTY OF HUMAN ACTIONS.\n\nThe question, which has been attended with so long and obstinate\ndebates, concerning the metaphysical doctrines of liberty and\nnecessity, and the freedom of human actions, is not even yet finally and\nsatisfactorily settled.\n\nThe negative is made out by an argument which seems to amount to\ndemonstration, that every event requires a cause, a cause why it is as\nit is and not otherwise, that the human will is guided by motives, and\nis consequently always ruled by the strongest motive, and that we can\nnever choose any thing, either without a motive of preference, or in the\nway of following the weaker, and deserting the stronger motive(26).\n\n\n   (26) Political Justice, Book IV, Chap. VII.\n\n\nWhy is it then that disbelief or doubt should still subsist in a\nquestion so fully decided?\n\nFor the same reason that compels us to reject many other demonstrations.\nThe human mind is so constituted as to oblige us, if not theoretically,\nat least practically, to reject demonstration, and adhere to our senses.\n\nThe case is thus in the great question of the non-existence of an\nexternal world, or of matter. How ever much the understanding may be\nsatisfied of the truth of the proposition by the arguments of Berkeley\nand others, we no sooner go out into actual life, than we become\nconvinced, in spite of our previous scepticism or unbelief, of the real\nexistence of the table, the chair, and the objects around us, and of the\npermanence and reality of the persons, both body and mind, with whom we\nhave intercourse. If we were not, we should soon become indifferent to\ntheir pleasure and pain, and in no long time reason ourselves into the\nopinion that the one was not more desirable than the other, and conduct\nourselves accordingly.\n\nBut there is a great difference between the question of a material\nworld, and the question of liberty and necessity. The most strenuous\nBerkleian can never say, that there is any contradiction or\nimpossibility in the existence of matter. All that he can consistently\nand soberly maintain is, that, if the material world exists, we can\nnever perceive it, and that our sensations, and trains of impressions\nand thinking go on wholly independent of that existence.\n\nBut the question of the freedom of human actions is totally of another\nclass. To say that in our choice we reject the stronger motive, and that\nwe choose a thing merely because we choose it, is sheer nonsense and\nabsurdity; and whoever with a sound understanding will fix his mind upon\nthe state of the question will perceive its impossibility.\n\nIn the mean time it is not less true, that every man, the necessarian as\nwell as his opponent, acts on the assumption of human liberty, and can\nnever for a moment, when he enters into the scenes of real life, divest\nhimself of this persuasion.\n\nLet us take separately into our consideration the laws of matter and\nof mind. We acknowledge generally in both an established order of\nantecedents and consequents, or of causes and effects. This is the\nsole foundation of human prudence and of all morality. It is because we\nforesee that certain effects will follow from a certain mode of conduct,\nthat we act in one way rather than another. It is because we foresee\nthat, if the soil is prepared in a certain way, and if seed is properly\nscattered and covered up in the soil thus prepared, a crop will follow,\nthat we engage in the labours of agriculture. In the same manner, it\nis because we foresee that, if lessons are properly given, and a young\nperson has them clearly explained to him, certain benefits will result,\nand because we are apprised of the operation of persuasion, admonition,\nremonstrance, menace, punishment and reward, that we engage in the\nlabours of education. All the studies of the natural philosopher and the\nchemist, all our journeys by land and our voyages by sea, and all the\nsystems and science of government, are built upon this principle, that\nfrom a certain method of proceeding, regulated by the precepts of wisdom\nand experience, certain effects may be expected to follow.\n\nYet, at the same time that we admit of a regular series of cause and\neffect in the operations both of matter and mind, we never fail, in our\nreflections upon each, to ascribe to them an essential difference. In\nthe laws by which a falling body descends to the earth, and by which the\nplanets are retained in their orbits, in a word, in all that relates to\ninanimate nature, we readily assent to the existence of absolute laws,\nso that, when we have once ascertained the fundamental principles\nof astronomy and physics, we rely with perfect assurance upon the\ninvariable operation of these laws, yesterday, to-day, and for ever. As\nlong as the system of things, of which we are spectators, and in\nwhich we act our several parts, shall remain, so long have the general\nphenomena of nature gone on unchanged for more years of past ages than\nwe can define, and will in all probability continue to operate for as\nmany ages to come. We admit of no variation, but firmly believe that,\nif we were perfectly acquainted with all the causes, we could, without\ndanger of error, predict all the effects. We are satisfied that,\nsince first the machine of the universe was set going, every thing in\ninanimate nature has taken place in a regular course, and nothing has\nhappened and can happen, otherwise than as it actually has been and will\nbe.\n\nBut we believe, or, more accurately speaking, we feel, that it is\notherwise in the universe of mind. Whoever attentively observes the\nphenomena of thinking and sentient beings, will be convinced, that men\nand animals are under the influence of motives, that we are subject\nto the predominance of the passions, of love and hatred, of desire\nand aversion, of sorrow and joy, and that the elections we make are\nregulated by impressions supplied to us by these passions. But we are\nfully penetrated with the notion, that mind is an arbiter, that it sits\non its throne, and decides, as an absolute prince, this may or that;\nin short, that, while inanimate nature proceeds passively in an eternal\nchain of cause and effect, mind is endowed with an initiating power, and\nforms its determinations by an inherent and indefeasible prerogative.\n\nHence arises the idea of contingency relative to the acts of living and\nsentient beings, and the opinion that, while, in the universe of matter,\nevery thing proceeds in regular course, and nothing has happened or\ncan happen, otherwise than as it actually has been or will be, in the\ndeterminations and acts of living beings each occurrence may be or not\nbe, and waits the mastery of mind to decide whether the event shall\nbe one way or the other, both issues being equally possible till that\ndecision has been made.\n\nThus, as was said in the beginning, we have demonstration, all the\npowers of our reasoning faculty, on one side, and the feeling, of our\nminds, an inward persuasion of which with all our efforts we can never\ndivest ourselves, on the other. This phenomenon in the history of every\nhuman creature, had aptly enough been denominated, the \"delusive sense\nof liberty(27).\"\n\n\n   (27) The first writer, by whom this proposition was distinctly\nenunciated, seems to have been Lord Kaimes, in his Essays on the\nPrinciples of Morality and Natural Religion, published in 1751. But this\ningenious author was afterwards frightened with the boldness of his\nown conclusions, and in the subsequent editions of his work endeavoured\nineffectually to explain away what he had said.\n\n\nAnd, though the philosopher in his closet will for the most part fully\nassent to the doctrine of the necessity of human actions, yet this\nindestructible feeling of liberty, which accompanies us from the cradle\nto the grave, is entitled to our serious attention, and has never\nobtained that consideration from the speculative part of mankind,\nwhich must by no means be withheld, if we would properly enter into\nthe mysteries of our nature. The necessarian has paid it very imperfect\nattention to the impulses which form the character of man, if he\nomits this chapter in the history of mind, while on the other hand the\nadvocate of free will, if he would follow up his doctrine rigorously\ninto all its consequences, would render all speculations on human\ncharacter and conduct superfluous, put an end to the system of\npersuasion, admonition, remonstrance, menace, punishment and reward,\nannihilate the very essence of civil government, and bring to a close\nall distinction between the sane person and the maniac.\n\nWith the disciples of the latter of these doctrines I am by no means\nspecially concerned. I am fully persuaded, as far as the powers of my\nunderstanding can carry me, that the phenomena of mind are governed by\nlaws altogether as inevitable as the phenomena of matter, and that the\ndecisions of our will are always in obedience to the impulse of the\nstrongest motive.\n\nThe consequences of the principle implanted in our nature, by which men\nof every creed, when they descend into the scene of busy life, pronounce\nthemselves and their fellow-mortals to be free agents, are sufficiently\nmemorable.\n\nFrom hence there springs what we call conscience in man, and a sense of\npraise or blame due to ourselves and others for the actions we perform.\n\nHow poor, listless and unenergetic would all our performances be,\nbut for this sentiment! It is in vain that I should talk to myself or\nothers, of the necessity of human actions, of the connection between\ncause and effect, that all industry, study and mental discipline will\nturn to account, and this with infinitely more security on the principle\nof necessity, than on the opposite doctrine, every thing I did would\nbe without a soul. I should still say, Whatever I may do, whether it be\nright or wrong, I cannot help it; wherefore then should I trouble\nthe master-spirit within me? It is either the calm feeling of\nself-approbation, or the more animated swell of the soul, the quick\nbeatings of the pulse, the enlargement of the heart, the glory sparkling\nin the eye, and the blood flushing into the cheek, that sustains me in\nall my labours. This turns the man into what we conceive of a God, arms\nhim with prowess, gives him a more than human courage, and inspires him\nwith a resolution and perseverance that nothing can subdue.\n\nIn the same manner the love or hatred, affection or alienation, we\nentertain for our fellow-men, is mainly referable for its foundation\nto the \"delusive sense of liberty.\" \"We approve of a sharp knife rather\nthan a blunt one, because its capacity is greater. We approve of its\nbeing employed in carving food, rather than in maiming men or other\nanimals, because that application of its capacity is preferable. But\nall approbation or preference is relative to utility or general good. A\nknife is as capable as a man, of being employed in purposes of utility;\nand the one is no more free than the other as to its employment. The\nmode in which a knife is made subservient to these purposes, is by\nmaterial impulse. The mode in which a man is made subservient, is\nby inducement and persuasion. But both are equally the affair of\nnecessity(28).\" These are the sentiments dictated to us by the doctrine\nof the necessity of human actions.\n\n\n   (28) Political Justice, Book IV, Chap. VIII.\n\n\nBut how different are the feelings that arise within us, as soon as\nwe enter into the society of our fellow-creatures! \"The end of the\ncommandment is love.\" It is the going forth of the heart towards those\nto whom we are bound by the ties of a common nature, affinity, sympathy\nor worth, that is the luminary of the moral world. Without it there\nwould have been \"a huge eclipse of sun and moon;\" or at best, as a\nwell-known writer(29) expresses it in reference to another subject,\nwe should have lived in \"a silent and drab-coloured creation.\" We are\nprepared by the power that made us for feelings and emotions; and,\nunless these come to diversify and elevate our existence, we should\nwaste our days in melancholy, and scarcely be able to sustain ourselves.\nThe affection we entertain for those towards whom our partiality and\nkindness are excited, is the life of our life. It is to this we are\nindebted for all our refinement, and, in the noblest sense of the word,\nfor all our humanity. Without it we should have had no sentiment (a\nword, however abused, which, when properly defined, comprises every\nthing that is the crown of our nature), and no poetry.--Love and\nhatred, as they regard our fellow-creatures, in contradistinction to the\ncomplacency, or the feeling of an opposite nature, which is excited in\nus towards inanimate objects, are entirely the offspring of the delusive\nsense of liberty.\n\n\n   (29) Thomas Paine.\n\n\nThe terms, praise and blame, express to a great degree the same\nsentiments as those of love and hatred, with this difference, that\npraise and blame in their simplest sense apply to single actions,\nwhereas love and hatred are produced in us by the sum of those actions\nor tendencies, which constitute what we call character. There is also\nanother difference, that love and hatred are engendered in us by other\ncauses as well as moral qualities; but praise and blame, in the sense in\nwhich they are peculiarly applied to our fellow-mortals, are founded on\nmoral qualities only. In love and hatred however, when they are intense\nor are lasting, some reference to moral qualities is perhaps necessarily\nimplied. The love between the sexes, unless in cases where it is of a\npeculiarly transient nature, always comprises in it a belief that the\nparty who is the object of our love, is distinguished by tendencies\nof an amiable nature, which we expect to see manifesting themselves in\naffectionate attentions and acts of kindness. Even the admiration we\nentertain for the features, the figure, and personal graces of the\nobject of our regard, is mixed with and heightened by our expectation of\nactions and tones that generate approbation, and, if divested of this,\nwould be of small signification or permanence. In like manner in\nthe ties of affinity, or in cases where we are impelled by the\nconsideration, \"He also is a man as well as I,\" the excitement will\ncarry us but a little way, unless we discover in the being towards whom\nwe are moved some peculiarities which may beget a moral partiality and\nregard.\n\nAnd, as towards our fellow-creatures, so in relation to ourselves, our\nmoral sentiments are all involved with, and take their rise in, the\ndelusive sense of liberty. It is in this that is contained the peculiar\nforce of the terms virtue, duty, guilt and desert. We never pronounce\nthese words without thinking of the action to which they refer, as that\nwhich might or might not be done, and therefore unequivocally approve\nor disapprove in ourselves and others. A virtuous man, as the term\nis understood by all, as soon as we are led to observe upon those\nqualities, and the exhibition of those qualities in actual life, which\nconstitute our nature, is a man who, being in full possession of the\nfreedom of human action, is engaged in doing those things which a sound\njudgment of the tendencies of what we do pronounces to be good.\n\nDuty is a term that can scarcely be said to have a meaning, except that\nwhich it derives from the delusive sense of liberty. According to the\ncreed of the necessarian, it expresses that mode of action on the part\nof the individual, which constitutes the best possible application of\nhis capacity to the general benefit(30). In the mean time, if we confine\nourselves to this definition, it may as well be taken to describe the\nbest application of a knife, or any other implement proceeding from the\nhands of the manufacturer, as of the powers of a human being.\n\nBut we surely have a very different idea in our minds, when we employ\nthe term duty. It is not agreeable to the use of language that we should\nuse this term, except we speak of a being in the exercise of volition.\n\n\n   (30) Political Justice, Book II, Chap. IV.\n\n\nDuty then means that which may justly be required of a human creature in\nthe possession of liberty of action. It includes in its proper sense the\nconception of the empire of will, the notion that mind is an arbiter,\nthat it sits on its throne, and decides, as an absolute prince, this way\nor that.\n\nDuty is the performance of what is due, the discharge of a debt\n(debitum). But a knife owes nothing, and can in no sense be said to be\nheld to one sort of application rather than another; the debt can only\nbelong to a human being in possession of his liberty, by whom the knife\nmay be applied laudably or otherwise.\n\nA multitude of terms instantly occur to us, the application of which\nis limited in the same manner as the term duty is limited: such are, to\nowe, obligation, debt, bond, right, claim, sin, crime, guilt, merit and\ndesert. Even reward and punishment, however they may be intelligible\nwhen used merely in the sense of motives employed, have in general\nacceptation a sense peculiarly derived from the supposed freedom of the\nhuman will.\n\nThe mode therefore in which the advocates of the doctrine of necessity\nhave universally talked and written, is one of the most memorable\nexamples of the hallucination of the human intellect. They have at\nall times recommended that we should translate the phrases in which\nwe usually express ourselves on the hypothesis of liberty, into the\nphraseology of necessity, that we should talk no other language than\nthat which is in correspondence with the severest philosophy, and that\nwe should exert ourselves to expel all fallacious notions and delusions\nso much as from our recollection. They did not perceive what a wide\ndevastation and destruction they were proposing of all the terms and\nphrases that are in use in the communications between man and man\nin actual life.--They might as well have recommended that we should\nrigorously bear in mind on the ordinary occasions of life, that there is\nno such thing as colour, that which we ordinary call by that name having\nno existence in external objects, but belonging only to our way of\nperceiving them.\n\nThe language which is suggested to us by the conception of the freedom\nof human actions, moulds the very first articulations of a child,\n\"I will,\" and \"I will not;\" and is even distinctly conveyed by his\ngestures, before he arrives at the power of articulation. This is the\nexplanation and key to his vehement and ungovernable movements, and his\nrebellion. The petulance of the stripling, the fervent and energetic\nexertions of the warrior, and the calm and unalterable resolution of\nthe sage, all imply the same thing. Will, and a confidence in its\nefficiency, \"travel through, nor quit us till we die.\" It is this which\ninspires us with invincible perseverance, and heroic energies, while\nwithout it we should be the most inert and soulless of blocks, the\nshadows of what history records and poetry immortalises, and not men.\n\nFree will is an integral part of the science of man, and may be said to\nconstitute its most important chapter. We might with as much propriety\noverlook the intelligence of the senses, that medium which acquaints us\nwith an external world or what we call such, we might as well overlook\nthe consideration of man's reason, his imagination or taste, as fail to\ndwell with earnest reflection and exposition upon that principle which\nlies at the foundation of our moral energies, fills us with a moral\nenthusiasm, prompts all our animated exertions on the theatre of the\nworld, whether upon a wide or a narrow scale, and penetrates us with\nthe most lively and fervent approbation or disapprobation of the acts\nof ourselves and others in which the forwarding or obstructing human\nhappiness is involved.\n\nBut, though the language of the necessarian is at war with the\nindestructible feelings of the human mind, and though his demonstrations\nwill for ever crumble into dust, when brought to the test of the\nactivity of real life, yet his doctrines, to the reflecting and\nenlightened, will by no means be without their use. In the sobriety of\nthe closet, we inevitably assent to his conclusions; nor is it easy to\nconceive how a rational man and a philosopher abstractedly can entertain\na doubt of the necessity of human actions. And the number of these\npersons is perpetually increasing; enlarged and dispassionate views of\nthe nature of man and the laws of the universe are rapidly spreading in\nthe world. We cannot indeed divest ourselves of love and hatred, of\nthe sentiments of praise and blame, and the ideas of virtue, duty,\nobligation, debt, bond, right, claim, sin, crime, guilt, merit and\ndesert. And, if we could do so, the effects would be most pernicious,\nand the world be rendered a blank. We shall however unquestionably,\nas our minds grow enlarged, be brought to the entire and unreserved\nconviction, that man is a machine, that he is governed by external\nimpulses, and is to be regarded as the medium only through the\nintervention of which previously existing causes are enabled to produce\ncertain effects. We shall see, according to an expressive phrase, that\nhe \"could not help it,\" and, of consequence, while we look down from the\nhigh tower of philosophy upon the scene of human affairs, our prevailing\nemotion will be pity, even towards the criminal, who, from the qualities\nhe brought into the world, and the various circumstances which act upon\nhim from infancy, and form his character, is impelled to be the means\nof the evils, which we view with so profound disapprobation, and the\nexistence of which we so entirely regret.\n\nThere is an old axiom of philosophy, which counsels us to \"think with\nthe learned, and talk with the vulgar;\" and the practical application of\nthis axiom runs through the whole scene of human affairs. Thus the\nmost learned astronomer talks of the rising and setting of the sun,\nand forgets in his ordinary discourse that the earth is not for ever at\nrest, and does not constitute the centre of the universe. Thus, however\nwe reason respecting the attributes of inanimate matter and the nature\nof sensation, it never occurs to us, when occupied with the affairs\nof actual life, that there is no heat in fire, and no colour in the\nrainbow.\n\nIn like manner, when we contemplate the acts of ourselves and our\nneighbours, we can never divest ourselves of the delusive sense of\nthe liberty of human actions, of the sentiment of conscience, of the\nfeelings of love and hatred, the impulses of praise and blame, and the\nnotions of virtue, duty, obligation, right, claim, guilt, merit and\ndesert. And it has sufficiently appeared in the course of this Essay,\nthat it is not desirable that we should do so. They are these ideas\nto which the world we live in is indebted for its crowning glory and\ngreatest lustre. They form the highest distinction between men and\nother animals, and are the genuine basis of self-reverence, and the\nconceptions of true nobility and greatness, and the reverse of these\nattributes, in the men with whom we live, and the men whose deeds are\nrecorded in the never-dying page of history.\n\nBut, though the doctrine of the necessity of human actions can never\nform the rule of our intercourse with others, it will still have its\nuse. It will moderate our excesses, and point out to us that middle path\nof judgment which the soundest philosophy inculcates. We shall learn,\naccording to the apostolic precept, to \"be angry, and sin not, neither\nlet the sun go down upon our wrath.\" We shall make of our fellow-men\nneither idols to worship, nor demons to be regarded with horror and\nexecration. We shall think of them, as of players, \"that strut and fret\ntheir hour upon the stage, and then are heard no more.\" We shall \"weep,\nas though we wept not, and rejoice, as though we rejoiced not, seeing\nthat the fashion of this world passeth away.\" And, most of all, we shall\nview with pity, even with sympathy, the men whose frailties we behold,\nor by whom crimes are perpetrated, satisfied that they are parts of one\ngreat machine, and, like ourselves, are driven forward by impulses over\nwhich they have no real control.\n\n\n\n\nESSAY XIII. OF BELIEF.\n\nOne of the prerogatives by which man is eminently distinguished from all\nother living beings inhabiting this globe of earth, consists in the gift\nof reason.\n\nBeasts reason. They are instructed by experience; and, guided by what\nthey have already known of the series of events, they infer from the\nsense of what has gone before, an assured expectation of what is to\nfollow. Hence, \"beast walks with man, joint tenant of the shade;\" and\ntheir sagacity is in many instances more unerring than ours, because\nthey have no affectation to mislead them; they follow no false lights,\nno glimmering intimation of something half-anticipating a result,\nbut trust to the plain, blunt and obvious dictates of their simple\napprehension. This however is but the first step in the scale of reason,\nand is in strictness scarcely entitled to the name.\n\nWe set off from the same point from which they commence their career.\nBut the faculty of articulate speech comes in, enabling us to form\nthe crude elements of reason and inference into a code. We digest\nexplanations of things, assigning the particulars in which they resemble\nother classes, and the particulars by which they are distinguished\nfrom whatever other classes have fallen under our notice. We frame\npropositions, and, detaching ourselves from the immediate impressions of\nsense, proceed to generalities, which exist only, in a way confused, and\nnot distinctly adverted to, in the conceptions of the animal creation.\n\nIt is thus that we arrive at science, and go forward to those\nsubtleties, and that perspicuity of explanation, which place man in a\ndistinct order of being, leaving all the other inhabitants of earth at\nan immeasurable distance below him. It is thus that we communicate our\ndiscoveries to each other, and hand down the knowledge we have acquired,\nunimpaired and entire, through successive ages, and to generations yet\nunborn.\n\nBut in certain respects we pay a very high price for this distinction.\nIt is to it that we must impute all the follies, extravagances and\nhallucinations of human intellect. There is nothing so absurd that some\nman has not affirmed, rendering himself the scorn and laughing-stock\nof persons of sounder understanding. And, which is worst, the more\nridiculous and unintelligible is the proposition he has embraced,\nthe more pertinaciously does he cling to it; so that creeds the most\noutrageous and contradictory have served as the occasion or pretext for\nthe most impassioned debates, bloody wars, inhuman executions, and all\nthat most deeply blots and dishonours the name of man--while often, the\nmore evanescent and frivolous are the distinctions, the more furious and\ninexpiable have been the contentions they have produced.\n\nThe result of the whole, in the vast combinations of men into tribes\nand nations, is, that thousands and millions believe, or imagine they\nbelieve, propositions and systems, the terms of which they do not fully\nunderstand, and the evidence of which they have not considered. They\nbelieve, because so their fathers believed before them. No phrase\nis more commonly heard than, \"I was born a Christian;\" \"I was born a\nCatholic, or a Protestant.\"\n\n     The priest continues what the nurse began,\n     And thus the child imposes on the man.\n\n\nBut this sort of belief forms no part of the subject of the present\nEssay. My purpose is to confine myself to the consideration of those\npersons, who in some degree, more or less, exercise the reasoning\nfaculty in the pursuit of truth, and, having attempted to examine the\nevidence of an interesting and weighty proposition, satisfy themselves\nthat they have arrived at a sound conclusion.\n\nIt is however the rarest thing in the world, for any one to found his\nopinion, simply upon the evidence that presents itself to him of the\ntruth of the proposition which comes before him to be examined. Where\nis the man that breaks loose from all the shackles that in his youth had\nbeen imposed upon hills, and says to Truth, \"Go on; whithersoever thou\nleadest, I am prepared to follow?\" To weigh the evidence for and\nagainst a proposition, in scales so balanced, that the \"division of the\ntwentieth part of one poor scruple, the estimation of a hair,\" shall be\nrecognised and submitted to, is the privilege of a mind of no ordinary\nfairness and firmness.\n\nThe Scriptures say \"The heart of man is deceitful above all things.\" The\nthinking principle within us is so subtle, has passed through so many\nforms of instruction, and is under the influence and direction of such a\nvariety of causes, that no man can accurately pronounce by what impulse\nhe has been led to the conclusion in which he finally reposes. Every\ningenuous person, who is invited to embrace a certain profession, that\nof the church for example, will desire, preparatorily to his final\ndetermination, to examine the evidences and the merits of the religion\nhe embraces, that he may enter upon his profession under the influence\nof a sincere conviction, and be inspired with that zeal, in singleness\nof heart, which can alone prevent his vocation from being disgraceful\nto him. Yet how many motives are there, constraining him to abide in an\naffirmative conclusion? His friends expect this from him. Perhaps his\nown inclination leads him to select this destination rather than any\nother. Perhaps preferment and opulence wait upon his decision. If the\nfinal result of his enquiries lead him to an opposite judgment, to how\nmuch obloquy will he be exposed! Where is the man who can say that\nno unconscious bias has influenced him in the progress of his\ninvestigation? Who shall pronounce that, under very different\ncircumstances, his conclusions would not have been essentially other\nthan they are?\n\nBut the enquiry of an active and a searching mind does not terminate on\na certain day. He will be for ever revising and reconsidering his first\ndeterminations. It is one of the leading maxims of an honourable mind,\nthat we must be, at all times, and to the last hour of our existence,\naccessible to conviction built upon new evidence, or upon evidence\npresented in a light in which it had not before been viewed. If then the\nprobationer for the clerical profession was under some bias in his\nfirst investigation, how must it be expected to be with him, when he has\nalready taken the vow, and received ordination? Can he with a calm and\nunaltered spirit contemplate the possibility, that the ground shall be\ncut away from under him, and that, by dint of irrefragable argument, he\nshall be stripped of his occupation, and turned out naked and friendless\ninto the world?\n\nBut this is only one of the broadest and most glaring instances. In\nevery question of paramount importance there is ever a secret influence\nurging me earnestly to desire to find one side of the question right and\nthe other wrong. Shall I be a whig or a tory, believe a republic or\na mixed monarchy most conducive to the improvement and happiness of\nmankind, embrace the creed of free will or necessity? There is in all\ncases a \"strong temptation that waketh in the heart.\" Cowardice urges\nme to become the adherent of that creed, which is espoused by my nearest\nfriends, or those who are most qualified to serve me. Enterprise and\na courageous spirit on the contrary bid me embrace the tenet, the\nembracing of which shall most conduce to my reputation for extraordinary\nperspicuity and acuteness, and gain me the character of an intrepid\nadventurer, a man who dares commit himself to an unknown voyage.\n\nIn the question of religion, even when the consideration of the\nprofession of an ecclesiastic does not occur, yet we are taught to\nbelieve that there is only one set of tenets that will lead us in\nthe way of salvation. Faith is represented as the first of all\nqualifications. \"If I had not come and spoken unto them, they had not\nhad sin.\" With what heart then does a man set himself to examine, and\nscrupulously weigh the evidence on one side and the other, when some\nundiscerned frailty, some secret bias that all his care cannot detect,\nmay lurk within, and insure for him the \"greater condemnation?\" I well\nremember in early life, with what tingling sensation and unknown horror\nI looked into the books of the infidels and the repositories of unlawful\ntenets, lest I should be seduced. I held it my duty to \"prove all\nthings;\" but I knew not how far it might be my fate; to sustain the\npenalty attendant even upon an honourable and virtuous curiousity.\n\nIt is one of the most received arguments of the present day against\nreligious persecution, that the judgments we form are not under the\nauthority of our will, and that, for what it is not in our power to\nchange, it is unjust we should be punished: and there is much truth in\nthis. But it is not true to the fullest extent. The sentiments we shall\nentertain, are to a considerable degree at the disposal of inticements\non the one side, and of menaces and apprehension on the other. That\nwhich we wish to believe, we are already greatly in progress to embrace;\nand that which will bring upon us disgrace and calamity, we are more\nthan half prepared to reject. Persecution however is of very equivocal\npower: we cannot embrace one faith and reject another at the word of\ncommand.\n\nIt is a curious question to decide how far punishments and rewards may\nbe made effectual to determine the religion of nations and generations\nof men. They are often unsuccessful. There is a feeling in the human\nheart, that prompts us to reject with indignation this species of\ntyranny. We become more obstinate in clinging to that which we are\ncommanded to discard. We place our honour and our pride in the firmness\nof our resistance. \"The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church.\"\nYet there is often great efficacy in persecution. It was the policy of\nthe court of Versailles that brought almost to nothing the Huguenots of\nFrance. And there is a degree of persecution, if the persecuting party\nhas the strength and the inexorableness to employ it, that it is perhaps\nbeyond the prowess of human nature to stand up against.\n\nThe mind of the enquiring man is engaged in a course of perpetual\nresearch; and ingenuousness prompts us never to be satisfied with the\nefforts that we have made, but to press forward. But mind, as well as\nbody, has a certain vis inertiae, and moves only as it is acted upon by\nimpulses from without. With respect to the adopting new opinions, and\nthe discovery of new truths, we must be indebted in the last resort,\neither to books, or the oral communications of our fellow-men, or to\nideas immediately suggested to us by the phenomena of man or nature. The\ntwo former are the ordinary causes of a change of judgment to men:\nthey are for the most part minds of a superior class only, that are\nsusceptible of hints derived straight from the external world, without\nthe understandings of other men intervening, and serving as a conduit to\nthe new conceptions introduced. The two former serve, so to express it,\nfor the education of man, and enable us to master, in our own persons,\nthe points already secured, and the wisdom laid up in the great magazine\nof human knowledge; the last imparts to us the power of adding to the\nstock, and carrying forward by one step and another the improvements of\nwhich our nature is susceptible.\n\nIt is much that books, the unchanging records of the thoughts of men in\nformer ages, are able to impart to us. For many of the happiest moments\nof our lives, for many of the purest and most exalted feelings of the\nhuman heart, we are indebted to them. Education is their province;\nwe derive from them civilization and refinement; and we may affirm of\nliterature, what Otway has said of woman, \"We had been brutes without\nyou.\" It is thus that the acquisitions of the wise are handed down from\nage to age, and that we are enabled to mount step after step on the\nladder of paradise, till we reach the skies.\n\nBut, inestimable as is the benefit we derive from books, there is\nsomething more searching and soul-stirring in the impulse of oral\ncommunication. We cannot shut our ears, as we shut our books; we cannot\nescape from the appeal of the man who addresses us with earnest speech\nand living conviction. It is thus, we are told, that, when Cicero\npleaded before Caesar for the life of Ligarius, the conqueror of the\nworld was troubled, and changed colour again and again, till at length\nthe scroll prepared for the condemnation of the patriot fell from his\nhand. Sudden and irresistible conviction is chiefly the offspring of\nliving speech. We may arm ourselves against the arguments of an author;\nbut the strength of reasoning in him who addresses us, takes us at\nunawares. It is in the reciprocation of answer and rejoinder that the\npower of conversion specially lies. A book is an abstraction. It is but\nimperfectly that we feel, that a real man addresses us in it, and that\nwhat he delivers is the entire and deep-wrought sentiment of a being of\nflesh and blood like ourselves, a being who claims our attention, and\nis entitled to our deference. The living human voice, with a countenance\nand manner corresponding, constrains us to weigh what is said, shoots\nthrough us like a stroke of electricity, will not away from our memory,\nand haunts our very dreams. It is by means of this peculiarity in the\nnature of mind, that it has been often observed that there is from\ntime to time an Augustan age in the intellect of nations, that men of\nsuperior powers shock with each other, and that light is struck from\nthe collision, which most probably no one of these men would have given\nbirth to, if they had not been thrown into mutual society and communion.\nAnd even so, upon a narrower scale, he that would aspire to do the most\nof which his faculties are susceptible, should seek the intercourse of\nhis fellows, that his powers may be strengthened, and he may be kept\nfree from that torpor and indolence of soul, which, without external\nexcitement, are ever apt to take possession of us.\n\nThe man, who lives in solitude, and seldom communicates with minds of\nthe same class as his own, works out his opinions with patient scrutiny,\nreturns to the investigation again and again, imagines that he had\nexamined the question on all sides, and at length arrives at what is to\nhim a satisfactory conclusion. He resumes the view of this conclusion\nday after day; he finds in it an unalterable validity; he says in his\nheart, \"Thus much I have gained; this is a real advance in the search\nafter truth; I have added in a defined and palpable degree to what I\nknew before.\" And yet it has sometimes happened, that this person, after\nhaving been shut up for weeks, or for a longer period, in his sanctuary,\nliving, so far as related to an exchange of oral disquisitions with his\nfellow-men, like Robinson Crusoe in the desolate island, shall come into\nthe presence of one, equally clear-sighted, curious and indefatigable\nwith himself, and shall hear from him an obvious and palpable statement,\nwhich in a moment shivers his sightly and glittering fabric into atoms.\nThe statement was palpable and near at hand; it was a thin, an almost\nimperceptible partition that hid it from him; he wonders in his heart\nthat it never occurred to his meditations. And yet so it is: it was hid\nfrom him for weeks, or perhaps for a longer period: it might have been\nhid from him for twenty years, if it had not been for the accident that\nsupplied it. And he no sooner sees it, than he instantly perceives that\nthe discovery upon which he plumed himself, was an absurdity, of which\neven a schoolboy might be ashamed.\n\nA circumstance not less curious, among the phenomena which belong to\nthis subject of belief, is the repugnance incident to the most ingenuous\nminds, which we harbour against the suddenly discarding an opinion\nwe have previously entertained, and the adopting one which comes\nrecommended to us with almost the force of demonstration. Nothing can\nbe better founded than this repugnance. The mind of man is of a peculiar\nnature. It has been disputed whether we can entertain more than one idea\nat a time. But certain it is, that the views of the mind at any one time\nare considerably narrowed. The mind is like the slate of a schoolboy,\nwhich can contain only a certain number of characters of a given size,\nor like a moveable panorama, which places a given scene or landscape\nbefore me, and the space assigned, and which comes within the limits\nmarked out to my perception, is full. Many things are therefore almost\ninevitably shut out, which, had it not been so, might have essentially\nchanged the view of the case, and have taught me that it was a very\ndifferent conclusion at which I ought to have arrived.\n\nAt first sight nothing can appear more unreasonable, than that I should\nhesitate to admit the seemingly irresistible force of the argument\npresented to me. An ingenuous disposition would appear to require that,\nthe moment the truth, or what seems to be the truth, is set before me,\nI should pay to it the allegiance to which truth is entitled. If I do\notherwise, it would appear to argue a pusillanimous disposition, a\nmind not prompt and disengaged to receive the impression of evidence,\na temper that loves something else better than the lustre which all\nmen are bound to recognise, and that has a reserve in favour of ancient\nprejudice, and of an opinion no longer supported by reason.\n\nIn fact however I shall act most wisely, and in the way most honourable\nto my character, if I resolve to adjourn the debate. No matter how\ncomplete the view may seem which is now presented to my consideration,\nor how irresistible the arguments: truth is too majestic a divinity,\nand it is of too much importance that I should not follow a delusive\nsemblance that may shew like truth, not to make it in the highest degree\nproper that I should examine again and again, before I come to the\nconclusion to which I mean to affix my seal, and annex my sanction,\n\"This is the truth.\" The ancient Goths of Germany, we are told, had a\ncustom of debating every thing of importance to their state twice, once\nin the high animation of a convivial meeting, and once in the serene\nstillness of a morning consultation. Philip of Macedon having decided a\ncause precipitately, the party condemned by him immediately declared his\nresolution to appeal from the sentence. And to whom, said the king, wilt\nthou appeal? To Philip, was the answer, in the entire possession of his\nunderstanding.\n\nSuch is the nature of the human mind--at least, such I find to be the\nnature of my own--that many trains of thinking, many chains of evidence,\nthe result of accumulated facts, will often not present themselves, at\nthe time when their presence would be of the highest importance.\nThe view which now comes before me is of a substance so close and\nwell-woven, and of colours so brilliant and dazzling, that other matters\nin a certain degree remote, though of no less intrinsic importance, and\nequally entitled to influence my judgment in the question in hand, shall\nbe entirely shut out, shall be killed, and fail to offer themselves to\nmy perceptions.\n\nIt is a curious circumstance which Pope, a man of eminent logical power\nand acuteness, relates, that, having at his command in his youth a\ncollection of all the tracts that had been written on both sides in the\nreign of James the Second, he applied himself with great assiduity\nto their perusal, and the consequence was, that he was a Papist and\nProtestant by turns, according to the last book he read(31).\n\n\n   (31) Correspondence with Atterbury, Letter IV.\n\n\nThis circumstance in the structure of the human understanding is well\nknown, and is the foundation of many provisions that occur in the\nconstitution of political society. How each man shall form his creed,\nand arrange those opinions by which his conduct shall be regulated, is\nof course a matter exclusively subjected to his own discretion. But,\nwhen he is called upon to act in the name of a community, and to decide\nupon a question in which the public is interested, he of necessity feels\nhimself called upon to proceed with the utmost caution. A judge on the\nbench, a chancellor, is not contented with that sudden ray of mental\nillumination to which an ingenuous individual is often disposed to yield\nin an affair of abstract speculation. He feels that he is obliged to\nwait for evidence, the nature of which he does not yet anticipate, and\nto adjourn his decision. A deliberative council or assembly is aware of\nthe necessity of examining a question again and again. It is upon this\nprinciple that the two houses of the English parliament are required to\ngive a first, a second and a third reading, together with various other\nforms and technicalities, to the provision that is brought before them,\npreviously to its passing into a law. And there is many a fundamental\ndogma and corner-stone of the sentiments that I shall emphatically call\nmy own, that is of more genuine importance to the individual, than to a\nnation is a number of those regulations, which by courtesy we call acts\nof parliament.\n\nNothing can have a more glaring tendency to subvert the authority of my\nopinion among my fellow-men, than instability. \"What went ye out into\nthe wilderness to see\" said Jesus Christ: \"a reed shaken with the wind?\"\nWe ought at all times to be open to conviction. We ought to be ever\nready to listen to evidence. But, conscious of our human frailty, it\nis seldom that we ought immediately to subscribe to the propositions,\nhowever specious, that are now for the first time presented to us. It\nis our duty to lay up in our memory the suggestions offered upon any\nmomentous question, and not to suffer them to lose their inherent weight\nand impressiveness; but it is only through the medium of consideration\nand reconsideration, that they can become entitled to our full and\nunreserved assent.\n\nThe nature of belief, or opinion, has been well illustrated by Lord\nShaftesbury(32). There are many notions or judgments floating in the\nmind of every man, which are mutually destructive of each other. In this\nsense men's opinions are governed by high and low spirits, by the state\nof the solids and fluids of the human body, and by the state of the\nweather. But in a paramount sense that only can be said to be a man's\nopinion which he entertains in his clearest moments, and from which,\nwhen he is most himself, he is least subject to vary. In this emphatical\nsense, I should say, a man does not always know what is his real\nopinion. We cannot strictly be said to believe any thing, in cases\nwhere we afterwards change our opinion without the introduction of some\nevidence that was unknown to us before. But how many are the instances\nin which we can be affirmed to be in the adequate recollection of all\nthe evidences and reasonings which have at some time occurred to us, and\nof the opinions, together with the grounds on which they rested, which\nwe conceived we had justly and rationally entertained?\n\nThe considerations here stated however should by no means be allowed to\ninspire us with indifference in matters of opinion. It is the glory and\nlustre of our nature, that we are capable of receiving evidence, and\nweighing the reasons for and against any important proposition in the\nbalance of an impartial and enlightened understanding. The only effect\nthat should be produced in us, by the reflection that we can at last by\nno means be secure that we have attained to a perfect result, should be\nto teach us a wholsome diffidence and humility, and induce us to confess\nthat, when we have done all, we are ignorant, dim-sighted and fallible,\nthat our best reasonings may betray, and our wisest conclusions deceive\nus.\n\n\n   (32) Enquiry concerning Virtue, Book 1, Part 1, Section ii.\n\n\n\n\nESSAY XIV. OF YOUTH AND AGE.\n\nMagna debetur pueris reverentia.\n\n                                Quintilian.\n\nI am more doubtful in writing the following Essay than in any of those\nwhich precede, how far I am treating of human nature generally, or to a\ncertain degree merely recording my own feelings as an individual. I\nam guided however in composing it, by the principle laid down in my\nPreface, that the purpose of my book in each instance should be to\nexpand some new and interesting truth, or some old truth viewed under a\nnew aspect, which had never by any preceding writer been laid before the\npublic.\n\nEducation, in the conception of those whose office it is to direct it,\nhas various engines by means of which it is to be made effective, and\namong these are reprehension and chastisement.\n\nThe philosophy of the wisest man that ever existed, is mainly derived\nfrom the act of introspection. We look into our own bosoms, observe\nattentively every thing that passes there, anatomise our motives,\ntrace step by step the operations of thought, and diligently remark\nthe effects of external impulses upon our feelings and conduct.\nPhilosophers, ever since the time in which Socrates flourished, to carry\nback our recollections no further, have found that the minds of men in\nthe most essential particulars are framed so far upon the same model,\nthat the analysis of the individual may stand in general consideration\nfor the analysis of the species. Where this principle fails, it is not\neasy to suggest a proceeding that shall supply the deficiency. I look\ninto my own breast; I observe steadily and with diligence what passes\nthere; and with all the parade of the philosophy of the human mind I can\ndo little more than this.\n\nIn treating therefore of education in the point of view in which it has\njust been proposed, I turn my observation upon myself, and I proceed\nthus.--If I do not stand as a competent representative for the whole of\nmy species, I suppose I may at least assume to be the representative of\nno inconsiderable number of them.\n\nI find then in myself, for as long a time as I can trace backward\nthe records of memory, a prominent vein of docility. Whatever it\nwas proposed to teach me, that was in any degree accordant with my\nconstitution and capacity, I was willing to learn. And this limit is\nsufficient for the topic I am proposing to treat. I do not intend to\nconsider education of any other sort, than that which has something\nin it of a liberal and ingenuous nature. I am not here discussing the\neducation of a peasant, an artisan, or a slave.\n\nIn addition to this vein of docility, which easily prompted me to learn\nwhatever was proposed for my instruction and improvement, I felt in\nmyself a sentiment of ambition, a desire to possess the qualifications\nwhich I found to be productive of esteem, and that should enable me to\nexcel among my contemporaries. I was ambitious to be a leader, and to be\nregarded by others with feelings of complacency. I had no wish to rule\nby brute force and compulsion; but I was desirous to govern by love, and\nhonour, and \"the cords of a man.\"\n\nI do not imagine that, when I aver thus much of myself, I am bringing\nforward any thing unprecedented, or that multitudes of my fellow-men do\nnot largely participate with me.\n\nThe question therefore I am considering is, through what agency, and\nwith what engines, a youth thus disposed, and with these qualifications,\nis to be initiated in all liberal arts.\n\nI will go back no further than to the commencement of the learning of\nLatin. All before was so easy to me, as never to have presented the idea\nof a task. I was immediately put into the accidence. No explanation was\nattempted to be given why Latin was to be of use to me, or why it was\nnecessary to commit to memory the cases of nouns and the tenses of\nverbs. I know not whether this was owing to the unwillingness of my\ninstructor to give himself the trouble, or to my supposed incapacity to\napprehend the explanation. The last of these I do not admit. My\ndocility however came to my aid, and I did not for a moment harbour\nany repugnance to the doing what was required of me. At first, and\nunassisted in the enquiry, I felt a difficulty in supposing that the\nEnglish language, all the books in my father's library, did not contain\nevery thing that it would be necessary for me to know. In no long\ntime however I came to experience a pleasure in turning the thoughts\nexpressed in an unknown tongue into my own; and I speedily understood\nthat I could never be on a level with those eminent scholars whom it was\nmy ambition to rival, without the study of the classics.\n\nWhat then were the obstacles, that should in any degree counteract my\nsmooth and rapid progress in the studies suggested to me? I can conceive\nonly two.\n\nFirst, the versatility and fickleness which in a greater or less degree\nbeset all human minds, particularly in the season of early youth.\nHowever docile we may be, and willing to learn, there will be periods,\nwhen either some other object powerfully solicits us, or satiety creeps\nin, and makes us wish to occupy our attention with any thing else rather\nthan with the task prescribed us. But this is no powerful obstacle.\nThe authority of the instructor, a grave look, and the exercise of a\nmoderate degree of patience will easily remove it in such a probationer\nas we are here considering.\n\nAnother obstacle is presumption. The scholar is willing to conceive\nwell of his own capacity. He has a vanity in accomplishing the task\nprescribed him in the shortest practicable time. He is impatient to go\naway from the business imposed upon him, to things of his own election,\nand occupations which his partialities and his temper prompt him to\npursue. He has a pride in saying to himself, \"This, which was a business\ngiven to occupy me for several hours, I can accomplish in less than\none.\" But the presumption arising out of these views is easily subdued.\nIf the pupil is wrong in his calculation, the actual experiment will\nspeedily convince him of his error. He is humbled by and ashamed of his\nmistake. The merely being sent back to study his lesson afresh, is on\nthe face of the thing punishment enough.\n\nIt follows from this view of the matter, that an ingenuous youth,\nendowed with sufficient capacity for the business prescribed him, may\nbe led on in the path of intellectual acquisition and improvement with a\nsilken cord. It will demand a certain degree of patience on the part\nof the instructor. But Heaven knows, that this patience is sufficiently\ncalled into requisition when the instructor shall be the greatest\ndisciplinarian that ever existed. Kind tones and encouragement will\nanimate the learner amidst many a difficult pass. A grave remark may\nperhaps sometimes be called for. And, if the preceptor and the pupil\nhave gone on like friends, a grave remark, a look expressive of rebuke,\nwill be found a very powerful engine. The instructor should smooth the\nbusiness of instruction to his pupil, by appealing to his understanding,\ndeveloping his taste, and assisting him to remark the beauties of the\ncomposition on which he is occupied.\n\nI come now then to the consideration of the two engines mentioned in the\ncommencement of this Essay, reprehension and chastisement.\n\nAnd here, as in what went before, I am reduced to the referring to my\nown experience, and looking back into the history of my own mind.\n\nI say then, that reprehension and reprimand can scarcely ever be\nnecessary. The pupil should undoubtedly be informed when he is wrong.\nHe should be told what it is that he ought to have omitted, and that\nhe ought to have done. There should be no reserve in this. It will be\nworthy of the highest censure, if on these points the instructor should\nbe mealy-mouthed, or hesitate to tell the pupil in the plainest terms,\nof his faults, his bad habits, and the dangers that beset his onward and\nhonourable path.\n\nBut this may be best, and most beneficially done, and in a way most\nsuitable to the exigence, and to the party to be corrected, in a few\nwords. The rest is all an unwholsome tumour, the disease of speech, and\nnot the sound and healthful substance through which its circulation and\nlife are conveyed.\n\nThere is always danger of this excrescence of speech, where the speaker\nis the umpire, and feels himself at liberty, unreproved, to say what he\npleases. He is charmed with the sound of his own voice. The periods flow\nnumerous from his tongue, and he gets on at his ease. There is in\nall this an image of empire; and the human mind is ever prone to be\ndelighted in the exercise of unrestricted authority. The pupil in this\ncase stands before his instructor in an attitude humble, submissive, and\nbowing to the admonition that is communicated to him. The speaker says\nmore than it was in his purpose to say; and he knows not how to arrest\nhimself in his triumphant career. He believes that he is in no danger of\nexcess, and recollects the old proverb that \"words break no bones.\"\n\nBut a syllable more than is necessary and justly measured, is materially\nof evil operation to ingenuous youth. The mind of such a youth is tender\nand flexible, and easily swayed one way or the other. He believes almost\nevery thing that he is bid to believe; and the admonition that is given\nhim with all the symptoms of friendliness and sincerity he is prompt\nto subscribe to. If this is wantonly aggravated to him, he feels the\noppression, and is galled with the injustice. He knows himself guiltless\nof premeditated wrong. He has not yet learned that his condition is that\nof a slave; and he feels a certain impatience at his being considered as\nsuch, though he probably does not venture to express it. He shuts up the\nsense of this despotism in his own bosom; and it is his first lesson of\nindependence and rebellion and original sin.\n\nIt is one of the grossest mistakes of which we can be guilty, if we\nconfound different offences and offenders together. The great and\nthe small alike appear before us in the many-coloured scene of human\nsociety, and, if we reprehend bitterly and rate a juvenile sinner\nfor the fault, which he scarcely understood, and assuredly had not\npremeditated, we break down at once a thousand salutary boundaries,\nand reduce the ideas of right and wrong in his mind to a portentous and\nterrible chaos. The communicator of liberal knowledge assuredly\nought not to confound his office with that of a magistrate at\na quarter-sessions, who though he does not sit in judgment upon\ntransgressions of the deepest and most atrocious character, yet has\nbrought before him in many cases defaulters of a somewhat hardened\ndisposition, whose lot has been cast among the loose and the profligate,\nand who have been carefully trained to a certain audacity of temper,\ntaught to look upon the paraphernalia of justice with scorn, and\nto place a sort of honour in sustaining hard words and the lesser\nvisitations of punishment with unflinching nerve.\n\nIf this is the judgment we ought to pass upon the bitter and galling\nand humiliating terms of reprehension apt to be made use of by the\ninstructor to his pupil, it is unnecessary to say a word on the subject\nof chastisement. If such an expedient is ever to be had recourse to,\nit can only be in cases of contumaciousness and rebellion; and then the\ninstructor cannot too unreservedly say to himself, \"This is matter of\ndeep humiliation to me: I ought to have succeeded by an appeal to the\nunderstanding and ingenuous feelings of youth; but I am reduced to a\nconfession of my impotence.\"\n\nBut the topic which, most of all, I was desirous to bring forward in\nthis Essay, is that of the language so customarily employed by the\nimpatient and irritated preceptor, \"Hereafter, in a state of mature\nand ripened judgment, you will thank me for the severity I now exercise\ntowards you.\"\n\nNo; it may safely be answered: that time will never arrive.\n\nAs, in one of my earlier Essays(33), I undertook to shew that there is\nnot so much difference between the talents of one man and another as has\noften been apprehended, so we are guilty of a gross error in the way\nin which we divide the child from the man, and consider him as if he\nbelonged to a distinct species of beings.\n\n\n   (33) Essay II.\n\n\nI go back to the recollections of my youth, and can scarcely find where\nto draw the line between ineptness and maturity. The thoughts that\noccurred to me, as far back as I can recollect them, were often shrewd;\nthe suggestions ingenious; the judgments not seldom acute. I feel myself\nthe same individual all through.\n\nSometimes I was unreasonably presumptuous, and sometimes unnecessarily\ndistrustful. Experience has taught me in various instances a sober\nconfidence in my decisions; but that is all the difference. So to\nexpress it, I had then the same tools to work with as now; but the\nmagazine of materials upon which I had to operate was scantily supplied.\nLike the apothecary in Romeo and Juliet, the faculty, such as it was,\nwas within me; but my shelves contained but a small amount of furniture:\n\n      A beggarly account of empty boxes,\n      Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses,\n      Which, thinly scattered, served to make a shew.\n\n\nIn speaking thus of the intellectual powers of my youth, I am however\nconceding too much. It is true, \"Practice maketh perfect.\" But it is\nsurprising, in apt and towardly youth, how much there is to commend in\nthe first essays. The novice, who has his faculties lively and on the\nalert, will strike with his hammer almost exactly where the blow ought\nto be placed, and give nearly the precisely right force to the act. He\nwill seize the thread it was fitting to seize; and, though he fail again\nand again, will shew an adroitness upon the whole that we scarcely know\nhow to account for. The man whose career shall ultimately be crowned\nwith success, will demonstrate in the beginning that he was destined to\nsucceed.\n\nThere is therefore no radical difference between the child and the man.\nHis flesh becomes more firm and sinewy; his bones grow more solid\nand powerful; his joints are more completely strung. But he is still\nessentially the same being that he was. When a genuine philosopher holds\na new-born child in his arms, and carefully examines it, he perceives\nin it various indications of temper and seeds of character. It was all\nthere, though folded up and confused, and not obtruding itself upon the\nremark of every careless spectator. It continues with the child through\nlife, grows with his growth, and never leaves him till he is at last\nconsigned to the tomb. How absurd then by artful rules and positive\ninstitutions to undertake to separate what can never be divided! The\nchild is occasionally grave and reflecting, and deduces well-founded\ninferences; he draws on the past, and plunges into the wide ocean of\nthe future. In proportion as the child advances into the youth, his\nintervals of gravity increase, and he builds up theories and judgments,\nsome of which no future time shall suffice to overturn. It is idle to\nsuppose that the first activity of our faculties, when every thing is\nnew and produces an unbated impression, when the mind is uncumbered, and\nevery interest and every feeling bid us be observing and awake, should\npass for nothing. We lay up stores then, which shall never be exhausted.\nOur minds are the reverse of worn and obtuse. We bring faculties into\nthe world with us fresh from the hands of the all-bounteous giver; they\nare not yet moulded to a senseless routine; they are not yet corrupted\nby the ill lessons of effrontery, impudence and vice. Childhood is\nbeautiful; youth is ingenuous; and it can be nothing but a principle\nwhich is hostile to all that most adorns this sublunary scene, that\nwould with violence and despotic rule mar the fairest flower that\ncreation has to boast.\n\nIt happens therefore almost unavoidably that, when the man mature\nlooks back upon the little incidents of his youth, he sees them to a\nsurprising degree in the same light, and forms the same conclusions\nrespecting them, as he did when they were actually passing. \"The\nforgeries of opinion,\" says Cicero, \"speedily pass away; but the rules\nand decisions of nature are strengthened.\" Bitter reproaches and acts of\nviolence are the offspring of perturbation engendered upon imbecility,\nand therefore can never be approved upon a sober and impartial revision.\nAnd, if they are to be impeached in the judgment of an equal and\nindifferent observer, we may be sure they will be emphatically condemned\nby the grave and enlightened censor who looks back upon the years of\nhis own nonage, and recollects that he was himself the victim of\nthe intemperance to be pronounced upon. The interest that he must\nnecessarily take in the scenes in which he once had an engrossing\nconcern, will supply peculiar luminousness to his views. He taxes\nhimself to be just. The transaction is over now, and is passed to the\nevents that preceded the universal deluge. He holds the balance with\na steadiness, which sets at defiance all attempts to give it a false\ndirection one way or the other. But the judgment he made on the case\nat the time, and immediately after the humiliation he suffered, remains\nwith him. It was the sentiment of his ripening youth; it was the opinion\nof his opening manhood; and it still attends him, when he is already\nfast yielding to the incroachments and irresistible assaults of\ndeclining years.\n\n\n\n\nESSAY XV. OF LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP.\n\nWho is it that says, \"There is no love but among equals?\" Be it who it\nmay, it is a saying universally known, and that is in every one's mouth.\nThe contrary is precisely the truth, and is the great secret of every\nthing that is admirable in our moral nature.\n\nBy love it is my intention here to understand, not a calm, tranquil,\nand, as it were, half-pronounced feeling, but a passion of the mind. We\nmay doubtless entertain an approbation of other men, without adverting\nto the question how they stand in relation to ourselves, as equals or\notherwise. But the sentiment I am here considering, is that where the\nperson in whom it resides most strongly sympathises with the joys and\nsorrows of another, desires his gratification, hopes for his welfare,\nand shrinks from the anticipation of his being injured; in a word, is\nthe sentiment which has most the spirit of sacrifice in it, and prepares\nthe person in whom it dwells, to postpone his own advantage to the\nadvantage of him who is the object of it.\n\nHaving placed love among the passions, which is no vehement assumption,\nI then say, there can be no passion, and by consequence no love, where\nthere is not imagination. In cases where every thing is understood, and\nmeasured, and reduced to rule, love is out of the question. Whenever\nthis sentiment prevails, I must have my attention fixed more on the\nabsent than the present, more upon what I do not see than on what I do\nsee. My thoughts will be taken up with the future or the past, with\nwhat is to come or what has been. Of the present there is necessarily\nno image. Sentiment is nothing, till you have arrived at a mystery and\na veil, something that is seen obscurely, that is just hinted at in the\ndistance, that has neither certain outline nor colour, but that is left\nfor the mind to fill up according to its pleasure and in the best manner\nit is able.\n\nThe great model of the affection of love in human beings, is the\nsentiment which subsists between parents and children.\n\nLet not this appear a paradox. There is another relation in human\nsociety to which this epithet has more emphatically been given: but,\nif we analyse the matter strictly, we shall find that all that is most\nsacred and beautiful in the passion between the sexes, has relation to\noffspring. What Milton calls, \"The rites mysterious of connubial love,\"\nwould have little charm in them in reflection, to a mind one degree\nabove the brutes, were it not for the mystery they include, of their\ntendency to give existence to a new human creature like ourselves. Were\nit not for this circumstance, a man and a woman would hardly ever have\nlearned to live together; there scarcely could have been such a thing\nas domestic society; but every intercourse of this sort would have been\n\"casual, joyless, unendeared;\" and the propensity would have brought\nalong with it nothing more of beauty, lustre and grace, than the\npure animal appetites of hunger and thirst. Bearing in mind these\nconsiderations, I do not therefore hesitate to say, that the great\nmodel of the affection of love in human beings, is the sentiment which\nsubsists between parents and children.\n\nThe original feature in this sentiment is the conscious feeling of\nthe protector and the protected. Our passions cannot subsist in lazy\nindolence; passion and action must operate on each other; passion must\nproduce action, and action give strength to the tide of passion. We do\nnot vehemently desire, where we can do nothing. It is in a very faint\nway that I entertain a wish to possess the faculty of flying; and an\nordinary man can scarcely be said to desire to be a king or an emperor.\nNone but a madman, of plebeian rank, falls in love with a princess. But\nshew me a good thing within my reach; convince me that it is in my power\nto attain it; demonstrate to me that it is fit for me, and I am fit for\nit; then begins the career of passion. In the same manner, I cannot love\na person vehemently, and strongly interest myself in his miscarriages or\nsuccess, till I feel that I can be something to him. Love cannot dwell\nin a state of impotence. To affect and be affected, this is the common\nnature I require; this is the being that is like unto myself; all other\nlikeness resides in the logic and the definition, but has nothing to do\nwith feeling or with practice.\n\nWhat can be more clear and sound in explanation, than the love of a\nparent to his child? The affection he bears and its counterpart are the\nornaments of the world, and the spring of every thing that makes life\nworth having. Whatever besides has a tendency to illustrate and honour\nour nature, descends from these, or is copied from these, grows out of\nthem as the branches of a tree from the trunk, or is formed upon them as\na model, and derives from them its shape, its character, and its soul.\nYet there are men so industrious and expert to strip the world we live\nin of all that adorns it, that they can see nothing glorious in these\naffections, but find the one to be all selfishness, and the other all\nprejudice and superstition.\n\nThe love of the parent to his child is nursed and fostered by two plain\nconsiderations; first, that the subject is capable of receiving much,\nand secondly, that my power concerning it is great and extensive.\n\nWhen an infant is presented to my observation, what a wide field of\nsentiment and reflection is opened to me! Few minds are industrious and\nductile enough completely to compass this field, if the infant is only\naccidentally brought under their view. But, if it is an infant with\nwhich I begin to be acquainted to-day, and my acquaintance with which\nshall not end perhaps till one of us ceases to exist, how is it possible\nthat the view of its little figure should not lead me to the meditation\nof its future history, the successive stages of human life, and the\nvarious scenes and mutations and vicissitudes and fortunes through\nwhich it is destined to pass? The Book of Fate lies open before me. This\ninfant, powerless and almost impassive now, is reserved for many sorrows\nand many joys, and will one day possess a power, formidable and fearful\nto afflict those within its reach, or calculated to diffuse blessings,\nwisdom, virtue, happiness, to all around. I conceive all the various\ndestinations of which man is susceptible; my fancy at least is free to\nselect that which pleases me best; I unfold and pursue it in all its\ndirections, observe the thorns and difficulties with which it is\nbeset, and conjure up to my thoughts all that it can boast of inviting,\ndelightful and honourable.\n\nBut if the infant that is near to me lays hold of my imagination and\naffections at the moment in which he falls under my observation, how\nmuch more do I become interested in him, as he advances from year to\nyear! At first, I have the blessing of the gospel upon me, in that,\n\"having not seen, yet I believe.\" But, as his powers expand, I\nunderstand him better. His little eye begins to sparkle with meaning;\nhis tongue tells a tale that may be understood; his very tones, and\ngestures, and attitudes, all inform me concerning what he shall be. I am\nlike a florist, who has received a strange plant from a distant country.\nAt first he sees only the stalk, and the leaves, and the bud having yet\nno other colour than that of the leaves. But as he watches his plant\nfrom day to day, and from hour to hour, the case which contains the\nflower divides, and betrays first one colour and then another, till the\nshell gradually subsides more and more towards the stalk, and the figure\nof the flower begins now to be seen, and its radiance and its pride to\nexpand itself to the ravished observer.--Every lesson that the child\nleans, every comment that he makes upon it, every sport that he pursues,\nevery choice that he exerts, the demeanour that he adopts to his\nplayfellows, the modifications and character of his little fits of\nauthority or submission, all make him more and more an individual to\nme, and open a wider field for my sagacity or my prophecy, as to what he\npromises to be, and what he may be made.\n\nBut what gives, as has already been observed, the point and the finish\nto all the interest I take respecting him, lies in the vast power I\npossess to influence and direct his character and his fortune. At first\nit is abstract power, but, when it has already been exerted (as the\nwriters on politics as a science have observed of property), the sweat\nof my brow becomes mingled with the apple I have gathered, and my\ninterest is greater. No one understands my views and projects entirely\nbut myself, and the scheme I have conceived will suffer, if I do not\ncomplete it as I began.\n\nAnd there are men that say, that all this mystery, the most beautiful\nattitude of human nature, and the crown of its glory, is pure\nselfishness!\n\nLet us now turn from the view of the parental, to that of the filial\naffection.\n\nThe great mistake that has been made on this subject, arises from\nthe taking it nakedly and as a mere abstraction. It has been sagely\nremarked, that when my father did that which occasioned me to come into\nexistence, he intended me no benefit, and therefore I owe him no thanks.\nAnd the inference which has been made from this wise position is, that\nthe duty of children to parents is a mere imposture, a trick, employed\nby the old to defraud the young out of their services.\n\nI grant most readily, that the mere material ligament that binds\ntogether the father and the child, by itself is worthless, and that he\nwho owes nothing more than this to his father, owes him nothing. The\nnatural, unanimated relationship is like the grain of mustard-seed in\nthe discourses of Jesus Christ, \"which indeed is the least of all seeds;\nbut, when it is unfolded and grows up, it becomes a mighty tree, so that\nthe birds of the air may come and lodge in its branches.\"\n\nThe hard and insensible man may know little of the debt he owes to his\nfather; but he that is capable of calling up the past, and beholding the\nthings that are not as if they now were, will see the matter in a very\ndifferent light. Incalculable are the privations (in a great majority\nof instances), the toils, the pains, the anxieties, that every child\nimposes on his father from the first hour of his existence. If he could\nknow the ceaseless cares, the tender and ardent feelings, the almost\nincredible efforts and exertions, that have accompanied him in his\nfather's breast through the whole period of his growth, instead of\nthinking that he owed his parent nothing, he would stand still and\nwonder that one human creature could do so much for another.\n\nI grant that all this may be done for a child by a stranger, and that\nthen in one sense the obligation would be greater. It is however barely\npossible that all this should be done. The stranger wants the first\nexciting cause, the consideration, \"This creature by the great scheme of\nnature belongs to me, and is cast upon my care.\" And, as the tie in the\ncase of the stranger was not complete in the beginning, so neither can\nit be made so in the sequel. The little straggler is like the duckling\nhatched in the nest of a hen; there is danger every day, that as the\nnursling begins to be acquainted with its own qualities, it may plunge\nitself into another element, and swim away from its benefactor.\n\nEven if we put all these considerations out of the question, still the\naffection of the child to its parent of adoption, wants the kernel, and,\nif I may so speak, the soul, of the connection which has been formed\nand modelled by the great hand of nature. If the mere circumstance of\nfiliation and descent creates no debt, it however is the principle of a\nvery close connection. One of the most memorable mysteries of nature,\nis how, out of the slightest of all connections (for such, literally\nspeaking, is that between father and child), so many coincidences should\narise. The child resembles his parent in feature, in temperament, in\nturn of mind, and in class of disposition, while at the same time in\nmany particulars, in these same respects, he is a new and individual\ncreature. In one view therefore the child is merely the father\nmultiplied and repeated. Now one of the indefeasible principles of\naffection is the partaking of a common nature; and as man is a species\nby himself, so to a certain degree is every nation and every family; and\nthis consideration, when added to the moral and spiritual ties already\ntreated of, undoubtedly has a tendency to give them their zest and\nperfection.\n\nBut even this is not the most agreeable point of view in which we may\nconsider the filial affection. I come back to my first position,\nthat where there is no imagination, there can be no passion, and by\nconsequence no love. No parent ever understood his child, and no child\never understood his parent. We have seen that the affectionate parent\nconsiders his child like a flower in the bud, as a mine of power that\nis to be unfolded, as a creature that is to act and to pass through he\nknows not what, as a canvas that \"gives ample room and verge enough,\"\nfor his prophetic soul to hang over in endless visions, and his\nintellectual pencil to fill up with various scenes and fortunes. And, if\nthe parent does not understand his child, certainly as little does the\nchild understand his parent. Wherever this relation subsists in\nits fairest form, the parent is as a God, a being qualified with\nsupernatural powers, to his offspring. The child consults his father\nas an oracle; to him he proposes all his little questions; from him he\nlearns his natural philosophy, his morals, his rules of conduct, his\nreligion, and his creed. The boy is uninformed on every point; and the\nfather is a vast Encyclopedia, not merely of sciences, but of feelings,\nof sagacity, of practical wisdom, and of justice, which the son consults\non all occasions, and never consults in vain. Senseless and inexpert is\nthat parent, who endeavours to govern the mind by authority, and to lay\ndown rugged and peremptory dogmas to his child; the child is fully and\nunavoidably prepared to receive every thing with unbounded deference,\nand to place total reliance in the oracle which nature has assigned him.\nHabits, how beautiful! Inestimable benefit of nature, that has given\nme a prop against which to sustain my unripened strength, and has not\nturned me loose to wander with tottering steps amidst the vast desert of\nsociety!\n\nBut it is not merely for contemplative wisdom that the child honours\nhis parent; he sees in him a vast fund of love, attachment and sympathy.\nThat he cannot mistake; and it is all a mystery to him. He says, What\nam I, that I should be the object of this? and whence comes it? He sees\nneither the fountain from which it springs, nor the banks that confine\nit. To him it is an ocean, unfathomable, and without a shore.\n\nTo the bounty of its operations he trusts implicitly. The stores of\njudgment and knowledge he finds in his father, prompt him to trust it.\nIn many instances where it appeared at first obscure and enigmatical,\nthe event has taught him to acknowledge its soundness. The mutinousness\nof passion will sometimes excite a child to question the decrees of his\nparent; it is very long before his understanding, as such, comes to set\nup a separate system, and teaches him to controvert the decisions of his\nfather.\n\nPerhaps I ought earlier to have stated, that the filial connection we\nhave here to consider, does not include those melancholy instances where\nsome woful defect or utter worthlessness in the parent counteracts the\nnatural course of the affections, but refers only to cases, where the\ncharacter of father is on the whole sustained with honour, and the\nprinciple of the connection is left to its true operation. In such cases\nthe child not only observes for himself the manifestations of wisdom and\ngoodness in his parent, but is also accustomed to hear well of him\nfrom all around. There is a generous conspiracy in human nature, not to\ncounteract the honour borne by the offspring to him from whom he sprung,\nand the wholsome principle of superiority and dependence which is almost\nindispensible between persons of different ages dwelling under the same\nroof. And, exclusively of this consideration, the men who are chiefly\nseen by the son are his father's friends and associates; and it is the\nvery bent, and, as it were, law of our nature, that we do not associate\nmuch, but with persons whom we favour, and who are prepared to mention\nus with kindness and honour.\n\nThus every way the child is deeply imbued with veneration for his\nparent, and forms the habit of regarding him as his book of wisdom, his\nphilosopher and guide. He is accustomed to hear him spoken of as a true\nfriend, an active ally, and a pattern of justice and honour; and he\nfinds him so. Now these are the true objects of affection,--wisdom and\nbeneficence; and the human heart loves this beneficence better when it\nis exercised towards him who loves, first, because inevitably in\nalmost all instances we are best pleased with the good that is done to\nourselves, and secondly, because it can scarcely happen but that we in\nthat case understand it best, both in its operation and its effects.\n\nThe active principles of religion are all moulded upon this familiar and\nsensible relation of father and child: and to understand whet the human\nheart is capable to conceive on this subject, we have only to refer to\nthe many eloquent and glowing treatises that have been written upon the\nlove of God to his creatures, and the love that the creature in return\nowes to his God. I am not now considering religion in a speculative\npoint of view, or enquiring among the different sects and systems of\nreligion what it is that is true; but merely producing religion as\nan example of what have been the conceptions of the human mind in\nsuccessive ages of the world on the subject of love.\n\nThis All that we behold, the immensity of the universe, the admirable\nharmony and subtlety of its structure, as they appear in the vastest and\nthe minutest bodies, is considered by religion, as the emanation of pure\nlove, a mighty impulse and ardour in its great author to realise the\nidea existing in his mind, and to produce happiness. The Providence\nthat watches over us, so that not a sparrow dies unmarked, and that \"the\ngreat Sensorium of the world vibrates, if a hair of our head but\nfalls to the ground in the remotest desert of his creation,\" is\nstill unremitted, never-satiated love. And, to go from this to the\npeculiarities of the Christian doctrine, \"Greater love hath no man than\nthis, that a man lay down his life for his friends: God so loved the\nworld, that he gave his only-begotten Son to suffer, to be treated\ncontumeliously, and to die with ignominy, that we might live.\"\n\nIf on the other hand we consider the love which the creature must\nnaturally pay to his creator, we shall find that the affection we can\nsuppose the most ingenuous child to bear to the worthiest parent, is\na very faint image of the passion which may be expected to grow out of\nthis relation. In God, as he is represented to us in the books of the\nworthiest divines, is every thing that can command love; wisdom to\nconceive, power to execute, and beneficence actually to carry\ninto effect, whatever is excellent and admirable. We are lost in\ncontemplating the depth and immensity of his perfections. \"Every good\nand every perfect gift is from the universal Father, with whom is\nno variableness, neither shadow of turning.\" The most soothing and\ngratifying of all sentiments, is that of entire confidence in the divine\ngoodness, a reliance which no adversity can shake, and which supports\nhim that entertains it under every calamity, that sees the finger of God\nin every thing that comes to pass, that says, \"It is good for me to be\nafflicted,\" believes, that \"all things work together for blessings\"\nto the pious and the just, and is intimately persuaded that \"our light\naffliction, which is but for a moment, is the means and the earnest of a\nfar more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.\"\n\nIf we descend from these great archetypes, the love between parent and\nchild, and between the creator and his creature, we shall still find the\nsame inequality the inseparable attendant upon the most perfect ties\nof affection. The ancients seem to have conceived the truest and most\nexalted ideas on the subject of friendship. Among the most celebrated\ninstances are the friendship of Achilles and Patroclus, Orestes\nand Pylades, Aeneas and Achates, Cyrus and Araspes, Alexander and\nHephaestion, Scipio and Laelius. In each of these the parties are, the\ntrue hero, the man of lofty ambition, the magnificent personage in whom\nis concentred every thing that the historian or the poet was able to\nrealise of excellence, and the modest and unpretending individual in\nwhom his confidence was reposed. The grand secret of the connection is\nunfolded in the saying of the Macedonian conqueror, \"Craterus loves the\nking, but Hephaestion loves Alexander.\" Friendship is to the loftier\nmind the repose, the unbending of the soul. The great man (whatever may\nbe the department in which his excellence consists) has enough of his\ngreatness, when he stands before the world, and receives the homage that\nis paid to his merits. Ever and anon he is anxious to throw aside this\nincumbrance, and be as a man merely to a man. He wishes to forget the\n\"pride, pomp, and circumstance\" of greatness, and to be that only which\nhe is himself. He desires at length to be sure, that he receives\nno adulation, that he is accosted with no insincerity, and that the\nindividual to whose society he has thought proper to withdraw, has no\nby-ends, no sinister purposes in all his thoughts. What he seeks for, is\na true friend, a being who sincerely loves, one who is attached to\nhim, not for the accidents that attend him, but for what most strictly\nbelongs to him, and of which he cannot be divested. In this friend there\nis neither interested intention nor rivalry.\n\nSuch are the characteristic features of the superior party in these\nexemplars of friendship among the ancients. Of the unpretending,\nunassuming party Homer, the great master of the affections and emotions\nin remoter ages, has given us the fullest portrait in the character of\nPatroclus. The distinguishing feature of his disposition is a melting\nand affectionate spirit, the concentred essence of tenderness and\nhumanity. When Patroclus comes from witnessing the disasters of the\nGreeks, to collect a report of which he had been sent by Achilles, he\nis \"overwhelmed with floods of tears, like a spring which pours down\nits waters from the steep edge of a precipice.\" It is thus that Jupiter\ncharacterises him when he lies dead in the field of battle:\n\nThou (addressing himself in his thoughts to Hector) hast slain the\nfriend of Achilles, not less memorable for the blandness of his temper,\nthan the bravery of his deeds.\n\nIt is thus that Menelaus undertakes to excite the Grecian chiefs to\nrescue his body:\n\nLet each man recollect the sweetness of his disposition for, as long as\nhe lived, he was unremitted in kindness to all. When Achilles proposes\nthe games at the funeral, he says, \"On any other occasion my horses\nshould have started for the prize, but now it cannot be. They have lost\ntheir incomparable groom, who was accustomed to refresh their limbs\nwith water, and anoint their flowing manes; and they are inconsolable.\"\nBriseis also makes her appearance among the mourners, avowing that,\n\"when her husband had been slain in battle, and her native city laid in\nashes, this generous man prevented her tears, averring to her, that she\nshould be the wife of her conqueror, and that he would himself spread\nthe nuptial banquet for her in the hero's native kingdom of Phthia.\"\n\nThe reciprocity which belongs to a friendship between unequals may\nwell be expected to give a higher zest to their union. Each party is\nnecessary to the other. The superior considers him towards whom he pours\nout his affection, as a part of himself.\n\n     The head is not more native to the heart,\n     The hand more instrumental to the mouth.\n\nHe cannot separate himself from him, but at the cost of a fearful maim.\nWhen the world is shut out by him, when he retires into solitude, and\nfalls back upon himself, then his unpretending friend is most of all\nnecessary to him. He is his consolation and his pleasure, the safe\ncoffer in which he reposits all his anxieties and sorrows. If the\nprincipal, instead of being a public man, is a man of science, this kind\nof unbending becomes certainly not the less welcome to him. He wishes\noccasionally to forget the severity of his investigations, neither\nto have his mind any longer wound up and stretched to the height of\nmeditation, nor to feel that he needs to be any way on his guard, or not\ncompletely to give the rein to all his sallies and the sportiveness of\nhis soul. Having been for a considerable time shut up in sequestered\nreflection, he wishes, it may be, to have the world, the busy\nimpassioned world, brought to his ears, without his being obliged to\nenter into its formalities and mummeries. If he desires to speak of the\ntopics which had so deeply engaged him, he can keep as near the edge\nas he pleases, and drop or resume them as his fancy may prompt. And it\nseems useless to say, how much his modest and unassuming friend will be\ngratified in being instrumental to relieve the labours of his principal,\nin feeling that he is necessary to him, and in meditating on the delight\nhe receives in being made the chosen companion and confident of him\nwhom he so ardently admires. It was precisely in this spirit, that Fulke\nGreville, two hundred years ago, directed that it should be inscribed on\nhis tomb, \"Here lies the friend of Sir Philip Sidney.\" Tenderness on the\none part, and a deep feeling of honour and respect on the other, give a\ncompleteness to the union which it must otherwise for ever want. \"There\nis no limit, none,\" to the fervour with which the stronger goes forward\nto protect the weak; while in return the less powerful would encounter\na thousand deaths rather than injury should befall the being to whom in\ngenerosity and affection he owes so much.\n\nIn the mean time, though inequality is necessary to give this\ncompleteness to friendship, the inequality must not be too great.\n\nThe inferior party must be able to understand and appreciate the\nsense and the merits of him to whom he is thus bound. There must be\nno impediment to hinder the communications of the principal from being\nfully comprehended, and his sentiments entirely participated. There must\nbe a boundless confidence, without apprehension that the power of\nthe stronger party can by the remotest possibility be put forth\nungenerously. \"Perfect love casteth out fear.\" The evangelist applies\nthis aphorism even to the love of the creature to his creator. \"The Lord\nspake unto Moses, face to face, as a man speaketh unto his friend.\"\nIn the union of which I am treating the demonstrative and ordinary\nappearance will be that of entire equality, which is heightened by the\ninner, and for the greater part unexplained and undeveloped, impression\nof a contrary nature. There is in either party a perfect reliance, an\nidea of inequality with the most entire assurance that it can never\noperate unworthily in the stronger party, or produce insincerity or\nservility in the weaker. There will in reality always be some reserve,\nsome shadow of fear between equals, which in the friendship of unequals,\nif happily assorted, can find no place. There is a pouring out of the\nheart on the one side, and a cordial acceptance on the other, which\nwords are inadequate to describe.\n\nTo proceed. If from friendship we go forward to that which in all\nlanguages is emphatically called love, we shall still find ourselves\ndogged and attended by inequality. Nothing can be more certain, however\nwe may seek to modify and abate it, than the inequality of the sexes.\nLet us attend to it as it stands in Milton:\n\n      For contemplation he and velour formed\n      For softness she and sweet attractive grace;\n      He for God only, she for God in him.\n\nThus it is painted to us as having been in Paradise; and with similar\ninequality have the sexes subsisted in all ages and nations since. If\nit were possible to take from the fair sex its softness and attractive\ngrace, and endow it instead with audacious, masculine and military\nqualities, there is scarcely any one that does not perceive, with\nwhatever advantages it might be attended in other respects, that it\nwould be far from tending to cherish and increase the passion of love.\n\nIt is in reality obvious, that man and woman, as they come from the\nhands of nature, are so much upon a par with each other, as not to\nafford the best subjects between whom to graft a habit of entire,\nunalterable affection. In the scenes of vulgar and ordinary society,\na permanent connection between persons of opposite sexes is too apt to\ndegenerate into a scene of warfare, where each party is for ever engaged\nin a struggle for superiority, and neither will give way. A penetrating\nobserver, with whom in former days I used intimately to converse, was\naccustomed to say, that there was generally more jarring and ill blood\nbetween the two parties in the first year of their marriage, than during\nall the remainder of their lives. It is at length found necessary, as\nbetween equally matched belligerents on the theatre of history, that\nthey should come to terms, make a treaty of peace, or at least settle\ncertain laws of warfare, that they may not waste their strength in idle\nhostilities.\n\nThe nations of antiquity had a way of settling this question in a very\nsummary mode. As certain Oriental tribes have determined that women have\nno souls, and that nothing can be more proper than to shut them up,\nlike singing birds in cages, so the Greeks and Romans for the most\npart excluded their females from the society of the more martial sex.\nMarriage with them was a convenience merely; and the husband and wife\nwere in reality nothing more than the master and the slave. This point\nonce settled as a matter of national law, there was certainly in most\ncases little danger of any vexatious rivalship and struggle for power.\n\nBut there is nothing in which the superiority of modern times over the\nancient has been more conspicuous, than in our sentiments and practices\non this subject. This superiority, as well as several other of our most\nvaluable acquisitions, took its rise in what we call the dark ages.\nChivalry was for the most part the invention of the eleventh century.\nIts principle was built upon a theory of the sexes, giving to each a\nrelative importance, and assigning to both functions full of honour and\ngrace. The knights (and every gentleman during that period in due time\nbecame a knight) were taught, as the main features of their vocation,\nthe \"love of God and the ladies.\" The ladies in return were regarded as\nthe genuine censors of the deeds of knighthood. From these principles\narose a thousand lessons of humanity. The ladies regarded it as their\nglory to assist their champions to arm and to disarm, to perform for\nthem even menial services, to attend them in sickness, and to dress\ntheir wounds. They bestowed on them their colours, and sent them forth\nto the field hallowed with their benedictions. The knights on the other\nhand considered any slight towards the fair sex as an indelible stain to\ntheir order; they contemplated the graceful patronesses of their valour\nwith a feeling that partook of religious homage and veneration, and\nesteemed it as perhaps the first duty of their profession, to relieve\nthe wrongs, and avenge the injuries of the less powerful sex.\n\nThis simple outline as to the relative position of the one sex and the\nother, gave a new face to the whole scheme and arrangements of civil\nsociety. It is like those admirable principles in the order of the\nmaterial universe, or those grand discoveries brought to light from time\nto time by superior genius, so obvious and simple, that we wonder the\nmost common understanding could have missed them, yet so pregnant with\nresults, that they seem at once to put a new life and inspire a new\ncharacter into every part of a mighty and all-comprehensive mass.\n\nThe passion between the sexes, in its grosser sense, is a momentary\nimpulse merely; and there was danger that, when the fit and violence\nof the passion was over, the whole would subside into inconstancy and\na roving disposition, or at least into indifference and almost brutal\nneglect. But the institutions of chivalry immediately gave a new face to\nthis. Either sex conceived a deep and permanent interest in the other.\nIn the unsettled state of society which characterised the period when\nthese institutions arose, the defenceless were liable to assaults of\nmultiplied kinds, and the fair perpetually stood in need of a protector\nand a champion. The knights on the other hand were taught to derive\ntheir fame and their honour from the suffrages of the ladies. Each sex\nstood in need of the other; and the basis of their union was mutual\nesteem.\n\nThe effect of this was to give a hue of imagination to all their\nintercourse. A man was no longer merely a man, nor a woman merely\na woman. They were taught mutual deference. The woman regarded her\nprotector as something illustrious and admirable; and the man considered\nthe smiles and approbation of beauty as the adequate reward of his toils\nand his dangers. These modes of thinking introduced a nameless grace\ninto all the commerce of society. It was the poetry of life. Hence\noriginated the delightful narratives and fictions of romance; and human\nexistence was no longer the bare, naked train of vulgar incidents,\nwhich for so many ages of the world it had been accustomed to be. It\nwas clothed in resplendent hues, and wore all the tints of the rainbow.\nEquality fled and was no more; and love, almighty, perdurable love, came\nto supply its place.\n\nBy means of this state of things the vulgar impulse of the sexes towards\neach other, which alone was known to the former ages of the world, was\ntransformed into somewhat of a totally different nature. It became\na kind of worship. The fair sex looked upon their protectors, their\nfathers, their husbands, and the whole train of their chivalry, as\nsomething more than human. There was a grace in their motions, a\ngallantry in their bearing, and a generosity in their spirit of\nenterprise, that the softness of the female heart found irresistible.\nNor less on the other hand did the knights regard the sex to whose\nservice and defence they were sworn, as the objects of their perpetual\ndeference. They approached them with a sort of gallant timidity,\nlistened to their behests with submission, and thought the longest\ncourtship and devotion nobly recompensed by the final acceptance of the\nfair.\n\nThe romance and exaggeration characteristic of these modes of thinking\nhave gradually worn away in modern times; but much of what was most\nvaluable in them has remained. Love has in later ages never been\ndivested of the tenderness and consideration, which were thus rendered\nsome of its most estimable features. A certain desire in each party\nto exalt the other, and regard it as worthy of admiration, became\ninextricably interwoven with the simple passion. A sense of the honour\nthat was borne by the one to the other, had the happiest effect in\nqualifying the familiarity and unreserve in the communion of feelings\nand sentiments, without which the attachment of the sexes cannot\nsubsist. It is something like what the mystic divines describe of the\nbeatific vision, where entire wonder and adoration are not judged to be\nincompatible with the most ardent affection, and all meaner and selfish\nregards are annihilated.\n\nFrom what has been thus drawn together and recapitulated it seems\nclearly to follow, as was stated in the beginning, that love cannot\nexist in its purest form and with a genuine ardour, where the parties\nare, and are felt by each other to be, on an equality; but that in all\ncases it is requisite there should be a mutual deference and submission,\nagreeably to the apostolic precept, \"Likewise all of you be subject one\nto the other.\" There must be room for the imagination to exercise its\npowers; we must conceive and apprehend a thousand things which we do\nnot actually witness; each party must feel that it stands in need of\nthe other, and without the other cannot be complete; each party must be\nalike conscious of the power of receiving and conferring benefit; and\nthere must be the anticipation of a distant future, that may every day\nenhance the good to be imparted and enjoyed, and cause the individuals\nthus united perpetually to become more sensible of the fortunate\nevent which gave them to each other, and has thus entailed upon each a\nthousand advantages in which they could otherwise never have shared.\n\n\n\n\nESSAY XVI. OF FRANKNESS AND RESERVE.\n\nAnimals are divided into the solitary and the are gregarious: the former\nbeing only occasionally associated with its mate, and perhaps engaged in\nthe care of its offspring; the latter spending their lives in herds and\ncommunities. Man is of this last class or division.\n\nWhere the animals of any particular species live much in society, it\nseems requisite that in some degree they should be able to understand\neach other's purposes, and to act with a certain portion of concert.\n\nAll other animals are exceedingly limited in their powers of\ncommunication. But speech renders that being whom we justly entitle the\nlord of the creation, capable of a boundless interchange of ideas and\nintentions. Not only can we communicate to each other substantively our\nelections and preferences: we can also exhort and persuade, and employ\nreasons and arguments to convince our fellows, that the choice we have\nmade is also worthy of their adoption. We can express our thoughts, and\nthe various lights and shades, the bleedings, of our thoughts. Language\nis an instrument capable of being perpetually advanced in copiousness,\nperspicuity and power.\n\nNo principle of morality can be more just, than that which teaches us\nto regard every faculty we possess as a power intrusted to us for the\nbenefit of others as well as of ourselves, and which therefore we are\nbound to employ in the way which shall best conduce to the general\nadvantage.\n\n\"Speech was given us, that by it we might express our thoughts(34);\" in\nother words, our impressions, ideas and conceptions. We then therefore\nbest fulfil the scope of our nature, when we sincerely and unreservedly\ncommunicate to each other our feelings and apprehensions. Speech should\nbe to man in the nature of a fair complexion, the transparent medium\nthrough which the workings of the mind should be made legible.\n\n\n   (34) Moliere.\n\n\nI think I have somewhere read of Socrates, that certain of his friends\nexpostulated with him, that the windows of his house were so constructed\nthat every one who went by could discover all that passed within. \"And\nwherefore not?\" said the sage. \"I do nothing that I would wish to have\nconcealed from any human eye. If I knew that all the world observed\nevery thing I did, I should feel no inducement to change my conduct in\nthe minutest particular.\"\n\nIt is not however practicable that frankness should be carried to the\nextent above mentioned. It has been calculated that the human mind is\ncapable of being impressed with three hundred and twenty sensations in\na second of time. At all events we well know that, even \"while I am\nspeaking, a variety of sensations are experienced by me, without so much\nas interrupting, that is, without materially diverting, the train of\nmy ideas. My eye successively remarks a thousand objects that present\nthemselves, and my mind wanders to the different parts of my body,\nwithout occasioning the minutest obstacle to my discourse, or my being\nin any degree distracted by the multiplicity of these objects(35).\"\nIt is therefore beyond the reach of the faculty of speech, for me to\ncommunicate all the sensations I experience; and I am of necessity\nreduced to a selection.\n\n\n   (35) See above, Essay 7.\n\n\nNor is this the whole. We do not communicate all that we feel, and all\nthat we think; for this would be impertinent. We owe a certain deference\nand consideration to our fellow-men; we owe it in reality to ourselves.\nWe do not communicate indiscriminately all that passes within us. The\ntime would fail us; and \"the world would not contain the books that\nmight be written.\" We do not speak merely for the sake of speaking;\notherwise the communication of man with his fellow would be but one\neternal babble. Speech is to be employed for some useful purpose; nor\nought we to give utterance to any thing that shall not promise to be in\nsome way productive of benefit or amusement.\n\nFrankness has its limits, beyond which it would cease to be either\nadvantageous or virtuous. We are not to tell every thing: but we are not\nto conceal any thing, that it would be useful or becoming in us to\nutter. Our first duty regarding the faculty of speech is, not to keep\nback what it would be beneficial to our neighbour to know. But this is a\nnegative sincerity only. If we would acquire a character for frankness,\nwe must be careful that our conversation is such, as to excite in him\nthe idea that we are open, ingenuous and fearless. We must appear\nforward to speak all that will give him pleasure, and contribute to\nmaintain in him an agreeable state of being. It must be obvious that we\nare not artificial and on our guard.--After all, it is difficult to lay\ndown rules on this subject: the spring of whatever is desirable\nrespecting it, must be in the temper of the man with whom others have\nintercourse. He must be benevolent, sympathetic and affectionate. His\nheart must overflow with good-will; and he must be anxious to relieve\nevery little pain, and to contribute to the enjoyment and complacent\nfeelings, of those with whom he is permanently or accidentally\nconnected. \"Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.\"\n\nThere are two considerations by which we ought to be directed in the\nexercise of the faculty of speech.\n\nThe first is, that we should tell our neighbour all that it would be\nuseful to him to know. We must have no sinister or bye ends. \"No man\nliveth to himself.\" We are all of us members of the great congregation\nof mankind. The same blood should circulate through every limb and every\nmuscle. Our pulses should beat time to each other; and we should have\none common sensorium, vibrating throughout, upon every material accident\nthat occurs, and when any object is at stake essentially affecting the\nwelfare of our fellow-beings. We should forget ourselves in the interest\nthat we feel for the happiness of others; and, if this were universal,\neach man would be a gainer, inasmuch as he lost himself, and was cared\nand watched for by many.\n\nIn all these respects we must have no reserve. We should only consider\nwhat it is that it would be beneficial to have declared.\n\nWe must not look back to ourselves, and consult the dictates of a narrow\nand self-interested prudence. The whole essence of communication is\nadulterated, if, instead of attending to the direct effects of what\nsuggests itself to our tongue, we are to consider how by a circuitous\nroute it may react upon our own pleasures and advantage.\n\nNor only are we bound to communicate to our neighbour all that it will\nbe useful to him to know. We have many neighbours, beside those to whom\nwe immediately address ourselves. To these our absent fellow-beings,\nwe owe a thousand duties. We are bound to defend those whom we hear\naspersed, and who are spoken unworthily of by the persons whom we\nincidentally encounter. We should be the forward and spontaneous\nadvocates of merit in every shape and in every individual in whom we\nknow it to exist. What a character would that man make for himself, of\nwhom it was notorious that he consecrated his faculty of speech to the\nrefuting unjust imputations against whomsoever they were directed, to\nthe contradicting all false and malicious reports, and to the bringing\nforth obscure and unrecognised worth from the shades in which it lay\nhid! What a world should we live in, if all men were thus prompt and\nfearless to do justice to all the worth they knew or apprehended to\nexist! Justice, simple justice, if it extended no farther than barely\nto the faculty of speech, would in no long time put down all\nmisrepresentation and calumny, bring all that is good and meritorious\ninto honour, and, so to speak, set every man in his true and rightful\nposition. But whoever would attempt this, must do it in all honour,\nwithout parade, and with no ever-and-anon looking back upon his\nachievement, and saying, See to how much credit I am entitled!--as if\nhe laid more stress upon himself, the doer of this justice, than upon\njustice in its intrinsic nature and claims.\n\nBut we not only owe something to the advantage and interest of our\nneighbours, but something also to the sacred divinity of Truth. I am not\nonly to tell my neighbour whatever I know that may be beneficial to him,\nrespecting his position in society, his faults, what other men appear to\ncontemplate that may conduce to his advantage or injury, and to advise\nhim how the one may best be forwarded, or the other defeated and brought\nto nothing: I am bound also to consider in what way it may be in my\npower so to act on his mind, as shall most enlarge his views, confirm\nand animate his good resolutions, and meliorate his dispositions and\ntemper. We are all members of one great community: and we shall never\nsufficiently discharge our duty in that respect, till, like the ancient\nSpartans, the love of the whole becomes our predominant passion, and we\ncease to imagine that we belong to ourselves, so much as to the entire\nbody of which we are a part. There are certain views in morality, in\npolitics, and various other important subjects, the general prevalence\nof which will be of the highest benefit to the society of which we are\nmembers; and it becomes us in this respect, with proper temperance and\nmoderation, to conform ourselves to the zealous and fervent precept of\nthe apostle, to \"promulgate the truth and be instant, in season and out\nof season,\" that we may by all means leave some monument of our good\nintentions behind us, and feel that we have not lived in vain.\n\nThere is a maxim extremely in vogue in the ordinary intercourses of\nsociety, which deserves to be noticed here, for the purpose of exposing\nit to merited condemnation. It is very common between friends, or\npersons calling themselves such, to say, \"Do not ask my advice in a\ncertain crisis of your life; I will not give it; hereafter, if the\nthing turns out wrong, you will reflect on me, and say that it was at\nmy suggestion that you were involved in calamity.\" This is a dastardly\nexcuse, and shews a pitiful selfishness in the man that urges it.\n\nIt is true, that we ought ever to be on the alert, that we may not\ninduce our friend into evil. We should be upon our guard, that we may\nnot from overweening arrogance and self-conceit dictate to another,\noverpower his more sober judgment, and assume a rashness for him, in\nwhich perhaps we would not dare to indulge for ourselves. We should\nbe modest in our suggestions, and rather supply him with materials for\ndecision, than with a decision absolutely made. There may however be\ncases where an opposite proceeding is necessary. We must arrest our\nfriend, nay, even him who is merely our fellow-creature, with a strong\narm, when we see him hovering on the brink of a precipice, or the danger\nis so obvious, that nothing but absolute blindness could conceal it from\nan impartial bystander.\n\nBut in all cases our best judgment should always be at the service of\nour brethren of mankind. \"Give to him that asketh thee; and from him\nthat would borrow of thee turn not thou away.\"\n\nThis may not always be practicable or just, when applied to the goods of\nfortune: but the case of advice, information, and laws of conduct, comes\nwithin that of Ennius, to suffer our neighbour to light his candle at\nour lamp. To do so will enrich him, without making us a jot the poorer.\nWe should indeed respect the right of private judgment, and scarcely\nin any case allow our will to supersede his will in his own proper\nprovince. But we should on no account suffer any cowardly fears for\nourselves, to induce us to withhold from him any assistance that our\nwider information or our sounder judgment might supply to him.\n\nThe next consideration by which we should be directed in the exercise\nof the faculty of speech, is that we should employ it so as should best\nconduce to the pleasure of our neighbour. Man is a different creature in\nthe savage and the civilised state. It has been affirmed, and it may be\ntrue, that the savage man is a stranger to that disagreeable frame of\nmind, known by the name of ennui. He can pore upon the babbling stream,\nor stretch himself upon a sunny bank, from the rising to the setting of\nthe sun, and be satisfied. He is scarcely roused from this torpid state\nbut by the cravings of nature. If they can be supplied without effort,\nhe immediately relapses into his former supineness; and, if it requires\nsearch, industry and exertion to procure their gratification, he still\nmore eagerly embraces the repose, which previous fatigue renders doubly\nwelcome.\n\nBut, when the mind has once been wakened up from its original lethargy,\nwhen we have overstepped the boundary which divides the man from the\nbeast, and are made desirous of improvement, while at the same\nmoment the tumultuous passions that draw us in infinitely diversified\ndirections are called into act, the case becomes exceedingly different.\nIt might be difficult at first to rouse man from his original lethargy:\nit is next to impossible that he should ever again be restored to it.\nThe appetite of the mind being once thoroughly awakened in society, the\nhuman species are found to be perpetually craving after new intellectual\nfood. We read, we write, we discourse, we ford rivers, and scale\nmountains, and engage in various pursuits, for the pure pleasure that\nthe activity and earnestness of the pursuit afford us. The day of the\nsavage and the civilised man are still called by the same name. They may\nbe measured by a pendulum, and will be found to be of the same duration.\nBut in all other points of view they are inexpressibly different.\n\nHence therefore arises another duty that is incumbent upon us as to the\nexercise of the faculty of speech. This duty will be more or less urgent\naccording to the situation in which we are placed.\n\nIf I sit down in a numerous assembly, if I become one of a convivial\nparty of ten or twelve persons, I may unblamed be for the greater part,\nor entirely silent, if I please. I must appear to enter into their\nsentiments and pleasures, or, if I do not, I shall be an unwelcome\nguest; but it may scarcely be required for me to clothe my feelings with\narticulate speech.\n\nBut, when my society shall be that of a few friends only, and still more\nif the question is of spending hours or days in the society of a single\nfriend, my duty becomes altered, and a greater degree of activity will\nbe required from me. There are cases, where the minor morals of the\nspecies will be of more importance than those which in their own nature\nare cardinal. Duties of the highest magnitude will perhaps only\nbe brought into requisition upon extraordinary occasions; but the\nopportunities we have of lessening the inconveniences of our neighbour,\nor of adding to his accommodations and the amount of his agreeable\nfeelings, are innumerable. An acceptable and welcome member of society\ntherefore will not talk, only when he has something important to\ncommunicate. He will also study how he may amuse his friend with\nagreeable narratives, lively remarks, sallies of wit, or any of those\nthousand nothings, which' set off with a wish to please and a benevolent\ntemper, will often entertain more and win the entire good will of the\nperson to whom they are addressed, than the wisest discourse, or the\nvein of conversation which may exhibit the powers and genius of the\nspeaker to the greatest advantage.\n\nMen of a dull and saturnine complexion will soon get to an end of all\nthey felt it incumbent on them to say to their comrades. But the same\nthing will probably happen, though at a much later period, between\nfriends of an active mind, of the largest stores of information,\nand whose powers have been exercised upon the greatest variety of\nsentiments, principles, and original veins of thinking. When two\nsuch men first fall into society, each will feel as if he had found\na treasure. Their communications are without end; their garrulity is\nexcited, and converts into a perennial spring. The topics upon which\nthey are prompted to converse are so numerous, that one seems to jostle\nout the other.\n\nIt may proceed thus from day to day, from month to month, and perhaps\nfrom year to year. But, according to the old proverb, \"It is a long\nlane that has no turning.\" The persons here described will have a vast\nvariety of topics upon which they are incited to compare their opinions,\nand will lay down these topics and take them up again times without\nnumber. Upon some, one of the parties will feel himself entirely at home\nwhile the other is comparatively a novice, and, in others, the advantage\nwill be with the other; so that the gain of both, in this free and\nunrestrained opening of the soul, will be incalculable. But the time\nwill come, like as in perusing an author of the most extraordinary\ngenius and the most versatile powers, that the reading of each other's\nminds will be exhausted. They know so much of each other's tone of\nthinking, that all that can be said will be anticipated. The living\nvoice, the sparkling eye, and the beaming countenance will do much to\nput off the evil day, when we shall say, I have had enough. But the time\nwill come in which we shall feel that this after all is but little, and\nwe shall become sluggish, ourselves to communicate, or to excite the\ndormant faculties of our friend, when the spring, the waters of which so\nlong afforded us the most exquisite delight, is at length drawn dry.\n\nI remember in my childish years being greatly struck with that passage\nin the Bible, where it is written, \"But I say unto you, that, for every\nidle word that men shall speak, they shall give an account in the day\nof judgment:\" and, as I was very desirous of conforming myself to the\ndirections of the sacred volume, I was upon the point of forming a\nsort of resolution, that I would on no account open my mouth to speak,\nwithout having a weighty reason for uttering the thing I felt myself\nprompted to say.\n\nBut practical directions of this sort are almost in all cases of\nambiguous interpretation. From the context of this passage it is clear,\nthat by \"idle words\" we are to understand vicious words, words tending\nto instil into the mind unauthorised impulses, that shew in the man who\nspeaks \"a will most rank, foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural,\" and\nare calculated to render him by whom they are listened to, light and\nfrivolous of temper, and unstrung for the graver duties of human life.\n\nBut idle words, in the sense of innocent amusement, are not vicious.\n\"There is a time for all things.\" Amusement must not encroach upon\nor thrust aside the real business, the important engagements, and\nthe animated pursuits of man. But it is entitled to take its turn\nunreproved. Human life is so various, and the disposition and temper of\nthe mind of so different tones and capacity, that a wise man will \"frame\nhis face to all occasions.\" Playfulness, if not carried to too great an\nextreme, is an additional perfection in human nature. We become relieved\nfrom our more serious cares, and better fitted to enter on them again\nafter an interval. To fill up the days of our lives with various\nengagements, to make one occupation succeed to another, so as to\nliberate us from the pains of ennui, and the dangers of what may in an\nemphatical sense be called idleness, is no small desideratum. That king\nmay in this sense be admitted to have formed no superficial estimate\nof our common nature, who is said to have proclaimed a reward to the\nindividual that should invent a new amusement.\n\nAnd, to consider the question as it stands in relation to the subject of\nthe present Essay, a perpetual gravity and a vigilant watch to be placed\non the door of our lips, would be eminently hostile to that frankness\nwhich is to be regarded as one of the greatest ornaments of our\nnature. \"It is meet, that we should make merry and be glad.\" A formal\ncountenance, a demure, careful and unaltered cast of features, is one\nof the most disadvantageous aspects under which human nature can exhibit\nitself. The temper must be enterprising and fearless, the manner firm\nand assured, and the correspondence between the heart and the tongue\nprompt and instantaneous, if we desire to have that view of man that\nshall do him the most credit, and induce us to form the most honourable\nopinion respecting him. On our front should sit fearless confidence and\nunsubdued hilarity. Our limbs should be free and unfettered, a state of\nthe animal which imparts a grace infinitely more winning than that of\nthe most skilful dancer. The very sound of our voice should be full,\nfirm, mellow, and fraught with life and sensibility; of that nature, at\nthe hearing of which every bosom rises, and every eye is lighted up. It\nis thus that men come to understand and confide in each other. This is\nthe only frame that can perfectly conduce to our moral improvement,\nthe awakening of our faculties, the diffusion of science, and the\nestablishment of the purest notions and principles of civil and\npolitical liberty.\n\n\n\n\nESSAY XVII. OF BALLOT.\n\nThe subject of the preceding Essay leads by an obvious transition to\nthe examination of a topic, which at present occupies to a considerable\nextent the attention of those who are anxious for the progress of public\nimprovement, and the placing the liberties of mankind on the securest\nbasis: I mean, the topic of the vote by ballot.\n\nIt is admitted that the most beneficial scheme for the government of\nnations, is a government by representation: that is, that there shall\nbe in every nation, or large collection of men, a paramount legislative\nassembly, composed of deputies chosen by the people in their respective\ncounties, cities, towns, or departments. In what manner then shall these\ndeputies be elected?\n\nThe argument in favour of the election by ballot is obvious.\n\nIn nearly all civilised countries there exists more or less an\ninequality of rank and property: we will confine our attention\nprincipally to the latter.\n\nProperty necessarily involves influence. Mankind are but too prone\nto pay a superior deference to those who wear better clothes, live in\nlarger houses, and command superior accommodations to those which fall\nto the lot of the majority.\n\nOne of the main sources of wealth in civilised nations is the possession\nof land. Those who have a considerable allotment of land in property,\nfor the most part let it out in farms on lease or otherwise to persons\nof an inferior rank, by whom it is cultivated. In this case a reciprocal\nrelation is created between the landlord and the tenant: and, if the\nlandlord conducts himself towards his tenant agreeably to the principles\nof honour and liberality, it is impossible that the tenant should not\nfeel disposed to gratify his landlord, so far as shall be compatible\nwith his own notions of moral rectitude, or the paramount interests of\nthe society of which he is a member.\n\nIf the proprietor of any extensive allotment of land does not let it out\nin farms, but retains it under his own direction, he must employ a great\nnumber of husbandmen and labourers; and over them he must be expected\nto exercise the same sort of influence, as under the former statement we\nsupposed him to exercise over his tenants.\n\nThe same principle will still operate wherever any one man in society is\nengaged in the expenditure of a considerable capital. The manufacturer\nwill possess the same influence over his workmen, as the landed\nproprietor over his tenants or labourers. Even the person who possesses\nconsiderable opulence, and has no intention to engage in the pursuits of\nprofit or accumulation, will have an ample retinue, and will be\nenabled to use the same species of influence over his retainers and\ntrades-people, as the landlord exercises over his tenants and labourers,\nand the manufacturer over his workmen.\n\nA certain degree of this species of influence in society, is perhaps not\nto be excepted against. The possessor of opulence in whatever form, may\nbe expected to have received a superior education, and, being placed at\na certain distance from the minuter details and the lesser wheels in the\nmachine of society, to have larger and more expansive views as to\nthe interests of the whole. It is good that men in different ranks of\nsociety should be brought into intercourse with each other; it will\nsubtract something from the prejudices of both, and enable each to\nobtain some of the advantages of the other. The division of rank is too\nmuch calculated to split society into parties having a certain hostility\nto each other. In a free state we are all citizens: it is desirable that\nwe should all be friends.\n\nBut this species of influence may be carried too far. To a certain\nextent it is good. Inasmuch as it implies the enlightening one human\nunderstanding by the sparks struck out from another, or even the\ncommunication of feelings between man and man, this is not to be\ndeprecated. Some degree of courteous compliance and deference of the\nignorant to the better informed, is inseparable from the existence of\npolitical society as we behold it; such a deference as we may conceive\nthe candid and conscientious layman to pay to the suggestions of his\nhonest and disinterested pastor.\n\nEvery thing however that is more than this, is evil. There should be no\nperemptory mandates, and no threat or apprehension of retaliation and\nmischief to follow, if the man of inferior station or opulence should\nfinally differ in opinion from his wealthier neighbour. We may admit\nof a moral influence; but there must be nothing, that should in the\nsmallest degree border on compulsion.\n\nBut it is unfortunately in the very nature of weak, erring and fallible\nmortals, to make an ill use of the powers that are confided to their\ndiscretion. The rich man in the wantonness of his authority will not\nstop at moral influence, but, if he is disappointed of his expectation\nby what he will call my wilfulness and obstinacy, will speedily\nfind himself impelled to vindicate his prerogative, and to punish my\nresistance. In every such disappointment he will discern a dangerous\nprecedent, and will apprehend that, if I escape with impunity, the\nwhole of that ascendancy, which he has regarded as one of the valuable\nprivileges contingent to his station, will be undermined.\n\nOpulence has two ways of this grosser sort, by which it may enable its\npossessor to command the man below him,--punishment and reward. As the\nholder, for example, of a large landed estate, or the administrator of\nan ample income, may punish the man who shews himself refractory to\nhis will, so he may also reward the individual who yields to his\nsuggestions. This, in whatever form it presents itself, may be classed\nunder the general head of bribery.\n\nThe remedy for all this therefore, real or potential, mischief, is said\nto lie in the vote by ballot, a contrivance, by means of which every man\nshall be enabled to give his vote in favour of or against any candidate\nthat shall be nominated, in absolute secrecy, without it being possible\nfor any one to discover on which side the elector decided,--nay, a\ncontrivance, by which the elector is invited to practise mystery and\nconcealment, inasmuch as it would seem an impertinence in him to speak\nout, when the law is expressly constructed to bid him act and be silent.\nIf he speaks, he is guilty of a sort of libel on his brother-electors,\nwho are hereby implicitly reproached by him for their impenetrableness\nand cowardice.\n\nWe are told that the institution of the ballot is indispensible to the\nexistence of a free state, in a country where the goods of fortune are\nunequally distributed. In England, as the right of sending members\nto parliament is apportioned at the time I am writing, the power of\nelecting is bestowed with such glaring inequality, and the number of\nelectors in many cases is so insignificant, as inevitably to give to the\nnoble and the rich the means of appointing almost any representatives\nthey think fit, so that the house of commons may more justly be styled\nthe nominees of the upper house, than the deputies of the nation. And\nit is further said, Remedy this inequality as much as you please, and\nreform the state of the representation to whatever degree, still, so\nlong as the votes at elections are required to be given openly, the\nreform will be unavailing, and the essential part of the mischief will\nremain. The right of giving our votes in secrecy, is the only remedy\nthat can cut off the ascendancy of the more opulent members of the\ncommunity over the rest, and give us the substance of liberty, instead\nof cheating us with the shadow.\n\nOn the other side I would beg the reader to consider, that the vote by\nballot, in its obvious construction, is not the symbol of liberty, but\nof slavery. What is it, that presents to every eye the image of liberty,\nand compels every heart to confess, This is the temple where she\nresides? An open front, a steady and assured look, an habitual and\nuninterrupted commerce between the heart and the tongue. The free man\ncommunicates with his neighbour, not in corners and concealed places,\nbut in market-places and scenes of public resort; and it is thus that\nthe sacred spark is caught from man to man, till all are inspired with a\ncommon flame. Communication and publicity are of the essence of liberty;\nit is the air they breathe; and without it they die.\n\nIf on the contrary I would characterise a despotism, I should say, It\nimplied a certain circumference of soil, through whose divisions and\ndistricts every man suspected his neighbour, where every man was\nhaunted with the terror that \"walls have ears,\" and only whispered his\ndiscontent, his hopes and his fears, to the trees of the forest and\nthe silent streams. If the dwellers on this soil consulted together, it\nwould be in secret cabals and with closed doors; engaging in the sacred\ncause of public welfare and happiness, as if it were a thing of guilt,\nwhich the conspirator scarcely ventured to confess to his own heart.\n\nA shrewd person of my acquaintance the other day, to whom I unadvisedly\nproposed a question as to what he thought of some public transaction,\ninstantly replied with symptoms of alarm, \"I beg to say that I never\ndisclose my opinions upon matters either of religion or politics to any\none.\" What did this answer imply as to the political government of the\ncountry where it was given?\n\nIs it characteristic of a free state or a tyranny?\n\nOne of the first and highest duties that falls to the lot of a human\ncreature, is that which he owes to the aggregate of reasonable beings\ninhabiting what he calls his country. Our duties are then most solemn\nand elevating, when they are calculated to affect the well being of the\ngreatest number of men; and of consequence what a patriot owes to his\nnative soil is the noblest theatre for his moral faculties. And shall we\nteach men to discharge this debt in the dark? Surely every man ought\nto be able to \"render a reason of the hope that is in him,\" and give\na modest, but an assured, account of his political conduct. When he\napproaches the hustings at the period of a public election, this is his\naltar, where he sacrifices in the face of men to that deity, which is\nmost worth his adoration of all the powers whose single province is our\nsublunary state.\n\nBut the principle of the institution of ballot is to teach men to\nperform their best actions under the cloke of concealment. When I return\nfrom giving my vote in the choice of a legislative representative,\nI ought, if my mode of proceeding were regulated by the undebauched\nfeelings of our nature, to feel somewhat proud that I had discharged\nthis duty, uninfluenced, uncorrupted, in the sincere frame of a\nconscientious spirit. But the institution of ballot instigates me\ncarefully to conceal what I have done. If I am questioned respecting it,\nthe proper reply which is as it were put into my mouth is, \"You have\nno right to ask me; and I shall not tell.\" But, as every man does not\nrecollect the proper reply at the moment it is wanted, and most men feel\nabashed, when a direct question is put to them to which they know they\nare not to return a direct answer, many will stammer and feel confused,\nwill perhaps insinuate a falshood, while at the same time their manner\nto a discerning eye will, in spite of all their precautions, disclose\nthe very truth.\n\nThe institution of ballot not only teaches us that our best actions are\nthose which we ought most steadily to disavow, but carries distrust\nand suspicion into all our most familiar relations. The man I want to\ndeceive, and throw out in the keenness of his hunting, is my landlord.\nBut how shall I most effectually conceal the truth from him? May I be\nallowed to tell it to my wife or my child? I had better not. It is a\nknown maxim of worldly prudence, that the truth which may be a source of\nserious injury to me, is safest, when it is shut up in my own bosom. If\nI once let it out, there is no saying where the communication may\nstop. \"Day unto day uttereth speech; and night unto night sheweth forth\nknowledge.\"\n\nAnd is this the proud attitude of liberty, to which we are so eager to\naspire? After all, there will be some ingenuous men in the community,\nwho will not know how for ever to suppress what is dearest to their\nhearts. But at any rate this institution holds out a prize to him that\nshall be most secret and untraceable in his proceedings, that shall\n\"shoe his horses with felt,\" and proceed in all his courses with silence\nand suspicion.\n\nThe first principle of morality to social man is, that we act under the\neye of our fellows. The truly virtuous man would do as he ought, though\nno eye observed him. Persons, it is true, who deport themselves merely\nas \"men-pleasers,\" for ever considering how the by-standers will\npronounce of their conduct, are entitled to small commendation. The good\nman, it is certain, will see\n\n     To do what virtue would, though sun and moon\n     Were in the flat sea sunk.\n\nBut, imperfect creatures as we mortals usually are, these things act\nand react upon each other. A man of honourable intentions will demean\nhimself justly, from the love of right. But he is confirmed in his just\ndealing by the approbation of his fellows; and, if he were tempted to\nstep awry, he would be checked by the anticipation of their censure.\nSuch is the nature of our moral education. It is with virtue, as it is\nwith literary fame. If I write well, I can scarcely feel secure that I\ndo so, till I obtain the suffrage of some competent judges, confirming\nthe verdict which I was before tempted to pronounce in my own favour.\n\nThis acting as in a theatre, where men and Gods are judges of my\nconduct, is the true destination of man; and we cannot violate the\nuniversal law under which we were born, without having reason to fear\nthe most injurious effects.\n\nAnd is this mysterious and concealed way of proceeding one of the forms\nthrough which we are to pass in the school of liberty? The great end of\nall liberal institutions is, to make a man fearless, frank as the day,\nacting from a lively and earnest impulse, which will not be restrained,\ndisdains all half-measures, and prompts us, as it were, to carry our\nhearts in our hands, for all men to challenge, and all men to comment\non. It is true, that the devisers of liberal institutions will have\nforemost in their thoughts, how men shall be secure in their personal\nliberty, unrestrained in the execution of what their thoughts prompt\nthem to do, and uncontrolled in the administration of the fruits of\ntheir industry. But the moral end of all is, that a man shall be worthy\nof the name, erect, independent of mind, spontaneous of decision,\nintrepid, overflowing with all good feelings, and open in the expression\nof the sentiments they inspire. If man is double in his weightiest\npurposes, full of ambiguity and concealment, and not daring to give\nwords to the impulses of his soul, what matters it that he is free? We\nmay pronounce of this man, that he is unworthy of the blessing that\nhas fallen to his lot, and will never produce the fruits that should be\nengendered in the lap of liberty.\n\nThere is however, it should seem, a short answer to all this. It is\nin vain to expatiate to us upon the mischiefs of lying, hypocrisy and\nconcealment, since it is only through them, as the way by which we are\nto march, that nations can be made free.\n\nThis certainly is a fearful judgment awarded upon our species: but is it\ntrue?\n\nWe are to begin, it seems, with concealing from our landlord, or our\nopulent neighbour, our political determinations; and so his corrupt\ninfluence will be broken, and the humblest individual will be safe in\ndoing that which his honest and unbiased feelings may prompt him to do.\n\nNo: this is not the way in which the enemy of the souls of men is to be\ndefeated. We must not begin with the confession of our faint-heartedness\nand our cowardice. A quiet, sober, unaltered frame of judgment, that\ninsults no one, that has in it nothing violent, brutal and defying, is\nthe frame that becomes us. If I would teach another man, my superior\nin rank, how he ought to construe and decide upon the conduct I hold, I\nmust begin by making that conduct explicit.\n\nIt is not in morals, as it is in war. There stratagem is allowable, and\nto take the enemy by surprise. \"Who enquires of an enemy, whether it is\nby fraud or heroic enterprise that he has gained the day?\" But it is not\nso that the cause of liberty is to be vindicated in the civil career of\nlife.\n\nThe question is of reducing the higher ranks of society to admit the\njust immunities of their inferiors. I will not allow that they shall be\ncheated into it. No: no man was ever yet recovered to his senses in a\nquestion of morals, but by plain, honest, soul-commanding speech. Truth\nis omnipotent, if we do not violate its majesty by surrendering its\noutworks, and giving up that vantage-ground, of which if we deprive it,\nit ceases to be truth. It finds a responsive chord in every human bosom.\nWhoever hears its voice, at the same time recognises its power. However\ncorrupt he may be, however steeped in the habits of vice, and hardened\nin the practices of tyranny, if it be mildly, distinctly, emphatically\nenunciated, the colour will forsake his cheek, his speech will alter and\nbe broken, and he will feel himself unable to turn it off lightly, as a\nthing of no impression and validity. In this way the erroneous man,\nthe man nursed in the house of luxury, a stranger to the genuine,\nunvarnished state of things, stands a fair chance of being corrected.\n\nBut, if an opposite, and a truer way of thinking than that to which he\nis accustomed, is only brought to his observation by the reserve of him\nwho entertains it, and who, while he entertains it, is reluctant to\nhold communion with his wealthier neighbour, who regards him as his\nadversary, and hardly admits him to be of the same common nature, there\nwill be no general improvement. Under this discipline the two ranks of\nsociety will be perpetually more estranged, view each other with\neye askance, and will be as two separate and hostile states, though\ninhabiting the same territory. Is this the picture we desire to see of\ngenuine liberty, philanthropic, desirous of good to all, and overflowing\nwith all generous emotions?\n\n     I hate where vice can bolt her arguments,\n     And virtue has no tongue to check her pride.\n\nThe man who interests himself for his country and its cause, who acts\nbravely and independently, and knows that he runs some risk in doing\nso, must have a strange opinion of the sacredness of truth, if the very\nconsciousness of having done nobly does not supply him with courage,\nand give him that simple, unostentatious firmness, which shall carry\nimmediate conviction to the heart. It is a bitter lesson that the\ninstitution of ballot teaches, while it says, \"You have done well;\ntherefore be silent; whisper it not to the winds; disclose it not to\nthose who are most nearly allied to you; adopt the same conduct which\nwould suggest itself to you, if you had perpetrated an atrocious crime.\"\n\nIn no long time after the commencement of the war of the allies against\nFrance, certain acts were introduced into the English parliament,\ndeclaring it penal by word or writing to utter any thing that should\ntend to bring the government into contempt; and these acts, by the mass\nof the adversaries of despotic power, were in way of contempt called the\nGagging Acts. Little did I and my contemporaries of 1795 imagine, when\nwe protested against these acts in the triumphant reign of William Pitt,\nthat the soi-disant friends of liberty and radical reformers, when their\nturn of triumph came, would propose their Gagging Acts, recommending to\nthe people to vote agreeably to their consciences, but forbidding them\nto give publicity to the honourable conduct they had been prevailed on\nto adopt!\n\nBut all this reasoning is founded in an erroneous, and groundlessly\ndegrading, opinion of human nature. The improvement of the general\ninstitutions of society, the correction of the gross inequalities of our\nrepresentation, will operate towards the improvement of all the members\nof the community. While ninety-nine in an hundred of the inhabitants\nof England are carried forward in the scale of intellect and virtue,\nit would be absurd to suppose that the hundredth man will stand still,\nmerely because he is rich. Patriotism is a liberal and a social impulse;\nits influence is irresistible; it is contagious, and is propagated\nby the touch; it is infectious, and mixes itself with the air that we\nbreathe.\n\nMen are governed in their conduct in a surprising degree by the opinion\nof others. It was all very well, when noblemen were each of them\nsatisfied of the equity and irresistible principle of their ascendancy,\nwhen the vulgar population felt convinced that passive obedience was\nentailed on them from their birth, when we were in a manner but just\nemancipated (illusorily emancipated!) from the state of serfs and\nvillains. But a memorable melioration of the state of man will carry\nsome degree of conviction to the hearts of all. The most corrupt will\nbe made doubtful: many who had not gone so far in ill, will desert the\nbanners of oppression.\n\nWe see this already. What a shock was propagated through the island,\nwhen, the other day, a large proprietor, turning a considerable cluster\nof his tenants out of the houses and lands they occupied, because they\nrefused to vote for a representative in parliament implicitly as he bade\nthem, urged in his own justification, \"Shall I not do what I will with\nmy own?\" This was all sound morals and divinity perhaps at the period\nof his birth. Nobody disputed it; or, if any one did, he was set down\nby the oracles of the vicinage as a crackbrained visionary. This man, so\nconfident in his own prerogatives, had slept for the last twenty years,\nand awoke totally unconscious of what had been going on in almost every\ncorner of Europe in the interval. A few more such examples; and so broad\nand sweeping an assumption will no more be heard of, and it will remain\nin the records of history, as a thing for the reality of which we have\nsufficient evidence, but which common sense repudiates, and which seems\nto demand from us a certain degree of credulity to induce us to admit\nthat it had ever been.\n\nThe manners of society are by no means so unchanged and unalterable\nas many men suppose. It is here, as in the case of excessive drinking,\nwhich I had lately occasion to mention(36). In rude and barbarous\ntimes men of the highest circles piqued themselves upon their power of\nswallowing excessive potations, and found pleasure in it. It is in this\nas in so many other vices, we follow implicitly where our elders lead\nthe way. But the rage of drinking is now gone by; and you will with\ndifficulty find a company of persons of respectable appearance, who\nassemble round a table for the purpose of making beasts of themselves.\nFormerly it was their glory; now, if any man unhappily retains the\nweakness, he hides it from his equals, as he would a loathsome disease.\nThe same thing will happen as to parliamentary corruption, and the\nabsolute authority that was exercised by landlords over the consciences\nof their tenants. He that shall attempt to put into act what is then\nuniversally condemned, will be a marked man, and will be generally\nshunned by his fellows. The eye of the world will be upon him, as the\nmurderer fancies himself followed by the eye of omnipotence; and he will\nobey the general voice of the community, that he may be at peace with\nhimself.\n\n\n   (36) See above, Essay 9.\n\n\nLet us not then disgrace a period of memorable improvement, by combining\nit with an institution that should mark that we, the great body of the\npeople, regard the more opulent members of the community as our foes.\nLet us hold out to them the right hand of fellowship; and they will meet\nus. They will be influenced, partly by ingenuous shame for the unworthy\nconduct which they and their fathers had so long pursued, and partly by\nsympathy for the genuine joy and expansion of heart that is spreading\nitself through the land. Scarcely any one can restrain himself from\nparticipating in the happiness of the great body of his countrymen;\nand, if they see that we treat them with generous confidence, and are\nunwilling to recur to the memory of former grievances, and that a spirit\nof philanthropy and unlimited good-will is the sentiment of the day, it\ncan scarcely happen but that their conversion will be complete, and the\nharmony be made entire(37).\n\n\n   (37) The subject of this Essay is resumed in the close of the following.\n\n\n\n\nESSAY XVIII. OF DIFFIDENCE.\n\nThe following Essay will be to a considerable degree in the nature of\nconfession, like the Confessions of St. Augustine or of Jean Jacques\nRousseau. It may therefore at first sight appear of small intrinsic\nvalue, and scarcely worthy of a place in the present series. But, as I\nhave had occasion more than once to remark, we are all of us framed in a\ngreat measure on the same model, and the analysis of the individual\nmay often stand for the analysis of a species. While I describe\nmyself therefore, I shall probably at the same time be describing no\ninconsiderable number of my fellow-beings.\n\nIt is true, that the duty of man under the head of Frankness, is of a\nvery comprehensive nature. We ought all of us to tell to our neighbour\nwhatever it may be of advantage to him to know, we ought to be the\nsincere and zealous advocates of absent merit and worth, and we are\nbound by every means in our power to contribute to the improvement of\nothers, and to the diffusion of salutary truths through the world.\n\nFrom the universality of these precepts many readers might be apt to\ninfer, that I am in my own person the bold and unsparing preacher of\ntruth, resolutely giving to every man his due, and, agreeably to\nthe apostle's direction, \"instant in season, and out of season.\"\nThe individual who answers to this description will often be deemed\ntroublesome, often annoying; he will produce a considerable sensation\nin the circle of those who know him; and it will depend upon various\ncollateral circumstances, whether he shall ultimately be judged a rash\nand intemperate disturber of the contemplations of his neighbours, or\na disinterested and heroic suggester of new veins of thinking, by which\nhis contemporaries and their posterity shall be essentially the gainers.\n\nI have no desire to pass myself upon those who may have any curiosity\nrespecting me for better than I am; and I will therefore here put down\na few particulars, which may tend to enable them to form an equitable\njudgment.\n\nOne of the earliest passions of my mind was the love of truth and\nsound opinion. \"Why should I,\" such was the language of my solitary\nmeditations, \"because I was born in a certain degree of latitude, in a\ncertain century, in a country where certain institutions prevail, and of\nparents professing a certain faith, take it for granted that all this is\nright?--This is matter of accident. 'Time and chance happeneth to all:'\nand I, the thinking principle within me, might, if such had been the\norder of events, have been born under circumstances the very reverse\nof those under which I was born. I will not, if I can help it, be\nthe creature of accident; I will not, like a shuttle-cock, be at the\ndisposal of every impulse that is given me.\" I felt a certain disdain\nfor the being thus directed; I could not endure the idea of being made\na fool of, and of taking every ignis fatuus for a guide, and every stray\nnotion, the meteor of the day, for everlasting truth. I am the person,\nspoken of in a preceding Essay(38), who early said to Truth, \"Go on:\nwhithersoever thou leadest, I am prepared to follow.\"\n\n\n   (38) See above, Essay XIII.\n\n\nDuring my college-life therefore, I read all sorts of books, on every\nside of any important question, that were thrown in my way, or that I\ncould hear of. But the very passion that determined me to this mode of\nproceeding, made me wary and circumspect in coming to a conclusion. I\nknew that it would, if any thing, be a more censurable and contemptible\nact, to yield to every seducing novelty, than to adhere obstinately to\na prejudice because it had been instilled into me in youth. I was\ntherefore slow of conviction, and by no means \"given to change.\" I never\nwillingly parted with a suggestion that was unexpectedly furnished to\nme; but I examined it again and again, before I consented that it should\nenter into the set of my principles.\n\nIn proportion however as I became acquainted with truth, or what\nappeared to me to be truth, I was like what I have read of Melancthon,\nwho, when he was first converted to the tenets of Luther, became eager\nto go into all companies, that he might make them partakers of the same\ninestimable treasures, and set before them evidence that was to him\nirresistible. It is needless to say, that he often encountered the most\nmortifying disappointment.\n\nYoung and eager as I was in my mission, I received in this way many a\nbitter lesson. But the peculiarity of my temper rendered this doubly\nimpressive to me. I could not pass over a hint, let it come from\nwhat quarter it would, without taking it into some consideration, and\nendeavouring to ascertain the precise weight that was to be attributed\nto it. It would however often happen, particularly in the question of\nthe claims of a given individual to honour and respect, that I could see\nnothing but the most glaring injustice in the opposition I experienced.\nIn canvassing the character of an individual, it is not for the most\npart general, abstract or moral, principles that are called into\nquestion: I am left in possession of the premises which taught me to\nadmire the man whose character is contested; and conformably to those\npremises I see that his claim to the honour I have paid him is fully\nmade out.\n\nIn my communications with others, in the endeavour to impart what I\ndeemed to be truth, I began with boldness: but I often found that the\nevidence that was to me irresistible, was made small account of by\nothers; and it not seldom happened, as candour was my principle, and a\ndetermination to receive what could be strewn to be truth, let it come\nfrom what quarter it would, that suggestions were presented to me,\nmaterially calculated to stagger the confidence with which I had set\nout. If I had been divinely inspired, if I had been secured by an\nomniscient spirit against the danger of error, my case would have been\ndifferent. But I was not inspired. I often encountered an opposition\nI had not anticipated, and was often presented with objections, or had\npointed out to me flaws and deficiencies in my reasonings, which,\ntill they were so pointed out, I had not apprehended. I had not lungs\nenabling me to drown all contradiction; and, which was still more\nmaterial, I had not a frame of mind, which should determine me to regard\nwhatever could be urged against me as of no value. I therefore became\ncautious. As a human creature, I did not relish the being held up to\nothers' or to myself, as rash, inconsiderate and headlong, unaware\nof difficulties the most obvious, embracing propositions the most\nuntenable, and \"against hope believing in hope.\" And, as an apostle of\ntruth, I distinctly perceived that a reputation for perspicacity and\nsound judgment was essential to my mission. I therefore often became\nless a speaker, than a listener, and by no means made it a law with\nmyself to defend principles and characters I honoured, on every occasion\non which I might hear them attacked.\n\nA new epoch occurred in my character, when I published, and at the time\nI was writing, my Enquiry concerning Political Justice. My mind was\nwrought up to a certain elevation of tone; the speculations in which I\nwas engaged, tending to embrace all that was most important to man in\nsociety, and the frame to which I had assiduously bent myself, of\ngiving quarter to nothing because it was old, and shrinking from\nnothing because it was startling and astounding, gave a new bias to my\ncharacter. The habit which I thus formed put me more on the alert even\nin the scenes of ordinary life, and gave me a boldness and an eloquence\nmore than was natural to me. I then reverted to the principle which I\nstated in the beginning, of being ready to tell my neighbour whatever\nit might be of advantage to him to know, to shew myself the sincere and\nzealous advocate of absent merit and worth, and to contribute by every\nmeans in my power to the improvement of others and to the diffusion of\nsalutary truth through the world. I desired that every hour that I lived\nshould be turned to the best account, and was bent each day to examine\nwhether I had conformed myself to this rule. I held on this course with\ntolerable constancy for five or six years: and, even when that constancy\nabated, it failed not to leave a beneficial effect on my subsequent\nconduct.\n\nBut, in pursuing this scheme of practice, I was acting a part somewhat\nforeign to my constitution. I was by nature more of a speculative than\nan active character, more inclined to reason within myself upon what\nI heard and saw, than to declaim concerning it. I loved to sit by\nunobserved, and to meditate upon the panorama before me. At first I\nassociated chiefly with those who were more or less admirers of my work;\nand, as I had risen (to speak in the slang phrase) like \"a star\" upon\nmy contemporaries without being expected, I was treated generally with\na certain degree of deference, or, where not with deference and\nsubmission, yet as a person whose opinions and view of things were to be\ntaken into the account. The individuals who most strenuously opposed me,\nacted with a consciousness that, if they affected to despise me, they\nmust not expect that all the bystanders would participate in that\nfeeling.\n\nBut this was to a considerable degree the effect of novelty. My lungs,\nas I have already said, were not of iron; my manner was not overbearing\nand despotic; there was nothing in it to deter him who differed from me\nfrom entering the field in turn, and telling the tale of his views and\njudgments in contradiction to mine. I descended into the arena, and\nstood on a level with the rest. Beyond this, it occasionally happened\nthat, if I had not the stentorian lungs, and the petty artifices of\nrhetoric and conciliation, that should carry a cause independently of\nits merits, my antagonists were not deficient in these respects. I\nhad nothing in my favour to balance this, but a sort of constitutional\nequanimity and imperturbableness of temper, which, if I was at any\ntime silenced, made me not look like a captive to be dragged at the\nchariot-wheels of my adversary.\n\nAll this however had a tendency to subtract from my vocation as a\nmissionary. I was no longer a knight-errant, prepared on all occasions\nby dint of arms to vindicate the cause of every principle that was\nunjustly handled, and every character that was wrongfully assailed.\nMeanwhile I returned to the field, occasionally and uncertainly. It\nrequired some provocation and incitement to call me out: but there was\nthe lion, or whatever combative animal may more justly prefigure me,\nsleeping, and that might be awakened.\n\nThere is another feature necessary to be mentioned, in order to make\nthis a faithful representation. There are persons, it should seem, of\nwhom it may be predicated, that they are semper parati. This has by no\nmeans been my case. My genius often deserted me. I was far from having\nthe thought, the argument, or the illustration at all times ready, when\nit was required. I resembled to a certain degree the persons we read\nof, who are said to be struck as if with a divine judgment. I was for\na moment changed into one of the mere herd, de grege porcus. My powers\ntherefore were precarious, and I could not always be the intrepid and\nqualified advocate of truth, if I vehemently desired it. I have often, a\nfew minutes afterwards, or on my return to my chambers, recollected\nthe train of thinking, which world have strewn me off to advantage,\nand memorably done me honour, if I could have had it at my command the\nmoment it was wanted.\n\nAnd so much for confession. I am by no means vindicating myself.\n\nI honour much more the man who is at all times ready to tell his\nneighbour whatever it may be of advantage to him to know, to shew\nhimself the sincere and untemporising advocate of absent merit and\nworth, and to contribute by every means in his power to the improvement\nof others, and to the diffusion of salutary truths through the world.\n\nThis is what every man ought to be, and what the best devised scheme of\nrepublican institutions would have a tendency to make us all.\n\nBut, though the man here described is to a certain degree a deserter\nof his true place in society, and cannot be admitted to have played his\npart in all things well, we are by no means to pronounce upon him a\nmore unfavourable judgment than he merits. Diffidence, though, where\nit disqualifies us in any way from doing justice to truth, either as it\nrespects general principle or individual character, a defect, yet is on\nno account to be confounded in demerit with that suppression of truth,\nor misrepresentation, which grows out of actual craft and design.\n\nThe diffident man, in some cases seldomer, and in some oftener and in\na more glaring manner, deserts the cause of truth, and by that means\nis the cause of misrepresentation, and indirectly the propagator of\nfalshood. But he is constant and sincere as far as he goes; he never\nlends his voice to falshood, or intentionally to sophistry; he never for\nan instant goes over to the enemy's standard, or disgraces his honest\nfront by strewing it in the ranks of tyranny or imposture. He may\nundoubtedly be accused, to a certain degree, of dissimulation, or\nthrowing into shade the thing that is, but never of simulation, or the\npretending the thing to be that is not. He is plain and uniform in\nevery thing that he professes, or to which he gives utterance; but, from\ntimidity or irresolution, he keeps back in part the offering which he\nowes at the shrine where it is most honourable and glorious for man to\nworship.\n\nAnd this brings me back again to the subject of the immediately\npreceding Essay, the propriety of voting by ballot.\n\nThe very essence of this scheme is silence. And this silence is not\nmerely like that which is prompted by a diffident temper, which by fits\nis practiced by the modest and irresolute man, and by fits disappears\nbefore the sun of truth and through the energies of a temporary\nfortitude. It is uniform. It is not brought into act only, when the\nindividual unhappily does not find in himself the firmness to play\nthe adventurer. It becomes matter of system, and is felt as being\nrecommended to us for a duty.\n\nNor does the evil stop there. In the course of my ordinary\ncommunications with my fellow-men, I speak when I please, and I am\nsilent when I please, and there is nothing specially to be remarked\neither way. If I speak, I am perhaps listened to; and, if I am silent,\nit is likely enough concluded that it is because I have nothing of\nimportance to say. But in the question of ballot the case is far\notherwise. There it is known that the voter has his secret. When I am\nsilent upon a matter occurring in the usual intercourses of life where I\nmight speak, nay, where we will suppose I ought to speak, I am at\nleast guilty of dissimulation only. But the voter by ballot is strongly\nimpelled to the practice of the more enormous sin of simulation. It\nis known, as I have said, that he has his secret. And he will often be\ndriven to have recourse to various stratagems, that he may elude\nthe enquirer, or that he may set at fault the sagacity of the silent\nobserver. He has something that he might tell if he would, and he\ndistorts himself in a thousand ways, that he may not betray the hoard\nwhich he is known to have in his custody. The institution of ballot\nis the fruitful parent of ambiguities, equivocations and lies without\nnumber.\n\n\n\n\nESSAY XIX. OF SELF-COMPLACENCY.\n\nThe subject of this Essay is intimately connected with those of Essays\nXI and XII, perhaps the most important of the series.\n\nIt has been established in the latter, that human creatures are\nconstantly accompanied in their voluntary actions with the delusive\nsense of liberty, and that our character, our energies, and our\nconscience of moral right and wrong, are mainly dependent upon this\nfeature in our constitution.\n\nThe subject of my present disquisition relates to the feeling of\nself-approbation or self-complacency, which will be found inseparable\nfrom the most honourable efforts and exertions in which mortal men can\nbe engaged.\n\nOne of the most striking of the precepts contained in what are called\nthe Golden Verses of Pythagoras, is couched in the words, \"Reverence\nthyself.\"\n\nThe duties which are incumbent on man are of two sorts, negative and\npositive. We are bound to set right our mistakes, and to correct\nthe evil habits to which we are prone; and we are bound also to be\ngenerously ambitious, to aspire after excellence, and to undertake such\nthings as may reflect honour on ourselves, and be useful to others.\n\nTo the practice of the former of these classes of duties we may be\ninstigated by prohibitions, menaces and fear, the fear of mischiefs\nthat may fall upon us conformably to the known series of antecedents\nand consequents in the course of nature, or of mischiefs that may be\ninflicted on us by the laws of the country in which we live, or\nas results of the ill will and disapprobation felt towards us\nby individuals. There is nothing that is necessarily generous or\ninvigorating in the practice of our negative duties. They amount merely\nto a scheme for keeping us within bounds, and restraining us from those\nsallies and escapes, which human nature, undisciplined and left to\nitself, might betray us into. But positive enterprise, and great actual\nimprovement cannot be expected by us in this way. All this is what the\napostle refers to, when he speaks of \"the law as a schoolmaster to bring\nus to liberty,\" after which he advises us \"not to be again entangled\nwith the yoke of bondage.\"\n\nOn the other hand, if we would enter ourselves in the race of positive\nimprovement, if we would become familiar with generous sentiments, and\nthe train of conduct which such sentiments inspire, we must provide\nourselves with the soil in which such things grow, and engage in the\nspecies of husbandry by which they are matured; in other words, we must\nbe no strangers to self-esteem and self-complacency.\n\nThe truth of this statement may perhaps be most strikingly illustrated,\nif we take for our example the progress of schoolboys under a preceptor.\nA considerable proportion of these are apt, diligent, and desirous\nto perform the tasks in which they are engaged, so as to satisfy the\ndemands of their masters and parents, and to advance honourably in the\npath that is recommended to them. And a considerable proportion put\nthemselves on the defensive, and propose to their own minds to perform\nexactly as much as shall exempt them from censure and punishment, and no\nmore.\n\nNow I say of the former, that they cannot accomplish the purpose they\nhave conceived, unless so far as they are aided by a sentiment of\nself-reverence.\n\nThe difference of the two parties is, that the latter proceed, so far\nas their studies are concerned, as feeling themselves under the law of\nnecessity, and as if they were machines merely, and the former as if\nthey were under what the apostle calls \"the law of liberty.\"\n\nWe cannot perform our tasks to the best of our power, unless we think\nwell of our own capacity.\n\nBut this is the smallest part of what is necessary. We must also be in\ngood humour with ourselves. We must say, I can do that which I shall\nhave just occasion to look back upon with satisfaction. It is the\nanticipation of this result, that stimulates our efforts, and carries\nus forward. Perseverance is an active principle, and cannot continue\nto operate but under the influence of desire. It is incompatible with\nlanguor and neutrality. It implies the love of glory, perhaps of that\nglory which shall be attributed to us by others, or perhaps only of that\nglory which shall be reaped by us in the silent chambers of the mind.\nThe diligent scholar is he that loves himself, and desires to have\nreason to applaud and love himself. He sits down to his task with\nresolution, he approves of what he does in each step of the process, and\nin each enquires, Is this the thing I purposed to effect?\n\nAnd, as it is with the unfledged schoolboy, after the same manner it is\nwith the man mature. He must have to a certain extent a good opinion\nof himself, he must feel a kind of internal harmony, giving to the\ncirculations of his frame animation and cheerfulness, or he can never\nundertake and execute considerable things.\n\nThe execution of any thing considerable implies in the first place\nprevious persevering meditation. He that undertakes any great\nachievement will, according to the vulgar phrase, \"think twice,\" before\nhe buckles up his resolution, and plunges into the ocean, which he has\nalready surveyed with anxious glance while he remained on shore. Let our\nillustration be the case of Columbus, who, from the figure of the earth,\ninferred that there must be a way of arriving at the Indies by a voyage\ndirectly west, in distinction from the very complicated way hitherto\npracticed, by sailing up the Mediterranean, crossing the isthmus of\nSuez, and so falling down the Red Sea into the Indian Ocean. He weighed\nall the circumstances attendant on such an undertaking in his mind.\nHe enquired into his own powers and resources, imaged to himself\nthe various obstacles that might thwart his undertaking, and finally\nresolved to engage in it. If Columbus had not entertained a very good\nopinion of himself, it is impossible that he should have announced such\na project, or should have achieved it.\n\nAgain. Let our illustration be, of Homer undertaking to compose the\nIliad. If he had not believed himself to be a man of very superior\npowers to the majority of the persons around him, he would most\nassuredly never have attempted it. What an enterprise! To describe in\ntwenty-four books, and sixteen thousand verses, the perpetual warfare\nand contention of two great nations, all Greece being armed for the\nattack, and all the western division of Asia Minor for the defence: the\nwar carried on by two vast confederacies, under numerous chiefs, all\nsovereign and essentially independent of each other. To conceive the\nvarious characters of the different leaders, and their mutual rivalship.\nTo engage all heaven, such as it was then understood, as well as what\nwas most respectable on earth, in the struggle. To form the idea,\nthrough twenty-four books, of varying the incidents perpetually, and\nkeeping alive the attention of the reader or hearer without satiety or\nweariness. For this purpose, and to answer to his conception of a great\npoem, Homer appears to have thought it necessary that the action should\nbe one; and he therefore took the incidental quarrel of Achilles and\nthe commander in chief, the resentment of Achilles, and his consequent\ndefection from the cause, till, by the death of Patroclus, and then\nof Hector, all traces of the misunderstanding first, and then of its\nconsequences, should be fully obliterated.\n\nThere is further an essential difference between the undertaking of\nColumbus and that of Homer. Once fairly engaged, there was for Columbus\nno drawing back. Being already at sea on the great Atlantic Ocean, he\ncould not retrace his steps. Even when he had presented his project to\nthe sovereigns of Spain, and they had accepted it, and still more when\nthe ships were engaged, and the crews mustered, he must go forward, or\nsubmit to indelible disgrace.\n\nIt is not so in writing a poem. The author of the latter may stop\nwhenever he pleases. Of consequence, during every day of its execution,\nhe requires a fresh stimulus. He must look back on the past, and forward\non what is to come, and feel that he has considerable reason to\nbe satisfied. The great naval discoverer may have his intervals of\nmisgiving and discouragement, and may, as Pope expresses it, \"wish\nthat any one would hang him.\" He goes forward; for he has no longer the\nliberty to choose. But the author of a mighty poem is not in the same\nmanner entangled, and therefore to a great degree returns to his work\neach day, \"screwing his courage to the sticking-place.\" He must feel the\nsame fortitude and elasticity, and be as entirely the same man of heroic\nenergy, as when he first arrived at the resolution to engage. How much\nthen of self-complacency and self-confidence do his undertaking and\nperformance imply!\n\nI have taken two of the most memorable examples in the catalogue of\nhuman achievements: the discovery of a New World, and the production of\nthe Iliad. But all those voluntary actions, or rather series and chains\nof actions, which comprise energy in the first determination, and honour\nin the execution, each in its degree rests upon self-complacency as the\npillar upon which its weight is sustained, and without which it must\nsink into nothing.\n\nSelf-complacency then being the indispensible condition of all that is\nhonourable in human achievements, hence we may derive a multitude\nof duties, and those of the most delicate nature, incumbent on the\npreceptor, as well as a peculiar discipline to be observed by the\ncandidate, both while he is \"under a schoolmaster,\" and afterwards when\nhe is emancipated, and his plan of conduct is to be regulated by his own\ndiscretion.\n\nThe first duty of the preceptor is encouragement.\n\nNot that his face is to be for ever dressed in smiles, and that his\ntone is to be at all times that of invitation and courtship. The great\ntheatre of the world is of a mingled constitution, made up of advantages\nand sufferings; and it is perhaps best that so should be the different\nscenes of the drama as they pass. The young adventurer is not to expect\nto have every difficulty smoothed for him by the hand of another. This\nwere to teach him a lesson of effeminacy and cowardice. On the contrary\nit is necessary that he should learn that human life is a state of\nhardship, that the adversary we have to encounter does not always\npresent himself with his fangs sheathed in the woolly softness which\noccasionally renders them harmless, and that nothing great or eminently\nhonourable was ever achieved but through the dint of resolution, energy\nand struggle. It is good that the winds of heaven should blow upon him,\nthat he should encounter the tempest of the elements, and occasionally\nsustain the inclemency of the summer's heat and winter's cold, both\nliterally and metaphorically.\n\nBut the preceptor, however he conducts himself in other respects, ought\nnever to allow his pupil to despise himself, or to hold himself as of no\naccount. Self-contempt can never be a discipline favourable to energy or\nto virtue. The pupil ought at all times to judge himself in some\ndegree worthy, worthy and competent now to attempt, and hereafter to\naccomplish, things deserving of commendation. The preceptor must never\ndegrade his pupil in his own eyes, but on the contrary must teach him\nthat nothing but resolution and perseverance are necessary, to enable\nhim to effect all that the judicious director can expect from him. He\nshould be encouraged through every step of his progress, and specially\nencouraged when he has gained a certain point, and arrived at an\nimportant resting-place. It is thus we are taught the whole circle of\nwhat are called accomplishments, dancing, music, fencing, and the rest;\nand it is surely a strange anomaly, if those things which are\nmost essential in raising the mind to its true standard, cannot be\ncommunicated with equal suavity and kindness, be surrounded with\nallurements, and regarded as sources of pleasure and genuine hilarity.\n\nIn the mean time it is to be admitted that every human creature,\nespecially in the season of youth, and not being the victim of some\ndepressing disease either of body or mind, has in him a good obstinate\nsort of self-complacency, which cannot without much difficulty be\neradicated. \"Though he falleth seven times, yet will he rise again.\"\nAnd, when we have encountered various mortifications, and have been many\ntimes rebuked and inveighed against, we nevertheless recover our own\ngood opinion, and are ready to enter into a fresh contention for the\nprize, if not in one kind, then in another.\n\nIt is in allusion to this feature in the human character, that we have\nan expressive phrase in the English language,--\"to break the spirit.\"\nThe preceptor may occasionally perhaps prescribe to the pupil a severe\ntask; and the young adventurer may say, Can I be expected to accomplish\nthis? But all must be done in kindness. The generous attempter must be\nreminded of the powers he has within him, perhaps yet unexercised; with\ncheering sounds his progress must be encouraged; and, above all,\nthe director of the course must take care not to tax him beyond his\nstrength. And, be it observed, that the strength of a human creature is\nto be ascertained by two things; first, the abstract capacity, that\nthe thing required is not beyond the power of a being so constituted\nto perform; and, secondly, we must take into the account his past\nachievements, the things he has already accomplished, and not expect\nthat he is at once to overleap a thousand obstacles.\n\nFor there is such a thing as a broken spirit. I remember a boy who was\nmy schoolfellow, that, having been treated with uncalled for severity,\nnever appeared afterwards in the scene of instruction, but with a\nneglected appearance, and the articles of his dress scarcely half put\non. I was very young at the time, and viewed only the outside of\nthings. I cannot tell whether he had any true ambition previously to his\ndisgrace, but I am sure he never had afterwards.\n\nHow melancholy an object is the man, who, \"for the privilege to breathe,\nbears up and down the city\n\n     A discontented and repining spirit\n     Burthensome to itself,\"\n\nincapable of enterprise, listless, with no courage to undertake, and\nno anticipation of the practicability of success and honour! And this\nspectacle is still more affecting, when the subject shall be a human\ncreature in the dawn of youth, when nature opens to him a vista of\nbeauty and fruition on every side, and all is encouraging, redolent of\nenergy and enterprise!\n\nTo break the spirit of a man, bears a considerable resemblance to the\nbreaking the main spring, or principal movement, of a complicated and\ningeniously constructed machine. We cannot tell when it is to happen;\nand it comes at last perhaps at the time that it is least expected. A\njudicious superintendent therefore will be far from trying consequences\nin his office, and will, like a man walking on a cliff whose extremes\nare ever and anon crumbling away and falling into the ocean, keep much\nwithin the edge, and at a safe distance from the line of danger.\n\nBut this consideration has led me much beyond the true subject of this\nEssay. The instructor of youth, as I have already said, is called\nupon to use all his skill, to animate the courage, and maintain the\ncheerfulness and self-complacency of his pupil. And, as such is the\ndiscipline to be observed to the candidate, while he is \"under a\nschoolmaster,\" so, when he is emancipated, and his plan of conduct is to\nbe regulated by his own discretion, it is necessary that he should\ncarry forward the same scheme, and cultivate that tone of feeling, which\nshould best reconcile him to himself, and, by teaching him to esteem\nhimself and bear in mind his own value, enable him to achieve things\nhonourable to his character, and memorably useful to others. Melancholy,\nand a disposition anticipating evil are carefully to be guarded against,\nby him who is desirous to perform his part well on the theatre of\nsociety. He should habitually meditate all cheerful things, and sing the\nsong of battle which has a thousand times spurred on his predecessors\nto victory. He should contemplate the crown that awaits him, and say to\nhimself, I also will do my part, and endeavour to enrol myself in the\nselect number of those champions, of whom it has been predicated that\nthey were men, of whom, compared with the herd of ordinary mortals, \"the\nworld,\" the species among whom they were rated, \"was not worthy.\"\n\nAnother consideration is to be recollected here. Without\nself-complacency in the agent no generous enterprise is to be expected,\nand no train of voluntary actions, such as may purchase honour to the\nperson engaged in them.\n\nBut, beside this, there is no true and substantial happiness but for\nthe self-complacent. \"The good man,\" as Solomon says, \"is satisfied from\nhimself.\" The reflex act is inseparable from the constitution of the\nhuman mind. How can any one have genuine happiness, unless in proportion\nas he looks round, and, \"behold! every thing is very good?\" This is the\nsunshine of the soul, the true joy, that gives cheerfulness to all our\ncirculations, and makes us feel ourselves entire and complete. What\nindeed is life, unless so far as it is enjoyed? It does not merit the\nname. If I go into a school, and look round on a number of young faces,\nthe scene is destitute of its true charm, unless so far as I see inward\npeace and contentment on all sides. And, if we require this eminently in\nthe young, neither can it be less essential, when in growing manhood we\nhave the real cares of the world to contend with, or when in declining\nage we need every auxiliary to enable us to sustain our infirmities.\n\nBut, before I conclude my remarks on this subject, it is necessary that\nI should carefully distinguish between the thesis, that self-complacency\nis the indispensible condition of all that is honourable in human\nachievements, and the proposition contended against in Essay XI, that\n\"self-love is the source of all our actions.\" Self-complacency is indeed\nthe feeling without which we cannot proceed in an honourable course; but\nis far from being the motive that impels us to act. The motive is in the\nreal nature and absolute properties of the good thing that is proposed\nto our choice: we seek the happiness of another, because his happiness\nis the object of our desire. Self-complacency may be likened to the\nbottle-holder in one of those contentions for bodily prowess, so\ncharacteristic of our old English manners. The bottle-holder is\nnecessary to supply the combatant with refreshment, and to encourage him\nto persist; but it would be most unnatural to regard him as the cause\nof the contest. No: the parties have found reason for competition, they\napprehend a misunderstanding or a rivalry impossible to be settled\nbut by open contention, and the putting forth of mental and corporeal\nenergy; and the bottle-holder is an auxiliary called in afterwards, his\ninterference implying that the parties have already a motive to act, and\nhave thrown down the gauntlet in token of the earnest good-will which\nanimates them to engage.\n\n\n\n\nESSAY XX. OF PHRENOLOGY.\n\nThe following remarks can pretend to be nothing more than a few loose\nand undigested thoughts upon a subject, which has recently occupied the\nattention of many men, and obtained an extraordinary vogue in the world.\nIt were to be wished, that the task had fallen into the hands of a\nwriter whose studies were more familiar with all the sciences which bear\nmore or less on the topic I propose to consider: but, if abler and more\ncompetent men pass it by, I feel disposed to plant myself in the breach,\nand to offer suggestions which may have the fortune to lead\nothers, better fitted for the office than myself, to engage in the\ninvestigation. One advantage I may claim, growing out of my partial\ndeficiency. It is known not to be uncommon for a man to stand too near\nto the subject of his survey, to allow him to obtain a large view of it\nin all its bearings. I am no anatomist: I simply take my stand upon the\nbroad ground of the general philosophy of man.\n\nIt is a very usual thing for fanciful theories to have their turn amidst\nthe eccentricities of the human mind, and then to be heard of no more.\nBut it is perhaps no ill occupation, now and then, for an impartial\nobserver, to analyse these theories, and attempt to blow away the dust\nwhich will occasionally settle on the surface of science. If phrenology,\nas taught by Gall and Spurzheim, be a truth, I shall probably render a\nservice to that truth, by endeavouring to shew where the edifice stands\nin need of more solid supports than have yet been assigned to it. If it\nbe a falshood, the sooner it is swept away to the gulph of oblivion the\nbetter. Let the inquisitive and the studious fix their minds on more\nsubstantial topics, instead of being led away by gaudy and deceitful\nappearances. The human head, that crowning capital of the column of man,\nis too interesting a subject, to be the proper theme of every dabbler.\nAnd it is obvious, that the professors of this so called discovery, if\nthey be rash and groundless in their assertions, will be in danger of\nproducing momentous errors, of exciting false hopes never destined to\nbe realised, and of visiting with pernicious blasts the opening buds\nof excellence, at the time when they are most exposed to the chance of\ndestruction.\n\nI shall set out with acknowledging, that there is, as I apprehend,\na science in relation to the human head, something like what Plato\npredicates of the statue hid in a block of marble. It is really\ncontained in the block; but it is only the most consummate sculptor,\nthat can bring it to the eyes of men, and free it from all the\nincumbrances, which, till he makes application of his art to it,\nsurround the statue, and load it with obscurities and disfigurement. The\nman, who, without long study and premeditation, rushes in at once, and\nexpects to withdraw the curtain, will only find himself disgraced by the\nattempt.\n\nThere is a passage in an acute writer(39), whose talents singularly\nfitted him, even when he appeared totally immerged in mummery and\ntrifles, to illustrate the most important truths, that is applicable to\nthe point I am considering.\n\n\n   (39) Sterne, Tristram Shandy, Vol. 1.\n\n\n\"Pray, what was that man's name,--for I write in such a hurry, I have no\ntime to recollect or look for it,--who first made the observation, 'That\nthere was great inconstancy in our air and climate?' Whoever he was, it\nwas a just and good observation in him. But the corollary drawn from it,\nnamely, 'That it is this which has furnished us with such a variety of\nodd and whimsical characters;'--that was not his;--it was found out by\nanother man, at least a century and a half after him. Then again, that\nthis copious storehouse of original materials is the true and natural\ncause that our comedies are so much better than those of France, or any\nothers that have or can be wrote upon the continent;--that discovery was\nnot fully made till about the middle of king William's reign, when the\ngreat Dryden, in writing one of his long prefaces (if I mistake not),\nmost fortunately hit upon it. Then, fourthly and lastly, that\nthis strange irregularity in our climate, producing so strange an\nirregularity in our characters, cloth thereby in some sort make us\namends, by giving us somewhat to make us merry with, when the weather\nwill not suffer us to go out of doors,--that observation is my own; and\nwas struck out by me this very rainy day, March 26, 1759, and betwixt\nthe hour of nine and ten in the morning.\n\n\"Thus--thus, my fellow-labourers and associates in this great harvest of\nour learning, now ripening before our eyes; thus it is, by slow steps\nof casual increase, that our knowledge physical, metaphysical,\nphysiological, polemical, nautical, mathematical, aenigmatical,\ntechnical, biographical, romantical, chemical, and obstetrical, with\nfifty other branches of it, (most of them ending, as these do, in ical,)\nhas, for these two last centuries and more, gradually been creeping\nupwards towards that acme of their perfections, from which, if we may\nform a conjecture from the advantages of these last seven years, we\ncannot possibly be far off.\"\n\nNothing can be more true, than the proposition ludicrously illustrated\nin this passage, that real science is in most instances of slow growth,\nand that the discoveries which are brought to perfection at once, are\ngreatly exposed to the suspicion of quackery. Like the ephemeron fly,\nthey are born suddenly, and may be expected to die as soon.\n\nLavater, the well known author of Essays on Physiognomy, appears to\nhave been born seventeen years before the birth of Gall. He attempted to\nreduce into a system the indications of human character that are to be\nfound in the countenance. Physiognomy, as a subject of ingenious and\nprobable conjecture, was well known to the ancients. But the test, how\nfar any observations that have been made on the subject are worthy the\nname of a science, will lie in its application by the professor to\na person respecting whom he has had no opportunity of previous\ninformation. Nothing is more easy, when a great warrior, statesman,\npoet, philosopher or philanthropist is explicitly placed before us, than\nfor the credulous inspector or fond visionary to examine the lines of\nhis countenance, and to point at the marks which should plainly shew us\nthat he ought to have been the very thing that he is. This is the very\ntrick of gipsies and fortune-tellers. But who ever pointed to an utter\nstranger in the street, and said, I perceive by that man's countenance\nthat he is one of the great luminaries of the world? Newton, or Bacon,\nor Shakespear would probably have passed along unheeded. Instances of a\nsimilar nature occur every day. Hence it plainly appears that, whatever\nmay hereafter be known on the subject, we can scarcely to the present\ntime be said to have overstepped the threshold. And yet nothing can be\nmore certain than that there is a science of physiognomy, though to\nmake use of an illustration already cited, it has not to this day\nbeen extricated out of the block of marble in which it is hid. Human\npassions, feelings and modes of thinking leave their traces on the\ncountenance: but we have not, thus far, left the dame's school in this\naffair, and are not qualified to enter ourselves in the free-school for\nmore liberal enquiries.\n\nThe writings of Lavater on the subject of physiognomy are couched in\na sort of poetic prose, overflowing with incoherent and vague\nexclamations, and bearing small resemblance to a treatise in which\nthe elements of science are to be developed. Their success however was\nextraordinary; and it was probably that success, which prompted Gall\nfirst to turn his attention from the indications of character that are\nto be found in the face of man, to the study of the head generally, as\nconnected with the intellectual and moral qualities of the individual.\n\nIt was about four years before the commencement of the present century,\nthat Gall appears to have begun to deliver lectures on the structure and\nexternal appearances of the human head. He tells us, that his attention\nwas first called to the subject in the ninth year of his age (that\nis, in the year 1767), and that he spent thirty years in the private\nmeditation of his system, before he began to promulgate it. Be that as\nit will, its most striking characteristic is that of marking out the\nscull into compartments, in the same manner as a country delineated on\na map is divided into districts, and assigning a different faculty or\norgan to each. In the earliest of these diagrams that has fallen\nunder my observation, the human scull is divided into twenty-seven\ncompartments.\n\nI would say of craniology, as I have already said of physiognomy, that\nthere is such a science attainable probably by man, but that we have yet\nmade scarcely any progress in the acquiring it. As certain lines in\nthe countenance are indicative of the dispositions of the man, so it\nis reasonable to believe that a certain structure of the head is in\ncorrespondence with the faculties and propensities of the individual.\n\nThus far we may probably advance without violating a due degree of\ncaution. But there is a wide distance between this general statement,\nand the conduct of the man who at once splits the human head into\ntwenty-seven compartments.\n\nThe exterior appearance of the scull is affirmed to correspond with the\nstructure of the brain beneath. And nothing can be more analogous to\nwhat the deepest thinkers have already confessed of man, than to suppose\nthat there is one structure of the brain better adapted for intellectual\npurposes than another. There is probably one structure better adapted\nthan another, for calculation, for poetry, for courage, for cowardice,\nfor presumption, for diffidence, for roughness, for tenderness, for\nself-control and the want of it. Even as some have inherently a faculty\nadapted for music or the contrary(40).\n\n\n   (40) See above, Essay II.\n\n\nBut it is not reasonable to believe that we think of calculation with\none portion of the brain, and of poetry with another.\n\nIt is very little that we know of the nature of matter; and we are\nequally ignorant as to the substance, whatever it is, in which the\nthinking principle in man resides. But, without adventuring in any\nway to dogmatise on the subject, we find so many analogies between the\nthinking principle, and the structure of what we call the brain, that\nwe cannot but regard the latter as in some way the instrument of the\nformer.\n\nNow nothing can be more certain respecting the thinking principle, than\nits individuality. It has been said, that the mind can entertain but one\nthought at one time; and certain it is, from the nature of attention,\nand from the association of ideas, that unity is one of the principal\ncharacteristics of mind. It is this which constitutes personal identity;\nan attribute that, however unsatisfactory may be the explanations which\nhave been given respecting it, we all of us feel, and that lies at the\nfoundation of all our voluntary actions, and all our morality.\n\nAnalogous to this unity of thought and mind, is the arrangement of the\nnerves and the brain in the human body. The nerves all lead up to the\nbrain; and there is a centrical point in the brain itself, in which the\nreports of the senses terminate, and at which the action of the will may\nbe conceived to begin. This, in the language of our fathers, was called\nthe \"seat of the soul.\"\n\nWe may therefore, without departing from the limits of a due caution\nand modesty, consider this as the throne before which the mind holds its\ncourt. Hither the senses bring in their reports, and hence the sovereign\nwill issues his commands. The whole system appears to be conducted\nthrough the instrumentality of the nerves, along whose subtle texture\nthe feelings and impressions are propagated. Between the reports of\nthe senses and the commands of the will, intervenes that which is\nemphatically the office of the mind, comprising meditation, reflection,\ninference and judgment. How these functions are performed we know not;\nbut it is reasonable to believe that the substance of the brain or of\nsome part of the brain is implicated in them.\n\nStill however we must not lose sight of what has been already said,\nthat in the action of the mind unity is an indispensible condition. Our\nthoughts can only hold their council and form their decrees in a very\nlimited region. This is their retreat and strong hold; and the special\nuse and functions of the remoter parts of the brain we are unable to\ndetermine; so utterly obscure and undefined is our present knowledge\nof the great ligament which binds together the body and the thinking\nprinciple.\n\nEnough however results from this imperfect view of the ligament, to\ndemonstrate the incongruity and untenableness of a doctrine which\nshould assign the indications of different functions, exercises and\npropensities of the mind to the exterior surface of the scull or the\nbrain. This is quackery, and is to be classed with chiromancy, augury,\nastrology, and the rest of those schemes for discovering the future\nand unknown, which the restlessness and anxiety of the human mind have\ninvented, built upon arbitrary principles, blundered upon in the dark,\nand having no resemblance to the march of genuine science. I find in\nsir Thomas Browne the following axioms of chiromancy: \"that spots in\nthe tops of the nails do signifie things past; in the middle, things\npresent; and at the bottom, events to come: that white specks presage\nour felicity; blue ones our misfortunes: that those in the nails of the\nthumb have significations of honour, in the forefinger, of riches, and\nso respectively in the rest.\"\n\nScience, to be of a high and satisfactory character, ought to consist of\na deduction of causes and effects, shewing us not merely that a thing is\nso, but why it is as it is, and cannot be otherwise. The rest is merely\nempirical; and, though the narrowness of human wit may often drive us\nto this; yet it is essentially of a lower order and description. As it\ndepends for its authority upon an example, or a number of examples, so\nexamples of a contrary nature may continually come in, to weaken its\nforce, or utterly to subvert it. And the affair is made still worse,\nwhen we see, as in the case of craniology, that all the reasons that\ncan be deduced (as here from the nature of mind) would persuade us\nto believe, that there can be no connection between the supposed\nindications, and the things pretended to be indicated.\n\nCraniology, or phrenology, proceeds exactly in the same train, as\nchiromancy, or any of those pretended sciences which are built merely\non assumption or conjecture. The first delineations presented to the\npublic, marked out, as I have said, the scull into compartments, in the\nsame manner as a country delineated on a map is divided into districts.\nGeography is a real science, and accordingly, like other sciences, has\nbeen slow and gradual in its progress. At an early stage travellers\nknew little more than the shores and islands of the Mediterranean.\nAfterwards, they passed the straits of Hercules, and entered into the\nAtlantic. At length the habitable world was distributed into three\nparts, Europe, Asia, and Africa. More recently, by many centuries, came\nthe discovery of America. It is but the other day comparatively, that\nwe found the extensive island of New Holland in the Southern Ocean. The\nancient geographers placed an elephant or some marine monster in the\nvacant parts of their maps, to signify that of these parts they knew\nnothing. Not so Dr. Gall. Every part of his globe of the human Scull, at\nleast with small exceptions, is fully tenanted; and he, with his single\narm, has conquered a world.\n\nThe majority of the judgments that have been divulged by the professors\nof this science, have had for their subjects the sculls of men, whose\nhabits and history have been already known. And yet with this advantage\nthe errors and contradictions into which their authors have fallen are\nconsiderably numerous. Thus I find, in the account of the doctor's visit\nto the House of Correction and the Hospital of Torgau in July 1805, the\nfollowing examples.\n\n\"Every person was desirous to know what Dr. Gall would say about T--,\nwho was known in the house as a thief full of cunning, and who,\nhaving several times made his escape, wore an additional iron. It was\nsurprising, that he saw in him far less of the organ of cunning, than in\nmany of the other prisoners. However it was proved, that examples, and\nconversation with other thieves in the house, had suggested to him the\nplan for his escape, and that the stupidity which he possesses was the\ncause of his being retaken.\"\n\n\"We were much surprised to be told, that M., in whom Dr. Gall had\nnot discovered the organ of representation, possessed extraordinary\nabilities in imitating the voice of animals; but we were convinced after\nenquiries, that his talent was not a natural one, but acquired by study.\nHe related to us that, when he was a Prussian soldier garrisoned at\nBerlin, he used to deceive the waiting women in the Foundling Hospital\nby imitating the voice of exposed infants, and sometimes counterfeited\nthe cry of a wild drake, when the officers were shooting ducks.\"\n\n\"Of another Dr. Gall said, His head is a pattern of inconstancy and\nconfinement, and there appears not the least mark of the organ of\ncourage. This rogue had been able to gain a great authority among his\nfellow-convicts. How is this to be reconciled with the want of constancy\nwhich his organisation plainly indicates? Dr. Gall answered, He gained\nhis ascendancy not by courage, but by cunning.\"\n\nIt is well known, that in Thurtel, who was executed for one of the most\ncold-blooded and remorseless murders ever heard of, the phrenologists\nfound the organ of benevolence uncommonly large.\n\nIn Spurzheim's delineation of the human head I find six divisions of\norgans marked out in the little hemisphere over the eye, indicating six\ndifferent dispositions. Must there not be in this subtle distribution\nmuch of what is arbitrary and sciolistic?\n\nIt is to be regretted, that no person skilful in metaphysics, or the\nhistory of the human mind, has taken a share in this investigation. Many\nerrors and much absurdity would have been removed from the statements\nof these theorists, if a proper division had been made between those\nattributes and propensities, which by possibility a human creature may\nbring into the world with him, and those which, being the pure growth\nof the arbitrary institutions of society, must be indebted to those\ninstitutions for their origin. I have endeavoured in a former Essay(41)\nto explain this distinction, and to shew how, though a human being\ncannot be born with an express propensity towards any one of the\ninfinite pursuits and occupations which may be found in civilised\nsociety, yet that he may be fitted by his external or internal structure\nto excel in some one of those pursuits rather than another. But all this\nis overlooked by the phrenologists. They remark the various habits and\ndispositions, the virtues and the vices, that display themselves in\nsociety as now constituted, and at once and without consideration trace\nthem to the structure that we bring into the world with us.\n\n\n   (41) See above, Essay II.\n\n\nCertainly many of Gall's organs are a libel upon our common nature. And,\nthough a scrupulous and exact philosopher will perhaps confess that he\nhas little distinct knowledge as to the design with which \"the earth and\nall that is therein\" were made, yet he finds in it so much of beauty\nand beneficent tendency, as will make him extremely reluctant to believe\nthat some men are born with a decided propensity to rob, and others\nto murder. Nor can any thing be more ludicrous than this author's\ndistinction of the different organs of memory--of things, of places, of\nnames, of language, and of numbers: organs, which must be conceived to\nbe given in the first instance long before names or language or\nnumbers had an existence. The followers of Gall have in a few instances\ncorrected this: but what their denominations have gained in avoiding\nthe grossest absurdities of their master, they have certainly lost in\nexplicitness and perspicuity.\n\nThere is a distinction, not unworthy to be attended to, that is here\nto be made between Lavater's system of physiognomy, and Gall's of\ncraniology, which is much in favour of the former. The lines and\ncharacteristic expressions of the face which may so frequently be\nobserved, are for the most part the creatures of the mind. This is in\nthe first place a mode of observation more agreeable to the pride and\nconscious elevation of man, and is in the next place more suitable\nto morality, and the vindication of all that is most admirable in the\nsystem of the universe. It is just, that what is most frequently passing\nin the mind, and is entertained there with the greatest favour, should\nleave its traces upon the countenance. It is thus that the high and\nexalted philosopher, the poet, and the man of benevolence and humanity\nare sometimes seen to be such by the bystander and the stranger. While\nthe malevolent, the trickish, and the grossly sensual, give notice\nof what they are by the cast of their features, and put their\nfellow-creatures upon their guard, that they may not be made the prey of\nthese vices.\n\nBut the march of craniology or phrenology, by whatever name it is\ncalled, is directly the reverse of this. It assigns to us organs, as far\nas the thing is explained by the professors either to the public or to\ntheir own minds, which are entailed upon us from our birth, and which\nare altogether independent, or nearly so, of any discipline or volition\nthat can be exercised by or upon the individual who drags their\nintolerable chain. Thus I am told of one individual that he wants the\norgan of colour; and all the culture in the world can never supply that\ndefect, and enable him to see colour at all, or to see it as it is seen\nby the rest of mankind. Another wants the organ of benevolence; and his\ncase is equally hopeless. I shrink from considering the condition of the\nwretch, to whom nature has supplied the organs of theft and murder in\nfull and ample proportions. The case is like that of astrology\n\n     (Their stars are more in fault than they),\n\nwith this aggravation, that our stars, so far as the faculty of\nprediction had been supposed to be attained, swayed in few things; but\ncraniology climbs at once to universal empire; and in her map, as I\nhave said, there are no vacant places, no unexplored regions and happy\nwide-extended deserts.\n\nIt is all a system of fatalism. Independently of ourselves, and\nfar beyond our control, we are reserved for good or for evil by the\npredestinating spirit that reigns over all things. Unhappy is the\nindividual who enters himself in this school. He has no consolation,\nexcept the gratified wish to know distressing truths, unless we add to\nthis the pride of science, that he has by his own skill and application\npurchased for himself the discernment which places him in so painful a\npreeminence. The great triumph of man is in the power of education, to\nimprove his intellect, to sharpen his perceptions, and to regulate\nand modify his moral qualities. But craniology reduces this to almost\nnothing, and exhibits us for the most part as the helpless victims of a\nblind and remorseless destiny.\n\nIn the mean time it is happy for us, that, as this system is perhaps the\nmost rigorous and degrading that was ever devised, so it is in\nalmost all instances founded upon arbitrary assumptions and confident\nassertion, totally in opposition to the true spirit of patient and\nlaborious investigation and sound philosophy.\n\nIt is in reality very little that we know of the genuine characters\nof men. Every human creature is a mystery to his fellow. Every\nhuman character is made up of incongruities. Of nearly all the great\npersonages in history it is difficult to say what was decidedly the\nmotive in which their actions and system of conduct originated. We study\nwhat they did, and what they said; but in vain. We never arrive at a\nfull and demonstrative conclusion. In reality no man can be certainly\nsaid to know himself. \"The heart of man is deceitful above all things.\"\n\nBut these dogmatists overlook all those difficulties, which would\npersuade a wise man to suspend his judgment, and induce a jury\nof philosophers to hesitate for ever as to the verdict they would\npronounce. They look only at the external character of the act by which\na man honours or disgraces himself. They decide presumptuously and in a\nlump, This man is a murderer, a hero, a coward, the slave of avarice, or\nthe votary of philanthropy; and then, surveying the outside of his head,\nundertake to find in him the configuration that should indicate these\ndispositions, and must be found in all persons of a similar character,\nor rather whose acts bear the same outward form, and seem analogous to\nhis.\n\nTill we have discovered the clue that should enable us to unravel the\nlabyrinth of the human mind, it is with small hopes of success that we\nshould expect to settle the external indications, and decide that this\nsort of form and appearance, and that class of character, will always be\nfound together.\n\nBut it is not to be wondered at, that these disorderly fragments of a\nshapeless science should become the special favourites of the idle and\nthe arrogant. Every man (and every woman), however destitute of real\ninstruction, and unfitted for the investigation of the deep or the\nsublime mysteries of our nature, can use his eyes and his hands. The\nwhole boundless congregation of mankind, with its everlasting varieties,\nis thus at once subjected to the sentence of every pretender:\n\n     And fools rush in, where angels fear to tread.\n\nNothing is more delightful to the headlong and presumptuous, than thus\nto sit in judgment on their betters, and pronounce ex cathedra on those,\n\"whose shoe-latchet they are not worthy to stoop down and unloose.\" I\nremember, after lord George Gordon's riots, eleven persons accused were\nset down in one indictment for their lives, and given in charge to one\njury. But this is a mere shadow, a nothing, compared with the wholesale\nand indiscriminating judgment of the vulgar phrenologist.\n\n\n\n\nESSAY XXI. OF ASTRONOMY.\n\nSECTION I.\n\nIt can scarcely be imputed to me as profane, if I venture to put down\na few sceptical doubts on the science of astronomy. All branches of\nknowledge are to be considered as fair subjects of enquiry: and he that\nhas never doubted, may be said, in the highest and strictest sense of\nthe word, never to have believed.\n\nThe first volume that furnished to me the groundwork of the following\ndoubts, was the book commonly known by the name of Guthrie's\nGeographical Grammar, many parts and passages of which engaged my\nattention in my own study, in the house of a rural schoolmaster, in the\nyear 1772. I cannot therefore proceed more fairly than by giving here\nan extract of certain passages in that book, which have relation to\nthe present subject. I know not how far they have been altered in the\nedition of Guthrie which now lies before me, from the language of\nthe book then in my possession; but I feel confident that in the main\nparticulars they continue the same(42).\n\n\n   (42) The article Astronomy, in this book, appears to have been written\nby the well known James Ferguson.\n\n\n\"In passing rapidly over the heavens with his new telescope, the\nuniverse increased under the eye of Herschel; 44,000 stars, seen in the\nspace of a few degrees, seemed to indicate that there were seventy-five\nmillions in the heavens. But what are all these, when compared with\nthose that fill the whole expanse, the boundless field of aether?\n\n\"The immense distance of the fixed stars from our earth, and from each\nother, is of all considerations the most proper for raising our ideas of\nthe works of God. Modern discoveries make it probable that each of these\nstars is a sun, having planets and comets revolving round it, as our sun\nhas the earth and other planets revolving round him.--A ray of light,\nthough its motion is so quick as to be commonly thought instantaneous,\ntakes up more time in travelling from the stars to us, than we do in\nmaking a West-India voyage. A sound, which, next to light, is considered\nas the quickest body we are acquainted with, would not arrive to us from\nthence in 50,000 years. And a cannon-ball, flying at the rate of 480\nmiles an hour, would not reach us in 700,000 years.\n\n\"From what we know of our own system, it may be reasonably concluded,\nthat all the rest are with equal wisdom contrived, situated, and\nprovided with accommodations for rational inhabitants.\n\n\"What a sublime idea does this suggest to the human imagination, limited\nas are its powers, of the works of the Creator! Thousands and thousands\nof suns, multiplied without end, and ranged all around us, at immense\ndistances from each other, attended by ten thousand times ten thousand\nworlds, all in rapid motion, yet calm, regular and harmonious,\ninvariably keeping the paths prescribed them: and these worlds peopled\nwith myriads of intelligent beings, formed for endless progression in\nperfection and felicity!\"\n\nThe thought that would immediately occur to a dispassionate man in\nlistening to this statement, would be, What a vast deal am I here called\non to believe!\n\nNow the first rule of sound and sober judgment, in encountering any\nstory, is that, in proportion to the magnitude and seemingly incredible\nnature of the propositions tendered to our belief, should be the\nstrength and impregnable nature of the evidence by which those\npropositions are supported.\n\nIt is not here, as in matters of religion, that we are called upon by\nauthority from on high to believe in mysteries, in things above our\nreason, or, as it may be, contrary to our reason. No man pretends to\na revelation from heaven of the truths of astronomy. They have been\nbrought to light by the faculties of the human mind, exercised upon such\nfacts and circumstances as our industry has set before us.\n\nTo persons not initiated in the rudiments of astronomical science, they\nrest upon the great and high-sounding names of Galileo, Kepler, Halley\nand Newton. But, though these men are eminently entitled to honour and\ngratitude from their fellow-mortals, they do not stand altogether on\nthe same footing as Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, by whose pens has been\nrecorded \"every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God.\"\n\nThe modest enquirer therefore, without pretending to put himself on an\nequality with these illustrious men, may be forgiven, when he permits\nhimself to suggest a few doubts, and presumes to examine the grounds\nupon which he is called upon to believe all that is contained in the\nabove passages.\n\nNow the foundations upon which astronomy, as here delivered, is built,\nare, first, the evidence of our senses, secondly, the calculations of\nthe mathematician, and, in the third place, moral considerations. These\nhave been denominated respectively, practical astronomy, scientific, and\ntheoretical.\n\nAs to the first of these, it is impossible for us on this occasion\nnot to recollect what has so often occurred as to have grown into an\nevery-day observation, of the fallibility of our senses.\n\nIt may be doubted however whether this is a just statement. We are not\ndeceived by our senses, but deceived in the inference we make from our\nsensations. Our sensations respecting what we call the external\nworld, are chiefly those of length, breadth and solidity, hardness and\nsoftness, heat and cold, colour, smell, sound and taste. The inference\nwhich the generality of mankind make in relation to these sensations\nis, that there is something out of ourselves corresponding to the\nimpressions we receive; in other words, that the causes of our\nsensations are like to the sensations themselves. But this is, strictly\nspeaking, an inference; and, if the cause of a sensation is not like the\nsensation, it cannot precisely be affirmed that our senses deceive us.\nWe know what passes in the theatre of the mind; but we cannot be said\nabsolutely to know any thing, more.\n\nModern philosophy has taught us, in certain cases, to controvert the\nposition, that the causes of our sensations are like to the sensations\nthemselves. Locke in particular has called the attention of the\nreasoning part of mankind to the consideration, that heat and cold,\nsweet and bitter, and odour offensive or otherwise, are perceptions,\nwhich imply a percipient being, and cannot exist in inanimate\nsubstances. We might with equal propriety ascribe pain to the whip that\nbeats us, or pleasure to the slight alternation of contact in the person\nor thing that tickles us, as suppose that heat and cold, or taste, or\nsmell are any thing but sensations.\n\nThe same philosophers who have called our attention to these remarks,\nhave proceeded to shew that the causes of our sensations of sound and\ncolour have no precise correspondence, do not tally with the sensations\nwe receive. Sound is the result of a percussion of the air. Colour\nis produced by the reflection of the rays of light; so that the same\nobject, placed in a position, different as to the spectator, but in\nitself remaining unaltered, will produce in him a sensation of different\ncolours, or shades of colour, now blue, now green, now brown, now black,\nand so on. This is the doctrine of Newton, as well as of Locke.\n\nIt follows that, if there were no percipient being to receive these\nsensations, there would be no heat or cold, no taste, no smell, no\nsound, and no colour.\n\nAware of this difference between our sensations in certain cases and\nthe causes of these sensations, Locke has divided the qualities of\nsubstances in the material universe into primary and secondary, the\nsensations we receive of the primary representing the actual qualities\nof material substances, but the sensations we receive of what he calls\nthe secondary having no proper resemblance to the causes that produce\nthem.\n\nNow, if we proceed in the spirit of severe analysis to examine the\nprimary qualities of matter, we shall not perhaps find so marked a\ndistinction between those and the secondary, as the statement of Locke\nwould have led us to imagine.\n\nThe Optics of Newton were published fourteen years later than Locke's\nEssay concerning Human Understanding.\n\nIn endeavouring to account for the uninterrupted transmission of rays of\nlight through transparent substances, however hard they may be found to\nbe, Newton has these observations.\n\n\"Bodies are much more rare and porous, than is commonly believed.\nWater is nineteen times lighter, and by consequence nineteen times\nrarer, than gold; and gold is so rare, as very readily, and without the\nleast opposition, to transmit the magnetic effluvia, and easily to admit\nquicksilver into its pores, and to let water pass through it. From all\nwhich we may conclude, that gold has more pores than solid parts, and by\nconsequence that water has above forty times more pores than parts. And\nhe that shall find out an hypothesis, by which water may be so rare,\nand yet not capable of compression by force, may doubtless, by the same\nhypothesis, make gold, and water, and all other bodies, as much rarer as\nhe pleases, so that light may find a ready passage through transparent\nsubstances(43).\"\n\n\n   (43) Newton, Optics, Book II, Part III, Prop. viii.\n\n\nAgain: \"The colours of bodies arise from the magnitude of the particles\nthat reflect them. Now, if we conceive these particles of bodies to\nbe so disposed among themselves, that the intervals, or empty spaces\nbetween them, may be equal in magnitude to them all; and that these\nparticles may be composed of other particles much smaller, which have\nas much empty space between them as equals all the magnitudes of these\nsmaller particles; and that in like manner these smaller particles are\nagain composed of others much smaller, all which together are equal to\nall the pores, or empty spaces, between them; and so on perpetually\ntill you come to solid particles, such as have no pores, or empty spaces\nwithin them: and if in any gross body there be, for instance, three such\ndegrees of particles, the least of which are solid; this body will\nhave seven times more pores than solid parts. But if there be four such\ndegrees of particles, the least of which are solid, the body will have\nfifteen times more pores than solid parts. If there be five degrees, the\nbody will have one and thirty times more pores than solid parts. If six\ndegrees, the body will have sixty and three times more pores than solid\nparts. And so on perpetually(44).\"\n\n\n   (44) Ibid.\n\n\nIn the Queries annexed to the Optics, Newton further suggests an\nopinion, that the rays of light are repelled by bodies without immediate\ncontact. He observes that:\n\n\"Where attraction ceases, there a repulsive virtue ought to succeed.\nAnd that there is such a virtue, seems to follow from the reflexions and\ninflexions of the rays of light. For the rays are repelled by bodies,\nin both these cases, without the immediate contact of the reflecting or\ninflecting body. It seems also to follow from the emission of light; the\nray, so soon as it is shaken off from a shining body by the vibrating\nmotion of the parts of the body, and gets beyond the reach of\nattraction, being driven away with exceeding great velocity. For\nthat force, which is sufficient to turn it back in reflexion, may be\nsufficient to emit it. It seems also to follow from the production of\nair and vapour: the particles, when they are shaken off from bodies\nby heat or fermentation, so soon as they are beyond the reach of the\nattraction of the body, receding from it and also from one another, with\ngreat strength; and keeping at a distance, so as sometimes to take up a\nmillion of times more space than they did before, in the form of a dense\nbody.\"\n\nNewton was of opinion that matter was made up, in the last resort, of\nexceedingly small solid particles, having no pores, or empty spaces\nwithin them. Priestley, in his Disquisitions relating to Matter and\nSpirit, carries the theory one step farther; and, as Newton surrounds\nhis exceedingly small particles with spheres of attraction and\nrepulsion, precluding in all cases their actual contact, Priestley is\ndisposed to regard the centre of these spheres as mathematical points\nonly. If there is no actual contact, then by the very terms no two\nparticles of matter were ever so near to each other, but that they\nmight be brought nearer, if a sufficient force could be applied for that\npurpose. You had only another sphere of repulsion to conquer; and, as\nthere never is actual contact, the whole world is made up of one sphere\nof repulsion after another, without the possibility of ever arriving at\nan end.\n\n\"The principles of the Newtonian philosophy,\" says our author, \"were no\nsooner known, than it was seen how few in comparison, of the phenomena\nof nature, were owing to solid matter, and how much to powers, which\nwere only supposed to accompany and surround the solid parts of matter.\nIt has been asserted, and the assertion has never been disproved, that\nfor any thing we know to the contrary, all the solid matter in the solar\nsystem might be contained within a nutshell(45).\"\n\n\n   (45) Priestley, Disquisitions, Section II. I know not by whom this\nillustration was first employed. Among other authors, I find, in\nFielding (Joseph Andrews, Book II, Chap. II), a sect of philosophers\nspoken of, who \"can reduce all the matter of the world into a nutshell.\"\n\n\nIt is then with senses, from the impressions upon which we are impelled\nto draw such false conclusions, and that present us with images\naltogether unlike any thing that exists out of ourselves, that we\ncome to observe the phenomena of what we call the universe. The first\nobservation that it is here incumbent on us to make, and which we ought\nto keep ever at hand, to be applied as occasion may offer, is the\nwell known aphorism of Socrates, that \"we know only this, that we know\nnothing.\" We have no compass to guide us through the pathless waters of\nscience; we have no revelation, at least on the subject of astronomy,\nand of the unnumbered inhabitable worlds that float in the ocean of\nether; and we are bound therefore to sail, as the mariners of ancient\ntimes sailed, always within sight of land. One of the earliest maxims of\nordinary prudence, is that we ought ever to correct the reports of one\nsense by the assistance of another sense. The things we here speak of\nare not matters of faith; and in them therefore it is but reason, that\nwe should imitate the conduct of Didymus the apostle, who said, \"Except\nI put my fingers into the prints of the nails, and thrust my hand into\nhis side, I will not believe.\" My eyes report to me an object, as having\na certain magnitude, texture, and roughness or smoothness; but I require\nthat my hands should confirm to me the evidence of my eyes. I see\nsomething that appears to be an island at an uncertain distance from\nthe shore; but, if I am actuated by a laudable curiosity, and wish to\npossess a real knowledge, I take a boat, and proceed to ascertain by\nnearer inspection, whether that which I imagined to be an island is an\nisland or no.\n\nThere are indeed many objects with which we are conversant, that are\nin so various ways similar to each other, that, after having carefully\nexamined a few, we are satisfied upon slighter investigation to admit\nthe dimensions and character of others. Thus, having measured with a\nquadrant the height of a tower, and found on the narrowest search and\ncomparison that the report of my instrument was right, I yield credit to\nthis process in another instance, without being at the trouble to verify\nits results in any more elaborate method.\n\nThe reason why we admit the inference flowing from our examination\nin the second instance, and so onward, with less scrupulosity and\nscepticism than in the first, is that there is a strict resemblance and\nanalogy in the two cases. Experience is the basis of our conclusions and\nour conduct. I strike against a given object, a nail for example, with\na certain degree of force, because I have remarked in myself and others\nthe effect of such a stroke. I take food and masticate it, because I\nhave found that this process contributes to the sound condition of my\nbody and mind. I scatter certain seeds in my field, and discharge the\nother functions of an agriculturist, because I have observed that in due\ntime the result of this industry is a crop. All the propriety of these\nproceedings depends upon the exact analogy between the old case and the\nnew one. The state of the affair is still the same, when my business\nis merely that of an observer and a traveller. I know water from earth,\nland from sea, and mountains from vallies, because I have had experience\nof these objects, and confidently infer that, when certain appearances\npresent themselves to my organs of sight, I shall find the same results\nto all my other senses, as I found when such appearances occurred to me\nbefore.\n\nBut the interval that divides the objects which occur upon and under\nthe earth, and are accessible in all ways to our examination, on the one\nhand, and the lights which are suspended over our heads in the heavens\non the other, is of the broadest and most memorable nature. Human\nbeings, in the infancy of the world, were contented reverently to behold\nthese in their calmness and beauty, perhaps to worship them, and to\nremark the effects that they produced, or seemed to produce, upon man\nand the subjects of his industry. But they did not aspire to measure\ntheir dimensions, to enquire into their internal frame, or to explain\nthe uses, far removed from our sphere of existence, which they might be\nintended to serve.\n\nIt is however one of the effects of the improvement of our intellect, to\nenlarge our curiosity. The daringness of human enterprise is one of\nthe prime glories of our nature. It is our boast that we undertake\nto \"measure earth, weigh air, and state the tides.\" And, when success\ncrowns the boldness of our aspirations after what vulgar and timorous\nprudence had pronounced impossible, it is then chiefly that we are seen\nto participate of an essence divine.\n\nWhat has not man effected by the boldness of his conceptions and the\nadventurousness of his spirit? The achievements of human genius have\nappeared so incredible, till they were thoroughly examined, and slowly\nestablished their right to general acceptance, that the great heroes of\nintellect were universally regarded by their contemporaries as dealers\nin magic, and implements of the devil. The inventor of the art of\nprinting, that glorious instrument for advancing the march of human\nimprovement, and the discoverer of the more questionable art of making\ngunpowder, alike suffered under this imputation. We have rendered the\nseas and the winds instruments of our pleasure, \"exhausted the old\nworld, and then discovered a new one,\" have drawn down lightning from\nheaven, and exhibited equal rights and independence to mankind. Still\nhowever it is incumbent on us to be no less wary and suspicious than\nwe are bold, and not to imagine, because we have done much, that we are\ntherefore able to effect every thing.\n\nAs was stated in the commencement of this Essay, we know our own\nsensations, and we know little more. Matter, whether in its primary\nor secondary qualities, is certainly not the sort of thing the vulgar\nimagine it to be. The illustrious Berkeley has taught many to doubt of\nits existence altogether; and later theorists have gone farther than\nthis, and endeavoured to shew, that each man, himself while he speaks on\nthe subject, and you and I while we hear, have no conclusive evidence to\nconvince us, that we may not, each of us, for aught we know, be the only\nthing that exists, an entire universe to ourselves.\n\nWe will not however follow these ingenious persons to the startling\nextreme to which their speculations would lead us. But, without doing\nso, it will not misbecome us to be cautious, and to reflect what we do,\nbefore we take a leap into illimitable space.\n\n\nSECTION II.\n\n\"The sun,\" we are told, \"is a solid body, ninety-five millions of miles\ndistant from the earth we inhabit, one million times larger in cubic\nmeasurement, and to such a degree impregnated with heat, that a comet,\napproaching to it within a certain distance, was by that approximation\nraised to a heat two thousand times greater than that of red-hot iron.\"\n\nIt will be acknowledged, that there is in this statement much to\nbelieve; and we shall not be exposed to reasonable blame, if we refuse\nto subscribe to it, till we have received irresistible evidence of its\ntruth.\n\nIt has already been observed, that, for the greater part of what we\nimagine we know on the surface or in the bowels of the earth, we have,\nor may have if we please, the evidence of more than one of our senses,\ncombining to lead to the same conclusion. For the propositions of\nastronomy we have no sensible evidence, but that of sight, and an\nimperfect analogy, leading from those visible impressions which we can\nverify, to a reliance upon those which we cannot.\n\nThe first cardinal particular we meet with in the above statement\nconcerning the sun, is the term, distance. Now, all that, strictly\nspeaking, we can affirm respecting the sun and other heavenly bodies,\nis that we have the same series of impressions respecting them, that we\nhave respecting terrestrial objects near or remote, and that there is an\nimperfect analogy between the one case and the other.\n\nBefore we affirm any thing, as of our own knowledge and competence,\nrespecting heavenly bodies which are said to be millions of millions\nof miles removed from us, it would not perhaps be amiss that we should\npossess ourselves of a certain degree of incontestible information, as\nto the things which exist on the earth we inhabit. Among these, one of\nthe subjects attended with a great degree of doubt and obscurity, is the\nheight of the mountains with which the surface of the globe we inhabit\nis diversified. It is affirmed in the received books of elementary\ngeography, that the Andes are the highest mountains in the world. Morse,\nin his American Gazetteer, third edition, printed at Boston in 1810(46),\nsays, \"The height of Chimborazzo, the most elevated point of the vast\nchain of the Andes, is 20,280 feet above the level of the sea, which\nis 7102 feet higher than any other mountain in the known world:\" thus\nmaking the elevation of the mountains of Thibet, or whatever other\nrising ground the compiler had in his thought, precisely 13,178 feet\nabove the level of the sea, and no more. This decision however has\nlately been contradicted. Mr. Hugh Murray, in an Account of Discoveries\nand Travels in Asia, published in 1820, has collated the reports of\nvarious recent travellers in central Asia; and he states the height\nof Chumularee, which he speaks of as the most elevated point of the\nmountains of Thibet, as nearly 30,000 feet above the level of the sea.\n\n\n   (46) Article, Andes.\n\n\nThe elevation of mountains, till lately, was in no way attempted to\nbe ascertained but by the use of the quadrant, and their height was\nso generally exaggerated, that Riccioli, one of the most eminent\nastronomers of the seventeenth century, gives it as his opinion that\nmountains, like the Caucasus, may have a perpendicular elevation of\nfifty Italian miles(47). Later observers have undertaken to correct the\ninaccuracy of these results through the application of the barometer,\nand thus, by informing themselves of the weight of the air at a certain\nelevation, proceeding to infer the height of the situation.\n\n\n   (47) Rees, Encyclopedia; article, Mountains.\n\n\nThere are many circumstances, which are calculated to induce a\ncircumspect enquirer to regard the affirmative positions of astronomy,\nas they are delivered by the most approved modern writers, with\nconsiderable diffidence.\n\nThey are founded, as has already been said, next to the evidence of our\nsenses, upon the deductions of mathematical knowledge.\n\nMathematics are either pure or mixed.\n\nPure mathematics are concerned only with abstract propositions, and have\nnothing to do with the realities of nature. There is no such thing in\nactual existence as a mathematical point, line or surface. There is no\nsuch thing as a circle or square. But that is of no consequence. We can\ndefine them in words, and reason about them. We can draw a diagram, and\nsuppose that line to be straight which is not really straight, and that\nfigure to be a circle which is not strictly a circle. It is conceived\ntherefore by the generality of observers, that mathematics is the\nscience of certainty.\n\nBut this is not strictly the case. Mathematics are like those abstract\nand imaginary existences about which they are conversant. They may\nconstitute in themselves, and in the apprehension of an infallible\nbeing, a science of certainty. But they come to us mixed and\nincorporated with our imperfections. Our faculties are limited; and we\nmay be easily deceived, as to what it is that we see with transparent\nand unerring clearness, and what it is that comes to us through a\ncrooked medium, refracting and distorting the rays of primitive truth.\nWe often seem clear, when in reality the twilight of undistinguishing\nnight has crept fast and far upon us. In a train of deductions, as\nin the steps of an arithmetical process, an error may have insinuated\nitself imperceptibly at a very early stage, rendering all the subsequent\nsteps a wandering farther and farther from the unadulterated truth.\nHuman mathematics, so to speak, like the length of life, are subject to\nthe doctrine of chances. Mathematics may be the science of certainty to\ncelestial natures, but not to man.\n\nBut, if in the case of pure mathematics, we are exposed to the chances\nof error and delusion, it is much worse with mixed mathematics.\nThe moment we step out of the high region of abstraction, and apply\nourselves to what we call external nature, we have forfeited that sacred\ncharacter and immunity, which we seemed entitled to boast, so long as\nwe remained inclosed in the sanctuary of unmingled truth. As has already\nbeen said, we know what passes in the theatre of the mind; but we cannot\nbe said absolutely to know any thing more. In our speculations upon\nactual existences we are not only subject to the disadvantages which\narise from the limited nature of our faculties, and the errors which may\ninsensibly creep upon us in the process. We are further exposed to the\noperation of the unevennesses and irregularities that perpetually\noccur in external nature, the imperfection of our senses, and of the\ninstruments we construct to assist our observations, and the discrepancy\nwhich we frequently detect between the actual nature of the things about\nus and our impressions respecting them.\n\nThis is obvious, whenever we undertake to apply the processes of\narithmetic to the realities of life. Arithmetic, unsubjected to the\nimpulses of passion and the accidents of created nature, holds on its\ncourse; but, in the phenomena of the actual world, \"time and chance\nhappeneth to them all.\"\n\nThus it is, for example, in the arithmetical and geometrical ratios, set\nup in political economy by the celebrated Mr. Malthus. His numbers will\ngo on smoothly enough, 1, 2, 4, 8, 16, 32, as representing the principle\nof population among mankind, and 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, the means of\nsubsistence; but restiff and uncomplying nature refuses to conform\nherself to his dicta.\n\nDr. Price has calculated the produce of one penny, put out at the\ncommencement of the Christian era to five per cent. compound interest,\nand finds that in the year 1791 it would have increased to a greater sum\nthan would be contained in three hundred millions of earths, all solid\ngold. But what has this to do with the world in which we live? Did\never any one put out his penny to interest in this fashion for eighteen\nhundred years? And, if he did, where was the gold to be found, to\nsatisfy his demand?\n\nMorse, in his American Gazetteer, proceeding on the principles of\nMalthus, tells us that, if the city of New York goes on increasing for\na century in a certain ratio, it will by that time contain 5,257,493\ninhabitants. But does any one, for himself or his posterity, expect to\nsee this realised?\n\nBlackstone, in his Commentaries on the Laws of England, has observed\nthat, as every man has two ancestors in the first ascending degree,\nand four in the second, so in the twentieth degree he has more than a\nmillion, and in the fortieth the square of that number, or upwards of a\nmillion millions. This statement therefore would have a greater tendency\nto prove that mankind in remote ages were numerous, almost beyond the\npower of figures to represent, than the opposite doctrine of Malthus,\nthat they have a perpetual tendency to such increase as would infallibly\nbring down the most tremendous calamities on our posterity.\n\nBerkeley, whom I have already referred to on another subject, and who\nis admitted to be one of our profoundest philosophers, has written\na treatise(48) to prove, that the mathematicians, who object to the\nmysteries supposed to exist in revealed religion, \"admit much greater\nmysteries, and even falshoods in science, of which he alleges the\ndoctrine of fluxions as an eminent example(49).\" He observes, that their\nconclusions are established by virtue of a twofold error, and that these\nerrors, being in contrary directions, are supposed to compensate each\nother, the expounders of the doctrine thus arriving at what they call\ntruth, without being able to shew how, or by what means they have\narrived at it.\n\n\n   (48) The Analyst.\n\n\n   (49) Life of Berkeley, prefixed to his Works.\n\n\nIt is a memorable and a curious speculation to reflect, upon how slight\ngrounds the doctrine of \"thousands and thousands of suns, multiplied\nwithout end, and ranged all around us, at immense distances from\neach other, and attended by ten thousand times ten thousand worlds,\"\nmentioned in the beginning of this Essay, is built. It may be all true.\nBut, true or false, it cannot be without its use to us, carefully\nto survey the road upon which we are advancing, the pier which human\nenterprise has dared to throw out into the vast ocean of Cimmerian\ndarkness. We have constructed a pyramid, which throws into unspeakable\ncontempt the vestiges of ancient Egyptian industry: but it stands upon\nits apex; it trembles with every breeze; and momentarily threatens to\noverwhelm in its ruins the fearless undertakers that have set it up.\n\nIt gives us a mighty and sublime idea of the nature of man, to think\nwith what composure and confidence a succession of persons of the\ngreatest genius have launched themselves in illimitable space, with\nwhat invincible industry they have proceeded, wasting the midnight oil,\nracking their faculties, and almost wearing their organs to dust, in\nmeasuring the distance of Sirius and the other fixed stars, the velocity\nof light, and \"the myriads of intelligent beings formed for endless\nprogression in perfection and felicity,\" that people the numberless\nworlds of which they discourse. The illustrious names of Copernicus,\nGalileo, Gassendi, Kepler, Halley and Newton impress us with awe; and,\nif the astronomy they have opened before us is a romance, it is at least\na romance more seriously and perseveringly handled than any other in the\nannals of literature.\n\nA vulgar and a plain man would unavoidably ask the astronomers, How came\nyou so familiarly acquainted with the magnitude and qualities of the\nheavenly bodies, a great portion of which, by your own account, are\nmillions of millions of miles removed from us? But, I believe, it is not\nthe fashion of the present day to start so rude a question. I have just\nturned over an article on Astronomy in the Encyclopaedia Londinensis,\nconsisting of one hundred and thirty-three very closely printed quarto\npages, and in no corner of this article is any evidence so much as\nhinted at. Is it not enough? Newton and his compeers have said it.\n\nThe whole doctrine of astronomy rests upon trigonometry, a branch of the\nscience of mathematics which teaches us, having two sides and one angle,\nor two angles and one side, of a triangle given us, to construct the\nwhole. To apply this principle therefore to the heavenly bodies, it is\nnecessary for us to take two stations, the more remote from each other\nthe better, from which our observations should be made. For the sake\nof illustration we will suppose them to be taken at the extremes of the\nearth's diameter, in other words, nearly eight thousand miles apart from\neach other, the thing itself having never been realised to that\nextent. From each of these stations we will imagine a line to be drawn,\nterminating in the sun. Now it seems easy, by means of a quadrant, to\nfind the arch of a circle (in other words, the angle) included between\nthese lines terminating in the sun, and the base formed by a right line\ndrawn from one of these stations to the other, which in this case is\nthe length of the earth's diameter. I have therefore now the three\nparticulars required to enable me to construct my triangle. And,\naccording to the most approved astronomical observations hitherto made,\nI have an isosceles triangle, eight thousand miles broad at its base,\nand ninety-five millions of miles in the length of each of the sides\nreaching from the base to the apex.\n\nIt is however obvious to the most indifferent observer, that the more\nany triangle, or other mathematical diagram, falls within the limits\nwhich our senses can conveniently embrace, the more securely, when our\nbusiness is practical, and our purpose to apply the result to external\nobjects, can we rely on the accuracy of our results. In a case therefore\nlike the present, where the base of our isosceles triangle is to the\nother two sides as eight units to twelve thousand, it is impossible\nnot to perceive that it behoves us to be singularly diffident as to the\nconclusion at which we have arrived, or rather it behoves us to take for\ngranted that we are not unlikely to fall into the most important error.\nWe have satisfied ourselves that the sides of the triangle including\nthe apex, do not form an angle, till they have arrived at the extent of\nninety-five millions of miles. How are we sure that they do then? May\nnot lines which have reached to so amazing a length without meeting, be\nin reality parallel lines? If an angle is never formed, there can be no\nresult. The whole question seems to be incommensurate to our faculties.\n\nIt being obvious that this was a very unsatisfactory scheme for arriving\nat the knowledge desired, the celebrated Halley suggested another\nmethod, in the year 1716, by an observation to be taken at the time of\nthe transit of Venus over the sun(50).\n\n\n   (50) Philosophical Transactions, Vol. XXIX, p. 454.\n\n\nIt was supposed that we were already pretty accurately acquainted with\nthe distance of the moon from the earth, it being so much nearer to us,\nby observing its parallax, or the difference of its place in the heavens\nas seen from the surface of the earth, from that in which it would\nappear if seen from its centre(51). But the parallax of the sun is so\nexceedingly small, as scarcely to afford the basis of a mathematical\ncalculation(52). The parallax of Venus is however almost four times as\ngreat as that of the sun; and there must therefore be a very sensible\ndifference between the times in which Venus may be seen passing over\nthe sun from different parts of the earth. It was on this account\napprehended, that the parallax of the sun, by means of observations\ntaken from different places at the time of the transit of Venus in 1761\nand 1769, might be ascertained with a great degree of precision(53).\n\n\n   (51) Bonnycastle, Astronomy, 7th edition, p. 262, et seq.\n\n\n   (52) Ibid, p. 268.\n\n\n   (53) Phil. Transactions, Vol. XXIX, p. 457.\n\n\nBut the imperfectness of our instruments and means of observation\nhave no small tendency to baffle the ambition of man in these curious\ninvestigations.\n\n\"The true quantity of the moon's parallax,\" says Bonnycastle, \"cannot be\naccurately determined by the methods ordinarily resorted to, on account\nof the varying declination of the moon, and the inconstancy of the\nhorizontal refractions, which are perpetually changing according to the\nstate the atmosphere is in at the time. For the moon continues but for\na short time in the equinoctial, and the refraction at a mean rate\nelevates her apparent place near the horizon, half as much as her\nparallax depresses it(54).\"\n\n\n   (54) Astronomy, p. 265.\n\n\n\"It is well known that the parallax of the sun can never exceed nine\nseconds, or the four-hundredth part of a degree(55).\" \"Observations,\"\nsays Halley, \"made upon the vibrations of a pendulum, to determine these\nexceedingly small angles, are not sufficiently accurate to be depended\nupon; for by this method of ascertaining the parallax, it will sometimes\ncome out to be nothing, or even negative; that is, the distance will\neither be infinite, or greater than infinite, which is absurd. And, to\nconfess the truth, it is hardly possible for a person to distinguish\nseconds with certainty by any instruments, however skilfully they may\nbe made; and therefore it is not to be wondered at, that the excessive\nnicety of this matter should have eluded the many ingenious endeavours\nof the most able opetators.\"(56).\n\n\n   (55) Ibid, p. 268.\n\n\n   (56) Phil. Transactions, Vol. XXIX, p. 456.\n\n\nSuch are the difficulties that beset the subject on every side. It is\nfor the impartial and dispassionate observers who have mastered all the\nsubtleties of the science, if such can be found, to determine\nwhether the remedies that have been resorted to to obviate the above\ninaccuracies and their causes, have fulfilled their end, and are not\nexposed to similar errors. But it would be vain to expect the persons,\nwho have \"scorned delights, and lived laborious days\" to possess\nthemselves of the mysteries of astronomy, should be impartial and\ndispassionate, or be disposed to confess, even to their own minds, that\ntheir researches were useless, and their labours ended in nothing.\n\nIt is further worthy of our attention, that the instruments with which\nwe measure the distance of the earth from the sun and the planets, are\nthe very instruments which have been pronounced upon as incompetent in\nmeasuring the heights of mountains(57). In the latter case therefore we\nhave substituted a different mode for arriving at the truth, which\nis supposed to be attended with greater precision: but we have no\nsubstitute to which we can resort, to correct the mistakes into which we\nmay fall respecting the heavenly bodies.\n\n\n   (57) See above, Essay XXI.\n\n\nThe result of the uncertainty which adheres to all astronomical\nobservations is such as might have been expected. Common readers\nare only informed of the latest adjustment of the question, and are\ntherefore unavoidably led to believe that the distance of the sun\nfrom the earth, ever since astronomy became entitled to the name of\na science, has by universal consent been recognised as ninety-five\nmillions of miles, or, as near as may be, twenty-four thousand\nsemi-diameters of the earth. But how does the case really stand?\nCopernicus and Tycho Brahe held the distance to be twelve hundred\nsemi-diameters; Kepler, who is received to have been perhaps the\ngreatest astronomer that any age has produced, puts it down as three\nthousand five hundred semi-diameters; since his time, Riccioli as seven\nthousand; Hevelius as five thousand two hundred and fifty(58); some\nlater astronomers, mentioned by Halley, as fourteen thousand; and Halley\nhimself as sixteen thousand five hundred(59).\n\n\n   (58) They were about thirty and forty years younger than Kepler\nrespectively.\n\n\n   (59) Halley, apud Philosophical Transactions, Vol. XXIX, p. 455.\n\n\nThe doctrine of fluxions is likewise called in by the astronomers in\ntheir attempts to ascertain the distance and magnitude of the different\ncelestial bodies which compose the solar system; and in this way their\nconclusions become subject to all the difficulties which Berkeley has\nalleged against that doctrine.\n\nKepler has also supplied us with another mode of arriving at the\ndistance and size of the sun and the planets: he has hazarded a\nconjecture, that the squares of the times of the revolution of the earth\nand the other planets are in proportion to the cubes of their distances\nfrom the sun, their common centre; and, as by observation we can\narrive with tolerable certainty at a knowledge of the times of their\nrevolutions, we may from hence proceed to the other matters we are\ndesirous to ascertain. And that which Kepler seemed, as by a divine\ninspiration, to hazard in the way of conjecture, Newton professes to\nhave demonstratively established. But the demonstration of Newton has\nnot been considered as satisfactory by all men of science since his\ntime.\n\nThus far however we proceed as we may, respecting our propositions on\nthe subject of the solar system. But, beyond this, all science, real or\npretended, deserts us. We have no method for measuring angles, which can\nbe applied to the fixed stars; and we know nothing of any revolutions\nthey perform. All here therefore seems gratuitous: we reason from\ncertain alleged analogies; and we can do no more.\n\nHuygens endeavoured to ascertain something on the subject, by making the\naperture of a telescope so small, that the sun should appear through it\nno larger than Sirius, which he found to be only in the proportion of 1\nto 27,664 times his diameter, as seen by the naked eye. Hence, supposing\nSirius to be a globe of the same magnitude as the sun, it must be 27,664\ntimes as distant from us as the sun, in other words, at a distance so\nconsiderable as to equal 345 million diameters of the earth(60). Every\none must feel on how slender a thread this conclusion is suspended.\n\n\n   (60) Encyclopaedia Londinensis, Vol. 11, p. 407.\n\nAnd yet, from this small postulate, the astronomers proceed to deduce\nthe most astounding conclusions. They tell us, that the distance of the\nnearest fixed star from the earth is at least 7,600,000,000,000 miles,\nand of another they name, not less than 38 millions of millions of\nmiles. A cannon-ball therefore, proceeding at the rate of about twenty\nmiles in a minute would be 760,000 years in passing from us to the\nnearest fixed star, and 3,800,000 in passing to the second star of which\nwe speak. Huygens accordingly concluded, that it was not impossible,\nthat there might be stars at such inconceivable distances from us, that\ntheir light has not yet reached the earth since its creation(61).\n\n\n   (61) Ibid, p. 408.\n\n\nThe received system of the universe, founded upon these so called\ndiscoveries, is that each of the stars is a sun, having planets and\ncomets revolving round it, as our sun has the earth and other\nplanets revolving round him. It has been found also by the successive\nobservations of astronomers, that a star now and then is totally lost,\nand that a new star makes its appearance which had never been remarked\nbefore: and this they explain into the creation of a new system from\ntime to time by the Almighty author of the universe, and the destruction\nof an old system worn out with age(62). We must also remember the power\nof attraction every where diffused through infinite space, by means\nof which, as Herschel assures us, in great length of time a nebula,\nor cluster of stars, may be formed, while the projectile force they\nreceived in the beginning may prevent them from all coming together, at\nleast for millions of ages. Some of these nebulae, he adds, cannot well\nbe supposed to be at a less distance from us than six or eight thousand\ntimes the distance of Sirius(63). Kepler however denies that each star,\nof those which distinctly present themselves to our sight, can have its\nsystem of planets as our sun has, and considers them as all fixed in the\nsame surface or sphere; since, if one of them were twice or thrice\nas remote as another, it would, supposing their real magnitudes to be\nequal, appear to be twice or thrice as small, whereas there is not in\ntheir apparent magnitudes the slightest difference(64).\n\n\n   (62) Encycl. Lond. Vol. II, p. 411.\n\n\n   (63) Ibid, p. 348.\n\n\n   (64) Ibid, p. 411.\n\n\nCertainly the astronomers are a very fortunate and privileged race of\nmen, who talk to us in this oracular way of \"the unseen things of God\nfrom the creation of the world,\" hanging up their conclusions upon\ninvisible hooks, while the rest of mankind sit listening gravely to\ntheir responses, and unreservedly \"acknowledging that their science is\nthe most sublime, the most interesting, and the most useful of all the\nsciences cultivated by man(65).\"\n\n\n   (65) Ferguson, Astronomy, Section 1.\n\n\nWe have a sensation, which we call the sensation of distance. It comes\nto us from our sight and our other senses. It does not come immediately\nby the organ of sight. It has been proved, that the objects we see,\npreviously to the comparison and correction of the reports of the organ\nof sight with those of the other senses, do not suggest to us the idea\nof distance, but that on the contrary whatever we see seems to touch the\neye, even as the objects of the sense of feeling touch the skin.\n\nBut, in proportion as we compare the impressions made upon our organs of\nsight with the impressions made on the other senses, we come gradually\nto connect with the objects we see the idea of distance. I put out\nmy hand, and find at first that an object of my sense of sight is not\nwithin the reach of my hand. I put out my hand farther, or by walking\nadvance my body in the direction of the object, and I am enabled to\nreach it. From smaller experiments I proceed to greater. I walk towards\na tree or a building, the figure of which presents itself to my eye,\nbut which I find upon trial to have been far from me. I travel towards\na place that I cannot see, but which I am told lies in a certain\ndirection. I arrive at the place. It is thus, that by repeated\nexperiments I acquire the idea of remote distances.\n\nTo confine ourselves however to the question of objects, which without\nchange of place I can discover by the sense of sight. I can see a town,\na tower, a mountain at a considerable distance. Let us suppose that the\nlimit of my sight, so far as relates to objects on the earth, is one\nhundred miles. I can travel towards such an object, and thus ascertain\nby means of my other senses what is its real distance. I can also employ\ncertain instruments, invented by man, to measure heights, suppose of\na tower, and, by experiments made in ways independent of these\ninstruments, verify or otherwise the report of these instruments.\n\nThe height of the Monument of London is something more than two hundred\nfeet. Other elevations, the produce of human labour, are considerably\nhigher. It is in the nature of the mind, that we conclude from the\nobservation that we have verified, to the accuracy of another, bearing\na striking analogy to the former, that we have not verified. But analogy\nhas its limits. Is it of irresistible certainty, or is it in fact to\nbe considered as approaching to certainty, because we have verified\nan observation extending to several hundred feet, that an observation\nextending to ninety-five millions of miles, or to the incredible\ndistances of which Herschel so familiarly talks, is to be treated as\na fact, or laid down as a principle in science? Is it reasonable to\nconsider two propositions as analogous, when the thing affirmed in the\none is in dimension many million times as great as the thing affirmed\nin the other? The experience we have had as to the truth of the smaller,\ndoes it authorise us to consider the larger as unquestionable? That\nwhich I see with a bay of the sea or a wide river between, though it\nmay appear very like something with which I am familiar at home, do I\nimmediately affirm it to be of the same species and nature, or do I not\nregard it with a certain degree of scepticism, especially if, along with\nthe resemblance in some points, it differs essentially, as for example\nin magnitude, in other points? We have a sensation, and we enquire into\nits cause. This is always a question of some uncertainty. Is its cause\nsomething of absolute and substantive existence without me, or is it\nnot? Is its cause something of the very same nature, as the thing that\ngave me a similar sensation in a matter of comparatively a pigmy and\ndiminutive extension?\n\nAll these questions an untrained and inquisitive mind will ask itself\nin the propositions of astronomy. We must believe or not, as we think\nproper or reasonable. We have no way of verifying the propositions by\nthe trial of our senses. There they lie, to be received by us in\nthe construction that first suggests itself to us, or not. They\nare something like an agreeable imagination or fiction: and a sober\nobserver, in cold blood, will be disposed deliberately to weigh both\nsides of the question, and to judge whether the probability lies in\nfavour of the actual affirmation of the millions of millions of miles,\nand the other incredible propositions of the travelling of light, and\nthe rest, which even the most cautious and sceptical of the retainers of\nmodern astronomy, find themselves compelled to receive.\n\nBut I shall be told, that the results of our observations of the\ndistances of the heavenly bodies are unvaried. We have measured the\ndistances and other phenomena of the sun, the moon, Mercury, Venus,\nMars, Jupiter, Saturn, and their satellites, and they all fall into a\ngrand system, so as to convey to every unprejudiced mind the conviction\nthat this system is the truth itself. If we look at them day after day,\nand year after year, we see them for ever the same, and performing\nthe same divine harmony. Successive astronomers in different ages and\ncountries have observed the celestial orbs, and swept the heavens, and\nfor ever bring us back the same story of the number, the dimensions,\nthe distances, and the arrangement of the heavenly bodies which form the\nsubject of astronomical science.\n\nThis we have seen indeed not to be exactly the case. But, if it were, it\nwould go a very little way towards proving the point it was brought to\nprove. It would shew that, the sensations and results being similar, the\ncauses of those results must be similar to each other, but it would not\nshew that the causes were similar to the sensations produced. Thus, in\nthe sensations which belong to taste, smell, sound, colour, and to those\nof heat and cold, there is all the uniformity which would arise,\nwhen the real external causes bore the most exact similitude to the\nperceptions they generate; and yet it is now universally confessed that\ntastes, scents, sounds, colours, and heat and cold do not exist out\nof ourselves. All that we are entitled therefore to conclude as to the\nmagnitudes and distances of the heavenly bodies, is, that the causes of\nour sensations and perceptions, whatever they are, are not less uniform\nthan the sensations and perceptions themselves.\n\nIt is further alleged, that we calculate eclipses, and register the\nvarious phenomena of the heavenly bodies. Thales predicted an eclipse of\nthe sun, which took place nearly six hundred years before the Christian\nera. The Babylonians, the Persians, the Hindoos, and the Chinese early\nturned their attention to astronomy. Many of their observations were\naccurately recorded; and their tables extend to a period of three\nthousand years before the birth of Christ. Does not all this strongly\nargue the solidity of the science to which they belong? Who, after\nthis, will have the presumption to question, that the men who profess\nastronomy proceed on real grounds, and have a profound knowledge of\nthese things, which at first sight might appear to be set at a distance\nso far removed from our ken?\n\nThe answer to this is easy. I believe in all the astronomy that was\nbelieved by Thales. I do not question the statements relative to the\nheavenly bodies that were delivered by the wise men of the East. But the\nsupposed discoveries that were made in the eighteenth, and even in the\nlatter part of the seventeenth century, purporting to ascertain the\nprecise distance of the sun, the planets, and even of the fixed stars,\nare matters entirely distinct from this.\n\nAmong the earliest astronomers of Greece were Thales, Anaximander,\nAnaximenes and Anaxagoras. Thales, we are told, held that the earth is\na sphere or globe, Anaximenes that it is like a round, flat table;\nAnaximander that the sun is like a chariot-wheel, and is twenty-eight\ntimes larger than the earth. Anaxagoras was put in prison for affirming\nthat the sun was by many degrees larger than the whole Peloponnesus(66).\nKepler is of opinion that all the stars are at an equal distance from\nus, and are fixed in the same surface or sphere.\n\n\n   (66) Plutarch, De Placitis Philosophorum. Diogenes Laertius.\n\n\nIn reality the observations and the facts of astronomy do not depend\neither upon the magnitudes or the distances of the heavenly bodies. They\nproceed in the first place upon what may lie seen with the naked eye.\nThey require an accurate and persevering attention. They may be assisted\nby telescopes. But they relate only to the sun and the planets. We are\nbound to ascertain, as nearly as possible, the orbits described by the\ndifferent bodies in the solar system: but this has still nothing to do,\nstrictly speaking, with their magnitudes or distances. It is required\nthat we should know them in their relations to each other; but it is no\npreliminary of just, of practical, it might almost be said, of liberal\nscience, that we should know any thing of them absolutely.\n\nThe unlimited ambition of the nature of man has discovered itself in\nnothing more than this, the amazing superstructure which the votaries\nof contemplation within the last two hundred years have built upon the\nsimple astronomy of the ancients. Having begun to compute the distances\nof miles by millions, it appears clearly that nothing can arrest the\nmore than eagle-flight of the human mind. The distance of the\nnearest fixed star from the earth, we are informed, is at least\n7,000,000,000,000 miles, and of another which the astronomers name, not\nless than 38 millions of millions of miles. The particles of light are\nsaid to travel 193,940 miles in every second, which is above a million\ntimes swifter than the progress of a cannon-ball(67). And Herschel\nhas concluded, that the light issuing from the faintest nebulae he\nhas discovered, must have been at this rate two millions of years in\nreaching the Barth(68).\n\n\n   (67) Ferguson, Section 216. \"Light moves,\" says Brewster, Optics, p. 2,\n\"from one pole of the earth to the other in the 24th part of a second: a\nvelocity which surpasses all comprehension.\"\n\n\n\n   (68) Brinkley, Astronomy, p. 130.\n\n\nSECTION III.\n\nThe next process of the modern astronomer is to affirm the innumerable\norbs around us, discovered with the naked eye, or with which we are made\nacquainted by the aid of telescopes, to be all stocked with rational\ninhabitants. The argument for this is, that an all-wise and omnipotent\ncreator could never have produced such immense bodies, dispersed through\ninfinite space, for any meaner purpose, than that of peopling them with\n\"intelligent beings, formed for endless progression in perfection and\nfelicity(69).\"\n\n\n   (69) See above, Essay XXI.\n\n\nNow it appears to me, that, in these assertions, the modern astronomers\nare taking upon themselves somewhat too boldly, to expound the counsels\nof that mysterious power, to which the universe is indebted for its\narrangement and order.\n\nWe know nothing of God but from his works. Certain speculative men have\nadventured to reason upon the source of all the system and the wonders\nthat we behold, a priori, and, having found that the creator is all\npowerful, all wise, and of infinite goodness, according to their ideas\nof power, wisdom and goodness, have from thence proceeded to draw their\ninferences, and to shew us in what manner the works of his hands are\narranged and conducted by him. This no doubt they have done with the\npurest intentions in the world; but it is not certain, that their\ndiscretion has equalled the boldness of their undertaking.\n\nThe world that we inhabit, this little globe of earth, is to us an\ninfinite mystery. Human imagination is unable to conceive any thing more\nconsummate than the great outline of things below. The trees and the\nskies, the mountains and the seas, the rivers and the springs, appear as\nif the design had been to realise the idea of paradise. The freshness of\nthe air, the silvery light of day, the magnificence of the clouds,\nthe gorgeous and soothing colouring of the world, the profusion and\nexquisiteness of the fruits and flowers of the earth, are as if nothing\nbut joy and delicious sensations had been intended for us. When we\nascend to the animal creation, the scene is still more admirable and\ntransporting. The birds and the beasts, the insects that skim the air,\nand the fishes that live in the great deep, are a magazine of wonders,\nthat we may study for ever, without fear of arriving at the end of their\nexcellence. Last of all, comes the crown of the creation, man, formed\nwith looks erect, to commerce with the skies. What a masterpiece of\nworkmanship is his form, while the beauty and intelligence of Gods seems\nto manifest itself in his countenance! Look at that most consummate of\nall implements, the human hand; think of his understanding, how composed\nand penetrating; of the wealth of his imagination; of the resplendent\nvirtues he is qualified to display! \"How wonderful are thy works, Oh\nGod; in wisdom hast thou created them all!\"\n\nBut there are other parts of the system in which we live, which do not\nseem to correspond with those already enumerated. Before we proceed to\npeople infinite space, it would be as well, if we surveyed the surface\nof the earth we inhabit. What vast deserts do we find in it; what\nimmense tracks of burning sands! One half of the globe is perhaps\nirreclaimable to the use of man. Then let us think of earthquakes and\ntempests, of wasting hurricanes, and the number of vessels, freighted\nwith human beings, that are yearly buried in the caverns of the ocean.\nLet us call to mind in man, the prime ornament of the creation, all the\ndiseases to which his frame is subject,\n\n  Convulsions, epilepsies, fierce catarrhs,\n  Intestine stone and ulcer, colic pangs,\n  Demoniac frenzy, moping melancholy,\n  And moon-struck madness, pining atrophy,\n  Marasmus, and wide-wasting pestilence,\n  Dropsies, and asthmas, and joint-racking rheums.\n\nThe very idea of our killing, and subsisting upon the flesh of animals,\nsurely somewhat jars with our conceptions of infinite benevolence.\n\nBut, when we look at the political history of man, the case is\ninfinitely worse. This too often seems one tissue of misery and vice.\nWar, conquest, oppression, tyranny, slavery, insurrections, massacres,\ncruel punishments, degrading corporal infliction, and the extinction of\nlife under the forms of law, are to be found in almost every page. It is\nas if an evil demon were let loose upon us, and whole nations, from one\ndecad of years to another, were struck with the most pernicious madness.\nCertain reasoners tell us that this is owing to the freedom of will,\nwithout which man could not exist. But here we are presented with an\nalternative, from which it is impossible for human understanding to\nescape. Either God, according to our ideas of benevolence, would remove\nevil out of the world, and cannot; or he can, and will not. If he has\nthe will and not the power, this argues weakness; if he has the power\nand not the will, this seems to be malevolence.\n\nLet us descend from the great stage of the nations, and look into the\nobscurities of private misery. Which of us is happy? What bitter springs\nof misery overflow the human heart, and are borne by us in silence! What\ncruel disappointments beset us! To what struggles are we doomed, while\nwe struggle often in vain! The human heart seems framed, as if to be the\ncapacious receptacle of all imaginable sorrows. The human frame seems\nconstructed, as if all its fibres were prepared to sustain varieties\nof torment. \"In the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat bread, till thou\nreturn to the earth.\" But how often does that sweat prove ineffective!\nThere are men of whom sorrow seems to be the destiny, from which they\ncan never escape. There are hearts, into which by their constitution\nit appears as if serenity and content could never enter, but which\nare given up to all the furious passions, or are for ever the prey of\nrepining and depression.\n\n  Ah, little think the gay, licentious proud,\n  Whom pleasure, power and affluence surround,\n  How many pine in want!  How many shrink\n  Into the sordid hut, how many drink\n  The cup of grief, and eat the bitter bread\n  Of misery!\n\nAnd, which aggravates the evil, almost all the worst vices, the most\nunprincipled acts, and the darkest passions of the human mind, are bred\nout of poverty and distress. Satan, in the Book of Job, says to the\nAlmighty, \"Thou hast blessed the work of thy servant, and his substance\nis increased in the land. But put forth thy hand now, and take away all\nthat he hath; and he will curse thee to thy face.\" The prayer of Agar\nruns, \"Feed me with food convenient for me; lest I be poor, and steal,\nand take the name of my God in vain.\"\n\nIt is with a deep knowledge of the scenes of life, that the prophet\npronounces, \"My thoughts are not your thoughts; neither are your ways my\nways, saith the Lord.\"\n\nAll reflecting persons, who have surveyed the state of the world in\nwhich we live, have been struck with the contrarieties of sublunary\nthings; and many hypotheses have been invented to solve the enigma. Some\nhave maintained the doctrine of two principles, Oromasdes and Arimanius,\nthe genius of good and of evil, who are perpetually contending with each\nother which shall have the greatest sway in the fortunes of the world,\nand each alternately acquiring the upper hand. Others have inculcated\nthe theory of the fall of man, that God at first made all things\nbeautiful and good, but that man has incurred his displeasure, and been\nturned out of the paradise for which he was destined. Hence, they say,\nhas arisen the corruption of our nature. \"There is none that cloth good,\nno, not one. That every mouth may be stopped, and all the world become\nguilty before God.\" But the solution that has been most generally\nadopted, particularly in later days, is that of a future state of\nretribution, in which all the inequalities of our present condition\nshall be removed, the tears of the unfortunate and the sufferer shall be\nwiped from their eyes, and their agonies and miseries compensated. This,\nin other words, independently of the light of revelation, is to infer\ninfinite wisdom and benevolence from what we see, and then, finding\nthe actual phenomena not to correspond with our theories, to invent\nsomething of which we have no knowledge, to supply the deficiency.\n\nThe astronomer however proceeds from what we see of the globe of earth,\nto fashion other worlds of which we have no direct knowledge. Finding\nthat there is no part of the soil of the earth into which our wanderings\ncan penetrate, that is not turned to the account of rational and happy\nbeings, creatures capable of knowing and adoring their creator, that\nnature does nothing in vain, and that the world is full of the evidences\nof his unmingled beneficence, according to our narrow and imperfect\nideas of beneficence, (for such ought to be our premises) we proceed to\nconstruct millions of worlds upon the plan we have imagined. The earth\nis a globe, the planets are globes, and several of them larger than our\nearth: the earth has a moon; several of the planets have satellites: the\nglobe we dwell in moves in an orbit round the sun; so do the planets:\nupon these premises, and no more, we hold ourselves authorised to affirm\nthat they contain \"myriads of intelligent beings, formed for endless\nprogression in perfection and felicity.\" Having gone thus far, we next\nfind that the fixed stars bear a certain resemblance to the sun; and, as\nthe sun has a number of planets attendant on him, so, we say, has each\nof the fixed stars, composing all together \"ten thousand times ten\nthousand\" habitable worlds.\n\nAll this is well, so long as we view it as a bold and ingenious\nconjecture. On any other subject it would be so regarded; and we\nshould consider it as reserved for the amusement and gratification of\na fanciful visionary in the hour, when he gives up the reins to his\nimagination. But, backed as it is by a complexity of geometrical right\nlines and curves, and handed forth to us in large quartos, stuffed with\ncalculations, it experiences a very different fortune. We are told that,\n\"by the knowledge we derive from astronomy, our faculties are enlarged,\nour minds exalted, and our understandings clearly convinced, and\naffected with the conviction, of the existence, wisdom, power, goodness,\nimmutability and superintendency of the supreme being; so that, without\nan hyperbole, 'an undevout astronomer is mad(e)(70).'\"\n\n\n   (70) Ferguson, Astronomy, Section I.\n\n\nIt is singular, how deeply I was impressed with this representation,\nwhile I was a schoolboy, and was so led to propose a difficulty to the\nwife of the master. I said, \"I find that we have millions of worlds\nround us peopled with rational creatures. I know not that we have any\ndecisive reason for supposing these creatures more exalted, than the\nwonderful species of which we are individuals. We are imperfect; they\nare imperfect. We fell; it is reasonable to suppose that they have\nfallen also. It became necessary for the second person in the trinity to\ntake upon him our nature, and by suffering for our sins to appease\nthe wrath of his father. I am unwilling to believe that he has less\ncommiseration for the inhabitants of other planets. But in that case it\nmay be supposed that since the creation he has been making a circuit of\nthe planets, and dying on the cross for the sins of rational creatures\nin uninterrupted succession.\" The lady was wiser than I, admonished me\nof the danger of being over-inquisitive, and said we should act more\ndiscreetly in leaving those questions to the judgment of the Almighty.\n\nBut thus far we have reasoned only on one side of the question. Our\npious sentiments have led us to magnify the Lord in all his works, and,\nhowever imperfect the analogy, and however obscure the conception we\ncan form of the myriads of rational creatures, all of them no doubt\ninfinitely varied in their nature, their structure and faculties, yet to\nview the whole scheme with an undoubting persuasion of its truth. It is\nhowever somewhat in opposition to the ideas of piety formed by our less\nadventurous ancestors, that we should usurp the throne of God,\n\n     Snatch from his hand the balance and the rod,\n\nand, by means of our telescopes and our calculations, penetrate into\nmysteries not originally intended for us. According to the received\nMosaic chronology we are now in the five thousand eight hundred and\nthirty-fifth year from the creation: the Samaritan version adds to\nthis date. It is therefore scarcely in the spirit of a Christian, that\nHerschel talks to us of a light, which must have been two millions of\nyears in reaching the earth.\n\nMoses describes the operations of the Almighty, in one of the six\ndays devoted to the work of creation, as being to place \"lights in the\nfirmament of heaven, to divide the day from the night, to be for signs\nand for seasons, and for days and years, and to give light upon the\nearth; two great lights, the greater to rule the day, and the lesser the\nnight; and the stars also.\" And Christ, prophesying what is to happen\nin the latter days, says, \"The sun shall be darkened, and the moon shall\nnot give her light, and the stars shall fall from heaven.\" Whatever\ntherefore be the piety of the persons, who talk to us of \"ten thousand\ntimes ten thousand worlds, all peopled with rational creatures,\" it\ncertainly is not a piety in precise accordance with the Christian\nscriptures.\n\n\nSECTION IV. It is also no more than just, that we should bear in mind\nthe apparent fitness or otherwise, of these bodies, so far as we are\nacquainted with them, for the dwelling-place of rational creatures. Not\nto mention the probable extreme coldness of Jupiter and Saturn, the heat\nof the sunbeams in the planet Mercury is understood to be such as\nthat water would unavoidably boil and be carried away(71), and we can\nscarcely imagine any living substance that would not be dissolved and\ndispersed in such an atmosphere. The moon, of which, as being so much\nnearer to us, we may naturally be supposed to know most, we are told\nby the astronomers has no water and no atmosphere, or, if any, such an\natmosphere as would not sustain clouds and ascending vapour. To our eye,\nas seen through the telescope, it appears like a metallic substance,\nwhich has been burned by fire, and so reduced into the ruined and ragged\ncondition in which we seem to behold it. The sun appears to be still\nless an appropriate habitation for rational, or for living creatures,\nthan any of the planets. The comets, which describe an orbit so\nexceedingly eccentric, and are subject to all the excessive vicissitudes\nof heat and cold, are, we are told, admirably adapted for a scene\nof eternal, or of lengthened punishment for those who have acquitted\nthemselves ill in a previous state of probation. Buffon is of opinion,\nthat all the planets in the solar system were once so many portions of\nour great luminary, struck off from the sun by the blow of a comet, and\nso having received a projectile impulse calculated to carry them\nforward in a right line, at the same time that the power of attraction\ncounteracts this impulse, and gives them that compound principle of\nmotion which retains them in an orbicular course. In this sense it may\nbe said that all the planets were suns; while on the contrary Herschel\npronounces, that the sun itself is a planet, an opake body, richly\nstored with inhabitants(72).\n\n\n   (71) Encyclopaedia Londinensis, Vol. II, p. 355.\n\n\n   (72) Philosophical Transactions for 1795, p. 68.\n\n\nThe modern astronomers go on to account to us for the total\ndisappearance of a star in certain cases, which, they say, may be in\nreality the destruction of a system, such as that of our sun and its\nattendant planets, while the appearance of a new star may, in like\nmanner, be the occasional creation of a new system of planets. \"We ought\nperhaps,\" says Herschel, \"to look upon certain clusters of stars, and\nthe destruction of a star now and then in some thousands of ages, as the\nvery means by which the whole is preserved and renewed. These clusters\nmay be the laboratories of the universe, wherein the most salutary\nremedies for the decay of the whole are prepared(73).\"\n\n\n   (73) Philosophical Transactions for 1785, p. 217.\n\n\nAll this must appear to a sober mind, unbitten by the rage which grows\nout of the heat of these new discoverers, to be nothing less than\nastronomy run mad. This occasional creation of new systems and worlds,\nis in little accordance with the Christian scriptures, or, I believe,\nwith any sober speculation upon the attributes of the creator. The\nastronomer seizes upon some hint so fine as scarcely by any ingenuity to\nbe arrested, immediately launches forth into infinite space, and in an\ninstant returns, and presents us with millions of worlds, each of them\npeopled with ten thousand times ten thousand inhabitants.\n\nWe spoke a while since of the apparent unfitness of many of the heavenly\nbodies for the reception of living inhabitants. But for all this these\ndiscoverers have a remedy. They remind us how unlike these inhabitants\nmay be to ourselves, having other organs than ours, and being able to\nlive in a very different temperature. \"The great heat in the planet\nMercury is no argument against its being inhabited; since the Almighty\ncould as easily suit the bodies and constitutions of its inhabitants to\nthe heat of their dwelling, as he has done ours to the temperature of\nour earth. And it is very probable that the people there have such an\nopinion of us, as we have of the inhabitants of Jupiter and Saturn;\nnamely, that we must be intolerably cold, and have very little light at\nso great a distance from the sun.\"\n\nThese are the remarks of Ferguson(74). One of our latest astronomers\nexpresses himself to the same purpose.\n\n\n   (74) Astronomy, Section 22.\n\n\n\"We have no argument against the planets being inhabited by rational\nbeings, and consequently by witnesses of the creator's power,\nmagnificence and benevolence, unless it be said that some are much\nnearer the sun than the earth is, and therefore must be uninhabitable\nfrom heat, and those more distant from cold. Whatever objection this may\nbe against their being inhabited by rational beings, of an organisation\nsimilar to those on the earth, it can have little force, when urged with\nrespect to rational beings in general.\n\n\"But we may examine without indulging too much in conjecture, whether\nit be not possible that the planets may be possessed by rational beings,\nand contain animals and vegetables, even little different from those\nwith which we are familiar.\n\n\"Is the sun the principal cause of the temperature of the earth? We have\nreason to suppose that it is not. The mean temperature of the earth, at\na small depth from the surface, seems constant in summer and in winter,\nand is probably coeval with its first formation.\n\n\"At the planet Mercury, the direct heat of the sun, or its power of\ncausing heat, is six times greater than with us. If we suppose the mean\ntemperature of Mercury to be the same as of the earth, and the planet\nto be surrounded with an atmosphere, denser than that of the earth,\nless capable of transmitting heat, or rather the influence of the sun to\nextricate heat, and at the same time more readily conducting it to keep\nup an evenness of temperature, may we not suppose the planet Mercury fit\nfor the habitation of men, and the production of vegetables similar to\nour own?\n\n\"At the Georgium Sidus, the direct influence of the sun is 360 times\nless than at the earth, and the sun is there seen at an angle not much\ngreater than that under which we behold Venus, when nearest. Yet may not\nthe mean temperature of the Georgium Sidus be nearly the same as that of\nthe earth? May not its atmosphere more easily transmit the influence of\nthe sun, and may not the matter of heat be more copiously combined, and\nmore readily extricated, than with us? Whence changes of season similar\nto our own may take place. Even in the comets we may suppose no great\nchange of temperature takes place, as we know of no cause which will\ndeprive them of their mean temperature, and particularly if we suppose,\nthat on their approach towards the sun, there is a provision for\ntheir atmosphere becoming denser. The tails they exhibit, when in the\nneighbourhood of the sun, seem in some measure to countenance this idea.\n\n\"We can hardly suppose the sun, a body three hundred times larger than\nall the planets together, was created only to preserve the periodic\nmotions, and give light and heat to the planets. Many astronomers have\nthought that its atmosphere only is luminous, and its body opake, and\nprobably of the same constitution as the planets. Allowing therefore\nthat its luminous atmosphere only extricates heat, we see no reason why\nthe sun itself should not be inhabited(75).\"\n\n\n   (75) Brinkley, Elements of Astronomy, Chap. IX.\n\n\nThere is certainly no end to the suppositions that may be made by an\ningenious astronomer. May we not suppose that we might do nearly as well\naltogether without the sun, which it appears is at present of little use\nto us as to warmth and heat? As to light, the great creator might, for\naught we know, find a substitute; feelers, for example, endued with\na certain acuteness of sense: or, at all events, the least imaginable\ndegree of light might answer every purpose to organs adapted to this\nkind of twilight. In that way the inhabitants of the Georgium Sidus are\nalready sufficiently provided for; they appear to have as little benefit\nof the light as of the heat of the sun. How the satellites of the\ndistant planets are supplied with light is a mystery, since their\nprincipals have scarcely any. Unless indeed, like the sun, they have a\nluminous atmosphere, competent to enlighten a whole system, themselves\nbeing opake. But in truth light in a greater or less degree seems\nscarcely worthy of a thought, since the inhabitants of the planet\nMercury have not their eyes put out by a light, scarcely inferior in\nradiance to that which is reflected by those plates of burning brass,\nwith which tyrants in some ages were accustomed to extinguish the\nsense of vision in their unfortunate victims. The comets also must be\na delectable residence; that of 1680 completing its orbit in 576 years,\nand being at its greatest distance about eleven thousand two hundred\nmillions of miles from the sun, and at its least within less than a\nthird part of the sun's semi-diameter from its surface(76). They must\ntherefore have delightful vicissitudes of light and the contrary;\nfor, as to heat, that is already provided for. Archdeacon Brinkley's\npostulate is, that these bodies are \"possessed by rational beings, and\ncontain animals and vegetables, little different from those with which\nwe are familiar.\"\n\n\n   (76) Ferguson, Section 93.\n\n\nNow the only reason we have to believe in these extraordinary\npropositions, is the knowledge we possess of the divine attributes. From\nthe force of this consideration it is argued that God will not leave any\nsensible area of matter unoccupied, and therefore that it is impossible\nthat such vast orbs as we believe surround us even to the extent of\ninfinite space, should not be \"richly stored with rational beings,\nthe capable witnesses of his power, magnificence and benevolence.\" All\ndifficulties arising from the considerations of light, and heat, and a\nthousand other obstacles, are to give way to the perfect insight we\nhave as to how the deity will conduct himself in every case that can be\nproposed. I am not persuaded that this is agreeable to religion; and\nI am still less convinced that it is compatible with the sobriety and\nsedateness of common sense.\n\nIt is with some degree of satisfaction that I perceive lord Brougham,\nthe reputed author of the Preliminary Discourse to the Library of Useful\nKnowledge, at the same time that he states the dimensions and distances\nof the heavenly bodies in the usual way, says not a word of their\ninhabitants.\n\nIt is somewhat remarkable that, since the commencement of the present\ncentury, four new planets have been added to those formerly contained in\nthe enumeration of the solar system. They lie between the planets Mars\nand Jupiter, and have been named Vesta, Juno, Ceres and Pallas. Brinkley\nspeaks of them in this manner. \"The very small magnitudes of the new\nplanets Ceres and Pallas, and their nearly equal distances from the sun,\ninduced Dr. Olbers, who discovered Pallas in 1802, nearly in the same\nplace where he had observed Ceres a few months before, to conjecture\nthat they were fragments of a larger planet, which had by some unknown\ncause been broken to pieces. It follows from the law of gravity, by\nwhich the planets are retained in their orbits, that each fragment would\nagain, after every revolution about the sun, pass nearly through the\nplace in which the planet was when the catastrophe happened, and besides\nthe orbit of each fragment would intersect the continuation of the line\njoining this place and the sun. Thence it was easy to ascertain the\ntwo particular regions of the heavens through which all these fragments\nwould pass. Also, by carefully noting the small stars thereabout, and\nexamining them from time to time, it might be expected that more of the\nfragments would be discovered.--M. Harding discovered the planet Juno\nin one of these regions; and Dr. Olbers himself also, by carefully\nexamining them (the small stars) from time to time, discovered Vesta.\"\n\nThese additions certainly afford us a new epoch in the annals of the\nsolar system, and of astronomy itself. It is somewhat remarkable, that\nHerschel, who in the course of his observations traced certain nebulae,\nthe light from which must have been two millions of years in reaching\nthe earth, should never have remarked these planets, which, so to\nspeak, lay at his feet. It reminds one of Esop's astrologer, who, to the\namusement of his ignorant countrymen, while he was wholly occupied in\nsurveying the heavens, suddenly found himself plunged in a pit. These\nnew planets also we are told are fragments of a larger planet: how came\nthis larger planet never to have been discovered?\n\nTill Herschel's time we were content with six planets and the sun,\nmaking up the cabalistical number seven. He added another. But these\nfour new ones entirely derange the scheme. The astronomers have not yet\nhad opportunity to digest them into their places, and form new worlds of\nthem. This is all unpleasant. They are, it seems, \"fragments of a larger\nplanet, which had by some unknown cause been broken to pieces.\" They\ntherefore are probably not inhabited. How does this correspond with the\ngoodness of God, which will suffer no mass of matter in his creation\nto remain unoccupied? Herschel talks at his ease of whole systems, suns\nwith all their attendant planets, being consigned to destruction. But\nhere we have a catastrophe happening before our eyes, and cannot avoid\nbeing shocked by it. \"God does nothing in vain.\" For which of his lofty\npurposes has this planet been broken to pieces, and its fragments left\nto deform the system of which we are inhabitants; at least to humble\nthe pride of man, and laugh to scorn his presumption? Still they perform\ntheir revolutions, and obey the projectile and gravitating forces, which\nhave induced us to people ten thousand times ten thousand worlds. It is\ntime, that we should learn modesty, to revere in silence the great cause\nto which the universe is indebted for its magnificence, its beauty and\nharmony, and to acknowledge that we do not possess the key that should\nunlock the mysteries of creation.\n\nOne of the most important lessons that can be impressed on the human\nmind, is that of self-knowledge and a just apprehension of what it is\nthat we are competent to achieve. We can do much. We are capable of much\nknowledge and much virtue. We have patience, perseverance and subtlety.\nWe can put forth considerable energies, and nerve ourselves to resist\ngreat obstacles and much suffering. Our ingenuity is various and\nconsiderable. We can form machines, and erect mighty structures. The\ninvention of man for the ease of human life, and for procuring it a\nmultitude of pleasures and accommodations, is truly astonishing. We can\ndissect the human frame, and anatomise the mind. We can study the scene\nof our social existence, and make extraordinary improvements in the\nadministration of justice, and in securing to ourselves that germ of\nall our noblest virtues, civil and political liberty. We can study the\nearth, its strata, its soil, its animals, and its productions, \"from the\ncedar that is in Lebanon, to the hyssop that springeth out of the wall.\"\n\nBut man is not omnipotent. If he aspires to be worthy of honour, it is\nnecessary that he should compute his powers, and what it is they are\ncompetent to achieve. The globe of earth, with \"all that is therein,\" is\nour estate and our empire. Let us be content with that which we have. It\nwere a pitiful thing to see so noble a creature struggling in a field,\nwhere it is impossible for him to distinguish himself, or to effect\nany thing real. There is no situation in which any one can appear more\nlittle and ludicrous, than when he engages in vain essays, and seeks\nto accomplish that, which a moment's sober thought would teach him was\nutterly hopeless.\n\nEven astronomy is to a certain degree our own. We can measure the course\nof the sun, and the orbits of the planets. We can calculate eclipses.\nWe can number the stars, assign to them their places, and form them into\nwhat we call constellations. But, when we pretend to measure millions\nof miles in the heavens, and to make ourselves acquainted with\nthe inhabitants of ten thousand times ten thousand worlds and the\naccommodations which the creator has provided for their comfort and\nfelicity, we probably engage in something more fruitless and idle, than\nthe pigmy who should undertake to bend the bow of Ulysses, or strut and\nperform the office of a warrior clad in the armour of Achilles.\n\nHow beautiful is the \"firmament; this majestical roof fretted with\ngolden fire!\" Let us beware how we mar the magnificent scene with our\ninterpolations and commentaries! Simplicity is of the essence of the\ntruly great. Let us look at the operations of that mighty power from\nwhich we ourselves derive our existence, with humility and reverential\nawe! It may well become us. Let us not \"presume into the heaven of\nheavens,\" unbidden, unauthorised guests! Let us adopt the counsel of\nthe apostle, and allow no man to \"spoil us through vain philosophy.\" The\nbusiness of human life is serious; the useful investigations in which\nwe may engage are multiplied. It is excellent to see a rational being\nconscious of his genuine province, and not idly wasting powers adapted\nfor the noblest uses in unmeasured essays and ill-concocted attempts.\n\n\n\n\nESSAY XXII. OF THE MATERIAL UNIVERSE.\n\nIn the preceding Essay I have referred to the theory of Berkeley, whose\nopinion is that there is no such thing as matter in the sense in which\nit is understood by the writers on natural philosophy, and that the\nwhole of our experience in that respect is the result of a system of\naccidents without an intelligible subject, by means of which antecedents\nand consequents flow on for ever in a train, the past succession\nof which man is able to record, and the future in many cases he is\nqualified to predict and to act upon.\n\nAn argument more palpable and popular than that of Berkeley in favour of\nthe same hypothesis, might be deduced from the points recapitulated\nin that Essay as delivered by Locke and Newton. If what are vulgarly\ndenominated the secondary qualities of matter are in reality nothing but\nsensations existing in the human mind, then at any rate matter is a very\ndifferent thing from what it is ordinarily apprehended to be. To which\nI add, in the second place, that, if matter, as is stated by Newton,\nconsists in so much greater a degree of pores than solid parts, that\nthe absolute particles contained in the solar system might, for aught we\nknow, he contained in a nutshell(77), and that no two ever touched each\nother, or approached so near that they might not be brought nearer,\nprovided a sufficient force could be applied for that purpose,--and if,\nas Priestley teaches, all that we observe is the result of successive\nspheres of attraction and repulsion, the centre of which is a\nmathematical point only, we then certainly come very near to a\nconclusion, which should banish matter out of the theatre of real\nexistences(78).\n\n\n   (77) See above, Essay XXI.\n\n\n   (78) See above, Essay XXI.\n\n\nBut the extreme subtleties of human intellect are perhaps of little\nfurther use, than to afford an amusement to persons of curious\nspeculation, and whose condition in human society procures them leisure\nfor such enquiries. The same thing happens here, as in the subject of\nmy Twelfth Essay, on the Liberty of Human Actions. The speculator in his\ncloset is one man: the same person, when he comes out of his retirement,\nand mixes in intercourse with his fellow-creatures, is another man.\nThe necessarian, when he reasons on the everlasting concatenation\nof antecedents and consequents, proves to his own apprehension\nirrefragably, that he is a passive instrument, acted upon, and acting\nupon other things, in turn, and that he can never disengage himself\nfrom the operation of the omnipotent laws of physical nature, and the\nimpulses of other men with whom he is united in the ties of society. But\nno sooner does this acute and ingenious reasoner come into active\nlife and the intercourse of his fellowmen, than all these fine-drawn\nspeculations vanish from his recollection. He regards himself and other\nmen as beings endowed with a liberty of action, as possessed of a proper\ninitiative power, and free to do a thing or not to do it, without being\nsubject to the absolute and irresistible constraint of motives. It is\nfrom this internal and indefeasible sense of liberty, that we draw\nall our moral energies and enthusiasm, that we persevere heroically in\ndefiance of obstacles and discouragements, that we praise or blame the\nactions of others, and admire the elevated virtues of the best of\nour contemporaries, and of those whose achievements adorn the page of\nhistory.\n\nIt is in a manner of precisely the same sort as that which prevails\nin the philosophical doctrines of liberty and necessity, that we find\nourselves impelled to feel on the question of the existence of the\nmaterial universe. Berkeley, and as many persons as are persuaded by his\nor similar reasonings, feel satisfied in speculation that there is\nno such thing as matter in the sense in which it is understood by the\nwriters on natural philosophy, and that all our notions of the external\nand actual existence of the table, the chair, and the other material\nsubstances with which we conceive ourselves to be surrounded, of\nwoods, and mountains, and rivers, and seas, are mere prejudice and\nmisconception. All this is very well in the closet, and as long as we\nare involved in meditation, and remain abstracted from action, business,\nand the exertion of our limbs and corporal faculties. But it is too\nfine for the realities of life. Berkeley, and the most strenuous and\nspiritualised of his followers, no sooner descend from the high tower of\ntheir speculations, submit to the necessities of their nature, and mix\nin the business of the world, than they become impelled, as strongly\nas the necessarian in the question of the liberty of human actions, not\nonly to act like other men, but even to feel just in the same manner as\nif they had never been acquainted with these abstractions. A table then\nbecomes absolutely a table, and a chair a chair: they are \"fed with the\nsame food, hurt by the same weapons, and warmed and cooled by the same\nsummer and winter,\" as other men: and they make use of the refreshments\nwhich nature requires, with as true an orthodoxy, and as credulous a\ntemper, as he who was never assailed with such refinements. Nature is\ntoo strong, to be prevailed on to retire, and give way to the authority\nof definitions and syllogistical deduction.\n\nBut, when we have granted all this, it is however a mistake to say, that\nthese \"subtleties of human intellect are of little further use, than\nto afford an amusement to persons of curious speculation(79).\" We have\nseen, in the case of the doctrine of philosophical necessity(80), that,\nthough it can never form a rule for the intercourse between man and man,\nit may nevertheless be turned to no mean advantage. It is calculated\nto inspire us with temperance and toleration. It tends impressively to\nevince to us, that this scene of things is but like the shadows which\npass before us in a magic lanthorn, and that, after all, men are but\nthe tools, not the masters, of their fate. It corrects the illusions of\nlife, much after the same manner as the spectator of a puppet-shew is\nenlightened, who should be taken within the curtain, and shewn how the\nwires are pulled by the master, which produce all the turmoil and strife\nthat before riveted our attention. It is good for him who would arrive\nat all the improvement of which our nature is capable, at one time to\ntake his place among the literal beholders of the drama, and at another\nto go behind the scenes, and remark the deceptions in their original\nelements, and the actors in their proper and natural costume.\n\n\n   (79) See above, Essay XXII.\n\n\n   (80) See above, Essay XII.\n\n\nAnd, as in the question of the liberty of human actions, so in that\nof the reality of the material universe, it is a privilege not to be\ndespised, that we are so formed as to be able to dissect the subject\nthat is submitted to our examination, and to strip the elements of which\nthis sublunary scene is composed, of the disguise in which they present\nthemselves to the vulgar spectator. It is little, after all, that we\nare capable to know; and the man of heroic mind and generous enterprise,\nwill not refuse the discoveries that are placed within his reach. The\nsubtleties of grammar are as the porch, which leads from the knowledge\nof words to the knowledge of things. The subtleties of mathematics\ndefecate the grossness of our apprehension, and supply the elements of\na sounder and severer logic. And in the same manner the faculty which\nremoves the illusions of external appearance, and enables us to \"look\ninto the seeds of time,\" is one which we are bound to estimate at its\ngenuine value. The more we refine our faculties, other things equal,\nthe wiser we grow: we are the more raised above the thickness of the\natmosphere that envelops our fellow-mortals, and are made partakers of a\nnature superhuman and divine.\n\nThere is a curious question that has risen out of this proposition of\nBerkeley, of the supposed illusion we suffer in our conceptions of the\nmaterial universe. It has been said, \"Well then, I am satisfied that\nthe chairs, the tables, and the other material substances with which I\nconceive myself to be surrounded, are not what they appear to be, but\nare merely an eternal chain of antecedents and consequents, going on\naccording to what Leibnitz calls a 'preestablished harmony,' and thus\nfurnishing the ground of the speculations which mortals cherish, and the\nmotives of their proceeding. But, if thus, in the ordinary process of\nhuman affairs, we believe in matter, when in reality there is no such\nthing as matter, how shall we pronounce of mind, and the things which\nhappen to us in our seeming intercourse with our fellow-men, and in\nthe complexities of love and hatred, of kindred and friendship, of\nbenevolence and misanthropy, of robbery and murder, and of the wholesale\nmassacre of thousands of human beings which are recorded in the page of\nhistory? We absolutely know nothing of the lives and actions of others\nbut through the medium of material impulse. And, if you take away\nmatter, the bodies of our fellow-men, does it not follow by irresistible\nconsequence that all knowledge of their minds is taken away also? Am not\nI therefore (the person engaged in reading the present Essay) the only\nbeing in existence, an entire universe to myself?\"\n\nCertainly this is a very different conclusion from any that Berkeley\never contemplated. In the very title of the Treatise in which his\nnotions on this subject are unfolded, he professes his purpose to be to\nremove \"the grounds of scepticism, atheism and irreligion.\" Berkeley was\na sincere Christian, and a man of the most ingenuous dispositions. Pope,\nin the Epilogue to his Satires, does not hesitate to ascribe to him\n\"every virtue under heaven.\" He was for twenty years a prelate of the\nProtestant church. And, though his personal sentiments were in the\nhighest degree philanthropical and amiable, yet, in his most diffusive\nproduction, entitled The Minute Philosopher, he treats \"those who\nare called Free Thinkers\" with a scorn and disdain, scarcely to be\nreconciled with the spirit of Christian meekness.\n\nThere are examples however, especially in the fields of controversy,\nwhere an adventurous speculatist has been known to lay down premises and\nprinciples, from which inferences might be fairly deduced, incompatible\nwith the opinions entertained by him who delivered them. It may\ntherefore be no unprofitable research to enquire how far the creed of\nthe non-existence of matter is to be regarded as in truth and reality\ncountenancing the inference which has just been recited.\n\nThe persons then, who refine with Berkeley upon the system of things so\nfar, as to deny that there is any such thing as matter in the sense in\nwhich it is understood by the writers on natural philosophy, proceed\non the ground of affirming that we have no reason to believe that the\ncauses of our sensations have an express resemblance to the sensations\nthemselves(81). That which gives us a sensation of colour is not itself\ncoloured: and the same may be affirmed of the sensations of hot and\ncold, of sweet and bitter, and of odours offensive or otherwise. The\nimmaterialist proceeds to say, that what we call matter has been strewn\nto be so exceedingly porous, that, for any thing we know, all the solid\nparticles in the universe might be contained in a nutshell, that there\nis no such thing in the external world as actual contact, and that no\ntwo particles of matter were ever so near to each other, but that they\nmight be brought nearer, if a sufficient force could be applied for\nthat purpose. From these premises it seems to follow with sufficient\nevidence, that the causes of our sensations, so far as the material\nuniverse is concerned, bear no express resemblance to the sensations\nthemselves.\n\n\n   (81) See above, Essay XXI.\n\n\nHow then does the question stand with relation to mind? Are those\npersons who deny the existence of matter, reduced, if they would be\nconsistent in their reasonings, to deny, each man for himself, that he\nhas any proper evidence of the existence of other minds than his own?\n\nHe denies, while he has the sensation of colour, that there exists\ncolour out of himself, unless in thinking and percipient beings\nconstituted in a manner similar to that in which he is constituted. And\nthe same of the sensations of hot and cold, sweet and bitter, and\nodours offensive or otherwise. He affirms, while he has the sensation of\nlength, breadth and thickness, that there is no continuous substance out\nof himself, possessing the attributes of length, breadth and thickness\nin any way similar to the sensation of which he is conscious.\nHe professes therefore that he has no evidence, arising from his\nobservation of what we call matter, of the actual existence of a\nmaterial world. He looks into himself, and all he finds is sensation;\nbut sensation cannot be a property of inert matter. There is therefore\nno assignable analogy between the causes of his sensations, whatever\nthey may be, and the sensations themselves; and the material world, such\nas we apprehend it, is the mere creature of his own mind.\n\nLet us next consider how this question stands as to the conceptions he\nentertains respecting the minds of other men. That which gives him the\nsensation of colour, is not any thing coloured out of himself; and that\nwhich gives him the sensation of length, breadth and thickness, is\nnot any thing long, broad and thick in a manner corresponding with the\nimpression he receives. There is nothing in the nature of a parallel, a\ntype and its archetype, between that which is without him and that which\nis within, the impresser and the impression. This is the point supposed\nto be established by Locke and Newton, and by those who have followed\nthe reasonings of these philosophers into their remotest consequences.\n\nBut the case is far otherwise in the impressions we receive respecting\nthe minds of other men. In colour it has been proved by these authors\nthat there is no express correspondence and analogy between the cause of\nthe sensation and the sensation. They are not part and counterpart.\nBut in mind there is a precise resemblance and analogy between the\nconceptions we are led to entertain respecting other men, and what\nwe know of ourselves. I and my associate, or fellow-man, are like two\ninstruments of music constructed upon the same model. We have each of\nus, so to speak, the three great divisions of sound, base, tenor and\ntreble. We have each the same number of keys, capable of being struck,\nconsecutively or with alternations, at the will of the master. We can\nutter the same sound or series of sounds, or sounds of a different\ncharacter, but which respond to each other. My neighbour therefore being\nof the same nature as myself, what passes within me may be regarded as\namounting to a commanding evidence that he is a real being, having a\nproper and independent existence.\n\nThere is further something still more impressive and irresistible in the\nnotices I receive respecting the minds of other men. The sceptics whose\nreasonings I am here taking into consideration, admit, each man for\nhimself, the reality of his own existence. There is such a thing\ntherefore as human nature; for he is a specimen of it. Now the idea of\nhuman nature, or of man, is a very complex thing. He is in the first\nplace the subject of sensible impressions, however these impressions are\ncommunicated to him. He has the faculties of thinking and feeling. He is\nsubject to the law of the association of ideas, or, in other words, any\none idea existing in his mind has a tendency to call up the ideas of\nother things which have been connected with it in his first experience.\nHe has, be it delusive or otherwise, the sense of liberty of action.\n\nBut we will go still further into detail as to the nature of man.\n\nOur lives are carried forward by the intervention of what we call meat,\ndrink and sleep. We are liable to the accidents of health and sickness.\nWe are alternately the recipients of joy and sorrow, of cheerfulness and\nmelancholy. Our passions are excited by similar means, whether of love\nor hatred, complacency or indignation, sympathy or resentment. I could\nfill many pages with a description of the properties or accidents, which\nbelong to man as such, or to which he is liable.\n\nNow with all these each man is acquainted in the sphere of his inward\nexperience, whether he is a single being standing by himself, or is an\nindividual belonging to a numerous species.\n\nObserve then the difference between my acquaintance with the phenomena\nof the material universe, and with the individuals of my own species.\nThe former say nothing to me; they are a series of events and no more;\nI cannot penetrate into their causes; that which gives rise to my\nsensations, may or may not be similar to the sensations themselves. The\nfollower of Berkeley or Newton has satisfied himself in the negative.\n\nBut the case is very different in my intercourse with my fellow-men.\nAgreeably to the statement already made I know the reality of human\nnature; for I feel the particulars that constitute it within myself.\nThe impressions I receive from that intercourse say something to me;\nfor they talk to me of beings like myself. My own existence becomes\nmultiplied in infinitum. Of the possibility of matter I know nothing;\nbut with the possibility of mind I am acquainted; for I am myself an\nexample. I am amazed at the consistency and systematic succession of the\nphenomena of the material universe; though I cannot penetrate the veil\nwhich presents itself to my grosser sense, nor see effects in their\ncauses. But I can see, in other words, I have the most cogent reasons\nto believe in, the causes of the phenomena that occur in my apparent\nintercourse with my fellow-men. What solution so natural, as that\nthey are produced by beings like myself, the duplicates, with certain\nvariations, of what I feel within me?\n\nThe belief in the reality of matter explains nothing. Supposing it to\nexist, if Newton is right, no particle of extraneous matter ever touched\nthe matter of my body; and therefore it is not just to regard it as\nthe cause of my sensations. It would amount to no more than two systems\ngoing on at the same time by a preestablished harmony, but totally\nindependent of and disjointed from each other.\n\nBut the belief in the existence of our fellow-men explains much. It\nmakes level before us the wonder of the method of their proceedings, and\naffords an obvious reason why they should be in so many respects like\nour own. If I dismiss from my creed the existence of inert matter, I\nlose nothing. The phenomena, the train of antecedents and consequents,\nremain as before; and this is all that I am truly concerned with. But\ntake away the existence of my fellow-men; and you reduce all that is,\nand all that I experience, to a senseless mummery. \"You take my life,\ntaking the thing whereon I live.\"\n\nHuman nature, and the nature of mind, are to us a theme of endless\ninvestigation. \"The proper study of mankind is man.\" All the subtlety\nof metaphysics, or (if there be men captious and prejudiced enough\nto dislike that term) the science of ourselves, depends upon it. The\nscience of morals hangs upon the actions of men, and the effects they\nproduce upon our brother-men, in a narrower or a wider circle. The\nendless, and inexpressibly interesting, roll of history relies for its\nmeaning and its spirit upon the reality and substance of the subjects of\nwhich it treats. Poetry, and all the wonders and endless varieties that\nimagination creates, have this for their solution and their soul.\n\nSympathy is the only reality of which we are susceptible; it is our\nheart of hearts: and, if the world had been \"one entire and perfect\nchrysolite,\" without this it would have been no more than one heap of\nrubbish.\n\nObserve the difference between what we know of the material world, and\nwhat of the intellectual. The material goes on for ever according to\ncertain laws that admit of no discrimination. They proceed upon a first\nprinciple, an impulse given them from the beginning of things. Their\neffects are regulated by something that we call their nature: fire\nburns; water suffocates; the substances around us that we call solid,\ndepend for their effects, when put in motion, upon momentum and gravity.\n\nThe principle that regulates the dead universe, \"acts by general, not by\npartial laws.\"\n\n     When the loose mountain trembles from on high,\n      Shall gravitation cease, if you go by?\n\nNo: the chain of antecedents and consequents proceeds in this respect\nfor ever the same. The laws of what we call the material world continue\nunvaried. And, when the vast system of things was first set in motion,\nevery thing, so far as depends on inert matter, was determined to the\nminutest particle, even to the end of time.\n\nThe material world, or that train of antecedents and consequents which\nwe understand by that term, goes on for ever in a train agreeably to the\nimpulse previously given. It is deaf and inexorable. It is unmoved by\nthe consideration of any accidents and miseries that may result, and\nunalterable. But man is a source of events of a very different nature.\nHe looks to results, and is governed by views growing out of the\ncontemplation of them. He acts in a way diametrically opposite to the\naction of inert matter, and \"turns, and turns, and turns again,\" at the\nimpulse of the thought that strikes him, the appetite that prompts, the\npassions that move, and the effects that he anticipates. It is therefore\nin a high degree unreasonable, to make that train of inferences which\nmay satisfy us on the subject of material phenomena, a standard of what\nwe ought to think respecting the phenomena of mind.\n\nIt is further worthy of our notice to recollect, that the same\nreasonings which apply to our brethren of mankind, apply also to the\nbrute creation. They, like ourselves, act from motives; that is,\nthe elections they form are adopted by them for the sake of certain\nconsequences they expect to see result from them. Whatever becomes\ntherefore of the phenomena of what we call dead matter, we are here\npresented with tribes of being, susceptible of pleasure and pain, of\nhope and fear, of regard and resentment.\n\nHow beautifully does this conviction vary the scene of things! What\na source to us is the animal creation, of amusement, of curious\nobservations upon the impulses of inferior intellect, of the exhaustless\nvarieties of what we call instinct, of the care we can exercise for\ntheir accommodation and welfare, and of the attachment and affection we\nwin from them in return! If I travel alone through pathless deserts, if\nI journey from the rising to the setting sun, with no object around\nme but nature's desolation, or the sublime, the magnificent and the\nexuberant scenery she occasionally presents, still I have that noble\nanimal, the horse, and my faithful dog, the companions of my toil, and\nwith whom, when my solitude would otherwise become insufferable, I can\nhold communion, and engage in dumb dialogues of sentiment and affection.\n\nI have heard of a man, who, talking to his friend on the subject of\nthese speculations, said, \"What then, are you so poor and pusillanimous\na creature, that you could not preserve your serenity, be perfectly\ncomposed and content, and hold on your way unvaried, though you were\nconvinced that you were the only real being in existence, and all the\nrest were mere phantasies and shadows?\"\n\nIf I had been the person to whom this speech was addressed, I should\nhave frankly acknowledged, \"I am the poor and pusillanimous creature you\nare disposed to regard with so much scorn.\"\n\nTo adopt the sententious language of the Bible, \"It is not good for man\nto be alone.\" All our faculties and attributes bear relation to, and\ntalk to us of, other beings like ourselves. We might indeed eat, drink\nand sleep, that is, submit to those necessities which we so denominate,\nwithout thinking of any thing beyond ourselves; for these are the\ndemands of our nature, and we know that we cannot subsist without them.\nWe might make use of the alternate conditions of exercise and repose.\n\nBut the life of our lives would be gone. As far as we bore in mind the\ncreed we had adopted, of our single existence, we could neither love nor\nhate. Sympathy would be a solemn mockery. We could not communicate; for\nthe being to whom our communication was addressed we were satisfied was\na non-entity. We could not anticipate the pleasure or pain, the joy or\nsorrow, of another; for that other had no existence. We should be in\na worse condition than Robinson Crusoe in the desolate island; for he\nbelieved in the existence of other men, and hoped and trusted that he\nshould one day again enter into human society. We should be in a worse\ncondition than Robinson Crusoe; for he at least was unannoyed in his\nsolitude; while we are perpetually and per force intruded on, like a\ndelirious man, by visions which we know to be unreal, but which we are\ndenied the power to deliver ourselves from. We have no motive to any of\nthe great and cardinal functions of human life; for there is no one in\nbeing, that we can benefit, or that we can affect. Study is nothing to\nus; for we have no use for it. Even science is unsatisfactory; unless we\ncan communicate it by word or writing, can converse upon it, and compare\nnotes with our neighbour. History is nothing; for there were no Greeks\nand no Romans; no freemen and no slaves; no kings and no subjects; no\ndespots, nor victims of their tyranny; no republics, nor states immerged\nin brutal and ignominious servitude. Life must be inevitably a burthen\nto us, a dreary, unvaried, motiveless existence; and death must be\nwelcomed, as the most desirable blessing that can visit us. It\nis impossible indeed that we should always recollect this our, by\nsupposition, real situation; but, as often as we did, it would come over\nus like a blight, withering all the prospects of our industry, or like\na scirocco, unbracing the nerves of our frame, and consigning us to the\nmost pitiable depression.\n\nThus far I have allowed myself to follow the refinements of those\nwho profess to deny the existence of the material universe. But it is\nsatisfactory to come back to that persuasion, which, from whatever cause\nit is derived, is incorporated with our very existence, and can never be\nshaken off by us. Our senses are too powerful in their operation, for it\nto be possible for us to discard them, and to take as their substitute,\nin active life, and in the earnestness of pursuit, the deductions of\nour logical faculty, however well knit and irresistible we may apprehend\nthem to be. Speculation and common sense are at war on this point; and\nhowever we may \"think with the learned,\" and follow the abstrusenesses\nof the philosopher, in the sequestered hour of our meditation, we must\nalways act, and even feel, \"with the vulgar,\" when we come abroad into\nthe world.\n\nIt is however no small gratification to the man of sober mind, that,\nfrom what has here been alleged, it seems to follow, that untutored\nmind, and the severest deductions of philosophy, agree in that most\ninteresting of our concerns, our intercourse with our fellow-creatures.\nThe inexorable reasoner, refining on the reports of sense, may dispose,\nas he pleases, of the chair, the table, and the so called material\nsubstances around him. He may include the whole solid matter of the\nuniverse in a nutshell, or less than a nutshell. But he cannot deprive\nme of that greatest of all consolations, the sustaining pillar of\nmy existence, \"the cordial drop Heaven in our cup has thrown,\"--the\nintercourse of my fellow-creatures. When we read history, the subjects\nof which we read are realities; they do not \"come like shadows,\nso depart;\" they loved and acted in sober earnest; they sometimes\nperpetrated crimes; but they sometimes also achieved illustrious deeds,\nwhich angels might look down from their exalted abodes and admire. We\nare not deluded with mockeries. The woman I love, and the man to whom I\nswear eternal friendship, are as much realities as myself. If I relieve\nthe poor, and assist the progress of genius and virtuous designs\nstruggling with fearful discouragements, I do something upon the success\nof which I may safely congratulate myself. If I devote my energies to\nenlighten my fellow-creatures, to detect the weak places in our social\ninstitutions, to plead the cause of liberty, and to invite others\nto engage in noble actions and unite in effecting the most solid and\nunquestionable improvements, I erect to my name an eternal monument; or\nI do something better than this,--secure inestimable advantage to the\nlatest posterity, the benefit of which they shall enjoy, long after the\nvery name of the author shall, with a thousand other things great and\nsmall, have been swallowed up in the gulph of insatiable oblivion.\n\n\n\n\nESSAY XXIII. OF HUMAN VIRTUE. THE EPILOGUE.\n\nThe life of man is divided into many stages; and we shall not form a\njust estimate of our common nature, if we do not to a certain\ndegree pass its successive periods in review, and observe it in its\ncommencement, its progress, and its maturity.\n\nIt has been attempted to be established in an early part of the present\nvolume(82), that all men, idiots and extraordinary cases being put out\nof the question, are endowed with talents, which, if rightly directed,\nwould shew them to be apt, adroit, intelligent and acute, in the walk\nfor which their organisation especially fitted them. We are bound\ntherefore, particularly in the morning of life, to consider every\nthing that presents itself to us in the human form, with deference and\nattention.\n\n\n   (82) See above, Essay III.\n\n\n\"God,\" saith the Preacher, \"made man upright; but he hath sought out\nmany inventions.\" There is something loose and difficult of exposition\nin this statement; but we shall find an important truth hid beneath its\nobscurity.\n\nJunius Brutus, in the play, says to his son,\n\n      I like thy frame:  the fingers of the Gods\n      I see have left their mastery upon thee;\n      And the majestic prints distinct appear.\n\nSuch is the true description of every well-formed and healthful infant\nthat is born into the world.\n\nHe is placed on the threshold of existence; and an eventful journey is\nopen before him. For the first four or five years of life indeed he has\nlittle apprehension of the scenes that await him. But a child of quick\napprehension early begins to have day-dreams, and to form imaginations\nof the various chances that may occur to him, and the things he shall\nhave to do, when, according to the language of the story-books, he \"goes\nout to seek his fortune.\"\n\n\"God made man upright.\" Every child that is born, has within him a\nconcealed magazine of excellence. His heart beats for every thing that\nis lovely and good; and whatever is set before him of that sort in\nhonest colours, rouses his emulation. By how many tokens does he prove\nhimself worthy of our approbation and love--the unaffected and\ningenuous sobriety with which he listens to what addresses itself to his\nattention, the sweetness of his smile, his hearty laugh, the clear, bell\ntones of his voice, his sudden and assured impulses, and his bounding\nstep!\n\nTo his own heart he promises well of himself. Like Lear in the play, he\nsays, \"I will do such things!--What they are, yet I know not.\" But he is\nassured, frank and light-spirited. He thinks of no disguise. He \"wears\nhis heart upon his sleeve.\" He looks in the face of his seniors with\nthe glistening eye of confidence, and expects to encounter sympathy and\nencouragement in return. Such is man, as he comes from the hands of his\nmaker.\n\nThus prepared, he is turned into the great field of society. Here he\nmeets with much that he had not anticipated, and with many rebuffs. He\nis taught that he must accommodate his temper and proceedings to the\nexpectations and prejudices of those around him. He must be careful to\ngive no offence. With how many lessons, not always the most salutary and\ningenuous, is this maxim pregnant! It calls on the neophyte to bear\na wary eye, and to watch the first indications of disapprobation and\ndispleasure in those among whom his lot is cast. It teaches him to\nsuppress the genuine emotions of his soul. It informs him that he is not\nalways to yield to his own impulses, but that he must \"stretch forth his\nhands to another, and be carried whither he would not.\"\n\nIt recommends to him falseness, and to be the thing in outward\nappearance that he is not in his heart.\n\nStill however he goes on. He shuts up his thoughts in his bosom; but\nthey are not exterminated. On the contrary he broods over them with\ngenial warmth; and the less they are exposed to the eye of day, the\nmore perseveringly are they cherished. Perhaps he chooses some youthful\nconfident of his imaginings: and the effect of this is, that he pours\nout his soul with uncontrolable copiousness, and with the fervour of a\nnew and unchecked conceiving. It is received with answering warmth; or,\nif there is any deficiency in the sympathy of his companion, his mind is\nso earnest and full, that he does not perceive it. By and by, it may be,\nhe finds that the discovery he had made of a friend, a brother of\nhis soul, is, like so many of the visions of this world, hollow and\nfallacious. He grasped, as he thought, a jewel of the first water; and\nit turns out to be a vulgar pebble. No matter: he has gained something\nby the communication. He has heard from his own lips the imaginings\nof his mind shaped into articulate air; they grew more definite and\ndistinct as he uttered them; they came by the very act to have more of\nreality, to be more tangible. He shakes off the ill-assorted companion\nthat only encumbered him, and springs away in his race, more light of\nheart, and with a step more assured, than ever.\n\nBy and by he becomes a young man. And, whatever checks he may have\nreceived before, it usually happens that all his hopes and projects\nreturn to him now with recruited strength. He has no longer a master. He\nno longer crouches to the yoke of subjection, and is directed this way\nand that at the judgment of another. Liberty is at all times dear to the\nfree-soured and ingenuous; but never so much so, as when we wear it in\nits full gloss and newness. He never felt before, that he was sui juris,\nthat he might go whithersoever he would, without asking leave, without\nconsulting any other director than the law of his own mind. It is nearly\nat the same season that he arrives at the period of puberty, at the\nstature, and in a certain degree at the strength, which he is destined\nto attain. He is by general consent admitted to be at years of\ndiscretion.\n\nThough I have put all these things together, they do not, in the course\nof nature, all come at the same time. It is a memorable period, when the\ningenuous youth is transferred from the trammels of the schoolmaster\nto the residence of a college. It was at the age of seventeen that,\naccording to the custom of Rome, the youthful citizen put on the manly\ngown, and was introduced into the forum. Even in college-life, there is\na difference in the privileges of the mere freshman, and of the\nyouth who has already completed the first half of his period in the\nuniversity.\n\nThe season of what may be denominated the independence of the\nindividual, is certainly in no small degree critical. A human being,\nsuddenly emancipated from a state of subjection, if we may not call it\nslavery, and transported into a state of freedom, must be expected to be\nguilty of some extravagancies and follies.\n\nBut upon the whole, with a small number of exceptions, it is creditable\nto human nature, that we take this period of our new powers and\nimmunities with so much sobriety as we do.\n\nThe young man then, calls to mind all that he imagined at an earlier\nseason, and that he promised himself. He adds to this the new lights\nthat he has since obtained, and the nearer and more distinct view that\nhe has reached, of the realities of life.\n\nHe recollects the long noviciate that he served to reach this period,\nthe twenty years that he passed in ardent and palpitating expectation;\nand he resolves to do something worthy of all he had vowed and had\nimagined. He takes a full survey of his stores and endowments; and to\nthe latter, from his enthusiasm and his self-love, he is morally sure\nto do justice. He says to himself, \"What I purpose to do will not be\nachieved to-day. No; it shall be copious, and worthy of men's suffrage\nand approbation. But I will meditate it; I will sketch a grand outline;\nI will essay my powers in secret, and ascertain what I may be able\nto effect.\" The youth, whose morning of life is not utterly abortive,\npalpitates with the desire to promote the happiness of others, and with\nthe desire of glory.\n\nWe have an apt specimen of this in the first period of the reign of\nNero. The historians, Tacitus in particular, have treated this with too\nmuch incredulity. It was the passion of that eminent man to indulge in\nsubtleties, and to find hidden meanings in cases where in reality every\nthing is plain. We must not regard the panegyric of Seneca, and\nthe devotion of Lucan to the imperial stripling, as unworthy of\nour attention. He was declared emperor before he had completed\nthe eighteenth year of his age. No occasion for the exhibition of\nliberality, clemency, courtesy or kindness escaped him. He called every\none by his name, and saluted all orders of men. When the senate shewed\na disposition to confer on him peculiar honours, he interposed, he said,\n\"Let them be bestowed when I have deserved them(83).\" Seneca affirms,\nthat in the first part of his reign, and to the time in which the\nphilosopher dedicated to him his treatise of Clemency, he had \"shed no\ndrop of blood(84).\" He adds, \"If the Gods were this day to call thee\nto a hearing, thou couldst account to them for every man that had been\nintrusted to thy rule. Not an individual has been lost from the number,\neither by secret practices, or by open violence. This could scarcely\nhave been, if thy good dispositions had not been natural, but assumed.\nNo one can long personate a character. A pretended goodness will\nspeedily give place to the real temper; while a sincere mind, and\nacts prompted by the heart, will not fail to go on from one stage of\nexcellence to another(85).\"\n\n\n   (83) Suetonius, Nero, cap. 10.\n\n\n   (84) De Clementia, Lib. I, cap. II.\n\n\n   (85) De Clementia, cap. I.\n\n\nThe philosopher expresses himself in raptures on that celebrated phrase\nof Nero, WOULD I HAD NEVER LEARNED TO WRITE! \"An exclamation,\" he says,\n\"not studied, not uttered for the purpose of courting popularity, but\nbursting insuppressibly from thy lips, and indicating the vehemence of\nthe struggle between the kindness of thy disposition and the duties of\nthy office(86).\"\n\n\n   (86) Ibid., Lib. II, cap. I.\n\nHow many generous purposes, what bright and heart-thrilling visions of\nbeneficence and honour, does the young man, just starting in the race\nof life, conceive! There is no one in that period of existence, who has\nreceived a reasonable education, and has not in his very nonage been\ntrod down in the mire of poverty and oppression, that does not say\nto himself, \"Now is the time; and I will do something worthy to be\nremembered by myself and by others.\" Youth is the season of generosity.\nHe calls over the catalogue of his endowments, his attainments, and\nhis powers, and exclaims, \"To that which I am, my contemporaries are\nwelcome; it shall all be expended for their service and advantage.\"\n\nWith what disdain he looks at the temptations of selfishness, effeminate\nindulgence, and sordid gain! He feels within himself that he was born\nfor better things. His elders, and those who have already been tamed\ndown and emasculated by the corrupt commerce of the world, tell him,\n\"All this is the rhapsody of youth, fostered by inexperience; you will\nsoon learn to know better; in no long time you will see these things\nin the same light in which we see them.\" But he despises the sinister\nprognostic that is held out to him, and feels proudly conscious that the\nsentiments that now live in his bosom, will continue to animate him to\nhis latest breath.\n\nYouth is necessarily ingenuous in its thoughts, and sanguine in its\nanticipations of the future. But the predictions of the seniors I have\nquoted, are unfortunately in too many cases fulfilled. The outline of\nthe scheme of civil society is in a high degree hostile to the growth\nand maturity of human virtue. Its unavoidable operation, except in those\nrare cases where positive institutions have arrested its tendency, has\nbeen to divide a great portion of its members, especially in large and\npowerful states, into those who are plentifully supplied with the means\nof luxury and indulgence, and those who are condemned to suffer the\nrigours of indigence.\n\nThe young man who is born to the prospect of hereditary wealth, will\nnot unfrequently feel as generous emotions, and as much of the spirit of\nself-denial, as the bosom of man is capable of conceiving. He will say,\nWhat am I, that I should have a monopoly of those things, which, if\n\"well dispensed, in unsuperfluous, even proportion,\" would supply the\nwants of all? He is ready, agreeably to the advice of Christ to the\nyoung man in the Gospel, to \"sell all that he has, and give to the\npoor,\" if he could be shewn how so generous a resolution on his part\ncould be encountered with an extensive conspiracy of the well-disposed,\nand rendered available to the real melioration of the state of man in\nsociety. Who is there so ignorant, or that has lived in so barren and\nunconceiving a tract of the soil of earth, that has not his tale to\ntell of the sublime emotions and the generous purposes he has witnessed,\nwhich so often mark this beautiful era of our sublunary existence?\n\nBut this is in the dawn of life, and the first innocence of the human\nheart. When once the young man of \"great possessions\" has entered the\ngardens of Alcina, when he has drunk of the cup of her enchantments, and\nseen all the delusive honour and consideration that, in the corruptness\nof modern times, are the lot of him who is the owner of considerable\nwealth, the dreams of sublime virtue are too apt to fade away. He was\nwilling before, to be nourished with the simplest diet, and clad with\nthe plainest attire. He knew that he was but a man like the rest of\nhis species, and was in equity entitled to no more than they. But he\npresently learns a very different lesson. He believes that he cannot\nlive without splendour and luxury; he regards a noble mansion, elegant\nvesture, horses, equipage, and an ample establishment, as things without\nwhich he must be hopelessly miserable. That income, which he once\nthought, if divided, would have secured the happiness and independence\nof many, he now finds scarcely sufficient to supply his increased and\nartificial cravings.\n\nBut, if the rich are seduced and led away from the inspirations of\nvirtue, it may easily be conceived how much more injurious, and beyond\nthe power of control, are the effects on the poor. The mysterious source\nfrom which the talents of men are derived, cannot be supposed in their\ndistribution to be regulated by the artificial laws of society, and\nto have one measure for those which are bestowed upon the opulent, and\nanother for the destitute. It will therefore not seldom happen that\npowers susceptible of the noblest uses may be cast, like \"seed sown upon\nstony places,\" where they have scarcely any chance to be unfolded and\nmatured. In a few instances they may attract the attention of\npersons both able and willing to contribute to their being brought to\nperfection. In a few instances the principle may be so vigorous, and\nthe tendency to excel so decisive, as to bid defiance to and to conquer\nevery obstacle. But in a vast majority the promise will be made vain,\nand the hopes that might have been entertained will prove frustrate.\nWhat can be expected from the buds of the most auspicious infancy, if\nencountered in their earliest stage with the rigorous blasts of a polar\nclimate?\n\nAnd not only will the germs of excellence be likely to be extinguished\nin the members of the lower class of the community, but the temptations\nto irregular acts and incroachments upon the laws for the security of\nproperty will often be so great, as to be in a manner irresistible. The\nman who perceives that, with all his industry, he cannot provide for\nthe bare subsistence of himself and those dependent upon him, while\nhis neighbour revels in boundless profusion, cannot but sometimes feel\nhimself goaded to an attempt to correct this crying evil. What must\nbe expected to become of that general good-will which is the natural\ninheritance of a well-constituted mind, when urged by so bitter\noppression and such unendurable sufferings? The whole temper of the\nhuman heart must be spoiled, and the wine of life acquire a quality\nacrimonious and malignant.\n\nBut it is not only in the extreme classes of society that the glaring\ninequality with which property is shared produces its injurious effects.\nAll those who are born in the intermediate ranks are urged with a\ndistempered ambition, unfavourable to independence of temper, and\nto true philanthropy. Each man aspires to the improvement of his\ncircumstances, and the mounting, by one step and another, higher in\nthe scale of the community. The contemplations of the mind are turned\ntowards selfishness. In opulent communities we are presented with the\ngenuine theatre for courts and kings. And, wherever there are courts,\nduplicity, lying, hypocrisy and cringing dwell as in their proper field.\nNext come trades and professions, with all the ignoble contemplations,\nthe resolved smoothness, servility and falshood, by which they are\nenabled to gain a prosperous and triumphant career.\n\nIt is by such means, that man, whom \"God made upright,\" is led away\ninto a thousand devious paths, and, long before the closing scene of his\nlife, is rendered something the very reverse of what in the dawning of\nexistence he promised to be. He is like Hazael in the Jewish history,\nwho, when the prophet set before him the crying enormities he should\nhereafter perpetrate, exclaimed, \"Is thy servant a dog,\" that he should\ndegrade himself so vilely? He feels the purity of his purposes; but is\ngoaded by one excitement and exasperation after another, till he becomes\ndebased, worthless and criminal. This is strikingly illustrated in\nthe story of Dr. Johnson and the celebrated Windham, who, when he was\nsetting out as secretary to the lord lieutenant of Ireland, expressed to\nhis aged monitor, some doubts whether he could ever reconcile himself\nto certain indirect proceedings which he was afraid would be expected\nof him: to which the veteran replied, \"Oh, sir, be under no alarm; in a\nshort time, depend upon it, you will make a very pretty rascal(87).\"\n\n\n   (87) The phrase here used by Johnson is marked with the licentiousness\nwe sometimes indulge in familiar conversation. Translate it into a\ngeneral maxim; and it contains much melancholy truth. It is true also,\nthat there are few individuals, who, in the urgent realities of\nlife, have not occasionally descended from the heights of theoretical\nexcellence. It is but just however to observe in the case of Windham,\nthat, though he was a man of many errors, he was not the less\ncharacterised by high honour and eminent virtue.\n\n\nSuch are the \"inventions of man,\" or rather such is the operation of\nthose institutions which ordinarily prevail in society. Still, however,\nmuch honour ought to be rendered to our common nature, since all of us\nare not led away by the potent spells of the enchantress. If the vulgar\ncrew of the vessel of Ulysses were by Circe changed into brutes, so was\nnot their commander. The human species is divided into two classes, the\nsuccessfully tempted, and the tempted in vain. And, though the latter\nmust be admitted to be a small minority, yet they ought to be regarded\nas the \"salt of the earth,\" which preserves the entire mass from\nputridity and dishonour. They are like the remnant, which, if they had\nbeen to be found in the cities of the Asphaltic lake, the God of Abraham\npronounced as worthy to redeem the whole community. They are like the\ntwo witnesses amidst the general apostasy, spoken of in the book of\nRevelations, who were the harbingers and forerunners of the millenium,\nthe reign of universal virtue and peace. Their excellence only appears\nwith the greater lustre amidst the general defection.\n\nNothing can be more unjust than the spirit of general levelling and\nsatire, which so customarily prevails. History records, if you will, the\nvices and follies of mankind. But does it record nothing else? Are\nthe virtues of the best men, the noblest philosophers, and the most\ndisinterested patriots of antiquity, nothing? It is impossible for two\nthings to be more unlike than the general profligacy of the reigns of\nCharles the Second and Louis the Fifteenth on the one hand, and the\naustere virtues and the extinction of all private considerations in the\ngeneral happiness and honour, which constitute the spirit of the best\npages of ancient history, and which exalt and transfix the spirit of\nevery ingenuous and high-souled reader, on the other.\n\nLet us then pay to human virtue the honour that is so justly its due!\nImagination is indeed a marvellous power; but imagination never equalled\nhistory, the achievements which man has actually performed. It is in\nvain that the man of contemplation sits down in his closet; it is in\nvain that the poet yields the reins to enthusiasm and fancy: there is\nsomething in the realities of life, that excites the mind infinitely\nmore, than is in the power of the most exalted reverie. The true hero\ncannot, like the poet, or the delineator of fictitious adventures, put\noff what he has to do till to-morrow. The occasion calls, and he must\nobey. He sees the obstacles, and the adversary he has to encounter,\nbefore him. He sees the individuals, for whose dear sake he resolves to\nexpose himself to every hazard and every evil. The very circumstance,\nthat he is called on to act in the face of the public, animates him.\nIt is thus that resolution is produced, that martyrdom is voluntarily\nencountered, and that the deeds of genuine, pure and undeniable heroism\nare performed.\n\nLet then no man, in the supercilious spirit of a fancied disdain, allow\nhimself to detract from our common nature. We are ourselves the models\nof all the excellence that the human mind can conceive. There have been\nmen, whose virtues may well redeem all the contempt with which satire\nand detraction have sought to overwhelm our species. There have been\nmemorable periods in the history of man, when the best, the most\ngenerous and exalted sentiments have swallowed up and obliterated all\nthat was of an opposite character. And it is but just, that those by\nwhom these things are fairly considered, should anticipate the progress\nof our nature, and believe that human understanding and human virtue\nwill hereafter accomplish such things as the heart of man has never yet\nbeen daring enough to conceive.","title":"Thoughts on Man, His Nature, Productions and Discoveries: Interspersed with Some Particulars Respecting the Author","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":116130}