ELEMENTS 
OF 
MENTAL PHILOSOPHY, 
EMBRACING THE TWO DEPARTMENTS OF THE 
INTELLECT AND THE SENSIBILITIES, 
BY THOMAS C. UPHAM, 
PROFESSOR OF MENTAL AND MORAL PHILOSOPHY IN 
BOWDOIN COLLEGE. 
IN TWO VOLUMES.--VOL. 2. 
THIRD EDITION. 
PORTLAND, 
PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM HYDE, 
FOR Z. HYDE. 
1839. Entered, according to the Act of Congress, by Thomas C. Upham, 
in the Clerk's office of the District court of Maine. 
PRESS OF J. GRIFFIN, BRUNSWICK. CONTENTS. 
DIVISION SECOND. 
I 
THE SENSIBILITIES. 
SENTIENT OR SENSITIVE STATES OF 
THE MIND. 
SENTIMENTS. 
INTRODUCTION. 
Chap. I.-relation of the intel- 
lect TO the sensibilities. 
SECT. 
Reference to the general division 
of the w hole mind 1 
Difference between intellections 
or states of the intellect, and 
sentiments or states of the sen- 
sibility 2 
Action of the sensibilities implies 
that of the intellect 3 
Importance of the study of the sen- 
sibilities 4 
Difficulties attending the prosecu- 
tion of this study 5 
Chap. II.-classification of the 
sensibilities. 
Natural or pathematic sensibilities 
and moral 6 
Relation of the natural to the mor- 
al sensibilities in time 7 
The moral and natural sensibili- 
ties have different objects 8 
The moral sensibilities higher in 
rank than the natural 9 
The moral sensibilities wanting in 
brutes 10 
Classification of the natural sensi- 
bilities 11 
Classification of the moral sensi- 
bilities 12 
THE SENSIBILITIES. 
PART FIRST. 
NATURAL OR PATHEMATIC SEN- 
SIBILITIES. 
NATURAL OR PATHEMATIC SENTI- 
MENTS. 
CLASS FIRST. 
EMOTIONS OR EMOTIVE STATES OF 
THE MIND. 
Chap.I.-nature of the emotions. 
We have a knowledge of emotions 
by consciousness 13 
The place ofemotions, considered 
[ in reference to other mental acts 14 
The character of emotions chan- 
ges so as to conform to that of 
perceptions 15 
Emotions characterized by rapidi- 
ty and variety 16 
Chap. II.-emotions of beauty. 
Characteristics of emotions of 
beauty 17 
Of what is meant by beautiful ob- 
I jects 18 4 
CONTENTS 
Of the distinction between beauti- 
ful and other objects 19 
Grounds or occasions of emotions 
of beauty various 20 
Illustrations of the foregoing state- 
ment 21 
Of the objects in general which 
excite emotions of beauty 22 
All objects not equally fitted to 
cause these emotions 23 
A susceptibility of emotions of 
beauty an ultimate principle of 
our mental constitution 24 
Remarks on the beauty of forms 
-the circle 25 
Original or intrinsic beauty-the 
circle 26 
Of the beauty of straight and an- 
gular forms 27 
Of square, pyramidal, and trian- 
gular forms 28 
The variety of the sources of that 
beauty, which is founded on 
forms, illustrated from the dif- 
ferent styles of architecture 29 
Of the original or intrinsic beauty 
of colors 30 
Further illustrations of the origi- 
nal beauty of colors 31 
Of sounds considered as a source 
of beauty 32 
Illustrations of the original beauty 
of sounds 33 
Further instances of the original 
beauty of sounds 34 
The permanency of musical pow- 
er dependent on its being intrin- 
sic 35 
Of motion as an element of beauty 36 
Explanations of the beauty of mo- 
tion from Kaimes 37 
Of intellectual and moral objects 
as a source of the beautiful 38 
Of a distinct sense or faculty of 
beauty 39 
Chap. III.-associated beauty. 
Associated beauty implies an an- 
tecedent or intrinsic beauty 40 
Objects may become beautiful by 
association merely 41 
Further illustrations of associated 
feelings 42 
Instances of national associations 43 
The sources of associated beauty 
coincident with those of human 
happiness " 44 
Of fitness considered as an ele- 
ment of associatedbeauty 45 
Of utility as an element of associa- 
ted beauty 46 
Of proportion as an element of 
associated beauty 47 
Relations of emotions of beauty to 
the fine arts 48 
Differences of original susceptibil- 
ity of this emotion 49 
Objection to the doctrine of origi- 
nal beauty 50 
Summary of views in regard to the 
beautiful 51 
Of picturesque beauty 52 
Chap,IV.-emotions ofsublimity. 
Connection between beauty and 
sublimity 53 
The occasions of the emotions of 
sublimity various 54 
Great extent or expansion an oc- 
casion of sublimity 55 
Great height an element or occa- 
sion of sublimity 56 
Of depth in connection with the 
sublime 57 
Of colors in connection with the 
sublime 58 
Of sounds as furnishing an occa- 
sion of sublime emotions 59 
Of motion in connection with the 
sublime 60 
Indications of power accompanied 
by emotions of the sublime 61 
Of moral worth in connection 
with sublimity 62 
Sublime objects have some ele- 
ments of beauty 63 
Emotions of grandeur 64 
Of the original or primary sublim- 
ity of objects 65 
Considerations in proof of the ori- 
ginal sublimity of objects 66 
Influence of association on emo- 
tions of sublimity 67 
Further illustrations of sublimity 
from association 68 
Chap. V.-nature of intellectu- 
al TASTE. 
Definition of taste and some of its 
characteristics 69 
Distinguishable from mere quick- 
ness of feeling or sensibility 70 
Of the process involved in the for- CONTENTS 
5 
mation of taste 71 
Instantaneousness of the decisions 
of taste 72 
Of the permanency of beauty 73 
Chap. VI.-emotions of the ludi- 
crous. 
General nature of emotions of the 
ludicrous 74 
Occasions of emotions of the ludi- 
crous 75 
Of Hobbes' account of the ludi- 
crous 76 
Of what is to be understood as 
wit 77 
Of wit as it consists in burlesque 
or in debasing objects 78 
Of wit when employed in aggran- 
dizing objects 79 
Of other methods of exciting emo- 
tions of the ludicrous 80 
Of the character and occasions of 
humor 81 
Of the practical utility of feelings 
of the ludicrous 82 
Chap. VII.-instances of other 
SIMPLE EMOTIONS. 
Emotions of cheerfulness, joy, and 
gladness 83 
Emotions of melancholy, sorrow, 
and grief 84 
Emotions of surprise, astonish- 
ment, and wonder 85 
Emotions of dissatisfaction, dis- 
pleasure, and disgust 86 
Emotions of diffidence, modesty, 
and shame 87 
Emotions of regard, reverence, 
and adoration 88 
THE SENSIBILITIES. 
PART FIRST. 
NATURAL OR PATHEMATIC SEN- 
SIBILITIES. 
NATURAL OR PATHEMATIC SENTI- 
MENTS. 
CLASS SECOND. 
THE DESIRES. 
Chap. I.-nature of desires. 
Of the prevalence of justice in this 
department of the mind 89 
The nature of desires known from 
consciousness 90 
Of the place of desires in relation 
to other mental states 91 
Of an exception to the foregoing 
statement 92 
The desires characterized by com- 
parative fixedness and perma- 
nency 93 
Desires always imply an object 
desired 94 
The fulfilment of desires attended 
with enjoyment 95 
Of variations or degrees in the 
strength of the desires 96 
Tendency to excite movement an 
attribute of desire 97 
Classification of this part of the 
sensibilities 98 
The principles, based upon desire, 
susceptible of a two-fold opera- 
tion 99 
Chap. II.-instincts. 
Of the instincts of man as com- 
pared with those of the inferior 
animals 100 
Of the nature of the instincts of 
brute animals 101 
Instincts susceptible of slight mod- 
ifications 102 
Instances of instincts in the hu- 
man mind 103 
Further instances of instincts in 
men 104 
Of the final cause or use of in- 
stincts 105 
Chap. III.-appetites. 
Of the general nature and char- 
acteristics of the appetites 106 
The appetites necessary to our 
preservation, and not originally 
of a selfish character 107 
Of the prevalence and origin of 
appetites for intoxicating drugs 108 
Of occasional desires for action 
and repose 109 
Of the two-fold operation and 
morality of the appetites 110 
Chap. IV.-propensities. 
General remarks on the nature 
of the propensities Hl 6 
CONTENTS. 
Principle of self-preservation or 
the desire of continued exist- 
ence 112 
Of the two-fold action of the 
principle of self-preservation 113 
Of curiosity or the desire of 
knowledge 114 
Further illustrations of the prin- 
ciple of curiosity 115 
Of the two-fold operation and 
the morality of the principle of 
curiosity 116 
Imitativeness or the propensity 
to imitation 117 
Practical results of the principle 
of imitation 118 
Remarks on the subject of emu- 
lation 119 
Emulation resolvable into the 
principle of imitativeness 120 
Of the natural desire of esteem 121 
Of the desire of esteem as a rule 
of conduct 122 
Of the desire of possession 123 
Of the moral character of the 
possessory principle 124 
Of perversions of the possessory 
desire 125 
Of the desire of power 126 
Facts in proof of the natural de- 
sire of power 127 
Of the moral character of the de- 
sire of power 128 
Of the two-fold action of the pro- 
pensity to truth 130 
Propensity of self-love or the de- 
sire of happiness 131 
Of selfishness as distinguished 
from self-love 132 
Modifications of selfishness ; 
pride, vanity, and arrogance 133 
Reference to the opinions of phi- 
losophical writers 134 
Chap.V.-propensities continued. 
SOCIALITY OR THE DESIRE OF SO- 
CIETY. 
The principle of sociality original 
in the human mind 135 
The principle ofsociality not sel- 
fish 136 
Reference to the doctrine of 
Hobbes on this subject 137 
Remarks on the statements of the 
preceding section 138 
The doctrine of an original prin- 
ciple of sociality supported by 
the view,that it is necessary to 
man in his actual situation 139 
Of this principle as it exists in 
the lower animals 140 
The existence of the principle 
shown from the conduct of 
children and youth 141 
The same shown from the facts 
of later life 142 
The social principle exists in the 
enemies of society 143 
Proofs of the natural desire of so- 
ciety from the confessions and 
conduct of those who have 
been deprived of it 144 
Further proofs and illustrations 
of the natural origin of the 
principle ofsociality 145 
Other illustrations of a similar 
kind 146 
Other instances in illustration of 
the same subject 147 
The subject illustrated from ex- 
periments in prison discipline 148 
Relation of the social principle 
to civil society 149 
Of the form of desire denomina- 
ted hope 150 
Chap. VI-the malevolent af- 
fections. 
Of the comparative rank of the 
affections 151 
Of the complex nature of the af- 
fections 152 
Of resentment or anger 153 
Illustrations of instinctive resent- 
ment 154 
Uses and moral character of in- 
stinctive resentment 155 
Of voluntary in distinction from 
instinctive resentment 156 
Tendency of anger to excess,and 
the natural checks to it 157 
Other reasons for checking and 
subduing the angry passions 158 
Modifications of resentment. 
Peevishness 159 
Modifications of resentment. En- 
vy 160 
Modifications of resentment. 
Jealousy 161 
Modifications of resentment. Re- 
venge 162 
Illustrations of the malevolent 
passions 163 
Nature of the passion of fear 164 CONTENTS 
7 
further shown from the Scrip- 
tures 190 
Further proofs that man was 
thus created 191 
Relation of the principle of su- 
preme love to God to the other 
principles of the pathematic 
sensibilities 192 
Illustrations of the results of the 
principle of love to God from 
the character and life of the 
Savior 193 
The absence of this principle at- 
tended with an excessive and 
sinful action of other princi- 
ples 194 
Further illustrations of the re- 
sults of the absence of this 
principle ' 195 
Views of President Edwards on 
the subject of human depravity 196 
Chap. IX.-habits of the sensi- 
bilities. 
General remarks on the nature 
of habit 197 
Of habits in connection with the 
appetites 198 
Ofhabits in connection with the 
propensities 199 
Ofhabits in connection with the 
affections 200 
Of the origin of secondary ac- 
tive principles 201 
Objection to these views in re- 
spect to habit 202 
Explanation of the above men- 
tioned cases 203 
Further illustrations of the fore- 
going instances 204 
The objection to the extent of the 
law of habit further considered 205 
The objection noticed in connec- 
tion with the malevolent affec- 
tions 206 
THE SENSIBILITIES, 
PART SECOND. 
THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES OR 
CONSCIENCE. 
MORAL OR CONSCIENTIOUS SENTI- 
MENTS. 
Chap. VII.-the benevolent af- 
fections. 
Of the nature of love or benevo- 
lence in general 165 
Love, in its various forms, char- 
acterized by a two-fold action 166 
Of the parental affection 167 
Illustrations of the strength of the 
parental affection 168 
Of the filial affection 169 
The filial affection original or 
implanted 170 
Illustrations of the filial affection 171 
Of the nature of the fraternal af- 
fection 172 
On the utility of the domestic af- 
fections 173 
Of the moral character of the do- 
mestic affections and of the be- 
nevolent affections generally 174 
Of the moral character of the 
voluntary exercise of the be- 
nevolent affections 175 
Of the connection between be- 
nevolence and rectitude 176 
Of humanity or the love of the 
human race 177 
Further proofs in support of the 
doctrine of an innate humanity 
or love forthe human race 178 
Proofs of a humane or philan- 
thropic principle from the exis- 
tence of benevolent institutions 179 
Other remarks in proof of the 
same doctrine 180 
Objection from the contests and 
wars among mankind 181 
The objection drawn from w'ars, 
further considered 182 
Illustration of the statements of 
the foregoing section 183 
Of patriotism or love of country 184 
Of the affection of friendship 185 
Of the affection of pity or sympa- 
thy 186 
Of the moral character of pity 187 
Of the affection of gratitude 188 
Chat. VIII.-the benevolent af- 
fections. lovf. to the supreme 
being. 
Man created originally with the 
principle of love to God 189 
That man was originally created 
with a principle of love to God, 8 
CONTENTS 
CLASS FIRST. 
EMOTIONS OF APPROVAL AND DISAP- 
PROVAL. 
Chap. I.-proofs of a moral na- 
ture. 
Peference to the general divi- 
sion 207 
Proof of a moral nature from con- 
sciousness 208 
Evidence of a moral nature dis- 
coverable in what we notice in 
children 209 
Proofs of a moral nature from 
the manner of our intercourse 
with our fellow-men 210 
Proofs of a moral nature from the 
terms used in different lan- 
guages 211 
Proofs from the operation of the 
passi ons of anger and grati- 
tude 212 
Proofs of a moral nature from 
feelings of remorse 213 
Evidence of a moral nature from 
the ideas of merit and demerit, 
reward and punishment 314 
The existence of a moral nature 
involved in systems of moral 
philosophy and in other wri- 
tings and treatises of a moral 
nature 215 
Proof from the uniformity of law 216 
Evidences of a moral nature 
even among savage nations 217 
Further remarks on the morality 
of savage tribes 218 
The existence of civil or political 
society implies a moral na- 
ture * 219 
A moral nature implied in the 
motives of human conduct 
which are recognized in histor- 
ical works 220 
Evidence of a moral nature from 
Scripture 221 
Concluding remarks on the gen- 
eral fact of a moral nature 222 
Chap. II.-emotions of moral ap- 
proval AND DISAPPROVAL. 
Classification of the moral sensi- 
bilities 223 
Nature of the moral emotions 
of approval and disapproval 224 
Of the place, or position, mental- 
ly considered, of the emotions 
of approval and disapproval 225 
Changes in the moral emotions 
take place in accordance with 
changes in the antecedent per- 
ceptions 226 
Of objects of moral approval and 
disapproval 227 
Of the original ground or basis 
of moral approbation and dis- 
approbation 228 
Emotions of moral approval are 
called forth in connection with 
the existence of right or recti- 
tude in the things approved of 229 
Chap. III.-relation of reasoning 
TO THE MORAL NATURE. 
Of the doctrine which confounds 
reasoning and conscience 230 
Of the close connection between 
conscience and reasoning 231 
Illustration of the preceding sec- 
tion 232 
Further illustrations of the same 
subject 233 
Remarks upon the case stated in 
the foregoing section 234 
Of the training or education of 
the conscience 235 
Of guilt when a person acts con- 
scientiously 236 
Illustrations of the statements of 
the preceding section from the 
case of the Apostle Paul 237 
Chap. IV.-nature of moral beau- 
ty. 
Of the origin of emotions of mor- 
al beauty 238 
Of the origin and import of the 
phrase, moral deformity 239 
Of the correspondence between 
the degrees of moral beauty 
and the quickness or liveliness 
of the moral sensibilities 240 
Of the perception of moral beau- 
ty considered as a source of 
happiness 241 
Of the moral beauty of the char- 
acter of the Supreme Being 242 
Chap. V.-nature of moral sub- 
limity. 
Remarks in explanation of the 
moral sublime 243 CONTENTS, 
9 
Instances and illustrations of the 
moral sublime . 244 
The moral sublime involves the 
morally beautiful 245 
A degree of moral sublime in acts 
of strict and undeviating integ- 
rity or justice 246 
Other instances of the sublimity 
of justice 247 
Instances of friendship and the 
parental affection illustrative 
of the subject 248 
Of the moral sublimity of great 
benevolent undertakings 249 
The spirit of forgiveness in some 
cases sublime 250 
THE SENSIBILITIES. 
PART SECOND. 
THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES OR 
CONSCIENCE. 
MORAL OR CONSCIENTIOUS SENTI- 
MENTS. 
CLASS SECOND. 
FEELINGS OF MORAL OBLIGATION. 
Chap. I.-existence of obligato- 
ry FEELINGS. 
Feelings of moral obligation dis- 
tinct from feelings of moral ap- 
proval and disapproval 251 
Proof of the existence of obliga- 
tory feelings from conscious- 
ness 252 
Further proof from the conduct 
of men 253 
Further proof from language and 
literature 254 
Further proof from the necessity 
of these feelings 255 
Chap. II.-nature of obligatory 
FEELINGS. 
Feelings of obligation simple and 
not susceptible of definition 256 
They are susceptible of different 
degrees 257 
Of their authoritative and enforc- 
ing nature 258 
Feelings of obligation differ from 
those of mere approval and 
disapproval 259 
Feelings of obligation have par- 
ticular reference to the future 260 
Feelings of obligation subsequent 
in time to the moral emotions 
of approval and disapproval 261 
Feelings of obligation differ from 
desires 262 
Further considerations on this 
subject 263 
Chap. III.-uniformity of action 
IN THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 
Of uniformity in the decisions of 
the moral nature and the prin- 
ciple on which it is regulated 264 
The nature of conscience, con- 
sidered as an uniform princi- 
ple of action, requires that it 
should vary in its decisions 
with circumstances 265 
Differences in the decisions of 
conscience dependent, in part, 
on differences of intellectual 
power 266' 
Diversities in moral decisions de- 
pendent on differences in the 
amount of knowledge 267 
Of diversities in moral judgment 
in connection with differences 
in civil & political institutions 268 
Additional illustration of the 
same view of the subject 269 
This view of the subject further 
illustrated from cases of assas- 
sination 270 
Reference to a cruel law of the 
Athenians 271 
Of diversities and obliquities of 
moral judgment in connection 
with speculative opinions 272 
Further illustrations of the influ- 
ence of wrong speculative opin- 
ions 273 
Of the effect of wrong specula- 
tive opinions among heathen 
tribes 274 
Influence of early associations on 
moral judgments 275 
Illustration of the principle of the 
preceding section 276 
Ofdiversities of moral judgment 
in connection with an excited 
state of the passions 277 
Of the action of the conscience 
in connection with strong temp- 10 
CONTENTS 
tation 278 
Of the existence of a moral na- 
ture in connection with public 
robbers and outlaws from so- 
ciety 279 
Illustration of the fact that there 
are the remains of conscien- 
tious feeling even in the most 
depraved of men 280 
Of errors in the statements of 
travellers 281 
Instances in proof of the preced- 
ing view 282 
Chap. IV.-immutability of mor- 
al DISTINCTIONS. 
Remarks on the reality of right 
and wrong, and on the standard 
of rectitude, which is involved 
in their existence 283 
Of the origin of the ideas or ab- 
stract conceptions of right and 
wrong 284 
The immutability of moral dis- 
tinctions supported by the 
views,which men take of things 
in their nature or essence 285 
Illustrations of the views of the 
preceding section 286 
Application of the foregoing 
views to the doctrine of the im- 
mutability of moral distinctions287 
The immutability of moral distinc- 
tions shown, secondly,from the 
terms and the structure of lan- 
guages 288 
The immutability of moral dis- 
tinctions shown, thirdly, from 
the operation of the passions of 
gratitude and anger 289 
Shown, in the fourth place, by 
the character of the emotions, 
which arise in view of actual 
instances of right and wrong 290 
Shown, in the fifth place, from 
the deportment and conduct of 
individuals, and from the char- 
acter of codes of law and civil 
institutions 291 
The doctrine further shown from 
the opinions, which mankind 
enertain of the character and 
government of God 292 
Further remarks on the subject of 
the last section 293 
Further proof from a considera- 
tion of the relation, which the 
doctrine bears to the original 
and permanent character of 
the Supreme Being 294 
Of the proofs of this doctrine 
from the appeals which are 
made in various parts of the 
Scriptures 295 
Remarks in conclusion of what 
has been said on this subject 296 
Chap. V.-moral education.'] 
Suggestions on the importance of 
moral education 297 
The mind must be occupied at 
an early period either with 
good or bad principles 298 
Of the time when moral instruc- 
tion and discipline ought to 
commence 299 
Of the discouragements attending 
a process of moral instruction 300 
Of the importance, in a moral 
point of view, of adopting cor- 
rect speculative opinions 301 
Further remarks on the same 
subject 302 
Of the knowledge of the Supreme 
Being, and of the study of reli- 
gious truth generally 303 
Of the application of the princi- 
ple of habit in morals 304 
Further views on the influence of 
moral habits 305 
Of the importance of correct mor- 
als in connection with our civ- 
il and political situation 306 
THE SENSIBILITIES OR SENSITIVE 
NATURE. 
SENSITIVE STATES OF THE MIND 
OR SENTIMENTS. 
PART THIRD. 
j IMPERFECT AND DISORDERED SENSI- 
TIVE ACTION. 
j Chap. I.-disordered and aliena- 
ted ACTION OF THE APPETITES AND 
PROPENSITIES. 
Introductory remarks on disor- 
dered sensitive action 307 
Of what is meant by a disorder- 
ed and alienated state of the CONTENTS 
11 
sensibilities 308 
Of the disordered and alienated 
action of the appetites 309 
Disordered action of the princi- 
ple of self-preservation 310 
Disordered and alienated action 
of the possessory principle 311 
Instances of the second kind or 
form of disordered action of 
the possessory principle 312 
Disordered action of imitative- 
ness or the principle of imita- 
tion 313 
Disordered action of the princi- 
ple of sociality 314 
Further remarks on the disorder- 
ed action of the social propen- 
sity 315 
Of the disordered action of the 
desire of esteem 316 
Disordered action of the desire 
of power 317 
Disordered action of the princi- 
ple of veracity 318 
Chap.II.-sympathetic imitation. 
Of sympathetic imitation and 
what is involved in it 319 
Familiar instances of sympathet- 
ic imitation 320 
Of sympathetic imitation in large 
multitudes 321 
Of the animal magnetism of M. 
Mesner in connection with this 
subject 322 
Instances of sympathetic imita- 
tion at the poor-house at Har- 
lem 323 
Other instances of this species of 
imitation 324 
Application of these views to the 
witchcraft delusion in New 
England 325 
Practical results connected with 
the foregoing views 326 
Application of these views to leg- 
islative and other assemblies 327 
Chap. III.-disordered action of 
the affections. 
Of the states of mind denomina- 
ted presentiments 328 
Of sudden and strong impulses of 
mind 329 
Insanity of the affections or pas- 
sions 330 
Of the mental disease termed hy- 
pochondriasis 331 
Ofintermissions of hypochondri- 
asis 332 
Disordered action of the passion 
of fear 333 
Perversions of the benevolent 
affections 334 
Chap. IV.-disordered action of 
THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 
Nature of voluntary moral de- 
rangement 335 
Of accountability in connection 
with this form of disordered 
conscience 336 
Of natural or congenital moral 
derangement 337 
Of moral accountability in cases 
of natural or congenital moral 
derangement 338 
Chap. V.-casual associations in 
CONNECTION WITH THE SENSIBILITIES 
Frequency of casual associations, 
and some instances of them 339 
Of association in connection with 
the appetites 340 
Of casual associations in connec- 
tion with the propensities 341 
Other instances of casual associa- 
tion in connection with the pro- 
pensities 342 
Inordinate fear from casual asso- 
ciations 343 
Casual associations in respect to 
persons 344 
Casual association in connection 
with objects and places 345 
Of casual association in connec- 
tion with particular days 346 
Antipathies to animals 847 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
Chap. I.-natural signs. 
Chap. II.-oral signs or speech. 
Chap. III.-written signs. 
Chap. IV.-characteristics of 
languages. Eg 31 SJ U A IL 
DIVISION SECOND. 
THE SENSIBILITIES. 
SENTIENT OR SENSITIVE STATES OF THE MIND. 
SENTIMENTS. INTRODUCTION. 
CHAPTER FIRST. 
RELATION OF THE INTELLECT TO THE 
SENSIBILITIES. 
§. 1. Reference to the general divisions of the whole mind. 
It will be recollected, that we proposed, as the basis of 
our inquiries, the general division of the mind into the Intel- 
lect, the Sensibilities, and the Will. These great depart- 
ments of the mind are not only generically distinct; but the 
difference between them is so clear and marked, it is surpri- 
sing they should have been so often confounded together. 
They are not only different in their nature, a fact which is 
clearly ascertained by Consciousness, in its cognizance of 
their respective acts ; but are separated from each other, as 
all observation shows, by the relations, which they respec- 
tively sustain. The Intellect or Understanding comes first 
in order, and furnishes the basis of action to the other great 
departments of the mind. It is this portion of the mind, 
which we have endeavored to examine ; and which we are 
now about to leave for the purpose of advancing into depart- 
ments of our mental nature, which, considered in reference 
to the Intellect, may be regarded as more remote and inte- 
rior. 
In examining the Intellect, we were aided by adopting 
the classification, founded in nature, into intellectual states 
of External origin and intellectual states of Internal origin. 
A classification, which seems sufficiently to authorize the 
expressions, External Intellect and Internal Intellect ; ex- 
pressions founded on the fact, that the intellectual action 
sometimes takes place in direct connection with outward ob- 
jects, and sometimes independently of such connection. This 20 
INTRODUCTION. 
distinction is important, in enabling us to get a true idea of 
the intellect itself, and in suggesting the best methods of 
cultivating and applying our perceptive powers ; but consid- 
ered in relation to the Sensibilities, is perhaps of less conse- 
quence. In both of its great departments alike, as also in its 
more subordinate modes of action, the Intellect furnishes 
the broad and deep foundation for that vast variety of men- 
tal states, which are commonly included under the denomi- 
nation of the emotions and passions. 
§. 2. Difference between intellections or states of the intellect, and 
sentiments or states of the sensibility. 
In advancing into what we assert to be a different part of 
our spiritual being, we are aware, that some may be disposed 
to inquire, whether the assertion of such difference, notwith- 
standing the general remarks of the last section, is well 
founded ; whether, in other words, there is such a marked 
line of distinction between the intellectual and sensitive na- 
ture as to authorize our speaking of them as distinct and dif- 
ferent mental departments. We do not propose, however, 
nor does it appear to be necessary, to go into this topic here, 
any further than to refer briefly to what has already been 
said upon it, on a former occasion. In the chapter in the 
Introduction to the first volume, the object of which was to 
ascertain the outlines of a General Classification, we attempted 
to show the difference between the intellect and the sensibil- 
ities, between intellections and sentiments or sensitive states 
of the mind, by a reference to consciousness, to the terms 
found in different languages, to the incidental remarks fre- 
quently found in English writers, besides the more direct 
and specific testimony of those, who have written professed- 
ly on the mind. That this distinction is involved wholly or 
almost without an exception, in the structure of languages, 
is a well known fact ; and that it is commonly made, by the 
leading writers on the philosophy of the mind, is no less un- 
deniable. Not only this, it findsits way incidentally into the 
remarks of writers, (and such is the nature of their convic- 
tions, it cannot well be otherwise,) who were writing upon 
other subjects, and who at the time, were far from being 
aware, that they were enunciating, either directly or indirect- RELATION OF THE INTELLECT TO THE SENSIBILITIES. 
21 
ly, any doctrines of mental philosophy. The following pas- 
sage of Southey, in addition to those already quoted, will il- 
lustrate what we mean ; involving, like the others not only a 
distinction between the Understanding and the Heart, but 
separating both from the Will. "Believing in them, [the 
Prophets and the Evangelists,] with a calm and settled faith, 
with that consent of the will, and heart, and understand- 
ing, which constitutes religious belief, I find in them the clear 
annunciation of the kingdom of God upon earth." * 
But on a question of this kind we must rest ultimately, 
and it is presumed we can do it in this case with entire con- 
fidence, on the testimony of consciousness. In a multitude of 
cases we are obliged to rely upon knowledge from this source; 
and certainly, on no subject whatever, is its testimony more 
clear, than in respect to the acts of the intellect and the acts 
of the heart. When we have perceptions, when we think, 
we know the existence of such perceptions or thought to be 
one thing ; when we have emotions and desires, we know 
the existence of such emotions and desires to be another 
thing, and we have an internal conviction, strong as any 
conviction can well be, that there is no possibility in ordina- 
ry cases of confounding them together. 
§. 3. Action of the sensibilities implies that of the intellect. 
As a general thing there is, and can be no movement of 
the sensibilities, no such thing as an emotion, desire, or feel- 
ing of moral obligation, without an antecedent action of the 
intellect. If we are pleased or displeased, there is necessa- 
rily before the mind some object of pleasure or displeasure ; 
if we exercise the feeling of desire, there must necessarily be 
some object desired, which is made known to us by an action 
of the intellect. So that if there were no intellect, or if the 
intellectual powers were entirely dormant and inactive, there 
would be no action of the emotive part of our nature and of 
the passions. And we may not only say in general terms, 
that the action of the sensibilities implies the antecedent ac- 
tion of the intellect, but may even assert more specifically, 
(making allowance for those constitutional differences, which 
pervade every part of the mental structure,) that the activity 
* Southey's Progress of Society, Colloquy II. 22 
INTRODUCTION. 
of the sensibilities will be nearly in proportion to that of the 
intellect. In other words, on all subjects which are calcula- 
ted to excite any interest at all, those, who have the broad- 
est and most satisfactory views, will be likely to feel more 
intensely than others ; the sensibilities expanding and ex- 
erting themselves in conformity with the expanded and en- 
ergetic action of the perceptive and cognitive powers. 
§. 4. Importance of the studies of the sensibilities. 
The department of the mind, on which we now propose to 
enter, is not only distinct from the other great divisions, hav- 
ing a nature and characteristics of its own, but possesses, we 
may venture to assert, equal importance and interest. If man 
had been formed of intellect only, of cold and unimpassioned 
perceptivity ; if he could merely have perceived, compared, 
associated, and reasoned, without a solitary emotion or desire, 
without any of the various affections of our nature, without 
sorrow for suffering or sympathy in joy ; in a word, if he had 
been all head and no heart, the human soul would have 
shown not only a different, but a depressed and inferior as- 
pect, compared with what it does at present. But happily 
and wisely, it is far otherwise. We find him constituted 
with a sensitive, as well as an intellectual nature ; with pow- 
ers of feeling, as well as of thought. It is the sensitive part 
of human nature, (including in the term the moral as well as 
the natural affections,) which Socrates, if we may rely on 
the doctrines and conversations that are handed down to us, 
particularly turned his attention to ; and on account of which 
he was pronounced by the Oracle the wisest of all men liv- 
ing. It is here that we are let into the secrets of men's ac- 
tions. It is in this department of the mind we find the cau- 
ses, which render them restless and inquisitive, which 
prompt to efforts both good and evil, and make the wide 
world a theatre, where vice and virtue, hope and fear, and 
joy and suffering mingle in perpetual conflict. 
Much is said, and with a good deal of truth, of the value 
of a knowledge of human nature ; a species of knowledge 
which is useful to all persons, and in many situations is clear- 
ly indispensable ; but this knowledge, to any available ex- 
tent, can never be supposed to exist, separate from an ac- RELATION OF THE INTELLECT TO THE SENSIBILITIES. 
23 
quaintance with that portion of our nature, which we now 
propose to investigate. A knowledge of human nature, in 
the common apprehension of the phrase, does not so much 
imply a knowledge of the powers of perception and reason- 
ing, as a knowledge of the springs of action, back of the in- 
tellect, which, in the shape of the emotionsand passions, give 
an impulse and a character to the conduct both of individu- 
als and communities. In other words, a knowledge of human 
nature is essentially a knowledge of the heart ; a term by 
which men commonly distinguish the sensitive from the in- 
tellectual nature ; and consequently all the value, and it is 
by no means inconsiderable, which pertains to the study of 
human nature, attaches equally to the interesting inquiries 
now before us. 
§. 5. Difficulties attending the prosecution of this study. 
But while we may properly and very justly maintain, that 
no series of topics in the whole range of mental philosophy is 
either more fitted or more worthy to secure and interest the 
attention than those now before us, it cannot be denied, that 
the discussion of them is attended with some difficulties, 
which do not perplex, certainly not in an equal degree, the 
examination of other parts of the mind. The perplexity, to 
which we now refer, will be better understood, if we reflect 
a moment on the distinctive nature of the sensibilities. It is 
well known that the sensibilities, in their more decided ac- 
tion, are characterized by a sort of excitement, a stirring and 
breaking up of the inward depths, an agitation of the other- 
wise calm surface of the soul. It is this trait, so familiar to 
our consciousness, though difficult to be embodied in lan- 
guage, to which we refer ; and which undoubtedly character- 
izes the action of some portion of the sensibilities more than 
of others. The term passions is frequently employed to ex- 
press that portion in particular. 
Now it is the business of philosophy to give an accurate 
view of the passions, to dissect them, and to show precisely 
what they are. But that excitement, which has been men- 
tioned, is the appropriate element of the passions ; the very 
breath of their existence is dependent on tumult and agita- 
tion. Such a state of things seems to be, and is, in fact, in- 24 
INTRODUCTION. 
consistent, to no inconsiderable extent, with that calm and 
critical examination, which is desirable. We are obliged to 
wait till the excitement which exists has greatly subsided. 
In the interval of this delay, which cannot well be avoided, 
the true and important moment of examination has departed; 
and we are accordingly under the necessity of relying upon 
memory rather than upon direct consciousness, for those in- 
timations which are involved in a full knowledge of the sub- 
ject of inquiry. It is different with the intellectual powers ; 
their progress is calm and unruffled ; we can mark them dis- 
tinctly and accurately at every step, and in the very moment 
of their movement. But if it be otherwise in the Sensibili- 
ties, particularly in that portion of them known as the affec- 
tions or passions, the only remedy is to use the greater cau- 
tion, and to compare and combine our own internal experi- 
ence, so far as we can ascertain what it is, with what we can 
gather from the outward observation of others. The diffi- 
culty is, indeed, considerable : but not so great as to discour- 
age efforts to examine a portion of the mind, which has been 
less accurately surveyed than the intellect, but which promi- 
ses, as the result of its examination, an equally ample re- 
ward. CHAPTER SECOND. 
CLASSIFICATION OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 
§. 6. Natural or pathematic sensibilities and moral. 
As we pass onward from the percipient and cognitive na- 
ture to the distinct and more remote region of the emotions 
and passions, it seems proper, before we enter more minutely 
into the various inquiries which may be expected to present 
themselves, to consider, whether the department of the Sen- 
sibilities itself is not susceptible of being resolved into some 
subordinate, yet important divisions. In accordance with 
this suggestion, our first remark is, that the Sensibilities, 
when subjected to a careful examination, will clearly be 
found to separate themselves into the great divisions of the 
Natural or Pathematic, and the Moral. These leading de- 
partments will be found to run, if we may be allowed the ex- 
pression, in two separate channels, which, although they are 
for the most part parallel with each other, are nevertheless 
essentially and sufficiently distinct ; each being characteriz- 
ed by its own attributes, and by its appropriate results. Our 
examination of the Sensibilities will accordingly proceed up- 
on the basis of this division. 
In reference to the use of the term Pathematic as applica- 
ble to the states of mind embraced in one of these great di- 
visions, it is proper to observe, that it appears to have been 
formed from its Greek original and first used by Sir James 
Mackintosh. He repeatedly speaks of that part of our na- 
ture, which includes the emotions and passions, as unnamed; 
and in the progress of his discussions appears at times to be 
embarrassed for the want of suitable English words to ex- 26 
INTRODUCTION. 
press it. And under these circumstances he proposes the 
term in question, which, in its etymological import, appears 
to involve the ideas of emotion and desire, (the feelings that 
are particularly characteristic of the natural sensibilities,) 
and adds the remark, which we are not aware is in the pro- 
cess of being realized, "until some more convenient and 
agreeable name shall be hit on by some luckier or more skil- 
ful adventurer in such new terms as seem to be absolutely ne- 
cessary."* The term, in the present state of our philosoph- 
ic language, is certainly convenient; and such is the great 
weight deservedly attached to the name of its proposer, that 
we shall at least be pardoned for using it. 
§. 7. Relation of the natural to the moral sensibilities in time. 
When we use the term heart, as expressive of a part of 
our mental nature, we commonly have reference to the nat- 
ural or pathematic sensibilities ; when we use the term con- 
science, we have reference to our moral sensibilities ; so 
that the distinction now in question is obviously involved in 
the common usage of language. In truth, all the considera- 
tions, consciousness, the ordinary structure of language, and 
the incidental as well as the more formal and considered re- 
marks of writers, which were formerly brought forward to 
show the distinction between the intellect and the sensibili- 
ties, in the more extended sense of the latter term, may also 
be adduced to show a well founded distinction between the 
Natural and the Moral Sensibilities. But abundant proof on 
a subject of this nature naturally flows out, if the fact in 
question actually exists, from a careful and philosophical ex- 
amination of the departments of the mind, of which it is pre- 
dicated. Without, therefore, delaying our inquiries by at- 
tempting to draw proof of its existence from other sources, 
we may proceed to notice some of those circumstances, which 
may be enumerated as involved in and as incidental to the 
distinction, which has been asserted. 
And in the first place it appears to be the fact, as a gener- 
al thing, that the exercise of the natural or pathematic sensi- 
bilities is the first in the order of time. Nor, if we reflect up- 
on the subject, can we well suppose it to be otherwise. If 
* Progress of Ethical Philosophy.-Remarks on Hartley. CLASSIFICATION OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 
27 
there were no such thing as the Natural Sensibilities, (in 
other words, if man were constituted without possessing the 
capability of emotion, desire, and passion,) it is obvious, that 
there woidd be no adequate basis in his mind, for the opera- 
tion of the Moral sensibilities. The pathematic sensibilities 
or the heart is the great, we do not say the exclusive, but 
still the great seat of the motives of men's actions ; and con- 
sequently furnishes a principal field of operations for the con- 
science to act upon. We do not mean to assert, however, 
that there is not, and cannot be any action of the moral, un- 
til there has been an entire, a complete developement of the 
pathematic nature, embracing as it does the whole circle of 
natural emotions and passions. It is true, when we descend 
to particular cases and specific acts, we find from observation, 
that the natural sensibilities are first in the order of time, as 
they obviously are in the order of nature. And we say that 
they are first in the order of nature, for the reason just hinted 
at, viz, that they include a large portion of the subjects, 
which it is the business of our moral constitution to act upon, 
scrutinize, and judge. It is nevertheless equally true, that 
these two great departments of the emotive or sensitive man, 
taken in their general history and as a whole, develope them- 
selves nearly at the same time, and as it were side by side, 
and parallel to each other. 
In respect to the matter under consideration, they seem 
to bear much the same relation to each other, which the Ex- 
ternal intellect bears to the Internal. When we look at spe- 
cific acts of the External intellect, we shall find that some of 
them,'absolutely and necessarily so, are first in the order of 
time ; but when we look at the two departments as a whole, 
we find the developement, to a considerable extent, going on 
simultaneously. And so in regard to the Natural and Moral 
Sensibilities, considered in relation to each other, in reference 
to the time when they are respectively brought into action. 
8. The moral and natural sensibilities have different objects. 
Another, and perhaps a still more decisive mark of dis- 
tinction may be found in the views, which these two great 
departments respectively take of the objects, in respect to 
which they are called into exercise. The one considers ob- 28 
INTRODUCTION. 
jects chiefly, as they have a relation to ourselves ; the other, 
as they relate to all possible existences. The one looks at 
things in the aspect of their desirableness ; the other fixes its 
eye on the sublime feature of their rectitude. The one asks 
what is good ; the other what is right. 
Obliterate from man's constitution, his Conscience, (what 
may be called, if we may be allowed the expression, the 
moralities of his nature,) and you at once strike from the mind 
one half of its motives to action; for in respect to every thing, 
which is considered by us desirable to be done, the question 
always recurs is it right to be done. At one time, on the sup- 
position of an entire erasure of the moral sensibilities, all his 
movements are dictated by the suggestions and cravings of 
the appetites. At other times, he covets knowledge, or seeks 
society, or indulges in the refinements of the arts ; but it will 
be found in these instances, as well as when he is under the 
influence of the appetites, that pleasure is still his object, and 
that he is disappointed in not securing it. And even in his 
higher moods of action, when raised in some degree above 
the influence of the subordinate propensities, his movements 
will always be based on calculations of interest; and although 
the various suggestions, which influence his conduct, may 
have an extensive range, they will never fail to revolve with- 
in the limits of a circle, the centre of which is himself. It 
is his moral nature, and that alone, which places him beyond 
the limits of this circle, and enables him, on suitable occa- 
sions, to act with exclusive reference to God, his fellow-men, 
and the universe. 
And such being the objects of these two great departments 
of our nature, it is not surprising, that they do not hold the 
same place in our estimation. There is obviously a sort of gra- 
duation in the feelings of regard and honor, which we attach 
to different parts of the mind. We at once, and as it were 
instinctively, regard some as higher than others. We may 
not be able always to tell why it is so ; but such is the fact. 
We never hesitate, for instance, to assign a lower place to the 
instincts than to the appetites ; and on the other hand we 
always allot to the appetites, in the graduation of our regard, 
Ka place below that of the affections. And entirely in accord- 
§. 9. The moral sensibilities higher in rank than the natural. CLASSIFICATION OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 
29 
ance with this general fact, we find it to be the case, that the 
moral sensibilities excite within us higher sentiments of re- 
gard ; in other words, hold, in our estimation of them, a 
higher rank than the appetites, propensities, and passions, 
which constitute the leading divisions of our pathematic na- 
ture. 
In this respect also, viz, in the comparative rank of the 
two departments under consideration, there seems to be 
some analogy between the great divisions of the sensibilities, 
and those of the intellect. There can be no question, that 
men commonly locate, in the scale of the mind's regard and 
honor, the internal intellect above the external. The latter 
simply perceives ; the former not only perceives, but exerci- 
ses the additional and higher function of comparing, estimat- 
ing, and combining. And so in respect to the topic now be- 
fore us. The moral sensibility appears to hold, in respect to 
the other great divisions of our sensitive nature, the position 
of a consultative and judicial power ; it stands above it and 
over it, in the exercise of a higher authority ; it keenly scru- 
tinizes the motives of action ; it compares emotion with emo- 
tion, desire with desire ; it sits a sort of arbitress, holding the 
scales of justice, and dispensing such decisions, as are requi- 
site for the due regulation of the empire of the passions. 
§. 10. The moral sensibilities wanting in brutes. 
It will perhaps throw light upon the distinction we are 
endeavoring to illustrate, if we call to recollection here, that 
the natural or pathematic sensibilities exist in brute animals 
essentially the same as in man. They are susceptible of va- 
rious emotions ; they have their instincts, appetites, propen- 
sities, and affections, the same as human beings have, and 
perhaps even in a higher degree. They rush with eagerness 
in the pursuit of whatever is calculated to gratify their appe- 
tites ; and are deeply interested in every thing, that is ad- 
dressed to the natural affections. They are pleased and dis- 
pleased, they have their prepossessions and aversions, they 
love and hate, with as much vehemence at least, as com- 
monly characterizes human passion. But if we look for 
the other and more elevated portion of the sensibilities, it is 
not there. And here, we apprehend, is the great ground of 30 
INTRODUCTION. 
distinction between men and the brutes. The latter, as well 
as human beings, appear to understand what is good, consid- 
ered as addressed simply to the natural affections ; but man 
has the higher knowledge of moral, as well as of natural 
good. The brute, as well as man, knows what is desirable, 
considered in the light of the natural appetites and passions ; 
but man enjoys the infinitely higher prerogative of knowing 
what is worthy of pursuit, considered in the light of moral 
and conscientious perceptions. 
§. 11. Classification of the natural sensibilities. 
Beginning, in the examination of the wide and interesting 
subject before ns, with the natural or pathematic sensibilities 
we shall find this portion of our sensitive nature resolving 
itself into the subordinate divisions of the Emotions and De- 
sires. These two classes of mental states follow each other 
in the order, in which they have been named ; the Emotions 
first, which are exceedingly numerous and various ; and then 
the Desires, embracing under the latter term the Appetites, 
Propensities, and Affections. This is not only the order in 
succession or time ; but it is also the order in nature.-In oth- 
er words, and stated more particularly, such is the constitution 
of the human mind, that, when we pass from the region of 
the intellect to that of the sensibilities, we first find ourselves, 
(and there is no other possible position which, in the first 
instance, we can occupy,) in the domain of the emotions. 
We are at first pleased or displeased or have some other 
emotion in view of the thing, whatever it is, which has come 
under the cognizance of the intellect. And emotions, in the 
ordinary process of mental action, are followed by Desires. 
As we cannot be pleased or displeased without some antece- 
dent perception or knowledge of the thing, which we are 
pleased or displeased with ; so we cannot desire to possess 
or avoid any thing, without having laid the foundation of 
such desire in the existence of some antecedent emotion. 
And this is not only the matter of fact, which, as the mind is 
actually constituted, is presented to our notice ; but we can- 
not well conceive, how it could be otherwise. To desire a 
thing, which utterly fails to excite within us the least emotion 
of pleasure seems to be a sort of solecism or absurdity in na- CLASSIFICATION OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 
31 
ture ; in other words, it seems to be impossible, from the na- 
ture of things, under any conceivable circumstances. At 
any rate it is not possible, as the mind is actually constituted, 
whatever might have been the fact, if the mind had been 
constituted differently. 
§. 12. Classification of the moral sensibilities. 
If we look at the conscientious or Moral sensibilities, we 
find that they divide themselves in a manner entirely analo- 
gous to the division, which is found to exist in the Natural. 
The first class of mental states, which presents itself to our 
notice under this general head is that of moral Emotions; 
corresponding in the place which they occupy in relation to 
the Intellect, as well as in some other respects,;to the natural 
emotions. The moral emotions are followed by another class 
of moral feelings, which may be designated as Obligatory 
feelings or feelings of moral obligation ; which hold the same 
relation to the moral emotions, which the Desires do to the 
natural emotions. If we had not moral emotions, (that is to 
say, feelings of moral approval and disapproval,) it would not 
be possible for us to feel under moral obligation in any case 
whatever ; the latter state of the mind being obviously de- 
pendent on the former. It will be noticed, that in this 
place we scarcely do more than simply state the fact of this 
subordinate classification, without entering into minute ex- 
planations. The precise relation, which the two depart- 
ments of our moral nature sustain to each other, will be more 
fully stated and clearly understood, when, in their proper 
place, they come particularly under examination. s' ibz s n sr s s is s is n s s s g © 
PART FIRST. 
NATURAL OR PATHEMATIC SENSIBILITIES. 
NATURAL OR PATHEMATIC SENTIMENTS. 
CLASS FIRST. 
EMOTIONS OR EMOTIVE STATES OF THE MIND. CHAPTER FIRST. 
NATURE OF THE EMOTIONS. 
§. 13. We have a knowledge of emotions by consciousness. 
In prosecuting the examination of the Sensibilities, in ac- 
cordance with the plan which has been marked out in the 
Introduction, we begin with the Emotions. It is of course 
implied in the arrangement we have made, which assigns 
them a distinct place, that this class of mental states has a 
nature and characteristics of its own, in virtue of which they 
are distinguished from all others. At the same time it cannot 
be denied, that it is extremely difficult to explain by mere 
words what that precise nature is. We do not suppose, indeed, 
that any one is ignorant of what is meant, when we have 
occasion to speak of an emotion, whether it be an emotion of 
melancholy, of cheerfulness, of surprise, or of some other 
kind. But whatever may be the fact as to our knowledge, 
it is unquestionable, that we are unable to give a verbal ex- 
planation of them, in themselves considered. In this respect they 
are like all other states of the mind, which are truly simple. 
The fact of their entire simplicity necessarily renders them 
undefinable ; because a definition implies a separation of the 
thing defined into parts. So that we are dependent for a 
knowledge of the interior and essential nature of emotions, 
not upon verbal explanations and definitions, which are inad- 
equate to the communication of such knowledge, but upon 
consciousness. It is a species of knowledge, which the soul 
reveals to itself by its own act, directly and immediately. 
While, therefore, we do not profess to define emotions, in 
any proper and legitimate sense of defining, we may com- 36 
NATURE OF THE EMOTIONS. 
mend them without impropriety to each one's internal exam- 
ination. And certainly we may rely upon the intimations, 
which consciousness, when properly interrogated, can hardly 
fail to disclose, in this case as well as in others. 
§. 14. The place of emotions, considered in reference to other mental acts. 
Although, in attempting to give some idea of Emotions, 
we are obliged, for a knowledge of them, in themselves con- 
sidered, to refer each one to his own consciousness, we may 
nevertheless mention some circumstances, which throw an 
indirect light on them ; and at any rate render more clear to 
our perception the relation, which they sustain to other men- 
tal states. The first circumstance, which we propose to in- 
dicate, has reference to the position which they occupy ; (of 
course it will be understood that we mean their position, not 
in the material sense of the term, but in time or succession.) 
It will be found on examination to be the fact, as we have 
already had occasion to suggest, that Emotions always occu- 
py a place between intellections or acts of the intellect and 
the desires, if they are natural emotions ; and between intel- 
lections and feelings of moral obligation, if they are moral 
emotions. That they are subsequent to intellections, we be- 
lieve must be abundantly clear. It is as obvious as any axiom 
of geometry, that we cannot have any feeling, any emotion, 
in respect to that, whatever it is, which we have no knowl- 
edge of. 
In regard to the Desires, it is true, that like the emotions 
they are subsequent to the perceptive and cognitive acts ; but 
it is well understood that they are not in immediate proximity 
with them. It is perfectly obvious, that no act of perception, 
or of cognition in any shape, can lay the foundation for a 
desire, unless the object of perception is pleasant to us ; in 
other words, unless it. excites within us pleasant emotions. 
For, whenever we speak of a thing as pleasant to us, we cer- 
tainly involve the fact, that we have pleasant emotions in 
view of it. Nor, furthermore, can any perceptive or intel- 
lectual act lay the foundation for Obligatory feelings, (that 
is to say, feelings of moral obligation,) without the interven- 
tion and aid of moral emotions. It may be regarded as self- 
evident, that we never could feel under moral obligation to NATURE OF THE EMOTIONS. 
37 
do or not to do a thing, unless the thing to be done or not to 
be done had first excited within us an emotion of approval or 
disapproval. So that the desires, and those feelings in the 
moral sensibilities which correspond to them, are based upon 
emotions, as really as the emotions are based upon intellec- 
tions. In the order of nature, therefore, emotions are found 
in the place which has now been allotted them, and they are 
found no where else ; being always and necessarily posterior 
to a knowledge of the things to which they relate ; and on 
the other hand, antecedent, by an equally strict natural ne- 
cessity, to the other states of mind, which have been men- 
tioned. 
§. 15. The character of emotions changes so as to conform to that of 
perceptions. 
It is important to impress upon the recollection, that the 
order of succession, in fact and in nature, is precisely that 
which has been stated, viz, intellections, emotions, and de- 
sires in the case of the natural sensibilities, and obligatory 
feelings in the case of the moral sensibilities. The two last 
mentioned being followed immediately, as their natural re- 
sults, by acts of the will, which terminate and complete the 
entire process of mental action. But as we must take them 
and examine them in their order, we say further, in regard 
to the Emotions, which is the topic before us at present, that 
the fact of their subsequence to intellections and of their be- 
ing based upon them is confirmed by the circumstance of 
their always changing or varying in precise accordance with 
the perceptive or intellective acts. If it were otherwise, 
(that is to say, if they had any other foundation than intel- 
lective acts,) how does it happen, that these changes so uni- 
formly take place ? We are looking, for instance, on some 
extended landscape ; but are so situated, that the view of 
certain objects is interrupted, and of course the relations of 
the whole are disturbed. At such a time the emotions we 
have are far from being pleasant; perhaps they are decidedly 
unpleasant. But as soon as our imperfect perceptions are 
corrected, as soon as we are able to embrace the portions 
which were previously thrust out of view, and thus restore 
the interrupted proportions and harmony of the whole scene- 
ry, our emotions change at once, and we experience the 38 
NATURE OF THE EMOTIONS. 
highest pleasure. Again, if we look at a painting, which 
has come from the hand of some master of his art, we are 
distinctly conscious at first sight of a pleasing emotion ; but 
we examine it further, and make ourselves acquainted with 
a number of things, less prominent than others, but still deci- 
dedly showing the skill of the painter, which escaped our first 
view, and we are conscious of a distinct change in that emo- 
tion. It becomes more decided, more full, in precise confor- 
mity with the increased knowledge, which we have obtained 
of the merit, which the picture actually possesses. And it is 
so, if no unusual disturbing influence is interposed, in every 
other case, showing not only the intimate but proximate con- 
nection between the emotions and the intellective acts, and 
the dependence of the former on the latter. 
§. 16. Emotions characterized by rapidity and variety. 
When we assert that the position of emotions is between 
intellections on the one hand, and desires and obligations on 
the other, we imply of course, that there is a real and mark- 
ed distinction between them and the latter mental states. 
And this distinction exists. If consciousness gives us a 
knowledge of emotions, the same consciousness can hardly 
fail to give a knowledge of the mental states that are subse- 
quent to them ; and the difference of knowledge, resulting 
from these different acts of consciousness, involves necessa- 
rily a difference in the things known. Among other things, 
if we consult our consciousness, for the purpose of ascertain- 
ing the comparative nature of the mental states in question, 
we shall undoubtedly be led to notice, that the emotions, as 
compared with the others, arc generally more prompt and 
rapid in their origin, as well as more evanescent. They 
arise and depart on the surface of the mind, swelling and 
sinking almost instantaneously, like the small waves and rip- 
ples that play upon the scarcely agitated surface of a sum- 
mer's lake, and which have no sooner arrested the eye of the 
beholder than they are gone. The desires and feelings of 
obligation not only arise subsequently and more slowly, but 
obviously possess a greater tenacity and inflexibility of nature. 
When a strong desire or a decided sentiment of duty has NATURE OF THE EMOTIONS. 
39 
once entrenched itself in the soul, it is well known that it is 
comparatively difficult to dislodge it. 
There is another circumstance, involved in the distinction 
between them. The emotions have less unity in kind ; in 
other words, are more various. Desires and obligations, al- 
though liable like other mental states to be modified by pecu- 
liar circumstances, are, in themselves considered, always one 
and the same. But of emotions we find many varieties, such 
as the emotions of cheerfulness and joy, of melancholy and 
sorrow, of shame, of surprise, astonishment, and wonder. 
We have furthermore the emotions, differing from all others, 
of the ludicrous, the emotions of beauty and sublimity, also 
the moral emotions of approval and disapproval, and some 
others. If the reader will bear these statements in mind, 
taken in connection with some things to be said hereafter, he 
will feel less objection, than he might otherwise have felt, 
to the general and subordinate classifications, which we have 
thought ourselves authorized to make. These divisions we 
hold to be fundamental. They are necessarily involved, as 
we apprehend, in a thorough and consistent knowledge of 
the mind. Important points, for instance, in the doctrine of 
the Will, will be found to depend upon distinctions, which 
are asserted to exist in the sensibilities. It is desirable, 
therefore, that the grounds of such distinctions should be 
understood, so that they may not only be above rejection, 
but above doubt. CHAPTER SECOND 
EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 
§. 17. Characteristics of emotions of beauty. 
We do not profess to enter into an examination of every 
possible emotion. They are so various and multiplied, it 
would be difficult to do it ; nor would any important object be 
answered. Proceeding1 on the principle of selecting those, 
which, either in themselves, or by reason of their relation to 
the arts and to human conduct, appear to be most interesting 
and important, we shall begin with emotions of Beauty. 
We have already had occasion to remark, that all emotions 
are undefinable. This remark is applicable to those under 
consideration, as well as others. Of the emotions of beauty 
it will be as difficult to give a definition, so as to make them 
clearer to any one's comprehension than they really are, 
as to define the simple sensations of color, sound, or taste. 
We find in them, however, these two marks or characteris- 
tics. 
(1) The emotion of beauty, in the first place, is always 
a pleasing one. We never give the name to one, which is 
painful, or to any feeling of disgust. Whenever, therefore, 
we speak of an emotion of beauty, we imply, in the use of 
the terms, some degree of satisfaction or pleasure. AU per- 
sons, the illiterate as well as the scientific, use the phrase 
with this import. (2) We never speak of emotions of 
beauty, to whatever degree may be our experience of inward 
satisfaction, without referring such emotions to something 
external. The same emotion, which is called satisfaction or 
delight of mind, when it is wholly and exclusively internal, EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 
41 
we find to be termed an emotion of beauty, if we are able to 
refer it to something without, and to spread its charms 
around any external object. 
§. 18. Of what is meant by beautiful objects, 
There are many objects, which excite the emotion of 
beauty ; that is, when the objects are presented, this emo- 
tion, in a greater or less degree immediately exists. These 
objects we call beautiful. There are other objects, which, 
so far from exciting pleasant emotions within us, are either 
indifferent, or cause feelings of a decidedly opposite charac- 
ter, so that we speak of them as deformed or disgusting. If 
there were no emotions, pleasant or unpleasant, excited by 
either of these classes, or if the emotions which they cause 
were of the same kind, we should apply to them the same 
epithets. So that the ground of distinction, which in speak- 
ing of these different objects we never fail to make, appears 
to exist in our own feelings. In other words, we call an ob- 
ject beautiful, because it excites within us pleasant emo- 
tions, which, in the circumstances of the case, we cannot 
well ascribe to any other cause. And when we prefer to 
say, in other terms, that an object has beauty, we obviously 
mean the same thing, viz, that the object has a trait or qual- 
ity, (perhaps we may find it difficult to explain precisely what 
it is,) which causes these emotions. 
§. 19. Of the distinction between beautiful and other objects. 
In view of what has been said we may venture to make 
two remarks. (I.) Every beautiful object has something1 
in itself, which truly discriminates it from all other objects. 
This something, this peculiar trait, whatever it is, lays the 
foundation for those results in the human mind, which, on 
being experienced, authorize us to speak of the object as 
beautiful. This is clear, not only from what, on a careful ex- 
amination, we shall frequently find in the objects themselves; 
but also from the fact, that the operations of the mind always 
have their appropriate causes. If the mind experiences a 
pleasant emotion in view of a certain object, it is because 
there is something in the object, which has a determinate 
and permanent relation to that particular mental state, which 42 
EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 
distinguishes it from other objects. If it were not for that 
distinctive trait in the object, the human mind is so constitu- 
ted, that it could not have experienced the corresponding 
emotion. 
(II.) Beautiful objects are distinguished from all others, 
not only by something in themselves, certain original and in- 
herent traits characteristic of them, but also, and perhaps 
still more, by a superadded trait, a species of borrowed efful- 
gence, derived and reflected back from the mind itself. 
When we contemplate a beautiful object we are pleased ; 
we are more or less happy. We naturally connect this emo- 
tion of pleasure with the object which is its cause ; and we 
have been in the habit of doing this, no doubt in most in- 
stances unconsciously to ourselves, from early life. The 
consequence is, the association between the inward delight 
and the outward cause becomes so strong, that we are unable 
to separate them ; and the objects, additional to their own 
proper qualities, appear to be surrounded, and to beam out 
with an effulgence, which comes from the mind. 
These remarks will be found to have an application to 
certain speculations, which sometimes have been promulga- 
ted on the subject of beauty. In accordance with what has 
just been said, we do not feel at liberty to deny absolutely, 
and without qualification, as the philosophy of some writers 
seems to authorize them to do, that there is actually beauty 
in the objects, which are generally considered as possessing 
it ; in the rising or setting sun, in the moon walking in her 
majesty, and in the multitude of stars that rejoice in her 
presence. On the contrary, we have already intimated, that 
there is something in all these cases, as there is in blossoms 
and flowers and waving trees and falling cascades, which 
distinguishes them from other objects that are not beautiful. 
God has made them glorious in themselves. But at the same 
time, we have no doubt, that they are invested, in the eye 
of the beholder, with a new and additional radiance, which 
flows out from his own bosom. The mind seems to act on 
the principle of compensation; it receives from the lustre'of the 
outward object a happiness, which it repays by throwing 
around it the appropriate tribute of superadded splendor. EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 
43 
§. 29. Grounds or occasions of emotions of beauty various. 
The next remark, which we have to make on the subject 
of Beauty is, that the objects, by which it is occasioned, are 
not always the same, but are very various ; differing from 
each other not only in their general nature, but also in their 
subordinate incidents. This may occasion a degree of sur- 
prise and difficulty in the minds of some, who cannot readily 
perceive how the results can be identical, while there is such 
a want of unity and accordance in their antecedents. It has 
frequently been the case, that writers, under the bias of 
mind originating from this difficulty, have endeavored to re- 
solve the various grounds or causes of beauty into one. In 
other words, they are disposed to maintain, that in every ob- 
ject, which men agree in denominating beautiful, there is 
one common quality, one predominant element, however dif- 
ferent the objects may be in other respects, which is the 
ground of the internal emotion. Accordingly some announce 
the general and somewhat indefinite doctrine, that beauty 
consists in the perception of relations ; others, more precise 
and definite in their views, maintain, that it consists in a 
fixed and determinate proportion, (that is to say, in a propor- 
tion which is known and measurable,) of the parts of the 
object ; others, again, assert, that the emotion of beauty is 
based upon the perception of utility; in other words, in the 
perception of the fitness of the beautiful object for some profi- 
table purpose. 
It is not our object to endeavor in this place, as we shall 
have occasion to refer to the subject again, to show the futil- 
ity of these and other kindred attempts, which aim, and in 
some instances with no small show of plausibility, to resolve 
the basis of all beauty into a single principle. We simply 
state here, in general terms, the fact, as we understand it to 
be, that the grounds or causes of beauty, while the result or 
internal emotion is always identical in its nature, are multi- 
plied and various. In other words, we assert that beauty in 
the mind is one, while outward beauty, or rather the causes 
of beauty in outward objects, is many ; accompanying the 
statement with the additional and explanatory remark, that 
this state of things, anomalous as it may appear at first, is 
supported by the analogy of the mind in some other instances. 44 
EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 
Take, as an illustration, the state of mind, denominated 
Belief. The grounds or occasions of belief, it is well known, 
are very various ; so much so as scarcely to exhibit any like- 
ness or to admit of any comparison ; but belief itself, although 
it admits of various degrees, is always the same in nature. 
It is occasioned alike, (and this is obviously a fundamental 
principle of the mind,) by the senses, by original suggestion, 
by consciousness, by memory, by relative suggestion or judg- 
ment, by reasoning, and testimony ; and the operation of all 
these various causes results in an identity of feeling. We 
have another instance of the same thing in Association. 
This term does not appear to express a state or feeling of the 
mind, so much as a general fact in the mind's operations, a 
principle or law of its action. When association takes place, 
there is always a sameness or unity of result ; the issue is 
not discordant with itself but is one, viz. a regular consecu- 
tion of the mental states. But, although the result is identi- 
cal, the antecedents or causes are various, viz. resemblance, 
contrast, contiguity in time and place, and cause and effect, 
which are greatly modified also by other causes. 
And so in regard to emotions of beauty. There is a want 
of identity in the grounds of their existence ; but not in the re- 
sult which follows. The causes, like different roads conduc- 
ting to the same termination, are various ; but the issue is 
one. It ought to be added, however, although the emotion 
of beauty is the same in nature under every variety of cir- 
cumstances, it exists in different and various degrees. We 
speak, with entire propriety, of the beauty of an object being 
greater or less, the same as we speak of any event, which is 
alledged to have taken place, as being, in our opinion, more 
or less probable ; expressions, indicative of differences in the 
degree of belief, which the mind under the particular circum- 
stances of the case entertains. 
§. 21. Illustrations of the foregoing statement. 
§. 22. Of the objects in general which excite emotions of beauty. 
Keeping in view what was said in the last section, we 
may with propriety regard the term beauty, not so much a 
particular, as a general or common name, expressive of numer- 
ous emotions which always possess the characteristic of be- EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 
45 
ing pleasant, and are in every respect always the same in 
nature ; but which may differ from each other, both in the 
occasions of their origin, and also in the degree or intensity 
in which they exist. (I.) In regard to the occasions on 
which they arise, we may remark further, that emotions of 
beauty are felt, and frequently in a very high degree, in the 
contemplation of material objects that are addressed to the 
sense of sight, such as woods, waters, cultivated fields, and 
the visible firmament. We look abroad upon nature, in the 
infinite variety of her works, as she is exhibited in the depths 
below and in the heights above, in her shells and minerals, 
in her plants and flowers and trees, in her waters and her 
stars and suns ; and we find the mind kindling at the sight; 
fountains of pleasure are suddenly opened within us ; and 
we should do violence to our mental structure, if we did not 
pronounce them beautiful. 
(II.) Again, emotions of beauty are felt in the contempla- 
tion of intellectual and moral objects. In other words, mind, 
as well as matter, furnishes the occasion, on which they 
arise. The means or instruments, by which mind, which is 
not a direct object of sight or of any of the senses, is revealed 
to us, are various, such as the natural signs of the counte- 
nance, the tones of the voice, conventional language, and 
the actions of men in trying situations. Whenever, and in 
whatever way, we discover intelligence, wisdom, truth, hon- 
or, magnanimity, benevolence, justice, or other traits of a 
mind acting as it was created and designed to act, we have a 
foundation laid, (varying, it is true, with the degree in which 
they exist, with the combinations they form with each other, 
and with the circumstances in which they are put forth,) for 
the emotions of beauty. The human countenance, consider- 
ed merely as a material object, and as presenting nothing 
more than outline and color, is undoubtedly beautiful ; but 
becomes more so, when it distinctly indicates to us intelli- 
gence and amiability. This is particularly true, when moral 
traits are made known to us. The approbation, which we 
yield, when the poor are relieved, the weak are defended, 
and the vicious are reclaimed, and when in general, any oth- 
er striking deeds of a virtuous kind are performed, is always 
attended with a delightful movement of a heart, which, as it 46 
EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 
is reflected back upon it, gives to the action a decided char- 
acter of beauty. 
(III.) But emotions of beauty are not exclusively limited 
to these occasions. Feelings, which not only bear the same 
name, but are truly analogous in kind, exist also on the con- 
templation of many other things. The sentiment or feel- 
ing of beauty exists, for instance, when we are following out 
a happy train of reasoning ; and hence the mathematician, 
who certainly has a delightful feeling, analogous to what we 
experience in contemplating many works of nature, speaks of 
a beautiful theorem. The connoisseur in music applies the 
term beautiful to a favorite air ; the lover of poetry speaks of 
a beautiful song; and the painter discovers beauty in the 
design and in the coloring of his pictures. We also apply 
the term, beauty, to experiments in the different departments 
of physics ; especially when the experiment is simple, and 
results in deciding a point, which has occasioned doubt and 
dispute. We speak of it, and as we suppose, with a degree 
of propriety, as a beautiful experiment. 
So that all nature, taking the word in a wide sense, is the 
province of beauty ; the intellectual and the sensitive, as 
well as the material world. We do not, however, mean by 
this, to descend into particulars and to say, that every thing, 
which exists within the range of these departments, is beau- 
tiful ; but merely that from none of the great departments of 
nature are the elements of beauty excluded. 
§. 23. All objects not equally fitted to cause these emotions. 
From what has been said, it must be evident, that there 
is a correspondence between the mind and the outward ob- 
jects, which are addressed to it. This has already been 
clearly seen in respect to the sensations and external percep- 
tions ; and it is not less evident in respect to that part of our 
nature, which we are now attending to. The mind, and the 
external world, and the external circumstances of our situa- 
tion, are reciprocally suited to each other. Hence, when we 
ascribe the quality of beauty to any object, we have refer- 
ence to this mutual adaptation. An object is ordinarily call- 
ed beautiful, when it has agreeable qualities ; in other words, 
when it is the cause or antecedent of the emotion of beauty. EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 
47 
However it might appear to other beings, it would not have 
the character of beauty to us, if there were not a sort of cor- 
respondence an adaptedness to each other, between our 
mental constitution and such outward object. 
But no one can be ignorant, that not all objects cause the 
emotions in question ; and of those which possess this pow- 
er, some have it in a greater, and some in a less degree. 
This brings us to a very important inquiry. It is no unrea- 
sonable curiosity, which wishes to know, why the effect is so 
limited, and why all objects are not embraced in it ? Why 
different objects cause the same emotion in different degrees? 
And why the same objects produce a diversity of emotions 
in different individuals, and even in the same individual at 
different, times ? 
§. 24. A susceptibility of emotions of beauty an ultimate principle of 
our mental constitution. 
In answering these questions, something must be taken for 
granted, there must be some starting point ; otherwise all, 
that can be said, will be involved in inextricable confusion. 
That is, we must take for granted, that the mind has an 
original susceptibility of such emotions. Nor can we suppose, 
there can be any objection to a concession, which is warrant- 
ed by the most general experience. We all know, that we 
are created with this susceptibility, because we are all con- 
scious of having had those emotions, which are attributed to> 
it. And if we are asked, how, or why it is, that the suscep- 
tibility at the bottom of these feelings exists, we can only 
say, that such was the will of the Being, who created the 
mind ; and that this is one of the original or ultimate ele- 
ments of our nature. 
Although the mind, therefore, is originally susceptible of 
emotions of beauty, as every one knows ; still it is no less 
evident from the general arrangements we behold, both in 
physical and in intellectual nature, that these emotions have 
their fixed causes or antecedents. We have seen that these 
causes are not limited to one class or kind, but are to be 
found under various circumstances ; in the exercises of reas- 
oning, in the fanciful creations of poetry, in musical airs, in 
the experiments of physics, in the forms of material exist- 
ence, and the like. Perhaps we may assert as a general 48 
EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 
statement, (that is to say^ in a great number or majority of 
cages,) these objects cannot be presented to the mind, and 
the mind be unmoved by it; it contemplates them, and it 
necessarily has a feeling of delight of a greater or less degree 
of strength, which authorizes us in characterizing them as 
beautiful. 
In asserting, that this is correct as a general statement, it is 
implied, that some objects do not originally cause these emo- 
tions. And hence we are led to enter into more particular 
inquiries, having reference to this difference in what may be 
called, in the phraseology of some recent writers, the .esthe- 
tic power of objects. Accordingly our purpose, in the re- 
marks which are to follow, is to point out some of those ob- 
jects, and forms and qualities of objects, which seem from 
their very nature, and in distinction from other objects which 
do not have this power, fitted to create within us the feelings 
under consideration. 
§. 25. Remarks on the beauty of forms.-the circle. 
In making that selection of those objects and qualities of 
objects, which we suppose to be fitted, in the original consti- 
tution of things, to cause within us pleasing emotions of 
themselves, independently of any extraneous aid, we cannot 
profess to speak with certainty. The appeal is to the gen- 
eral experience of men ; and all we can do, is, to give, so far 
as it seems to have been ascertained, the results of that ex- 
perience. Beginning, therefore, with material objects, we 
are justified by general experience in saying, that certain 
dispositions or forms of matter are beautiful ; for instance, 
the CIRCLE. 
We rarely look upon a winding or serpentine form, with- 
out experiencing a feeling of pleasure ; and on seeing a cir- 
cle this pleasure is heightened. Hence Hogarth, who, both 
by his turn of mind, and by his habits of life, has claims to 
be regarded as a judge, expressly lays it down in his Analy- 
sis of Beauty, that those lines, which have most variety in 
themselves, contribute most towards the production of beau- 
ty ; and that the most beautiful line, by which a surface can 
be bounded, is the waving or serpentine, or that which con- 
stantly, but imperceptibly, deviates from the straight line. EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY- 
49 
This, which we frequently find in shells, flowers, and other 
pleasing natural productions, he calls the line of beauty. 
Without entering into the question, whether the circular 
form has absolutely, all other things being equal, more beau- 
ty than any other form, it certainly can be said without hesi- 
tation, that it possesses the power of exciting this emotion, 
at least in a considerable degree. We might safely refer it 
to almost any man's experience, whatever his mental char- 
acter or situation in life, and let him say, when he contem- 
plates the waving features of numberless flowers, when he 
gathers on the seashore wreathed and variegated shells, or 
beholds through distant meadows the winding stream, or 
pauses in the pathless wood to gaze on the constantly chang- 
ing position of its branches, whether he does not at once feel 
within him a spontaneous movement of delight. Is not the 
object, which is directly before him, in itself a source of this 
feeling? Although he may have a superadded pleasure from 
some other source, as we shall have occasion to see ; still, 
considering the subject particularly in reference to the object 
before him, may not the true philosophy be summed up in 
the single assertion, that he sees, and he feels ; he beholds, 
and he admires ; the intellect through the instrumentality of 
the eye has a knowledge of the object, and the awakened 
heart expands with the homage of its voluntary joy. 
§. 2G. Original or intrinsic beauty.-the circle. 
It is necessary in examining the subject of beauty to look 
at it in two points of view, viz, as Intrinsic and as Associated. 
In the remarks, which we may have occasion to make in this 
chapter, we have reference exclusively to what may be de- 
nominated Original or Intrinsic beauty ; by which we mean 
that, which is founded in the nature of the object, indepen- 
dently of accidental or merely accessory circumstances. 
Accordingly, in view of the remark at the close of the last 
section, it seems to result from the common experience of 
mankind, that objects, which are circular or approach that 
form, exhibiting a constantly varying outline, have in them- 
selves, and on account of this configuration, a degree, and 
not unfrequently a high degree, of beauty. The bending 
stem of the tulip, the curve of the weeping willow, the wind- 50 
EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 
ings of the ivy, the vine wreathing itself around the elm, the 
serpentine river, are highly pleasing. The vast circular 
expanse of the visible sky, when seen in a cloudless night, 
is a beautiful object, independently of the splendor, that is 
spread over it by its brilliant troops of stars. The arch of 
the rainbow, expanding its immense curve over our heads, 
could hardly fail to be regarded as an object of great beauty, 
even if nothing but the form and outline were presented to 
our vision, without the unrivalled lustre of its colors. And 
the same of other instances, scattered in profusion through 
the works of nature, but too numerous to be mentioned here. 
On this question, as on many others in mental philoso- 
phy, we appeal to the common feelings of mankind. And it 
is on this account, that what we now say on the subject of 
the intrinsic beauty of some objects and combinations of ob- 
jects, we take to be no "fable of man's device," no tinkering 
of an earthly philosophy ; but the response of a higher oracle, 
the voice of nature, the announcement of the universal heart 
of humanity. We are aware, that some may object to such 
an appeal ; they perhaps regard it as below the dignity of 
science ; but no one is ignorant, that philosophers, who were 
not wanting in sagacity, have frequently made it. Their 
great inquiry on subjects of this nature is, what men gener- 
ally have thought and felt. " I never remember, (says Mr. 
Burke,) that any thing beautiful, whether a man, a beast, a 
bird, or a plant, was ever shown, though it were to an hun- 
dred people, that they did not all immediately agree, that it 
was beautiful, though some might have thought that it fell 
short of their expectation, or that other things were still fin- 
er. I believe, no man thinks a goose to be more beautiful 
than a swan, or imagines that what they^call a Friezland hen 
excels a peacock." 
Although the circular or constantly varying outline is 
thought, more than any other, to excite the delightful emo- 
tions under consideration, we are not to suppose, that the 
power of beauty is excluded from other forms. In exami- 
ning the works of nature, it is hardly necessary to say, that 
we find numerous instances of straight and angular forms, 
as well as of the serpentine and winding, although perhaps 
§. 27. Of the beauty of straight and angular forms. EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 
51 
less frequently. It can hardly be doubted, that these 
forms, as they are operated upon and moulded in nature's 
hands, possess more or less of beauty. It is almost a matter 
of supererogation to attempt to illustrate this statement to 
those, who have a heart and eye open to the great variety 
of her works, which on every side are presented to our no- 
tice. Her forms, either original or in their combinations, are 
without number ; and if it be true, that beauty does not 
claim a relationship with all, it is equally so, that it is not 
restricted to one, or even a small portion of them. The in- 
tertwining shrubbery, which spreads itself abroad upon the 
ground, emits, if we may be allowed the expression, its spar- 
kles and gleams of beauty around our feet. The elm, which 
rises upwards towards the heavens, and forms its broad and 
green arch over our heads, is radiant with beauty also, al- 
though it is exceedingly diverse in its appearance. We read- 
ily admit, for we cannot well do otherwise without violence 
to the suggestions of our nature, that the curve of the weep- 
ing willow possesses beauty. But at the same time we are 
not prepared to assert, that the solitary palm-tree is absolute- 
ly destitute of it, although it displays, as it arises on the bo- 
som of the desert, nothing but a tall, straight, branchless 
trunk, surmounted at the top, like a Corinthian column, by a 
single tuft of foliage. 
" There are an infinite number of the feebler vegetables, 
(says Mr. Alison,) and many of the common grasses, the 
forms of which are altogether distinguished by angles and 
straight lines, and where there is not a single curvature 
through the whole ; yet all of which are beautiful." He as- 
cribes in another place a high degree of beauty to the knot- 
ted and angular stem of the balsam. And remarks also, in 
regard to the myrtle, that it is "generally reckoned a beauti- 
ful form, yet the growth of its stem is perpendicular, the 
junctions of its branches form regular and similar angles, and 
their direction is in straight or angular lines." 
Although it seems to be unnecessary to delay at much 
length on this topic, we take the liberty to refer to a single 
instance more, because it has probably escaped the notice of 
many persons, and has never, so far as we know, been addu- 
ced in illustration of the subject under review. One would 52 
EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 
hardly look for symmetrical and beautiful configurations in 
the falling flakes of snow. It appears, however, that the 
snow at different times, and under the different circumstan- 
ces in which it falls, assumes about an hundred different 
forms; not merely accidental, but determinate and perma- 
nent forms. Exact delineations of these forms have been 
executed ; particularly of those, which were observed by Mr. 
Scoresby in the Polar Seas ; and although the circular or 
waving outline is almost entirely excluded from them, they 
are in general highly beautiful. 
28. Of square, pyramidal, and triangular forms. 
The remarks of the last section, going to show that beau- 
ty is not limited to circular forms, is confirmed by what we 
observe in the works of art, as well as of nature. The 
square, for instance, although we do not suppose it presents 
very high claims, comes in for a share of notice. On account 
of its practical convenience, and also for the reason of its be- 
ing more entirely within the reach of human skill, than some 
other forms, it is frequently introduced into architecture ; 
generally with a pleasing effect and sometimes with a high 
degree of beauty. 
In the Gothic architecture, the pyramidal, a form still fur- 
ther removed from any relationship with the circle, has a 
conspicuous place ; and when properly combined with other 
forms gives a decided pleasure. Hogarth, in illustration of 
his remark, that variety has a great share in producing beau- 
ty, explicitly observes that the pyramid, which gradually di- 
minishes from its basis to its point, is a beautiful form. And 
it is in consequence of being so regarded, that we find it so 
frequently employed, not only as a characteristic feature in 
the order of architecture just referred to, but in steeples, 
sepulchral monuments, and other works of art. 
Triangular forms also are not without beauty. Mr. 
Alison states, that the forms of Grecian and Roman furniture, 
in their periods of cultivated taste, were almost universally 
distinguished by straight or angular lines. What is there, he 
inquires, more beautiful than the form of the ancient tripod ? 
•"The feet gradually lessening to the end, and converging as 
they approach it; the plane of the table placed, with little EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 
53 
ornament, nearly at right angles to the feet ; and the whole 
appearing to form an imperfect triangle, whose base is above. 
There is scarcely in such a subject, a possibility of contriv- 
ing a more angular form, yet there can be none more com- 
pletely beautiful." 
In connection with these statements, it is proper to add 
a single explanatory remark. We have much reason to be- 
lieve that the emotion will be stronger in all cases, in pro- 
portion as the beautiful object is distinctly and immediately 
embraced by the mind. It may be asserted with undoubted 
good reason that the square form has a degree of beauty, as 
well as the circle ; although it is generally conceded, that it 
has less. But it is a matter of inquiry, whether the differ- 
ence in this respect is owing so much to the original power of 
the forms themselves, as to the circumstance just alluded to. 
In other words, whether it be not owing to the fact, that the 
circle, being more simple, makes a more direct, entire, and 
decided impression ; whereas the attention is divided among 
the sides and angles of the square and other similar figures. 
§. 29. The variety of the sources of that beauty, which is founded on 
forms, illustrated from the different styles of architecture. 
The doctrine, that all beauty is limited to a particular 
form or a small number of forms, does not appear to be sus- 
tained, but rather to be discountenanced and rebuked, by 
what we notice in the different orders of architecture : as it is, 
in fact, by all the arts, that are based on the feelings now 
under review. An interesting field of inquiry is here opened, 
which we are not at liberty to enter ; but must merely glance 
at and leave. 
The simple facts, which it is important for us to notice 
are, first, that all the acknowledged styles of architecture 
are more or less beautiful ; and, second, that they all differ 
from each other, being respectively distinguished By their 
own characteristics. We cannot be expected to go into 
particulars. W e read, however, of the architecture of Egypt; 
and the monuments of its existence, surprising for their num- 
ber and extent, still remain. No one, if we are.at liberty to 
receive the statements of travellers, can walk amid the deso- 
late cities on the banks of the Nile, and amid the splendid 54 
emotions of beauty. 
ruins of its sacred islands, without profound emotions of de- 
light and admiration, as he contemplates the remains of 
sculptured grottos, obelisks, columns, sphynxes, collossal 
statues, and pyramids. But his delight and admiration would 
not be less, if he could the next moment be set down amid 
the hills of Greece, crowned with the multitude of her tem- 
ples, and the groups of her statuary ; although he would find 
the principles, which predominate in her great works of art, 
the Doric severity and strength, the Ionic lightness and 
grace, the Corinthian ornament, and other characteristic fea- 
tures exceedingly different in many respects, from what he 
had witnessed just before. And even the Gothic architec- 
ture, the product of a later and comparatively barbarous age, 
but inspired by a new insight into nature, and adventuring 
upon new combinations, has opened in its light and clustered 
pillars, its pinnacles, capitals, and pointed arches, rich and 
before unexplored sources of beauty. 
It is to this fact simply, that we wish to direct attention, 
viz, that all the acknowledged styles of architecture are 
more or less beautiful ; but are all, in many particulars, dif- 
ferent from each other. The authors of them seem to have 
wandered forth into the great universe of beauty, and to have 
gathered up, from the exemplars which nature so richly fur- 
nishes, such forms as pleased them best; being guided of 
course in some measure, by the circumstances of their time 
and country. But this could not have been ; they could not 
have gathered so richly and so variously as is testified by the 
splendid but diversified monuments they have left, if nature 
had been so restricted, as some have supposed, in her liberal- 
ity ; and if the forms of beauty had not been many, but one. 
§. 30. Of the original or intrinsic beauty of colors. 
We proceed to remark, as we advance in the further con- 
sideration of this interesting subject, that we experience 
emotions of beauty in beholding the colors, as well as in con- 
templating the outlines or forms of bodies. The doctrine 
which we hold is, that some colors of themselves, independ- 
ently of the additional interest which may subsequently be 
attached to them in consequence of certain associations, are 
fitted to excite within us those feelings of pleasure, which EMOTIONS or BEAUTY. 
55 
authorize us in this, as well as in other analogous cases, to* 
speak of the cause of them as beautiful. In other words, 
there are some colors which possess, as we suppose, an orig- 
inal or intrinsic beauty. In support of this opinion, we 
are merely able to allude to some of the various considera- 
tions which naturally present themselves, without entering 
into that minute exposition of them, which would be admissi- 
ble in a treatise professedly and exclusively devoted to the 
subject before us. 
(1) The pleasure, which results from the mere beholding 
of colors, may be observed in very early life. It is in conse- 
quence of this pleasing emotion, that the infant so early di- 
rects its eyes towards the light, that breaks in from the win- 
dow, or which reaches the sense of vision from any other 
source. It is pleasing to see with what evident ecstacy the 
child rushes from flower to flower, and compares their bril- 
liancy. Casting his eyes abroad in the pursuit of objects, 
that are richly variegated, he pauses to gaze with admiration 
on every tree, that is most profusely loaded with blossoms, 
or that is burdened with fruit of the deepest red and yellow. 
It is because he is attracted with the brightness of its wings, 
that he pursues the butterfly with a labor so unwearied, or 
suspends his sport to watch the wayward movements of the 
humming bird. 
(2) The same results are found also, very strikingly and 
generally, among all savage tribes. The sons of the forest 
are not so wholly untutored, so wholly devoid of natural sen- 
sibility, that they will not sometimes forget the ardor of the 
chase in the contemplation of the flowers, which bloom in the 
neighborhood of their path. Seeing how beautiful the fish of 
their lakes and rivers, the bird of their forests, and the forest 
tree itself are rendered by colors, they commit the mistake of 
attempting to render their own bodies more beautiful by arti- 
ficial hues. They value whatever dress they may have, in 
proportion to the gaudiness of its colors ; they weave rich 
and variegated plumes into their hair ; andas they conjectur- 
ed from his scarlet dress, that Columbus was the captain of 
the Spaniards, so they are wont to intimate and express their 
own rank and dignity by the splendor of their equipments. 
(3) And the same trait, which has been so often noticed 56 
EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 
in Savages, may be observed also, though in a less degree, 
among the uneducated classes in civilized communities. In 
persons of refinement, the original tendency to receive pleas- 
ing emotions from the contemplation of colors seems to have, 
in a measure, lost its power, in consequence of the develope- 
ment of tendencies to receive pleasure from other causes. In 
those, on the contrary, who have possessed less advantages 
of mental culture, and whose sources of pleasure may in con- 
sequence be supposed to lay nearer to the surface of the 
mind, this tendency remains undiminished. Colored objects 
generally affect them with a high degree of pleasure; so 
much so that the absence of color is not, in their estimation, 
easily compensated by the presence of any other qualities. 
We cannot well suppose, that there is any intermediate influ- 
ence between the beautiful object and the mind, of which 
this pleasure is the product ; but must rather conclude, in the 
circumstances of the case, that the presence of the object, 
and that only is the ground of its existence. It is this view 
of the subject, which seems to be taken in a passage of Aken- 
side, that is interesting for its poetical merit, as well as its 
philosophical truth. 
"Ask the swain, 
"Who journeys homewards from a summer day's 
"Long labor, why, forgetful of his toils, 
"And due repose, he loiters to behold 
"The sunshine gleaming, as through amber clouds, 
"O'er all the western sky ; full soon, I ween, 
"His rude expression and untutored airs, 
"Beyond the power of language, will unfold 
"The form of Beauty smiling at the heart. 
§. 31. Further illustrations of the original beauty of colors. 
We may derive additional proof of the fact, that colors are 
of themselves fitted to cause emotions of beauty, from what 
we learn in the case of those persons, who have been blind 
from birth, but in after life have suddenly been restored by 
couching, or in some other way. " I have couched, (says 
Dr. Wardrop,* speaking of James Mitchell,) one of his eyes 
successfully ; and he is much amused with the visible world, 
though he mistrusts information, gained by that avenue. 
One day I got him a new and gaudy suit of clothes, which 
* As quoted by Mr. Stewart, in his account of Mitchell. 57 
EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 
delighted him beyond description. It was the most interest- 
ing scene of sensual gratification I ever beheld." 
But this person, it appears, had some faint notions of 
light and colors, previous.to the operation, by which his pow- 
ers of vision were more fully restored. And the facts, stated 
in connection with his exercise of this imperfect vision, are 
equally decisive in favor of the doctrine under consideration. 
The statements to which we refer are as follows. "At the 
time of life when this boy began to walk, he seemed to be 
attracted by bright or dazzling colors ; and though every 
thing, connected with his history, appears to prove, that he 
derived little information from the organ, yet he received 
from it much sensual gratification. He used to hold between 
his eye and luminous objects such bodies, as he found to in- 
crease by their interposition the quantity of light; and it was 
one of his chief amusements to concentrate the sun's rays by 
means of pieces of glass, transparent pebbles, or similar sub- 
stances, which he held between his eye and the light, and 
turned about in various directions. These too he would 
often break with his teeth, and give them that form, which 
seemed to please him most. There were other modes, by 
which he was in the habit of gratifying this fondness for 
light. He would retire to any out-house or to any room 
within his reach, shut the windows and doors, and remain 
there for some considerable time, with his eyes fixed on some 
small hole or chink, which admitted the sun's rays, eagerly 
watching them. He would also, during the winter nights, 
often retire to a dark corner of the room and kindle a light 
for his amusement. On these occasions, as well as in the 
gratification of his other senses, his countenance and gestures 
displayed a most interesting avidity and curiosity." 
The conclusion, which we deduce from these sources of 
proof, is, that colors are fitted from our very constitution, to 
produce within us emotions of beauty. 
We next propose to inquire into the application of these 
principles in respect to sounds. And here also we have 
reason to believe, that they hold good to a certain extent; in 
other words, that certain sounds are pleasing of themselves ; 
§. 32. Of sounds considered as a source of beauty. 58 
EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 
and are hence, agreeably to views already expressed, termed 
beautiful. In proceeding, however, to the consideration 
of beauty, as it exists in connection with sounds, it may be 
proper to recur to the remark, which was made near the 
commencement of the chapter, that the sources or grounds 
of beauty, although the emotions they excite within us are 
all of essentially the same kind, are very various. In view 
of what was there said, we do not feel at liberty to doubt, as 
some may be disposed to do, whether there is beauty in 
sounds, merely because sounds are obviously altogether dif- 
ferent from some other objects, which constitute sources of 
beauty, such as colors or forms. It is not the intention of 
nature, that the empire of the beautiful shall be limited in 
this manner. On the contrary, if certain sounds have some- 
thing within them, which from its very nature is calculated 
to excite within us pleasing emotions, they are obviously 
distinguished by this circumstance from other sounds, and 
furnish a sufficient reason for our regarding them and speak- 
ing of them as beautiful. 
(I) In asserting, however, that there is an original beauty 
in sounds, we do not wish to be understood as saying, that 
all sounds, of whatever kind, possess this character. There 
are some sounds, which, in themselves considered, are justly 
regarded as indifferent, and others are positively disagreea- 
ble. No one would hesitate in pronouncing the discordant 
creaking of a wheel, the filing of a saw, the braying of the 
ass, the scream of a peacock, or the hissing of a serpent to 
be disagreeable. There are other sounds, such as the bleat- 
ing of the lamb, the lowing of the cow, the call of the goat, 
and other notes and cries of animals, which appear to be, in 
themselves, entirely indifferent. We are aware, that they 
are sometimes spoken of as beautiful ; nor is it necessary to 
deny, that they are sometimes heard with a high degree of 
pleasure. But we regard the beauty in this case as rather 
associated than intrinsic ; the result rather of accessory cir- 
cumstances than of the thing itself. The happy remarks of 
Mr. Alison, going to show the nature of the beauty which is 
ordinarily felt at such times, will be read with interest. 
"The bleating of a lamb is beautiful in a fine day in spring: 
in the depth of winter it is very far from being so. The low- EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 
59 
ing of a cow at a distance, amid the scenery of a pastoral 
landscape in summer, is extremely beautiful : in a farmyard 
it is absolutely disagreeable. The hum of the beetle is beau- 
tiful in a fine summer evening, as appearing to suit the still- 
ness and repose of that pleasing season : in the noon of day 
it is perfectly indifferent. The twitter of the swallow is 
beautiful in the morning, and seems to be expressive of the 
cheerfulness of that time : at any other hour it is quite insig- 
nificant. Even the song of the nightingale, so wonderfully 
charming in the twilight, or at night, is altogether disregard- 
ed during the day; in so much so, that it has given rise to 
the common mistake, that this bird does not sing but at night.5' 
§. 33. Illustrations of the original beauty of sounds. 
(II) Other sounds, those which are properly termed musi- 
cal, have a beauty, which is original or intrinsic, and not 
merely accessory. It is true, that different nations have dif- 
ferent casts or styles of music, modified by the situation and 
habits of the people ; but every thing that can properly be 
called music, whatever occasional or accidental modification 
it may assume, is in its nature more or less beautiful. Musi- 
cal sounds, independently of their combinations and expres- 
sion, are characterized in a way, which distinguishes them 
from all others ; viz, by the circumstance of their possessing 
certain mathematical proportions in their times of vibration. 
Such sounds please us originally ; in other words, whenever, 
in all ordinary circumstances, they are heard, they please 
naturally and necessarily. We are aware, that attempts 
have sometimes been made to explain the pleasure, which is 
received from musical sounds, as well as from those of a dif- 
ferent character on the doctrine of association. But there 
are various difficulties in this explanation, some of which 
will now be referred to. 
(1) In the first place we are led to expect from the anal- 
ogy of things, which we witness in other cases, that we shall 
find, in the human heart also, an original sensibility to the 
beautiful, in the matter under consideration. We refer now 
to what we frequently notice in the lower animals ; and al- 
though we do not claim that very much weight should be 
attached to this view of the subject, it certainly furnishes 60 
EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 
some matter for reflection. Why should brute animals be 
originally pleased with musical sounds, and man, whom we 
may well suppose to have as much need of this pleasure, be 
naturally destitute of the capability of receiving it ? In re- 
gard to brute animals, (we do not say all, but many of them,) 
there is no possible question, as to the fact involved in this 
inquiry. Through all the numberless varieties, which they 
exhibit, from the mouse, of which Linnaeus says with strict 
truth, "delectatur musica," to the elephant on the banks 
of the Niger, that responds with his unwieldly dance to the 
rude instrument of the untutored African, they yield their 
homage to the magic of sweet sounds. To attempt to explain 
the pleasure they receive on the ground of association, would 
be difficult perhaps ridiculous. The simple fact is, that they 
listen and are delighted. It is the sound, and nothing but 
the sound, which excites the joy they exhibit. In this case, 
as in some others, the fact and the philosophy are one. And 
if the doctrine which we oppose be true, then the sluggish 
hippopotamus, if we may credit the statements of Denham, 
the late distinguished traveller in the interior of Africa, has 
a power, which man, elevated as he is, has not. "We had 
a full opportunity, (he expressly remarks,) of convincing our- 
selves, that these uncouth and stupendous animals are very 
sensibly attracted by musical sounds, even though they 
should not be of the softest kind. As we passed along the 
waters of the lake Muggaby at sunrise, they followed the 
drums of the different chiefs the whole length of the water, 
sometimes approaching so close to the shore, that the water 
they spouted from their mouths reached the persons who 
were passing along the banks."* So great is the acknowl- 
edged power of music over many brute animals, that the 
classical traditions, which celebrate the achievements of the 
early poets and musicians, scarcely transcend the bounds of 
truth. 
"For Orpheus' lute was strung with poet's sinews, 
"Whose golden touch could softer steel and stones, 
"Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans 
"Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands. 
(2) In the second place, children at an early period of 
* Denham and Clapperton's Narrative, pp. J21, 165. EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 
61 
life, before they have had an opportunity of connecting- asso- 
ciations with them to any great extent, are highly pleased 
with musical sounds. This is a fact, which we cannot sup- 
pose has escaped the notice of any one. Let a wandering 
musician suddenly make his appearance in a country village, 
with his fife, bagpipe, or hand-organ, (instruments wdiich are 
not supposed to possess the highest claims to musical power,) 
and it is surprising to see with what an outburst of joy the 
sound is welcomed to the heart of childhood. Delighted 
countenances cluster at the windows ; and merry groups, 
that just before made the streets ring with their noise, sud- 
denly leave their sports, and rush with a new and delighted 
impulse to the presence of the strolling minstrel. This is 
universally the fact; and when we consider the early age at 
which it takes place, it seems to be inconsistent with any 
other view, than that which ascribes to sounds of a certain 
character an original or intrinsic attraction. 
(3) We witness, furthermore, the same result in Savage 
tribes, when they first become acquainted with the instru- 
ments of music, however simple or imperfect they may be, 
which have been fabricated by European skill. It is said of 
the native inhabitants of this country, that they frequently 
purchased of the Spaniards, when they first came to Ameri- 
ca, small bells ; and when they hung them on their persons, 
and heard their clear musical sounds responding to the move- 
ment of their dances, they were filled with the highest possi- 
ble delight. At a later period in the history of the country, 
it is related by one of the Jesuit missionaries, that once com- 
ing into the company of certain ignorant and fierce Indians, 
he met with a rude and menancing reception, which forebo- 
ded no very favorable termination. As it was not his design, 
however, to enter into any contention, if it could possibly be 
avoided, he immediately commenced playing on a stringed in- 
strument ; their feelings were softened at once, and the evil 
spirit of jealousy and anger, which they exhibited on his first 
approach to them, fled from their minds.* We cannot 
suppose it necessary to multiply instances to the same effect. 
• See Irving's Life and Voyages of Columbus, Chap, ix, London 
Quarterly Review, Vol. xxvi, p. 287. 62 
EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 
§. 34. Further instances of the original beauty of sounds. 
(4.) In the fourth place deaf persons, who have been 
suddenly restored to the sense of hearing, and also persons, 
who, in consequence of their peculiar situation, have never 
heard musical sounds till a certain period of their life, and 
have therefore been unable, in either case, to form associa- 
tions with such sounds either pleasant or unpleasant, have 
been found, on hearing them for the first time, to experience 
a high degree of pleasure. So far as we have been able 
to learn, we believe this to be the fact. At the same time, as 
instances of this kind seldom occur and are still less frequent- 
ly recorded, we do not profess to rely upon the statement as 
universally true, with an entire degree of confidence. The 
circumstances, which are related of Caspar Hauser, on hear- 
ing musical sounds for the first time, are one of the few in- 
stances in point. The statement is as follows. "Not on- 
ly his mind, but many of his senses appeared at first to be in 
a state of stupor, and only gradually to open to the perception 
of external objects. It was not before the lapse of several 
days that he began to notice the striking of the steeple clock, 
and the ringing of the bells. This threw him into the great- 
est astonishment, which at first was expressed only by his 
listening looks and by certain spasmodic motions of his coun- 
tenance ; but it was soon succeeded by a stare of benumbed 
meditation. Some weeks afterwards the nuptial procession 
of a peasant passed by the tower with a band of music close 
under his window. He suddenly stood listening, motion- 
less as a statue ; his countenance appeared to be transfig- 
ured, and his eyes as it were to radiate his extacy ; his 
ears and eyes seemed continually to follow the movements 
of the sounds as they receded more and more ; and they had 
long ceased to be audible, while he still continued immova- 
bly fixed in a listening posture, as if unwilling to lose the last 
vibrations of these, to him, celestial notes, or as if his soul 
had followed them and left his body behind it, in torpid in- 
sensibility." * 
§. 35. The permanency of musical power dependent on its being intrinsic. 
On the subject of the original or intrinsic beauty of cer- 
Life of Caspar Hauser, Chap. III. EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 
63 
tain sounds, one other remark remains to be made here. 
It will be recollected, that the doctrine, which we are oppo- 
sing, is, that all the power which musical sounds have, con- 
sidered as a source of beauty, is wholly resolvable into asso- 
ciation. If this be true, then it seems to be the proper busi- 
ness of professed composers of music to study the nature and 
tendency of associations, rather than of sounds. The com- 
mon supposition in this matter undoubtedly is, that the musi- 
cal composer exercises his invention and taste, in addition to 
the general conception or outline of his work, in forming per- 
fect chords, varied modulation, and accurate rythm. This is 
a principal, not the only one, but a principal field of his la- 
bors ; the theatre on which his genius is especially display- 
ed ; and without these results of chord, modulation, and 
rythm, it is certain that his efforts will fail to please. But 
if the doctrine, which we are opposing be true, would it not 
be the fact, that he could bring together the most harsh and 
discordant sounds, and compose by means of them the great 
works of his art, provided he took the pains to cover their 
deformity by throwing over them some fascinating dress of 
association ? But we presume it will not be pretended, that 
mere association possesses this power, as a general thing, 
even in the hands of genius. Furthermore, we do not hesi- 
tate to say, that, from the nature of the case, the musical 
genius, which composes its works for immortality, must deal 
chiefly with the elements and essentialities of things, and not 
with the mere incidents and accessories. Permanency in 
the works of art of course implies a corresponding permanen- 
cy in their foundation. Associations are correctly under- 
stood to be, from their very nature, uncertain and changea- 
ble, while the beauty of some musical compositions, (we 
speak but the common sentiment of mankind in saying it,) is 
imperishable ; a fact which seems to be inconsistent with its 
being founded on an unfixed and evanescent basis. 
§. 36. Of motion as an element of beauty. 
Motion also, a new and distinct object of contemplation, 
has usually been reckoned a source of the beautiful, and very 
justly. A forest, or a field of grain, gently waved by the 
wind, affects us pleasantly. The motion of a winding river 64 
EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 
pleases ; and this, not only because the river is serpentine, 
but because it is never at rest. We are delighted with the 
motion of a ship, as it cleaves the sea under full sail. We 
look on, as it moves like a thing of life, and are pleased with- 
out being able to control onr feelings, or to tell, why they ex- 
ist. And the waves too around it, which are continually ap- 
proaching and departing, and curling upward in huge masses,, 
and then breaking asunder into fragments of every shape,. 
present a much more pleasing appearance, than they would,, 
if profoundly quiet and stagnant. 
With what happy enthusiasm we behold the foaming cas- 
cade, as it breaks out from the summit of the mountain, and 
dashes downward to its base ! With what pleasing satisfac- 
tion, we gaze upon a column of smoke, ascending from a cot- 
tage in a wood;-a trait in outward scenery, which land- 
scape painters, who must certainly be accounted good judges 
of what is beautiful in the aspects of external nature, are ex- 
ceedingly fond of introducing. It may be said in this case, 
we are aware, that the pleasure, arising from beholding the 
ascending smoke of the cottage, is caused by the favorite 
suggestions which are connected with it, of rural seclusion, 
peace, and abundance. But there is much reason to believe-, 
that the feeling would be to some extent the same, if it were 
known to ascend from the uncomfortable wigwam of the Sav- 
age, from an accidental conflagration, or from the fires of a 
wandering horde of gypsies. And if motion, on the limit- 
ed scale, on which we are accustomed to view it, be beauti- 
ful, how great would be the extacy of our feelings, if we 
could be placed on some pinnacle of the universe, and could 
take in at one glance the regular and unbroken movement of 
the worlds and systems of infinite space. 
§. 37. Explanations of the beauty of motion from Kaimes. 
The author of the Elements of Criticism, who studied our 
emotions with great care, has the following explanations on 
this subject. "Motion is certainly agreeable in all its va- 
rieties of quickness and slowness ; but motion long contin- 
ued admits some exceptions. That degree of continued mo- 
tion, which corresponds to the natural course of our percep- 
tions, is the most agreeable. The quickest motion is for an EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 
65 
instant delightful ; but it soon appears to be too rapid : it be- 
comes painful, by forcibly accelerating the course of our 
perceptions. Slow continued motion becomes disagreeable 
for an opposite reason, that it retards the natural course of 
our perceptions. 
" There are other varieties in motion, besides quickness 
and slowness, that make it more or less agreeable : regular 
motion is preferred before what is irregular, witness the mo- 
tion of the planets in orbits nearly circular : the motion of 
the comets in orbits less regular, is less agreeable. 
"Motion uniformly accelerated, resembling an ascending 
series of numbers, is more agreeable than when uniformly 
retarded : motion upward is agreeable by the elevation of 
the moving body. What then shall we say of downward 
motion regularly accelerated by the force of gravity, compar- 
ed with upward motion regularly retarded by the same force? 
Which of these is the most agreeable ? This question is not 
easily solved. 
" Motion in a straight line is no doubt agreeable : but we 
prefer undulating motion, as of waves, of a flame, of a ship 
under sail : such motion is more free, and also more natural. 
Hence the beauty of a serpentine river." 
§. 38. Of intellectual and moral objects as a source of the beautiful. 
But we are not to suppose, that there is nothing but mat- 
ter, and its accessories of form, motion, and sound, which 
are the foundations of the beautiful. The world of mind 
also, so far as it can be brought before our contemplation, 
calls forth similar emotions. The human countenance, in 
itself considered, is a beautiful object. Nature has decidedly 
given that character to the curving outline of the lips and 
forehead, the varying tints of the cheek, and the gentle illu- 
minations of the eye. But these interesting traits, addition- 
al to what they are in themselves, convey ideas of mind ; 
they may be regarded as natural indications and signs of the 
soul, which is lodged behind them ; and although the hu- 
man countenance is pleasing of itself, it is beyond question, 
that the thought and feeling and amiability, of which it is 
significant, are pleasing also. We may illustrate what we 
mean by an instance of this kind. If we fix our attention 66 
EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY. 
upon two men, whose outward appearanee is the same, but 
one of them is far more distinguished than the other for 
clearness of perception, extent of knowledge, and all the es- 
sentials of true wisdom, we certainly look upon him with a 
higher degree of complacency. And this complacency is 
greatly heightened, if we can add to these intellectual quali- 
ties certain qualities of the heart or of the moral character, 
such as a strong love of truth, justice, and benevolence. 
It is true, that in the present life intellectual and moral 
objects are brought before our contemplation only in a com- 
paratively small degree, surrounded and almost encumbered, 
as we are, with material things ; but they are, nevertheless, 
proper objects of knowledge, and are among the great sour- 
ces of beauty. There is no object of contemplation more 
pleasing and even enrapturing than the Supreme Being ; but 
in contemplating the Deity, we do not contemplate an out- 
ward and accessible picture, or a statue of wood and stone, 
but merely a complex internal conception, which embraces 
certain intellectual and moral qualities and powers, and ex- 
cludes every thing of a purely material kind. Now when 
we dwell upon the parts of this great and glorious concep- 
tion, and follow them out into the length and breadth of in- 
finite wisdom, of infinite benevolence, of unsearchable pow- 
er and justice, and of other attributes, which are merged 
together and assimilated in this great sun of moral perfection, 
we find such a splendor and such a fitness in them, that we 
cannot but be filled with delight. The object before us, un- 
less we may more properly speak of it as sublime, is obvious- 
ly one of transcendent natural and moral beauty. 
§. 39. Of a distinct sense or faculty of beauty. 
From the views which have been presented in this chap- 
ter, we are prepared, in some degree, to estimate the opinion 
of those writers, who are understood to maintain, that there 
is a distinct sense or faculty of beauty. The doctrine refer- 
red to is, that, by means of this sense or faculty of beauty, 
which seems to be regarded as entirely analogous to the 
external senses of sight and feeling, the mind experiences 
the emotions of beauty constantly, or almost constantly, 
whenever a particular object is present. That is, having EMOTIONS OF BEAUTY- 
67 
this supposed sense, we can no more be without the appro- 
priate emotion, whenever the beautiful object is presented, 
than we can be without sight or feeling, when our eyes are 
open to behold objects, or when our hands are impressed 
upon them. And, moreover, the beauty, which is thus dis- 
covered, has, according to this system, a precise and definite 
character, concerning which there cannot ordinarily be any 
possible mistake. 
There are some parts, undoubtedly, of this doctrine of 
emotions of beauty, to which it is, by no means, necessary 
to object. Its advocates hold with good reason, that certain 
objects give us pleasure of themselves ; and also that the 
emotions arise in the mind at once, whenever the objects are 
presented to it, and, therefore, in some degree the same, as 
when vision follows the opening of the eyelids. But here, it 
cannot be denied, that the analogy between the susceptibili- 
ty of emotions of beauty, and the external senses, ceases. 
The opinion, that we have a distinct sense or faculty of 
beauty, would give to its appropriate emotions a character 
more exact and particular, than is justified by what is known 
to be the fact ; there would in this case be no more differ- 
ence of opinion concerning the beauty and deformity of ob- 
jects, than concerning their sensible qualities, their taste, 
sound, or color. If this doctrine, taken in its full extent, 
were true, the peasant, who can tell whether the taste of 
the apple be sweet or sour, and whether the color of the 
clouds of heaven be bright or dark, can sit in judgment on 
the beauty of the works of nature and art, no less than per- 
sons of the most critical taste. 
While, therefore, we contend, that there is in the mind 
an original susceptibility of emotions of beauty, it is to be re- 
garded as something quite different in its nature from the ex- 
ternal senses; and these emotions, therefore, much more 
than our sensations, will differ in vividness or degree, with a 
variety of circumstances. CHAPTER THIRD. 
ASSOCIATED BEAUTY. 
§. 40. Associated beauty implies an antecedent or intrinsic beauty. 
The views on the subject of beauty, which we think it 
important to enforce, involve the positions, first, that there 
is an original and intrinsic beauty ; and, second, that there is 
a beauty dependent on association. In opposition to those 
persons who may be disposed to maintain, that no object is 
beautiful of itself, but that all its beauty depends on associa- 
tion, we wish, in this connection, to introduce what we re- 
gard as an important remark of Mr. Stewart. "The theory, 
(he remarks,) which resolves the whole effect of beautiful ob- 
jects into Association, must necessarily involve that species 
of paralogism, to which logicians give the name of reasoning 
in a circle. It is the province of association to impart to one 
thing the agreeable or the disagreeable effect of another ; but 
association can never account for the origin of a class of 
pleasures different in kind from all the others we know. If 
there was nothing originally and intrinsically pleasing or 
beautiful, the associating principle would have no materials 
on which it could operate."* 
This remark, if it be true, appears to be decisive on the 
subject before us. And that it is true, we think must appear 
from the very nature of association. What we term associa- 
tion, it will be recollected, does not so much express a state 
of the mind, a thought, a feeling, a passion ; as it does a 
principle or law of the mind ; in other words, the circum- 
stance under which a new state of mind takes place. Asso- 
* Essay on the Beautiful, Chap. VI. ASSOCIATED BEAUTY. 
69 
ciation, therefore, as Mr. Stewart intimates, does not of it- 
self originate or create any thing ; but acts in reference to 
what is already created or originated. Something must be 
given for it to act upon. If it imparts beauty to one object, 
it must find it in another. If the beauty exists in that other 
object in consequence of association, it must have been 
drawn from some other source still more remote. If, there- 
fore, association merely takes the beauty on its wings, if we 
may be allowed the expression, and transfers it from place to 
place, there must of necessity be somewhere an original or 
intrinsic beauty, which is made the subject of such transfer. 
In accordance with what has thus far been said on this 
whole subject, it will be kept in mind, that some of the forms, 
of which matter is susceptible, are pleasing of themselves 
and originally ; also that we are unable to behold certain 
colors, and to listen to certain sounds, and to gaze upon par- 
ticular expressions of the countenance, and to contemplate 
high intellectual and moral excellence, without emotions, in a 
greater or less degree, delightful. At the same time, it must 
be admitted, that, in the course of our experience, we find a 
variety of objects, that seem, as they are presented to us, to 
be unattended with any emotion whatever ; objects, that 
are perfectly indifferent. And yet these objects, however 
wanting in beauty to the great mass of men, are found to be 
invested, in the minds of some, with a charm, allowedly not 
their own. These objects, which previously excited no feel- 
ings of beauty, may become beautiful to us in consequence of 
the associations, which we attach to them. That is to say, 
when the objects are beheld, certain former pleasing feelings, 
peculiar to ourselves, are recalled. 
The lustre of a spring morning, the radiance of a sum- 
mer evening may of themselves excite in us a pleasing emo- 
tion, but, as our busy imagination, taking advantage of the 
images of delight, which are before us, is ever at work and 
constantly forming new images, there is, in combination with 
the original emotion of beauty, a superadded delight. And 
if, in these instances, only a part of the beauty is to be as- 
'Cribed to association, there are some others, where the whole 
is to be considered, as derived from that source. 
§. 41. Objects may become beautiful by association merely. 70 
ASSOCIATED BEAUTY. 
Numerous instances can be given of the power of associa- 
tion, not only in heightening the actual charms of objects, 
but in spreading a sort of delegated lustre around those, that 
were entirely uninteresting before. Why does yon decaying 
house appear beautiful to me, which is indifferent to another? 
Why are the desolate fields around it clothed with delight, 
while others see in them nothing, that is pleasant ? It is, 
because that house formerly detained me, as one of its in- 
mates, at its fireside, and those fields were the scenes of ma- 
ny youthful sports. When I now behold them, after so long 
a time, the joyous emotions, which the remembrance of my 
early days calls up within me, are, by the power of associa- 
tion, thrown around the objects, which are the cause of the 
remembrances. 
§. 42. Further illustrations of associated feelings. 
He, who travels through a well-cultivated country town, 
cannot but be pleased with the various objects, which he be- 
holds ; the neat and comfortable dwellings ; the meadows, 
that are peopled with flocks and with herds of cattle ; the 
fields of grain intermingled with reaches of thick and dark 
forest. The whole scene is a beautiful one ; the emotion we 
suppose to be partly original; a person, on being restored to 
sight by couching for the cataract, and having had no oppor- 
tunity to form associations with it, would witness it, for the 
first time, with delight. But a considerable part of the pleas- 
ure is owing to the associated feelings, which arise, on be- 
holding such a scene; these dwellings are the abode of man; 
these fields are the place of his labors, and amply reward him 
for his toil; here are contentment, the interchange of heart- 
felt joys, and "ancient truth." 
Those, who have travelled over places, that have been 
signalized by memorable events, will not be likely to suspect 
us of attributing too great a share of our emotions to associa- 
tion. It is true, that in a country so new as America, we 
are unable to point so frequently, as an European might do, 
to places, that have witnessed achievements and sufferings of 
such a character, as to become sacred in a nation's memory. 
But there are some such consecrated spots. With whatever 
emotion, or want of emotion, the traveller may pass by oth- 
er places of our wild and stormy coast, he would do violence ASSOCIATED BEAUTY. 
71 
to the finest impulses of the heart, if he did not stop at the 
Rock of Plymouth, the landing place of the Pilgrim Fathers. 
Not because there is anything in the scenery either of the 
ocean or the land, which presents claims upon him more im- 
perative, or so much so, as that of some other places. But 
there is a moral power, the spirit of great achievements, 
hovering around the spot, (explainable on the principles of 
association and on them alone,) which spreads itself over the 
hard features of the soil, and illuminates the bleakness of the 
sky, and harmonizes what would be otherwise rugged and 
forbidding, into a scene of touching loveliness and beauty. 
The powerful feeling, which exists on visiting such a spot, 
whether we call it an emotion, of beauty, or sublimity, or 
give it a name, expressive of some intermediate grade, is es- 
sentially the same with that, which is caused in the bosom 
of the traveller, when he looks for the first time upon the 
hills of the city of Rome. There are other cities of greater 
extent, and washed by nobler rivers, than the one, which is 
before him ; but upon no others has he ever gazed with such 
intensity of feeling. He beholds what was once the mistress 
of the world ; he looks upon the ancient dwelling place of 
Brutus, of Cicero, and of the Caesars. The imagination is at 
once peopled with whatever was noble in the character and 
remarkable in the achievements of that extraordinary nation; 
and there is a strength, a fullness of emotion, which would 
never have been experienced without the accession of those 
great and exciting remembrances. It is in connection with 
the principles of this chapter, and in allusion to places of his- 
torical renown, that Rogers, in his Pleasures of Memory, has 
said with equal philosophical truth and poetical skill ; 
"And hence the charms historic scenes impart; 
"Hence Tiber awes, and Avon melts the heart, 
"Aerial forms, in Tempe's classic vale, 
"Glance through the gloom, and whisper in the gale ; 
"In wild Vaucluse with love and Laura dwell, 
"And watch and weep in FJoisa's cell. 
§. 43. Instances of national associations. 
The influence of association in rousing up and in giving 
strength to particular classes of emotions, may be strikingly 72 
ASSOCIATED BEAUTY. 
seen in some national instances. Every country has its fa- 
vorite tunes. These excite a much stronger feeling in the 
native inhabitants, than in strangers. The effect on the 
Swiss soldiers of the Ranz des Vaches, their national air, 
whenever they happened to hear it in foreign lands, has of- 
ten been mentioned. So great was this effect, that it was 
found necessary in France, to forbid its being played in the 
Swiss corps in the employment of the French government. 
The powerful effect of this song cannot be supposed to be 
owing to any peculiar merits in the composition ; but to the 
pleasing recollections, which it ever vividly brings up in the 
minds of the Swiss, of mountain life, of freedom, and of do- 
mestic pleasures. 
The English have a popular tune, called Belleisle March. 
Its popularity is said to have been owing to the circumstance, 
that it was played when the English army marched into 
Belleisle, and to its consequent association with remembran- 
ces of war and of conquest. And it will be found true of all 
national airs, that they have a charm for the natives of the 
country, in consequence of the recollections connected with 
them, which they do not possess for the inhabitants of other 
countries. 
We have abundant illustrations of the same fact in respect 
to colors. The purple color has acquired an expression or 
character of dignity, in consequence of having been the com- 
mon color of the dress of kings ; among the Chinese, howev- 
er, yellow is the most dignified color, and evidently for no 
other reason, than because yellow is that, which is allotted 
to the royal family. In many countries, black is expressive 
of gravity, and is used particularly in seasons of distress and 
mourning ; and white is a cheerful color. But among the 
Chinese white is gloomy, because it is the dress of mourners; 
and in Spain, and among the Venetians black has a cheerful 
expression, in consequence of being worn by the great. 
Many other illustrations to the same purpose might be 
brought forward. The effect of association is not unfrequent- 
ly such as to suppress entirely and throw out the original 
character of an object, and substitute a new one in its stead. 
Who has not felt, both in man and woman, that a single 
crime, that even one unhappy deed of meanness or dishonor 73 
is capable of throwing a darkness and distortion over the 
charms of the most perfect form ? The glory seems to have 
departed : and no effort of reasoning or of imagination can 
fully restore it. 
ASSOCIATED BEAUTY. 
§. 44. The sources of associated beauty coincident with those of 
human happiness. 
It would be a pleasing task to point out more particularly 
some of the sources of associated beauty, if it were consistent 
with the plan, which we propose to follow. But it has been 
our object throughout, to give the sketch or outline of a sys- 
tem, rather than indulge in minuteness of specification. And 
as to the subject which we now allude to, it could hardly be 
expected that we should attempt to examine it extensively, 
much less exhaust it, when we consider, that the sources of 
associated beauty are as wide and as numerous as the sour- 
ces of man's happiness. 
The fountains of human pleasure, connected with the 
senses, the intellect, the morals, and the social and religious 
relations, are exceedingly multiplied. And whenever the 
happiness we experience, from whatever source it may pro- 
ceed, is brought into intimacy with a beautiful object, we 
generally find, that the beauty of the object is heightened by 
that circumstance. In other cases, the association is so 
strong, that a beauty is shed upon objects, which are confes- 
sedly destitute of it in themselves. We might, therefore, 
dismiss this topic, with the simple remark, that the sources 
of associated beauty are necessarily as wide as the unexplor- 
ed domain of human joy. There are, however, a few of its 
elements, which seem to be worthy of a separate and speci- 
fic notice. 
§• 45. Of fitness considered as an element of associated beauty. 
In conformity with what has just been said, we proceed 
to remark, that the degree of the emotion of beauty will be 
likely to vary in accordance with the suggestions of congrui- 
ty or fitness, which attend the beautiful object, considered in 
its relations with other objects. In regard to the origin of 
the idea of congruity or fitness, it is proper to remark, that 
the state of the mind thus denominated, which is intellectu- 
al rather than sensitive, naturally and necessarily arises on 74 
ASSOCIATED BEAUTY. 
the contemplation of those objects, where such fitness actual- 
ly exists. It arises, therefore, in the first place, on the con- 
templation of natural objects. As creation comes from the 
hand of a God of order and not of confusion, every thing has 
its appropriate character, its appropriate place and time. 
And as the human mind is obviously, in its very structure, 
adapted to this state of things, suggestions of congruity or 
fitness, when the works of nature constitute the object in 
view, are constantly arising. 
They arise also in connection with the works of human 
skill. It is in these works particularly, that we find the ap- 
plication of the remark, that the degree of beauty will vary 
in accordance with the suggestions of congruity, which at- 
tend the object, considered in relation to other objects. 
Whatever may be the beauty of an object, in itself consider- 
ed, if we distinctly perceive in it an incongruity with other 
objects, such as result, for instance, from an entire discord- 
ance of time and place, the displeasure or disgust, which we 
feel in view of such want of fitness, is so great as to dimin- 
ish, and perhaps to annul entirely the emotions of pleasure, 
which would otherwise exist. 
It is an accordance with these views, that Hogarth has 
been led to remark, that twisted columns, which naturally 
convey an idea of weakness, always displease, when they 
are employed to support any thing which is bulky, or has a 
heavy appearance. " The bulks and proportions of objects, 
(he immediately adds,) are governed by fitness and proprie- 
ty. It is this that has established the size and proportion of 
chairs, tables, and all sorts of utensils and furniture. It is 
this that has fixed the dimensions of pillars, arches, &c. for 
the support of great weight, and so regulated all the orders 
in architecture, as well as the sizes of windows and doors, 
&c. Thus, though a building were ever so large, the steps 
of the stairs, the seats in the windows must be continued of 
their usual heights, or they would lose their beauty with 
their fitness : and in ship-building the dimensions of every 
part are confined and regulated by fitness for sailing. When 
a vessel sails well, the sailors always call her a beauty ; the 
two ideas have such a connection ! " ASSOCIATED BEAUTY. 
75 
§. 46. Of utility as an element of associated beauty. 
Another element of associated beauty is the perception of 
utility. Some writers, among others Mr. Hume, have im- 
agined, that they were able to discover the origin or founda- 
tion of all emotions of beauty in this perception ; understand- 
ing, by the term utility, a fitness or adaptation of the beauti- 
ful object to some beneficial purpose. And it is undoubtedly 
true, that we contemplate this quality, whenever we discern 
it, with a degree of complacency and approbation. Many 
objects, when their use or adaptation to some beneficial pur- 
pose has become known to us, have at once been clothed with 
an interest which they did not before possess. We do not 
hesitate, therefore, to admit that a share of our emotions of 
associated beauty may be traced to this source. But when 
the perception of utility, (that is to say, of the fitness of 
the object for some profitable ends,) is proposed, as the 
ground and origin of all emotions of beauty, including those 
that are original as well as those that are associated, the 
doctrine evidently cannot be sustained. 
Mr. Burke, in his Treatise on the Sublime and Beautiful, 
has paid some attention to this doctrine. He rejects it alto- 
gether, considered as the universal basis of beauty. If it be 
admitted to be true, he considers it a fair inference from it, 
that the wedge-like snout of the swine, with its tough carti- 
lage at the end, and the general make of his head, so well 
adapted to digging and rooting, are extremely beautiful; and 
that hedge-hogs and porcupines, which are so admirably se- 
cured against all assaults by their prickly hides, can justly be 
considered creatures of no small elegance. 
On the theory, therefore, which proposes the perception 
of utility as the true ground of all emotions of beauty, both 
associated and original, it is enough for us to say, that it goes 
too far. It does, indeed, in connection with the laws of as- 
sociation, suggest a happy explanation of many such emo- 
tions, coming under the class of associated ; but by no 
means, of all even of these. 
§. 47. Of proportion as an element of associated beauty. 
There are some, who imagine, they find the source of 
beauty, in a certain symmetry and determinate proportion of 76 
ASSOCIATED BEAUTY. 
parts. This idea has been particularly advocated by artists, 
who seem to have supposed, that the elements of beauty 
might not only be discovered, but even measured in the 
great models of architecture, statuary, and painting. They 
assign perhaps to the height of a column the measurement 
of six or seven of its own diameters, and designate to an inch 
the length and breadth, which constitute the beautiful in 
other cases. Mr. Burke has examined this opinion also ; 
directing his inquiries to vegetables, the inferior animals, 
and man. He has shown, that, in all cases, there are no 
certain measures, on which the beautiful can justly be said 
to depend. 
For instance, in the vegetable creation we find nothing 
more beautiful than flowers, but there is a very great variety 
in their shape, and in the disposition of the parts, which 
pertain to them. In the rose, the stalk is slender but the 
flower is large. The flower or blossom of the apple, on the 
other hand, is very small, but the tree large. Now if one of 
these be in proportion, the other wants it ; and yet, by gen- 
eral consent, both the rose and the apple blossom possess 
beauty ; and the bush of the one, and the tree of the other 
allowedly present a very engaging appearance. If again 
we inquire in respect to man, and in respect to the inferior 
animal creation, we are brought to the same result, viz. that 
beauty does not depend upon a fixed relative size of the 
parts, that is, upon proportion. 
It is proper to remark, however, that the word proportion 
is sometimes used, not to signify something, which is definite, 
fixed, and invarible, but as synonymous with a fitness or 
propriety, which is gathered up from the general relations 
and aspects of the object, and is represented by a state of 
the mind itself. This subject we have already briefly consid- 
ered. And we readily admit, wherever there is a distinct 
suggestion of such an idea of fitness, there is also an addi- 
tional sentiment of the beautiful ; and wherever there is a 
perception of unfitness or want of propriety there is a dimi- 
nution of it. 
"The sense of propriety, (says Kaimes in some remarks 
on Gardening and Architecture,) dictates the following rule, 
That every building ought to have an expression correspon- ASSOCIATED BEAUTY. 
77 
ding to its destination. A palace ought to be sumptuous and 
grand ; a private dwelling, neat and modest ; a play house 
gay and splendid ; and a monument, gloomy und melan- 
choly." And it is entirely obvious, whenever this sense of 
propriety is violated, whether in these cases or in others like 
them, we fail to experience that pleasure, or to regard the 
object with that degree of complacency, which we otherwise 
should. 
§. 48. Relations of emotions of beauty to the fine arts. 
The remarks of the last section lead us farther to observe, 
that the study of this part of our constitution is exceedingly 
important in its applications to the fine arts. As a general 
statement, the true measurement of beauty in outward ob- 
jects is the amount of pleasure or satisfaction, which is caus- 
ed within ourselves. The fine arts are outward representa- 
tions, addressed in the first instance to the senses of sight 
and hearing in particular, and through them to that suscep- 
tibility of the beautiful, which exists in the interior of the 
soul ; and we can judge of their excellence, only by their 
effects in relation to that susceptibility. How great igno- 
rance, therefore, must we discover in all inquiries, where the 
fine arts are concerned, if we are not thoroughly acquainted 
with this part of our sentient nature ! 
Perhaps these remarks should be accompanied with a 
precautionary suggestion. The observation we wish to make 
is this. We are not at liberty, as a general thing, to pass a 
positive judgment on works of art, founded on our own emo- 
tions merely, and wholly exclusive of any consideration of 
the feelings of others. Some accidental circumstance, or 
some casual association of a more permanent kind may either 
unduly increase or diminish the precise effects, which would 
otherwise have been produced ; and we shall not be likely 
to be sensible of this perversion of feeling, if we rely on our- 
selves alone. Although, therefore, it is important, that we 
should correct our own judgments, by comparing them with 
the emotions and judgments of others, it will still remain 
true, that the great grounds of decision, in all cases of beau- 
ty or deformity in the works of art, will be found in ourselves. 
§. 49- Differences of original susceptibility of this emotion. 
Supposing it to be true, that we possess an original sus- 78 
ASSOCIATED BEAUTY. 
ceptibility of emotions of beauty, independently of what we 
derive from association, it seems, however, to be the fact, 
that this susceptibility is found existing in different degrees 
in different persons. Let the same beautiful object be pre- 
sented to two persons, and one will be found to be not only 
affected, but ravished, as it were, with feelings of beauty ; 
while the other will have the same kind of emotions, but in 
a very diminished degree. A great degree of susceptibili- 
ty of emotions of beauty, with a somewhat restricted import 
of the word, is usualy termed sensibility. 
The differences of men in this respect may justly be 
thought, where we cannot account for it by any thing in 
their education or mental culture, to be constitutional. Nor 
is it more strange, that men should be differently affected 
by the same beautiful objects, in consequence of some dif- 
ference of constitution, than that they should constitution- 
ally have different passions ; that one should be choleric, 
another of a peaceable turn ; that one should be mild and 
yielding, another inflexible. 
§. 50. Objection to the doctrine of original beauty. 
We stop here to notice one of the objections, which may 
occur, to the views, which have been given on the subject of 
beauty. Supposing, as we do, that the mind has originally 
certain tendencies to emotions of beauty, we readily admit 
the power of various circumstances in modifying, and in some 
cases, of overcoming such original tendencies. Nor, in point 
of fact, can it be denied, that the character of our feelings 
of beauty sometimes changes ; that is, what is regarded by 
us, as beautiful at one time, is not at another ; what is beau- 
tiful in the eyes of one age or of one nation, sometimes loses 
its lustre in the view of another. The objection is, that 
such changes of feeling in regard to the beautiful are incon- 
sistent with an original susceptibility of such emotions. 
(1) In answer to this difficulty, we would suggest, in the 
first place, that we experience analogous variations in other 
parts of the mind. Take, for instance, the susceptibility of 
Belief; that power by which we are led to regard any thing 
as true or false. It will surely be admitted, that there is in 
the mind an original tendency to assent to certain proposi- ASSOCIATED BEAUTY. 
79 
tions, rather than others of an opposite kind. It cannot be 
supposed that the characteristic of mind, which leads us to 
regard one thing as true, and another as false, is something, 
which is wholly superinduced,-the result merely of acciden- 
tal circumstances. But that, which is felt by us to be true 
to-day, may be felt by us to be false to-morrow; because we 
have then new facts before the mind, and new sources of ev- 
idence are disclosed. 
(2) It is also well known, that our estimates of subjects in a 
moral point of view, frequently alter. Those objects, which 
appeared just and worthy in youth, have sometimes a differ- 
ent appearance in manhood, and again have a different as- 
pect in old age. This is not because the mind, particularly 
the moral susceptibility, in its intrinsic nature, alters ; but be- 
cause objects are seen by us under different lights. Chang- 
es of opinion, similar to what may be noticed in individuals, 
may also be clearly noticed in the moral and religious history 
of different ages and nations. 
(3) Again, we find the same tendency to frequent fluctua- 
tions in the feelings of cheerfulness and melancholy, of mere 
pleasure and pain, of desire and aversion, as well as of beau- 
ty, and grandeur, and sublimity. The reason is, we take 
different views of objects. And this is much the same as to 
say, that truly different objects are presented to the mind 
from what we had contemplated before ; which is a cause 
amply sufficient for the changes we sometimes notice in these 
feelings. 
It is the same in regard to the objects, addressed to the 
susceptibility under consideration. To-day we regard some 
work of art as beautiful ; and if we find that it appears differ- 
ent to us to-morrow, it is because we have discovered in it 
some new touches, some new relations, which escaped our 
notice before, and which justly have the effect to diminish 
our estimate of the merit of the whole work. These consid- 
erations go no little ways in explaining the changes that 
sometimes take place, so far as intrinsic or original beauty is 
concerned. But we are to recollect, furthermore, that a 
considerable portion of beauty is confessedly built upon as- 
sociation ; and for this portion no one ever claimed an abso- 
lute permanency or uniformity. 80 
ASSOCIATED BEAUTY. 
§. 51. Summary of views in regard to the beautiful. 
As the subject of emotions of beauty is one of no small 
difficulty, it may be of advantage to give here a brief summa- 
ry of some of the prominent views in respect to it. 
(1) Of emotions of beauty it is difficult to give a definition, 
but we notice in them two marks or characteristics.-They 
imply, first a degree of pleasure, and secondly, are always 
referred by us to external objects as their cause. 
(2) Every beautiful object has something in itself, which 
discriminates it from other objects that are not beautiful. 
On this ground we may with propriety speak of beauty in 
the object. At the same time, a superadded lustre is reflect- 
ed back upon it from the mind ; and this too, whether the 
beauty be original or associated. 
(3) The feeling, which we term an emotion of beauty, is 
not limited to natural scenery, but may be caused also by the 
works of art, by the creations of the imagination, and by the 
various forms of intellectual and moral nature, so far as they 
can be presented to the mind. All these various objects and 
others may excite within us feelings of pleasure ; and the 
mind, in its turn, may reflect back upon the objects the lustre 
of its own emotion, and thus increase the degree of their 
beauty. 
(4) There is in the mind an original susceptibility of emo- 
tions in general, and of those of beauty in particular ; and 
not only this, some objects are found, in the constitution of 
things, to be followed by these feelings of beauty, while oth- 
ers are not; and such objects are spoken of as being origi- 
nally beautiful. That is, when the object is presented to the 
mind, it is of itself followed by emotions of beauty, without 
being aided by the influence of accessory and contingent cir- 
cumstances. 
(5) Without pretending to certainty in fixing upon those 
objects, to which, what is termed original or intrinsic beauty 
may be ascribed, there appears to be no small reason, in at- 
tributing it to certain forms, to sounds of a particular char- 
acter, to bright colors, to some varieties of motion, and to 
intellectual and moral excellence in general, whenever it 
can be made a distinct object of perception. 
(6) Many objects, which cannot be considered beautiful ASSOCIATED BEAUTY. 
81 
of themselves, become such by being associated with a varie- 
ty of former pleasing and enlivening recollections ; and such, 
as possess beauty of themselves, may augment the pleasing 
emotions from the same cause. Also much of the difference 
of opinion, which exists as to what objects are beautiful, and 
what are not, is to be ascribed to differences of association. 
These are some of the prominent views resulting from 
inquiries into this subject. 
§. 52. Of picturesque beauty. 
We apply the term picturesque to whatever objects cause 
in us emotions of beauty, in which the beauty does not con- 
sist in a single circumstance by itself, but in a considerable 
number, in a happy state of combination. The meaning of 
the term is analogous to the signification of some others of a 
like termination, which are derived to us from the Italian 
through the medium of the French. Mr. Stewart remarks of 
the word, arabesque, that it expresses something in the style 
of the Arabians ; moresque, something in the style of the 
Moors ; and grotesque, something, which bears a resemblance 
to certain whimsical delineations in a grotto or subterranean 
apartment at Rome. In like manner, picturesque, originally 
implies what is done in the style and spirit of a painter, who 
ordinarily places before us an object made up of a number of 
circumstances, in such a state of combination as to give 
pleasure. 
The epithet may be applied to natural scenery, and also 
to paintings, and to poetical descriptions. The following 
description from Thomson, which assembles together some 
of the circumstances, attending the cold, frosty nights of 
winter, is highly picturesque/ 
"Loud rings the frozen earth and hard reflects 
"A double noise ; while, at his evening watch, 
"The village dog deters the nightly thief; 
"The hiefer lows ; the distant waterfall 
"Swells in the breeze ; and with the hasty tread 
"Of traveller, the hollow-sounding plain 
"Shakes from afar. CHAPTER FOURTH. 
EMOTIONS OF SUBLIMITY. 
53. Connection between beauty and sublimity. 
Those emotions, which, by way of distinction, we desig- 
nate as sublime, are a class of feelings, which have much in 
common with emotions of beauty ; they do not appear to dif- 
fer so much in nature or kind, as in degree. When we exam- 
ine the feelings, which are embraced under these two desig- 
nations, we readily perceive, that they have a progression ; 
that there are numerous degrees in point of intensity ; but 
the emotion, although more vivid in one case than the other, 
and mingled with some foreign elements, is, for the most 
part, essentially the same. So that it is, by no means, im- 
possible to trace, in a multitude of cases, a connection even 
between the fainter feelings of beauty, and the most over- 
whelming emotions of the sublime. 
This progression of our feelings from one, that is gentle 
and pleasant, to one, that is powerful and even painful, has 
been illustrated in the case of a person, who is supposed to 
behold a river at its first rise in the mountains, and to follow 
it, as it winds and enlarges in the subjacent plains, and to 
behold it at last losing itself in the expanse of the ocean. 
For a time the feelings, which are excited within him, as he 
gazes on the prospect, are what are termed emotions of beau- 
ty. As the small stream, which had hitherto played in the 
uplands and amid foliage, that almost hid it from his view, 
increases its waters, separates its banks to a great distance 
from each other, and becomes the majestic river, his feelings 
are of a more powerful kind. We often, by way of distinc- EMOTIONS OF SUBLIMITY. 
83 
tion, speak of the feelings existing under such circumstances, 
as emotions of grandeur. At last it expands and disappears 
in the immensity of the ocean : the vast illimitable world of 
billows flashes in his sight. Then the emotion, widening 
and strengthening with the magnitude and energy of the ob- 
jects, which accompany it, becomes sublime. Emotions of 
sublimity, therefore, chiefly differ, at least in most instances, 
from those of beauty in being more vivid. 
§. 54. The occasions of the emotions of sublimity various. 
As the emotions of sublimity are simple, they are conse- 
quently undefinable. Nevertheless, as they are the direct 
subjects of our consciousness, we cannot be supposed to be 
ignorant of their nature. It may aid, however, in rendering 
our comprehension of them more distinct and clear in some 
respects, if we mention some of the occasions on which they 
arise. But before proceeding to do this, it is proper to re- 
cur a moment to a subject more fully insisted on in the chap- 
ter on Beauty : but which also properly has a place here. 
We have reference to the unquestionable fact, that the occa- 
sions of sublime emotions, are not exclusively one ; in other 
words, are not found in a single element merely, as some 
persons may be likely to suppose ; but, like those of beauty, 
are multiplied and various. The measure of the sublimity of 
the object is the character of the emotion, which it excites ; 
and if the sublime emotion exists, as unquestionably it does, 
on various occasions, this of itself is decisive as to the re- 
mark, which has been made. Accordingly the proper object 
before us, in the first instance, seems to be to indicate some 
of these occasions. 
§. 55. Great extent or expansion an occasion of sublimity. 
In endeavoring to point out some of the sources of sublim- 
ity, our first remark is, that the emotion of the sublime may 
arise in view of an object which is characterized by vast ex- 
tent or expansion ; in other words, by the attribute of mere 
horizontal amplitude. Accordingly it is with entire proprie- 
ty, that Mr. Stewart makes a remark to this effect, that a 
Scotchman, who had never witnessed any thing of the kind 
before, would experience an emotion approaching to sublimi- 84 
EMOTIONS OF SUBLIMITY- 
ty, on beholding for the first time the vast plains of Salisbury 
and Yorkshire in England. Washington Irving also, in a 
passage of the Alhambra, has a remark to the same purport. 
"There is something, (he observes,) in the sternly simple 
features of the Spanish landscape, that impresses on the soul 
a feeling of sublimity. The immense plains of the Castiles 
and La Mancha, extending as far as the eye can reach, de- 
rive an interest from their very nakedness and immensity, 
and have something of the solemn grandeur of the ocean." 
In regard to the ocean, one of the most sublime objects which 
the human mind can contemplate, it cannot be doubted, that 
one element of its sublimity is the unlimited expanse which 
it presents. 
§. 56. Great height an element or occasion of sublimity. 
Mere height, independently of considerations of expan- 
sion or extent, appears also to constitute an occasion of the 
sublime. Every one has experienced this, when standing at 
the base of a very steep and lofty cliff, hill, or mountain. 
When, in the silence of night, we stand under the clear open 
sky, we can hardly fail, as we look upward, to experience a 
sublime emotion, occasioned partly by the immensity of the 
object, but also in part by its vast height. Travellers have 
often spoken of the sublime emotion, occasioned by viewing 
the celebrated Natural Bridge in Virginia, from the bottom of 
the deep ravine, over which it is thrown. This bridge is a 
single solid rock, about sixty feet broad, ninety feet long, and 
forty thick. It is suspended over the head of the spectator, 
who views it from the bottom of the narrow glen, at the ele- 
vation of two hundred and thirty feet; an immense height 
for such an object. It is not in human nature to behold with- 
out strong feeling such a vast vault of solid lime-stone, 
springing lightly into the blue upper air, and remaining thus 
outstretched, as if it were the arm of the Almighty himself, 
silent, unchangeable, eternal. 
57. Of depth in connection with the sublime. 
It is a circumstance confirmatory of the view, that it is im- 
possible to resolve the grounds of sublimity into a single occa- 
sion or element, that we find the depth as well as the height EMOTIONS OF SUBLIMITY. 
85 
of things, the downward as well as the upward, the antece- 
dent and cause of this emotion. We are doubtful, however, 
whether depth is so decisively, as it is certainly not so fre- 
quently a cause, as elevation or height ; which last, on ac- 
count of its frequent connection with their existence, has giv- 
en the name to this class of feelings. But others may think 
differently. Mr. Burke has the following passage on this 
point, "I am apt to imagine, that height is less grand than 
depth ; and that we are more struck at looking down from a 
precipice, than looking up at an object of equal height; but 
of that I am not very positive." 
But, however this may be, there is no doubt that sublime 
emotions may arise from this cause. When we are placed 
on the summit of any high object, and look downward into 
the vast opening below, it is impossible not to be strongly 
affected. The sailor on the wide ocean, when in the solitary 
watches of the night lie casts his eye upward to the lofty 
illuminated sky, has a sublime emotion ; and he feels the 
same strong sentiment stirring within him, when a moment 
afterwards he thinks of the vast unfathomable abyss beneath 
him, over which he is'suspended by the frail plank of his ves- 
sel. No one, we imagine, can read Shakspeare's description 
of Dover Clitfs, without feeling that there is a sublimity in 
the depths beneath, as well as in the heights above. 
"How fearful 
"And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low! 
"The crows and choughs that wing the midway air, 
"Show scarce so gross as beetles. Half-way down 
"Hangs one, that gathers samphire, dreadful trade! 
"Methinks he seems no bigger than my head. 
"The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, 
"Appear like mice ; and yon tall anchoring bark 
"Diminished to a boat ; her boat a buoy, 
"Almost too small for sight. The murmuring surge, 
"That on the unnumbered idle pebbles chafes, 
"Cannot be hea>rd so high. I'll look no more, 
"Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight 
"Topple down headlong. 
§. 58. Of colors in connection with the sublime. 
The colors also, as well as the forms of bodies, may, to a 
limited extent, furnish the occasion of sublime emotions. 86 
EMOTIONS OF SUBLIMITY. 
The lightning, when at a distance it is seen darting to the 
earth in one continuous chain of overpowering brightness ; 
the red meteor shooting athwart the still, dark sky ; the 
crimson Aurora Borealis, which occasionally diffuses the tints 
of the morning over the hemisphere of midnight, are sublime 
objects ; and although there are other elements, which unite 
in forming the basis of the sublime emotion, it is probably to 
be ascribed in part to the richness and vividness of colors. 
What object is more sublimely impressive, than the contrast- 
ed hues of the mingling fires and smoke of a burning volca- 
no! Darkness, particularly, is an element of the sublime. 
When the clouds are collecting together on some distinct and 
distant portion of the sky, how intently the eye fixes itself 
on those masses, which wear the visage of the deepest gloom! 
Forests, and frowning cliffs, and mountains, and the wide 
ocean itself, and whatever other objects are susceptible of 
sublimity, are rendered still more sublime by the shades and 
darkness, that are sometimes made to pass over them. The 
poets of all countries have represented the Deity, the most 
sublime object of contemplation, as enthroned in the midst 
of darkness. "He bowed the heavens also, and came 
down; and darkness was under his feet. He made darkness his 
secret place ; his pavilion round about were dark waters, and 
thick clouds of the skies." 
59. Of sounds as furnishing an occasion of sublime emotions. 
We find another element of the sublime in sounds of a cer- 
tain description. There are some cries and voices of animals, 
which are usually regarded as sublime. The roar of the 
lion, not only in the solitudes of his native deserts, but at all 
times partakes of the character of sublimity. The human 
voice, in combination with a suitable number of other voices, 
is capable of uttering sublime words ; and does in fact utter 
them, in performing many of the works of the great masters 
and composers of music. There is no small degree of sublim- 
ity in the low deep murmur of the organ, independently of 
the moral and religious associations connected with it. It is 
presumed no one will doubt, that the trumpet, in the hands 
of a skilful performer, is capable of originating sublime sounds. 
Almost every one must have noticed a peculiarly impressive EMOTIONS OF SUBLIMITY. 
87 
sound, sent forth by a large and compact forest of pines, 
when waved by a heavy wind, which obviously has the same 
character. The heavy and interminable sound of the ocean, 
as it breaks upon the shore, is sublime ; and hardly less so, 
the ceaseless voice of the congregated waters of some vast 
cataract. To these instances may be added the sound cf a 
cannon, not only when it comes from the field of battle, but 
at any time ; and still more, the mighty voice of thunder. 
The latter sound is often mentioned in the Scriptures, in 
connection with the attributes of the Supreme Being ; and 
apparently for the purpose of heightening the idea of his sub- 
limity. "The Lord also thundered in the heavens, and the 
Highest gave his voice." "The voice of the Lord is upon 
the waters ; the God of glory thundereth." 
We leave this part of the subject with introducing a re- 
mark from Coleridge, which goes to confirm the general doc- 
trine of the sublimity of some sounds. He had been saying 
something of the scenery, the lake of Ratzeburg, when he 
adds: "About a month ago, before the thaw came on, there 
was a storm of wind. During the whole night, such were 
the thunders and howlings of the breaking ice, that they 
left a conviction on my mind, that there are sounds more 
sublime than any sight can be, more absolutely suspending 
the power of comparison and more utterly absorbing the 
mind's self-consciousness in its total attention to the object 
working upon it."* 
§. 60. Of motion in connection with the sublime. 
It will be noticed from the train of thought, which has 
been pursued, that there is a close analogy between beauty 
and sublimity, not only in the feelings which are originated, 
but also in the occasions of their origin. As the sentiments 
of beauty were found to be connected not only with the 
forms of objects, but also with colors and sounds; so also are 
those of sublimity. And furthermore, as we found beauty 
connecting itself with certain kinds of motion, we find motion 
the basis likewise, in some of its modifications, of emotions 
of the sublime. 
We often experience, for instance, emotions of sublimity 
* The Friend, Am. Ed. p. 323. 88 
EMOTIONS OF SUBLIMITY. 
in witnessing objects, that move with great swiftness. This 
is one source of the feelings we have, at beholding bodies of 
water running violently down a cataract. For the same rea- 
son, although there are undoubtedly other elements of the 
emotions we feel, the huricane, that hastens onward with 
irresistible velocity, and lays waste whatever it meets, is 
sublime. And here also we find a cause of part of that sub- 
lime emotion, which men have often felt on seeing at a dis- 
tance the electric fluid, darting from the cloud to the earth ; 
and at witnessing the sudden flight of a meteor. 
§. 61. Indications of power accompanied by emotions of the sublime. 
The contemplation of mental objects, as well as of materi- 
al, may be attended with this species of emotion. Power, 
for instance, is an attribute of mind and not of matter ; and 
the exhibition of it is frequently sublime. It is hardly neces- 
sary to say, in making- this remark, that power is not any 
thing-, which is directly addressed to the outward senses ; 
but is rather presented to the mind as an object of inward 
suggestion. Nevertheless, the causes of this suggestion may 
exist in outward objects ; and whenever this is the case, the 
feelings, with which we contemplate such objects, are gen- 
erally increased. In other words, whatever sublimity may 
characterize an object, if in addition to its other sublime 
traits, it strongly suggests to us the idea of power, the sub- 
lime feeling is more or less heightened by this suggestion. 
Nothing can be more sublime, than a volcano throwing 
out from its bosom clouds, and burning stones, and immense 
rivers of lava. Audit is unquestionable, that the sublime 
emotion is attributable, in part, to the overwhelming indica- 
tions of power, which are thus given. An earthquake is 
sublime ; not only in its mightier efforts of destruction, but 
hardly less so in those slighter tremblings and heavings of 
the earth, which indicate the footsteps of power, rather than 
of ruin. The ocean, greatly agitated with a storm, and tos- 
sing the largest navies, as if in sport, possesses an increase 
of sublimity, on account of the more striking indications of 
power, which it at such a time gives. The shock of large 
armies also, which concentrates the most terrible exhibition 
of human energy, is attended with an increased sublimity EMOTIONS OF SUBLIMITY. 
89 
for the same reason. But in all these instances, as in most 
others, the sublime emotion cannot be ascribed solely to one 
cause ; something is to be attributed to vast extent ; some- 
thing to the original effect of the brilliancy or darkness of 
colors ; and something to feelings of dread and danger. 
§. 62. Of moral worth in connection with sublimity. 
A consciousness of the feeling of the sublime is not limited 
to suggestions of power. There are other mental attributes, 
which, under certain circumstances, are attended with the 
same effect. In general, all those feelings, which are of a 
praise-worthy character, such as sympathy, benevolence, 
and the sentiment of justice, may become sublime, when put 
forth under such circumstances as strongly to affect our 
hearts. The man, who, in support of some great moral or 
religious principle, not only surrenders his property, but 
calmly and triumphantly sacrifices his life, is, in the highest 
sense, a sublime object of contemplation. This is a topic 
of no small interest. But as under the head of the Moral 
Sublime, it will be made the subject of a distinct chapter, it 
is unnecessary to delay upon it here. 
We have seen at the commencement of this chapter, that 
a regular procession may, in most instances, be traced from 
the beautiful to the sublime. It seems, therefore, to follow 
that instances of the sublime will, on the removal of some 
circumstances, possess more or less of the beautiful. And 
this, on examination, will be found to be generally the case. 
Take, as an example, the shock of powerful armies, which is 
confessedly a sublime scene. We have only to remove the 
circumstance of slaughter ; and at once the regular order of 
the troops, their splendid dress and rapid movements, togeth- 
er with the floating of banners and the sound of music, are 
exceedingly picturesque and beautiful ; nothing more so. 
And all this, in point of fact, is probably none the less beau- 
tiful, when thousands are falling and dying in actual contest ; 
although the painful emotion, consequent on witnessing a 
scene of slaughter, so much overpowers the sense of the 
beautiful, that it appears even not to have an existence. If 
§. 63. Sublime objects have some elements ofbeauty. 90 
EMOTIONS OF SUBLIMITY. 
the engagement between the armies should be without the 
accompaniments of military dress, and without order, and 
without strains of music, but a mere struggle between man 
and man, with such arms as came readiest into their power, 
the scene, however destructive and terrible, would be any 
thing, rather than sublime. 
A multitude of other instances, particularly such as are 
drawn from the works of nature, would seem to illustrate 
the same general fact. Diminish the force of the whirlwind 
to that of the gentle breeze, and as it playfully sweeps by us, 
we feel that emotion of pleasure, which is an element of the 
beautiful. And so when the mighty cataract is dwindled 
down to the cascade, we shall discover, that the tumultuous 
emotions of the sublime are converted into the gentler feel- 
ings of beauty. 
However true it maybe, as a general statement, that sub- 
limityimplies some elements of the beautiful, it is not neces- 
sary to assert, that this is always the case. Perhaps in some 
instances it is not. As an illustration, some will think, it is 
not very evident that barren heaths and sandy plains of 
small extent have any portion cf beauty ; and still, when 
they are spread abroad before us to a great extent, and espe- 
cially when seen from the summit of some elevated object, 
they may have a considerable degree of the sublime. The 
statement given is meant as a general one, admitting certain- 
ly of but few exceptions. 
§. 64. Emotions of grandeur. 
For all the various emotions, of which we are now speak- 
ing, as they rise from the lowest to the highest, we have the 
two general terms, beauty, and sublimity. There is, how- 
ever, another form of expression, which is, with some good 
reason, putting forth its claims to be received into use ; viz. 
emotions of grandeur. We may happily apply this phraseology 
to various objects, which we hardly know whether to class 
with the beautiful or sublime ; having too much of fullness 
and expansiveness for the former, and too little of power for 
the latter. The meandering river is beautiful ; as it becomes 
deeper and wider, it assumes an appearance not of mere 
beauty but of grandeur ; but the ocean only is more than 
either, is sublime. EMOTIONS OF SUBLIMITY. 
91 
§. 65. Of the original or primary sublimity of objects. 
If there be a connection between the beautiful and sublime, 
if beauty, grandeur, and sublimity are only names for various 
emotions, not so much differing in kind, as in degree ; essen- 
tially the same views, which were advanced in respect to 
beauty, will hold here. It will follow, if the contemplation 
of some objects is attended with emotions of beauty, inde- 
pendently of associated feelings ; or, in other words, if they 
have a primary or original beauty, that there are objects also 
originally sublime. Hence we may conclude, that whatever 
has great height, or great depth, or vast extent, or other at- 
tributes of the sublime, will be able to excite in us emotions 
of sublimity of themselves, independently of the subordinate 
or secondary aid, arising from any connected feelings. We 
have much ground for regarding this as a correct supposi- 
tion. We have good reason to believe, that our Creator 
has appointed certain objects, or perhaps we should say, cer- 
tain forms or conditions of objects, as antecedent to the sub- 
lime within us. 
§. 66. Considerations in proof of the original sublimity of objects. ; 
It may be inferred, that there is such primary or original 
sublimity, not only in view of the connection, which has been 
stated to exist between the beautiful and sublime, but be- 
cause it is no doubt agreeable to the common experience of 
men. But in resting the proposition, (where undoubtedly it 
ought to rest,) on experience, we must inquire, as in former 
chapters, into the feelings of the young. And this, for the 
obvious reason, that, when persons are somewhat advanced 
in age, it is difficult to separate the primary from the secon- 
dary or associated sublimity. They have then become inex- 
tricably mingled together. Now take a child, and place 
him suddenly on the shores of the ocean, or in full sight of 
darkly wooded mountains of great altitude, or before the 
clouds and fires and thunders of volcanoes ; and, in most ca- 
ses he will be filled with sublime emotions ; his mind will 
swell at the perception ; it will heave to and fro, like the 
ocean itself in a tempest. His eye, his countenance, his ges- 
tures will indicate a power of internal feeling, which the lim- 
ited language he can command is unable to express. This 92 
EMOTIONS OF SUBLIMITY- 
may be well stated as a fact, because it has been frequently 
noticed by those who are competent to observe. 
Again, if a person can succeed in conveying to a child by 
means of words sublime ideas of whatever kind, similar emo- 
tions will be found to exist, although generally in a less de- 
gree, than when objects are directly presented to the senses. 
By way of confirming this, a statement of the younger Lord 
Lyttleton, who seems to have been naturally a person of 
much sensibility, may be appealed to. He relates, that, 
when quite a boy, he was very forcibly struck with reading 
the following sublime passage of Milton. 
"He spake ; and to confirm his words, out-flew 
"Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs 
"Of mighty Cherubim ; the sudden blaze 
"Far round illumined Hell. 
An instance still more to the purpose, because the precise 
age is specified, is that of Sir William Jones. "In his fifth 
year as he was one morning turning over the leaves of a 
Bible in his mother's closet, his attention was forcibly arrest- 
ed by the sublime description of the angel in the tenth chap- 
ter of the Apocalypse ; and the impression which his imagi- 
nation received from it was never effaced. At a period of 
mature judgment he considered the passage as equal in sub- 
limity to any in the inspired writers, and far superior to any 
that could be produced from mere human compositions ; and 
he was fond of retracing and mentioning the rapture which 
he felt, when he first read it." The passage referred to is 
as follows. "And I saw another mighty angel come down 
from heaven clothed with a cloud ; and a rainbow was upon 
his head, and his face wrns as it were the sun, and his feet as 
pillars of fire."* 
§. 67. Influence of association on emotions of sublimity. 
Granting, therefore, that sublime emotions are in part 
original, still it is unquestionably true, that a considerable 
share of them is to be attributed to association. As an illus- 
tration we may refer to the effects of sounds. When a 
sound suggests ideas of danger, as the report of artillery, and 
the howling of a storm ; when it calls up recollections of 
* See Letters of Lord Lyttleton, xxv, and Teignmouth's Life of Sir 
Win. Jones, Am. Ed. p. 14. EMOTIONS OF SUBLIMITY. 
93 
mighty power, as the fall of a cataract, and the rumbling of 
an earthquake, the emotion of sublimity, which we feel, is 
greatly increased by such suggestions. Few simple sounds 
are thought to have more of sublimity than the report of a 
cannon ; but how different, how much greater the strength 
of feeling than on other occasions, whenever we hear it com- 
ing to us from the fields of actual conflict ! Many sounds, 
which are in themselves inconsiderable, and are not much 
different from many others, to which we do not attach the 
character of sublimity, become highly sublime by association. 
There is frequently a low feeble sound, preceding the coming 
of a storm, which has this character. 
"Along the woods, along the moorish fens, 
"Sighs the sad genius of the coming storm, 
"Resounding long in fancy's listening ear. 
Thompson's Winter. 
It is sometimes the case, that people, whose sensibilities 
are much alive to thunder, mistake for it some common 
sounds, such as the noise of a carriage, or the rumbling of a 
cart. While they are under this mistake, they feel these 
sounds as sublime ; because they associate with them all 
those ideas of danger and of mighty power, which they cus- 
tomarily associate with thunder. The hoot of the owl at 
midnight is sublime chiefly by association ; also the scream 
of the eagle, heard amid rocks and deserts. The latter is 
particularly expressive of fierce and lonely independence ; 
and both are connected in our remembrance with some strik- 
ing poetical passages. 
§. 68. Further illustrations of sublimity from association 
The same results will be found to hold good in other 
cases. The sight of broken and heavy masses of dark clouds, 
driven about by the wind, is sublime. But how much more 
fruitful of emotion to those, who, in the days of Fingal and 
Ossian, saw them, in their prolific imaginations, peopled with 
the ghosts of the dead ; with the assemblies of those, whose 
renown had continued to live long after their bodies had re- 
turned to the dust! " Temora's woods shook with the 
blast of the inconstant wind. A cloud gathered in the West. 
A red star looked from behind its edge. I stood in the wood 94 
EMOTIONS OF SUBLIMITY. 
alone ; I saw a ghost in the darkened air ; his stride extend- 
ed from hill to hill. His shield was dim on his side. It was 
the son of Semo." * 
A view of the Egyptian pyramids animates us with sub- 
lime emotions ; it is impossible to behold such vast efforts of 
human power, and be unmoved ; but the strength of these 
feelings is increased by means of the deeply impressive re- 
collection that they have stood unshaken, while successive 
generations have flourished and perished at their feet, and 
by their being connected with many ideas of ancient magni- 
ficence, and with the suggestion of once renowned but now 
unknown kings and conquerers. Mount Sinai in Arabia Pe- 
trsea is a rocky pile of considerable altitude, and like other 
summits must have always excited some emotion in those, 
who beheld it ; but when it is seen by a Christian traveller, 
the sublime emotion is greatly increased by the recollection 
of the importance, which this summit holds in the history of 
the Jews, and of its consequent connection with the belief 
and the hopes of all those, who embrace the religion of the 
Bible. 
* Ossian, Epic Poem of Temora, Bk. I. CHAPTER FIFTH. 
NATURE OF INTELLECTUAL TASTE. 
§. 69. Definition of taste and some of its characteristics. 
At this point in the examination of the Sensibilities, we 
turn aside for a moment to consider a subject, which is close- 
ly and indissolubly connected with those emotions, which 
have thus far received our attention ; we refer to intellectual 
taste. It is sometimes the case, that a strong- light is thrown 
upon a subject by the mere position which it occupies, in 
reference to other topics closely related to it. It is for this 
reason, that the subject of Taste, one both philosophically 
and practically of great importance, is introduced in this im- 
mediate connection. 
If we were required to give a definition, we should say, 
that Taste, in the most general sense of the term, is the 
power of judging of the beauty or deformity of objects, found- 
ed on the experience of emotions ; particularly those of beau- 
ty, grandeur, and sublimity. 
In view of this definition, there are two things to be no- 
ticed. (1) Taste is not a Sensitive, but an Intellectual 
power ; its decisions, although in consequence of its close 
connection with the feelings it may often seem to be other- 
wise, are not acts of the Heart, but of the Understanding. 
So that in the arrangement of the mental powers, notwith- 
standing its introduction here, it belongs strictly to the First, 
rather than the Second great division of the mind. (2) 
Taste, as is obviously implied in the definition, is not an 
original power, distinct from every other, and having a na- 
ture of its own ; but seems to be rather a modification or form 96 
NATURE OF INTELLECTUAL TASTE. 
of the Judgment. It differs from other exhibitions of the 
Judgment merely in the circumstance of its being exercised 
in a particular way, viz, in view of certain emotions and the 
causes of these emotions. In accordance with this view, an 
old English writer has correctly said-; " What we call taste 
is a kind of extempore judgment ; it is a settled habit of distin- 
guishing, without staying to attend to rules or ratiocination, 
and arises from long use and experience." * 
§. 70. Distinguishable from mere quickness of feeling or sensibility. 
If taste be an intellectual power originating in the under- 
standing rather than the heart, then it seems to follow, and 
is unquestionably the fact, that it is not to be confounded 
with mere quickness of feeling, with mere sensibility. At 
the same time it is to be recollected, that there is no taste, 
which is absolutely exclusive of sensibility; and that, though 
they are not identical, they are closely connected together. 
Without any degree of sensibility there would be no possibil- 
ity of emotion ; and consequently, as it is the peculiarity of 
taste, the very thing which constitutes it what it is, to sit in 
judgment on emotions, the extinction of the sensibility in- 
volves the extinction of taste. And it is for this reason we 
are led to say, that they are closely connected, although 
they are not identical. 
And that they are not identical is not only obvious from 
the fact, that the sensitive and the intellectual, the under- 
standing and the heart are in their nature necessarily dis- 
tinct from each other ; but also from the fact, that we some- 
times find men of great sensibility, who are acknowledged by 
common consent to be deficient in the other attribute. In- 
deed the excess of their sensibility seems in some cases to 
be an obstacle in the way of the perfection of their taste; 
the very cause of that deficiency of taste, which they are 
perceived to manifest. When the excitement of feeling at- 
tendant on viewing an object is very great, it is a matter of 
course, that the powers of perception and judgment, which 
are employed in the examination of its qualities considered 
as the cause of this internal excitement, will be perplexed 
and hindered. So that it is sometimes necessary to check 
* Hughes as quoted by Stewart, Essay III, Chap. 3d. NATURE OF INTELLECTUAL TASTE. 
97 
for a time the tide of feeling, to contract and embank the 
fountain of sensibility, in order that the taste, which pene- 
trates back of feeling into the causes and conditions of feel- 
ing, may suitably discharge its appropriate office. 
§.71. Of the process involved in the formation of taste 
Although every man of entire sanity of mind possesses 
the materials or elements, which are prerequisite to taste, 
yet not every man is spoken of and regarded as possessing 
the thing itself. The materials must be moulded into a 
certain shape, the elements must be compacted into a spe- 
cific form before they will be considered as entitling their 
possessor to the honor of that valuable attribute. When we 
speak of a man of taste,we imply in the expressions, that he 
has a knowledge of and is able to foretell, with a considera- 
ble degree of accuracy, what works will be found generally 
pleasing, or the opposite. This ability, as it exists in the 
man of taste, has sometimes been thought to be original or 
implanted ; but it is not so. Generally speaking, it is the 
result of a long, and frequently laborious process of induc- 
tion. He, who aspires to the possession of this power, must 
condescend as preparatory to obtaining it, to subject his judg- 
ment to a course of training and discipline. Accordingly he 
contemplates the works of nature and an, first, in refer- 
ence to himself ; he examines the nature of the emotions 
which are excited in his own bosom, whether of beauty or of 
a different kind ; and is thus enabled to decide, so far as he 
is himself concerned, whether the object is to be regarded 
as beautiful or not. He accordingly sets down some objects 
and qualities of objects as pleasing, others as displeasing ; or 
what is the same thing, he characterizes some as beautiful 
and others as deformed ; and others, again, as possessing the 
marks of grandeur, or of sublimity. 
Not only this, he endeavors to ascertain the impressions, 
which the same objects make upon the minds of others, and 
carefully compares the result of this inquiry with his own 
feelings, in order the more effectually to exclude from his 
decisions the possibility of mistake. In this way, sustained 
by the emotions of his own heart and the concurrent feelings 
of others, he is enabled to detect and to point out, in regard to 98 
NATURE OF INTELLECTUAL TASTE. 
a particular object, not merely the general fact of its beauty, 
but the elements of it ; in other words, the specific things 
and relations in the object, on which its beauty is based. 
Having frequently repeated this process in respect to those 
objects which happen to come within his particular province 
or department, he becomes so familiar with the principles of 
beauty and sublimity within its limits, that he is, to that ex- 
tent at least, regarded as a man of taste. A reputation 
which it is vain to suppose can be secured without some such 
process of repeated examination and comparison. 
§. 72. Instantaneousness of the decisions of taste. 
There is one distinctive peculiarity in the operations of 
taste, which may at first sight be thought to be inconsistent 
with that process of comparison and examination, which has 
just been mentioned, viz, its rapidity of action, the instanta- 
neousness of its decisions. It is this circumstance probably 
more than any other, which has originated and cherished the 
idea, too often prevalent, that taste is an original faculty dis- 
tinct from every other, and never possessed where it is not 
given by nature.-The instantaneousness of operation, which 
has been mentioned, is undoubtedly the result of Habit, and 
is easily explainable by a reference to the tendencies and 
effects of that great principle of the mind. By the term 
Habit, in its application to the mind, we express the well 
known fact, that the mental action acquires facility and 
strength from repetition and practice. But so many instan- 
ces in illustration of its nature and results have already been 
given, we cannot suppose it to be necessary to delay upon 
the subject here. And if the nature of habit is understood, 
and if it is applicable, as it unquestionably is, to the matter 
under consideration, then the mystery, which may be 
thought to rest on the instantaneousness of the operations 
of taste, at once vanishes. 
The military engineer by a single glance of the eye de- 
tects the aptitudes and peculiarities of a military position ; 
the experienced mechanician in like manner detects with 
a rapidity, which to others has the appearance of intui- 
tion, the parts and the relations, the hindrances and the im- 
pulsions of a complicated machine. It is habit, which is the NATURE OF INTELLECTUAL TASTE. 
99 
secret of the power, manifested in both of these cases ; and 
in a multitude of others like them. And for the same reason 
the man of taste, availing himself of the immense power, 
which Habit has given to his critical judgment, discriminates 
in the works of genius, by an instantaneous perception, the 
elements of their beauty or sublimity. 
§. 73. Of the permanency of beauty. 
Before leaving this subject, there is one other topic, which 
is deserving of a brief notice. We refer to the question, 
whether we are to regard beauty as truly real and permanent, 
or as accidental and transitory ? In other words, whether 
we are to look upon it as something essential to nature, so 
that in its original and intrinsic elements it will be found to 
affect all mankind nearly alike in all countries and ages ; or 
as merely a pleasing illusion of the imagination, dependent 
wholly upon some interesting conjuncture of time and cir- 
cumstances ? The doctrines, which have been advanced, 
help us in answering this interesting question. Various con- 
siderations point distinctly to the conclusion, that beauty, 
so far as it may exist independently of association, has its 
foundation in nature, possesses its fixed causes and relations, 
and may justly be regarded, in respect to the human mind at 
least, as something permanent. 
This view is sustained, in the first place, by the fact, 
which has already appeared, that beauty in the first instance 
is original, and not associated. That beauty, in some prop- 
er and real sense of the term, exists, is a fact; that the hu- 
man mind is readily accessible to its influence, is a fact also ; 
and, in the case of primary or intrinsic beauty, no other rea- 
son can be given either of its existence or of its influence, 
than that such is the constitution of nature. And this state 
of things seems clearly to involve its permanency. If all 
beauty were associated, as some seem to have contended, it 
would be very different; we could not, in that case, predicate 
of what is beautiful to-day, that it would be so to-morrow ; 
but it would be found constantly changing. But the fact, 
that a large portion of it is intrinsic, appears necessarily to 
furnish a basis of the permanency of that portion at least. 
In the second place, the doctrine, that beauty, in distinc- 100 
NATURE OF INTELLECTUAL TASTE. 
tion from deformity, is permanent, and is in some way con- 
nected with the established nature of things, is confirmed by 
the fact, that the standard of beauty in one age has been es- 
sentially the standard of beauty in another, from the begin- 
ning of time down to the present hour. The great works of 
literature, which secured the suffrages of the universal mind 
in the age of Homer and the Hebrew prophets, retain their 
ascendency yet. The song of Virgil and the eloquence of 
Tully come over the heart of those, who are able to appreci- 
ate them with as much power, as when they were first ut- 
tered. No later age or country has ever pronounced the 
great works of ancient architecture, the Temple of Theseus, 
the Parthenon, the Coliseum, and numberless others, to be 
destitute of those high attractions, which the nations of an- 
tiquity concurred in ascribing to them. And in the sister 
art of sculpture, it is well known that the specimens of statu- 
ary, which were the boast of the age of Phidias, have formed 
the study of the era of Canova. And it is the same in all the 
departments of the polite arts. Intrinsic Beauty, where it 
appears at all, stands forth imperishable in fact, which is 
certainly an evidence of an imperishable nature. According- 
ly, under the conviction of its being of this character, Sir 
Joshua Reynolds says of the painter, if he aims at distin- 
guished excellence, "he must disregard all local and tempo- 
rary ornaments, and look only on those general habits which 
are every where and always the same ; he addresses his 
works to the people of every country and every age ; he 
calls upon posterity to be his spectators, and says with Zeux- 
is, IN JETERNITATEM PINGO." CHAPTER SIXTH. 
EMOTIONS OF THE LUDICROUS. 
In prosecuting- the g-eneral subject of emotions, we are 
next to consider another well known class, which are of a 
character somewhat peculiar, viz. emotions of the ludicrous. 
It is difficult to g-ive a precise definition of this feeling-, al- 
though the same may be said of it, as in respect to emotions 
of beauty, that it is a pleasant or delightful one. But the 
pleasure, which we experience, receives a peculiar modifica- 
tion, and one, which cannot be fully conveyed in words, in 
consequence of our perception of some incongruity in the 
person or thing which is the cause of it. In this case, as 
in many other inquiries in mental philosophy, we are obliged 
to rely chiefly on our own consciousness, and our knowledge 
of what takes place in ourselves. 
§. 74. General nature of emotions of the ludicrous- 
§. 75. Occasions of emotions of the ludicrous. 
It may, however, assist us in the better understanding of 
them, if we say something of the occasions, on which the 
emotions of the ludicrous are generally found to arise. And 
among other things it is exceedingly clear, that this feeling 
is never experienced, except when we notice something, 
either in thoughts, or in outward objects and actions, which 
is unexpected and uncommon. That is to say, whenever this 
emotion is felt, there is always an unexpected discovery by 
us of some new relations. But then it must be observed, 
that the feeling in question does not necessarily exist in con- 
sequence of the discovery of such new relations merely. 
Something more is necessary, as may be very readily seen. 102 
EMOTIONS OF THE LUDICROUS. 
Thus, we are sometimes, in the physical sciences, pre- 
sented with unexpected and novel combinations of the prop- 
erties and qualities of bodies. But whenever we discover in 
those sciences relations in objects, which were not only un- 
known, but unsuspected, we find no emotion of ludicrousness, 
although we are very pleasantly surprised. Again, similies, 
metaphors, and other like figures of speech imply in general 
some new and unexpected relations of ideas. It is this trait 
in them, which gives them their chief force. But when em- 
ployed in serious compositions, they are of a character far 
from being ludicrous. 
Hence we infer, that emotions of ludicrousness do not ex- 
ist on the discovery of new and unexpected relations, unless 
there is at the same time a perception, or supposed percep- 
tion of some incongruity or unsuitableness. Such perception 
of unsuitableness maybe expected to give to the whole emo- 
tion a new and specific character, which every one is ac- 
quainted with from his own experience, but which, as before 
intimated, it is difficult to express in words. 
§. 76. Of Hobbes'account of the ludicrous. 
There has not been an entire uniformity on the subject of 
the emotions of the ludicrous. It would seem, that Hobbes 
(human nature, chap, ix,) considered feelings of this kind, 
as depending on a modification of mere pride in a comparison 
of ourselves with others to our own advantage. He says of 
laughter, which, when considered in reference to the mind 
and independently of the mere muscular action, is nothing 
more than a feeling of the ludicrous, that it is "a sudden 
glory, arising from a sudden conception of some eminency in 
ourselves, by comparison with the infirmity of others, or with 
our own formerly." To this notion of the origin of this 
class of our feelings, there are some objections ; viz. (I) 
In many instances we have the feeling in question, when 
there is evidently no discovery of any infirmity, either in the 
witty person, or in the subject of his wit, over which we can 
ourselves triumph with any good reason. (2) Further, if 
the doctrine, which resolves the emotions of ludicrousness 
into a proud comparison of ourselves with others, were cor- 
rect, it would follow, that the most proud and self-conceited WIT AND HUMOR. 
103 
men would be most inclined to mirth and sociability, which 
we do not find to be the fact.-According to Hobbes' notion 
of the origin of these feelings, we have only to go into the 
company of the most ignorant and stupid, if we wish to be 
exceedingly merry. In such company we could not fail to 
be sensible of some eminency in ourselves, in comparison 
with the infirmities of others. We should here be in a situa- 
tion, corresponding to his definition of laughter, but there can 
be no doubt, that multitudes would be but very little inclined 
to indulge that feeling in the midst of such associates. 
But while we cannot receive this writer's account of the 
feeling in question, we may undoubtedly be well agreed in 
respect to it, as far as this ; That it implies a quick and 
playful delight of a peculiar kind, arising on the discovery of 
unexpected relations of ideas, and the perception or apparent 
perception of some incongruity. 
§. 77. Of what is to be understood by wit. 
The subject of emotions of the ludicrous is closely con- 
nected with what is termed Wit. The last named subject, 
therefore, which it is of some importance to understand, nat- 
urally proposes itself for consideration in this place. In re- 
gard to wit, as the term is generally understood at the pres- 
ent time, there is ground to apprehend, that an emotion of 
the ludicrous is always, in a greater or less degree, experi- 
enced in every instance of it. 
This being the case, we are led to give this definition, viz. 
Wit consists in suddenly presenting to the mind an assem- 
blage of related ideas of such a kind as to occasion feelings 
of the ludicrous. This is done in a variety of ways ; and 
among others in the two following. 
§. 78. Of wit as it consists in burlesque or in debasing objects. 
The first method, which wit employs in exciting- the feel- 
ing of the ludicrous, is, by debasing those things, which are 
grand and imposing ; especially those, which have an ap- 
pearance of greater weight and gravity and splendor, than 
they are truly entitled to. Descriptions of this sort are term- 
ed burlesque. 
An attempt to lessen what is truly and confessedly serious 104 
EMOTIONS OF THE LUDICROUS. 
and important, has in general an unpleasant effect, very dif- 
ferent from that, which is caused by true wit. And yet it is 
the case, that objects and actions truly great and sublime 
may sometimes be so coupled with other objects, or be rep- 
resented in such new circumstances as to excite very differ- 
ent feelings from what they would otherwise. Among the 
various sayings of the Emperor Napolean, none is more true, 
than his very appropriate remark to the Abbe de Pradt, at 
the time of bis secret flight on a sledge through Poland and 
Prussia, that there is but a single step from the sublime to 
the ridiculous. 
In the practice of burlesque, as on all other occasions of 
wit, there is a sudden and uncommon assemblage of related 
ideas. Sometimes this assemblage is made by means of a 
formal comparison. Take, as an instance the following com- 
parison from Hudibras ; 
"And now had Phoebus in the lap 
"Of Thetis taken out his nap ; 
"And, like a lobster boiled, the morn 
"From black to red began to turn. 
We find illustrations of burlesque also in those instances, 
where objects of real dignity and importance are coupled 
with things mean and contemptible, although there is no di- 
rect and formal comparison made. As in this instance from 
the above mentioned book ; 
"For when the restless Greeks sat down 
"So many years before Troy-town, 
"And were renowned, as Homer writes, 
"For well-soaled boots, no less than fights. 
In these instances we have related ideas. In the first, 
there is undoubtedly an analogy between a lobster and the 
morning, in the particular of its turning from dark to red. 
But however real it may be, it strikes every one, as a singu- 
lar and unexpected resemblance. In the other passage, it is 
not clear, that Butler has done any thing more than Homer 
in associating the renown of the Greeks with their boots, as 
well as their valor. But to us of the present day the con- 
nection of ideas is hardly less uncommon, and singular, not 
to say incongruous, than in the former. WIT AND HUMOR. 
105 
§. 79. Of wit when employed in aggrandizing objects. 
The second method, which wit employs in exciting emo- 
tions of the ludicrous, is by aggrandizing objects, which are 
in themselves inconsiderable. This species of wit may be 
suitably termed mock-majestic or mock-heroic. While the for- 
mer kind delights in low expressions, this is the reverse, and 
chooses learned words, and sonorous combinations. In the 
following spirited passage of Pope, the writer compares dun- 
ces to gods, and Grub-street to heaven. 
•'As Berecynthia, while her offspring vie 
"In homage to the mother of the sky, 
"Surveys around her in the blest abode 
"An hundred sons, and every son a god ; 
"Not with less glory mighty Dullness crowned, 
"Shall take through Grub-street her triumphant round ; 
"And her Parnassus glancing o'er at once, 
"Behold a hundred sons, and each a dunce. 
In this division of wit are to be included those instances, 
where grave and weightyreflections are made upon mere tri- 
fles. In this case, as in others, the ideas are in some respects 
related, or have something in common ; but the grouping of 
them is so singular and unexpected, that we cannot observe 
it without considerable emotion. 
"My galligaskins, that have long withstood 
"The winter's fury and encroaching frosts, 
"By time subdued, (what will not time subdue!} 
"An horrid chasm disclose. 
It may be proper to make the remark in this place, which 
is applicable to wit in all its forms, that many sayings, which 
would otherwise have appeared to us witty, lose no small 
share of their intended effect, whenever we are led to sus- 
pect that they were premeditated. Hence an observation 
or allusion, which would be well received in conversation, 
would often be insipid in print; and it is for the same reason 
that we receive more pleasure from a witty repartee, than a 
witty attack. Our surprise at the sudden developement of 
intellectual acuteness is much greater at such times. 
§. 80. Of other methods of exciting emotions of the ludicrous. 
But it is not to be supposed, that wit is limited to the 106 
EMOTIONS OF THE LUDICROUS. 
methods of assembling together incongruous ideas, which 
have just been referred to. A person of genuine wit excites 
emotions of the ludicrous in a thousand ways, and which will 
be so diverse from each other, that it will be found exceed- 
ingly difficult to subject them to any rules. It would be dif- 
ficult, for instance, to bring within any established classifica- 
tion of the specific sources of wit, many passages of the poet 
Butler. In the first Canto of his poem of Hudibras, we have 
a particular account of the hero's horse ; in which the wri- 
ter very singularly compares the animal to a Spaniard in maj- 
esty and deliberation of gait, and in some other respects to 
the celebrated horse of Caesar, as follows. 
"He was well stay'd, and in his gait 
"Preserved a grave, majestic state. 
"At spur or switch no more he skipt, 
"Or mended pace, than Spaniard whipt ; 
"And yet so fiery he would bound, 
"As if he grieved to touch the ground. 
"That Caesar's horse, who, as fame goes, 
"Had corns upon his feet and toes, 
"Was not by half so tender hooft, 
"Or trod upon the ground so soft ; 
"And as that beast would kneel and stoop, 
"(Some write) to take his rider up, 
"So Hudibras's, ('tis well known) 
"Would do the same, to set him down. 
§. 81. Of the character and occasions of humor. 
Closely connected with the general subject of ludicrous 
emotions and of wit, is that of Humor. It is well known, 
that we often apply the terms, humor and humorous, to descrip- 
tions of a particular character, whether written, or given in 
conversation ; and which may be explained as follows. 
It so happens that we frequently find among men what 
seems to us a disproportion in their passions ; for instance, 
when they are noisy and violent, but not durable. We find 
inconsistencies, contradictions, and disproportions in their 
actions. They have their foibles, (hardly any one is without 
them,) such as self-conceit, caprice, foolish partialities, and 
jealousies. Such incongruities in feeling and action cause 
an emotion of surprise, like an unexpected combination of 
ideas in wit. Observing them, as we do, in connection with WIT AND HUMOR. 
107 
the acknowledged high traits and responsibilities of human 
nature, we can no more refrain from an emotion of the ludi- 
crous, than we can on seeing a gentleman of fine clothes and 
high dignity making a false step, and tumbling into a gutter. 
A person, who can seize upon these specialities in temper 
and conduct, and set them forth in a lively and exact manner, 
is Called a man of humor ; and his descriptions are termed 
humorous descriptions. 
Mr. Addison has given many examples of the humorous 
in the incidents and characters of the Tatler and Spectator. 
But excellence in this species of writing is not very frequent- 
ly found, and is an attainment of considerable difficulty. In 
general it implies something peculiar in the character of the 
writer. There are some persons, who seem to have a natur- 
al inclination for noticing those traits in the feelings and ac- 
tions of men, which cause ludicrous emotions. Whatever 
may be the cause of it, there can hardly be a question as to 
the fact, that some possess this characteristic more than oth- 
ers. This was particularly true of Swift, and the same char- 
acteristic has been ascribed to Fontaine. Writers, who have 
a natural turn of this sort, will be more likely to excel in the 
humorous, than others. 
§. 82. Of the practical utility of feelings of the ludicrous. 
It is not impossible, that the feelings, which we have ex- 
amined in this chapter, may have the appearance to some 
minds of being practically useless. If this were the fact, it 
would be at variance with the economy of the mind in other 
respects ; which gives evidence every where, that its origi- 
nal tendencies are engrafted upon it for some practical ends. 
But it is not so. The feeling of the ludicrous, (or as it is 
sometimes called the sense of ridicule,) is attended with re- 
sults, which, although they may not be perfectly obvious at 
first, will be found, on a little examination, to be of no small 
moment. It is entirely clear, that it constitutes one of the 
important guides and aids, which nature has appointed, of 
human conduct. Scarcely any one is willing to undergo ridi- 
cule, even in its milder and more acceptable forms ; much 
less to subject himself to the "world's dread laugh." And 
many persons*would be less attentive to the decencies and 108 
INSTANCES OF OTHER SIMPLE EMOTIONS. 
proprieties of personal conduct and of the intercourse of life, 
than they are in fact, were it not for the fear of this species 
of retribution. It is true, it is not powerful enough, nor is it 
the appropriate instrument, to attack the more marked de- 
pravities incident to our nature, the strong holds of its sin ; 
but it is unquestionably an effective and useful agent in its 
application to whatever is mean, incongruous, and unseemly. 
See, in connection with this subject, Campbell's Philoso- 
phy of Rhetoric, Bk. I. ch. 3d, and Beattie on Laughter and 
Ludicrous Compositions. 
CHAPTER SEVENTH. 
INSTANCES OF OTHER SIMPLE EMOTIONS. 
§. 83. Emotions of cheerfulness, joy, and gladness. 
Under the general head of Emotions, there are many 
other simple feelings, which merit some attention. Although 
they are perhaps not less essential to our nature, and not 
less important, than those which have been already attended 
to, we do not find so many difficulties in their examination, 
and but a few remarks will be wanting to explain them. 
We begin with the emotion of cheerfulness. Of the nature 
of this feeling none can be supposed to be ignorant. It exists, 
in a greater or less degree, throughout the whole course of 
our life. It is seen in the benignant looks, and is heard in 
the garrulity of old age ; it sheds its consolations over the 
anxieties and toils of manhood ; and reigns with a sort of 
perpetual spring in youth. 
The words joy and delight express a high degree of cheer- 
fulness ; the feeling is the same; the difference is in its 
greater intensity. The word gladness is nearly synonymous 
with these last ; but seems to be applied particularly, when 
the joy is of a more sudden and less permanent character. INSTANCES OF OTHER SIMPLE EMOTIONS. 
109 
§. 84. Emotions of melancholy, sorrow, and grief. 
While there are many things in life, which are fitted to 
make us cheerful and happy, every one must know, that for 
wise purposes a degree of bitterness is mingled in our cup, 
and that circumstances occur from time to time, which are of 
an opposite tendency. And these prove to us occasions of 
melancholy, which is the name of another specific simple 
emotion. 
There are different degrees of this emotion, as well as of 
that of cheerfulness. We sometimes express the very slight- 
est degree of it by the words uneasiness or discontent. 
When the feeling of melancholy is from any circumstance 
greatly increased, we usually give it the name of sorrow ; so 
that sorrow seems to hold nearly the same relation to melan- 
choly, that joy does to cheerfulness. 
The word grief also has nearly the same relation to sor- 
row, that gladness has to joy. As far as the mere feeling is 
concerned, which they represent, the two words grief and 
sorrow may be regarded as synonymous with each other ; 
with this exception, that the term grief is commonly employ- 
ed, when the sorrow exists suddenly and with great strength. 
Hence grief sometimes shows itself by external signs, and 
even in frantic transports ; while sorrow, even when it is 
deeply rooted, is more tacit, enduring, and uncommunicative. 
§. 85. Emotions of surprise, astonishment, and wonder. 
Whenever any thing novel and unexpected presents itself 
to our notice, whether in natureor in ordinary events, we 
experience anew and simple emotion, distinct from any which 
has hitherto been mentioned, which we call a feeling of sur- 
prise. We are aware, that this view is not adopted by Dr. 
Adam Smith. "Surprise (he remarks in one of his Philo- 
sophical Essays,) is not to be regarded as an original emo- 
tion, distinct from all others. The violent and sudden change 
produced upon the mind, when an emotion of any kind is 
brought upon it, constitutes the whole nature of surprise." 
This remark, although coming from a person of acknowled- 
ged acuteness, seems to have been unadvisedly made. If 
there be actually no such feeling as that of surprise, it can- 
not easily be accounted, for that a term expressive of it is 110 
found in all languages. And, furthermore, the existence of 
such a feeling, of a specific nature and distinct from all oth- 
ers, seems to be as fully warranted by our own consciousness 
and the general testimony of men, as that of any feeling 
whatever. If Mr. Smith had said, a violent and sudden 
change of the mind, (that is, some new, sudden, and unex- 
pected, perception,) constitutes, not the emotion itself, but in 
general the occasion of the emotion of surprise, his language 
would have been less objectionable. 
We sometimes use the word astonishment, which does not 
express a different emotion, but the same emotion in a differ- 
ent degree. When the feeling is exceedingly strong, it 
seems to suspend for a time the whole action of the mind, 
and we say of a person in such a situation, not merely that 
he is surprised, but is astonished or amazed. 
When the facts or events, which occasion the surprise, 
are of such a singular and complicated character, as to in- 
duce us to dwell upon them for a length of time, the feeling 
arising is then often called wonder. It is not, however, a 
different emotion from what we ordinarily call surprise, but 
the same emotion, modified by different circumstances. 
It may be added here, that this emotion is highly impor- 
tant to our preservation, security, and improvement. It is in 
new circumstances, in untried and unexplored situations, 
that we are particularly required to be upon our guard, since 
we know not what effects may attend them, nor whether 
these effects may prove good or evil to us. 
Happily for us, the emotion of surprise and astonishment 
which we experience at such times, is very vivid, so much 
so as to arrest for a time both our perceptions and our con- 
duct, and to compel us to pause and consider, where we are, 
and what is to be done. Certainly this is a beneficent pro- 
vision ; for if nature had formed us unsusceptible of such 
vivid feelings, we should have gone on without being appre- 
hensive of the consequences, and in that way often have 
plunged amid inexpressible evils. 
INSTANCES OF OTHER SIMPLE EMOTIONS. 
There is another emotion, which approaches very near to 
the feeling of melancholy, and still slightly differs from it, 
which we express by the term dissatisfaction. It is a painful 
§. 86. Emotions of dissatisfaction, displeasure, and disgust. INSTANCES OF OTHER SIMPLE EMOTIONS. 
111 
feeling, though only in a small degree ; but its nature, like 
that of all other simple emotions, cannot be fully understood, 
except by a reference to the testimony of our own inward 
experience. 
When from any circumstance the emotion of dissatisfac- 
tion exists in an increased degree, we often express this dif- 
ference, although the nature of the feeling remains the same, 
by another term, that of displeasure. 
There appear to he other forms of the simple feeling of 
dissatisfaction. The feeling of disgust is the emotion of dis- 
satisfaction, existing in an increased degree, but under such 
circumstances as to distinguish it, in the view of our con- 
sciousness, from the feeling of displeasure. The latter feel- 
ing approximates more closely to an emotion of hostility to 
the cause of it, than the former. The terms are sometimes 
used together, and yet not as perfectly synonymous ; as 
when we say, that, on a certain occasion, we were both dis- 
pleased and disgusted. 
§. 87. Emotions of diffidence, modesty, and shame. 
There is an emotion, often indicated outwardly by a half 
averted look and a shyness and awkwardness of manner, 
expressed by the term diffidence. An interesting modification 
of this feeling, as we suppose it to be, is modesty; differing 
from diffidence, perhaps slightly in kind or nature, but prob- 
ably only in degree. Although this feeling attracts but little 
notice in the genealogy of our mental operations, and occu- 
pies but a small space in its description, it is important in its 
results. It combines its influences, in connection with the 
natural desire of regard or esteem, in keeping men in their 
place, and in thus sustaining that propriety of conduct and 
those gradations of honor and of duty, which are so essential 
to the existence and the happiness of society. 
A higher degree of this mental state is shame. When we 
find ourselves involved in any marked improprieties of con- 
duct, this feeling exists ; characterized outwardly by a down- 
cast eye and a flushed countenance. It is not, however, ex- 
clusively attendant upon guilt ; although guilt, among other 
consequences flowing from it, is in part punished in this way. 
But seems to be, rather, an appropriate punishment, atten- 112 
INSTANCES OF OTHER SIMPLE EMOTIONS. 
dant on those minor violations of decency and order, which 
may exist without an infringement on morals. 
§. 88. Emotions of regard, reverence, and adoration. 
Different from all the feelings, which have now been men- 
tioned, is the emotion of regard or respect, which, in its sim- 
plest form at least, we exercise towards the great mass of 
our fellow beings. The mere fact, that they are creatures 
of God, and are possessed of intellectual and moral powers 
like our own, is deemed sufficient to lay the foundation of the 
exercise of this feeling towards them. 
When we observe in any individuals marked traits of 
mental excellence, as wisdom, truth, and justice, especially 
when these traits are expanded and exalted by great age, the 
feeling of respect, which we exercise in ordinary cases, is 
heightened into reverence. Every country can boast of a few 
such men, the just objects of the deepened regard of rever- 
ence ; and the eyes of successive generations have been tur- 
ned with the same deep feeling towards those, who are scat- 
tered along, in various places, in the long tract of history. 
When the reverence or veneration is free from every in- 
ferior intermixture ; in other words, when the object of it is 
regarded as without weakness and possessed of every possi- 
ble perfection, it then becomes adoration; a homage of the 
soul, so pure and exalted that it properly belongs only to the 
Supreme Being. The wisdom of the wisest men is often per- 
plexed with errors ; the goodness of the best of men is mar- 
red by occasional infirmities ; how much deeper, therefore, 
and purer and more elevated will be our sentiments of ven- 
eration, when directed towards Him, whose wisdom never 
fails, and who is not only just and kind in his administrations, 
but the original and inexhaustible source of beneficence and 
rectitude ! 
We conclude here the examination of the Emotions. We 
would not pretend, that this part of our sentient nature has 
been fully explored, in the views which have been taken; 
but would hope, that so much has been said as to throw some 
satisfactory light upon it, and to leave us at liberty to turn 
to another class of subjects. ® 22 m S US SJ g 2 IB 2 Ed 2 ® 2 IB S o 
PART FIRST. 
NATURAL OR PATHEMATIC SENSIBILITIES. 
NATURAL OR PATHEMATIC SENTIMENTS. 
CLASS SECOND. 
THE DESIRES. CHAPTER FIRST. 
NATURE OF DESIRES. 
§. 89. Of the prevalence of desire in this department of the mind. 
We now proceed to enter upon a separate portion of the 
Natural or Pathematic Sensibilities ; distinguished from that, 
which has hitherto received our attention, by the possession 
of its appropriate nature, and by sustaining its distinct and 
appropriate relations. The characteristic element of this 
region of the Natural Sensibilities, that which in fact consti- 
tutes the basis of its existence, is the state of mind, distinct 
from all others, which we denominate desire. This state 
of mind not only stands at the threshhold of the department 
which we now enter upon ; but diffuses abroad its influence, 
and runs through, and gives a character to all the subordi- 
nate divisions, into which this part of the Pathematic nature 
will be found to resolve itself. No appetite, no propensity, 
or affection exists in fact, nor can we suppose it possible for 
them to exist, exclusively of any intermixture of the ingredi- 
ent of desire. It is for this reason that we denominate 
this portion of the sensitive nature, Desires, as we called the 
other, Emotions ; and as we sometimes speak of the emotive 
sensibilities, so we might, with no impropriety, speak of the 
desirous or desiring sensibilities. 
§. 90. The nature of desires known from consciousness. 
As desires occupy so prominent a place in those principles 
of the mind, which we now propose to give some account of, 
it is proper to delay here, in order briefly to attempt some 
explanation of their nature. And in doing this, we are obli- 116 
NATURE OF DESIRES. 
ged, in the first place, to repeat the remark already often 
made, that we must turn the acts of the mind inward upon 
itself, and consult the intimations of our own consciousness. 
We do not suppose, that any definition of desire, inasmuch 
as it is obviously a simple state of the mind, could possibly 
throw any such light upon it as to preclude the necessity of 
an internal reference. It is the light of the mind, if we will 
but turn our eyes to behold it, and that alone, which can 
truly indicate what may be called the essentiality of its na- 
ture. At the same time, while we must obviously consult 
consciousness for a knowledge of its distinctive character, we 
may probably render our conceptions of it more distinct and 
perfect, by considering some of the circumstances or incidents 
of its origin, and some of the relations it sustains. 
§. 91. Of the place of desires in relation to other mental states. 
It is important to possess a well settled and definite idea 
of the place of Desires, considered in relation to other men- 
tal states ; especially as a thorough understanding of this 
point throws light upon the important subject of the philoso- 
phy of the Will. (1) And the first remark to be made here 
is, that desires never follow, in direct and immediate sequence 
to intellections or the cognitive acts of the mind. There is 
a distinct department or portion of the mind, located,if we m ay 
be permitted to use that expression, between the intellect 
and the mental states ; under consideration. It requires no 
further proof than the simple statement itself, when we say 
that we never desire a thing, simply because we perceive it 
or have knowledge of it. The mere perception of a thing 
is ofitselfno adequate reason, why we should make the thing 
an object of pursuit. There must obviously be some inter- 
mediate state of the mind, existing as the proximate and cau- 
sative occasion of desires, viz, an emotion. Accordingly, the 
prerequisite condition to desire is so ne antecedent feeling, 
generally of a pleasurable nature, which intervenes between 
the desire, and the perception or knowledge of the desired 
object. 
(2) In illustration of what has been said, it is the fact, that 
whenever we desire the presence or possession of an object, 
it is because jve are in some way pleased with it. Whenev- NATURE OF DESIRES. 
117 
er, on the other hand, we desire its removal from our pres- 
ence, it is because we are in some way displeased with it. 
And these expressions, indicative of pleasure or displeasure, 
obviously involve the existence of that distinct state of the 
mind, which we denominate an emotion ; a state of feeling 
entirely different both from the perception of the object 
which goes before such emotion, and the desire of the object, 
which follows after it. Accordingly we may feel at liberty 
to state in general terms, that no man ever desired an object, 
or could by any possibility desire it, in regard to which he 
had experienced no emotion, but had always been in a state 
of perfect indifferency. Such, in the matter under consider- 
ation, is obviously the fixed, law of the mind. 
(3) In this connection, and in view of what has now been 
said, we may properly recur a moment to the mind's general 
structure. The general division of the Mind, it will be recol- 
lected, is into the Intellect, the Sensibilities, and the Will. 
The External Intellect is first brought into action ; followed, 
in greater or less proximity of time, by the developement of 
the Internal. The subsequent process of the mental action, 
when carried through in the direction of the Pathematic sen- 
sibilities, is from intellections to emotions, and from emotions 
to desires, and from desires to acts of the will. When car- 
ried through in the direction of the Moral sensibilities, it is 
from intellections to emotions, (not natural but moral emo- 
tions ;) and then diverginginto a different track and avoiding 
the appropriate domain of the Desires, passes from emotions 
to feelings of moral obligation, and from the Obligatory feel- 
ings, like the corresponding portion of the sensibilities, to the 
region of the Voluntary or Volitive nature. 
§. 92. Of an exception to the foregoing statement. 
The statements of the last section to this effect, that emo- 
tions are the prerequisite condition of desires, and that the 
latter never exist, except in connection with the fulfilment 
of this condition, is probably subject to an exception, 
which, although it may be of no great importance, it is prop- 
er to notice in this place. We have reference to those modi- 
fications and acts of desire, which are instinctive. It is wor- 
thy of inquiry, whether some instincts, and some mental 118 
NATURE OF DESIRES. 
acts of an instinctive nature, are not capable of existing, 
and do not in fact exist, independently of antecedent emo- 
tions, considered as grounds of such existence. Such is the 
rapidity of their action, that they certainly have, in some ca- 
ses, this appearance, although this circumstance may not of 
itself be decisive. They are also, in some cases, where this 
action is less rapid, directed and guided to their appropriate 
objects as ultimate ends, without any foresight of or regard to 
the pleasure or pain, which may be attendant, either ante- 
cedently or subsequently, on the acquisition of that object. 
The truth is, that some of the instincts, (for it is probably 
not the fact, in an equal degree, in respect to all,) receive 
their direction, not merely in the.general sense of the term, 
but their specific direction, from a power out of the mind. 
They are moulded by a hand unseen to a particular object, 
and are impelled in its pursuit, without being at liberty to re- 
gard either the good or evil, which may follow from it. And 
under these circumstances there is not that absolute necessi- 
ty of the antecedence of intellections and emotions, which 
exists in the case of other desires. With this slight excep- 
tion, the general statement holds good. We speak of it as a 
slight exception, because, among other reasons, we are not 
obliged to suppose, that it exists in respect to all even of the 
instincts. When, for instance, we make an instinctive effort 
to recover the balance which we have lost, may we not sup- 
pose, although the effort is instantaneous, that we have a 
perception of the danger and a sentiment or emotion of fear, 
antecedent to making the effort ? 
§. 93. The desires characterized by comparative fixedness and per- 
manency. 
There is one mark or trait, attending the feelings under 
consideration, which appears to be worthy of notice. We 
refer to the fact, that the desires, as compared with the emo- 
tions, appear to possess a greater degree of fixedness or per- 
manency. It is well known, that our emotions rapidly go 
and come ; sinking and rising on the mind's surface like the 
unfixed waves of a troubled sea. But the desires, which are 
subsequent to them in the time of their origin, and may be 
regarded as produced in and as emerging from the troubled 
waters of emotion, evidently exhibit less facility and elasti- NATURE OF DESIRES. 
119 
city of movement. Having once entered their allotted posi- 
tion, although they are not absolutely immovable, they oc- 
cupy it with so much pertinacity as to render it proper to 
regard this as one of their characteristics. 
There certainly can be no great effort necessary in under- 
standing the statement which has been made ; and no great 
difficulty, as we suppose, in recognizing and substantiating 
its truth. Take, for instance, the case of a man, who is an 
exile in a foreign land, or of the unfortunate individual who 
is unjustly condemned to the occupancy of a prison ; and 
they will assuredly tell you, that the desires they have to 
see once more the light of heaven, their native land, and the 
countenances of their friends, sustains itself in their bosoms 
with a pertinacity, which defies all change ; and that they 
might as well rend away the fibres of the heart itself, as to 
separate from it a feeling so deeply rooted. We give this 
as an illustration ; but it is more or less so in every case, 
where the desires have decidedly fixed themselves upon any 
interesting object. 
§. 94. Desires always imply an object desired. 
An additional characteristic of Desires is, that they al- 
ways have an object, generally a distinct and well-defined 
one ; and cannot possibly exist without it. To speak of a 
desire, without involving the idea of an object desired, 
would be an anomaly in language. They differ in this re- 
spect from emotions ; which, although they have their ante- 
cedent causes or occasions, do not possess, in their own na- 
ture, a prospective or anticipative bearing ; but terminate in 
themselves. Desires, on the contrary, are always pointing 
onward to what is to be hereafter. And this is probably one 
reason of their greater degree of fixedness or permanency. 
The desires lean upon the object, which they have in view, 
as a sort of pillar of support; they may be said, with strict 
truth at the bottom of the expression, to cling around it, as 
the vine encircles and rests itself upon the elm ; and of course 
are not left loose and fluttering, which is substantially the 
case with the states of mind which immediately precede 
them, at the mercy of every passing wind. 
§. 95. The fulfilment of desires attended with enjoyment. 
As a general thing it may be said of the emotions, that 120 
NATURE OF DESIRES. 
they are either pleasant or painful, although in some instan- 
ces even of those feelings, it might not be easy to predicate 
distinctly and confidently either the one or the other. And 
this last statement is true particularly of the desires ; which, 
although they exist distinctly and well-defined in the view of 
the mind's consciousness and constitute a powerful motive to 
action, can hardly be said, for the time being, to involve, in 
their own nature, either pleasure or its opposite. At any 
rate, we find it difficult, in ordinary cases, distinctly to detect 
either of these traits. 
But, however this may be, there is still another charac- 
teristic circumstance, which aids in distinguishing them from 
other mental states. It is this. Every desire, when the 
object towards which it is directed is attained, is attended 
with a degree of pleasure. It is absolutely inseparable from 
the nature of desire, that the acquisition of the object of its 
pursuit, whether that object be good or evil, will be followed 
by the possession of some enjoyment. Sometimes the en- 
joyment is very great, at others less ; varying generally with 
the intensity of the desires. 
§. 96. Of variations or degrees in the strength of the desires. 
There is this further statement to be made in reference 
to the Desires, applicable, however, to a multitude of other 
states of the mind, that they exist in different degrees. As a 
general thing they will be found to exist in a greater pr less 
degree, in accordance with the greater or less vividness and 
strength of the antecedent emotions. The original cause, 
however, of these variations, making allowance for some oc- 
casional constitutional differences, is to be sought for in the 
intellect or understanding. The more distinctly we perceive 
or understand a thing, the more distinct and vivid, we may 
reasonably expect, will be our emotions. And as the De- 
sires are based upon the emotions, as the antecedent occasion 
or ground of their existence, they may in like manner be ex- 
pected to exhibit, as has already been intimated, a vividness 
and strength, corresponding in a very considerable degree to 
that of the feelings, which preceded them. It will be no- 
ticed, that we do not speak here of the permanency of de- NATURE OF DESIRES. 
121 
sires, which is a very different thing ; but simply of their 
intensity or strength for the time being. 
§. 97. Tendency to excite movement an attribute of desire 
We shall conclude this notice of the nature of desire with 
remarking, that there is one other characteristic attribute, 
which particularly distinguishes it ; and which undoubtedly 
must enter as an element, into every perfect delineation of 
it. Such is the natureof desire, that it is of itself in virtue 
of its own essence, a prompting, exciting, or, as Mr. Hobbes 
would term it, a motive state of the mind. In other words, 
its very existence involves the probability of action ; it 
sets the mind upon the alert ; it arouses the faculties, 
both mental and bodily, and places them in the attitude of 
movement. It is true, that the desire does not, in point of 
fact, always result in action. Before action can be consum- 
mated, another power, still more remote in the interior 
structure of the mind, must be consulted, that of the Will. 
If the Will decidedly opposes the desire, its tendency is of 
course frustrated in the object aimed at ; but the tendency 
itself, although disappointed of its object, still remains. It is 
there, and cannot be otherwise than there, while the desire 
exists. 
This important tendency does not exist, as a general 
thing, in other departments of the mind. It does not exist, 
for instance, in the cognitive or intellective part of the mind, 
in itself considered. If the intellect were insulated from the 
nature which is back of it, man would be a being of specula- 
tion merely, not of action. Nor does it exist in the emotions. 
If man were formed with the emotive sensibilities only 
without the accompaniment of those ulterior sensibili- 
ties which are built upon them, he would be as unmoved 
and inoperative as if he were constituted with the single at- 
tribute of perceptivity. He would be like a ship anchored in 
the centre of the ocean, agitated and thrown up and down on 
the rising and falling billows ; but wholly incapable of. any 
movement in latitude or longitude. The tendency to excite 
movement as an inherent or essential characteristic, exists 
in the desires, and no where else, except in the correspond- 
ing portion of the moral sensibilities, viz, the feelings of mor 
in2 122 
NATURE OF DESIRES. 
al obligation. The tendency in question belongs to these 
two mental states alike. it is the office of the Will, as a 
separate and relatively a higher part of our nature, to act in 
reference to this tendency, either in checking or aiding, in 
annulling or consummating it. 
§. 98. Classification of this part of the sensibilities 
If we were called upon to consider the Desires in their 
simplest form only, we might perhaps feel at liberty to dis- 
miss the subject with what has already been said. But the 
circumstance, that they are subject to various modifications 
and combinations, sets upon a new field of inquiry of great 
extent and interest. The Desires are sometimes modified by 
being directed to particular ends. In other words they are 
constituted with specific tendencies, from which they seldom 
vary. This is the case with the Instincts, properly so called ; 
and probably not less so, in their original unperverted 
action with the Appetites. In regard to the Affections, a 
distinct class of the active or sensitive principles which come 
under this general head, it seems, as far as we can judge, 
to be the fact, that the desires exist in a close and in- 
separable combination with certain emotions ; and are thus 
made to assume an aspect, which they would not otherwise 
possess. Accordingly we have a basis, an ample and dis- 
tinctly defined one, for a subordinate classification. And it is 
to the examination of the Desires, as they exist in this clas- 
sification, that we now proceed ; beginning with those 
which, in the gradations of regard we are naturally led to 
bestow upon them, are generally adjudged as lowest in point 
of rank, and proceeding upward to those which are higher. 
In accordance with this plan, they will present themselves 
to notice, and be made the subject of distinct consideration, 
in the order of the Instincts, the Appetites, the Propensities, 
and the Affections. We will only add, that a classification 
in any case ought not to be made without reasons. In the 
present instance, however, it would clearly be out of place 
to anticipate the reasons, any further than what has already 
in a general way been said, of that arrangement of the de- 
sires, which is now proposed. As we advance in our in- 
quiries we shall see,that it is founded in nature and authen- NATURE OF DESIRES. 
123 
ticated by the forms of language, as well as by the prevalent 
practice and sentiments of mankind. 
§• 99. The principles, based upon desire, susceptible of a two-fold 
operation. 
There is one important remark, which is applicable to all 
the principles, with the exception of the Instincts, which 
now present themselves for examination. It is, that, with 
the exception just mentioned, they all have a two-fold ac- 
tion, instinctive and voluntary. This statement of course 
will not apply to the pure Instincts ; for the very idea of 
their being instincts, in the proper sense of the term, seems 
to imply an absolute exclusion of their being voluntary. But 
as we advance from the Instincts to the Appetites, and still 
upward to the Propensities and Affections, we find each and 
all of these important principles susceptible of being contem- 
plated in this two-fold aspect. Each, under circumstances 
of such a nature as to preclude inquiry and reflection, is sus- 
ceptible of an instinctive action ; and each, under other cir- 
cumstances more favorable to the exercise of reasoning, is 
susceptible of a deliberate or voluntary action. This re- 
mark is important in our estimate of these principles, consid- 
ered in a moral point of view. CHAPTER SECOND. 
INSTINCTS. 
§. 100. Of the instincts of man as compared with those of the inferior 
animals. 
In proceeding to examine that part of our.sensitive consti- 
tution, which is comprehended under the general name of 
Desires, we naturally begin with instincts, which are nothing 
more than desires, existing under a particular and definite 
modification. It is generally conceded, that there are in 
our nature some strong and invariable tendencies to do cer- 
tain things, without previous forethought and deliberation, 
which bear that name. The actions, of men are not always 
governed by feelings founded on reasoning, but are some- 
times prompted by quick and decisive impulses, which set 
themselves in array, before reason has time to operate. It 
is from this circumstance that these mental tendencies or 
desires are termed instinctive ; a word, which implies in its 
original meaning a movement or action, whether mental or 
bodily, without reflection and foresight. 
Although such instinctive tendencies are undoubtedly 
found in men, it must be admitted, that they are less frequent, 
and in general less effective, than in the lower animals. 
And in truth, it could not be expected to be otherwise, when 
we remember, that the brute creation are wholly destitute 
of the powers of abstraction and of reasoning, or at most pos- 
sess them only in a small degree. The provident oversight 
of the Supreme Being, without whose notice not a sparrow 
falleth to the ground, has met this deficiency by endowing 
them with instincts, the most various in kind, and strikingly INSTINCTS. 
125 
adapted to the exigencies of their situation; We find the 
proofs of this remark in the nests of birds, in the ball of the 
silk worm, in the house of the beaver, in the return and 
flight of birds at their appointed seasons, and in a multitude 
of other instances. 
§. 101. Of the nature of the instincts of brute animals. 
So abundantly has the great Father of all things provided 
by means of their instincts for the preservation and enjoy- 
ment of the inferior animals, that they even, in some respects, 
seem to have the advantage over man, with all his high and 
excellent capacities. In the early periods of the human race, 
men looked abroad upon the great ocean with timidity ; they 
launched their frail vessels, and directed their course by the 
heavenly bodies ; but with all their care and wisdom they 
were often baffled, and obliged to put back again into the 
place of their departure, or ran perhaps upon some unknown 
shore. But flocks of migratory birds are frequently seen 
navigating the boundless fields of air, passing wide tracks of 
unknown land and water, and returning again at the set time, 
and with scarcely making a mistake, or wandering a league 
from their course ; and yet they are without any histories of 
former voyages, without chart or compass, and without the 
ability, so far as we are able to determine, of reading the 
way of their flight in the bright letters of the stars. 
This is only one of the facts or classes of facts, which illus- 
trate this subject; but it shows very clearly the unerring 
guidance, the fixed and definite adaptation to a particular 
end, which is the characteristic of instincts. 
"Who bade the stork Columbus-like explore 
"Heavens not his own, and worlds unknown before? 
"Who calls the council, states the certain day, 
"Who forms the phalanx, and who points the way? 
The ways, in which this unerring tendency, this divine 
guidance shows itself, are almost innumerable. The philos- 
opher Galen once took a kid from its dead mother by dissec- 
tion, and before it had tasted any food, brought it into a cer- 
tain room, having many vessels full, some of wine, some of 
oil, some of honey, some of milk, or some other liquor, and 
many others, filled with the different sorts of grain and fruit; 126 
INSTINCTS. 
and there laid it. After a little time the embryon had ac- 
quired strength enough to get up on its feet; and it was 
with sentiments of strong admiration that the spectators saw 
it advance towards the liquors, fruit, and grain, which were 
placed round the room, and having smelt all of them, at last 
sup the milk alone. About two months afterwards, the ten- 
der sprouts of plants and shrubs were brought to it, and after 
smelling all of them and tasting some, it began to eat of such 
as are the usual food of goats. 
The cells, constructed by the united efforts of a hive of 
bees, have often been referred to, as illustrating the nature 
of instincts. "It is a curious mathematical problem, says 
Dr. Reid, at what precise angle the three planes, which com- 
pose the bottom of a cell in a honey-comb, ought to meet in 
order to make the greatest saving, or the least expense of 
material and labor. This is one of those problems belonging 
to the higher part of mathematics, which are called prob- 
lems of maxima and minima. It has been resolved by some 
mathematicians, particularly by the ingenious Mr. Maclaurin, 
by a fltixionary calculation, which is to be found in the Tran- 
sactions of the Royal Society of London. He has determin- 
ed precisely the angle required; and he found, by the most 
exact mensuration the subject could admit, that it is the very 
angle, in which the three planes in the bottom of the cell of 
a honey-comb do actually meet. 
Shall we ask here, who taught the bee the properties of sol- 
ids, and to resolve problems of maxima and minima ? We 
need not say, that bees know none of these things. They 
work most geometrically, without any knowledge of geome- 
try ; somewhat like a child, who, by turning the handle of 
an organ, makes good music without any knowledge of mu- 
sic. The art is not in the child, but in him who made the 
organ. In like manner, when a bee makes its comb so geo- 
metrically, the geometry is not in the bee, but in that great 
geometrician who made the bee, and made all things in num- 
ber, weight, and measure." 
§. 102. Instincts susceptible of slight modifications. 
We usually speak of the instincts of animals, as fixed and 
inflexible ; and they undoubtedly are so, in a considerable de- INSTINCTS. 
127 
gree. Of this inflexibility, or fixed and particular direction 
which is appropriate to them, a multitude of facts might be 
brought as proof. Mr. Stewart, speaking of a blind old bea- 
ver, that had been taken and kept for a number of years in 
a pond by itself, asserts, that the animal showed no inconsid- 
erable degree of sagacity and mechanical contrivance in ac- 
complishing particular ends ; but these ends were in no re- 
spect subservient to its accommodation or comfort in its actu- 
al situation, although manifestly parts of those systematic 
instincts, which belong to it in its social state. The animal 
seemed, he further observes, like a solitary wheel of a ma- 
chine, which exhibits in its teeth marks of a reference to 
other wheels, with which it was intended to co-operate. 
It must be admitted, however, whatever may be the cor- 
rectness of this general view, that instincts are not always 
found in a pure and unmixed state, but are susceptible of 
being modified from observation and experience. The con- 
sequence is, that the naturally invariable tendency of the 
instinct, is frequently checked and controlled ; and it ac- 
quires in that way, an appearance of flexibility, which does 
not belong to it in its pure state. Hence there is often seen 
in old animals a cunning and sagacity, which is not discover- 
able in those that are young; a difference, which could not 
exist, if both old and young were governed, in all cases, by 
an unmixed instinct. It is necessary that this remark 
should be kept in view, in considering the subject of instincts, 
if we are desirous of possessing a proper understanding of it. 
§. 103. Instances of instincts in the human mind. 
But it is not our design to enter particularly into the sub- 
jects of the instincts of animals in this place, although this 
topic is undoubtedly one of exceeding interest both to the 
philosopher and the Christian. Su6h inquiries are too di- 
verse and remote from our main object, which has particular, 
if not exclusive reference to the economy of human nature. 
There are certain instinctive tendencies in man, as well as 
in the inferior animals ;,but they are few in number ; and 
compared with the other parts of his nature, are of subordi- 
nate importance. Some of them will now be referred to. 
I,-The action of respiration is thought to imply the ex- 128 
INSTINCTS. 
istence of an instinct. We cannot suppose that the infant at 
its birth has learnt the importance of this act by reasoning 
upon it ; and he is as ignorant of the internal machinery, 
which is put in operation, as he is 'of its important uses. And 
yet he puts the whole machinery into action at the very mo- 
ment of coming into existence, and with such regularity and 
success, that we cannot well account for it, except on the 
ground of an instinctive impulse. 
II,-"By the same kind of principle, (says Dr. Reid, Es- 
says on the Active Powers, hi, chap. 2,) a new-born child 
when the stomach is emptied, and nature has brought milk 
into its mother's breast, sucks and swallows its food as per- 
fectly as if it knew the principles of that operation, and had 
got the habit of working according to them. 
" Sucking and swallowing are very complex operations. 
Anatomists describe about thirty pair of muscles, that must 
be employed in every draught. Of those muscles, every one 
must be served by its proper nerve, and can make no exer- 
tion but by some influence communicated by the nerve. 
The exertion of all those muscles and nerves is not simulta- 
neous. They must succeed each other in a certain order, 
and their order is no less necessary than the exertion itself. 
-This regular train of operations is carried on, according to 
the nicest rules of art, by the infant, who has neither art, 
nor science, nor experience, nor habit. 
" That the infant feels the uneasy sensation of hunger, I 
admit ; and that it sucks no longer than till this sensation be 
removed. But who informed it, that this uneasy sensation 
might be removed, or by what means ? That it knows noth- 
ing of this is evident, for it will as readily suck a finger, or a 
bit of stick, as the nipple." 
Ill,-The efforts, which men make for self-preservation, 
appear to be in part of an instinctive kind. If a man is in 
danger of falling from unexpectedly losing his balance, we say 
with much propriety, that the instantaneous effort he makes 
to recover his position is instinctive. If a person is unexpec- 
tedly and suddenly plunged into a river, the first convulsive 
struggle which he makes for his safety, seems to be of the 
same kind. His reasoning powers may soon come to his aid, 
and direct his further measures for his preservation ; but his INSTINCTS. 
129 
first efforts are evidently made on another principle. When 
a violent blow is aimed at one, he instinctively shrinks back, 
although he knew beforehand, it would be aimed in sport, 
and although his reason told him, there was no danger. We 
always instinctively close the eyelids, when any thing sud- 
denly approaches them. Dr. Reid asserts, that he has seen 
this tried upon a wager, which a man was to gain if he could 
keep his eyes open, while another aimed a stroke at them in 
jest. When we are placed on the summit of a high tower, 
or on the edge of a precipice, although we are perfectly as- 
sured of our safety by the reasoning power, the instinct of 
self preservation is constantly suggesting other precautions. 
§. 104. Further instances of instincts in men. 
IV,-There is also a species of resentment, which may 
properly be called instinctive. Deliberate resentment im- 
plies the exercise of reason, and is excited only by intention- 
al injury. Instinctive resentment, on the other hand, ope- 
rates, whether the injury be intentional or not; and precise- 
ly as it does in the lower animals. 
Whenever we experience pain, which is caused by some 
external object, this feeling arises in the mind with a great- 
er or less degree of power, and prompts us to retaliate on the 
cause of it. A child, for instance, stumbles over a stone 
or stick of wood, and hurts himself, and under the impulse of 
instinctive resentment violently beats the unconscious cause 
of its suffering. Savages, when they have been struck by 
an arrow in battle, have been known to tear it from the 
wound, break, and bite it with their teeth, and dash it on the 
ground, as if the original design and impetus of destruction 
were in the arrow itself. All persons of strong passions in 
particular show the existence and workings of this instinct, 
when they wreak their vengeance, as they often do, on inan- 
imate objects, by beating or dashing them to pieces. 
V,-There is undoubtedly danger of carrying the doctrine 
of the instinctive tendencies of the human mind too far, but 
we may consider ourselves safe in adding to those, which 
have been mentioned, the power of interpreting natural 
signs. Whenever we see the outward signs of rage, pity, 
grief, joy, or hatred, we are able immediately to interpret 130 
INSTINCTS. 
them. It is abundantly evident, that children, at a very 
early period, read and decypher, in the looks and gestures of 
their parents, the emotions and passions, whether of a good 
or evil kind, with which they are agitated. 
It must be admitted, that the power of interpreting natu- 
ral signs depends in part on experience and on deductions 
drawn from that experience ; but the power is evidently in 
some degree instinctive. Often when we see, both in chil- 
dren and in older persons, the strong outward manifestations 
of grief, when we are at the same time assured, that there is 
but little of suffering in fact, we find ourselves very sensibly 
affected. So when we see an actor on the stage, with dis- 
torted countenance and accents of deep grief, the outward 
signs carry a momentary conviction and a momentary pang 
to our own hearts, in spite of the admonitions of reason ; a 
circumstance which cannot well be accounted for, except on 
the ground, that these signs speak to us with a natural pow- 
er ; that is to say, are instinctively interpreted. 
§. 105. Of the final cause or use of instincts. 
Although the instincts, as a general statement, commend 
themselves less decisively to our regard and admiration than 
some other portions of the mind, they still have their impor- 
tant uses. It seems, in particular, to be the design of the 
instinctive part of our nature to aid and protect us in those 
cases, where reason cannot come seasonably to our aid. 
According as the reasoning powers acquire strength, and pre- 
pare themselves more and more for the various emergencies, 
to which we are exposed, the necessity of instinctive aids is 
proportionally diminished. But there are some cases, which 
the reasoning power never can reach ; and consequently our 
whole protection is in instinct. 
It is evident, therefore, that they are a necessary part of 
our constitution ; that they help to complete the mental sys- 
tem ; and although of subordinate power and value in man, 
compared with the inferior animals, they still have their 
worth. As the reasoning power predominates in man, so 
instincts predominate in the lower animals ; and, as we do 
not expect to find the glory of reasoning in brutes, so we 
should not expect to discover the full excellence of instinctive APPETITES- 
131 
powers in men ; but should rather look for them in the insect 
and the worm, in the beasts of the field, and the fishes of the 
sea, and the fowls of the air, dwelling in them as a part of 
their nature, and blessing, while they control and guide them. 
CHAPTER THIRD. 
APPETITES. 
§. 106. Of the general nature and characteristics of the appetites. 
Under the general head of Desires, the subject of ap- 
petites seems next to propose itself for consideration. But 
as it is one of limited extent, and of subordinate importance 
in a metaphysical point of view, only a few remarks will be 
necessary. The arrangement, which brings the subject for- 
ward for discussion under the head of Desires, will recom- 
mend itself on a very little attention. The prominent appe- 
tites are those of hunger and thirst ; but the appetite of 
hunger is nothing more than the desire for food ; the appetite 
of thirst is a desire for drink. 
Nevertheless they appear to be sufficiently distinguished 
from the other desires. They are not like the instincts, al- 
ways gratified in a certain fixed and particular manner; nor 
are they like them, in being wholly independent of the rea- 
soning power. On the contrary, they may be restrained and 
regulated in some degree ; and when it is otherwise, their 
demands may be quieted in various ways. 
But without dwelling upon such considerations, the state- 
ment has been made with much appearance of reason, that 
they are characterized by these three things ;-(1) They 
take their rise from the body, and are common to men with 
the brutes.-(2) They are not constant in their operation, 
but occasional.-(3) They are accompanied with an uneasy 
sensation. 
It may be remarked here, that the feeling of uneasiness 132 
APPETITES. 
now referred to appears always to precede the desire or ap- 
petite, and to be essential to it. 
§. 107. The appetites necessary to our preservation, and not originally 
of a selfish character. 
Although our appetites do not present much of interest, 
considered as parts of our mental economy, they have their 
important uses, in connection with the laws and require- 
ments of our physical nature. "The appetites of hunger 
and thirst, (says Stewart,) were intended for the preservation 
of the individual ; and without them reason would have been 
insufficient for this important purpose. Suppose, for exam- 
ple, that the appetite of hunger had been no part of our con- 
stitution, reason and experience might have satisfied us of 
the necessity of food to our preservation ; but how should 
we have been able, without an implanted principle, to ascer- 
tain, according to the varying state of our animal economy, 
the proper seasons for eating, or the quantity of food that is 
salutary to the body ? The lower animals not only receive 
this information from nature, but are, moreover, directed by 
instinct to the particular sort of food that it is proper for 
them to use in health and in sickness. The senses of taste 
and smell, in the savage state of our species, are subservient, 
at least in some degree, to the same purpose. 
"Our appetites can, with no propriety be called selfish, for 
they are directed to their respective objects, as ultimate ends, 
and they must all have operated, in the first instance, prior to 
any experience of the pleasure arising from their gratifica- 
tion. After this experience indeed, the desire of enjoyment 
will naturally come to be combined with the appetite ; and it 
may sometimes lead us to stimulate or provoke the appetite 
with a view to the pleasure which is to result from indulging it. 
Imagination, too, and the association of ideas, together with 
the social affections, and sometimes the moral faculty, lend 
their aid, and all conspire together in forming a complex pas- 
sion, in which the animal appetite is only one ingredient. In 
proportion as this passion is gratified, its influence over the 
conduct becomes the more irresistible, (for all the active de- 
terminations of our nature are strengthened by habit,) till at 
last we struggle in vain against its tyranny. A man so en- APPETITES. 
133 
slaved by his animal appetites exhibits humanity in one of 
its most miserable and contemptible forms." 
§. 108. Of the prevalence and origin of appetites for intoxicating drugs, 
There are not only natural appetites, but artificial or ac- 
quired ones. It is no uncommon thing to find persons, who 
have formed an appetite for ardent spirits, for tobacco, for 
opium, and intoxicating drugs of various kinds. It is a mat- 
ter of common remark, that the appetite for inebriating 
liquors in particular is very prevalent, especially among Sav- 
age tribes.-And it may be proper briefly to explain the ori- 
gin of such appetites. 
Such drugs and liquors, as have been referred to, have 
the power of stimulating the nervous system ; and by means 
of this excitement they cause a degree of pleasure. This 
pleasurable excitement is soon followed by a corresponding 
degree of languor and depression, to obtain relief from which 
resort is again had to the intoxicating draught or drug. 
This results not only in a restoration, but an exhilaration of 
spirits ; which is again followed by depression and distress. 
And thus resort is had, time after time, to the strong drink, 
the tobacco, the opium, or whatever it is which intoxicates, 
until an appetite is formed so strong as to subdue, lead cap- 
tive, and brutalize the subject of it. So that the only way 
to avoid the forming of such a habit, after the first erroneous 
step has been taken, is quietly to endure the subsequent un- 
happiness attendant on the pleasurable excitement of intoxi- 
cation, till the system has time to recover itself, and to throw 
off its wretchedness by its own efforts. 
§. 109. Of occasional desires for action and repose. 
Our occasional desires for action and repose are, in some 
respects, allied to our appetites. Although it has so happen- 
ed that these desires have not been marked by a separate 
and specific name, they may justly claim, as parts of our men- 
tal nature, some attention. Mr. Stewart remarks, that they 
have the three characteristics of the appetites, and proceeds 
to explain them as follows. 
" They are common, too, to man and to the lower ani- 
* Stewart's Philosophy of the Moral and Active Powers, Bk. I, Chap. 1. 134 
APPETITES. 
mals, and they operate, in our own species, in the most in- 
fant state of the individual. In general, every animal we 
know is prompted by an instinctive impulse to take that de- 
gree of exercise which is salutary to the body, and is preven- 
ted from passing the bounds of moderation by that languor 
and desire of repose, which are the consequences of continu- 
ed exertion. 
"There is something also very similar to this with respect 
to the mind. We are impelled by nature to the exercise of 
its different faculties, and we are warned, when we are in 
danger of overstraining them, by a consciousness of fatigue. 
After we are exhausted by a long course of application to bu- 
siness, how delightful are the first moments of indolence and 
repose ! 0 che bella cosa di far niente ! We are apt to imag- 
ine that no inducement shall again lead us to engage in the 
bustle of the world ; but, after a short respite from our la- 
bors, our intellectual vigor returns ; the mind rouses from its 
lethargy like a giant from his sleep, and we feel ourselves 
urged by an irresistible impulse to return to our duties as 
members of society." 
§. 110. Of the twofold operation and the morality of the appetites. 
In accordance with the remarks in the last section in the 
chapter on the Nature of desires, we may add here the gen- 
eral statement, that the operation of all the Appetites, of 
whatever kind, is twofold, instinctive and voluntary. So 
far as they are directed to their objects as ultimate ends, with 
out taking into consideration any thing else, their operation 
is obviously analogous to that of the pure instincts. But af- 
ter the first instance of their gratification, they may be in- 
stigated to subsequent actions not so much by a view of the 
ultimate object, as of the pleasure accessory to its acquisition. 
And thus it sometimes happens, that their action in view of 
the enjoyment before them is turbulent and violent. Never- 
theless, we may avail ourselves of the aid of other principles 
of the mind, to subject them to a degree of restraint, to regu- 
late, and in a certain sense to cultivate them. And so far as 
this can be done, they are obviously susceptible of what may 
be called a voluntary action. 
And here is the basis of the morality of the appetites. So PROPENSITIES. 
135 
far as they are susceptible of a merely instinctive action, 
they cannot be said to possess any moral character, either 
good or bad. They are greatly useful in their place ; but, in 
a moral point of view, are to be regarded simply as innocent. 
It is only so far as they are voluntary, so far as they can be 
reached and controlled by the will ; that they can by any 
possibility be morally good or evil, virtuous or vicious. So 
that virtue and vice, considered in relation to the appetites, 
is located, not in the appetites themselves in their intrinsic 
nature, but in their exercises. And in those exercises only, 
which are subordinate to the influence of the will. 
CHAPTER FOURTH. 
PROPENSITIES. 
§. 111. General remarks on the nature of the propensities. 
As we advance further in the examination of this portion 
of the natural or pathematic sensibilities, we meet with cer- 
tain forms of Desire, which are different from any we have 
hitherto attended to ; and which accordingly require a dis- 
tinct consideration. There is certainly no danger of their 
being confounded with the Instincts ; inasmuch as they do 
not exhibit that fixedness and inflexibleness of action, which 
is usually characteristic of those states of mind. They differ 
from the Appetites also, first, because they are much less de- 
pendent for their existence and exercise upon the condition 
of the body ; and, secondly, because in that comparative esti- 
mation, which is naturally attached to the different active 
principles of our nature, they confessedly hold a higher rank. 
At the same time they evidently in the graduation of our re- 
gard fall below the Affections ; besides being distinguished 
from them in some other respects. Hence we may, with en- 
tire propriety, not only assign them a separate and distinct 
position ; but shall find a convenience in designating them 136 
PROPENSITIES. 
by a distinctive name. Among- the Propensities, (for this 
is the name which we propose to attach to them,) may be 
mentioned the principle of self-preservation or the desire of 
continued existence, curiosity or the desire of knowledge, so- 
ciality or the desire of society, self-love or the desire of hap- 
piness, the desire of esteem, the propensity to imitate, and 
some others. 
Although we have briefly indicated some of the circum- 
stances, which separate the Propensities from the other lead- 
ing principles coming under this general head, it will be no- 
ticed, that we have not attempted to give a statement of 
what they are in themselves. It is true, they are all based 
upon desire, and they all have some object. But whatever 
is intrinsic or specifically characteristic in their nature will 
be best learned from the considerations, that will necessarily 
arise, as they pass successively under review. 
§. 112. Principle of self-preservation or the desire of continued existence. 
The first of those original desires, which we shall proceed 
to notice, may be denominated the principle of self-preser- 
vation, or the desire of a continuance of existence.-The 
proof of the existence of such a desire is not only so abun- 
dant in what we see around us, but is so intimate also to our 
own consiousness, that it can hardly be necessary to enter 
into details. "All, that a man hath, will he give for his life," 
was a sort of moral axiom in the earliest antiquity ; and it 
stands as little in need of the verification of proof now, as it 
did then. It is true, that the principle may, in its practical 
operation, be overcome by the ascendant influence of other 
principles, by the mere desire of esteem, by the love of coun- 
try, or by the sentiments of duty ; but, though annulled in 
its results, it can hardly be said to be extinct in its nature. 
It still lingers, unextinguished and unextinguishable, in the 
foundations and depths of the mind. Even in cases of sui- 
cide, the desire of the extinction of life, which is supposed to 
exist, is not absolute but relative ; the self-murderer would 
still cling to existence, if it could be possessed separate from 
the evils which attend it; it is not life, in itself considered, 
which he hates ; but the variety of unpleasant circumstances, 
either actual or imagined, which are connected with it. PRINCIPLE OF SELF-PRESERVATION. 
137 
6. 113. Of the two-fold action of the principle of self-preservation. 
The principle of self-preservation or desire of the continu- 
ance of existence, as well as the appetites, has a two fold op- 
eration, viz, instinctive and voluntary. These two aspects 
or methods of its operation are to be carefully distinguished 
from each other. The instinctive operation takes place, 
when life is threatened or endangered on some sudden and 
unexpected emergencies. When a person is in danger of 
falling, he instinctively puts out his hands to sustain himself; 
when a blow is suddenly aimed at him, he instinctively 
makes an effort to ward it off ; and the operation of this in- 
stinctive form of the desire is exceedingly rapid, as well as 
effective. This instinctive action is highly important in 
all cases, where an effort for self-preservation, based upon 
inquiry and reasoning, would come too late. When the 
exercise of the desire under consideration exists in connec- 
tion with inquiry and reasoning and of course is ultimately 
based upon decisions of the will, it is said to be voluntary. 
It is under the suggestions of this form of the principle in 
question, that we are led to make all those prospective cal- 
culations and efforts, which have particular reference to the 
continuance and protection of life. In eithej point of view, 
whether considered as instinctive or voluntary, it is a princi- 
ple evidently adapted with great wisdom to man's situation 
and wants. It is practically a powerful motive to action ; 
and in its voluntary exercise is always morally good, so far 
as it exists in entire conformity with the requisitions of an 
unperverted conscience. 
§■ 114. Of curiosity or the desire of knowledge. 
Another of the leading Propensive principles is curiosity, 
or the desire of knowledge ; in respect to which it scarcely 
admits of a doubt, that it is to be regarded as one of the im- 
planted and original characteristics of our mental constitu- 
tion. Although it must be acknowledged, that this principle 
exists in very various degrees, from the weakest form of life 
and activity to almost irrepressible strength, yet. a person ut- 
terly without curiosity would be deemed almost as strange 
and anomalous, as a person without sensation. If curiosity 
be not natural to man, then it follows, that the human 138 
PROPENSITIES. 
mind is naturally indifferent to the objects, that are present- 
ed to it, and to the discovery of truth ; and that its progress 
in knowledge is naturally unattended with satisfaction ; a 
state of things, which could not be expected, and is not war- 
ranted by facts. In what school of philosophy was it ever 
taught, that the human mind, with this unbounded mental 
and material universe around it, adorned throughout and 
brilliant with truth, has no natural desire to possess and en- 
joy this beauty and radiance of knowledge, but is equally 
well contented with the glooms of ignorance! 
We see the operation of this principle every where. 
When any thing unexpected and strange takes place, the at- 
tention of all persons is immediately directed towards it ; it 
is not a matter of indifference; but all are anxious to ascer- 
tain the cause. Without the aids of this strong desire, how 
few persons would be found, who would be willing to explore 
the intricacies of science, or search the labyrinths of history! 
And what an accession would there be to the multitude of vol- 
umes, that remain unopened and untouched on the shelves, 
where they are deposited! 
There is at least one class of writers, whose prospects of 
being read depend, in a great measure on the workings of 
this principle ; we refer to novelists and writers of romance. 
However commonplace may be their conceptions, and how- 
ever uninteresting their style, if they lay the plan of their 
novel or romance with so much skill as strongly to excite the 
curiosity, they can command readers. And this undoubted- 
ly is the whole secret of success in a multitude of cases. 
§. 115. Further illustrations of the principle of curiosity. 
In further proof of the existence of this propensity as a 
natural or implanted one, it may be proper to refer to the 
whole class of the Deaf and Dumb, and to those unfortunate 
individuals, who are blind, as well as deaf and dumb. These 
persons almost uniformly give the most striking indications 
of a desire to learn ; it seems to glowjn their countenance, 
to inspire their gestures, and to urge them on, with a sort of 
violence, in their inquiries. Certainly if the principle of cu- 
riosity were not implanted, and did not exist in great 
strength, they would be entirely overcome by the multi- CURIOSITY. 
139 
tude of discouragements, with which they are encompassed. 
Take, as an illustration, the case of James Mitchell, of 
whom Mr. Stewart has given a minute and interesting ac- 
count. Although this unfortunate boy was afflicted with the 
three-fold deprivation of being deaf, sightless, and without 
the use of speech, he exhibited a considerable degree of 
mental activity. The principle of Curiosity, in particular, 
existed in great strength. He showed a strong desire to ex- 
amine and to obtain a knowledge of all objects, that came 
within his reach. We find him exploring the ground inch by 
inch ; we see him creeping on his hands and knees, on 
bridges and the tops of houses ; examining not only men, 
but dogs, horses, carriages, furniture, and musical instru- 
ments ; standing by the side of shoemakers, tailors, and 
bricklayers, and intently curious to know the mode and the 
result of their labors. Inspired by the desire of extending 
his acquaintance with things, he would rush forth, (blind 
and deaf and dumb as he was,) and rapidly travel miles in 
the neighboring country ; so that it was necessary to employ 
a lad to follow him, that he might be kept from the numerous 
dangers, to which he was exposed in these excursions. 
" Solitary as Mitchell is, (says Mr. Stewart,) in the midst 
of society, and confined in his intercourse with the material 
world within the narrowest conceivable limits, what a con- 
trast does he exhibit to the most sagacious of the lower ani- 
mals, though surrounded with all the arts of civilized man, 
and in the fullest possession of all the powers of external per- 
ception. Even in his childish occupations and pastimes, we 
may discern the rudiments of a rational and improvable na- 
ture ; more particularly in that stock of knowledge, scanty 
as it is, which he has been led to acquire by the impulse of 
his own spontaneous and eager curiosity." 
But it is unnecessary to dwell upon these general consid- 
erations, or to refer to extraordinary instances, when we 
constantly witness in all infants and children the most am- 
ple proofs, that the principle of curiosity is deeply implanted 
in the human mind. It seems to be their life ; it keeps them 
constantly in motion ; from morn till night it furnishes new 
excitements to activity, and new sources of enjoyment. The 
poets, many of whom are entitled to the credit of an exact ob- 140 
PROPENSITIES. 
servance of human nature, have made this trait in infants 
and children the foundation of many striking passages, as in 
the following : 
"In the pleased infant see its power expand, 
"When first the coral fills his little hand ; 
"Throned in his mother's lap, he dries each tear, 
"As her sweet legend falls upon his ear ; 
"Next it assails him in his top's strange hum, 
"Breathes in his whistle, echoes in his drum ; 
"Each gilded toy, that doting love bestows, 
"He longs to break and every spring expose. 
§. 116. Of the two-fold operation and the morality of the principle of • 
curiosity. 
The innate principle or propensity of curiosity, like that 
of self-preservation, has its two-fold action instinctive and 
voluntary. An action, which is purely instinctive, is al- 
ways directed towards its object as an ultimate end ; it looks 
at the object itself without regard to the good or evil, which 
may be involved in it; it chooses and pursues it for its own 
sake. It is in this way, that the principle of curiosity ope- 
rates in the first instance. This is its instinctive operation. 
And so far as it thus operates, it is neither selfish nor benev- 
olent ; neither morally good nor evil ; but simply innocent 
and useful. 
It possesses also a voluntary action ; founded upon a 
view of consequences, and implying the exercise of reflection. 
We may direct it to proper objects ; we may stimulate its 
exercise by considerations of interest or of duty ; we may re- 
strain it when it becomes irregular and inordinate. And its 
action, so far as it exists under such circumstances, may, 
with entire propriety, be denominated voluntary. And so 
far as it is of this character, morality is predicable of it ; it 
may be either virtuous or vicious. If it be stimulated to ac- 
tion for good ends, and with a suitable regard to all other 
moral claims, its exercise is virtuous. If it have bad ends in 
view, or be put forth with such intensity as to violate other 
moral obligations, its exercise is vicious. It is in accordance 
with these views, that Mr. Stewart remarks upon and disap- 
proves the conduct of a certain ancient astronomer. It ap- 
pears that on a certain occasion the astronomer was accused IMITATIVENESS. 
141 
of indifference in respect to public transactions. He replied 
to the charge by the remark, that his country was in the 
heavens ; distinctly implying, that he had deliberately mer- 
ged the duties of the citizen in those of the astronomer, and 
that love to his country was essentially annulled by the high- 
er love which he cherished for his chosen science. We ob- 
viously have here an instance of the inordinate exercise of 
the principle under consideration. It was not duly subordi- 
nated. It became so intense as to conflict, in the view of an 
enlightened conscience, with the proper exercise of other 
feelings and with the discharge of other duties. 
§. 117. Imitativeness or the propensity to imitation. 
Another of the original propensities of the human mind is 
the principle of Imitation or the desire of doing as we see 
others do. We find the evidence of the existence of such a 
principle every where around us. 
I,-If this propensity be not natural, it will be difficult to 
account for what every one must have noticed in infancy and 
childhood. And we take this occasion to remark, that, on this 
whole subject, we shall refer particularly to the early peri- 
ods of life. That is a time, when human nature will be like- 
ly to show itself in its true features. And in respect to the 
principle now before us, it is certain, that children are early 
found to observe with care what others do, and to attempt 
doing the like. They are greatly aided by this propensity 
in learning to utter articulate sounds. It is not without long 
continued efforts, in which they are evidently sustained by 
the mere pleasure of imitation, that they acquire the use of 
oral language. 
At a little later period of life, after having learnt to articu- 
late and having become old enough to take part in juvenile 
sports, we find the same propensity at work. With the ani- 
mation and formidable airs of jockeys, they bestride a stick 
for a horse, and try equestrian experiments ; they conduct 
their small and frail carriages through courts and streets, 
and journey with their rude sledges from one hill-top to 
another. Ever busily engaged, they frame houses, build 
fortifications, erect water works, and lay out gardens in min- 
iature. They shoulder a cane for a musket ; practice a 142 
PROPENSITIES. 
measured step and fierce look, and become soldiers, as well 
as gardeners and architects, before they are men. 
II,-But the operation of this propensity is not limited to 
children; men also do as their fathers have done before them: 
ft often requires no small degree of moral courage to deviate 
from the line of precedents. Whether right or wrong, we 
feel a degree of safety, so long as we tread in the path of 
others. 
This is shown in the most solemn transactions, particular- 
ly in judicial decisions. Seldom does the judge appeal to 
original principles of right, and build his decisions on the im- 
mutable will of the Supreme Being, as it is revealed in the 
moral sentiments of mankind, if he must do it in the viola- 
tion of a precedent. It is highly probable, that the idea of 
a system of law, built upon precedent and essentially suppor- 
ted by the mere fact of antecedent authority, was suggested, 
at least indirectly, by the principle before us. So prone were 
men to follow in the steps of their fathers, that even in cases 
of right and wrong they were not willing to deviate from the 
beaten track ; and although we are willing to admit, that 
the decisions of the Common Law have ever been supported 
by various considerations of their safety and wisdom, it is 
nevertheless true, that they derive a large portion of their 
stability from that effective trait in man's nature, which im- 
pels him, as if by a sort of enchantment, to walk in the path, 
which his progenitors have trodden. If we could expel from 
the human bosom the principle of imitation, there would be 
far less efficacy attached to many of the opinions and decrees 
and doings of our ancestors, than there is at present. But 
undoubtedly for sufficient reasons, it is wisely ordered, that 
such an expulsion is impossible. 
§. 118. Practical results of the principle of imitation. 
It may perhaps be supposed by some, whatever evidence 
may exist in favor of regarding the principle under consider- 
ation as an original one, that it has but a slight connection 
with the advancement and the happiness of mankind. But 
it is a remark not unfrequently to be made in respect to the 
principles of the mind, that often results of great magnitude 
are found to connect themselves with elements in human IMITATIVENESS. 
143 
nature, that appeared in themselves exceedingly insignificant. 
Such, it is possible, may be the case here. We often speak 
of imitativeness, as a principle which governs children ; but 
are less willing to acknowledge, which is hardly less the fact, 
that it is a principle which governs men. We cannot doubt, 
from the reflection we have been able to bestow upon it, 
that the principle before us, whatever aspect it may present 
at first sight, was designed to be, and is in fact, one of the 
important supports of society ; a source of knowledge, hap- 
piness, and power. If this principle were obliterated, the 
bond of union, which now holds so closely together the two 
great divisions of society, the old and the young, would be 
greatly weakened ; an event in all points of view much to be 
deplored. Not only in childhood but in mature age, as we 
have already had occasion to intimate, we walk in the steps 
of our fathers, following in arts and in manners the same 
practices, and sustaining the same institutions ; and it is de- 
sirable, as a general thing, that we should do so. And we 
do it, not merely because we suppose them to be clothed 
with the attribute of superior wisdom ; but also because we 
are prompted, often unconsciously to ourselves, by the in- 
fluence of this powerful principle. And it is in this way, 
partly at least, that generation is connected with generation, 
that the torch of experience, lighted in the preceding age, is 
made to shed its beams over that which follows ; and that 
society, kept in the vicinity of the beaten track, is not sub- 
ject to sudden and disastrous convulsions. 
We would merely add, if this principle has such vast in- 
fluence, as we have no doubt that it has, it is incumbent on 
every one carefully to consider the nature and tendency of 
the example which he sets. He, who sets a bad example 
either in domestic or in public life, is not only blasted and 
withered in himself ; but almost necessarily leads on in his 
train a multitude of others to the same results of degradation 
and ruin. On the contrary, he, who does good in his day 
and generation, infuses, whether he designs it or not, the 
effulgence of his example into a multitude of hearts, which 
nature has opened for its reception ; and thus, with better 
and higher results, lights them upward to happiness and 
glory. 144 
PROPENSITIES. 
§. 119. Remarks on the subject of emulation. 
In giving an account of those mental principles, which 
we profess to introduce and examine under the general head 
of Propensities, we should probably be thought to have left 
the subject but partially explored, if we were to say nothing 
on the topic of Emulation. By the term Emulation, for 
there does not appear to be a perfect agreement as to what 
is expressed by it, is sometimes understood the desire of 
equality ; and more frequently the desire of superiority. In 
regard to Emulation the general view of Mr. Stewart, in 
which he would probably be followed by many persons, is 
this. He regards it, like those propensive principles which 
have come under our notice, as implanted or original ; like 
them too, although not very high in the comparative honor 
which we attach to it, he considers it as innocent and use- 
ful, when restricted within the limits of its appropriate 
sphere of action. When it passes those limits, he describes 
it as being evil, and as being properly designated by the term 
Envy. 
Whether to yield our assent to this opinion, supported by 
an authority from which in most cases it might not be safe 
to differ, we hardly know. There is one difficulty, however, 
in receiving it, which we propose for the reader's considera- 
tion. In all the active principles, which constitute the de- 
partment of our mental nature, which is now the subject of 
consideration, from instinct upward to conscience, there is 
obviously a gradation not only of honor, but of authority. 
And as conscience is the highest on the list, they are all sub- 
ordinate, in the determination of their respective claims, to 
the intimations and decisions of that paramount faculty. 
This we hold to be a great and irrefragable truth in mental 
philosophy, which no where finds an abler and more decided 
advocate, than in Mr. Stewart himself. 
But if Emulation be the desire of superiority, as it is gen- 
erally understood to be, we do not readily perceive how it 
can by any possibility subject itself to that rule of subordina- 
tion, which is a first principle in the structure of the sensitive 
or active mind. The desire of superiority, if it actually 
exists implanted in the human constitution, must from its 
very nature throw defiance at the doctrine of subordination. EMULATION. 
145 
W'hatever, in virtue of any rule of comparison that can pos- 
sibly be applied, sustains a higher rank, at once brings this 
principle into conflict ; and the contest, which is thus gener- 
ated, can never be quieted, until the relative position of ob- 
jects is changed, and that, which previously stood foremost, 
subsides to the inferior station of a dependant or a follower. 
As man, therefore, by the very conditions under which he is 
created, is in fact, and ever will be, in a state of inferiority, 
as compared either with the members of his own race or 
those of a higher race of beings, he is permanently located 
in the midst of a perpetual conflict. It is the very nature of 
a desire to prompt to action ; to counteract every disposition 
to inertness ; to urge forward in the race of acquisition or 
advancement. And as he is surrounded by beings, that are 
in some respects superior, either physically or mentally, eith- 
er in the gradations of existence, or in some of the situations 
and circumstances of existence, he finds no rest to the sole 
of his foot ; it is his misery that he cannot, even if he had a 
disposition to, close his eyes to his situation ; the sight of 
every object above him, even of angelic natures, kindles a 
consuming fire in his bosom. It would seem, that the con- 
templation of the Supreme Being himself, if superiority is 
truly the original and appropriate object of emulation, would 
excite the rivalries of this unhallowed ambition. It is not 
easy to suppose, that such a principle, leading to such fear- 
ful results, and placed so far beyond the regulation of any 
controlling influence, is implanted, as an original and essen- 
tial element, in the mental constitution. 
§. 120. Emulation resolvable into the principle of imitativeness. 
We are inclined to the opinion, on such a Consideration 
of the subject as seemed to be required by the difficulties at- 
tending it, that Emulation is not, as is commonly supposed, 
a separate and original principle. We suppose it to be noth- 
ing more, than the action of those other principles, which are 
known and admitted to be implanted, stimulated into increa- 
sed activity by the principle of Imitativeness. That imita- 
tiveness is an original tendency of the human mind will prob- 
ably not be regarded as a matter of doubt ; and it is scarcely 
less evident, that it possesses, especially in early life, great 146 
PROPENSITIES. 
activity and strength. Now, in regard to this principle, it 
will be recollected, that it naturally and appropriately exists 
only in reference to those things, which are in fact, or which 
are supposed to be, above us. It is undoubtedly the case, 
that men sometimes very much mistake in this matter ; but 
in point of fact, the object, which calls the principle of imi- 
tation into action, sustains, in the view of the imitator, at 
least for the time being, a share, greater or less, of compara- 
tive pre-eminency. 
Imitativeness, therefore, keeping this consideration in 
view, is obviously capable of effectuating what is commonly 
ascribed to the more mitigated forms of emulation. We see 
a person, for instance, exerting his ingenuity in the forma- 
tion of some curious and interesting object ; and the princi- 
ple of imitation prompts us to attempt doing the same thing. 
We see a person, in some superior walk of life, adopting a 
novel dress and equipage ; and under the operations of this 
principle, we experience a degree of uneasiness, until we 
have done the same. It is the nature of the principle to set 
us upon being equal to, or being like others. And when it 
operates in reference to persons, who were before nearly on 
an equality, we do not, in common parlance, feel any impro- 
priety in speaking of it as a case of rivalry or emulation ; 
especially as the circumstance of the nearness of equality is 
likely to give to the principle a degree of liveliness and ener- 
gy, which it might not otherwise possess. And still more, 
perhaps, is this the case, whenever imitativeness operates 
in connection with some other original principle. When, for 
instance, a youth sees another nearly of the same age more 
advanced in knowledge, the natural desire of knowledge ap- 
pears to be stimulated to greater activity by the principle of 
imitation. When a person sees another extending his stores 
of wealth, the natural desire of possession is aroused to great- 
er energy by the principle under consideration ; and girding 
himself anew to the pursuit of riches, he goes and does like- 
wise. And we do not hesitate to speak of these, (and simi- 
lar remarks will apply to others like them,) as cases of rival- 
ry in the pursuit of knowledge or wealth. Whether this 
view of the subject is a correct one, we will not pretend to 
say with entire confidence ; but we believe that it is not more DESIRE OF ESTEEM. 
147 
encumbered with difficulties, or less susceptible of proof than 
any other view which is likely to be presented. At any rate 
it relieves us from the task of endeavoring to settle the mor- 
al character of emulation ; a subject which has exercised the 
ingenuity, and divided the sentiments of philosophers. 
§. 121. Of the natural desire of esteem. 
Another important propensity, not resolvable into any 
thing- else, but original and standing on its own basis, is the 
defire of esteem. In proof of the natural and original exis- 
tence of this principle in the human mind, we are at liberty 
to appeal, as in the case of all the other propensities, towhat 
we notice in the beginnings of life and the first developements 
of the mental nature. Before children are capable of know- 
ing the advantages, which result from the good opinion of 
others, they are evidently mortified at expressions of neglect 
or contempt, and as evidently pleased with expressions of 
regard and approbation. As it is impossible satisfactorily to 
account for this state of things, on the ground of its being 
the result of reasoning, experience, or interest, the only ex- 
planation left, is, that this desire is a part of the connatural 
and essential furniture of the mind. 
II,-We may remark further, that the desire of esteem is 
found to exist very extensively and strongly, in the more ad- 
vanced periods of life. If we look at the history of nations 
and of individuals, how many men do we find, who have been 
willing to sacrifice their life, rather than forfeit the favorable 
opinion of others ! When they have lost all besides, their 
health, their fortune, and friends, they cling with fondness 
to their good name ; they point triumphantly to their unsul- 
lied reputation, as a consolation in their present adversities, 
and the pledge of better things in time to come. This is es- 
pecially true of those periods in the history of nations, when 
the original sentiments and traits of the people have not 
been corrupted by the introduction of the arts of luxury and 
refinement. 
Ill,-There is this consideration also, which has a bearing 
upon this topic. Weare sometimes in such a situation, 
that the favorable or unfavorable opinion of others can have 
no possible bearing, so far as we can judge, on our own per- 148 
PROPENSITIES. 
sonal interests. And further than this, the unfavorable senti- 
ment, which we suppose to exist, is not responded to in a 
single instance out of the particular circle of those who in- 
dulge it. It exists there, and there alone ; without the pos- 
sibility of affecting injuriously either our property or general 
reputation. And yet it is difficult for us not to be affected 
unpleasantly ; we feel as if the intentions of nature had been 
violated ; as if some real wrong had been done us ; as if we 
had been deprived of that which is obviously a right. If 
this view of the subject is correctly stated, as we have rea- 
son to think it is, it goes strongly against the doctrine, that 
the desire of esteem is based upon personal and interested 
considerations, and not upon the intrinsic nature of the mind. 
IV,-It is an additional proof in favor of the natural origin 
of this propensity, that it operates strongly in reference to 
the future. We not only wish to secure the good opinion of 
others at the present time, and in reference to present ob- 
jects, but are desirous, that it should be permanent, whether 
we shall be in a situation directly to experience any good ef- 
fects from it, or not. Even after we are dead, although we 
shall be utterly separated both from the applauses and the 
reprobations of men, still we wish to be held in respectful and 
honorable remembrance. Fully convinced as we are, that 
no human voice shall ever penetrate and disturb the silence 
of our tombs, the thought would be exceedingly distressing 
to us, if we anticipated that our memories would be calum- 
niated. We may attempt to reason on the folly of such feel- 
ings, but we find it impossible to annul the principles planted 
within us, and to stifle the voice of nature speaking in the 
breast. 
§. 122. Of the desire of esteem as a rule of conduct. 
The operation of this principle, when kept within its due 
and appropriate limits, is favorable to human happiness. It 
begins to operate at a very early period of life, long before 
the moral principles have been fully brought out and estab- 
lished ; and it essentially promotes a decency and propriety 
of deportment, and stimulates to exertion. Whenever a 
young man is seen exhibiting an utter disregard of the es- 
teem and approbation of others, the most unfavorable antici- 
pation may be formed of him ; he has annihilated one of the THE POSSESSORY PRINCIPLE. 
149 
greatest restraints on an evil course, which a kind Provi- 
dence has implanted within us ; and exposes himself to the 
hazard of unspeakable vice and misery. It is narrated of 
Sylla, the Roman Dictator, that, on a certain occasion hap- 
pening to see Julius Ceesar walking immodestly in the streets, 
he remarked to those around him, that he foresaw in that 
young man many Mariuses ; distinctly intimating, that a per- 
son, so destitute of regard for the feelings and opinions of 
others, would be likely to take a course dictated by his sen- 
suality or ambition, irrespective in a great degree of the ad- 
monitions of conscience and of considerations of the public 
good. A prediction, founded in a knowledge of the princi- 
ples of human nature, and abundantly verified by the result. 
But while we distinctly recognize in the desire of esteem 
an innocent and highly useful principle, we are carefully to 
guard, on the other hand, against making the opinion of oth- 
ers the sole and ultimate rule of our conduct. Temporary 
impulses, and peculiar local circumstances may operate to 
produce a state of public sentiment, to which a good man 
cannot conscientiously conform. In all cases, where moral 
principles are involved, there is another part of our nature 
to be consulted. In the dictates of an enlightened Con- 
science, we find a code, to which not only the outward ac- 
tions, but the appetites, propensities, and affections are amen- 
able, and which infallibly prescribes the limits of their just 
exercise. To obey the suggestions of the desire of esteem, 
in opposition to the requisitions of conscience, would be to 
subvert the order of the mental constitution, and to transfer 
the responsibility of the supreme command to a mere sentinel 
of the out-posts. 
§. 123. Of the desire of possession. 
We are so constituted, that we naturally and necessarily 
have not only a knowledge of objects ; but of a multitude of 
relations which they sustain. And among other things we 
very early form a notion of the relation of possession. There 
are but few suggestions of the intellect, with which the mind 
forms so early an acquaintance as with this. Whenever we 
see children, as we constantly do, contending with each 
other for the occupancy of a chair or the control of a rattle, 
we may be assured, that they have distinctly formed the 150 
PROPENSITIES. 
idea of possession. They know perfectly well what it is, al- 
though they cannot define it ; and may possibly not be able 
to give a name to it. Although there can, in reality, be no 
actual possession without involving the existence of a rela- 
tion, since the fact or actuality of possession implies, on the 
one hand, an object which is possessed, and on the other, a 
possessor; nevertheless, as the notion or idea of possession 
exists suggestively and abstractly in the mind, it is to be re- 
garded as a single and definite object, distinctly perceptible 
in the mind's eye, and sustaining the same relation to the 
sensibilities as any other object or relation, either mental or 
material, which is susceptible of being intellectually repre- 
sented. Of possession, as thus explained, existing as it 
were distinctly projected and embodied in the light of the 
mental vision, all men appear to have a natural or implanted 
desire. The fact of its existence, either actual or possible, is 
revealed in the intellect ; and the heart, with an instinctive 
impulse, corresponds to the perception of the intellect, by 
yielding its complacency and love. 
§. 124. Of the moral character of the possessory principle. 
Although the desire of possession, (the possessory princi- 
ple or propension as it might be conveniently termed,) has 
undoubtedly, like the other propensities, its instinctive ac- 
tion ; yet its morality, that is to say, its moral character, de- 
pends wholly upon the features of its voluntary action. We 
are not disposed to speak, as some on a light examination 
might be inclined to do, of the possessory principle, as being, 
in a moral sense an unmixed evil. So far as its action may 
be regulated, either in the form of restraint or of encourage- 
ment, by reason, reflection, and the control either direct or 
indirect of the will, (all of which is implied when we speak 
of its voluntary action,) just so far it is capable of being eith- 
er right or wrong, reprehensible or meritorious. When act- 
ing independently of all comparison and reflection, it as- 
sumes the form of an instinct, is often in that form beneficial, 
and always innocent ; when it usurps the authority due to 
other and higher principles, prompting us to look with an evil 
eye on the rightful possessions of another, and to grasp w'ith 
an earnest and unholy seizure what does not belong to us, it THE POSSESSORY PRINCIPLE. 
151 
becomes vicious ; when, on the other hand, its action is the 
reverse of all this, prompted by upright motives and adher- 
ing strictly to the line of rectitude, it is to be regarded as 
virtuous. 
We apprehend it is impossible even to conceive of a being, 
so far elevated in the scale of perception and feeling as to in- 
volve moral accountability, which shall be constituted on the 
principle of an entire exclusion of the possessory desire. If 
it desires its own existence and happiness, which we sup- 
pose to be a trait essential to every rational and accountable 
creature, it seems to follow as a matter of course, that it will 
desire those attributes and gifts, which are conducive to the 
preservation and perfection of such existence and happiness. 
What sin can there possibly be in desiring to expand the 
range of that existence, which in itself is such an invaluable 
good, provided it be done with a suitable regard to the rela- 
tions and the claims of all other beings ! So far from being 
a sin, it is, and must be a duty. If it be not so, what shall 
be said of those passages of the Apostle Paul, not to mention 
other parts of Scripture of a similar import, where he directs 
the Corinthians not only "tocovet to prophesy," but in gen- 
eral terms " to covet earnestly the best gifts 1 Cor. 12 ; 
31, 14: 39. 
§. 125. Of perversions of the possessory desire. 
Although the propensity in question is susceptible, by 
possibility at least, of a virtuous exercise, there is too much 
reason to believe, that its ordinary action is a perverted and 
vicious one. It is a great law of the mind, that the repeti- 
tion of the exercise of the active principles increases their 
strength; and as the occasions of the exercise of the possessory 
principle are very numerous, it is the almost unavoidable re- 
sult, that it becomes inordinately strong. When this is the 
case, the otherwise innocent desire of possession assumes the 
form of the sin of Covetousness ; a term, which is universal- 
ly understood to express an eagerness and intensity of ac- 
quisition, that presses upon the domains of some other ac- 
tive principles, and is at variance with some of the claims of 
duty. This is undoubtedly one of the great sins, which at- 
tach to human nature ; too prevalent, it is to be feared, in 
the heart of every individual ; and which receives in all 
parts of the Scriptures a decided and solemn rebuke. 152 
PROPENSITIES. 
When the possessory principle becomes, by further repe- 
tition, increased in the intensity of its action, it assumes the 
still more aggravated and guilty form of Avarice. In this 
form it not only loses that character of innocence, which it 
originally possessed, but becomes exceedingly loathsome and 
abhorrent in the unperverted eye of moral purity. 
y §• 126. Of the desire of power. 
Another of the original propensities is the desire of-Pow- 
er. In regard to power, it is hardly necessary to say, that 
it is not an object directly addressed to or cognizable by 
the senses ; but is an attribute of mind, and is made known 
to us by an act of the Internal intellect ; that is to say, of the 
intellect operating independently of a direct connection with 
the senses. We do not see Power as we see any extended 
object; nor do we touch it, nor is it an object of the taste or 
smell ; but it is revealed to the mind by an act of Original 
Suggestion, on the occasions appropriate to that species of 
mental action. (See §. 189, Vol. I.) But, although it is not 
cognizable by the senses, it is as much a reality, as much an 
object of emotion and desire, as if that were the case. It 
stands out as distinctly perceptible to the mind's eye, as an 
extended and colored body does to the bodily eye. This be- 
ing the case, we may with entire propriety of language 
speak of the desire of power ; for wherever there is an ob- 
ject, that object may, in possibility at least, be desired ; but 
where there is no object before the mind, it is not possible 
for desire to exist. 
These remarks are preparatory to what we have now to 
say, viz. that the desire of power is natural to the hu- 
man mind ; in other words, that the desire of power is an 
original principle of the mind. In support of this view, 
which may perhaps fail at first sight to commend itself to the 
reception of the reader, the first remark we have to make is, 
that power, in its own nature, is a thing desirable. It cannot 
be doubted, that power is in fact, and is to be regarded, as an 
essential attribute of all mental being. Accordingly if an 
intellectual and sentient existence is desirable, then power is 
desirable also, as being necessarily involved in such exist- THE DESIRE OF POWER. 
153 
ence. The desire of existence, by common acknowledge- 
ment, is natural to us ; the desire of happiness is natural also; 
and since there can be neither the one nor the other without 
power, it seems reasonable to think, that the desire of power 
is essential to, and is implanted in our nature. There are 
various circumstances, obvious to every one's notice, which 
go to confirm this view of the subject ; as will be seen in the 
following extract from the writings of Mr. Stewart. 
§. 127. Facts in proof of the natural desire of power. 
"The infant, while still on the breast, delights in exerting 
its little strength on every object it meets with, and is morti- 
fied when any accident convinces it of its own imbecility. 
The pastimes of the boy are, almost without exception, such 
as suggest to him the idea of his power. When he throws a 
stone or shoots an arrow, he is pleased with being able to 
produce an effect at a distance from himself; and, while he 
measures with his eye the amplitude or range of his missile 
weapon, contemplates with satisfaction the extent to which 
his power has reached. It is on a similar principle that he 
loves to bring his strength into comparison with that of his 
fellows, and to enjoy the consciousness of superior prowess. 
Nor need we search in the malevolent dispositions of our na- 
ture for any other motive to the apparent acts of cruelty 
which he sometimes exercises over the inferior animals,-the 
sufferings of the animal in such cases, either entirely esca- 
ping his notice, or being overlooked in that state of pleasura- 
ble triumph, which the wanton abuse of power communicates 
to a weak and unreflecting judgment. The active sports of 
the youth captivate his fancy by suggesting similar ideas,- 
of strength of body, of force of mind, of contempt of hardship 
and of danger. And accordingly such are the occupations in 
which Virgil, with a charactcristical propriety, employs his 
young Ascanius. 
"At puer Ascanius mediis in vallibus acri 
"Gaudet equo ; jamque hos cursu, jam praeterit illos ; 
"Spumantemque dari pecora inter inertia votis 
"Optat aprum, aut fulvum descendere monte leonem. 
"As we advance in years, and as our animal powers lose 
their activity and vigor, we gradually aim at extending our 154 
propensities. 
influence over others by the superiority of fortune and sta- 
tion, or by the still more flattering superiority of intellectual 
endowments, by the force of our understanding, by the extent 
of our information, by the arts of persuasion, or the accom- 
plishments of address. What but the idea of power pleases 
the orator in managing the reins of an assembled multitude, 
when he silences the reasons of others by superior ingenuity, 
bends to his purposes their desires and passions, and, with- 
out the aid of force, or the splendor of rank, becomes the 
arbiter of the fate of nations I " * 
§. 128. Of the moral character of the desire of power. 
If it be true that the desire of power is connatural to the 
human mind, it will probably be found, like other analogous 
principles, to possess a two-fold action, instinctive and vol- 
untary. So far as its action is instinctive, we may suppose 
it to be innocent at least, and probably useful. So far as it 
is voluntary, the virtue or vice, which attaches to it, will de- 
pend upon its regulation. If it be kept in subordination to 
the dictates of an enlightened conscience and to the feelings 
and duties we owe to the Supreme Being, its exercise is vir- 
tuous. If, on the contrary, it acquires inordinate strength, 
as it is very likely to do, and is excessive in its operation, 
pushing us forward to the pursuit of forbidden objects and 
the invasion of other's rights, it then becomes vicious. 
When the desire of power becomes excessive, and exists 
and operates as a leading and predominant principle, we 
commonly denominate it Ambition. He, who is under the 
influence of ambition, desires power ; not because it assimi- 
lates him to his Maker, not because it affords him the increa- 
sed means of usefulness, nor for any other reason which com- 
mends itself to a strictly virtuous mind ; but simply because 
it administers to the gratification of an unrestrained and in- 
satiable selfishness. 
§. 129. Veracity, or the propensity to utter the truth. 
It is in the propensive part of our nature that we are to 
locate the important principle of Veracity ; in other words, 
that disposition and tendency to utter the truth, which char- 
acterizes men generally, and which there seems abundant 
* Philosophy of the Moral and'Active Powers, Chap. II, §. 4. PRINCIPLE OF VERACITY. 
155 
reasons to regard as original or connatural to the mind. 
When we utter the truth, wc fulfil the functions of our na- 
ture ; the action of the mind flows easily in an undisturbed 
and even channel ; there are none of those mental jars and 
revulsions, which generally attend an effort of falsification. 
To utter a falsehood is against nature ; and is as much at 
variance with the structure of the Pathematic, as of the 
Moral Sensibilities. That is to say, when we deliberately 
utter a falsehood we are not only condemned by Conscience ; 
but arc obliged to stem the natural current of the Desires. 
There are undoubtedly occasional exceptions to this state- 
ment. But they may probably be reduced to two classes of 
persons ; first, those, in whom the original principle has been 
perverted by the influence of evil example or some other un- 
favorable cause; second, those, still fewer in number, who 
are the subjects of an original mental malformation. In the 
first class the tendency to falsehood is the work of the man 
rather than of his nature ; the second indicates a state of 
mind, more or less approaching the regions of insanity. 
In addition to these cases, it may be said further, that some- 
times, under the influence perhaps of a sudden and powerful 
temptation, men of acknowledged veracity are betrayed into 
the utterance of an untruth. But still the general fact, to 
which these cases must be regarded merely in the light of ex- 
ceptions, remains good. The utterance of the truth is in 
conformity with nature ; falsehood is against it. And this is 
so much the fact, that, in ordinary cases, the utterance of thou- 
sands of truths secures to a man no especial credit, for this is 
what we naturally expect ; while the utterance ofa very few 
falsehoods wijl be likely to destroy his reputation forever. 
§. 130. Of ths two-fold action of the propensity to truth. 
The principle of Veracity, as might be supposed from the 
circumstance of its being admitted into the class of the pro- 
pensions, has the two-fold action, already often mentioned. 
In all ordinary cases, the probability is, that its action 
is instinctive. A thousand times a day in answer to the 
questions of others or in giving directions or on some other 
occasions, we utter what is true in fact, or what we suppose 
to be true. And we do this, without stopping to reflect 156 
PROPENSITIES. 
whether it is a matter of duty, but apparently and in reality 
by a natural or instinctive movement, just as the hungry 
man instinctively seeks to gratify his appetite for food. 
In other cases, the action is obviously voluntary. If, for 
instance, a man is strongly tempted, by the presentations of 
some pecuniary inducement, to utter a falsehood, the instinc- 
tive action of the principle is interrupted. By an effort of 
the Will we check it ; we stop ; we examine the nature and 
weight of the inducement, which is presented ; conscience is 
called in to give its decision in the case ; and the action of 
the principle under such circumstances evidently becomes a 
voluntary one. It is, indeed, difficult in some cases to 
draw the line distinctly between the instinctive and volunta^ 
ry action ; but it is the latter alone, which can properly be 
said to have a moral character. When, under the influence 
of a strong temptation, the instinctive tendency is overruled, 
and we utter the truth in compliance with the mere dictates 
of conscience, weare the subjects of moral merit, When on 
the other hand, we deliberately and voluntarily utter false- 
hood, we are the subjects ofcrime. And it may also be ad- 
ded, that the circumstance of the utterance of the truth 
being, in all ordinary cases, instinctive, increases the crime 
of its violation ; because falsehood under such circumstances 
generally implies a high degree of deliberate and voluntary 
effort. 
We proceed to explore this"part of our sensitive nature 
still further by adding, that the desire of enjoyment or hap- 
piness appears to bean original or connatural element of the 
mental constitution. No one will presume to assert, that 
the desire of suffering is natural ; that we ordinarily rejoice 
in the prospect of coming woes, and endure them with glad- 
ness of heart. Nor are there satisfactory grounds for the 
opinion, that enjoyment and suffering are indifferent to the 
human mind ; and thaHhere is no choice to be had between 
them. Such a supposition would be contrary to the common 
experience, and the most obvious facts. On the contrary, 
our own consciousness and what we witness in others effect- 
tually teach us, that the desire of happiness is as natural as 
that of knowledge or esteem, and even hardly less so, than it 
§. 131. Propensity of self-love, or the desire of happiness. SELF-LOVE OR THE DESIRE OF HAPPINESS. 
157 
is to desire food and drink, when we experience the uneasy 
sensations of hunger and thirst. 
Under the instigation and guidance of this strong propen- 
sity, men not only flee from present evil and cling to present 
happiness ; but, foreseeing the events of the future, they 
prepare raiment and houses, fill their granaries, in anticipa- 
tion of a day of want, and take other measures for the pro- 
longing of life, health, and comfort. It is kindly provided, 
that they are not left, in taking precautions subservient to 
their preservation and well-being, to the suggestions and the 
law of reason alone, but are guided and kept in action by 
this decisive and permanent principle. And it is proper to 
add, that this desire operates not only in reference to out- 
ward and bodily comforts, but also in relation to inward con- 
solations, the inspirations and solaces of religion in the pre- 
sent life, and the anticipated possession of that more glorious 
happiness, which religious faith attaches to a future state of 
existence. 
But it should ever be remembered, that the desire of our 
own happiness, like the other desires which have been men- 
tioned, ought to be subjected to a suitable regulation. An 
enlightened conscience will explain, under what conditions 
our personal welfare may be pursued, and in what cases, 
whether it relate to the present or the future, it should be 
subordinated to considerations of public benefit, and of uni- 
versal benevolence. 
We cannot but suppose, for the reasons that have just 
been suggested, that the desire of happiness or propensity 
of personal good, is an attribute of man's nature. This opin- 
ion is not only accordant with the suggestions of the light of 
nature ; but is sanctioned by other and higher authority. 
The pursuit of our own happiness is obviously recognized in 
the Scriptures ; and is urged upon us as a duty. While we 
are required to love our neighbor, it is no where said, that 
we must perform this duty to the exclusion of a suitable re- 
gard for our own felicity. The desire of happiness, thus 
implanted in our own constitution, we denominate by a sim- 
ple and expressive term, self-love. But it cannot be deni- 
ed, that the import of the term is frequently misunderstood, 
§. 132. Of selfishness as distinguished from self-love. 158 
PROPENSITIES. 
and that the term itself is liable to erroneous applications. 
This is owing to the fact, that the principle is not always, 
and perhaps we should say, is not generally regulated and 
restrained as it ought to be ; but frequently degenerates into 
a perversion, which ought to be carefully distinguished from 
its innocent exercise. It is not self-love, but the perversion of 
self-love, which is properly called selfishness ; and while 
self-love is always innocent, and under proper regulations is 
morally commendable, as being the attribute of a rational 
nature and as being approved by God himself, selfishness, 
on the contrary, is always sinful as existing in violation of 
what is due to others, and at variance with the will of God. 
It is due to the cause of morals and religion, as well as 
of sound philosophy, to make this important distinction. 
Self-love is the principle, which a holy God has given ; sel- 
fishness is the loathsome superstructure, which man, in the 
moments of his rebellion and sin, has erected upon it. 
§. 133. Modifications of selfishness ; pride, vanity, and arrogance. 
Selfishness, it will be kept in mind, is employed as the 
general name for any excessive or inordinate exercises of 
self-love whatever. But selfishness is susceptible of various 
modifications, and exhibits itself to the notice of others in dif- 
ferent ways and under different aspects. One of the most 
marked and important of its modifications is Pride. 
Pride not only implies an inordinate estimate and love of 
our own interests ; but appears to be distinguishsd from the 
other forms of selfishness in being attended with a desire, 
that others, either for the sake of our own gratification or for 
the sake of humbling them should be made sensible of what 
we suppose to be our superiority. Accordingly the feeling 
of pride is not to be considered as limited, in the occasions of 
its exercise, to the possession of any one object or quality, 
or to any single circumstance or combination of circumstan- 
ces. It will be likely to attach itself to any object whatever, 
which becomes predominant in our affections, and in which 
we suppose ourselves to have the advantage over others. 
One is proud of his ancestry, another of his riches, a third of 
his intellectual ascendency, and a fourth of the beauty of his 
dress or person. SELF-LOVE OR THE DESIRE OF HAPPINESS. 
159 
We may not only consider pride as one of the modifica- 
tions of selfishness ; but pride itself seems to be susceptible 
of some subordinate modifications, so distinct as to be known 
by appropriate names. When, for instance, it is very offi- 
cious, and makesan ostentatious display of those circumstan- 
ces, in which the subject of it supposes his superiority to 
consist, it is termed vanity. When it discovers itself, not 
so much in the display of the circumstances, or supposed cir- 
cumstances, of superiority, as in a contempt, and in sneering1 
disparagements of the inferior qualities of others, it is term- 
ed HAUGHTINESS Or ARROGANCE. 
It may be further added, that we are always, if we would 
be exact in our discrimination of the sources of human ac- 
tion, to make a distinction between pride and a mere desire 
of esteem, which has already come under our notice. The 
desire of esteem may exist in all its forms, distinct from pride; 
and when properly regulated is not only useful, but is moral- 
ly commendable. But pride, considered as distinct from the 
desire of esteem, and as essentially a modification of selfish- 
ness, is morally evil. Perhaps no state of mind, if we con- 
sider our numerous infirmities and wants, is less suited to 
our situation, or is more fitted to bring upon us the disappro- 
bation and rebukes of our Maker. 
§. 134. Reference to the opinions of philosophical writers. 
It would be easy to introduce passages in support of the 
greater part of the views of this chapter, if it were deemed 
necessary, from writers, whose opinions are received with 
deference, and are justly entitled to be so. It appears from 
the recent Work of Dr. Chalmers on the Moral and Intellec- 
tual Constitution of Man, that he regards the desire of pos- 
session, (the possessory principle, as it may be conveniently 
designated,) as connatural to the human mind. (Vol. I, Ch. 
VI, §. §. 8-13.) Mr. Stewart takes the same view in regard 
to the principle of self-love or the desire of happiness. 
(Active and Moral Powers, Bk. II, Chap. I.) On this im- 
portant subject, which in some of its aspects' is closely con- 
nected with the requisitions and appeals of revealed religion, 
we find the following explicit statement in Dr. Wardlaw's re- 
cently published treatise, entitled Christian Ethics. 160 
PROPENSITIES. 
"Self-love is an essential principle in the constitution of 
every intelligent creature ; meaning by self-love the desire 
of its own preservation and well-being. By no effort of im- 
agination can we fancy to ourselves such a creature constitu- 
ted without this. It is an original law in the nature of every 
sentient existence. In man, it is true, in regard especially 
to the sources from which it has sought its gratification, it 
is a principle which, since his fall, has been miserably per- 
verted and debased, degenerating, in ten thousand instances, 
into utter selfishness, and in all partaking of this unworthy 
taint. Between selfishness, however, and legitimate self- 
love, there is an obvious and wide discrepancy. The latter 
is not at all distinctive of our nature as degenerate, but was 
interwoven in its very texture, as it came from the Creator's 
hand. The former is properly the corruption of the latter. 
It leads the creature, who is under its dominant influence, to 
prefer self to fellow creatures and to God, so as to seek its 
own real or supposed advantage at the expense of the inter- 
ests and the honor of both. So far, on the contrary, is self- 
love from being unwarrantable, that, in that part of God's 
law which prescribes our feelings and conduct towards our 
fellow creatures, it is assumed as the standard measure of 
the commanded duty, "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thy- 
self." Take away self-love, or suppose it possible that the 
human heart should be divested of it, and you annihilate the 
command by rendering it unintelligible. 
There is not, assuredly, any part of the divine word, by 
which we are required, in any circumstances, to divest our- 
selves of this essential principle in our constitution. That 
word, on the contrary, is full of appeals to it, under every 
diversity of form. Such are all its threatenings, all its prom- 
ises, all its invitations." CHAPTER FIFTH. 
PROPENSITIES CONTINUED. 
SOCIALITY OR THE DESIRE OF SOCIETY. 
§. 135. The principle of sociality original in the human mind. 
In examining the propensive principles, it is a matter of 
but little consequence, either philosophically or practically, 
in what order they present themselves for consideration. 
The principle of sociality or desire of society is deferred to 
the present chapter, and is made the subject of a distinct 
consideration, not because the order of nature required it, 
but because its importance seemed to entitle it to a more de- 
tailed and extended notice, than the principles which have 
preceded. The doctrine, which we propose to maintain, 
is, that men naturally ,(not moved to it primarily by the in- 
fluences of education or considerations of interest,) but of 
themselves and naturally have a desire of the company or so- 
ciety of their fellow-men ; a tendency of the mind, expressed 
by the single term sociality or sociability. 
We are aware, that the desire of society, as well as sotne 
of the other original propensions, has sometimes been re- 
garded, as a mere modification of selfism. It is the fact, how- 
ever, that in its first operation the desire of society acts in- 
stinctively, being directed to its object as an ultimate end, 
wholly irrespective of any pleasure, which may subsequently 
be found attached to its attainment. It is one of the charac- 
teristics of Desire, as we have already seen, that the attain- 
ment of its object is attended with more or less pleasure. 
And this is as true of the successful issue of the principle of 
Sociality as of any other principle, involving as a part of its 
nature the desiring element. Accordingly after the experi- 
§. 136. The principle of sociality not selfish. 162 
PROPENSITIES. 
ence of pleasure attendant upon its successful exercise, even 
in a single instance, it is possible, that its subsequent action 
may be prompted rather by a regard to the concomitant en- 
joyment, than to the object, which originally called it forth. 
Such an exercise of the principle under consideration may 
with some appearance of propriety be termed a selfish one ; 
but this is rather a secondary than an original exercise ; and 
does not so much indicate what the principle is by nature as 
what it may become by subordinate, or by perverting influ- 
ences. In itself considered, it is innocent and highly useful ; 
it may indeed, after its first exercise, be indulged from a re- 
gard to personal or self-interested considerations ; that is to 
say, from a regard to our own happiness or pleasure; but even 
the exercise of the principle from such considerations is not 
to be regarded, as some may suppose, as morally wrong, 
provided it is so regulated as not to conflict with the proper 
operation of other principles and with the claims of duty. 
' §. 137. Reference to the doctrine of Hobbes on this subject. 
We shall enter a little more minutely into the considera- 
tion of this principle than of those which have preceded ; 
for this reason among others, that the doctrine, which we 
propose to maintain, has not been universally received. We 
have reference in this remark to the opinions of those per- 
sons, who, in concurrence with the doctrine of Mr. Hobbes, 
the author of the political treatise of the Leviathan and of 
some philosophical writings, maintain, that men do not natu- 
rally seek, but rather avoid each other's society, being in- 
spired with sentiments of aversion, and regarding their fel- 
low-men as enemies, and not as friends. If the great fact, 
which meets them at the first step in the inquiry, that men 
actually live in society, be objected to them, they answer, 
not by denying the fact, but by saying, that this is a matter 
of necessity ; in other words, that men live in society, not 
because they love it, but because, in all the circumstances 
of the case, they had rather do this, painful as it is, than 
suffer other evils still greater. The weak, they say, found 
themselves in danger of being overrun and destroyed by the 
more powerful ; and in order to protect themselves, were 
willing to enter into a companionship and union with their SOCIALITY OR THE DESIRE OF SOCIETY. 
163 
fellow-men, which they would otherwise have gladly avoid- 
ed. And in proof of the correctness of their opinions, they 
refer to those precautions against the injurious attacks of oth- 
ers, which are generally considered necessary, such as locks, 
keys, bars, bolts, prisons, civil officers of justice, and a mili- 
tary force. 
In order that the subsequent part of the discussion may 
be less embarrassed, it will be proper to delay a moment in 
the consideration of these statements. As to the fact, that 
such precautions as have been specified are generally taken, 
and that there is a reason for them, we do not suppose, that 
it is at all a matter of question. But it will be recollected, if 
there were only one unprincipled and violent man in a com- 
munity of some hundreds or thousands, who felt disposed in 
secrecy and darkness or at any other time to exert his pow- 
er to the injury of his neighbors, these precautions would be 
rendered necessary. The view, therefore, which we may 
properly take is, that the facts referred to, although they 
may be admitted to exist, do not necessarily prove the ab- 
sence of the principle of sociality, considered as a general 
element of human nature ; but merely prove the presence 
and influence of other principles, which have the effect in 
some instances to restrict and overrule the social element.- 
The general rule,,resting, as we shall endeavor to show, on 
satisfactory evidence, is, that man is a social being, seeking 
and delighting in the society of his fellow-men ; and the 
facts just referred to merely show, and so far they may be 
admitted to be conclusive, that the general rule is liable to 
occasional exceptions. 
§. 138. Remarks on the statements of the preceding section. 
§. 139. The doctrine of an original principle of sociality supported by 
the view, that it is necessary to man in his actual situation. 
In proceeding to bring forward some considerations in 
support of the doctrine, that the desire of society is a con- 
natural element of our mental nature, it may be remarked, 
as introductory to other considerations of a more decisive 
character, that the various relations, which man sustains, 
seem to require it. In other words, his situation is such, be- 
ing unable in point of fact to exist independently of society, 164 
PROPENSITIES. 
as to demand just such a principle as this. If he be destitute 
of this principle, it may be said with no small degree of plau- 
sibility, that he is not fitted with entire wisdom to those cir- 
cumstances, in which he is actually placed. But this state 
of things would obviously be at variance with the analogy of 
nature in other cases; and would seem to imply not only a 
deficiency of wisdom, but a want of goodness also in the Su- 
preme Being. In other cases He has fitted, with an admi- 
rable adjustment, the objects of his creation and care to the 
situations, in which he has designed them to live and act. 
The wing of the bird is precisely adapted to the air ; the fin 
of the fish is adapted to the element where it is placed ; the 
organ of respiration is conformed to the properties of the at- 
mosphere ; the eye exhibits a wonderful adaptation to the 
light ; the organ of touch is skilfully adapted to the nature 
of the external bodies with which it is conversant ; and the 
same of instances innumerable. As man, therefore, is found 
existing as a member and part of society, and by general 
concession cannot live happily and effectively, if he can live 
at all, out of society, we should be naturally led to expect, 
that the principles of his internal constitution would be such 
as to correspond to the facts and incidents of his external 
condition. Society is necessary to him ; and the principle of 
sociality corresponds to this necessity, by furnishing a firm 
and broad basis for the existence of society. And this cor- 
respondence indicates wisdom. But what shall we say of 
that wisdom or that goodness, which, in connection with the 
undeniable necessity of the social constitution of things, im- 
plants in the human mind a principle of repulsion, which 
tends to arm every man against his neighbor, and to scatter 
society in a thousand directions ! 
§. 140. Of this principle as it exists in the lower animals. 
Before we advance to the direct proofs on this subject, 
there is one other consideration, which, although of subordi- 
nate importance may still be thought worthy of some notice. 
It is, that the principle of sociality exists, with but few ex- 
ceptions, in the various classes of the lower animals. Those 
of the same class are found constantly herding together; 
and no small part of the pleasure which they experience ap- SOCIALITY OR THE DESIRE OF SOCIETY. 
165 
pears to result from the fact of a participation in each other's 
company. Whenever they are compelled to separate from 
each other for any length of time, particularly the young an- 
imals, they almost invariably exhibit a high degree of unea- 
siness and unhappiness. So strong is their desire of society, 
that animals, which happen to be separated from those of their 
own kind, will not unfrequently form a friendship with other 
animals, whose companionship under other circumstances 
would be far from being sought after. If this principle is 
necessary in the lower animals, and contributes to their hap- 
piness, as it obviously does, why should not man, who stands 
equally in need of it, be put in possession of the benefits of 
the same principle ? We certainly should expect to find it 
to be so. 
§. 141. The existence of the principle shown from the conduct of chil- 
dren and youth. 
We now proceed to remark, that the existence of the 
propensity under consideration is shown, in the first place, 
like that of some of the propensive principles of the last 
chapter, by what we notice in the early periods of life. No 
one is ignorant, that infants and very young children exhib- 
it a strong attachment to their parents and others who tend 
upon them, and a desire for their company, and uneasiness 
at their absence. When left alone, even for a very short 
time, they discover a great degree of unhappiness, which 
may sometimes be ascribed to fear, but more often to the 
mere sense of loneliness, and the desire for society. 
When other infants and children are brought into their 
company, whom they have never seen before, this propen- 
sity is at once shown in their smiles, their animated gestures, 
and sparkling eyes. And when they are old enough to go 
out and play in the streets, we find them almost always in 
groups. Their sports, their wandering in fields and forests, 
their excursions in fishing and hunting, are all made in com- 
panies ; and the privilege of amusing themselves in these 
ways, on the condition of not being allowed the attendance 
of others, would be deemed scarcely better than a punish- 
ment. 
In corroboration of what has just been said, we may prop- 166 
PROPENSITIES. 
erly recur a moment to those strong attachments, which are 
formed in early life. Wherever we go, and whatever vicissi- 
tudes of fortune may attend us, our thoughts and affections 
revert with eagerness to the associates of our early days. 
The basis of this strong attachment, it can hardly be doubt- 
ed, is to be sought for in the operations of the principle of 
sociality. It was under the influence of this principle that 
we so frequently sought them out; that we flew eagerly to 
their arms in the first moments of relaxation from duty ; that 
we visited with them the banks of the river and the recesses 
of the forest ; and grew up in the reciprocation of those 
charities and acts of kindness, which render that period of 
life so hallowed in the recollection. If this principle, so pow- 
erful in its operation, had not been implanted in the human 
bosom, we should have looked in vain for these marked re- 
sults. 
§. 142. The same shown from the facts of later life. 
In the second place, this propensity, which shows itself 
with so much strength in children, continues to exist, and to 
give interesting and decisive proofs of its existence, in man- 
hood and age. It is true, that those, who are further advan- 
ced in years, from the circumstance of their finding greater 
resources in themselves, are in general more capable of sup- 
porting retirement and solitude, than children. But it is 
very evident, in the maturity as well as in the earlier peri- 
ods of life, that man's proper element, (that, in which alone 
he can secure the developement of his powers and be hap- 
py,) is society, in some shape and in some degree. Hence 
the frequency of family meetings, of social and convivial par- 
ties, of commemorative celebrations, of religious, literary, 
and political assemblies, which constantly occur in all com- 
munities throughout the world ; and which seem to be al- 
most as necessary as the air they breathe, or their daily food. 
It is true that some persons appear disposed to speak of 
these things as resulting from, or at least as very closely 
connected with the comforts and conveniences of civilized 
life. In other words, they suppose, that men seek society, 
not from any natural impulse of the mind, but merely from 
the anticipation of the benefits, which society, considered as 
the source and centre of civilization and the arts, will belike- SOCIALITY OR THE DESIRE OF SOCIETY. 
167 
ly to confer. That the desire of society is increased by this 
consideration, it is perhaps not necessary either to affirm or 
deny ; but that it is originated or created by such views, 
which is the statement that we object to, is a position, 
which does not appear at all warranted by the facts that are 
presented to our notice. Look, for instance, at those por- 
tions of the human race, that are confessedly in a state of 
barbarism ; and consider the results, which are there pre- 
sented. Where do we find the social principle showing it- 
self more strongly than among groups of wandering Gypsies, 
than in the tents of stern and restless Arabs, in the wigwams 
and hunting parties of American Savages, or the cheerless 
abodes of the poor and desolate Esquimeaux ? Unpolished 
in manners, and rough in temper, and wanting even the ne- 
cessaries of life, it must be something more than the mere 
refinements and pleasures of civilization, which brings them 
together day after day and night after night, and makes the 
walls of their miserable habitation tremble with their tu- 
multuous companionship. It is one of the excellencies of 
this great principle, that it is the friend of the ignorant and 
the wretched. Bereft of those comforts which are gener- 
ally understood to attend the condition of refinement and 
opulence, they are prompted by the operations of the social 
principle to throw themselves into the arms of their fellow- 
men ; and as the ordinary result, they find, in the mere na- 
ked fact of social intercourse, a degree of substantial conso- 
lation. 
§. 143. The social principle exists in the enemies of society. 
It may be remarked in reply to what has been said, that 
there are individuals and even masses or bodies of men, who 
are in a state of contention and war with society, and in 
whom of course the social principle has no place. The fact, 
which is stated, we do not deny; but the conclusion, which 
is drawn from it, does not follow, and is not true. On the 
contrary, it is a striking fact, that the social principle, al- 
though restricted in its range, is found to exist, with undimin- 
ished strength, in those, who are generally regarded as the 
outcasts and enemies of society. These men would be more 
desolate and wretched than they are, if there were not some, 168 
PROPENSITIES. 
with whom they could associate ; some, whom they could 
call their friends, and with whom they could participate in 
their good or evil fortune. The influence of the desire of 
esteem may be overruled and annulled ; the sentiments of 
filial and parental affection may be extinguished ; the light 
of conscience may be put out ; and yet they may find them- 
selves unable, (and in point of fact, this is almost invariably 
the case,) to sunder entirely the tie, which binds them to 
their fellow-men. They can bear the pain, so insupportable 
to an unperverted and ingenuous mind, of having their names 
cast out as evil ; but they are unable to endure the wretch- 
edness of an entire and absolute seclusion from society. 
§. 144. Proofs of the natural desire of society from the confessions and 
conduct of those who have been deprived of it. 
Let us now attend a moment, in the third place, to the 
condition of those, who are so unfortunate as to be separated 
from society, particularly from their friends. We presume 
to say, that it will require no further proof than is involved 
in the mere statement itself, when we assert that the grief 
they suffer is in all ordinary cases sincere and deep ; and that 
not unfreqnently it is extreme. If the record of human mis- 
ery could at once be unfolded to our view, it would abun- 
dantly appear in respect to multitudes, who have perished 
in prison and in exile, that it was the deprivation of human 
society, particularly the society of their friends, which infu- 
sed the deadliest ingredient into their cup of suffering. If 
the social propensity be not natural to us, it is not easy to 
explain, why an exclusion from intercourse with our fellow- 
men should be attended with such unspeakable wretched- 
ness. Even the stern and inflexible Coriolanus, for whom 
all the forms of danger and even death seem to have had no 
terrors, could not endure his protracted banishment from 
Rome without bitter complaint, ^Mullo miserius seni exilium 
esse." 
If we felt at liberty thus to take up the time of the reader, 
we might without doubt illustrate the subject by some affec- 
ting statements. It will answer our purpose, however, 
briefly to recur to a single incident in the history of the Re- 
public of Venice. In the year 1450, a young man by the SOCIALITY OR THE DESIRE OF SOCIETY. 
169 
name of Foscari, the only surviving son of the Doge of the 
same name, was banished from the Republic, on a charge, of 
which it was subsequently ascertained that he was innocent. 
Having suffered the wretchedness of banishment for five lono- 
years, he at last wrote to the Duke of Milan, imploring his 
assistance ; but the letter was put into the hands of the Ven- 
etian Council of Ten. As the laws of the Republic forbade 
any application to foreign princes in any thing, which related 
to the Government of Venice, the Council considered the 
circumstance such as to require, that he should be sent for, 
and tried upon this new crime. Being brought before them, 
he made this remarkable statement to the Council :-That 
he wrote the letter in the full persuasion, that the merchant, 
whose character he knew, would betray him, and deliver it 
to them ; the consequence of which, he foresaw, would be 
his being ordered back to Venice, the only means he had in 
his power of seeing his parents and friends ; a pleasure for 
which he had languished with insurmountable desire, for 
some time, and which he was willing to purchase at the ex- 
pense of any danger or pain. The event showed that he 
was sincere in what he said, for on being ordered back to the 
place of his banishment, he died in a short time of pure an- 
guish of heart. 
145. Further proofs and illustrations of the natural origin of the prin- 
ciple of sociality. 
The considerations, which have hitherto been advanced, 
are plain, obvious, and incontrovertible ; showing undeniably 
that society is man's natural element, and that his perma- 
nent removal from it is attended with immeasurable pain. 
Such instances as those last referred to, vyhich unfortunate- 
ly are found thickly scattered in history, indicate how much 
of truth and nature there is in the following passage of 
Thompson's Agamemnon ; 
"Cast on the wildest of the Cyclad isles, 
"Where never human foot had marked the shore, 
"These ruffians left me. Yet believe rne, Areas, 
"I never heard a sound so dismal as their parting oars. 
But we proceed, in the fourth place, to remark, that there 
is another class of facts of a very interesting character, 
which not only show the existence of this propensity, but il- 170 
PROPENSITIES. 
lustrate its strength in a most striking manner. Facts can 
be brought to show, that the desire of society is so insepara- 
ble from man's nature and so strong, that, if men are entire- 
ly excluded from the company of their fellow-men, they will 
establish an acquaintance and companionship with sheep, 
dogs, horses, goats, mice, spiders, any thing whatever, 
which has life and motion. 
"As the old man crept out of his little hut, (says Walter 
Scott,) his two she-goats came to meet him, and licked his 
hands in gratitude for the vegetables, with which he supplied 
them from his garden."* The Black Dwarf acknowledged 
the gratitude of these animals, and asserted, that, outcast 
and deformed as he was, the finest shape that ever statuary 
moulded would be an object of indifference or of alarm, should 
it present itself instead of the mutilated trunk, to whose ser- 
vices they were accustomed. 
Although the fictitious delineations of this celebrated wri- 
ter are hardly less valuable in relation to the human mind, 
than if they were given as the authentic details of history, 
we find, in his Life of Napoleon, an incident parallel to the 
above, and which throws light on the subject before us. 
Speaking of the banishments and other forms of suffering, 
connected with the French Revolution, he remarks, that 
"Strangers are forcibly affected by the trifling incidents, 
which sometimes recall the memory of those fearful times. 
A venerable French ecclesiastic being on a visit at a gentle- 
man's house in North Britain, it was remarked by the family, 
that a favorite cat, rather wild and capricious in his habits, 
paid particular attention to their guest. It was explained, 
by the priest giving an account of his lurking in the waste 
garret, or lumber room, of an artisan's house, for several 
weeks. In this condition he had no better amusement than 
to study the manners and habits of the cats which frequent- 
ed his place of retreat, and acquire the mode of conciliating 
their favor. The difficulty of supplying him with food, with- 
out attracting suspicion, was extreme, and it could only be 
placed near his place of concealment in small quantities, and 
at uncertain times. Men, women, and children, knew of his 
being in that place ; there were rewards to be gained by 
* The Black Dwarf, Chap. vn. SOCIALITY OR THE DESIRE OF SOCIETY. 
171 
discovery, life to be lost by persevering in concealing him ; 
yet he was faithfully preserved, to try upon a Scottish cat, 
after the restoration of the Monarchy, the arts which he 
had learned in his miserable place of shelter during the reign 
of Terror. The history of the time abounds with similar in- 
stances."* 
/ §. 146. Other illustrations of a similar kind. 
The instances of the preceding' section are introduced to 
show, that men, if deprived of human society, will endeavor 
to satisfy the natural demands of their propensities, by form- 
ing a species of intimacy with the lower animals ; a circum- 
stance, which seems to us decisively to evince not only the 
innate existence, but the great strength of the social tenden- 
cy. There are multitudes of other facts of the same kind, 
and still more striking than those which have already been 
noticed. Baron Trenck, for instance, in order to alleviate 
the wretchedness of his long and dreadful imprisonment, 
made the attempt, and was successful in it, to tame a mouse. 
The mouse, according to his account of him, would not only 
play around him and eat from his hand ; but discovered ex- 
traordinary marks of sagacity, as well as of attachment. 
"This intelligent mouse, (he remarks,) had nearly been 
my ruin. I had diverted myself with it during the night ; 
it had been nibbling at my door, and capering on a trencher. 
The sentinels happened to hear our amusement, and called 
the officers ; they heard also, and added all was not right in 
my dungeon. At day-break, my doors resounded ; the town- 
major^ smith, and mason entered. Strict search was begun; 
flooring, walls, chains, and my own person were all scruti- 
nized, but in vain. They asked what was the noise they 
had heard. I mentioned the mouse, whistled, and it came 
and jumped upon my shoulder. Orders were given that I 
should be deprived of its society ; I earnestly entreated that 
they would at least spare its life. The officer on guard gave 
me his word of honor he would present it to a lady, who 
would treat it with the utmost tenderness. 
"He took it away, turned it loose in the guard room, but 
it was tame to me alone, and sought a hiding-place. It had 
fled to my prison door, and at the hour of visitation, ran in- 
* Scott's Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, Chap. xvi. 172 
PROPENSITIES. 
to my dungeon, inmediately testifying its joy by its antic 
leaping between my legs. It is worthy of remark that it had 
been taken away blindfold, that is to say, wrapped in a 
handkerchief. The guard room was a hundred paces from 
my dungeon. How then did it find its master ? Did it know 
or did it wait for the hour of visitation ? Had it remarked 
the doors were daily opened ? 
All were desirous of obtaining this mouse, but the major 
carried it off for his lady ; she put it into a cage, where it 
pined, refused all sustenance, and in a few days was found 
dead. The loss of this little companion made me for some 
time quite melancholy." 
§. 147. Other instances in illustration of the same subject. 
Mr. Stewart, in illustrating this very subject, makes the 
following statement. "The Count de Lauzun was confi- 
ned by Louis XIV for nine years in the Castle of Pignerol, 
in a small room where no light could enter, but from a chink 
in the roof. In this solitude he attached himself to a spider, 
and contrived for some time to amuse himself in attempting 
to tame it, with catching flies for its support, and with su- 
perintending the progress of its web. The jailor discovered 
his amusement and killed the spider ; and the Count used 
afterwards to declare, that the pang he felt on the occasion 
could be compared only to that of a mother for the loss of 
a child." 
More recently we find statements of a similar purport in 
the interesting little work of Silvio Pellico, which gives an 
account of his Ten Year's Imprisonment.-"Being almost de- 
prived of human society, (he remarks,) I one day made ac- 
quaintance with some ants upon my window ; I fed them ; 
they went away, and ere long the place was thronged with 
these little insects as if come by invitation. A spider too had 
weaved a noble edifice upon my walls, and I often gave him 
a feast of gnats or flies, which were extremely annoying to 
me, and which he liked much better than I did. I got quite 
accustomed to the sight of him ; he would run over my bed, 
and come and take the precious morsels out of my hand." 
On a certain occasion, being detected in conversation 
with his fellow-prisoner Count Orobini, Pellico was not only SOCIALITY OR THE DESIRE OF SOCIETY. 
173 
reprimanded, but strictly ordered never afterwards to con- 
verse from his window. He resolutely refused in language, 
that clearly indicates the workings and longings of the hu- 
man heart. "I shall do no such thing. I shall speak as long 
as I have breath and invite my neighbor to talk to me. If 
he refuse, I will talk to my window bars, I will talk to the 
hills before me, I will talk to the birds as they fly about. I 
will talk." On another occasion, after having been visited 
by some one, who took a more than usual interest in his sit- 
uation, he exclaims, " how strange, how irresistible is the 
desire of the solitary prisoner to behold some one of his own 
species! It amounts to almost a sort of instinct, as if to prevent 
insanity, and its usual consequence, the tendency to self-de- 
struction. The Christian religion, so abounding in views of 
humanity, forgets not to enumerate among its works of mer- 
cy, the visiting of the prisoner. The mere aspect of man, his 
look of commiseration, his willingness, as it were, to share 
with you, and bear a part of your heavy burden, even when 
you know he cannot relieve you, has something that sweet- 
ens your bitter cup." 
We hold it to be quite certain, that such considerations 
and facts as have been brought forward, cannot be satisfac- 
torily explained, except on the ground that the love of socie- 
ty is originally implanted in the human mind. We might, 
therefore, be safe in leaving the subject here ; but there are 
some other facts, similar to those which have been mention- 
ed, that seem to possess no small degree of interest. We 
refer not so much to the case of distinguished individuals, 
who have been subjected to long and severe imprisonment, 
as to some of the more general results, that maybe gathered 
from the history of prison discipline. 
§. 148. The subject illustrated from experiments in prison discipline. 
In the year 1821 the Legislature of New York directed 
the Superintendent of the Auburn State Prison to select a 
number of the most hardened criminals, and to lock them 
up in solitary cells, to be kept there day and night, without 
any interruption of their solitude, and without labor. This 
order which was regarded and was designed to be regarded 
in the light of an experiment, was carried into effect in Sep- 174 
PROPENSITIES. 
tember of that year, by confining eighty criminals in the man- 
ner prescribed. On this experiment Messrs. Beaumont and 
Toqueville, who were recently commissioned by the French 
government to examine and to report on the American sys- 
tem of Prison Discipline, made the following remarks. "This 
trial, from which so happy a result had been anticipated, was 
fatal to the greater part of the convicts ; in order to reform 
them, they had been subjected to complete isolation ; but 
this absolute solitude, if nothing interrupt it, is beyond the 
strength of man ; it destroys the criminal without intermis- 
sion, and without pity ; it does not reform, it kills. The 
unfortunates, on whom this experiment was made, fell into 
a state of depression so manifest, that their keepers were 
struck with it ; their lives seemed in danger, if they remain- 
ed longer in this situation ; five of them had already suc- 
cumbed during a single year ; their moral state was not less 
alarming ; one of them had become insane ; another, in a fit 
of despair, had embraced the opportunity, when the keeper 
brought him something, to precipitate himself from his cell, 
running the almost certain chance of a mortal fall. Upon 
these and similar effect the system was finally judged. The 
Governor of the State of New York pardoned twenty six of 
those in solitary confinement. The others, to whom this 
favor was not extended, were allowed to leave the cell du- 
ring the day, and to work in the common workshops of the 
prison." 
The Philadelphia Penitentiary appears to be constituted 
on what may be considered a mixed principle of punishment, 
viz, solitary confinement combined with labor, and alleviated 
by opportunities of reading and by frequent visits from offi- 
cial persons, such as the inspectors, wardens, and chaplain. 
When Messrs. Beaumontand Toqueville visited this Peniten- 
tiary, one of the prisoners said to them in language, which 
feelingly intimates how repugnant entire solitude is to the 
natural sentiments of the human heart ; "it is with joy that 
I perceive the figure of the keepers who visit my cell. This 
summer a cricket came into my yard ; it looked like a com- 
panion. When a butterfly or any other animal happens to 
enter my cell, I never do it any harm." 
It may be added here on the authority of the Translator SOCIALITY OR THE DESIRE OF SOCIETY. 
175 
of the Work, from which the foregoing extracts have been 
made, that the fatal effects of solitary confinement without 
labor, both to the body and the mind of the prisoners, has not 
been limited to the Auburn Prison. The Penitentiaries of 
Maryland, Maine, Virginia, and New Jersey, in their experi- 
ments of this kind, have not exhibited happier results. In 
the latter Prison, ten persons are mentioned as having been 
killed by solitary confinement." * 
§. 149. Relation of the social principle to civil society. 
It is on such considerations that we maintain the principle, 
which has now been the subject of examination, to be con- 
natural to the human mind. If men are frequently found 
in a state of contention, jealous of each other's advancement, 
and seeking each other's injury, we are not to regard this as 
their natural position ; but rather as the result, in many ca- 
ses at least, of misapprehension. If they understood, in every 
case, the relative position of those, with whom they contend, 
and especially if they were free from all unfavorable influen- 
ces from those, who happen to be placed in positions of au- 
thority, the great mass of mankind would find the principle 
of sociality successfully asserting its claims against those 
causes of repulsion and strife, which for various reasons too 
often exist. 
In concluding this subject, we may properly revert a mo- 
ment to the strange notion of Hobbes and those who think 
with him, that man is kept in society only by the fear of 
what he significantly calls the Leviathan ; that is to say of 
Civil Society in the exercise of force. These writers give 
us to understand, that it is the chain, the sword, and the 
faggot, which sustains the uniformity of the social position. 
We have no doubt, that Civil Government, in its proper ad- 
ministration, has a favorable effect, even in the exercise of 
force. But at the same time it is a great and important fact, 
that Civil Society has a different, and in all respects a better 
foundation than this. It is based on the constitution of the 
mind itself, on the unfailing operations of the social principle. 
It is true, that the tendencies of this principle are sometimes 
* Lieber's Translation of Beaumont and Toqueville's Penitentiary 
System of the United States, pp. 5, 51, 151, 188. 176 
PROPENSITIES. 
temporarily annulled by counteracting and adverse influen- 
ces ; but the principle itself is never, in a sound mind, perfect- 
ly extinguished. There is philosophical truth, as well as po- 
etical beauty in the well known expressions of Cowper. 
"Man in society is like a flower 
"Blown in his native bed ; 'tis there alone 
"'His faculties, expanded in full bloom, 
"Shine out; there only reach their proper use. 
§. 150. Of the form of desire denominated hope. 
Before leaving the Propensities and ascending, in the 
gradation of the Desiring or Desirous Sensibilities, to the still 
higher class of the Affections, we may delay a moment upon 
a state of mind, which, although vve may not have authority 
to give it a distinct place, has a name in every language, and 
perhaps we may add with strict truth, a residence in every 
breast. We refer to the state of mind denominated Hope, 
which does not appear to be a distinct form of desire separate 
from every other, but rather a modification of all its forms. 
Whenever the desire, whether it appear in the form of a pro- 
pensity or an affection or in any other possible shape, is at- 
tended with a belief of the attainment of the object towards 
which it is directed, it is generally accompanied, in conse- 
quence of this belief, with a pleasant emotion J The effect of 
this collateral or accessory emotion is to stimulate the action 
of the desire, whose success it anticipates, and to diffuse over 
it a portion of its own glow of happiness. Of course this 
pleasurable emotion will be greater or less, according as 
there is a greater or less probability of the object being at- 
tained. When the probability is small, the emotion of plea- 
sure is weak ; when it is great, the pleasure becomes strong. 
It is in the latter case, that we often speak of 'gay' hope, of 
'cheering,' or 'bright' hope and regard it as spreading a sort 
of rapturous light over the distant objects, which it contem- 
plates. 
"With thee, sweet Hope! resides the heavenly light, 
"That pours remotest rapture on the sight. 
The influence of that peculiar modification of pleased and vi- 
vid desire, which, in order to distinguish it from other forms 
of desire, we denominate Hope is undoubtedly very great; THE MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
177 
and in most cases, it is to be presumed, that its tendency is 
beneficial. Scarcely a duty or situation of life can be nam- 
ed, in which its influence is not felt more or less. The 
school boy is encouraged in his tasks by some hope of re- 
ward ; and when grown up to manhood, he cheers himself, 
after a thousand disappointments, with some good in prospect. 
The poor peasant, who laboriously cultivates his few sterile 
acres, sees them in his anticipation rich, and blooming, and 
prodigal of wealth. It proffers its aid in the chambers of the 
sick and suffering ; and the victim of oppressive tyranny, the 
captive in the dungeon, is encouraged to summon up the for- 
titude necessary to prolong his existence, by the hope, how- 
ever poorly founded, of future deliverance. 
CHAPTER SIXTH. 
THE MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
§. 151. Of the comparative rank of the affections. 
It will be recollected, after some general remarks on the 
Nature of desire, we proposed to prosecute the examination 
of what may be called, in distinction from the emotive, the 
desirous portion of the Pathematic sensibilities, under the 
subordinate heads of the Instincts, the Appetites, the Propen- 
sities, and the Affections. Having examined, so far as seem- 
ed to be necessary for our purpose, the three first divisions, 
we are now prepared to proceed to the last. 
The Affections are distinguished from the other forms of 
the desirous or propensive nature, besides other subordinate 
marks or characteristics which will naturally present them- 
selves to our notice as they come separately under examina- 
tion, in being, in the first place, more complex, and also by 
the circumstance of their sustaining a higher place in the 
graduation of our esteem and honor. It may be difficult to 
explain how it happens, but it is unquestionably the fact, 178 
THE MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
that there is a difference in the sentiments of esteem, with 
which we contemplate different parts of our nature ; some 
being regarded with higher, and some with less honor. In 
the graduation of our regard, it appears to be the fact, that 
we generally estimate the appetites, as in some degree high- 
er than the instincts, and the propensities as higher than 
either. To the Affections, especially the Benevolent affec- 
tions, which occupy in our estimation a still more eleva- 
ted position, we look with increased feelings of interest. 
They obviously stand at the head of the list ; and when we 
shall have completed their examination, nothing more will 
remain to be said on the regular or ordinary action of the 
Natural Sensibilities. We shall then be at liberty to pro- 
ceed to another and still more important class of subjects. 
§. 152. Of the complex nature of the affections. 
The Affections, unlike the Appetites and Propensities as 
they exist uin their primitive or original developement, are 
not simple states of mind, but complex. Accordingly the 
term affection denotes a state of mind, of which it is indeed 
true that some simple emotion is always a part, but which 
differs from any single simple emotion, in being combined 
with some form of that state of the mind called desire. "As 
to every sort of passion, (says Kaimes,) we find no more in 
the composition, but an emotion pleasant or painful, accom- 
panied with desire." 
The affections are susceptible of being divided, although 
it may not be in all respects easy to carry the arrangement 
into effect in its details, into the two classes of Benevolent 
and Malevolent. The malevolent affections, as a general 
thing, include a painful emotion, accompanied with a desire 
of evil to the unpleasant object. The benevolent affections, 
on the contrary, include, for the most part, a pleasant emo- 
tion, accompanied with the desire of good to the pleasing 
object. But what distinguishes and characterizes the two 
classes is probably not so much the nature of the emotion, 
as the desire of good or evil which attends it. It is on the 
basis of this division that we propose to proceed in the exami- 
nation of this subject. 
It is proper to remark here, that the term passions, in RESENTMENT. 
179 
conformity with the authorized usage of language, is suscep- 
tible of being employed as entirely synonymous with affec- 
tions. In this sense we shall sometimes have occasion to 
use it; although it is frequently the case, that it is employed 
also as expressive not merely of the existence of the affec- 
tions, but as implying their existence in a raised or eminent 
degree. 
§. 153. Of resentment or anger. 
The first of the malevolent affections, which we pro- 
pose to consider, (that which may be termed the foundation 
or basis of all the others,) is Resentment or Anger. This 
affection like all others is of a complex nature, involving an 
unpleasant or painful emotion, accompanied with the desire 
of inflicting unpleasantness or pain on the object, towards 
which it is directed. In its original or natural state, the de- 
sire appears to be, to some extent, the counterpart of the 
emotion ; that is to say, having experienced an unpleasant 
or painful emotion, in consequence of the actual or supposed 
ill conduct of others, we naturally desire, in the exercise of 
the Resentment arising under such circumstances, a corres- 
ponding retribution of pain on the offending agent. But in 
saying, that they are reciprocally counterparts, we do not 
feel at liberty to assert, although there seem to be grounds 
for such a suggestion, that they possess to each other a pre- 
cise and exact correspondence. 
There are various modifications of Resentment, so distinct 
from each other as easily to admit of a separate notice and to 
be entitled to a distinct name, such as Peevishness, Jealousy, 
and Revenge. These will be considered, although in as 
brief a manner as possible, in their proper place. It is neces- 
sary to remark a little more at length upon the passion now 
before us, which may be regarded as in some important sense 
the foundation and the place of origin to all the others. 
§. 154- Illustrations of instinctive resentment. 
The affections, agreeing in this respect with what has 
been said of the Appetites and Propensities, have a two-fold 
action, instinctive and voluntary ; operating, in the one case, 
suddenly and without thought ; in the other, operating on 
reflection and with deliberate purpose of mind. Accor- 180 
THE MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
dingly we proceed to remark, in the first place, on the in- 
stinctive form of resentment. The occasions, on which this 
form of resentment arises, or is liable to arise, are all cases 
of harm or suffering, whether such harm or suffering be 
caused intentionally or not. The harm, which we experi- 
ence, is followed by the resentment at once ; the rapidity of 
the retributive movement may be compared to that of a flash 
of lightning ; quick as the operation of thought is universally 
allowed to be, there is no opportunity for its interposition be- 
tween the harm which has been experienced, and the resent- 
ment that follows. Under such circumstances it is of course 
impossible, that the resentment should be regulated by the 
consideration, whether the hurt, which we have experienced, 
was intentional or not. It is the harm, in itself considered, 
which arouses us; exclusive of any reference to the circum- 
stances, under which it is inflicted. 
We not unfrequently see instances of instinctive resent- 
ment, corresponding to what has been said. It is under the 
influence of this form of resentment, that the child, who has 
been accidentally hurt by a stone or a billet of wood, wreaks 
a momentary anger upon the inanimate object ; that the 
Savage breaks and fiercely tramples upon the arrow, which 
has wounded him ; and that men, in the first moments of 
their suffering, almost universally discover a sudden and 
marked displeasure with the cause of it. 
, §. 155. Uses and moral character of instinctive resentment. 
The object, (or final cause as it is sometimes termed,) 
for which the principle of instinctive resentment is implanted 
in man, seems to be to furnish him with a degree of protec- 
tion in the case of sudden and unforeseen attacks. The rea- 
soning power is comparatively slow in its operation ; and if 
the constitution of our nature were such as to require^us al- 
ways to wait for its results before acting, we might in some 
cases fail of that protection, which an instinctive effort would 
have given. Hence the practical importance of this form of 
the principle under consideration. 
It may be added, that instinctive resentment has no mor- 
al character. It is the glory of the moral nature, that it lays 
back, if we may be allowed the expressions, of the intellec- RESENTMENT. 
181 
five nature ; and that it does not, and cannot act, indepen- 
dently of the antecedent action, to a greater or less extent, 
of the intellect. In other words, the nature of conscience is 
such as to require, as the basis of its action, a knowledge of 
the thing and its relations, upon which it is about to pro- 
nounce its opinion ; which knowledge can be acquired only 
by the perceptive and comparing acts of the intellect. But 
such is the rapidity of instinctive action, that it entirely ex- 
cludes a suitable knowledge of the event, which calls it forth; 
and as it in this way excludes the cognizance and authority 
of conscience, it cannot be said to have a moral character, 
either good or evil. 
§. 156. Of voluntary in distinction from instinctive resentment. 
The second, and in a practical and moral point of view, 
the more important form of this affection is what may be de- 
nominated Voluntary Resentment. By inquiring' into the 
cause of the resentment, which we have instinctively expe- 
rienced, and by suggesting reasons either for its increase or 
diminution, we are enabled to modify its action, and to im- 
part to it the character of voluntariness and accountability. 
The proper occasion of deliberate or Voluntary, in distinc- 
tion from instinctive Resentment, is injury, as it stands dis- 
tinguished from mere harm or hurt. That is to say, Volun- 
tary resentment, when exercised in accordance with the in- 
tentions of nature, takes into view not only the harm or suf- 
fering which has been occasioned, but the motive or inten- 
tion of the agent. The final cause or object of instinctive 
resentment is immediate protection ; nor does it appear to 
have any thing further in view. The final cause of volunta- 
ry resentment is not only protection but justice. In other 
words, while it aims to secure protection, it does not propose 
the attainment of that object, except in conformity with what 
is strictly proper and right. It always, therefore, in its ap- 
propriate and legitimate exercise, dispenses its retribution, 
not simply with a reference to the harm, loss, or suffering 
which has been endured, but chiefly with reference to the 
feelings, which at the time existed in the mind of the agent 
or cause of the suffering. 
A moral character, accordingly, attaches only to the vol- 182 
THE MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
untary form of resentment. If there is an exact proportion 
between the resentment and its cause, in other words if the 
resentment precisely corresponds to what justice requires, it 
is right. But if it exceeds this just proportion, it is wrong. 
This statement is made on the supposition, that we are con- 
sidering the subject by the mere aid of the light of nature, 
exclusively of the Scriptures. If, under the Christian dis- 
pensation, we are required for high and holy reasons peculiar 
to that dispensation, to subdue resentful feelings, which oth- 
erwise might have been justly exercised, that circumstance 
evidently places the subject in a different light. 
§. 157. Tendency of anger to excess, and the natural checks to it. 
Few principles are more operative in man, in point of fact, 
than that of resentment. And, although, reasoning on the 
principles of nature merely, without taking into view the du- 
ty of forgiveness inculcated in the Scriptures, we may justify 
its deliberate and voluntary exercise in many cases, it must 
be admitted on the whole, that it is particularly liable to a 
perverted and excessive action. It is too frequently the fact, 
that man is found wreaking his anger on those, who, on a 
full and candid examination of all the circumstances of the 
case, would be found entitled to no such treatment. 
One cause of the frequency of excessive and unjustifiable 
resentment is to be found in the fact, that in consequence of 
the suffering or loss we endure, our thoughts are wholly ta- 
ken up with our own situation, and we find it very difficult 
to estimate properly either the facts or the motives of our 
supposed adversary's conduct. If we could turn away our 
thoughts from ourselves, so far as fully to understand all the 
circumstances of a proceeding, which in itself considered we 
have found so injurious to us, we should frequently be wil- 
ling to check the vehemence of our anger, if we did not 
wholly extinguish it. 
Nature, however, has herself instituted some checks on 
the undue exercise of this passion. First. The exercise 
of this passion is, in its very nature, painful. It is in this 
respect very different from the exercise of the benevolent af- 
fections, which is pleasant. So great is the pain attendant 
upon deliberate and protracted anger, that it is not uncom- RESENTMENT. 
183 
mon to hear persons assert they have themselves endured 
more suffering in their own minds, than the gratification of 
their passions has caused to their opponents. Nature seems 
to have attached this penalty to the exercise of this passion, 
in order to remind men, at the most appropriate moment, of 
the necessity of keeping it in due subjection. 
Second. Whenever our resentment passes the proper 
bounds, the feelings of the community, which were before 
in our favor, immediately turn against us. We are so con- 
stituted, that we naturally desire the good opinion of others; 
and consequently the loss of their good opinion operates 
upon us as a punishment, and not unfrequently a severe one. 
Under the influence of the experience or the anticipation of 
this incidental retribution, it is not unfrequently the case, 
that men restrict within proper bounds those angry feelings, 
which under other circumstances they would probably have 
indulged to excess. 
Third. The tendency of the indulgence of anger, is to 
lower a man in his own estimation ; and still more so in the 
estimation of others, who will be less ready to admit those 
mitigating circumstances, that partially justify his feelings 
to himself. The mere outward signs of the angry passions 
give a shock to our sensibilities, and are hateful to us ; while 
those of an opposite character beam upon the soul with the 
pleasantness of a tranquil morning's light. The smile of be- 
nevolence wins upon our affections ; but the scowl of anger, 
whether it be directed against ourselves or others, fills us 
with pain and dread. And, moreover, while the indulgence 
of anger tends, as a general thing, to degrade the subject of 
it in our view ; we look with increased respect and honor on 
those, who successfully resist its approaches, and are calm 
and forbearing amid insult and injury. 
§. 158. Other reasons for checking and subduing the angry passions. 
In addition to those checks to the angry passions, which 
nature herself seems to have furnished, it may be proper to 
mention a few considerations, drawn from reason and the 
Scriptures, which, if they have the weight, they are entitled 
to, will tend to the same desirable result. (I) We should 
always keep in recollection, in the first place, that, when the 184 
THE MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
mind is much agitated by passion, it is rendered by that cir- 
cumstance itself incapable, to a considerable degree, of cor- 
rect judgment. Actions, considered as the indications of 
feeling and character, do not at such times appear to us in 
their true light. They are seen through an unfavorable me- 
dium ; and represented unnaturally, with distorted and dis- 
colored features. It is said to have been a saying of Socra- 
tes to his servant on a Certain occasion, that he would beat 
him if he were not angry ; a remark, which seems to indi- 
cate, that, in the opinion of the author of it, anger is a state 
of mind unfavorable to a correct judgment of the merit or 
demerit of the person, towards whom it is directed. 
(2) We should consider, in the second place, even if we 
have no particular reason to distrust our powers of judging, 
that we may, by possibility at least, have mistaken the mo- 
tives of the person, whom we imagine to have injured us. 
Perhaps the oversight or crime, which we alledge against 
him, instead of being premeditated or intentional, was mere 
inadvertence. It is even possible, that his intentions were 
favorable to us instead of being, as we suppose, of a contrary 
character. And if it were otherwise, if the wrong done 
us were an intentional wrong, it is still possible, that this 
hostile disposition may have originated from serious miscon- 
ceptions in regard to our own character and conduct. And 
obviously the easiest and best way would be to correct these 
misconceptions and thus to secure safety for the future and 
in all probability recompense for the past. 
(3) There is another consideration, which ought to pre- 
vent the indulgence of this passion, and to allay its effects. 
It is, that all have offended against the Supreme Being, and 
stand in need of pardon from Him. If we ourselves were 
without sin, if we could boast of perfect purity of character, 
there might seem to be some degree of reasonableness in our 
exacting from others the full amount of what is due to per- 
fect and inflexible rectitude. But the actual state of things 
is far different from this. Every one, who knows his own 
heart, must see and feel himself to be a transgressor. How 
unsuitably, therefore, to the circumstances of his own situa- 
tion does that man conduct, who talks largely of satisfaction 
and revenge, when he is every moment dependent on the PEEVISHNESS. 
185 
clemency and forgiveness of a Being, whom he has himself 
so often sinned against. 
In the fourth place, there are many passages of Scripture, 
which expressly require us to subdue the malevolent pas- 
sions, and to forgive the injuries, which have called them 
into action. And this, we may here take occasion to remark, 
is one of the great and striking characteristics of the Gospel 
revelation. The doctrine, that we are to love and do good 
to our enemies, obviously distinguishes the Christian Code 
from every other ; and gives to it, as compared with mere 
human systems, an inexpressible elevation. Its language is; 
"Ye have heard, it hath been said, thou shalt love thy 
neighbor, and hate thine enemy. But I say unto you, love 
your enemies ; bless them that curse you, do good to them 
that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you 
and persecute you." 
§. 159. Modifications of resentment. Peevishness. 
When in all ordinary cases the resentful feeling shows it- 
self, we variously denominate it by the terms resentment, 
hostility, anger, hatred, indignation, and the like ; but there 
are some modifications of the feeling, distinguished either by 
excess or diminution or in some other way, which may be 
regarded as possessing a distinctive character. One of these 
is peevishness or fretfulness ; a species of malevolent pas- 
sion, which, probably with more frequency than its decided 
manifestations, interrupts the peace and happiness of life. 
Peevishness differs from ordinary anger in being excited 
by very trifling circumstances, and in a strange facility of in- 
flicting its effects on every body, and every thing within its 
reach. The peevish man has met with some trifling disap- 
pointment, (it matters but little what it is,) and the serenity 
of whole days is disturbed ; no smiles are to be seen ; every 
thing, whether animate or inanimate, rational or irrational, 
is out of place, and falls under the rebuke of this fretful be- 
ing. Anger, in its more marked and decided manifesta- 
tions, may rbe compared to a thunder shower, that comes 
dark and heavily, but leaves a clear sky afterwards. But 
peevishness is like an obscure, drizzling fog; it is less vio- 
lent, and lasts longer. In general, it is more unreasonable 186 
THE MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
and unjust, than violent anger, and would certainly be more 
disagreable, were it not often, in consequence of being so 
disproportioned to its cause, so exceedingly ludicrous. 
160. §. Modifications of resentment. Envy. 
One of the most frequent forms of resentment is Envy. 
By this term we are accustomed to express that ill-will or 
hatred, which has its rise from the contemplation of the su- 
periority of another. Considered as a mere state of the 
mind, Envy is to be regarded as only one of the perversions 
of resentment ; but considered in respect to the occasions of 
its origin, it must be added, that it is one of the most degra- 
ding and hateful perversions. There is no passion, which is 
more tormenting in the experience, as might be expected 
from its hatefulness ; and none, which is more decisively 
condemned by the sentiments of justice. 
If we are asked, why it is that, on the mere contempla- 
tion of the more favorable situation and the greater advance- 
ment of another, we experience such an odious perversion 
of a principle apparently good in itself, we shall probably 
find a reason in the irregular and inordinate action of the 
principle of Self-love. Men frequently become so intensely 
selfish, that they cannot admit others to an equal participa- 
tion of what they enjoy, much less see them advanced to a 
higher situation, without a greater or less degree of repining 
and discontent. And it is this state of mind, which is ap- 
propriately denominated Envy. 
§. 161. Modifications of resentment. Jealousy. 
There are still other varieties of that Resentment or Hos- 
tility, which may be regarded, in some important sense, as the 
basis of the whole series of the Malevolent passions. Among 
these is Jealousy, which includes a painful emotion, caused 
by some object of love,and attended with a desire of evil to- 
wards that object. The circumstance, which character- 
izes this passion and constitutes its peculiar trait, is, that all 
its bitterness and hostility are inflicted on some one, whom the 
jealous person loves. The feeling of suspicious rivalship, 
which often exists between candidates for fame and power, 
is sometimes called jealousy on account of its analogy to this ENVY. JEALOUSY. REVENGE. 
187 
passion. There are various degrees of jealousy, from the 
forms of mere distrust and watchful suspicion to its highest 
paroxysms. In general the strength of the passion will be 
found to be in proportion to the value, which is attached to 
the object of it ; and is perhaps more frequently found in per- 
sons, who have a large share of pride, than in others. Such, 
in consequence of the habitual belief of their own superiority, 
are likely to notice many trifling inadvertencies ; and to trea- 
sure them up as proofs of intended neglect, which would not 
have been observed by others, and certainly were exempt 
from any evil intention. 
The person under the influence of this passion is incapable 
of forming a correct judgment of the conduct of the individu- 
al who is the object of it ; he observes every thing and gives 
it the worst interpretation; and circumstances, which, in 
another state of the mind, would have been tokens of inno- 
cence, are converted into proof of guilt. Although poetry, it 
is no fiction ; 
"Trifles, light as air, 
"Are to the jealous confirmations strong, 
"As proofs of holy writ. 
Hence it is justly said to be the monster, that 'makes the 
meat it feeds on for it perseveringly broods over the slight- 
est suggestion, even when made with the most sincere kind- 
ness, and rears up a shapeless and frightful form, which in 
turn nourishes the baleful passion, from which is derived its 
own existence. 
It may be remarked of this passion, that it is at times ex- 
ceedingly violent. At one moment the mind is animated 
with all the feelings of kindness ; the next, it is transported 
with the strongest workings of hatred, and then it is sudden- 
ly overwhelmed with contrition. Continually vacillating 
between the extremes of love and hatred, it knows no rest ; 
it would gladly bring destruction on the object, whom it 
dreads to lose more than any other, and whom at times it 
loves more than any other. 
§. 162. Modifications of resentment. Revenge. 
Another of the marked modifications of Resentment is re- 
venge. By the spirit of revenge, as we sometimes express 188 
THE MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
it, we generally understand a disposition, not merely to re- 
turn suffering for suffering, but to inflict a degree of pain on 
the person, who is supposed to have injured us, beyond what 
strict justice requires. So that revenge seems to differ from 
resentment rather in degree than in kind ; in other words, 
it is unrestrained or excessive resentment. It is true, how- 
ever, that it generally implies something more than mere 
excess. It commonly exhibits the aspect of coolness and de- 
liberateness in its designs ; and is as persevering in the exe- 
cution of its hostile plans, as it is deliberate in forming them. 
If resentment, when properly regulated, may be considered, 
on the principles of nature, as morally right; revenge, which 
is the unrestrained or inordinate form of resentment, is al- 
ways morally wrong. It is a passion, which is not only 
greatly inconsistent with the due exercise of the other pow- 
ers of the mind, but is equally condemned by enlightened 
conscience and the Scriptures. 
It would not be a difficult matter to bring forward some 
affecting illustrations of the unrestrained and undue indul- 
gence of the malevolent passions, which have thus far come 
under our notice. In the tragedy of Othello, the pen of 
Shakspeare has successfully employed itself in developing 
the workings and the results of the fatal passion of Jealousy; 
and if this great poem be styled a fiction, considered in rela- 
tion to history, it will probably be admitted to be immutable 
truth, considered in relation to nature. Revenge, in its more 
determined and persevering exhibitions, is a passion at least 
equally dreadful. Among Savage tribes in particular, as we 
learn from the frequent testimony of those who have travel- 
led among them, to take vengeance, deep, unabated, ample, 
would seem to be the surest passport to an honorable place 
and name. But it is not among Savage nations alone, that 
revenge is found, even in its most embittered forms. There 
is mention made in the writings of Garcilasso of a Spanish 
gentleman, named Aguire, who, having on some occasion of- 
fended a Governor of one of the cities of South America, was 
sentenced to be ignominiously scourged in public. The cit- 
izens took an interest so far as to interpose and entreat a re- 
§. 163. Illustrations of the malevolent passions. FEAR 
189 
mission of the punishment'; and the person himself implored, 
that death might be substituted instead of it, but without 
effect. "Aguire, esteeming himself eternally disgraced, 
retired from the military service, and patiently awaited the 
expiry of the governor's appointment ; when he followed 
him incessantly as his shadow. The governor warned of 
his danger, armed himself in mail, and hurriedfrom place to 
place, in quest of safety. But no sooner had he hopes of rest, 
than he found his implacable enemy treading on his footsteps, 
He fled again ; and again Aguire pursued him. Thus did 
three years elapse, while many hundred miles were traversed 
by both. At last Aguire ventured to enter the governor's 
house, and finding him asleep in an inner chamber, he pierc- 
ed him with his dagger, where unprotected by his armor." 
Such are the deplorable evils, that are likely to result, 
when the malevolent passions gain an ascendency. And as, 
in the present fallen state of man, there is a constant prone- 
ness to inordinate malevolent action, it becomes the more im- 
portant to restrain and duly regulate a tendency so unfavora- 
ble, by allowing their full weight to the forgivingand benev- 
olent principles of the Gospel. 
§. 164. Nature of the passion of fear. 
We conclude this review of this portion of the Affections 
with a single other notice. The passion of Fear, like the 
other passions or affections that have past under examina- 
tion, embraces both a simple emotion of pain, caused by some 
object which we anticipate will be injurious to us, and also, 
additional to the painful emotion, the desire of avoiding such 
object or its injurious effects. The question might suggest 
itself with some appearance of reason, whether Fear,in view 
of the definition just given, should be included under the gen- 
eral head of the Malevolent passions. And this is one of the 
cases referred to in separating the Affections into the two- 
fold division of the Benevolent and Malevolent, when it was 
retnarked, it might not in all respects be easy to carry the 
arrangement into effect in its details. Nevertheless the fact, 
that we experience pain, in viewing the object feared, ac- 
companied with a desire of avoiding it, seems very clearly 
to involve the idea, that it is an object of greater or less 190 
THE MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
aversion. In other words, that we have more or less of ill- 
will towards it. It is certainly the case, if the object is of 
such a nature that its presence is painful, that we can hard- 
ly be said to love it. So that at least it would seem to come 
more naturally under the head of the malevolent affections, 
than under the other class. 
But to return to the nature of the passion itself. The 
strength or intensity of fear will be in proportion to the ap- 
prehended evil. There is a difference of original suscepti- 
bility of this passion in different persons ; and the amount of 
apprehended evil will, consequently, vary with the quickness 
of such susceptibility. But whatever causes may increase 
or diminish the opinion of the degree of evil, which threat- 
ens, there will be a correspondence between the opinion 
which is formed of it and the fearful passion. 
When this passion is extreme, it prevents the due exer- 
cise of the moral susceptibility, and interrupts correct judg- 
ment of any kind whatever. It is a state of mind of great 
power, and one which will not bear to be trifled with. It 
may serve as a profitable hint, to remark, that there have 
been persons thrown into a fright suddenly, and perhaps in 
mere sport, which has immediately resulted in a most dis- 
tressing and permanent mental disorganization. In cases, 
where the anticipated evil is very great, and there is no hope 
of avoiding it in any way, the mind exists in that state which 
is called desire. But the consideration of this deplorable 
state of mind, so far as it may be necessary to meet the ob- 
jects of the present Work, will more properly come under the 
head of Disordered or Alienated Sensibilities. CHAPTER SEVENTH. 
THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
§. 165. Of the nature of love or benevolence in general. 
We proceed now to the consideration of the other great 
division of the Affections. As the original principle of Re- 
sentment is the basis of the Malevolent affections ; so Love, 
in its more general form, appears to be at the foundation, as 
a general thing at least, of those, which are termed, by way 
of distinction, Benevolent. The affection of Love, like the 
other affections, is a complex state of mind, embracing, first, 
a pleasant emotion in view of the object, and, second, a de- 
sire of good to that object. Hence there will always be 
found in the object some quality, either some excellence in 
the form, or in the relations sustained, or in the intellect, or 
in the moral traits, or in all combined, which is capable of 
exciting a pleasurable emotion. This emotion is the basis 
of the subsequent desire ; but it is the strict and indissoluble 
combination of the two, that constitutes the Affection prop- 
erly so called. 
It is proper to remark here, that there are many modifi- 
cations or degrees of this affection; such as the unimpassioned 
preference of friendly regard and esteem, the warmer glow 
of friendship in the more usual acceptation of the term, and 
the increased feeling of devoted attachment. There are not 
only differences in degree, but the affection itself, considered 
in respect to its nature simply, seems to be modified, and to 
be invested with a different aspect, according to the circum- 
stances, in which it is found to operate. The love, which 
children feel for their parents, is different in some respects 192 
THE BEN EVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
from that, which they feel for their brothers and sisters. 
The love of parents for their children possesses traits, diffi- 
cult to be described in language but recognizable by Con- 
sciousness, which distinguish it from their love to mankind 
generally, or their love to their country or their friends. 
Hence we are enabled, in consistency with what is the fact 
in respect to them, to consider the Affections under different 
forms or heads, viz, the Parental affection, the Filial affection, 
the Fraternal affection, Humanity or the love of the human 
race, Patriotism or the love of country, Friendship, Grati- 
tude, and Sympathy or Pity. 
§. 166. Love, in its various forms, characterized by a two-fold action. 
Love, not .only in its more general form, but in all the 
varieties, which, in consequence of our situation and of the 
relations we sustain, it is made to assume, is characterized, 
like the opposite principle of resentment, by its two-fold ac- 
tion. It is sometimes seen, particularly in parents and chil- 
dren, to operate instinctively ; that is to say, without de- 
liberation or forethought. At other times it is subjected to 
more or less of regulation, being either stimulated or repres- 
sed in its exercise, by the facts and reflections which are 
furnished by reasoning; and then it is said to possess a de- 
liberate or voluntary exercise. This trait or characteris- 
tic, which pervades the whole series of the Natural or Path- 
ematic sensibilities, has been so often referred to, that it is 
unnecessary to delay upon it here. 
§. 167. Of the parental affection. 
The principle of benevolence, love, or good-will, which in 
its general form has thus been made the subject of a brief no- 
tice, is susceptible, like the malevolent affection of Resent- 
ment, of various modifications. One of the most interestinir 
and important of these modifications is the Parental Affec- 
tion. The view, which we propose to take of this modifi- 
cation of benevolence or love is, that it is an original or im- 
planted principle. In support of this view, a number of 
things may be said. 
I. It is supported, in the first place, by the considera- 
tion, that the relation between the parent and child is much THE PARENTAL AFFECTION. 
193 
more intimate and indissoluble than any other. The child, 
in the view of the parent, is not so much a distinct and inde- 
pendent being, as a reproduction and continuance of himself. 
He sees not only the reflection of his person and dispositions 
in his offspring, but of his hopes, joys, and prospects; in a 
word, of his whole being. Under such circumstances, it is 
almost impossible that the parental affection should be less 
deeply seated, less near to the root and bottom of the soul, 
than any other which can be named. 
II. Such an affection seems, in the second place, to be 
required in order to enable parents to discharge effectually 
the duties, which are incumbent upon them. The cares and 
troubles, necessarily incidental to the parental relation, the 
daily anxieties, the nights of wakeful solicitude, the misgiv- 
ings, the fears, and the sorrows without number, it would be 
impossible for human nature to support, without the aid of 
an implanted principle. And hence it is, that, in the or- 
dering and constitution of nature, this principle rises in such 
inexpressible beauty upon the parental heart. It diffuses its 
light upon it, like a star upon a tempestuous ocean, and 
guides it forward in comparative safety. 
III. In the third place, the acknowledged fact, that 
this affection has an instinctive, as well as a voluntary ac- 
tion, is a strong circumstance in favor of its being regarded 
as implanted. A purely voluntary affection cannot, from the 
nature of the case, be implanted, because it depends upon 
the Will; and will either exist or not exist in accordance 
with the mere volitive determination. An instinctive af- 
fection canngt be otherwise than implanted ; because, as it 
does not depend upon the will, it has no other support than 
in nature. Now, although this affection has a voluntary 
action, based upon inquiry and reason, it has also, at its 
foundation, an instinctive action, which is to be regarded as 
the work of the author of the mind himself. So that, al- 
though it is proper to accompany the statement with the re- 
mark that it has a two-fold action, the affection, regarded as 
a whole, may justly be looked upon as an original or implan- 
ted one. 
IV. In the fourth place, its universality is a circum- 
stance, in favor of the view, which has been taken.. We 194 
THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
should naturally expect, in regard to any affection not im- 
planted, and which depends exclusively upon the decisions 
of the reason and the will, that there would be frequent fail- 
ures in its exercise. We may even be confident, that this 
would be the result. But the parental affection, in a mind 
not actually disordered, never fails. In all climes and coun- 
tries, and among all classes of men, however debased by ig- 
norance or perverted by the prevalence of vice, we may find 
the traces, and with scarcely an exception, the marked and 
distinct traces of this ennobling principle. There is no por- 
tion of the human race so degraded, that it would not turn 
with abhorrence from the man, that did not love his offspring. 
§. 168. Illustrations of the strength of the parental affection. 
V. Another circumstance in favor of regarding the 
principle as an implanted one is its great strength. Second- 
ary affections, or those which by a process of association are 
built upon others, are sometimes, it is true, exceedingly 
strong; but this is found to be the case only in particular in- 
stances, and not as a general trait. In respect to the affec- 
tion before us, it is not found to be strong in one mind and 
weak in another; but is strong, exceedingly strong, as a gen- 
eral statement, in all minds alike. It might be interesting 
to give some illustrations of this statement, as in truth scarce- 
ly any of the facts, illustrative of the mind's action in its va- 
rious departments, are wholly destitute of interest. But on 
this subject, such is the universal intensity of this affection, 
that they multiply'on every side. He, who has not noticed 
them, has voluntarily shut his eyes to some of the most inter- 
esting exhibitions of human nature. So that a single inci- 
dent of this kind, which will not fail to find a corroborative 
testimony in every mother's heart, will suffice. 
"When the Ajax man of war took fire in the straits of Bos- 
phorus in the year 1807, an awful scene of distraction ensu- 
ed. The ship was of great size, full of people, and under 
the attack of an enemy at the time,-the mouths of destruc- 
tion seemed to wage in contention for their prey. Many of 
those on board could entertain no hopes of deliverance : stri- 
ving to shun one devouring element, they were the victims 
of another. While the conflagration was raging furiously, THE FILIAL AFFECTION. 
195 
and shrieks of terror rent the air, an unfortunate mother, re- 
gardless of herself, seemed solicitous only for the safety of 
her infant child. She never attempted to escape ; but she 
committed it to the charge of an officer, who, at her earnest 
request, endeavored to secure it in his coat ; and following 
the tender deposit with her eyes as he retired, she calmly 
awaited that catastrophe in which the rest were about to be 
involved. Amidst the exertions of the officer in such an emer- 
gency the infant dropped into the sea, which was no soon- 
er discovered by the unhappy parent, than frantic she plung- 
ed from the vessel's side, as if to preserve it; she sunk-and 
was seen no more."* 
Asa counterpart to the interesting and important affection, 
which has thus been briefly noticed, nature has instituted 
the filial affection, or that affection, which children bear to 
their parents. The filial affection, although it agrees with 
the parental in the circumstance of its being implanted or 
connatural in the human mind, differs from it in some of its 
traits. It is understood, among other things, to possess 
less strength. And it is undoubtedly the fact, that it does 
not, as a general thing, flow forth towards its object, with 
the same burning, unmitigated intensity. And this is just 
what we might expect, on the supposition that the human 
mind comes from an author who possesses all wisdom. The 
great practical object, for which the parental affection is im- 
planted in the bosoms of parents, is to secure to their offspring 
that close attention and care, which are so indispensable in 
the incipient stages of life. The responsibility, which rests 
upon them in the discharge of their duties to their children, 
is, in the variety of its applications and in the aggregate of its 
amount, obviously greater than that, which rests upon child- 
ren in the discharge of their duty to their parents. Nothing 
could answer, so far as we are able to judge, the requisitions, 
which are constantly made on the parent to meet the child's 
condition of weakness, suffering, and want, and to avert its 
liabilities both mental and bodily to error, but the wakefid 
energy of a principle, stronger even than the love of life. 
But it is different on the part of the children. As a general 
§. 169. Of the filial affection. 
* Origin and Progress of the Passions, (Anonymous,) Vol. I, p. 143. 196 
THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
thing, no such calls of constant anxiety and watchfulness in 
the behalf of another are made upon them, at least in the 
early part of their life. Hence their love to their parents, 
although unquestionably strong enough for the intentions of 
nature, burns with a gentler ray. 
§. 170. The filial affection original or implanted. 
We took occasion in the preceding section to remark inci- 
dentally, that the filial affection, as well as the parental, is 
original or implanted, in distinction from the doctrine of its 
being of an associated or secondary formation. It is not our 
purpose, however, to enter minutely into this inquiry, and 
yet there are one or two trains of thought, having a bearing 
upon it, which we are unwilling wholly to omit. Our first 
remark is, that, if the filial affection were wholly voluntary 
and not implanted, in other words if it were based wholly 
upon reason and reflection, there is no question, that it would 
be extinguished much more frequently than it is in point of 
fact. But that mere reason and reflection are not the entire 
basis of the affection, seems to be evident from the fact, that 
we continue to love our parents under circumstances, when 
reason, if we consulted that alone, would probably pronounce 
them unworthy of love. Our parents, as is sometimes the 
case, may treat us with great and unmerited neglect ; they 
may plunge into the commission of crimes ; they may become 
degraded and despised in the eyes of the community ; but 
they still have a pure and elevated place, which nature has 
furnished for them in their children's hearts. This train 
of thought, (which it is proper to remark in passing is equal- 
ly applicable to parental love, and tends to confirm the views 
brought forward under that head,) goes with no small weight 
to show, that the affection before us has an instinctive or 
natural basis. 
Our second remark, which is also equally applicable to the 
parental affection, is, that men with scarcely an exception 
show by their judgments and treatment of this affection, that 
they regard it as constitutional or implanted. It is evident, 
that they expect us to treat our parents with great forbear- 
ance and kindness under all circumstances. If another per- 
son should insult and injure us, public sentiment would prob- THE FILIAL AFFECTION. 
197 
ably justify us in inflicting some sort of punishment. But it 
would not justify us, under precisely the same circumstances 
of provocation, in inflicting punishment upon or even in 
showing marked disrespect to a parent, because it would be 
a violation of nature. Not merely the disapprobation, but 
the contempt and abhorence of mankind, inflicted with 
scarcely the possibility of a failure, is the fearful penalty, 
which nature has attached to a want of parental love, even 
when the conduct of the parent himself has been reprehensi- 
ble. This is evidently the work of nature. Men act in 
this case, as their nature prompts them. But nature is nev- 
er at variance with herself. If she in this way distinctly in- 
timates, that she requires us to love our parents at all times, 
in adversity and in prosperity, in honor and in degradation, 
in good and in evil report, it is obvious that she has not left 
the affection to mere reason and reflection, for it is impossi- 
ble that love so unchangeable could be sustained in such a 
manner ; but supports it upon an instinctive or constitutional 
basis. 
We merely add, leaving it to the reader himself to make 
the application of the remark, that nearly all the considera- 
tions, which were brought forward to show the connatural 
origin of the parental affection, might be properly adduced to 
show the same thing in the case of the filial affection. 
§. 171 Illustrations of the filial affection. 
Interesting instances of the result of the filial affection 
are to be found, wherever there are men. And while it is 
admitted that there are some unfavorable tendencies in hu- 
man nature, it is pleasant to contemplate it in an aspect so 
amiable and honorable. It is the fact, indeed, that children, 
as a general thing, do not appear to be willing to labor and 
suffer for parents so much, as the parents do for the children. 
There are more frequent instances of a failure of filial, than 
of parental love. Nevertheless in all ages of the world, the 
filial affection has sustained itself, in such a way as to bring 
honor to the Being, that implanted it. Children have not 
only supported and consoled their parents in the ordinary 
duties and trials of life ; but in multitudes of instances have 
followed them with their presence and their consolations in- 
to banishment and to prison. 198 
THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
At the accession of the late emperor Alexander of Russia 
many prisoners, who had been confined for political and oth- 
er reasons in the preceding reign, were set at liberty. "I 
saw, (says Kotzebue, who was in Russia at this interesting 
period,) an old colonel of the Cossacks and his son brought 
from the fortress to Count de Pahlen's apartments. The 
story of this generous youth is extremely interesting. His 
father had been dragged, for I know not what offence, from 
Tscherkask to Petersburg, and there closely imprisoned. 
Soon afterwards his son arrived, a handsome and brave 
young man, who had obtained in the reign of Catherine II 
the cross of St. George, and that of Wolodimer. For a long 
time he exerted himself to procure his father's enlargement 
by solicitations and petitions ; but perceiving no hopes of 
success, he requested as a particular favor, to be allowed to 
share his captivity and misfortunes. This was in part gran- 
ted him ; he was committed a prisoner to the fortress, but 
was not permitted to see his father ; nor was the unfortunate 
old man ever informed, that his son was so near him. On a 
sudden the prison bolts were drawn ; the doors were opened; 
his son rushed into his arms ; and he not only learnt that he 
was at liberty, but at the same time was informed of the no- 
ble sacrifice, which filial piety had offered. He alone can 
decide which information gave him most delight." * 
It is true, there have been instances of parents, who have 
done more than this ; who have not only been ready to suf- 
fer banishment and imprisonment, but have willingly and joy- 
fully offered their'lives for the welfare of their children. In 
the time of the French Revolution, General Loizerolles, 
availing himself of a stratagem in order to effect the object, 
died upon the scatfold in the place of his son. It might not 
be easy to bring instances, although some such have proba- 
bly existed, of Children dying for their parents. But history 
furnishes some affecting cases, where the child has poured 
back into the parental bosom the fountain of life, which had 
been received. "The mother of a woman, (says the writer 
referred to, §. 168,) in humble life being condemned at Rome, 
the jailor, rather than execute the sentence, wished from hu- 
manity to let her perish of famine. Meantime no one but 
* Kotzebue's Exile, p. 254. THE FRATERNAL AFFECTION, 
199 
her daughter was admitted to the prison, and that after she 
was strictly searched. But the curiosity of the man being 
aroused by the unusual duration of her survivance, he 
watched their interview, and discovered the daughter, affec- 
tionately nourishing the author of her days with her own 
milk. The people, among whom this incident occurred were 
not insensible of its virtue, and a temple dedicated to Piety 
was afterwards ereeted on the spot. So was an aged father, 
under similar circumstances, preserved by similar means : 
he too was thus nourished by his daughter." 
§. 172. Of the nature of the fraternal affection. 
There is one other affection, connected with the family or 
domestic relation, which bears the marks, although perhaps 
somewhat less distinctly than in the cases already mention- 
ed, of a natural or implanted origin. We refer, as will be 
readily understood, to the Fraternal Affection, or the love of 
brothers and sisters. The love, which we bear to our broth- 
ers and sisters, although in the basis or essentiality of its na- 
ture it is the same with any other love, has something pecu- 
liar about it, a trait not easily expressed in words, which, in 
our internal experience or consciousness of it, distinguishes 
it from every other affection. 
We are aware, that some will endeavor to explain the 
origin of this affection by saying, that it is owing to the cir- 
cumstance of brothers and sisters being brought up together 
beneath the same roof, and thus participating in an early 
and long companionship. Nor are we disposed to deny, that 
this circumstance probably has some weight in imparting to 
it an increased degree of intensity. But there is a single 
fact, which furnishes an answer to the doctrine, that denies 
a distinct nature to the Fraternal Affection and regards it as 
a mere modification of love in general, occasioned by the cir- 
cumstance of early and long continued intercourse. It is this. 
When other persons, not members of the same family, are 
brought up beneath the same roof, although we love them 
very much, yet we never have that peculiar feeling, (distinct 
from every other and known only by experience,) which 
flows out to a brother or sister. There is something- in hav- 
ing the same father and mother, in looking upward to the 200 
THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
same source of origin, in being nourished at the same foun- 
tain in infancy, in feeling the same life-blood course through 
our veins, which constitutes, under the creative hand of na- 
ture, a sacred tie, unlike any other. 
There are other views of the subject, besides that which 
has just been noticed, which contribute to show the connat- 
uralness and permanency of this affection. A number of the 
remarks which have been made in support of the implanted 
or connatural origin of the Parental and Filial affections will 
apply here. But we leave the subject to the decision of such 
reflections, as will be likely to suggest themselves to the 
mind of the reader himself. 
§. 173. On the utility of the domestic affections. 
In the institution of the affections, which have now pass- 
ed under a rapid and imperfect review, and which taken to- 
gether may be spoken of under the general denomination of 
the Domestic affections, we have evidence of that benevo- 
lence and wisdom, which are seen so frequently in the ar- 
rangements of our mental nature. These affections are not 
only sources of happiness to individuals and families, diffu- 
sing an undefinable but powerful charm over the intercourse 
of life ; they also indirectly exert a great influence in the 
support of society generally. 
It was indeed, a strange notion of some of the ancients, 
of Plato in particular, that the domestic affections are at va- 
riance with the love of country ; and that, in order to ex- 
tinguish these affections, children should be taken from their 
parents at their birth, and transferred to the state to be 
educated at the public expense. But the domestic affections 
are too deeply planted, particularly that of parents, to be gen- 
erally destroyed by any process of this kind ; and if it were 
otherwise, the result would be as injurious to the public, as 
to individual happiness. It is unquestionable, that one of 
the great supports of society is the family relation. Who is 
most watchful and diligent in his business ? Who is the most 
constant friend of public order, and is most prompt in rallying 
to the standard of the law? Who, as a general thing, is the 
best friend, the best neighbor, and the best citizen ? Not 
he, who is set loose from family relationships and wanders THEIR MORAL CHARACTER. 
201 
abroad without a home ; but he, however poor and unknown 
to fame, who has a father and mother, wife and children, 
brothers and sisters ; who sees his own sorrows and happi- 
ness multiplied in the sorrows and happiness of those around 
him ; and who is strong in the advocacy and support of the 
common and public good ; not only because it involves his 
own personal interest, but the interest and happiness of all 
those, who are linked arm in arm with himself by the beau- 
ty and sacredness of domestic ties. 
§. 174. Of the moral character of the domestic affections and of the 
benevolent affections generally. 
One of the most interesting inquiries in connection with 
the domestic affections and the benevolent affections gener- 
ally, and one too on which there has been a great diversity 
of opinion, is, whether these affections possess a moral char- 
acter, and what that character is. The more common opin- 
ion seems to have been, that all affections, which are truly be- 
nevolent, are necessarily, and from the mere fact of their being 
benevolent, morally good or virtuous. Nor is it perhaps 
surprising, that this opinion should be so often entertained. 
Certainly, as compared with the other active principles, com- 
ing under the general head of the Natural or Pathematic sensi- 
bilities, they hold the highest rank ; and we frequently ap- 
ply epithets to them, which indicate our belief of their com- 
parative preeminence. We speak of them, not only as inno- 
cent and useful, but as interesting, amiable, and lovely ; and 
from time to time apply other epithets, which equally show 
the favorable place which they occupy in our regard. All 
this we allow ; but still they are not necessarily, and in con- 
sequence of their own nature simply, morally good. 
The correct view on this subject we apprehend to be this; 
(the same that has been taken of other principles, that are 
analogous in their nature and operation.) So far as the be- 
nevolent affections are constitutional or instinctive in their 
action, they are indifferent as to their moral character, being 
neither morally good or evil. So far as they have a volun- 
tary action, they will be either the one or the other, accord- 
ing to the circumstances of the case. When, for instance, 
the mother hears the sudden and unexpected scream of her 202 
THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
child in another room, and impetuously rushes to its relief, 
we allow the action to be naturally good and exceedingly in- 
teresting and lovely ; but we do not feel at liberty to predi- 
cate virtue of it, and to pronounce it morally good, be- 
cause it is obviously constitutional or instinctive. If the act 
done under such circumstances be necessarily virtuous, then 
it clearly follows, that virtue may be predicated of sheep, 
cows, and other brute animals, who exhibit under like cir- 
cumstances the same instinctive attachment to their offspring. 
So far, therefore, as the benevolent affections are instinctive 
in their operation, they are to be regarded, however inter- 
esting and amiable they may appear, as neither morally good 
nor evil. 
§. 175. Of the moral character of the voluntary exercises of the benevo- 
lent affections. 
But so far as the benevolent affections are voluntary, in 
other words, so far as they exist in view of motives volunta- 
rily and deliberately brought before the mind, they may be, 
according to the nature of the voluntary effort, either virtu- 
ous or vicious. Take, as an illustration, another instance of 
the operations of the maternal affection. The basis of this 
affection is unquestionably pure instinct. But it has, in addi- 
tion to this, a voluntary operation ; and this accessory ope- 
ration, it is to be presumed, is in the majority of cases virtu- 
ous. Nevertheless, whenever this amiable and ennobling 
affection becomes inordinately strong, when under its influ- 
ence the mother leaves the child to vicious courses against 
the remonstrances of the sentiment of duty, its exercise evi- 
dently becomes vicious. On the other hand, if the moth- 
er, perhaps in consequence of the improper conduct of the 
child or a perplexing inability to meet its numerous wants 
or for some other reason, finds its affection falling below the 
standard which is requisite in order to fulfil the intentions of 
nature, and in this state of things restores and invigorates 
its exercise by a careful and serious consideration of all the 
responsibilities involved in the maternal relation, it is equally 
clear, that its exercise at once assumes the opposite charac- 
ter not merely of amiableness, but of virtue. 
§. 176. Of the connection between benevolence and rectitude. 
We may add to what has now been remarked, that the THEIR MORAL CHARACTER. 
203 
highest and most ennobling form of benevolence exists in con- 
nection with strict justice. Perfect justice is, by the consti- 
tution of things, indissolubly conjoined with the general and 
the highest good. All forms and degrees of benevolence, 
which are at variance, whether more or less, with perfect 
rectitude, although they are aiming at good or happiness are 
nevertheless seeking something less than the greatest possi- 
blehappiness. Even benevolence, therefore, is, and ought 
to be subjected to some regulating power. Whenever we 
distinctly perceive, that its present indulgence, in any given 
cases, will tend, whatever may be its immediate bearing, to 
ultimate unhappiness and misery, we are sacredly bound by 
the higher considerations of duty to repress it. And there is 
as much virtue in repressing its action at such times, as there 
would be at other times in stimulating it. 
One of the most benevolent men, of whom history gives 
us any account, was Bartholomew Las Casas, bishop of Chi- 
apa. In 1502 he accompanied Ovando to Hispaniola, who 
had been commissioned and sent out as the Spanish govern- 
or to that island. He there witnessed, with all the pain of a 
naturally benevolent heart, the cruel treatment, which was 
there experienced by the native inhabitants ; the deprivation 
of their personal rights, the seizure of their lands, their se- 
vere toil, and inexorable punishment. He was deeply affec- 
ted ; and from that time devoted the whole of his subsequent 
life, a period of more than sixty years, to exertions in their 
behalf. Under the impulse of a most unquestionable benev- 
olence, this good man recommended to cardinal Ximenes, 
who was at that time at the head of Spanish affairs, the in- 
troduction of Negro slaves into the West India Islands, as 
one of the best methods of relief to the native inhabitants. 
We introduce this statement for the purpose of illustrating 
our subject. The measure of Las Casas, which tended to 
introduce enslaved Africans into the Spanish islands, were 
the results, beyond all question, of a holy and exalted benev- 
olence. But if he could have foreseen the treatment of the 
Negroes, still more dreadful than that to which the native 
inhabitants were subjected ; if he could have beheld in anti- 
cipation the desolations which have spread over Africa in 
consequence of the Slave Trade ; it would have been his du- 204 
THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
ty, whatever good might have immediately resulted to the 
Indians in whose behalf he was so deeply interested, to have 
cheked and controlled his benevolent feelings, and to have 
endured the present rather than have been accessory to the 
future evil. The indulgence of his benevolence to the native 
inhabitants, under such circumstances and in such a form, 
(however amiable and interesting bevevolence, in itself con- 
sidered, undoubtedly is in all cases whatever.) would have 
been a violation of duty, and consequently a sin. So false 
and pernicious is that system, which ascribes to benevolence, 
in its own nature and independently of its relations to the 
law of rectitude, the character of virtue. 
§. 177. Of humanity or the love of the human race. 
Another of the implanted affections is humanity or the 
love of the human race. On this subject there are only 
three suppositions to be made, viz, that man is by nature in- 
different to the welfare of his fellow-man, or that he natural- 
ly regards him with feelings of hostility, or that he has a de- 
gree of interest in his welfare and loves him. That man is 
by nature entirely indifferent to the welfare of his fellow be- 
ings, is a proposition, which will not be likely to meet with 
many supporters ; still less the proposition, although some 
have been found to advocate it, that he is by nature and in- 
stinctively the enemy of man. But, in endeavoring to sup- 
port the third proposition, that he has naturally a degree of 
interest in and a desire for the welfare of the members of the 
human race generally, expressed by the terms humanity or 
philanthropy, we wish it to be understood that we do not, 
as a general thing, claim for the exercise of this affection any 
marked intensity. It is too evident, that it possesses but lit- 
tle strength, compared with what it should ; and that it falls 
far short of the Scriptural requisition, which exacts the same 
love for our neighbor as for ourselves. The fact undoubted- 
ly is, that the principle is impeded in its action and diminish- 
ed in its results by the inordinate exercise of the principle of 
self-love, which is constantly recalling our attention with- 
in the restricted circle of our personal interests. But the 
affection of humanity, although thus restricted in its action, HUMANITY OR LOVE OF THE HUMAN RACE. 
205 
and depressed far below the standard which its great Author 
justly claims for it, has nevertheless an existence. 
This is shown, in the first place, from the great interest, 
which is always taken, and by all classes of persons, in any 
thing which relates to human nature, to man considered as 
a human being, irrespective in a great degree of his country 
and of the period of his existence. There are numerous oth- 
er subjects of inquiry ; and we undoubtedly feel a considera- 
ble degree of interest in whatever reaches us from different 
quarters of the earth in respect to their structure, climate, 
and resources. But it is chiefly when man is mentioned, 
that the heart grows warm. We listen to the story of his 
situation and fortunes, even for the first time, as of one in 
whom flows the same fountain of life. When we touch a 
string here, we find a vibration in every human heart. It 
was for this reason, that a Roman audience, composed of 
people from different countries and of different names, and 
brought up under the influence of different associations and 
customs, expressed their unanimous and enthusiastic admira- 
tion, on hearing the memorable verse of Terence, 
Homo sum ; humani nihil a me alienum puto. 
They felt, that the expressions conveyed a great truth of na- 
ture, which it was honorable to recognize ; and which it 
was a violation of the sentiments of their own hearts to de- 
ny. The mere aspect of man, the mere sound of the human 
voice, unaided by a multitude of associations which often en- 
hance their effect, awakens emotions of regard and interest. 
And seldom can we find a person so immersed in his own 
selfishness as boldly and openly to avow, that the pursuit of 
his personal interests, with whatever good reasons it may in 
itself seem to be justified, is a valid and honorable excuse 
for annulling the claims of humanity, and sundering the tie 
of universal brotherhood. 
178. Further proofs in support of the doctrine of an innate humanity 
or love for the human race. 
In the second place, the testimony of individuals, who 
have been so situated as to put the natural sentiments of 
mankind in this respect to a fair trial, is favorable to the doc- 
trine of the natural existence of humane or philanthropic 206 
THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
feelings. We refer here, in particular, to the statements of 
travellers, who, either by design or by accident, have been 
placed for a considerable time among Savage tribes ; without 
meaning, however, to exclude those, who in civilized lands 
have been favorably situated for ascertaining the tendencies 
of the human heart. Kotzebue, for instance, who was sud- 
denly seized and sent as an exile into Siberia, where he re- 
mained some time, was thrown into the company of various 
classes of persons under such circumstances that he could 
hardly fail to form a correct judgment in the matter under 
consideration. The Narrative of his Exile, which is exceed- 
ingly interesting, discovers the human mind, considered as 
naturally disposed to the misery or happiness of the human 
race, under a decidedly favorable aspect. In the recollec- 
tion of the good and the evil he had experienced, and in view 
of the numerous facts recorded in his book, he exclaims : 
" How few hard-hearted and insensible beings are to be met 
with in my Narrative! My misfortunes have confirmed me 
in the opinion that man may put confidence in his fellow-man." 
Almost all the travellers into the interior of Africa, Vail- 
lant, Park, Sparman, Clapperton, Denham, the Landers, and 
others, although they travelled among tribes in the highest 
degree ignorant and degraded, constantly speak of the kind- 
ness they experienced. On a certain occasion Park, for 
reasons connected with the circumstance of his being an en- 
tire stranger in the country, was obliged to remain all day 
without food. About sunset, as he was turning his horse 
loose to graze, and had before him the prospect of spending 
the night in solitude and hunger, a woman happened to pass 
near him, as she was returning from her employment in the 
fields. Astonished at seeing a white man, she stopped to 
gaze upon him ; and noticing his looks of dejection and sor- 
row, kindly inquired from what cause they proceeded. 
When Park had explained his destitute situation, the woman 
immediately took up his saddle and bridle, and desired him 
to follow her to her home. There, after having lighted a 
lamp, she presented him with some broiled fish, spread a mat 
for him to lie upon, and gave him permission to remain in her 
humble dwelling till the morning. Park informs us, that du- 
ring the chief part of the night the woman and her female HUMANITY OR LOVE OF THE HUMAN RACE. 
207 
companions were occupied with spinning ; and that they be- 
guiled their labor with a variety of songs ; one of which had 
reference to his own situation. The air was sweet and 
plaintive ; and the words were literally as follows. "The 
winds roared, and the rains fell. The poor white man, faint 
and weary, came and sat under our tree. He has no moth- 
er to bring him milk, no wife to grind him corn. Let us pity 
the white man ; no mother has he to bring him milk ; no 
wife to grind him corn." 
This agrees with the testimony of the traveller Ledyard, 
who expressly says ; " I have always remarked, that women 
in all countries are civil and obliging, tender and humane.- 
To a woman, whether civilized or savage, I never addressed 
myself in a language of decency and friendship, without 
receiving a decent and friendly answer." In man undoubt- 
edly there is more hardihood of character ; and the benevo- 
lent affections are less lively. There are some things in his 
situation also, as the defence of the community rests chiefly 
upon him, which are calculated to draw out, and to impart 
inordinate strength to the resentful feelings. But it is ab- 
surd to suppose, that there is a radical difference in the be- 
nevolent sensibilities of man and woman ; and while senti- 
ments of the most friendly and affectionate regard towards 
the human race are acknowledged to exist in woman's heart, 
that man is naturally either indifferent or hostile to his fel- 
low man. The language in both cases, from man as well as 
from woman, and from black as well as from white, when 
nature, unperverted by adverse influences, is left to itself is 
the same. "The poor white man, faint and weary, came, 
and sat under our tree. Let us pity the white man." 
§• 179. Proofs of a humane or philanthropic principle from the existence 
of benevolent institutions. 
It will be noticed, we do not assert, that'the principle of 
love to our fellowmen, considered simply as members of the 
human race, is as strong in the human mind as it should be. 
All we propose to assert and maintain is, that it actually has 
an existence there to some extent. And among other proofs 
we might, in the third place, properly refer to those numer- 
ous benevolent institutions, such as hospitals, infirmaries 208 
THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
asylums, houses of refuge, charity schools, and charitable so- 
cieties of every description, which exist in all parts of the 
world. It is true that institutions of this kind flourish most, 
and it is a circumstance exceedingly honorable to the tenden- 
cies of the Christian religion, in Christian countries. But 
the fact undoubtedly is, that on suitable inquiry we may 
find evidences, in a diminished degree, of benevolent efforts 
and traces of benevolent institutions such as have been now 
referred to, in lands not thus highly favored. Denham, for 
instance, after remarking that hospitality was ever habitual 
to the Arabs, a class of people with whom we are accustom- 
ed to associate every thing, which is most remote from kind- 
ness, goes on to remark. "Nor does this feeling of liberality 
extend to the Chiefs alone, or to Arabs of high birth. I have 
known the poor and wandering Bedouin to practice a degree 
of charity and hospitality far beyond his means, from a sense 
of duty alone."* De Lamartine, a distinguished French 
traveller well known to the literary world, speaks of the Arabs 
much in the same manner. In connection with his wander- 
ings among different tribes, he remarks, " we were univer- 
sally well received. In one tribe it was a poor widow, who 
showed us hospitality. In order to regale us, she killed her 
last sheep, and borrowed bread. She informed us, that her 
husband and three sons had been killed in the war against 
the Wahabees, a formidable tribe in the neighborhood of 
Mecca. When we expressed our astonishment, that she 
should rob herself on our account, her reply was, He, that en- 
tereth the house of the living and does not eat, is as though 
he were visiting the dead." f 
We repeat, we do not mean to assert, that the benevo- 
lence of those nations, who are not enlightened by Christian- 
ity, and are not stimulated to benevolent exertion by consid- 
erations drawn from that source, is such as it should be. It 
is enough for our purpose to show, that it is not, as an attri- 
bute of human nature, extinct; but has a real, although, 
compared with what it ought to be, a feeble existence. 
Nor is the benevolence of Heathen or Pagan nations, limited, 
as some may be led to suppose, to individual instances and 
*Denham's Travels, Introductory Chapter. 
t De Lamartine's Pilgrimage to the Holy Land, Vol. Ill, p. 212. HUMANITY OR LOVE OF THE HUMAN RACE. 
209 
solitary acts, such as have been referred to. There are tra- 
ces among1 some unchristianized nations, (however cruel, 
owing chiefly to their mistaken systems of religion, their con- 
duct may appear in some things,) of permanent institutions of 
benevolence. In the recently published life of the Mission- 
ary Swartz, (Chap. XI.) we find the following incidental re- 
mark, which throws light upon the state of things in India. 
Speaking of the territory of Tanjore, the writer says, " its 
capital, bordering on the Delta of the Coleroon and the Ca- 
very, is wealthy and splendid, adorned with a pagoda, which 
eclipses in magnificence all other structures in the South of 
India ; and exceeding, in the number of its sacred buildings 
and charitable institutions, all the neighboring provinces." 
Among other facts, kindred with those which have now 
been alluded to, it is well known, that, when any portion of 
the human race have been subjected by fire, war, famine, 
the pestilence, or some convulsion of nature, to great afflic- 
tion, an interest is felt, and efforts are made in their behalf 
in other countries. As an illustration of what we mean, it 
will suffice to remark, that, when some years since the Greek 
nation, and still more recently the inhabitants of the Cape 
De Verd Islands were in a state of extreme want, although 
they were a remote people and scarcely known among us, a 
number of vessels, in both cases, were sent from this country 
to their assistance, loaded with provisions at the expense of 
private individuals. Many facts of this kind might be men- 
tioned, which are obviously inconsistent with the idea that 
man is indifferent to the welfare of his fellow man, much 
more that men are naturally hostile to each other. 
* §. 180. Other remarks in proof of the same doctrine. 
In the fourth place, the principle of humanity is requisite, 
in order to render human nature at all consistent with itself. 
We have, for instance, implanted within us the desire of 
Esteem, which is universal in its operation. But why should 
we be so constituted as naturally to desire the esteem of 
those, whom at the same time we naturally hate or are in- 
different to? There is no question, that Sociality or the de- 
sire of society is connatural to the human mind ; but is it 
presumable, that men are so created as earnestly to covet 210 
THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
the society of others, when at the same time those, whose 
company they seek, are by the constitution of nature the ob- 
jects of entire indifference or of decided aversion? We have 
within us, as we shall have occasion to notice hereafter, the 
distinct principle of Pity or Sympathy, which prompts us 
both to prevent suffering and to relieve it when it exists ; a 
principle, which no one supposes is designed by nature to be 
limited in its operation to the immediate circle of our rela- 
tives and friends, but which has men as such for its object, 
and the wide world for the field of its exercise. But on what 
grounds of wisdom or consistency is it possible, that nature 
should prompt men to relieve or prevent the sufferings of 
others, whom she also imperatively requires us to regard 
with sentiments of hostility, or at least with unfeeling cold- 
ness? Furthermore, our Conscience requires us to treat our 
fellow men in all ordinary cases, with kindness, and we ex- 
perience an internal condemnation, when we do not do it ; 
which would at least not be the case, if we were the subjects 
of a natural hostility to them. It is on such grounds, we 
assert that human nature, in order to be consistent with it- 
self, requires a principle of good-will or love to man, consid- 
ered simply as possessing a kindred origin and nature. 
Add to these considerations the fact, that the lower ani- 
mals as a general thing evidently discover an affection for 
those of their own kind. In some cases there are antipa- 
thies existing among those of different tribes ; but never, it 
is believed, as a characteristic of those of the same species. 
And why should a barrier, either by the mere negation of 
love or the presence of actual hostility, be raised between 
man and man? A condition of things, which in a very impor- 
tant respect places him below the brutes. 
§. 181. Objection from the contests and wars among mankind. 
We are aware, that the frequent wars, which have existed 
among mankind, may be brought forward as an objection 
against these views. But, although wars may be consider- 
ed as in some sense incidental to the operations of human 
nature in the present state of things, yet it does not follow, 
and is not true, that war is the natural state of man. The 
simple fact is, that mankind, owing to a concurrence of un- HUMANITY OR LOVE OF THE HUMAN RACE. 
211 
propitious circumstances, have been placed in a wrong and 
most unfortunate position in respect to each other, which 
they at length begin to perceive. 
In the first place, nations have frequently been led into 
wars, in consequence of a misapprehension of the actual state 
of things. They have been made to believe, (we do not un- 
dertake to say under what influences or in what way,) that 
they are bound to maintain what are called national interests 
at any expense whatever. In making an estimate of the 
hazard and injury of these interests, as preparatory to a state 
of war, they have frequently labored under great mistakes. 
In other words, in placing an estimate on their own interests, 
they have not allowed enough for the peculiar situation, the 
passions, and the interests of others. Either from being too 
intensely occupied with their own concerns, or from wanting 
suitable means of information, or from hasty and inaccurate 
judgements on the facts that have come to their notice, they 
have supposed others to be prompted by a deeper hostility 
towards them, than was actually the case. And they have 
too frequently acted upon this erroneous supposition. If they 
had been so situated as to understand each other better, the 
natural sentiments of kindness would have gained the ascend- 
ency ; and they would not have committed the great error of 
placing the supposed claims of their country above the claims 
of mankind. This error they begin in some degree to per- 
ceive. But this is not all. 
In the second place, nations have frequently been plunged 
into war, and have shed the blood of other nations, when the 
great mass of the people have never been consulted in re- 
spect to it ; or if they have been consulted, their feelings have 
been disregarded. Owing to the prevalence of monarchical 
and despotic forms of government,(a state of things which 
is undergoing a rapid modification,) the destiny of nations 
has often been placed in the hands of individuals, who were 
too ignorant, prejudiced, or unjust, to sustain a responsibility 
so immense. The result has frequently been, that the most 
trifling circumstances, operating upon mindsof such a struct- 
ure, have plunged nations into wars, when at the same time 
the great body of the people entertained towards each other 
entirely friendly sentiments. We will illustrate what we 212 
THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
mean by a single instance out of hundreds, perhaps we may 
say, thousands of others. Frederic of Prussia, (Frederic the 
Great, as he is commonly designated in history,) entered into 
a war with Maria Theresa, the queen of Hungary and Bohe- 
mia. This king afterwards wrote a history of the war. In 
the manuscript history, and as it was originally written, he 
gave the following concise statement of the motives, under 
the influence of which he engaged in it. "I had troops en- 
tirely prepared to act ; this, the fulness of my treasury, and 
the vivacity of my character were the reasons, why I made 
war on Maria Theresa, Queen of Hungary and Bohemia." 
In a few sentences afterwards he added more explicitly some 
other motives, which are to be united with these. "Ambition, 
interest, and a desire to make the world speak of me, van- 
quished all, and war was determined on."* It certainly can- 
not be pretended, that such a war as this is a proof, that the 
Prussians, Bohemians and Hungarians, possess an implanted 
or connatural enmity to each other. The probability is that 
they were as much taken by surprise, and as much astonish- 
ed, as the whole civilized world were at its occurrence. A 
war, existing under such circumstances, may prove, that the 
rulers are perverse and cruel ; but does not necessarily prove 
this in respect to the people generally. It will of course 
be seen that things of this nature are to be taken into con- 
sideration, before we are at liberty to say, in opposition to 
the arguments, which have been brought forward, that man 
js by nature and instinctively the enemy of his fellow man. 
§. 182. The objection, drawn from wars, further considered. 
But there is a third view of this objection, which remains 
to be taken. If we could arrive at the truth on the subject 
before us, it would undoubtedly be seen, (and the distinction 
in respect to all inquiries into the active principles of human 
nature is frequently an important one,) that, in times of na- 
tional war, men fight together as corporations, rather than as 
individuals ; and while in battle they shoot at the man, who 
happens to be opposite to them, they subdue the voice of pity 
and conscience by the mistaken and illusive consideration, 
that the wound is aimed, not so much at the poor bleeding 
* See the Memoir of Voltaire, appended to Condorcet's Life of Voltaire. HUMANITY OR LOVE OF THE HUMAN RACE. 
213 
individual, as at the state or nation. If they could thrust 
aside this idea, and separate the man from the political cor- 
poration to which he belongs, it is beyond doubt, that they 
would reach forth the hand of kindness, bind up the wounds 
of their victim, and breathe their consolations into his dying 
bosom. 
In consequence of early associations and what are sup- 
posed to be conflicting national interests, it is not an uncom- 
mon thing for Englishmen to say that they hate the French 
nation, while the same persons will frequently admit, that 
they have no hatred to individual Frenchmen ; but on the 
contrary have a regard and love for those, with whom they 
happen to be acquainted. We maintain, therefore, that a 
hatred against nations is not necessarily a hatred against hu- 
manity. And men begin to understand this. They make a 
broader distinction than they were wont to do formerly, be- 
tween the government and the people, between the respon- 
sibilities of public policy and the responsibility that attaches 
to private individuals. And accordingly in times of war, if 
the action of armies in the vicinity of each other is suspen- 
ded by a truce, nothing is more common than to see both of- 
ficers and soldiers reciprocating acts of hospitality and friend- 
ship. Acting as men and with the natural feelings of men, 
they sympathize with each other's personal sufferings, and 
endeavor to render each other happy. And yet acting in their 
national capacity, and as members of their respective politi- 
cal corporations, they will be found in a few days after coolly 
putting each other to death. The fact is, that it is impossi- 
ble for us either to love or to hate masses of beings, consider- 
ed in the mass. And hence war necessarily involves the 
pathematic and moral anomaly of destroying those, who 
would be found, when separated from the mass and consid- 
ered individually, to be entitled to our esteem and affection. 
§. 183. Illustration of the statements of the foregoing section. 
The doctrine of the foregoing section, that bodies or 
masses of men may fight with and destroy each other, while 
at the same time each party entertains towards the opposite 
party, individually considered, no other than humane or friend- 
ly sentiments, is not a mere assertion. Strange and para- 214 
THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
doxical as it may appear, it is proved beyond doubt by histo- 
ry ; particularly by that interesting and instructive portion of 
history, which appears in the form of private Memoirs. A 
single extract, illustrative of this apparently contradictory 
view of human nature and in confirmation of what has been 
said, will be introduced here. In the late bloody war, gen- 
erally known as the Peninsular War, two detachments of the 
French and English armies were stationed near each other on 
the banks of the Tagus, the one at Almeyrim, the other at 
Santarem. The following statement of the feelings and in- 
tercourse that existed between the two parties, when not en- 
gaged in battle, is given by a member of the English army in 
the interesting Work, entitled, Recollections of the Peninsula; 
and when we consider that it relates to men, who both before 
and afterwards were engaged to their utmost ability in de- 
stroying each other, it is to be regarded as one among a 
thousand other proofs, that war is a horrible delusion, and is 
against nature. 
"About the middle of February, (says this writer,) as I was 
one day walking by the river side with three or four compan- 
ions, we observed an unusual crowd on the opposite bank, 
and several French officers. They saluted us, with a " Bon 
jour, Messieurs;" and we soon fell into conversation. They 
were exceedingly courteous. They spoke in the highest 
terms of Romana, who had lately died, calling him "Le seul 
general Espagnol digne de son grade." They asked after 
Lord Wellington ; saying he had done wonders with the 
Portuguese, and praising him greatly for his conduct of the 
campaign. They next inquired, if our king was not dead.; 
and on our replying that he was not, one of them spoke, but 
inaudibly ; another, in a louder voice, repeated " Le general 
dit, que tout le monde aime votre Roi George, qu'il a ete bon 
pere de famille, et bon pere de son people." We were thus, 
at once, let into the rank of one of their party, and not a lit- 
tle delighted at the manner in which they had spoken of our 
excellent and unfortunate sovereign. A great deal of good 
humor prevailed ; we quizzed each other freely. They ask- 
ed us how we liked bacallao and azete, instead of English 
roast beef? And we what they did at Santarem without the 
restaurateurs, cafes, and salles de spectacle of their dear Par- PATRIOTISM OR LOVE OF COUNTRY. 
215 
is? They replied, laughing, that they had a theatre ; and 
asked us to come over, and witness the performance of that 
evening, which would be, "L'Entree des Francois das Lis- 
bon." A friend of mine most readily replied, that he recom- 
mended to them, " La repetition d'une nouvelle piece, ' La 
Fuite des Francois.' " They burst into a long, loud, and gen- 
eral laugh :-the joke was too good, too home. Their gen- 
ernal, however, did not think it wise to remain longer ; but 
he pulled his hat, and wishing us good day with perfect good 
humor, went up the hill, and the group immediately dispers- 
ed." 
§. 184. Of patriotism or love of country. 
One of the most important modifications of that more gen- 
eral and extensive form of goodwill or benevolence, which 
extends to all mankind, is patriotism or love of country. It 
seems to be the intention of nature, when we consider the 
diversities of customs and languages that exist, and particu- 
larly that in many cases countries are distinctly separated 
from each other, by large rivers, lakes, gulphs, mountains, 
and seas, that mankind, instead of being under one govern- 
ment, shall exist in separate and distinct communities or na- 
tions, each having its own institutions and civil polity. And 
such, at any rate, is the fact. We are not only members of 
mankind and citizens of the world, (a relation which ought 
to be more distinctly and fully recognized than it ever has 
been,) but are members, and as such have appropriate duties 
to fulfil, of our own particular community. And it is thus, 
that a foundation is laid for that particular state of mind, 
which we denominate Patriotism. 
This affection we regard as secondary, rather than origi- 
nal. It is that love, which we exercise, and ought to exer- 
cise towards the members of our species considered as such, 
heightened by the consideration, that those, towards whom 
it is put forth, are sprung from the same race, inhabit the 
same territory, are under the same constitutions of govern- 
ment, speak the same language, and have the same interests. 
So that the love of our race, as it is modified in the form of 
love of our country, while it is more restricted, becomes pro- 
portionally more intense. And in point of fact, it is unques- 216 
THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
tionably one of the predominant and ruling principles, which 
regulate the conduct of men. 
Nevertheless, we are not to suppose, that there is neces- 
sarily any conflict between these two principles. For, in do- 
ing good to our country, we are doing good to mankind ; and 
to that particular portion of mankind, which Providence, by 
placing them more immediately within the scope of our ob- 
servation and effort, seems to have assigned as the especial 
field of our beneficence. At the same time, it cannot be de- 
nied, that patriotism, in its irregular and unrestrained exer- 
cise, does sometimes, and but too frequently, interfere with 
Philanthrophy or the love of man. The passion of patriot- 
ism, as a general thing, has become disproportionate in de- 
gree, as compared with the love of the human race. The in- 
terests of our country, by being continually brooded over, 
are exaggerated to our perception ; while those of mankind 
are too much lost sight of. There is too much ground for 
the feeling lamentation of Cowper : 
"Lands intersected by a narrow frith 
"Abhor each other. Mountains interposed 
"Make enemies of nations, who had else 
"Like kindred drops been mingled into one. 
§. 1S5. Of the affection of friendship. 
Another interesting modification of that feeling of good- 
will or love, which as men we naturally bear to our fellow- 
men, is denominated Friendship. It is a passion so distinct- 
ly marked that it well deserves a separate notice ; although 
there are no good grounds for regarding it, considered as a 
distinct affection, as connatural. The love, which we bear 
to our species, is so diffused, that it cannot be said as a gen- 
eral thing to possess a high degree of strength. As it with- 
draws from the vast circumference of the human race, and 
contracts its exercise within the narrow circle of our coun- 
try, it acquires increased energy. Retreating within the 
still more restricted limits, which embody those with whom 
we are most accustomed to associate, it assumes a new mod- 
ification, being not only characterized by greater strength, 
but a source of greater pleasure. And this, in distinction 
from Humanity or Philanthropy which extends to all man- THE AFFECTION OF FRIENDSHIP. 
217 
kind, as well as in distinction from Patriotism, which merely 
spreads itself over the extent of our country, we call friend- 
ship. 
This affection, like the other benevolent affections which 
have been mentioned, includes in itself an emotion of plea- 
sure, combined with the desire of good to its object. It ex- 
ists or may be supposed to exist, in respect to those persons, 
who are not only so situated as to be the subjects of our in- 
timacy, but possess such qualities as to be deserving of our 
esteem. It is perhaps a common remark, in connection with 
this particular view of the subject, that a similarity of char- 
acter is requisite as a basis of this affection. This, to some 
extent, is true ; but the remark is not to be recieved without 
some limitation. It is certainly the case, that friendship is 
consistent with diversities of intellect. Persons, who differ 
much in the quickness and amplitude of intellectual action, 
may nevertheless entertain for each other a sincere friend- 
ship, but it must be admitted, it does not readily appear, 
how such friendship can exist in the case of persons, who 
differ essentially in moral character. The fact, that one of 
the parties is virtuous, the other vicious ; that one of them 
attaches his highest veneration and esteem to that rectitude, 
which the other regards as of no value, can hardly fail to in- 
terpose between them, as far as the reciprocation of friend- 
ship is concerned, an insuperable barrier. 
It seems to be the opinion of Mr. Stewart, although we 
may entertain feelings of decided regard and good-will to a 
great number of persons, that Friendship, in the strict and 
appropriate sense of the term, is necessarily much more lim- 
ited. It will be understood, that we speak now of real 
Friendship, of an attachment firm and unwavering ; and not 
of that mere aspect or semblance, which so often bears the 
name. It is true, there are some persons, who profess to 
have a wide circle of friends ; and this is undoubtedly some- 
times the fact. But in a majority of cases we have reason 
to think, that'those, whose apparent friendships are very 
much multiplied, seek the company and cherish the acquain- 
tance of others, not so much because they entertain feelings 
of true friendship towards them, as for the purpose of grati- 
fying an inordinate and restless desire of society. It is ccr- 218 
THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
tain, that the desire of society, when not properly regulated, 
frequently operates in this way ; and thus furnishes occasion 
for a semblance of friendship, which has for its support, in- 
stead of an emotion of genuine benevolence, nothing higher 
or better, if the desire of society be of that unregulated and 
inordinate kind which has been supposed, than a basis of 
selfishness. 
§. 186. Of the affection of pity or sympathy. 
It is not unfrequently the case, that we find around us 
objects of suffering ; those, who, from want or disease or 
some other cause, are justly entitled to the aid of their fellow 
men. In order to meet this state of things Providence has 
kindly implanted within us the principle of Pity, which 
prompts us, by an instinctive and powerful impulse, to ren- 
der the aid, which is so frequently needed. This benevolent 
affection differs from others, in being based upon a painful 
instead of a pleasant emotion. The occasion of the exercise 
of the affection of Pity or Sympathy is some case of suffering. 
On contemplating the scene of suffering, it is the result, in 
all ordinary cases, that we experience a painful emotion, 
which is followed by the desire to relieve the suffering object. 
This principle is practically a very important one. It is a 
sentiment of Bishop Butler, expressed in connection with this 
very subject, that the misery of men is much more directly, 
and to a much greater extent, under the power of others 
than their happiness. The sources of happiness both men- 
tal and bodily are to a great extent in ourselves ; and al- 
though they are susceptible of increase through the instru- 
mentality of the kind offices of others, yet not ordinarily in a 
very great degree. But it is in the power of any individual, 
who is thus evilly disposed, to plunge others, not one or two 
merely, but even whole neighborhoods into misery. The 
principle of pity, which is called forth not only in the actual 
but also in the anticipated prospect of suffering, aids, in con- 
nection with other causes, in keeping under proper restraint 
any tendency to a wrong exercise of this important pow- 
er. It not only exercises the important office of preven- 
ting suffering, by operating as it were in anticipation ; 
but it visits, watches over, and relieves it when it has actu- 
ally occurred. And in this last point of view, particularly, THE AFFECTION OF PITY OR SYMPATHY. 
219 
as well as in the other, it commends itself to our notice and 
admiration, as a practical principle eminently suited to the 
condition and wants of man. 
§. 187. Of the moral character of pity. 
It is an opinion sometimes expressed, that an affection so 
amiable, and generally so useful as that of Pity cannot be 
otherwise than virtuous. It is not wonderful, when we take 
into view the interesting character of the affection, that such 
an opinion should be entertained ; but we cannot regard it 
as strictly correct. It is well understood, so much so as 
not to be considered a matter of doubt, that this affection op- 
erates in the first instance instinctively. And it is easy to 
see the intention of nature in instituting this form of its ac- 
tion. In a multitude of cases, where we can relieve the suf- 
ferings of our fellow-men, our assistance would come too late, 
if we acted on the hesitating and cautious suggestions of rea- 
son. An instinctive action, therefore, is necessary. And so 
far as the action of the principle is of this kind, it must be 
obvious, that it is neither virtuous or vicious. 
But there is another view of this subject. The principle 
of sympathy may be checked in its exercise when it is too 
intense, or increased when deficient, under the influences of 
a deliberate and voluntary effort. And under these circum- 
stances, its action may have a voluntary character, being 
right or wrong according to the circumstances of the case. 
It is right, when it is subordinated to the requisitions of an 
enlightened conscience; but otherwise is wrong. And it 
may be wrong by excess, as well as by defect. If, for in- 
stance, we happened to see a person, severely but justly pun- 
ished under the authority of law, we might exercise pity in 
his behalf. But if under the mere impulse of pity we should 
be led to attempt his rescue, in violation of the rights and 
interests of society, such an exercise of it would be wrong. 
Again, we can hardly fail to pity the wretchedness of the 
emaciated beggar who asks for our assistance ; but if we are 
well persuaded, that the bestowment of alms will only tend 
to encourage those vicious habits which have led to this 
wretchedness, it may become a duty both to check our sym- 
pathy, and to withhold our aid. (See §. §. 174-176.) 220 
THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
At the same time we do not deny, that we may very just- 
ly draw inferences in favor of the virtuousness of that man's 
character, in whom this interesting passion is predominant. 
And we say this, because, although sympathy does not neces- 
sarily imply virtuousness, yet in point of fact it is seldom the 
case, that they are at variance with each other. They gen- 
erally run in the same track, acting harmoniously together. 
§. 188. Of the affection of gratitude. 
Another distinct modification of that general state of the 
mind, which is denominated love, is the implanted or con- 
natural affection of gratitude. Although this, like the oth- 
er benevolent affections, includes an emotion of pleasure or 
delight, combined with a desire of good or a benevolent feel- 
ing to vards the object of it, it nevertheless has its charac- 
teristics, which clearly distinguish it from them. We never 
give the name of gratitude, for instance, to this combination 
of pleasant and benevolent feeling, except it arise in refer- 
ence to some benefit or benefits conferred. Furthermore, 
gratitude involves, as the basis or occasion of its origin, not 
only the mere fact of a good conferred, but of a designed or 
intentional benefit. If the benefit, which we have received, 
can be traced to some private or selfish motive on the part of 
the person from whom it comes, we may be pleased, as we 
probably shall be, with the good that has accrued to us ; but 
shall cease, from the moment of the discovery of his motive, 
to entertain any gratitude to the author of it. Gratitude, 
therefore, can never be excited within us, except in view of 
what is in fact, or is supposed to be, true, unadulterated be- 
nevolence. 
Different individuals manifest considerable diversity in the 
exercise of grateful emotions. There are some persons, who 
exhibit, in the reception of the favors conferred upon them, 
but slight visible marks of grateful regard ; others are inca- 
pable of such a passive reception of benefits, and are strong- 
ly affected with their bestowal. This difference is probably 
owing, in part, to original diversities of constitution ; and is 
partly to be ascribed to different views of the characters and 
.duties of men, or to other adventitious circumstances. 
The affection of gratitude, under whatever diversities of THE AFFECTION OF GRATITUDE. 
221 
aspect it may show itself at different times, and in different 
persons, is undoubtedly to be regarded as, on the whole, one 
of the interesting and ennobling traits of human nature. It 
imparts a feature of loveliness, a mingled aspect of amiability 
and justice, to the human character, which it might not oth- 
erwise possess. It is also practically important, inasmuch 
as it affords an indirect, but still a decided encouragement 
to deeds of benevolence. And although there are some, in 
whom the principle, if it exists at all, exists in too slight a 
degree, yet in general the man, who has received what he 
knows to be a well meant kindness, will not withhold this 
tribute of nature. There are some interestinglines of South- 
ey, which Bishop Heber on the occasion of his leaving Eng- 
land for India has quoted as descriptive of his own personal 
experience, that may be appropriately introduced in connec- 
tion with this subject. 
"I've heard of hearts unkind-kind deeds 
"With scorn or hate returning. 
"Alas! The gratitude of man 
"Has oftener left me mourning. CHAPTER EIGHTH. 
THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
LOVE TO THE SUPREME BEING. 
§. 189. Man originally created with the principle of love to God. 
In order to preserve the other principles of human nature 
in the position, which the great Author of that nature has 
assigned to them, and to render that action just in itself and 
harmonious in its relations, we have reason to believe, that 
there was originally, in the human constitution, a principle 
of love to the Supreme Being. This affection, it may well be 
supposed, was entirely analogous, both in its nature and its 
operations, to the other Benevolent Affections, possessing 
like them a two-fold action, instinctive and voluntary. It 
differed, however, greatly in the degree or intensity of its 
action ; being rendered to its appropriate object, as might be 
expected from the unspeakably high and holy nature of that 
object, with all the energy, of which the mind was capable. 
That man must have been created originally with such a 
principle of love, overruling and regulating all the subordi- 
nate principles, we think must be evident, in the first place, 
from the considerations furnished by Analogy. 
In all the departments of the mind, so far as it has hith- 
erto passed under our examination, we have seen evidences 
of contrivance and wisdom ; every thing has its place, adap- 
tations, and uses ; and nothing, so far as we can judge, is 
done imperfectly. If it were necessary in this inquiry to put 
out of view the Intellect, so wonderful in its adaptation and 
its resources, we should hardly fail to find, in the distinct de- 
partments of the Sensibilities, ample illustrations and proofs 
of this remark. The Instincts, which naturally arrest our at- LOVE TO THE SUPREME BEING. 
223 
tention first, have obviously their appropriate place and of- 
fice ; and although they rank lowest in the enumeration of 
our active principles, are yet indispensable. If man were 
constituted physically as he is at present, and yet without 
the Appetites, the next higher class of the principles invol- 
ving desire, there would obviously be a want of adaptation 
between his mental and physical arrangements. The Pro- 
pensities also, as we advance still upward, have each their 
sphere of action, their specific nature and uses ; and are 
adapted with wonderful skill to the necessities of man, and 
to the relations he sustains. The same remark, and perhaps 
in a still higher sense, will apply to the Affections. As a 
father, man has a natural affection for his children, that he 
may thus be supported in the discharge of the arduous duties 
he owes to them ; as a child he has naturally an affection for 
his parents ; and as man simply, he is evidently constituted 
with a degree of love for his fellow-man. 
When we consider the relations which men sustain, still 
more important than those which are the basis of the princi- 
ples which have been mentioned, are we not justified in say- 
ing, on the ground of Analogy, that there must have been 
originally in the human constitution a principle of love to the 
Supreme Being ? If there was not originally in the mental 
constitution such a principle as love to God, was not the 
structure of the mind in that respect obviously at variance 
with what the Analogy of its nature in other respects re- 
quires ? If, from the urgent necessities of our situation, 
there must be strong ties of love binding together parents 
and children and brothers, if these ties must reach and bind 
with some degree of strictness all the members of the human 
family, on what principle can the doctrine be sustained, that 
man was originally created without an implanted love to that 
Being, who is infinitely more and better to him than an 
earthly brother or father? 
§. 190. That man was originally created with a principle of love to God, 
further shown from the Scriptures. 
In the second place, we have great reason to believe from 
the testimony of the Scriptures, that man was, in the first in- 
stance, created with the distinct and operative principle of 224 
THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
love to his Creator. At the creation, it is worthy of notice, 
that every thing which came from the hands of the great 
Architect, was pronounced to be good. But if man, raised 
from nothingness into existence, furnished with high powers 
of thought and action, and supported by the daily gifts of 
the divine bounty, was created without a principle of love to 
his Maker, (analogous to the other implanted affections, on- 
ly that it existed in an exceedingly higher degree, corres- 
ponding to the greatness of the object.) we cannot deny, that 
we are utterly unable to perceive in such a result the basis 
of so marked a commendation, as far as the parents of the 
human race were concerned. It would seem, on the contra- 
ry, that such a work, framed with such a disregard of the 
most important relations, could not be pronounced good, 
even in the estimate of human reason, much less in that of 
a reason infinitely comprehensive and divine. 
But,furthermore, man is expressly said to have been crea- 
ted in the image of his Maker. That is to say, in the great 
outlines of his mental constitution he was, in the first in- 
stance, a copy, (on a very limited scale it is true,) but still a 
copy, in fact, of the Divine Mind. But we must suppose, 
that God, both in his administration of justice and benevo- 
lence, is regulated by a wise and full consideration of the re- 
lations of things. He always loves, from the very perfection 
of his nature, what is worthy to be loved ; and if he created 
man in his own image, (that is to say, with affections and 
moral sentiments corresponding to the nature and relations of 
things,) He must have created him with a disposition to love 
himself. We are not at liberty to suppose, that he could by 
possibility create a being, who should either hate, or be in- 
different towards another being, whom he knew not only to 
be infinitely wise and good, but to sustain the relation of a 
Creator, preserver, and benefactor. A being thus created, 
so utterly wanting in those affections, which are required by 
the immutable relations of things, could hardly be said with 
any degree of truth to be created in the image of God. We 
infer, therefore, from the statement of man's being created in 
the Divine image, that he was created with a principle of 
love to his Maker. And the same reason leads us to believe, 
that the principle was paramount to every other; cor- LOVE TO THE SUPREME BEING. 
225 
responding, as far as the limited powers of man would per- 
mit, to the infinitely exalted nature of its object. And in ad- 
dition to this, the analogy of the other implanted principles 
points to the conclusion, that like them it possesses a two- 
fold action, instinctive and voluntary. 
§. 191. Further proofs that man was thus created. 
Again, many of those passages of Scripture, which are 
addressed to man in his present fallen state, appear to con- 
template the restoration of this great principle. When the 
Savior on a certain occasion was asked, in respect to the com- 
mandments, which of them was to be regarded as having the 
first or leading place, his answer was ; "Thou shaltlove the 
Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and 
with all thy mind. This is the first and great command- 
ment." Matt. 22: 37, 38. This language implies, to say the 
least, the possibility of the existence of this principle ; and 
particularly, that in a sinless or perfect state of the human 
race it is indispensable. Finally, that renovation of our 
nature, which is so frequently spoken of in the New Testa- 
ment under the name of a New Creation or New Birth, and 
which is represented as being brought about by divine assis- 
tance, unquestionably, in the meaning of the writers of the 
Scriptures, involves the restoration of this essential element 
of the mental constitution. To be what he is required to be, 
man must be what he was before the Fall ; and in order to 
be in this situation, the great requisite is,jvhat has just been 
mentioned, to love God with all the heart. We feel au- 
thorized, therefore, in asserting, that originally supreme love 
to God was an essential element of human nature ; and that 
at the present moment, it is, or ought to be, in every human 
bosom, a distinct and operative principle. Its presence, as 
we shall be led to see in the succeeding section, makes man 
what he was designed to be ; its absence furnishes an easy 
and philosophical explanation of those evils, which in the 
present state of things so frequently press themselves on our 
notice. 
§. 192. Relation of the principle of supreme love to God to the other 
principles of the pathematic sensibilities. 
In giving an account, in their succession and place, of the 226 
THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
principles of action, which go to constitute the department of 
the Pathematic sensibilities, we feel at liberty from what has 
been remarked, to place at their head, both as most impor- 
tant in its results and as highest in rank, the principle of su- 
preme love to God. If it be said, as undoubtedly it may be 
said with too much truth, that this principle of human action, 
considered as a distinct and permanent principle, is oblitera- 
ted, it is nevertheless true, that it is susceptible with divine 
aid of a restoration. If it be asserted, that men are not nat- 
urally governed by it, it still remains certain, if the precepts 
of Scripture may be understood with their obvious import, 
that they ought to be governed by it. The simple fact is, 
that man in his present condition, is not the man, which a 
holy God created him ; but rather a mutilation of humanity, 
a darkened and shattered fragment of original workmanship. 
Geologists assure us, although even in the present condition 
of things there are abundant evidences of a workmanship 
equally powerful and wise, that there are marks aud proofs 
of some great physical convulsion, such as is related in the 
Scriptures to have once taken place ; and in like manner 
mental philosophy, as well as Divine Revelation, clearly in- 
dicates, that there has been at some period a great mental 
convulsion ; that the glory of the human mind, although not 
absolutely extinct, is greatly obscured ; and that man, in re- 
spect to his intellectual and moral condition, is truly and apt- 
ly described, as a depraved and fallen being. And in this 
deplorable state of moral obliquity and mutilation he will con- 
tinue to remain, if the views which have been proposed are 
correct, until the principle of supreme love to God is rein- 
stated. The wisdom, which we claim for the structure of 
human nature, cannot be asserted with confidence to exist, 
except on the supposition that this great pillar of its support 
originally belonged to it, and may yet by possibility belong 
to it. 
Now supposing this principle to exist in the human mind, 
either by being originally implanted as in Adam, or by being 
restored under the name of a Regeneration or New Creation, 
we naturally proceed to inquire what relation it holds to the 
other principles in this department of the mind, and what 
results are likely to attend upon it. In point of mere rank, LOVE TO THE SUPREME BEING. 
227 
(that is to say, in the position which it occupies and ought to 
occupy in our estimation,) we cannot hesitate to say, that it 
stands first ; not only before the Appetites and Propensities, 
but before all the other Affections, the class with which it is 
itself properly arranged ; taking the precedence, by an incal- 
culable remove, not only of the love of country and the love 
of friends, but of the love of parents and children. " He 
that loveth father or mother more than me, is not worthy of 
me ; and he that loveth son or daughter more than me, is 
not worthy of me." Matt. 10, 37. The beneficial results, 
connected with the exercise of this principle, are such as 
might be expected from the preeminent rank it sustains. 
■When it is in its full exercise, rendered to its appropriate ob- 
ject, in the language of Scripture, with all the heart and 
mind and soul, it may be regarded as a matter of course, that 
all the subordinate principles will be kept in their place. 
The appetites, the propensities, and the domestic affections 
still exist, but such is the ascendency of love to the Supreme 
Being, that every inordinate tendency is rebuked, and they 
all revolve in the circle, which God in the beginning assign- 
ed to them. 
193. Illustration of the results of the principle of love to God from the 
character and life of the Savior. 
We have an impressive illustration of these favorable re- 
sults in the character and life of Jesus Christ, who we are in- 
formed in the Scriptures is set before us as an example for 
our imitation. The Savior, it will be recollected, appeared 
on the earth not only in the fashion of a man, but was con- 
stituted also with those various attributes, which pertain to 
man as a human being. He was hungry and thirsty, he ate 
and drank, he toiled and was susceptible of fatigue, he show- 
ed indignation, he loved and rejoiced and wept, as other 
men. Not only this, we are expressly assured, that he was 
tempted in all points as we are, and yet without sin ; and this is 
just what might be expected, when we take into view his 
feelings towards God. In him the principle of love to God 
the Father was a supreme principle. It sustained an un- 
shaken dominion. And under its pervading and paramount 
influence, the appetites asked for no inordinate indulgence ; 
the propensities fulfiilled the intentions of nature without de- 228 
THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS, 
generating into unseemly and sinful perversions ; and all the 
departments of the mind maintained a harmony with each 
other. 
And this will be the result in all other similar instances. 
The Savior is set before us as an example, not merely in 
bodily and outward action, but still more in the propensions 
and affections of the heart. All, that has been said of him, 
may by possibility be true of all men in every situation of 
life. Under the blaze of a burning love to God, the appetites 
of men, so far as they are inordinate and sinful, will necessa- 
rily wither and die. Such is its infinite ascendency, in its 
appropriate and perfect exercise, that all their desires, 
whether they relate to themselves or their fellow-men, will 
be absorbed and hardly perceptible in this great flood of the 
heart's movement upward to the Source of life and light. 
We do not mean to say, that the appetites and propensities, 
or any other of the natural or pathematic principles will 
actually cease to exist; but the mind will be so intensely oc- 
cupied with the higher and paramount principle, so long as 
it operates with a power proportioned to its object, that they 
will attract but comparatively little notice ; and it will be 
impossible for them to become excessive. 
§. 194. The absence of this principle attended with an excessive and 
sinful action of other principles. 
Now take for a moment the opposite view ; and let us see, 
^f we may not account for what has sometimes been called 
the Depravity of human nature, without the necessity of 
supposing the implantation of principles, which, in them- 
selves necessarily and under all circumstances, are evil. If 
the principle of Supreme love to God be removed from the 
place, which both Scripture and reason agree in assigning to 
it in the original constitution of the mind, one of the most 
important checks on the undue exercise of the subordinate 
principles is of course taken away. The love, which is drawn 
from the great source of all good, will naturally centre in 
ourselves ; and the principles, which have relation to our 
present enjoyment and interest, will become predominant. 
JJence we see the disorders, which all impartial inquirers, DEPRAVITY OF HUMAN NATURE. 
229 
even heathen philosophers,* acknowledge to exist in'the hu- 
man race ; and which it is the aim of enlightened reason and 
philosophy, and particularly of religion in its instructions and 
its special influences, to rectify. The Appetites, which before 
had their appropriate place and offices, have now broken 
over their allotted limits, and are, on every hand, leading 
their victims into the various forms of excess and debauche- 
ry. The Propensities, many of which connect us closely 
with our fellow beings, and in their proper exercise impart 
no small degree of strength and enjoyment to human charac- 
ter, have become inordinately intense in their action. Con- 
science, it is true, continues to repeat its remonstrances ; and 
the Will, under the suggestions of Conscience, makes more 
or less of resistance ; but as they are not sustained by the 
love of the Supreme Being, which could not fail, if it exist- 
ed, to operate in their favor, the contest becomes unequal ; 
and the efforts which they make are found to be unavailing. 
In this state of things, men, who under other circumstances 
would have leaned, and loved to lean, on the great arm of 
the Almighty for support, now find their chief enjoyment in 
the pursuit of wealth and power, and in the unrestricted in- 
tercourse and the uncertain enjoyments of the world. It is 
in such a condition of things as this, that we find the true 
source of the follies and crimes, which afflict the human race. 
The dethronement of God in the heart necessarily involves 
the predominance of principles, which, however innocent and 
useful in their just exercise, become in their excess evil, and 
"only evil continually." In the striking language of Ovid 
(Metam. VII, Fab. 1.) 
*Cicero repeatedly asserts the fact of human depravity, not only in de- 
cided language, but in terms which in their import nearly coincide with 
the views, which appear to be communicated in the Holy Scriptures. 
"Simut alque editi in lucem et suscepti sumus, in omni continuo pravitate, 
et in summa opinionum perversitate, versamur ; ut pome cum lacte nutricis 
errorem suxisse videamur." "Sed cum tot signis eadem natura declarat 
quid velit, anquirat, ac desideret ; obsurdescimus tamen nescio quomodo ; 
nec ea, quae ab ea monemur, audimus." (Questiones Tusculanx, III, 1. 
De Amici tia, c. 24.) There are a number of passages in Seneca, par- 
ticularly in the Treatises De Ira and De Clementia, of a similar import. 230 
THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
ctSi possem, sanior essern. 
"Sed trahit invitum nova vis ; aliudque cupido 
"Mens aliud suadet. Video meliora proboque, 
"Deteriora sequor. 
§. 195. Further illustrations of the results of the absence of this principle- 
The topic of the last section is one of no small importance. 
The section, it will be noticed, consists chiefly of a statement 
of facts, without any attempt at explanations. As some per- 
sons may not at first readily perceive, how it happens, that 
the suspension or obliteration of the principle of love to God 
is necessarily or naturally attended with the evil results there 
ascribed to it, we will delay upon the subject a little longer. 
It is sometimes the case, that a mere additional illustration, 
placing the subject in a new light, will have the effect upon 
the mind of the inquirer of an argument or proof. If the sus- 
pension or obliteration of any other principle will be followed 
by results analogous to those, which have been described as 
accessory to the extinction of love to God, we shall clearly 
have in this circumstance an evidence, that the results in 
the last case have been correctly indicated. And on the oth- 
er hand, if the extinction or utter inaction of subordinate 
principles be not attended with irregularity and perversion 
in other parts of the mind, it will furnish a strong presump- 
tion,'Jhat the extinction or utter inaction of the higher prin- 
ciple will, in its collateral results be equally harmless. By 
the aid of these statements we may easily bring the subject, 
in a considerable degree, to the test of common observation. 
And what is the fact ? 
We will make the supposition, that, in the case of some 
individual, the domestic affections have for some reason 
become permanently extinct, either in their nature or in their 
action. Such instances, though not by any means frequent- 
ly, may yet sometimes be found. The person, in whofu this 
obliteration or utter inaction of the domestic affections takes 
place, has no attachment for his children or any of his fami- 
ly, such as he used to have. It is a matter of common obser- 
vation and remark, that a person in such a situation will be 
much more likely than another to fall under the dominion of 
the lower appetites ; to addict himself, for instance, to licen- 
tious practices, or to become a drunkard. While the domes- DEPRAVITY OF HUMAN NATURE. 
231 
tic affections existed, while he looked with deep interest on 
his parents, his children, and his wife, he was furnished with 
powerful auxiliary motives to restrain his appetites. He 
saw distinctly, if he indulged them, they would not only in- 
terfere with his duties to his family; but would plunge them 
into deep disgrace and sorrow. So great influence had this 
view of his situation upon his mind, that he was enabled to 
sustain himself in opposition to the approaches of the evil 
habits which threatened him. But as soon as the domestic 
affections became extinct, as soon as the love of kindred was 
blasted in his bosom, he fell before them. 
Again, if we suppose, in addition to the extinction of the 
domestic affections, the further obliteration of love to his 
country, and of love to the human race, (and still more if we 
add the extinction of the principles of pity and gratitude,) the 
probability of his falling under the dominion of the bodily 
appetites, and of degradinghimself to the condition of a brute, 
will be obviously increased by this state of things. With the 
removal of these leading principles of human action, there is 
of course a removal of an important class of motives, which 
had a favorable tendency. And if it were possible for him 
to stand against the solicitations of the appetites before, he 
will be likely to fall now. The Will, whose office it is under 
the direction of the Conscience to regulate and restrain the 
appetites, received important assistance from the sources 
which have been alluded to ; but with the removal of that 
assistance its power is proportionally diminished ; and all 
hope is gone. The cravings of nature must have food of 
some kind ; and if it fails to be furnished with the ennobling 
aliment, which is generated in the love of our families, our 
country, and mankind, it will inevitably fatten itself on the 
mire of a debasing sensuality. This is the common sense 
view of the subject; one, which will be likely to commend 
itself to the sober judgment and acceptance of all. 
It is clear, that these illustrations will apply in their full 
strength to the principle oflove to God. Just so long as this 
principle is predominant, it is impossible, as has been before 
stated, for the inferior principles to become excessive and 
morally evil in their action. We feel, under the influence of 
this exalting affection, that we cannot so much dishonor our 232 
THE BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 
Maker ; we cannot estimate so lightly those claims of grati- 
tude which He has upon us ; we cannot so basely contemn 
our infinite obligations to his wisdom and benevolence, as to 
indulge for a moment any exercise of the passions, which he 
has forbidden. They stand rebuked and withering in the 
presence of the object, that has the dominion in our hearts. 
But only obliterate the principle of Love to God ; and at once 
a thousand motives, which enabled us to keep them in their 
proper place, are lost in the extinction of the principle on 
which they rested ; and other principles, infinitely below it 
at once gain the ascendency. 
§. 196. Views of President Edwards on the subject of human depravity. 
In connection with what has just been said, we take the lib- 
erty to introduce some remarks of President Edwards, whose 
opinions on a subject of this kind, whatever degree of weight 
they may be entitled to, the reader will probably be willing to 
know. In the first place, he opposes the doctrine of a con- 
natural or positive depravity, as not being required by the 
facts in the case, and also as being at variance with the mor- 
al character of the Deity. His language is ; " In order to 
account for a sinful corruption of nature, yea, a total natural 
depravity of the heart of man, there is not the least need of 
supposing any evil quality, infused, implanted,or wrought, into 
the nature of man, by any positive cause or influence what- 
ever, either from God or the creature ; or of supposing, that 
man is conceived and born with a fountain of evil in his heart, 
such as is any thing properly positive." His doctrine is that 
man was created originally with the natural appetites, the 
principle of self-love, and other common natural princi- 
ples ; and above them, the superior principle'of divine love 
which in his own language possessed the throne, and main- 
tained an absolute dominion in the heart. "While things 
continued thus,(he goes on to remark,)all things were in 
excellent order, peace, and beautiful harmony, and their 
proper and perfect state." When man sinned and broke 
God's covenant, it was very different. The principle of di- 
vine love, which although it had a voluntary action, and in 
that respect could be either yielded or withdrawn at will, 
was sustained in its instinctive or connatural form,'as all oth- 
er instinctive or connatural principles are, by divine agency, DEPRAVITY OF HUMAN NATURE. 
233 
immediately left him. "Because, (says President Edwards, 
in explanation of the fact of the withdrawal of the divine fa- 
vor and in proceeding to remark on the results of this great 
change,) it would have been utterly improper in itself, and 
inconsistent with the covenant and constitution God had es- 
tablished, that God should still maintain communion with 
man, and continue, by his friendly, gracious, vital influences, 
to dwell with him and in him, after he was become a rebel, 
and had incurred God's wrath and curse. Therefore imme- 
diately the superior divine principles wholly ceased; so 
light ceases in a room when the candle is withdrawn ; and 
thus man was left in a state of darkness, woeful corruption 
and ruin ; nothing but flesh without spirit. The inferior 
principles of self-love and natural appetite, which were giv- 
en only to serve, being alone, and left to themselves, of course. 
became reigning principles ; having no superior principles to 
regulate or control them, they became absolute masters of 
the heart. The immediate consequence of which was a fatal 
catastrophe, a turning of all things upside down, and the suc- 
cession of a state of the most odious and dreadful confusion. 
Man did immediately set up himself and the objects of his 
private affections and appetites, as supreme ; and so they 
took the place of God. These inferior principles are like fire 
in an house ; which, we say, is a good servant, but a bad 
master ; very useful while kept in its place, but if left to 
take possession of the whole house, soon brings all to de- 
struction. Man's love to his own honor, separate interest, 
and private pleasure, which before w7as wholly subordinate 
unto love to God, and regard to his authority and glory, now 
disposes and impels him to pursue those objects, without re- 
gard to God's honor or law ; because there is no true regard 
to these divine things left in him. In consequence of which, 
he seeks those objects as much when against God's honor 
and law, as when agreeable to them. And God, still con- 
tinuing strictly to require supreme regard to himself, and 
forbidding all gratifications of these inferior passions, but on- 
ly in perfect subordination to the ends, and agreeableness to 
the rules and limits, which his holiness, honor, and law pre- 
scribe, hence immediately arises enmity in the heart, now 
wholly under the power of self-love ; and nothing but war 234 
HABITS OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 
ensues, in a constant course, against God. As, when a sub- 
ject has once renounced his lawful sovereign, and set up a 
pretender in his stead, a state of enmity and war against 
his rightful king necessarily ensues. It were easy to shew, 
how every lust, and depraved disposition of man's heart 
would naturally arise from this privative original, if here were 
room for it. Thus it is easy to give an account, how total 
corruption of heart should follow on man's eating the forbid- 
den fruit, though that was but one act of sin, without God's 
putting any evil into his heart, or implanting any bad principle, 
or infusing any corrupt taint, and so becoming the author of 
depravity. Only God's wilhdraioing, as it was highly proper 
and necessary that he should, from rebel man, being as it 
were driven away by his abominable wickedness, and men's 
natural principles being left to themselves, this is sufficient to ac- 
count for his becoming entirely corrupt, and bent on sinning 
against God."* 
CHAPTER NINTH. 
HABITS OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 
§■ 197. General remarks on the nature of habit. 
We propose to bring the subject of this department of the 
Sensibilities to a conclusion by some slight references to the 
results of the law of Habit, considered in connection with 
this portion of our nature. As we have already had occa- 
sion to make some remarks upon the general nature of Hab- 
it, and have seen in repeated instances its bearing upon 
mental action, it will not be necessary to spend much time 
upon that subject here. The term Habit, in its application 
to the various mental powers, expresses the simple fact ; 
That the menial action acquires facility and strength by repetition or 
practice. The following remarks, made on a former occasion, 
* Edward's Doctrine of Original Sin. Part IV, Chap. 2d. HABITS OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 
235 
(Vol. I, §, 97,) may properly enough be repeated in this 
place. 
"The fact, that the facility and the increase of strength, 
implied in habit, is owing to mere repetition, or what is more 
frequently termed practice, we learn, as we do other facts 
and principles in relation to the mind, from the observation 
of men around us, and from our own personal experience. 
And as it has hitherto been found impracticable to resolve it 
into any general fact or principle more elementary, it may 
justly be regarded as something ultimate and essential in 
our nature. 
" The term Habit, by the use of language, indicates the 
facility and strength, acquired in the way which has been 
mentioned, including both the result and the manner of it. 
As the law of habit has reference to the whole mind of man, 
the application of the term, which expresses it, is of course 
very extensive. We apply it to the dexterity of workmen in 
the different manual arts, to the rapidity of the accountant, 
to the coup d'ceil or eye-glance of the military engineer, to 
the tact and fluency of the extemporaneous speaker, and in 
other like instances. We apply it also in cases, where the 
mere exercise of emotion and desire is concerned ; to the av- 
aricious man's love of wealth, the ambitious man's passion 
for distinction, the wakeful suspicions of the jealous, and the 
confirmed and substantial benevolence of the philanthropist." 
§. 19S. Of habits in connection with the appetites. 
In considering the results of Habit, in connection with 
that portion of the Natural or Pathematic Sensibilities which 
involves desire, viz, the Instincts, Appetites, Propensities, 
and Affections, we shall adhere to the arrangement which 
has hitherto been followed, with the exception of the In- 
stincts to which the law of Habit does not apply. We 
proceed to remark, therefore, that there may be appetitive 
habits ; in other words, that the Appetites, the class of sensi- 
tive principles next in order to the Instincts, acquire strength 
from repeated indulgence. The appetites in their first or 
original operation act instinctively ; but it is incidental to 
their nature, as it is to all the modifications of Desire, that 
their gratification is attended with more or less of pleasure. 236 
HABITS OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 
In connection with this experience of pleasure, we frequent- 
ly stimulate them to action a second time, under circumstan- 
ces when there would be but little and perhaps no occasion 
for a purely instinctive exercise. But the desire, as it is 
thus, by a voluntary effort or at least by a voluntary per- 
mission, indulged again and again, rapidly becomes more and 
more intense, till at last it is found to acquire a complete as- 
cendency. That such is the process appears to be proved 
by what unfortunately we have so frequent occasion to no- 
tice in those, who are in the practice of taking intoxicating 
drinks. If they had indulged their appetite only a few times, 
they would undoubtedly have retained their mastery over it. 
But as this indulgence has been repeated often, and continu- 
ed for a considerable length of time, the appetite, growing 
stronger with each repetition, has gradually acquired the 
predominance, till it has brought the whole man, as it were, 
into captivity. (See §. 99. Vol. I. §. 108, Vol. II.) 
§. 199. Of habits in connection with the propensities. 
The Propensities, as well as the Appetites, are subject to 
the influence of this law ; in other words there may be pro- 
pensive as well as appetitive habits. The principle of So- 
ciality, for instance, has an instinctive action ; but there is 
no question that we have the power, as it is undoubtedly our 
duty, to subject it to suitable regulation. But if, instead of 
doing this, we indulge it continually for the mere sake of the 
pleasure we experience, without regard to the other claims 
existing upon us, we shall find it rapidly acquiring undue 
strength, and every day will render it more difficult to regu- 
late it properly. And in point of fact it is sometimes the 
case, that we find persons, who, in consequence of an unre- 
stricted indulgence of a principle otherwise naturally good, 
have brought themselves into such a situation, that retire- 
ment, which every reasonable man ought sometimes to de- 
sire, is always exceedingly irksome to them. 
Perhaps not one of the Propensities can be named, which 
may not be greatly strengthened in the same way. It is well 
known in what countless instances the desire of Possession, 
growing stronger by continued repetition, becomes an ascen- 
dant and controlling principle. We are not to suppose, that HABITS OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 
237 
the intense love, which the miser has for his possessions, 
existed in him naturally and originally. We do, indeed, ad- 
mit, that the seed or element of it, the basis on which it rests, 
existed in him naturally, as it exists in all men. But how 
does it happen, that it shows itself in this exaggerated and 
intense form ? This is the work of the man himself, and for 
which the man himself is accountable, rather than the origi- 
nal tendencies of his nature. From morning till night, from 
day to day, and from year to year, the Possessory principle 
has been voluntarily kept in intense exercise. And the natu- 
ral and necessary result has been, that it has become the ru- 
ling sentiment of the heart. 
So of the desire of Power. In itself considered, power 
may properly be regarded as one of the various forms of nat- 
ural good. And accordingly we are at liberty to take the 
ground, as was formerly seen in the remarks on that subject, 
that the desire of power, if duly subordinated, is not repre- 
hensible. But in a multitude of instances, this desire is far 
from showing itself in the aspect of a subordinate principle. 
And the reason is, that it has acquired inordinate strength by 
repetition ; a habit of mind has been formed, which has re- 
sulted in its becoming predominant. The individual, in 
whom it exists in this intense form, is not satisfied with any 
thing short of the prostration of every other person at his 
own feet. It would hardly be going too far to say, that he 
looks upon the Supreme Being, when he contemplates his 
greatness and elevation, in the light of a rival and an enemy. 
Remarks, similar to what have been made, in respect to 
the lower active or motive principles, will apply in like man- 
ner to the higher class of the Affections. We sometimes 
see, for instance, decided indications of the result of Habit, in 
the progress of the Malevolent Affections. A man entertains 
a degree of dislike to his neighbor; it appears perhaps at 
first, in the form of a mere unpleasant suspicion ; these sus- 
picious and unpleasant feelings are frequently indulged; we 
see them gradually growing deeper and deeper, assuming 
under the influence of Habit a more fixed and determinate 
form, and ultimately appearing in the shape of malignant and 
permanent hatred. 
§. 200. Of habits in connection with the affections. 238 
HABITS OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 
The law of Habit applies, in the same manner, to the Be- 
nevolent affections. The parental affection is strong and de- 
cided in the very beginning of its existence. But the depend- 
ent situation of the beloved object, on which it fastens, keeps 
it almost constantly in exercise. And thus, unless there are 
some improprieties in the conduct of the child, which check 
and diminish the results naturally following under such cir- 
cumstances, it rapidly acquires immense strength. And 
hence it may be explained in part, that .when a son or daugh- 
ter, in the maturity of youth or on the verge of womanhood 
is taken away by death, the griefof the parent, always great 
at such times, is more intense and excessive, than when 
death takes place in infancy. The death of the child, at the 
latter period of life, not only blasts a greater number of hopes ; 
but, as love by a long repeated cumulative process has been 
added and incorporated with love, it carries away, if one may 
be allowed the expression, a greater portion of the heart. 
We are informed in Scripture, that when an infant child 
of David was taken away by death, the king was so far able, 
to control his sorrow as to arise from his protration on the 
earth, and wash and anoint himself, and change his appa- 
rel, and come into the house of the Lord and worship. But 
when Absalom died, who was but little worthy of his affec- 
tion, his language was, "Oh, my son Absalom ! my son, my 
son Absalom ! Would God I had died for thee, oh, Absalom, 
my son, my son!" 
We may unquestionably apply these views to all those af- 
fections, which are properly characterized as Benevolent, 
to Friendship, Patriotism, Gratitude, and Sympathy. He, 
who is so situated that he is required to think much on the 
interests and good of his country, and whose love of country 
is in this way kept constantly in exercise, will be found, oth- 
er things being equal, to exhibit in the day of trial a more 
intense ardor of patriotism than others. He, who by his un- 
tiring attentions to the poor, the sick, and the prisoner, 
has kept his sympathetic affections in action for a long se- 
ries of years, will find the principle of sympathy, more thor- 
oughly consubstantial in his nature and more intensely op- 
erative, than if it had lain dormant. And we may add, that 
this doctrine in all its extent is applicable to the highest of HABITS OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 
239 
all the Benevolent affections, that of love to God. This en- 
nobling principle, this preeminent trait, which allies us not 
only to just men made perfect, but to angels, is an improva- 
ble one. Under the influence of Habit, we find it even in the 
present life, going on from one degree of brightness and 
strength to another. The more we think of God, the more 
frequently we connect him with all our ordinary transactions, 
the more will the broad orb of his glory expand itself to our 
conceptions, and call forth the homage and love of the heart. 
§. 201. Of the origin of secondary active principles. 
It is here, in connection with the views of this Chapter, 
that we find an explanation of the origin of what are called 
secondary principles of action. Some individuals, for in- 
stance, are seen to possess a decided passion for dress, furni- 
ture, and equipage. We are not to suppose, that this pas- 
sion is one, which is originally implanted in the human mind, 
although it may be so permanent and so decided in its action 
as to have something of that appearance. The probability 
is, setting aside whatever maybe truly interesting or beauti- 
ful in the objects, that they are chiefly sought after, not so 
much for what they are in themselves, as for some form of 
good, particularly some esteem and honor, to which they are 
supposed to be introductory and auxiliary. But the desire, 
existing in the first instance in reference to some supposed 
beneficial end, has been so long exercised, that we at last, 
in virtue of what may properly be called a Habit, so closely 
associate the means and the end, that it is exceedingly diffi- 
cult to separate them. So that, after a time, we apparently 
have a real love or affection for the means itself, (the dress, 
furniture, equipage, or whatever it is,) independently, in a 
great degree, of the ultimate object, in connection with which 
it first excited an interest in us. 
There are some men, to illustrate the subject still further, 
who appear to have a strong love for money; we do not 
mean property in the more general sense of the term, but 
money, the gold and the silver coin in itself considered, the 
mere naked issue of the mint. This is one of the various 
forms, which the too common vice of Avarice sometimes as- 
sumes. But we cannot suppose, that the love of money, in 240 
HABITS OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 
this sense of the terms, is a passion connatural to the human 
mind, and that men are born with it. It is loved, in the first 
instance, simply as a means, subordinate to some supposed 
beneficial end. The person has looked upon it for years as 
the means of enjoyment, influence, and honor ; in this way 
he has formed a Habit of associating the means and the end ; 
and they have become so closely connected in his thoughts, 
that, in ordinary cases, he finds himself unable to separate 
them. 
Again, we are not to suppose, that men are born with a 
natural desire for the society of mice and spiders, such as 
we have reason to think they naturally entertain for that of 
their fellow-men. But, in the entire exclusion of all human 
beings, we find the principle of sociality, deprived of its le- 
gitimate and customary sources of gratification, fastening it- 
self upon these humble companions. A man, as in the case 
of Baron Trenck and Count Lauzun, may form an acquain- 
tance with these animals, which, aided by the principle of 
Habit, will after a time exhibit a distinctness and intensity, 
which are commonly characteristic only of the original pas- 
sions. In this way there may unquestionably be formed 
a series of secondary appetites, propensities, and affections, 
almost without number. And we have here opened to us a 
new and interesting view of human nature, capable of being 
so applied as to explain many things in the history and con- 
duct of men, which, however, we are not at liberty in this 
connection to explore more minutely. 
§. 202. Objection to these views in respect to habit. 
It is proper to mention here, that an objection has been 
raised to these views ; not to the doctrine of Habit in gener- 
al, but to the alleged extent of it. While it is admitted that 
it exists, and produces its results in most cases, it is contend- 
ed, that our passive feelings, as they are sometimes called, 
rye not strengthened in this way. Passive feelings, as the 
term is used in this objection are those, where we suffer or 
endure. This seems to have been the original meaning of 
the epithet, which is derived from the participle of the Latin 
patior, to suffer. So that the objection, stated in more obvi- 
ous phraseology, has reference in particular to painful or un- HABITS OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 
241 
pleasant feelings. The statement, which is made in respect 
to feelings of this description, is, that instead of growing 
stronger by repetition, they diminish in power. 
The opinions, involved in this objection, are brought for- 
ward in the philosophical Works of Bishop Butler. We 
learn from him in express terms, that frequent exposure to 
danger lessens fear, and begets intrepidity ; and that a fre- 
quent acquaintance with scenes of distress lessens the pas- 
sion of pity. "Let a man, (he says,) set himself to attend to, 
inquire out, and relieve distressed persons, and he cannot 
but grow less and less sensibly affected with the various mis- 
eries of life, with which he must become acquainted." * 
Some further illustrations will help to show what is 
meant, although the objection has always appeared in a 
somewhat perplexed and indefinite form. Among other 
instances referred to in connection with this subject, it is 
said of the physician, which perhaps was the very instance 
had in view by Bishop Butler in the remark just quoted, that 
at first he is affected as much as another man at the sight of 
suffering; but the repetition of such scenes, to which he is 
constantly called, blunts and does away the painful feeling, 
instead of increasing its strength. Again, it is said of the 
sailor, when exposed for the first time to a storm on the 
ocean, that he is filled with the painfid emotion of fear, but 
the feeling grows weaker at every repetition of danger. The 
soldier in particular felt a degree of pity for his writhing and 
groaning comrades in his first fields of battle ; he wept as 
well as others ; but after a few campaigns the feelings of 
sympathy grew weaker and weaker, and he no longer had 
tears to shed. 
It is not necessary to multiply instances ; the difficulty 
will probably now be understood ; the facts are in appearance 
precisely, or very nearly such as have been stated ; never- 
theless they are susceptible of being satisfactorily accounted 
for, consistently with the great law, which has been laid 
down. 
* Butler's Analogy of Natural and Revealed Religion, Pt. I, Ch. 5.- 
The passage at the place here referred to in Butler is avowedly the basis 
of a number of remarks and illustrations in Mr. Stewart's Elements, (Vol. 
I, ch. vn, §. 5.) in which similar sentiments are maintained. 242 
HABITS OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 
§. 203. Explanation of the above mentioned cases. 
In explanation of the instances, mentioned in the preced- 
ing section, we would remark in the first place, that the law 
of Habit is not so strong as not to be overcome by others ; it 
may be weakened, subdued, apparently annulled, when com- 
ing in conflict with other strong principles; and that is the 
fact in these cases. When the sailor was first exposed to 
the storm, it was but natural that the idea of danger should 
be prominent in his mind, and that his fears should be strong. 
After the repetition of similar situations, he finds, that the 
danger is less than he at first imagined; and not only this, 
he finds, that in order to escape the danger whatever it is, he 
must discharge his duty ; he must make every effort; he 
must put forth a cool judgment, which is inconsistent with 
the agitations of fear ; he must call into exercise other feel- 
ings. Every strong and energetic principle of the soul, ambi- 
tion, courage, and hope, are summoned forward, to counter- 
act and destroy the action of the law in question, and the ef- 
fort is successful. This is the explanation. 
And so in the case of the physician. He finds it absolute- 
ly necessary, that his sympathy or pity for the objects of suf- 
fering before him should be overruled and subdued. It is 
more necessary for them, than for himself. He must subdue 
pity, in order to shew pity ; his mind must be perfectly calm 
and collected, which would be inconsistent with his dwellinsr 
much on the actual distress of the patient; he must be able 
to observe and collate the symptoms of the disease, and to 
prepare the remedy. His heart has not become truly and 
intrinsically harder than other men's ; his judgment has 
gained an ascendency over his heart, and checked its emo- 
tions ; he has made it hard for particular occasions, and for 
sufficient reasons ; but place him in other situations, where 
this necessity is not laid upon him, smite this seeming rock 
at other times, and the waters of sorrow will freely gush out. 
§. 204. Further illustrations of the foregoing instances. 
In the cases which have been mentioned and others like 
them, the persons concerned have formed, in some sense, an 
opposite habit; they have called into exercise, repeated, and 
strengthened emotions and desires of a different kind ; they HABITS OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 
243 
have banked up, as it were, their fears and their sympathies 
lest they should overflow. 
An explanation, similar to what has been already given, 
will apply universally ; and among other cases, to that of the 
soldier. How often did Napoleon look on the heaps of slain, 
on the lifeless piles of young men, the hope of their parents ; 
of men of middle age, the support of their families ; of vete- 
rans and renowned officers, without discovering a single emo- 
tion ! The lamentations of millions arose around him ; but 
he heeded them not, felt not, wept not. But no one under- 
takes to assert, that the heart of the French Emperor was 
naturally without kindly feeling. There is much reason to be- 
lieve it was far otherwise ; it was the supposed necessity of 
his situation, and his philosophy, which made it so. He had 
placed before him his own chosen object, and he had long 
and laboriously taught himself to care for nothing else. His 
hardness of heart was a matter of calculation and discipline ; 
and possibly we may find a proof of it in what some will con- 
sider a trifling incident. 
It is said that he once rode along'one of his fields of battle, 
and amid the fearful desolation around him happened to fix 
his eye on a dog, that remained to watch, and to mourn over 
his lifeless master's body and he was affected, even agita- 
ted with emotion. And how did this happen ? The expla- 
nation seems to be, that he had hardened his heart against 
sympathy with human beings, and had not counted on aeon- 
test with his sympathy for dogs. Here he was unprepared. 
He had left an opening, of which he was not aware, in the 
Chinese wall, which he had built around his natural feelings 
of commiseration. He could meet the grief of mothers, and 
the lamentations of orphans, and the despair of widows, as 
the rock meets the dashing of the ocean, and remain un- 
moved ; but with all this premeditated and immovable indu- 
ration of heart, the fact still remains, explainable only in 
the way which has been intimated, that his firmness was 
shaken and his spirit troubled by the humble sorrow of a 
mourning brute animal. 
205. The objection to the extent of the law of habit further considered. 
In forming a conclusion on this subject, we are to consid- 
er, furthermore, the results, which would foliowon the adop- 244 
HABITS OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 
tion of those views, which we have thus seen reason to object 
to. In the case of physicians, for instance, it would seem to 
follow universally, that they must, as they advance in life, 
become an unfeeling and hard-hearted race of men. But the 
facts, as we have already had occasion to intimate, are far 
from warranting us in making any such assertion. Men, who 
are naturally of decidedly kind and sympathetic feelings, and 
who under the impulse of such feelings are in the habit of 
visiting the chambers of the sick and the dungeon of the 
prisoner, and in whom of course painful feelings must almost 
constantly be in exercise, would be subject, on this doctrine, 
to a sure and rapid process of sensitive induration. Howard 
himself, who spent his life amid scenes of suffering, must, on 
a strict and philosophical application of this system, have be- 
come, at last,[one of the most hard-hearted of men. But this 
does not seem to have been the fact. On the contrary, his 
desire to relieve suffering appears to have grown stronger 
and stronger till the last moments of life. 
There are a considerable number of men at the present 
day, who, with no small portion of Howard's spirit, have left 
their native country and the endearments and charities of 
home, that they may relieve the physical sufferings, and en- 
lighten the mental darkness of their fellow-men. The hearts 
of these men, according to their own accounts, are continu- 
ally pained with the view of vices and sufferings, that are 
constantly presented to their notice. No other emotion than 
a painful one can possibly arise in the view of these vices 
and sufferings, in themselves considered. But on the sys- 
tem, some of the results of which we arc endeavoring to indi- 
cate, these painful emotions will necessarily after a time 
cease to exist. And as the affection of Pity or Sympathy, as 
wc have already had occasion to see, is based upon painful 
emotions, it will also become extinct with the extinction of 
these emotions. The heart will become sealed up ; and its 
fountains of sorrow for the ruin which is witnessed, and of 
pity for the subjects of it, will be effectually closed. These 
are the results in theory ; but we do not hesitate to say, that, 
as a general thing, they are far from being the results in 
fact. These devoted men, to whose philanthropic toils we 
have alluded, still labor on, month after month and year HABITS OF THE SENSIBILITIES. 
245 
after year, without either any diminution of their grief at 
witnessing the wide spread sin and misery around them, or 
any decrease of that benevolence, which prompts them to 
labor for its removal. On the contrary, as their life wears 
away, they appear to experience stronger emotions, and to 
put forth still more strenuous efforts. 
§. 206. The objection noticed in connection with the malevolent affections. 
A single remark more remains to be made. The exercise 
of the Malevolent affections is always painful. These affec- 
tions are not only attended with pain ; hut as was seen when 
they came under examination, they are in their nature based 
upon a painful emotion. And it is universally admitted that 
a resentful and malevolent state of mind is an exceedingly 
unhappy one. Now if we apply to this statement the doc- 
trine, which we are controverting, it will seem to follow, that 
the way to terminate and extinguish the Malevolent affec- 
tions, inasmuch as they are painful, is to keep them in exer- 
cise. The more freely we let our disorderly tempers run on, 
the more prodigally we indulge in resentful and angry pas- 
sions, the sooner will the atmosphere of the mind be cleared 
up ; and instead of clouds and darkness, shine forth in the 
aspect of purity and peace. But the idea, that such a re- 
sult can be secured by such a process, is equally inconsistent, 
so far as we are able to judge, with philosophy, the Scrip- 
tures, and fact. ®ISH 
PART SECOND. 
THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES OR CONSCIENCE. 
MORAL OR CONSCIENTIOUS SENTIMENTS. 
CLASS FIRST. 
EMOTIONS OF APPROVAL AND DISAPPROVAL. CHAPTER FIRST. 
PROOFS OF A MORAL NATURE. 
§ 207. Reference to the general division. 
In entering upon the examination of the interesting and 
important department of the mental nature, which now pre- 
sents itself to our notice, it is proper to revert a moment to 
that general division of the mind, which we have endeavor- 
ed throughout to adhere to, as the basis of our inquiries. 
The general classification, it will be recollected, was into the 
Intellect, the Sensibilities, and the Will. In passing from 
the purely intellectual region to that of the Sensibilities, we 
first find ourselves in the subordinate department of the Emo- 
tions. And leaving the emotions, we may advance onward, 
and come in contact with the still more interior and remote 
department of the Will, either by passing through the region 
of the Desires on the one hand, or through the space occupi- 
ed, if we may be allowed to use such expressions in connec- 
tion with the mind, by the feelings of Moral Obligation on 
the other. In accordance with this plan we made it our first 
object to examine some of the leading emotions, which come 
under the head of the Natural or Pathematic Sensibilities. 
And then, taking the direction of the Desires, endeavored in 
a variety of remarks on the Instincts, Appetites, Propensities, 
and Affections, to explain what may properly be included un- 
der that head. 
Having completed in such manner as we were able that 
part of the subject, we propose to return again to the region 
of the Emotions, a part of which are included under the gen- 
eral head of the Moral Sensibilities, and to approach the 250 
PROOFS OF A MORAL NATURE. 
Will in the opposite direction. But in carrying this plan in- 
to effect, and in giving a philosophical account of the Moral, 
in distinction from the Natural or Pathematic Sensibilities, 
we shall attempt, in the first place, to consider the general 
question, whether, in point of fact, man possesses such Mor- 
al Sensibilities or not. After having satisfied ourselves as to 
the general fact of the existence of a conscientious or moral 
nature, we shall be prepared to enter with more satisfaction 
into the consideration of the subordinate elements and the 
characteristics of that nature. 
§. 208. Proof of a moral nature from consciousness 
I. In proceeding in the present chapter to bring for- 
ward some considerations in proof, that man has a moral na- 
ture, the first remark we have to offer is, that we have evi- 
dence of this, in the intimations of our own Consciousness. 
In other words, we shall find evidence of the fact under con- 
sideration, by consulting our own internal experience and 
carefully noticing what takes place there. 
If it be a fact, that we have a moral nature, it may of 
course be expected to follow, that this nature will manifest 
itself on suitable occasions, in the exercise of its appropriate 
acts. Accordingly it is generally the case, that, in those in- 
stances of actual right and wrong in which we ourselves are 
the agents, we possess unquestionable evidence of such in- 
ward manifestations. In other words we find ourselves con- 
scious or cognizant, according as we act right or wrong, of 
an internal sanctioning or condemnation, approval or disap- 
proval. The results of our moral nature, when we are not 
in action ourselves, but are simply noticing the conduct of 
others, are the same ; at some times we approve, at others 
condemn. 
It merely remains to be added here, that the emotions 
we have at such times, and which we commonly designate 
as emotions of approval and disapproval, are sui generis ; 
that is to say, they have a distinct and specific nature. It is 
true we are not able to define them, for the reason that they 
are elementary and simple. But it is certain, as they are 
manifested in our Consciousness, we never find any difficulty PROOFS OF A MORAL NATURE. 
251 
in distinguishing them from other emotions, those of beauty 
or sublimity for instance. 
§. 209. Evidence of a moral nature discoverable in what we notice in 
children. 
II. Again, we may unquestionably discover the evi- 
dences of a moral nature in the operations of the mind, as 
they develope themselves in early life. It can hardly have 
escaped the notice of any one, that, if some affecting story of 
cruelty and crime on the one hand, or of benevolence and 
virtue on the other, be rehearsed in the hearing of children, 
they will generally discover decided feelings not only of mere 
joy or sorrow, but of approval or condemnation, correspond- 
ing to the facts in the case. Beattie, in his poem of the 
Minstrel, describes Edwin, the progress of whose thoughts 
and feelings, it is his principal object to unfold, as being made 
acquainted at an early period with the affecting old Ballad, 
called the Children in the Wood. 
"Behold, with berries smear'd, with brambles torn, 
"The babes now famish'd lay them down to die ; 
"Midst the wild howl of darksome woods forlorn, 
"Folded in one another's arms they lie, 
"Nor friend nor stranger hears their dying cry. 
But when in the conclusion of the Ballad it appears that the 
awakened anger of heaven, in the most terrible forms of 
want and death, overtook the uncle, who for private ends 
had been guilty of this horrible cruelty, the poet adds with 
entire truth to nature, 
"A stifled smile of stern vindictive joy 
"Brighten'd one moment Edwin's starting tear. 
But it is unnecessary to appeal, in support of what is a 
matter of every day's observation, to testimonies of this kind, 
however frequently they may be found, particularly in the 
earlier and simpler forms of Literature. It is not easy to wit- 
ness the sports of children even for a few moments, without 
having evidence, loud and eloquent evidence of their dispo- 
sition to appeal to the right and wrong of actions. The often 
repeated declaration, that wrong play will never prosper, ex- 
presses the secretly lurking conviction, not only that there 252 
PROOFS OF A MORAL NATURE. 
is such a thing as justice, but that justice will be found capa- 
ble, in some way or other, of vindicating its own rights. 
While, however, we may properly appeal, in support of 
our general proposition, to those exhibitions of moral senti- 
ment which we often notice in early life, we are aware, that 
some exceptions are to be made, and some explanations to 
be offered, in order to present this view of the subject in a 
proper light. We do not mean to say, nor is it true, that 
children will give a correct moral decision on all possible mor- 
al subjects. There are many subjects, involving high moral 
principles, which, in whatever aspect they may appear to 
mature minds, will probably fail of eliciting from children 
and youth either approbation or disapprobation. And the 
simple reason is because they have not capacity enough to 
understand them. It is one of the leading characteristics of 
the moral nature, as we shall have occasion to see more fully 
hereafter, that its operation depends upon the antecedent 
operation of the intellect; in other words that it cannot act 
otherwise than in view of knowledge. When, therefore, we 
maintain that there are decided evidences of a moral nature 
in children, it is proper to add, that this is the case, so far 
and so far only, as they are capable of understanding the sub- 
jects brought before them. When the matter proposed to 
them is one level to their comprehension, if it involve any 
thing of a moral nature, they seldom fail to show, and that 
too, promptly and decisively, that they have a knowledge of 
it in that respect. 
§. 210. Proofs of a moral nature from the manner of our intercourse with 
our fellow-men. 
III. In the third place, the existence of conscience is 
taken for granted in our intercourse with our fellow-men. 
We make our agreements and bargains with them, (we do not 
say always, but, at least, as a general thing, )as if they had a 
conscience; we converse with them, and consult with them, 
and rejoice with them, and weep with them, as if they had 
a conscience ; and in our more formal addresses and exhor- 
tations, we always take the same thing for granted. How 
many customers would a tradesman have, how long would 
any person be admitted into good company, how many public 
and responsible duties would any citizen whatever be called PROOFS OF A MORAL NATURE. 
253 
to fulfil, if it were known, or suspected, that they had no 
conscience I 
We shall feel more fully the force of the facts we have 
now in view, if we consider the mode of address, which is 
usually employed, when a person wishes to persuade men to 
pursue a certain course. He appeals at first, we will sup- 
pose, to their interest ; he tells the mof the various advan- 
tages which would attend the course he proposes ; but he 
reserves, as his last and most efficacious argument, an appeal 
to their sense of duty. If every other consideration is found 
to fail, the orator assures them of his perfect persuasion, 
that they will not so disgrace themselves in the eyes of the 
whole world as to refuse obedience to the calls of conscience. 
He calls upon conscience to speak out on this important oc- 
casion, and he knows full well, if that voice of God and na- 
ture, implanted in the human bosom, can be made to utter 
itself, there will no longer be occasion for his own humble 
efforts. 
§. 211. Proofs of a moral nature from the terms used in different 
languages. 
IV.-Another proof of the existence of a moral nature is 
to be found in the fact, that there are terms in all languages, 
probably we may say without a single exception, expressive 
of such a nature and its operations. If it be true, that there 
is no such thing as a moral nature and no such thing as orig- 
inal moral sentiments in men, the fact is obviously unprece- 
dented and unaccountable, that terms, expressive of a moral 
power, and of moral distinctions and sentiments, are to be 
found so generally. 
The ancients, it is well known, were accustomed to speak 
of the sensus recti et honesti ; by which there can be no 
question they intended to intimate what at the present time 
we commonly express by the term Conscience. They also, 
in particular, made a distinction between the honestum or 
honorable and the utile or beneficial, considered as princi- 
ples of action ; and it certainly would be easy to show, that 
like distinctions are to be found in all modern tongues. In 
English, for instance, we not only constantly speak ofa man's 
acting from interest and also acting from the sense or duty ; 
but always regard these two modes of action, as involving, in 254 
PROOFS OF A MORAL NATURE. 
our apphrehension, two distinct active or motive principles. 
We repeat, therefore, that, on the doctrine of the negotation 
or absence of a moral nature, the use of such terms and the 
making of such distinctions is inexplicable. Without the 
existence of a moral nature as their basis, there would seem 
to be no import and no propriety in them. On the contrary, 
the use of such terms and the making of such distinctions is 
what would naturally be expected on the supposition, that 
the foundation of moral emotions and of feelings of moral ob- 
ligation is actually laid in the human constitution. We may, 
therefore, properly infer from them, among many other 
sources of proof, the existence of such a moral constitution. 
§. 212. Proofs from the operation of the passions of anger and gratitude. 
V.-It may be remarked in the fifth place, that the man- 
ner, in which the passions of anger and gratitude are often 
found to operate, implies the existence of a power of moral 
perception. The facts, to which we refer, are these. If we 
suffer what we suppose to be an injury, we are angry ; and 
this too, not merely with an instinctive, but a voluntary and 
deliberate anger. On the other hand, if we receive what 
we suppose to be a benefit,(not merely a good, but a design- 
ed or well-meant good,)we are grateful. Now we will sup- 
pose, that soon after we discover, on the one hand, that the 
injury was wholly accidental ; and on the other, that our 
supposed benefactor was governed by selfish motives, seek- 
ing his own good instead of ours. We shall generally find 
under these altered circumstances, that both our anger and 
our gratitude will immediately disappear. 
But it does not appear,, why this marked and sudden 
change should take place, if we have not the power of mak- 
ing moral distinctions. The actual benefit on the one hand 
and harm or suffering on the other remain the same as they 
were at first. So far as the mere effects to ourselves are 
concerned, there is obviously no reason for a change in our 
feelings. The basis of the change, which we experience, is 
not a perception of any difference in the beneficial or hurtful 
results, but simply in the motives, which led to them. It is 
the knowledge of the real nature of the motives, which caus- 
ed this sudden alteration. The moral sense, (and, so far as we PROOFS OF A MORAL NATURE. 
255 
can judge, nothing short of, or other than the moral sense,) 
requires and exacts from us, as soon as their motives are dis- 
covered, that we shall place a new and far different estima- 
tion on the persons concerned. 
§. 213. Proofsofa moral nature from feelings of remorse. 
VI. Another proof of the existence of a moral nature, 
(it will be recollected, that we are considering the subject 
now in the most unrestricted point of view, and directing our 
attention simply to the general fact of a moral department,) 
is to be found in the important circumstance, that men are 
evidently constituted with a susceptibility of feelings of re- 
morse. 
It is unquestionably a matter of common consciousness, 
that the feelings of remorse are distinct and peculiar in their 
kind ; in other words that they have a separate and specific 
nature. Considered in reference to the classifications which 
have been made, they obviously belong, although no distinct 
notice was taken of them under that head, to the class of 
Emotions ; and are clearly distinguishable, not only from all 
other feelings of the class to which they pertain, but from all 
other states of mind whatever. They are unpleasant or 
painful feelings, it is true ; and in this respect agree with 
many others ; but the suffering, which is involved in them, is 
of a peculiar character, altogether different from the mere 
sadness or grief, which we often experience on other occa- 
sions. 
Now what we wish to remark here is, that the existence 
of these feelings always and necessarily involves, as the basis 
of their existence, the fact of a moral nature. When we 
meet with disappointment, when we become the subjects of 
injuries and misfortunes, which are not to be attributed in 
their origin to any misconduct of our own, we may experi- 
ence feelings of sadness or grief, but never feelings of re- 
morse. It is impossible that we should. Feelings of re- 
morse always imply some responsibility and some action of 
our own. Nor is it every kind of action, which is the occa- 
sion of their being called into existence. They imply a course 
of action which is morally reprehensible ; that we have not 
merely been the occasion of harm, but have committed a 256 
PROOFS OF A MORAL NATURE. 
wrong ; that we stand arraigned, disapproved, and culpable 
in the decisions of our own conscience. 
§. 214. Evidence of a moral nature from the ideas of merit and demerit, 
reward and punishment. 
VII. Among other sources of proof on this subject we 
may add the fact, that we are capable, as will no doubt gen- 
erally be admitted, of framing the abstract conceptions of 
moral merit and demerit. We had occasion, in explaining 
the origin of these ideas, to remark expressly, (Vol. I. §. 
192,) that it would be impossible for us to frame them, with- 
out possessing the antecedent notions of right and wrong. 
For what merit, it was inquired, can we possibly attach to 
him, in whom we discover no rectitude ; or what demerit in 
him, in whom we discover no want of it ! But the perception 
of right and wrong, of virtue and of the opposite of virtue, 
implies the existence of a moral nature. 
Our ideas also of rewards and punishments are obviously 
based upon the fact of moral distinctions. We always make 
a distinction between punishment and mere suffering. The 
former, although in the mere amount of pain there may be 
no difference between the two, involves the additional idea 
of some real or supposed ill desert. There is the same dis- 
tinction between good and reward. Reward implies not only 
a good or benefit conferred, but the additional notion of its 
being deserved. There can be no question that both reward 
and punishment, in the common acceptation of the terms, are 
understood to imply good and ill desert, or merit and demer- 
it ; and consequently, as the ideas of merit and demerit in- 
volve the fact of a moral nature, the ideas of reward and 
punishment cannot be supposed to involve less. 
§. 215. The existence of a moral nature involved in systems of moral 
philosophy and in other writings and treatises of a moral nature. 
VIII. The doctrine of a moral nature is necessarily in- 
volved, in the eighth place, in all treatises of Moral Philoso- 
phy, and in all works of whatever nature, the object of which 
is to correct the conduct of men and to make it better, not 
merely in the matter of pecuniary interest and supposed 
personal good, but in a moral point of view. Works of this PROOFS OF A MORAL NATURE. 
257 
kind and numerous ; and they are obviously prepared upon 
the principle, that there is such a thing as right and wrong, 
moral good and evil ; and that men are so formed as to be 
capable of distinguishing the one from the other. In the 
opinion of these writers, at least, and in the opinion of those, 
who receive them as correct expositors of the actual and 
prospective state of things, there must be in man the ele- 
ments of a moral nature ; the susceptibility of moral emotions, 
and of moral obligation. Otherwise it is obvious, that their 
statements and reasonings must be essentially destitute of 
meaning and of application. 
These remarks will apply not only to Systems of Moral 
Philosophy, and to formal Treatises and Essays on Morals ; 
but to all those lighter formsand varieties of literature, (some 
of the Essays of Johnson and Addison, for instance,) the ob- 
ject of which is not merely to amuse the reader, not merely 
to aid him in the correction of the slighter improprieties of 
conduct, but to impress moral truths, and to secure, in the 
case of those who had given themselves up to vice, a moral 
renovation. The remarks will apply, among other varieties 
of Literature, to Satires, the professed object of which is to 
point out and to correct the prevailing vices. The Satires of 
Juvenal not only recognize throughout the abstract distinc- 
tions of Right and Wrong; but distinctly announce, that there 
are original elements of moral judgment and sources of re- 
ward and punishment in the human breast. It would be dif- 
ficult to refer, in any uninspired writer, to more decisive indi- 
cations of a natural conscience, and to more energetic and 
fearful descriptions of the miseries attending its violation, 
than are to be found in his Thirteenth Satire. The very 
first lines of this celebrated production are worthy of notice 
in this respect. And near the conclusion he expresses him- 
self, in respect to those who have been guilty of violations of' 
right in the following significant terms. 
"Cur tamen hos tu 
"Evasisse putes, quos diri conscia facti 
"Mens habet attonitos, et surdo verbere ceedit, 
"Occultum quatiente animo tortore flagellum? 
§. 216. Proofs from the uniformity of law. 
IX. Another circumstance, which is entitled to no small 258 
PROOFS OF A MORAL NATURE. 
weight in the decision of this inquiry is, that systems of law 
or jurisprudence, as well as of morals, have been the same 
in their leading principles, in all ages of the world ; and are 
essentially the same at the present time. It is true there 
are peculiarities, founded in some cases on the physical or 
political condition of the country, and in others on long es- 
tablished associations, which distinguish one code from an- 
other ; but the great rights of persons and property are re- 
cognized in all. "Lawgivers and statesmen, (says Sir James 
Mackintosh,) but, above all, moralists, and political philoso- 
phers may plainly discover in all the useful and beautiful va- 
riety of governments and institutions, and under all the fan- 
tastic multitude of usages and rites which have prevailed 
among men, the same fundamental, comprehensive truths, 
the sacred master priciples which are the guardians of hu- 
man society, recognized and revered, with few and slight 
exceptions, by every nation upon earth."* This passage is 
taken from his published Discourse on the Law of Nature 
and Nations. In another unpublished discourse on that great 
and interesting subject, from which an Extract is given in his 
recently published Memoirs, he illustrates his general obser- 
vation by going more into particulars. "I have said in my 
printed Discourse, (he remarks in the Extract just referred 
to,) that morality admits of no discoveries ; and I shall now 
give you some reasons for a position, which may perhaps 
have startled some, in an age when ancient opinions seem 
in danger of being so exploded, that when they are produced 
again, they may appear novelties, and be even suspected of 
paradox. I do not speak of the theory of morals, but of the 
rule of life. First examine the fact, and see whether, from 
the earliest times, any improvement, or even any change, 
has been made in the practical rules of human conduct. 
Look at the code of Moses. I speak of it now as a mere hu- 
man composition, without considering its sacred origin. Con- 
sidering it merely in that light, it is the most ancient and the 
most curious memorial of the early history of mankind. More 
than three thousand years have elapsed since the composi- 
tion of the Pentateuch ; and let any man, if he is able, tell 
me in what important respects the rule of life has varied 
since that distant period. Let the Institutes of Menu be ex- 
* Discourse on the Law of Nature and Nations, Lond. Ed. p. 35. PROOFS OF A MORAL NATURE. 
259 
plored with the same view ; we shall arrive at the same con- 
clusion. Let the books of false religion be opened ; it will 
be found that their moral system is, in all its grand features, 
the same. The impostors who composed them were compel- 
led to pay this homage to the uniform moral sentiments of 
the world. Examine the codes of nations, those authentic 
depositories of the moral judgments of men ; you every 
where find the same rules prescribed, the same duties impo- 
sed : even the boldest of those ingenious sceptics, who have 
attacked every other opinion, has spared the sacred and im- 
mutable simplicity of the rules of life. In our common du- 
ties, Bayle and Hume agree with Bossuct and Barrow. Such 
as the rule was at the first dawn of history, such it continues 
till the present day. Ages roll over mankind ; mighty na- 
tions pass away like a shadow ; virtue alone remains the 
same immortal and unchangeable."* 
Perhaps the best illustration of the idea, which we wish 
to impress in this section, unless some should see reason to 
make an exception in favor of the Spirit of Laws of Montes- 
quieu, is to be found in the great work of Grotius on the Law 
of Nations. It is rather a remarkable feature in respect to 
the principles, which this great writer lays down, that they 
are supported throughout by a variety of quotations from the 
poets, historians, orators, and philosophers of different ages 
and countries. In doing this it is to be presumed, he had a 
more important and ennobling object, than the mere display 
of the variety and extent of his learning. He wished to 
show, as he himself gives us to understand, by the conspiring 
testimonies of such various authorities, that the whole hu- 
man race, with no exceptions whatever that are not explain- 
able in consistency with the general statement, have one 
opinion, one feeling, and one voice in respect to the leading 
principles of political justice. 
We infer from the unanimity of mankind in respect to the 
great principles of right and wrong, as they develope them- 
selves in their systems of Law both internal and internation- 
al, that there is, and must of necessity be, as the basis of 
this unanimity, a conscience, a moral element of some kind, 
existing as an essential attribute in the universal mind of man. 
♦Memoirs of the Life of Sir James Mackintosh, 2d Lond. Ed. p. 120. 260 
PROOFS OF A MORAL NATURE. 
217. Evidences of a moral nature even among savage nations. 
X. The leading principles of morals and justice, both 
as seen in the conventional rules which regulate the common 
intercourse of life, and also in the few and simple laws which 
support the civil and political fabric of their little communi- 
ties, are known and distinctly recognized, as a general state- 
ment, among barbarous and Savage tribes. We do not 
doubt, that there have been, and that there are, among Sav- 
age tribes, great perversions of the moral nature ; but we 
speak now of the general fact simply, and not of the excep- 
tions. Mr. Stewart in his Philosophy of the Moral and 
Active Powers, (Bk. II. Chap. IV,) speaks expressly of the 
gratification which a liberal mind experiences in recognizing 
under the ignorance, superstition, and sensualities of Savage 
life, the kindred features of humanity, and the indelible ves- 
tiges of that divine image, after which man was originally 
formed. In illustration of his remark, he introduces, with no 
small degree of satisfaction, a short statement from Spar- 
man's Travels through the Southern Parts of Africa, in rela- 
tion to a portion of the human race who have generally been 
regarded as ranking among the lowest in the scale of civili- 
zation. " A Hottentot, (says this traveler,) is rich in pro- 
portion to the number of his cattle; but the richest is clothed, 
fed, and attended no better than the poor." After some oth- 
er remarks, in illustration of what he had just said, he adds. 
" That, which constitutes the distinction of rank in this sim- 
ple race of men, is the divine pleasure of doing good to their 
fellow creatures." The testimony of Valliant in respect to 
the same ignorant and degraded people is much to the same 
effect. " To convey some idea of the character of the 
savage Hottentots, (he observes, Travels in Africa, p. 179,) 
and of what I had to expect from them, it will be sufficient 
to offer one remark, which is a truth confirmed by experi- 
ence. In all countries, wherever the Savages are absolutely 
separated from civilized nations, and live sequestered, their 
manners are mild ; but they change and become corrupted 
the nearer they approach to them. " " When on the 
northward of the Cape I found myself under the Tropic 
among remote nations ; when I saw whole hordes surround 
pie with signs of surprise, and of the most childish curiosity, PROOFS OF A MORAL NATURE. 
261 
and, approaching me with confidence, stroke my beard, my 
hair, and my face with their hands, I said to myself, I have 
nothing to fear from these people ; this is the first time they 
ever saw a white man." A portion of Dillon's Narrative 
of a voyage in the South Seas is occupied with giving some 
account of the religion, morals, and customs of the inhabi- 
tants of the islands in those seas, called the Friendly Islands. 
"There is implanted, (says the writer, speaking in particu- 
lar of the people of Tonga, Vol. II. p. 27,) a knowledge or 
sentiment, which enables us sometimes, if not always, to dis- 
tinguish between the beauty of disinterestedness and the 
foul ugliness of what is low, sordid, and selfish : and the ef- 
fect of this sentiment is one of the strongest marks of char- 
acter in the natives of these islands. Many of the chiefs, on 
being asked by Mr. Mariner what motives they had for con- 
ducting themselves with propriety besides the fear of misfor- 
tune in this life, replied, "the agreeable and happy feelings 
which a man experiences within himself when he does any 
good action, or conducts himself nobly and generously, as a 
man ought to do and this question they answered as if 
they wondered that such a question should be asked. After 
this we cannot but suppose (unless we are led by prejudice) 
that the seeds of very great virtues are implanted in their 
breasts." 
§. 218. Further remarks on the morality of savage tribes. 
We have not the least doubt, (and we make the remark 
not as a matter of conjecture, but from an examination prose- 
cuted to no small extent, in reference to this very subject,) 
that the testimony of travellers among Savage tribes will 
show conclusively, that there is no tribe of men so ignorant 
and degraded as not to give some evidences of a natural re- 
gard for kindness, truth, and justice. At the same time it is 
due to the truth to admit, that we find among some of these 
tribes instances of cruelty and violations of right, which are 
abhorrent to the nature and moral sensibilities of a Christian 
people. We shall endeavor to show, however, in its proper 
place, that these deviations from the more common and pre- 
dominant features of humanity may be explained in consis- 
tency with the general statement.. 
As we do not feel at liberty to multiply quotations, espe- 262 
PROOFS OF A MORAL NATURE. 
cially as we do not suppose that those who read these re- 
marks will generally consider it necessary, we leave the sub- 
ject of this section, with merely opening a train of thought 
in connection with it, which has very seldom been alluded to. 
We refer to the fact, that all savage tribes, so far as we have 
been able to learn, not only have some form of religion, but 
as a general thing recognize the duty, on certain occasions 
of a private or public nature or both, of performing expiatory 
ceremonies and offering expiatory sacrifices. They seem to 
feel that something must be done, either by enduring suffer- 
ing in their own persons or by inflicting suffering somewhere 
else, to prevent those evils either to themselves personally 
or their country, which they believe will be the result of 
their transgressions. What we have to add is, that expia- 
tory ceremonies and expiatory sacrifices, wherever they are 
found to prevail, clearly imply as their basis the existence of 
certain sentiments of ill desert or wrong, and of course in- 
volve the existence of the elements of a moral nature. 
§. 219. The existence of civil or political society implies a moral nature. 
XI. We ;may add to the other considerations, which 
have been brought forward, the circumstance, that society, 
in its civil or political form, is supported, in a very considera- 
ble degree, by the sentiment of moral obligation. If we are 
asked, why obedience is rendered to the civil laws, the an- 
swer is, because they are enacted by the society or social bo- 
dy. If we are asked, why we render so much deference to 
the will of the society or social body, the answer is, because 
we have agreed to. In other words, we have promised, have 
pledged ourselves, either expressly or by implication, to 
conform to it. If we are asked, why we so strictly ful- 
fil our promise, why we so scrupulously conform to our 
word, all the answer we can give is, that we feel under a 
moral obligation to do it. In other words, in order to give 
any thing like a satisfactory answer to this question, we are 
obviously thrown back upon our moral constitution. 
There is no doubt, that the natural desire of society, es- 
pecially when stimulated as it sometimes is by a knowledge 
of the benefits which flow from social intercourse, tends pow- 
erfully to keep men together in masses or bodies. But after PROOFS OF A MORAL NATURE. 
263 
all, whatever suggestionsmay sometimes be made to the con- 
trary, the principle secret of the stability of the social posi- 
tion, when it exists in the form of civil and political society, 
that, which more than any thing else keeps it from disastrous 
fluctuations, and gives it a degree of permanency and unifor- 
mity sufficient to enable it to sustain the vast fabric of gov- 
ernment and laws, is to be found in the strong and broad col- 
umn of the Moral Sensibilities. 
§. 220. A moral nature implied in the motives of human conduct which 
are recognized in historical works. 
XII. We find an additional proof of the existence of 
the department of the Moral Sensibilities in those principles, 
in relation to the estimate of the conduct and characters of 
men, which pervade historical composition. History, in dis- 
tinction from the mere registers and annals of events, profes- 
ses to give us not only the acts, which as subjects of history 
are proper to be recorded, but, so far as they are ascertaina- 
ble, the motives and characters of the agents. Accordingly 
the historians of all ages and countries, while they have con- 
demned some actions, have been equally warm in their com- 
mendations of others. In a multitude of cases, the highest 
possible commendations have been bestowed, and for no oth- 
er reason, in connection with the perception or supposed per- 
ception of high moral traits in the actors. If it could be as- 
certained in anyway, that Leonidas and his companions bled 
at the pass of Thermopylsc, from views of a pecuniary na- 
ture or from a selfish desire of fame, and not from a sense of 
the duty which they owed to their country, the glory of that 
celebrated action would be blasted at once. 
In order to illustrate the subject more fully, let us consid- 
er a moment an instance in Roman history still more directly 
to our present purpose. The Roman Regulus was a prisoner 
at Carthage. The Carthaginians sent him to Rome, in or- 
der to procure a peace ; but with the expectation and on the 
condition, if peace were not procured, of his returning. He 
no sooner arrived at his native city, than, contrary to the 
hopes and expectations of the Carthaginians, he advised and 
urged the Romans to continue the war. Some persons, when 
he had seen fit to take this course, proposed to him not to 264 
PROOFS OF A MORAL NATURE. 
return, as the most distressing results would be likely to fol- 
low. Regulus replied ; "Though I am well acquainted with 
the tortures, which await me at Carthage, I prefer them to 
an act which would cover me with infamy in my tomb. It is 
my duty to return, and for all else let the gods provide." 
He accordingly went back and was put to death with un- 
heard of sufferings. This high-minded act of the noble 
Roman has been applauded, not only by the historians who 
record it, but by the whole human race, although nothing 
could be more unwise under the existing circumstances, if 
there was no such thing as moral nature, no such thing as 
conscience and conscientious or moral obligations. 
§ 221. Evidence of a moral nature from Scripture. 
We close this examination of the reasons, which may be 
brought forward in support of the general doctrine of a mor- 
al nature, by remarking further, that the doctrine is fully re- 
cognized in the Scriptures. All those passages, in which 
men are called upon to do what is just and right, in distinc- 
tion from pursuing their own selfish and private ends, imply 
not only that there is a right and wrong, but that men are 
capable of understanding what is right, and that they are un- 
der obligation to do what is right. The term conscience, in 
particular, as expressive of the fact of man's moral nature, 
is frequently used in the Scriptures. Men are directed to 
have a good conscience ; the testimony of conscience is spo- 
ken of as a matter of rejoicing; the Apostle and his associates 
are said to commend themselves to every man's conscience ; 
passages, which, together with others like them, can hardly 
be said to have any meaning, if there be not in man some 
moral element, which is capable of taking cognizance of the 
right and wrong of things, in distinction from the merely 
prudential view, the mere apparent expediency or profitable- 
ness of things. 
And not only this, God himself, in various passages, calls 
upon men to sit in judgment upon the course, whatever it 
may be, which He has thought fit to pursue. He does not 
simply appeal to them for a decision, whether his providen- 
tial administration is an advantageous one or not, but wheth- 
er it is right. All passages of this kind appear to take it for PROOFS OF A MORAL NATURE. 
265 
granted, that man has a power of moral judgment. But 
the passage of Scripture, which, standing by itself, is most 
decisive on this subject, is to be found in Romans, 2: 14, 15. 
The passage, which we commit without comment to the con- 
sideration of the reader, is as follows. "For when the Gentiles, 
which have not the law, do by nature the things contained in the law, 
these, having not the law, are a law unto themselves ; which shew the 
work of the law written in their hearts, their Conscience also bearing 
witness, and their thoughts the meanwhile accusing, or else excusing 
one another." 
§. 222. Concluding remarks on the general fact of a inoral nature. 
In view of the various considerations, which have been 
brought forward, we may certainly feel authorized to speak 
with entire confidence of the existence of the Moral Sensibili- 
ties as a portion of man's nature essentially distinct from the 
Natural or Pathematic Sensibilities. When we give to these 
considerations the weight to which they are obviously enti- 
tled, the only matter of wonder is, that the subject should 
have hitherto been involved in so much obscurity and doubt ; 
and that men of no small learning and of no dishonorable re- 
putation should have lent the countenance of their authority 
to doctrines, the opposite of those we have endeavored to 
support. In making this remark, we have not reference so 
much to such writers as Hobbes and Mandeville and others 
of that class, who have never had great weight with the pop- 
ular mind, as to the distinguished and highly influential 
names of Locke and Paley. The circumstance, that such 
men have had doubts as to the fact of an original and distinct 
moral department in the mind, is one reason, aside from the 
intrinsic interest and value of the subject, why we have been 
led in this Chapter, and shall be led hereafter, to pursue the 
investigation with a degree of minuteness and with a regard 
to such objections as may be likely to be suggested, which 
might not otherwise have been supposed to be necessary. CHAPTER SECOND. 
EMOTIONS OF MORAL APPROVAL AND DISAPPROVAL. 
§. 223. Classification of the moral sensibilities. 
The remarks of the preceding chapter, it will be noticed, 
have had a relation exclusively to the general subject. If 
we are satisfied on the general question, whether man has a 
moral nature, we are ready to commence a consideration of 
what that nature is. 
We proceed accordingly to make the general remark, that 
the Moral nature is less complicated than the Pathematic ; 
although the general division of the Moral Sensibilities cor- 
responds precisely to the general division of the Natural or 
Pathematic Sensibilities. As the Natural Sensibilies re- 
solved themselves, in the first instance, into the subordinate 
classification of the Emotions and Desires ; so the Moral Sen- 
sibilities, in a manner precisely corresponding, resolve them- 
selves into the subordinate classification of moral Emotions 
and feelings of Moral Obligation. But both divisions of the 
Natural Sensibilities, it will be recollected viz, the Emotive 
and the Desirous, were found to be susceptible of numerous 
minor divisions. It is not so in the moral department. The 
class of moral emotions, and the obligatory feelings or feel- 
ings of moral obligation, which are based upon them, will be 
found, exclusive of any subordinate divisions, to comprehend 
the whole subject. 
It might be supposed, therefore, that this subject would be 
despatched in a few words. And so it would, if the discus- 
sion could be properly limited to the mere examination of 
these feelings. But the moral Sentiments, both the emotive EMOTIONS OF MORAL APPROVAL AND DISAPPROVAL. 
267 
and the obligatory, sustain such important relations and in- 
volve so many important consequences, that it seems to be 
proper, not only to examine them in their own nature, but 
also to consider them, to some extent, in their multiplied con- 
nections. 
§. 224. Nature of the moral emotions of approval and disapproval. 
In accordance with what has been said in the foregoing 
section, we repeat that there are but two classes of mental 
states, which belong, in strictness of speech, to the Moral 
sensibilities, considered as being by nature an essential por- 
tion of the human mind ; although it is very true, that there 
are a number of things in the mind, such as the abstract con- 
ceptions of right and wrong and the feelings of remorse, which 
have both theoretically and practically an important connec- 
tion with morals. The Moral Nature, properly so called, 
putting out of view the incidental relations it sustains, exists 
and developes itself, first, in the moral Emotions, viz. of 
approval and disapproval ; and second, in the feelings of 
moral Obligation. 
While there are many kinds of the Natural or Pathematic 
emotions, such as the emotion of beauty, of sublimity, of the 
ludicrous, of cheerfulness, of surprise, of reverence, of shame, 
and the like, there is but one kind or class of Moral emotions. 
And these are known, considered as distinct states of mind, 
by the names, by which they have just been described, viz. 
as feelings of approval and disapproval. Of these states of 
mind we now proceed to give some account. And our first 
remark is, that they are original feelings ; which implies, 
that, in the appropriate circumstances of their existence, 
they are called forth by the original or constitutional tenden- 
cies of the mind and also that they are elementary or simple. 
Of course they are not susceptible of definition, since de- 
fining, except that sort of apparent defining which consists in 
the mere use of synonymous terms, is predicable only of 
what is complex. Hence, in their distinctive or appropriate 
nature, in that which constitutes them what they are, con- 
sidered as separate from any thing and every thing else, they 
cannot be known by description, but by consciousness only. 
Nevertheless we are not at liberty to suppose, that their na- 
ture is either absolutely unknown or as a general thing even 268 
EMOTIONS OF MORAL 
misunderstood ; inasmuch as the consciousness of such feel- 
ings is universal, and as no form of knowledge, it is generally 
admitted, is more distinct to our apprehension, than that 
which has consciousness for its basis. Whoever, therefore, 
has had placed before him any case of right and wrong of 
such a nature, that he could have, and did in fact have, a 
clear apprehension of it, in itself and in its relations, must, 
we suppose, have a knowledge, (and, if he has not, it is im- 
possible he ever should have,) of emotions of approval and 
disapproval. 
§. 225. Of the place or position, mentally considered, of the emotions of 
approval and disapproval. 
Moral emotions or emotions of moral approval and disap- 
proval occupy a place, considered in reference to other de- 
partments of the mind, immediately successive to intellec- 
tions or acts of the intellect. In this respect they agree 
with the natural or pathematic emotions, which occupy the 
same position. It is, for instance, impossible for us to feel 
the beauty of an object, which is an act of the Natural sen- 
sibilities, without first having a perception or knowledge of 
the object itself. In like manner, it is impossible for us to 
approve or disapprove a thing in the moral sense of the terms, 
without first having some perception, some knowledge of the 
thing approved or disapproved. 
And as the natural emotions are immediately followed by 
Desires ; so the moral emotions, viz. of approval and disap- 
proval, (for these are all the states of mind that are properly 
comprehended under that phrase,) are followed in like man- 
ner by obligatory feelings or feelings of moral obligation. 
The position, therefore, of moral emotions, and they are 
found no where else, is between perceptions or intellective 
acts on the one hand, and Obligatory sentiments on the 
other. And as there can be no moral emotions without an- 
tecedent perceptions, so there can be no feelings of moral ob- 
ligation without antecedent emotions of approval and disap- 
proval. Accordingly if we are said in any given case to be 
under obligation either to do a thing or to abstain from do- 
ing it, we may always find a reason for our thus being under 
obligation in the antecedent action of the mind, viz. in our APPROVAL AND DISAPPROVAL. 
269 
approval or disapproval, as the case may be, of the thing 
to which the obligation relates. (See §. 14.) 
§. 226. Changes in the moral emotions take place in accordance with 
changes in the antecedent perceptions. 
If the emotions of approval and disapproval, which are 
the basis of the subsequent feelings of moral obligation, are 
naturally founded upon antecedent perceptions, we may ex- 
pect, and such is the fact, that they will change in their 
character in accordance with changes in those perceptions. 
If, for instance, a statement of facts is made to us, clearly es- 
tablishing in our view a case of great crime, our emotions of 
disapproval are prompt and decided. But if it should hap- 
pen, that afterwards some new facts are mingled in the state- 
ment, throwing a degree of doubt and perplexity upon what 
was believed to have taken place, the feelings of disapproval 
would at once become perplexed and undecided, in a degree 
precisely corresponding to the perplexity and indecision, that 
under the new circumstances pervade the intellectual per- 
ception in the case. If still subsequently the introduction of 
other new facts should show, that what was supposed to be 
a crime was directly the reverse, our moral emotions would 
undergo a new change, and instead of condemning the tran- 
saction either more or less decidedly, would approve. 
Nor is this changeableness in the character and the de- 
gree of the moral emotions to be regarded as implying any 
defect in the moral nature. On the contrary, it is unques- 
tionably one of the most decisive indications of its value. If 
the moral nature were so constituted as not only to pro- 
nounce a thing right or wrong under certain given circum- 
stances ; but necessarily to adhere to that decision under es- 
sential changes in the circumstances, it certainly could not 
be regarded as a safe rule for men's guidance. A man kills 
another by means of the infliction of a heavy blow, and, as 
we suppose, with evil intention or malice prepense, and the 
action is at once disapproved and condemned by conscience. 
But it subsequently appears, that the blow, which had the 
appearance at first of being intentional, was entirely a mat- 
ter of accident; and the conscience or moral nature immedi- 
ately conforms its decision to the new aspect of the transac- 270 
EMOTIONS OF MORAL 
tion, and annuls the disapproving and condemnatory sen- 
tence, which it had before pronounced. If it were otherwise, 
if it did not promptly and fully conform itself, by changes in 
its own action, to antecedent changes in the percipient or 
cognitive action, it would confound vice and virtue, guilt and 
innocence ; and as a rule of moral conduct, would not only 
be without value, but absolutely and exceedingly injurious. 
§. 227. Of objects of moral approval and disapproval. 
We are not to suppose, that the sphere of that moral adju- 
dication, which is involved in the existence of emotions of 
moral approval and disapproval, extends to all objects indis- 
criminately. It is a proper inquiry, therefore, and in some 
respects an important inquiry, what are the appropriate ob- 
jects of approving and disapproving emotions. In answer 
to this question, we remark in the first place that such ob- 
jects are voluntary agents. The feelings in question, in 
their announcements of the right and wrong of any case 
that comes before them, have nothing to do with things with- 
out life. And more than this, they require, as the objects of 
their exercise, something more than mere vegetable and ani- 
mal life, viz. intellective, sensitive, and volitive life. In 
other words, they require in the appropriate objects of their 
adjudication those attributes of perceiving, feeling, and will- 
ing, which are necessarily implied in voluntary agency. 
II. In the second place, the legitimate objects of ap- 
proval and disapproval are not only voluntary agents, but 
moral agents. No being is the object of moral emotions, 
(that is to say, no being can by possibility be approved or 
disapproved in the moral sense of the terms,) except such as 
have a conscience or moral nature. It is impossible, that any 
others should have a knowledge of right and wrong; and 
of course impossible, that they should conform themselves 
to the rule of right. Hence no one regards brute animals, 
as the proper objects of these emotions. 
III. Again, moral agents, (this expression of course im- 
plies, that they are also voluntary agents,) are morally 
accountable, in other words are the proper objects of moral 
approval and disapproval, in respect to those things only, 
which are truly in their power. This remark, which limits APPROVAL AND DISAPPROVAL. 
271 
the sphere of moral approval and disapproval not only to mor- 
al agents, but to what is actually in the poicer of moral agents, 
is practically an important one. So far as we can regulate 
our outward actions, we are accountable ; that is to say, we 
are the proper objects of the emotions of moral approval and 
disapproval. So far as we can regulate the action of the in- 
tellect, the sensibilities,and the will, we are accountable al- 
so. So far as the action, whether physical or mental, is 
either involuntary or instinctive, it is not an appropriate ob- 
ject of the notice and adjudication of conscience ; for all such 
action, although it belongs to and is not separable from the 
agent, is nevertheless not under his control. Accordingly 
when the moral agent, in the excercise of all his various pow- 
ers, does what he ought to do, he stands approved. When, 
in the exercise of the same powers, he fails to do what he 
ought to do, he stands condemned. The extent of his capa- 
bility is the basis of his duty ; and the law of conscience is 
the measure of its fulfilment. And this simple statement in- 
timates both the rule, by which he is judged, and the vast 
amount of his responsibility. 
§. 228. Of the original ground or basis of moral approbation and dis- 
approbation. 
If what has been said in the course of this chapter be 
true, we are so constituted that in all cases of actual right 
and wrong, which we are capable of understanding, we have 
the feelings, whenever such cases come to our knowledge, of 
approval and disapproval, corresponding both in kind and 
degree to the occasion, which excites them. But there re- 
mains another interesting inquiry. It has ever been in 
the speculative and theoretical aspect of moral subjects, a 
much agitated question, what trait or quality it is in the 
thing approved or disapproved, which excites the correspon- 
ding emotion. To this question different individuals are 
found to give different answers. We approve of an action, 
says one, because it is useful ; because, says another, it is 
commanded by a higher power ; because, says a third, it is 
agreeable to the fitness of things ; because, says a fourth, it 
is in conformity to the will of God. But an answer of this 
kind does not appear to be satisfactory, because the question 272 
EMOTIONS OF MORAL 
may always return, with undiminished propriety and force, 
why utility, or the command of a superior, or the fitness of 
things, or conformity to the will of God, should, in themselves 
considered, excite within us feelings of moral approbation, 
more than anything else. 
The fact is, that this question, viz, what is the foundation 
or basis in the thing approved of the emotion of approval 
which we exercise towards it, lies, in all probability, upon 
the extreme boundaries of human knowledge. Whenever 
we touch that boundary, we must either rest satisfied, or re- 
turn in the track of our own footsteps. Whatever efforts we 
may make to resolve and explain a question, which by the 
nature of things is placed in the outskirts and limits of hu- 
man perception, we always find the train of thought moving, 
as it were, in a circle ; and answering itself in a change of 
terms, and not in a change of position. If, for instance, we 
are asked why we approve the will of God, it may be answer- 
ed with entire propriety, because, it is morally right or virtu- 
ous. If we are asked, why we regard his will as morally 
right or virtuous, the answer is, because, considered in all 
its circumstances, it is approved by an enlightened moral sense. 
If we are asked why it is, that we thus put forth emotions of 
moral approval in relation to his will, then, instead of being 
able to take a new position and to give a new and distinct 
reason, we necessarily move round to a former one, and say, 
because his will is morally virtuous or right.-And the same 
in other similar cases. On being asked, why we approve of 
a particular action, we may give a different answer, and say 
with a degree of propriety, because it is beneficial or useful. 
On being further asked, why we approve of a usefid or bene- 
ficial action, we may answer again, because such an action 
is morally right or virtuous. If we are still further asked, 
why an act of kindness or benevolence is to be regarded as 
morally right or virtuous, we answer, because, in its own 
nature it commends itself, to our conscience, in other words 
excites within us emotions of moral approval. Which is the 
same as to say, in the assignment of reasons, that we ap- 
prove, because we have emotions of approval. An instance 
as well as the former one, of that sort of Paralogism or false 
reasoning, which is called reasoning in a circle. APPROVAL AND DISAPPROVAL. 
273 
229. Emotions of moral approval are called forth in connection with 
the existence of right or rectitude in the things approved of. 
It is unquestionable, however, when we take into view 
the necessarily limited nature of the human mind, that there 
is a suitable and satisfactory stopping-place in this successive 
announcement of reasons. The proper answer in all these 
cases, when we are asked why we morally approve of a thing 
is, because it is right. With the assignment of this reason, if 
the circumstances of the case obviously warrant us in assign- 
ing it, we may rest satisfied. 
But then comes the question, what is right ? We ap- 
prove of a thing, because there is in that thing the trait or 
quality of right. What is Right ? The examination of this 
significant inquiry will more properly come up in another 
place. Nevertheless a word or two may be said here. 
We admit that Right or Rectitude, like many other things, 
that are elementary and are intellectually revealed to us, 
cannot be defined. But can we define what existence is ; 
what identity is ? Can we define intelligence, or power, or 
succession, or space, or time ? From the nature of the case 
there must be some things elementary and ultimate. We are 
too apt to forget, that there are, and of necessity must be, 
limits, which the human mind cannot pass; and that there 
are ultimate moral suggestions, as well as intellectual. When 
we say, an action is approved, because it is right, the expres- 
sion not only has meaning, but proclaims a truth, which has 
nature for its basis. That is to say, the expression embodies 
in language a conviction, which in some way or other is ne- 
cessarily attendant on the action, considered as the occasion 
of its origin, of the moral Sensibilities, viz, that there is in 
fact such a thing as Right or Rectitude. At the same time, 
we do not hesitate to admit, as has already been intimated, 
our inability to explain what Right is. While we claim, that 
it is perceptible in the mind, we do not deny, that it is unex- 
plainable, in the sense of being defined, in language. Nev- 
ertheless we have no hesitation on this account, either in 
asserting its existence, or in assigning it as a reason for what- 
ever naturally depends upon it. (See Vol. I. §. §. 191, 2, 
and the subsequent Chapter on the Immutability of Moral; 
Distinctions.) CHAPTER THIRD. 
RELATION OF REASONING TO THE MORAL NATURE. 
§. 230. Of the doctrine which confounds reasoning and conscience. 
We are now prepared in view of what has been said in 
the last Chapter, particularly in connection with the subject 
of the grounds or principles on which changes take place in 
moral emotions, to proceed to another subject not more in- 
teresting than it is practically important. The opinion has 
sometimes been advanced, that those moral decisions or judg- 
ments, which as moral beings we are capable of forming, are 
the direct results of reasoning. The advocates of this doc- 
trine, rejecting the idea of a distinct moral principle or con- 
science, appear to regard the reasoning power as entirely ad- 
equate to the causation of all those results in the mind, which 
have a moral aspect. In a word they may be regarded, eith- 
er as denying entirely the existence of conscience, or what 
is philosophically if not practically the same thing, as iden- 
tifying it with mere ratiocination. 
It is not surprising on the whole, that this mistake, which 
is certainly a very serious and prejudicial one, should have 
been committed, when we consider, how close the relation 
is, which reason sustains to conscience. It will be noticed, 
that we speakwithout any hesitation of the doctrine referred 
to, as a mistaken one. We do not suppose it to be necessa- 
ry, after what has already been said, to attempt to show, 
that reasoning and conscience are not identical, and that the 
moral nature has a distinct and substantive existence. Nev- 
ertheless we freely admit the intimate and important rela- 
tion, which they sustain to each other. A relation so impor- 
tant in a practical, as well as in a philosophical point of view, RELATION OF REASONING TO THE MORAL NATURE. 
275 
that we shall delay here for the purpose of entering into 
some explanations of it. 
§. 231. Of the close connection between conscience and reasoning. 
Reasoning1, it will be recollected, is purely an intellectual 
process ; consisting1 of successive propositions arranged to- 
gether and a succession of relative suggestions or percep- 
tions ; but in itself considered, involving nothing, which is 
properly called an emotion or desire. This single circum- 
stance separates the reasoning power entirely from the mor- 
al nature ; which, in its appropriate action, never originates, 
like the reasoning power, perceptions or new intellectual 
views, but merely moral emotions and feelings of moral obli- 
gation. Probably every one can say with confidence, that 
he is conscious of a difference in the moral emotions of ap- 
proval and disapproval, and the mere intellectual perceptions 
of agreement and disagreement, which are characteristic of 
reasoning. In the view of consciousness, there can be no 
doubt, that they are regarded as entirely diverse in their na- 
ture, and as utterly incapable of being interchanged or iden- 
tified with each other. The moral feeling is one thing; and 
the intellectual perception or suggestion, involved both in the 
process and the result of reasoning, is another. 
Although the reasoning power and the conscience or mor- 
al being are thus distinct from each other in their nature, 
they are closely connected in their relations, as has been in- 
timated already ; inasmuch as the Intellect, particularly the 
ratiocinative or deductive part of it, is the foundation or basis 
of moral action. We must first know a thing ; it must first 
be an object of perception, before we can take any moral cog- 
nizance of it. And this is not all. The moral cognizance, 
as we have already had occasion to explain, will con- 
form itself with great precision to the intellectual cogni- 
zance. That is to say, it will take new ground in its deci- 
sions in conformity with new facts perceived. Consequently 
we cannot rely perfectly on a moral decision, which is found- 
ed upon a premature or imperfect knowledge. The more 
carefully and judiciously we reason upon a subject, the more 
thoroughly we understand it in itself and its relations, the 
more confidently may we receive the estimate, which the 
voice of conscience makes of its moral character. 276 
RELATION OF REASONING 
§. 232. Illustration of the preceding section. 
The views of the preceding section may be easily illustra- 
ted. When, for instance, one man is alledged to have stolen 
the property of another, we find the conscience, as a general 
thing, ready to discharge the duty, which the author of our 
nature has assigned to it ; but it is sometimes the case, that 
its decisions are arrested and postponed, in order to give 
time for the inquiries and conclusions of the reasoning power. 
Such inquiries inform us perhaps, that the theft was long 
and coolly premeditated ; and was committed, not only with- 
.out any special temptation to it, but with a full knowledge of 
the aggravation of the crime. In view of this state of things, 
conscience immediately passes its decision. Perhaps our in- 
quiries inform us, that the theft was committed at a time of 
extreme want and consequent great temptation ; and fur- 
thermore, was committed upon a species of property in re- 
spect to which the right of individual possession is regarded 
by common consent as less strict and exclusive than in other 
cases. The conscience here, as in the former instance, con- 
demns the criminal ; but probably with a mitigated sentence. 
On further inquiry we learn, that although the property was 
■taken, and that too, much to the damage of the owner, it 
was taken wholly by mistake ; it was a thing entirely acci- 
dental. In this case, conscience, adapting itself to the newly 
discovered circumstances, pronounces the supposed thief al- 
together guiltless. 
The conscience, therefore, however distinct the two may 
be in themselves, is aided and supported by the various pow- 
.ers of perception and comparison, particularly by the reason. 
The reasoning power, however high the rank which we just- 
ly ascribe to it, sustains, in this case at least, a subordinate 
position ; and is to be regarded, as the servitor and hand- 
maid of the moral power. And, moreover, the latter will va- 
ry in exact accordance, if there are no collateral disturbing 
influences, with the new facts and the new relations, which 
are from time to time presented by the former. It is in 
.consequence of this close connection and the important assis- 
tance rendered to conscience by reason, that they have 
.sometimes been confounded together. But it is very essen- 
>tial to right views of the mind, that this erroneous notion TO THE MORAL NATURE. 
277 
should be corrected, and that the precise relation, existing 
between these two distinct parts of our mental nature, should 
be fully understood. 
§. 233. Further illustrations of the same subject. 
We may perhaps further illustrate the subject of the con- 
nection existing between the perceptive nature, particularly 
the reasoning power, and the moral nature, by the interest- 
ing case of Caius Toranius, which Dr. Paley, in a translation 
from Valerius Maximus, has introduced in his Moral Philoso- 
phy, in nearly the following terms. The father of Caius 
Toranius had been proscribed by the Roman Triumvirate. 
Caius Toranius, coming over to the interests of that party, 
discovered to the officers of the place, where his father had 
concealed himself, and gave them withal a description, by 
which they might distinguish his person, when they found 
him. The old man more anxious for the fortunes and safe- 
ty of his son, than about the little, that might remain of his 
own life, began immediately to inquire of the officers, who 
seized him, Whether his son was well? Whether he had 
done his duty to the satisfaction of his generals ? That son, 
replied one of the officers, so dear to thy affections, betrayed 
thee to us ; by his information thou art apprehended and 
diest. The officer with this struck a poinard to his heart, 
and the unhappy parent fell, not so much affected by his own 
fate, as by the means to which he owed it. 
" Now the question is, (says Dr. Paley,) whether, if this 
story were related to the wild boy caught some years ago in 
the woods of Hanover, or to a savage without experience, 
and without instruction, cut off in his infancy from all inter- 
course with his species, and, consequently, under no possible 
influence of example, authority, education, sympathy, or 
habit, whether, I say, such a one would feel, upon the rela- 
tion, any degree of that sentiment of disapprobation of Toranius's 
conduct which we feel or not? 
They, who maintain the existence of a moral sense, of in- 
nate maxims, of a natural conscience, that the love of virtue 
and hatred of vice are instinctive, or the perception of right 
and wrong intuitive, (all which are only different ways of ex- 
pressing the same thing,) affirm that he would. They, 278 
RELATION OF REASONING 
who deny the existence of a moral sense, &c. affirm that he 
would not. And upon this, issue is joined." 
§. 234. Remarks upon the case stated in the foregoing section. 
Upon the case as thus stated, and upon the diverse opin- 
ions which are said to be entertained in connection with it, 
one or two remarks are to be made, which are naturally sug- 
gested by the train of thought in this chapter. First, the 
supposition that a Savage, who is entirely ignorant, (which 
we understand to be the condition of his mind in the state- 
ment given,) is able in any case whatever to pronounce a 
moral judgment, is an impossibility. It is arranged in great 
wisdom that the Moral Sensibilities, as well as the Natural, 
are placed behind the Intellect ; that is to say, they are sub- 
sequent in action, and are conditioned upon the antecedent 
existence of intellective acts. It is in view of this state of 
things, in particular, we make the assertion, that a negation 
of all knowledge, an intellect, which like a fragment of per- 
fectly white paper is entirely free from any delineations of 
thought, necessarily involves the impracticability of any mor- 
al judgment. It is impossible, therefore, that the wild boy 
of Hanover, or any other Savage, cut off in infancy from all 
intercourse with his species, without sympathy, experience, 
or instruction of any kind, should pronounce a moral judg- 
ment upon the case of Caius Toranius, or upon any other case 
of morals. And the reason is what has just been referred to, 
that the antecedent condition is wanting, viz. knowledge. 
We remark further, however, that it is not meant to be 
implied in what has been said, that the wild boy or Savage 
must necessarily possess a wide extent of knowledge. We 
may suppose it possible, that he is absolutely ignorant of 
every thing else ; yet if he has a full knowledge of the facts 
and relations of the thing under consideration, there is a 
foundation laid in his mind for a moral movement. In the 
case of Caius Toranius, if the Savage, however ignorant he 
might be on other subjects, were made fully acquainted with 
the relation existing between the father and the son, with 
the nature and degree of the acts of kindness, which are al- 
ways implied in the history of those, who sustain the parental 
relation, he would be in a situation to pronounce a moral de- TO THE MORAL NATURE. 
279 
cision on the son's conduct. Otherwise he would not. And 
on the supposition, that he possessed such knowledge, it is 
difficult to suppose, that he would be indifferent to the son's 
conduct, much less approve it, or that he could look upon it 
otherwise than with feelings of decided disapprobation. 
(See, in connection with this subject §. 226 in the preceding 
chapter.) 
§. 235. Of the training or education of the conscience. 
We infer from what has been said in this chapter, that 
there is such a thing, philosophically considered, as a train- 
ing or education of the conscience. We propose to re- 
mark more fully on the subject of moral education in another 
place ; but we may properly refer to it a moment here, in 
connection with the views, which have now been taken. No 
man is at liberty to say in regard to any given case, that I 
am willing to refer this case to conscience, and to abide by 
the decisions of conscience, without first taking the pains to 
lay the case fully and fairly before the power, that is to sit 
in judgment upon it. We might as well expect the judge in a 
court of civil justice to give an upright decision without facts, 
without evidence, and without law ; as to expect a correct 
decision from the spiritual judge, that exercises authority in 
the judgment-seat of the Sensibilities, without a full and fair 
presentment of the facts by the Intellect. And when we say 
it is necessary to make a full statement of the facts, we may 
add further, that they are to be stated not only in themselves, 
hut also in their relations and bearings upon each other. 
This is one form of moral training or moral education. In 
other words, in order to have a right conscience in respect 
to the vast multitude of things, which are the proper subjects 
of moral adjudication, it is necessary to extend the field of 
our knowledge, to know much, to think much, to compare 
much. 
§. 236. Of guilt when a person acts conscientiously. 
The question has sometimes been started, Whether a per- 
son is in any case to be considered as guilty and to be punish- 
ed for actions done conscientiously; for instance, when certain 
ignorant Savages are supposed to act conscientiously in leav- 
ing their old and infirm parents to perish. In view of what 280 
RELATION OF REASONING 
has been said in this Chapter, we seem to be prepared to an- 
swer this question in the affirmative. 
We have seen that the moral nature, in consequence of 
its intimate connection with the powers of perception and rea- 
soning, is in some measure under our own control. On the 
one hand, it may be enlightened and guided ; on the other, 
darkened, and led astray, and in some cases be made to ap- 
prove of actions of the most unworthy and sinful kind. Men, 
therefore, are to have a right conscience; this great and ex- 
alting principle is to receive and ought to receive the very 
first attention ; and they are accountable whenever it is neg- 
lected. Otherwise we furnish a very easy and convenient 
excuse for all the cruelties of the Inquisition, for all the per- 
secutions of the Protestants by the Catholics, for all the per- 
secutions of the Protestants by each other, for all the acts of 
unkindness and tyranny, which have ever been exercised 
upon individuals and communities. 
And the position that men are accountable and guilty for 
having a wrong conscience, in proportion to their means of 
knowledge and their ability of rectifying the conscience, 
holds good in respect to the most ignorant and degraded Sav- 
age tribes, as well as in respect to civilized nations. It is 
true, no individual ought to assume the province of judging 
in all cases, what that degree of guilt is ; for no one is com- 
petent to it. All that is meant to be asserted, is, that when 
persons feel an emotion of approval in doing wrong, (that is, 
in doing what is condemned by the general moral sentiments 
of mankind, and by the will and law of God ;) and yet have 
within their reach neglected sources of knowledge, which, on 
being laid open to the mind, would have caused different feel- 
ings, they are criminal for such neglect of the information 
before them, and consequently, cannot under such circum- 
stances be rendered otherwise than criminal by any internal 
approbation. 
§. 237. Illustration of the statements of the preceding section from the 
case of the Aposle Paul. 
The Aposle Paul was at one time a great persecutor. 
He shut up the early Christians in prison ; "and when they 
were put to death, he gave his voice against them." Nev- 
ertheless he expressly says, in reference to these very tran- TO THE MORAL NATURE. 
281 
sactions. " I verily thought within myself, that I ought to do 
many things contrary to the name of Jesus of Nazareth." 
He evidently, from his own statement, supposed he was do- 
ing right; in other words, he was conscientious in his conduct. 
Here is a case in point, to which the principles of the prece- 
ding section may be made to apply. 
That Paul, as he by implication asserts himself to have 
been, was conscientious in his persecutions of the early Chris- 
tians there can be no doubt. That he was, at the same time, 
exceedingly guilty seems to be equally certain. He had not 
made himself acquainted with all the facts in the case ; he 
was too bigoted to his own sect, too passionate, and too cruel 
to make a full and impartial investigation of the merits and 
demerits of those, whom he had determined to destroy. He 
acknowledges, that, at the very time when he supposed he 
was acting conscientiously, he was "exceedingly mad against 
them." But every one knows, that an exceedingly excited 
state of the passions is very unfavorable to a minute and im- 
partial inquiry. The presumption is, whatever the reason 
of it may have been, that he had no correct knowledge of the 
life, miracles, and doctrines of Jesus Christ; or the belief, 
practices, and character of Christians. His conscience ac- 
cordingly, as is its nature, acted in view of what he actually 
knew, and not in view of what he might have known. His 
conscience in the circumstances of the case could not do oth- 
erwise than it did, viz, approve its conduct. Nor in strict- 
ness of speech are we to say, that he was to blame for acting 
according to his conscience ; but to blame, exceedingly to 
blame for not having, as on proper inquiry he might have 
had, and would have had, a right conscience. CHAPTER FOURTH. 
NATURE OF MORAL BEAUTY. 
§. 238. Of the origin of the emotions of moral beauty. 
It seems to be a proper place here, as incidental to the 
main subject, to remark upon the nature of Moral Beauty. 
We have already had occasion to refer to this subject, in 
connection with some remarks on natural beauty, (§. 38 ;) 
but it seems to be deserving of a more particular notice. 
Our first remark in the explanation of this topic, is, that there 
is a close analogy between natural and moral beauty ; and 
that consequently the nature of the latter may be easily un- 
derstood by a reference to the former. The beauty of out- 
ward objects, whatever may be its inherent or intrinsic na- 
ture, (a subject which, like that of the inherent or intrinsic 
nature of rectitude, is probably beyond the limits of the pow- 
ers of the human mind,) is revealed to, and is cognizable by 
us, in consequence of the structure of the natural sensibilities. 
In other words, we are so constituted, that the perception of 
certain objects is naturally and necessarily followed, in our 
Sensitive nature, by the existence of emotions of beauty. It 
is the existence of these emotions, which, it is proper to re- 
mark, do not depend upon our volition, but are the work of 
nature alone, that reveals to us the beautiful object, as hav- 
ing the character of beauty. Without this we should know, 
it is true, the mere existence of the object; but the addition- 
al and distinctive fact of its beauty would not be known. 
These are not only the facts in the case, but they are ultimate 
facts, and contain, in the outlines at least, a statement of 
nearly all, that is to be said. NATURE OF MORAL BEAUTY. 
283 
This statement will apply, with but slight alteration, to 
moral as well as natural beauty. A moral object, (we speak 
now of one which is morally good,)in distinction from a mere 
natural object becomes such to us,(that is to say, we know 
it to be such,)in consequence of its being stamped with mor- 
afapprobation. When clothed as it were with this new gar- 
ment it assumes, even in the view of the intellectual appre- 
hension, a character unknown before. Intellectually consid- 
ered, it stands forth distinctly as a new object. And as it 
thus embodies itself in the intellectual apprehension, or, as 
we more commonly express it, as it thus appears in the view 
of the intellect, it is followed in the sensibilities, the same as 
any physically beautiful object is, by emotions of beauty. 
The soul is delighted with the contemplation. And the same 
as in any instance of natural beauty, it diffuses here also, by 
means of the principle of association, the splendor of the in- 
ward emotion over the outward cause. And thus moral ob- 
jects, as well as physical, and even in a still higher degree, 
are made to shine forth with an attractive lustre. 
The phrase Moral Beauty appears to be based upon the 
experience which has just been described. It merely desig- 
nates the abstract conception, which, in connection with that 
experience, we are enabled to form of beauty of a moral kind. 
§. 239. Of the origin and import of the phrase, moral deformity. 
We sometimes speak of moral deformity, as well as of 
moral beauty ; nor are we to suppose, that the phrase, which 
is a very common one, is without meaning. It originates in 
precisely the same way, as far as the mental action is con- 
cerned, as its opposite. When an object, which is morally 
wrong, is before the mind, it excites an emotion directly the 
reverse of an emotion of beauty. In other words, it is im- 
possible for us to contemplate a case of moral wrong, without 
having, in addition to those feelings of disapproval by means 
of which its immorality is revealed to the mind, other emo- 
tions more or less painful. We not only condemn it as a vio- 
lation of rectitude ; but it is at once clothed, in our view of 
it, in features that are unlovely and hateful. 
The phrase Moral Deformity, like the opposite one of 
Moral Beauty under the reverse of circumstances, has its 284 
NATURE OF MORAL BEAUTY. 
origin in the internal experience which has just been describ- 
ed. It is used to designate the abstract conception, which 
in connection with that experience, we are enabled to form of 
Deformity of a moral kind. 
§. 240. Of the correspondence between the degree of moral beauty and 
the quickness or liveliness of the moral sensibilities. 
The ability to contemplate moral worth, wherever it ex- 
ists, in the aspect of the beautiful, and to throw around it a 
lustre which has its origin in the fountains of the heart, is 
unquestionably an important fact in the history of the mind. 
We have thus a source of pleasure opened to us, which is not 
only abundant, but flows forth, without any corrupting in- 
gredient. But it is proper to add, that moral beauty does not 
shine equally upon all minds ; while to some it walks in 
brightness like the clear sun in the heavens, to others it ap- 
pears dimly, in clouds and vapors. There are a number of 
causes, which have more or less influence in accounting for 
this difference. 
The first is original or constitutional difference in the 
moral sensibilites. It appears to be regarded as an admitted 
fact, that there are original differences of moral, as well as 
of intellectual character ; and as there are some, who are 
naturally dull in the comprehension of the truths of science, 
so there are some also, who are naturally sluggish and ob- 
tuse in the matter of moral perspicacity. The latter for this 
reason take less pleasure than they otherwise would, in the 
contemplation of moral objects ; and the objects themselves, 
which, in the eyes of persons of livelier moral sensibilities, 
possess the highest attractions, are almost wholly destitute 
of beauty. 
Another reason, why in the minds of some persons moral 
beauty is comparatively so lustreless and unattractive, is 
because they voluntarily yield too great an ascendency to 
the lower principles of our nature. He, who does not keep 
those lower appetites and propensities, which we have in 
common with the brutes, under suitable regulation, must not 
only undergo the penalty of bodily suffering, but will inevi- 
tably find a thick mist of impurity spreading itself over the 
mind, which will not only obscure the inward eye of moral NATURE OF MORAL BEAUTY. 
285 
perception, but will of course extinguish, in a corresponding 
degree, the glow of outward moral excellence. 
"He, that hath light within his own clear breast, 
"May sit in th' centre, and enjoy bright day ; 
"But he, that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts, 
"Benighted walks under the mid-day sun. 
§. 241. Of the perception of moral beauty considered as a source of 
happiness. 
But, while this source of happiness is closed in a consid- 
erable degree to the vicious, it remains fresh and undimin- 
ished, in the heart, that is animated by pure and upright sen- 
timents. There are other sources of happiness, which in a 
true estimate of our condition are not to be lost sight of; but 
there is none so pure and exalting, excepting that which is 
connected with the possession of virtue in our own bosoms, 
as the pleasure which results from the contemplation of vir- 
tue in others. 
It was the case with some of the old English theologians, 
that they divided the affection or passion of Love into two 
kinds, viz, the love of benevolence and the love of compla- 
cency. By the love of benevolence they seem to have in- 
tended to express a desise for the good of others, irrespective 
of their character. There are probably some persons, in 
whose characters it is impossible for us to take delight, but 
for whose good we may nevertheless have an ardent desire. 
This is the love of benevolence ; and is such as we may 
suppose the Supreme Being to exercise towards the human 
race in their state of rebellion and opposition to himself. 
By the love of complacency, in distinction from the other 
form of love, the theological writers referred to appear to 
have intended to express that pleased or joyful emotion of 
the soul, which arises in view of any form of existence, that 
is intrinsically excellent ; particularly in view of moral excel- 
lence. Although the terms, which were formerly employed 
to intimate this kind of benevolence, are in some degree gone 
out of use, it is unquestionable, that they express an impor- 
tant fact in the philosophy of the mind. The mind is so con- 
stituted, that it is not only capable of perceiving, as has al- 
ready been explained in its proper place, physical or rather 
material beauty ; but also intellectual and pathematic, and 286 
NATURE OF MORAL BEAUTY. 
particularly moral beauty. It is the last, which is the high- 
est kind or perfection of beauty. 
The emotions, which are involved in the revelation of 
any form of moral beauty to the mind, (for it is by means of 
emotions that beauty in any case whatever is disclosed to 
us,) are impregnated with happiness. They flow out on eve- 
ry side with emanations of pure, unmixed beatitude. Of 
course the degree of the happiness will be in proportion to 
the vividness or energy of the emotion ; but so far as it ex- 
ists at all, whether more or less, it is not only unalloyed, but 
is pure to the degree of celestial brightness. Here is a foun- 
tain of enjoyment too often un visited, which those that taste 
of shall live. Here is a river of pleasure, which, amid all 
the disappointments and sorrows of life, can never fail. 
These views are susceptible of a religious application. 
Theologians appear to agree in asserting, that one great 
source of happiness, both in this and in a future life, consists 
in the contemplation of the character of the Supreme Being. 
The character of God is revealed to us internally, rather 
than outwardly ; to the intellectual rather than to the bodily 
vision. We are given to understand by theological writers, 
and by writers on practical religion generally, that this great 
idea, as it exists in the intellect or understanding, is suscep- 
tible of being invested with a radiance and intensity of beau- 
ty, which beams forth from the natural sensibilities or heart. 
Without assuming to give an opinion on the theological or 
scriptural correctness of this view, it is beyond question that 
it is, and must be, philosophically true. From the nature of 
the case, whatever is beautiful, and is perceived to be beauti- 
ful, must "walk in brightness." And the idea of the Su- 
preme Being, when revealed in its due and fidl proportions, 
whether the revelation be made to angels or to men, cannot 
be otherwise than infinitely glorious. " Thy sun shall no- 
more go down ; neither shall thy moon withdraw itself ; for 
the Lord shall be thine everlasting light." And as there ne- 
ver can be a perception of beauty without involving more or 
less of happiness, we can in some degree understand, how it 
is, when the idea or image of the Supreme Being takes pos- 
§. 242. Of the moral beauty of the character of the Supreme Being. NATURE OF MORAL BEAUTY. 
287 
session of a purified and holy mind, that it becomes a foun- 
tain of blessedness, perpetual and unutterable. 
But in regard to beauty, material as well as moral, it is 
to be recollected, that all beauty is practically nothing, and 
is the same as if it had no existence, unless it is perceived. 
And the light of moral beauty is not perceptible, and from 
the nature of the case cannot be perceptible, to the mind, 
which is itself involved in moral obscuration. Accordingly 
it is said in Scripture; ublessed are the pure in heart, for 
they shall see God." These expressions imply, that the 
moral excellence of the Deity cannot be fully perceived, and 
the blessedness attendant on its perception cannot be fully 
realized, except by hearts that are themselves morally pure. 
This is a great truth ; and is as strongly founded in philoso- 
phy, as it is express and unquestionable in religion. Accord- 
ingly as the heart becomes pure, the upward glory is let in. 
At first dimly, like the glimmerings of the new moon, and af- 
terwards in full-orb'd magnificence. And hence it frequently 
happens, that those, who have labored through a large por- 
tion of life, to correct their moral deformities, and begin at 
last through divine assistance to bring their souls into a mor- 
ally right position in reference to the Supreme Being, speak 
of the enlargement of the divine manifestation, of glory ac- 
cumulated to glory, and of happiness poured upon happiness. 
• "The Sun of Righteousness, (we quote the language of 
one, who thus describes his own personal experience,) has 
been gradually drawing nearer and nearer, appearing larger 
and brighter as he approached, and now he fills the whole 
hemisphere ; pouring forth a flood of glory, in which I seem 
to float like an insect in the beams of the sun ; exulting, yet 
almost trembling, while I gaze on this excessive brightness, 
and wondering, with unutterable wonder, why God should 
deign thus to shine upon a sinful worm." CHAPTER FIFTH. 
NATURE OF MORAL SUBLIMITY. 
We proeeed now to remark further, as incidental to the 
main subject of the Moral Sensibilities, that there is a Moral 
Sublimity as well as a Moral Beauty. Such is the constitution 
of our mental being, that we naturally regard those actions 
of men as Morally Sublime, which, in the first place, are mor- 
ally good in their character, but which are characterized by 
being put forth under such circumstances as strongly to af- 
fect our feelings. Moral sublimity, accordingly does not ap- 
pear to differ from Moral Beauty, so much in kind or nature, 
as in degree. There appears to be a progression from the 
morally Beautiful to the morally Sublime, which is precisely 
analogous to what we have already seen to exist in respect 
to the Beautiful and Sublime in the natural world. All, 
therefore, that seems to be necessary to an understanding of 
Moral Sublimity, in distinction from Moral Beauty, is to con- 
template some of those traits, which are morally beautiful, 
under such circumstances as will present them to view in an 
increased and intense aspect. It is chiefly the intensity of 
the morally beautiful action, which enhances it to the char- 
acter of moral sublimity ; because an energetic or intense ac- 
tion, when it comes under our notice, necessarily produces in 
us a corresponding vividness or intensity of emotion ; and it 
seems to be conceded, that the inward emotion may justly be 
regarded as the true measure both of beauty and sublimity. 
Whenever, for instance, we look abroad upon men, and 
witness the trait of unconquerable fortitude, whenever we 
§. 243. Remarks in explanation of the moral sublime. NATURE OF MORAL SUBLIMITY. 
289 
behold great self-possession in sudden and fearful emergencies, 
or see a readiness to share voluntarily in another's suffer- 
ings, or become acquainted with other moral excellencies of 
a like kind, we cannot but experience a strong emotion. It 
is not easy, by a mere form of words, to communicate an ex- 
act notion of this feeling, except perhaps in the circumstance 
of its great strength. It is evident, however, that it is an- 
alogous to that agitation and heaving and expansion of the 
soul, which exists, when we contemplate what is vast, and 
terrible, and mighty in nature. 
§. 244. Instances and illustrations of the moral sublime. 
At the celebrated pass of Thermopylae, three hundred 
Spartans met, and fought with the Persian army of a million. 
The remark was made by some one of the Spartans at the 
commencement of the battle, that the Persian arrows would 
fly so thick as to obscure and shut out the light of the sun ; 
the reply of Dieneces was, "so much the better, for we shall 
then fight in the shade and this has justly been set down as 
an instance of moral sublime. That short reply, made al- 
most with a degree of levity, disclosed a mind, prepared to 
meet every hazard, and to make the best of every form of 
adversity ; a mind, that felt no more dismay, though over- 
shadowed and canopied with a darkness full of deaths 
than the traveller of the desert, who refreshes himself be- 
neath the shadow of some friendly rock, or the shepherd, 
who has sought the protection of the forest from the rays of 
the mid-day sun. 
Such instances of striking calmness and self-possession 
amid great dangers are not unfrequent and seldom fail to 
enlist a strong feeling in their favor. On some urgent occa- 
sion Julius Csesar put to sea in an open boat; a violent storm 
arose,and the pilot discovered great terror. " Quid times,(said 
the Roman,) Ccesarem vehis." We see in this incident, as in 
that of Dieneces, a marked degree of firmness ; an indication 
of spiritual hardihood, which could stand unshaken both 
against the opposition of men, and the frowns and persecu- 
tions of the elements of nature. 
The reply of the wounded and dying Warwick, in the 
Henry Sixth of Shakspeare, is full of a moral nobleness. 290 
NATURE OF MORAL SUBLIMITY. 
Somerset. Ah 1 Warwick, Warwick, wert thou as we are, 
We might recover all the loss again. 
The queen from France has brought a puissant power. 
E'en now we heard the news. Ah! couldst thou fly? 
Warwick. Why then I would not fly. 
6. 245. The moral sublime involves the morally beautiful. 
In the remarks, which were made in a former part of the 
Work, in the Chapter on the Natural Sublime, the principle 
was laid down, that sublime natural objects usually have a 
degree of beauty ; and that a progression may be traced from 
the beauty to the sublimity. And the same principle, as we 
have already had occasion to notice, will hold good in re- 
spect to the Moral Sublime. The idea, which we wish to 
convey by this statement, may be illustrated thus. The be- 
nevolent man is a pleasing or beautiful object; but, when, 
in the pains and agonies of death, he requests with his dying 
breath, that the poor may continue to be fed from his sub- 
stance, the exercise of benevolence under such circumstan- 
ces strongly excites our feelings ; and, ascending, as it were, 
from the region of mere Beauty becomes an instance of the 
Moral Sublime. 
Again, whenever we see an individual undisturbed, com- 
posed, and even cheerful in ordinary difficulties and pres- 
sures, such an individual is undoubtedly an object of moral 
beauty. The trait of character, which particularly interests 
us, is firmness or strength of purpose. But let these misfor- 
tunes be increased, let him be driven from home and country, 
let the world as it were be combined against him, and the 
man, who, in such circumstances, betrays no diminution of 
fortitude, but holds up an unshaken stability of soul amid 
the blackness of the desolations around him, is a sublime ob- 
ject. 
§. 246. A degree of moral sublime in acts of strict and undeviating 
integrity or justice. 
Instances of decided and unwavering integrity, not per- 
haps in ordinary circumstances, but when the sense of jus- 
tice is strongly opposed by considerations of interest or of 
natural affection, have a degree of moral sublimity. Some- 
times, however, instances, which are not remarkable in them- NATURE OF MORAL SUBLIMITY. 
291 
selves acquire a degree of sublimity by combination. One 
of the distinguished citizens of Athens may be adduced as il- 
lustrating this remark. Such was the undeviating rectitude 
of his life, that Aristides, by the unanimous consent of the 
Athenians, was surnamed the Just. Whether followed by 
the acclamations of the multitude, or driven into ignominious 
banishment, he always retained his truth and integrity; and 
many acts are related of him, which are deserving of lasting 
remembrance. 
Being once called to act as a judge between two private 
persons, one of them declared, that his adversary had great- 
ly injured Aristides. "Relate rather, good friend, (said he, 
interrupting him,) what wrong he hath done yourself; for 
it is your cause and not my own, which I am now required to 
judge of." We are aware, that there is nothing particu- 
larly remarkable in this incident ; but it illustrates the preva- 
lent temper of the man, and shows how lively were his sen- 
timents of justice even on ordinary occasions. 
The people of America take a great satisfaction in ac- 
knowledging, that a strict, inflexible integrity was one of the 
remarkable traits in the character of Washington. During a 
long life of the most trying public services, it is impossible to 
point out a single act, where there is any reason to believe, 
that he subjected his principles to his interest. Accordingly 
in the view of his countrymen there is a sort of sublimity 
throwing its unextinguishable light around that illustrious 
name, arising not so much from particular acts of integrity, 
as from their multiplication. The separate rays of virtue 
embody themselves in the complex conception of his charac- 
ter, the stars that shine apart congregate into one centre ; 
and, as in the case of Aristides, present, by their mingled 
and united influence, an object of contemplation truly sub- 
lime. 
§. 247. Other instances of the sublimity of justice. 
There are other instances of justice or integrity, where a 
high degree of moral sublimity will be found to attach even 
to a single transaction. We have already had occasion to 
mention the conduct of Regulus. From a mere regard to the 
obligation, involved in the promise which he had given to 
the Carthaginians, he returned to Carthage, and suffered a 292 
NATURE OF MORAL SUBLIMITY. 
cruel death , willingly encountering suffering for the sake of 
his good name, and holding his honor far above his life. 
But perhaps the most strikingly triumphant and sublime 
instance of rectitude is to be found in the history of. the first 
Roman Consul. It was the memorable and unhappy lot of 
Lucius Junius Brutus to be placedin circumstances, where 
his duty to his country and its laws required him, according 
to the view which he took of his situation and responsibili- 
ties, to pronounce the sentence, and see the punishment of 
death executed, at the same time, upon two of his own chil- 
dren. Nothing could be more terrible than such an exigen- 
cy. Not only the measureless weight of a father's affection, 
but even the desires of the surrounding multitude, that were 
melted into compassion at an event so melancholy, conspired 
to weaken and dethrone the stern sense of justice, that had 
hitherto reigned in the heart of the illustrious liberator of his 
country. But he did not sully his high fame ; he would not 
condescend to ask or accept for his own children what he 
felt himself bound to deny to those of others. Though borne 
down with inexpressible misery, he caused them to be exe- 
cuted as traitors to their country, and was present at their 
death ; thus showing, under circumstances fearfully calcula- 
ted to make him falter in the expression of such exalted sen- 
timents, that the duty we owe to God and the authority of 
the laws is higher than that, which we owe to our dearest 
friends and kindred. 
§. 248. Instances of friendship and the parental affection illustrative of 
the subject. 
Sincere friendship is an interesting- and exceedingly plea- 
ding trait in the human character ; and it may exist in such 
a degree of intensity as to partake of the Moral Sublime. 
The same may be said of the filial and parental affections. 
In the history of these affections we may read many lessons, 
in the highest degree creditable to human nature, and enti- 
tled to a lasting admiration. 
And here we cannot forbear remarking, that there may 
be kindness and nobleness of mind even in the rude Savage ; 
and that too in such a degree as to call forth the blush on 
those, who claim for themselves the exclusive honor of civi- 
lization and refinement. The patience and fortitude of the NATURE OF MORAL SUBLIMITY. 
293 
Aborigines of America under the most excruciating sufferings 
have often been eulogized ; but it has not been so generally 
acknowledged that they were capable of other virtues. The 
benevolent affections of the Savage, as well as those of an 
opposite kind, are often found to exist in the highest possible 
degree, as may be seen in the following instances. 
It is related in Mr. Jefferson's Notes on Virginia, that Col. 
Byrd of that State was sent at a certain time to the Chero- 
kee nation to transact some business with them. "It hap- 
pened, (says this writer,) that some of our disorderly people 
had just killed one or two of that nation. It was therefore 
proposed in the council of the Cherokees, that Col. Byrd 
should be put to death in revenge for the loss of their coun- 
trymen. Among them was a chief called Silouee, who, on 
some former occasion, had contracted an acquaintance and 
friendship with Col. Byrd. He came to him every night in 
his tent, and told him not to be afraid, they should not kill 
him. After many days' deliberation, however, the determina- 
tion was, contrary to Silouee's expectation, that Byrd should 
be put to death, and some warriors were dispatched as 
executioners. Silouee attended them, and when they enter- 
ed the tent, he threw himself between them and Byrd, and 
said to the warriors, 'This man is my friend : before you get 
at him, you must kill me.' On which they returned, and the 
council respected the principle so much as to recede from 
their determination." 
Some years since an Indian of the Collapissas nation near 
the Mississippi slew a Choctaw in a moment of excited pas- 
sion. The circumstances were such as to render it necessa- 
ry, that the guilty person, whose name was Tychou Mingo, 
should die. At the time appointed for the execution, the 
aged father of Mingo came forward, and expressed an earnest 
desire to be put to death in his son's stead. He urged his 
request by saying that he was an old man, and no longer 
good for any thing ; that his son was young and vigorous, 
and his life was necessary for the support of a mother, wife 
and four infant children. The surrounding multitude, 
(among whom were many French soldiers present,) were af- 
fected to tears ; the Choctaws accepted the offer of the he- 
roic old man ; and with a hatchet severed his head from his 
body. 294 
NATURE OF MORAL SUBLIMITY. 
§. 249. Of the moral sublimity of great benevolent undertakings. 
Brief as the remarks are, which have been made, we in- 
dulge the hope, that a train of thought has been opened, 
which may lead to a correct understanding of this interest- 
ing subject. The inquiry, however, is too extensive to be 
pursued here at great length ; being not less wide than the 
limits of whatever is morally good and beautiful in human 
nature, which is susceptible of being increased to an intensi- 
ty of action. There may be a sublimity in courage, a sub- 
limityin piety, a sublimity in benevolence, a sublimity in 
mere consistency and perseverance. Every trait in human 
character may become sublime, which is of such a nature as 
to secure to itself the approval of our moral sentiments, and 
can at the same time strongly interest and excite us. But 
we are under the necessity of leaving the subject, with mere- 
ly adding a few remarks on the sublimity of benevolent en- 
terprises, and of the spirit of forgiveness. 
Ordinary acts of benevolence are merely pleasing. Al- 
most every person performs such acts from time to time; but 
the knowledge of them is not expected to excite any very 
strong feeling. But it is different when the object is one of 
great difficulty in the attainment, and requires to be pursued 
with great perseverance and sacrifices even for successive 
years. The enterprise then acquires a high degree of moral 
sublimity. 
The abolition of the Slave trade was a distinct object ; 
one of incalculable importance in the estimation of every 
real friend of man ; and surrounded with a multitude of dif- 
ficulties. A few persons, (among whom the distinguished 
names of Clarkson and Wilberforce stood preeminent,) en- 
gaged in this great contest, with no object but that of secur- 
ing the rights of humanity, and with no arms but a strong 
faith, determined perseverance, and the approbation of God. 
The public mind was to be enlightened ; the moral apathy, 
which existed on this momentous subject, was to be dispel- 
led ; the influence of a powerful party, who were directly in- 
terested in the traffic in slaves, was to be overcome ; jealous- 
ies and hostile passions, arising from other causes, were to 
be met, resisted, and subdued. 
The prominent individuals in this noble enterprise, though NATURE OF MORAL SUBLIMITY. 
295 
few in number, and almost wholly unsustained except by the 
exaltation and purity of their object, labored unceasingly 
for twenty years, amid every form of opposition, rebuke, and 
discouragement. They "nailed their colors to the mast 
determined, while the press of England remained free, or 
God gave them the power of speech, to vindicate in print 
and in conversation, and on the floor of Parliament, the cause 
of a greatly injured people. There was no swerving from 
their purpose ; no disposition to take up with half way meas- 
ures, and make a compromise with this fearful abomination ; 
no relaxation of effort, because their undertaking brought 
them into conflict with men high in power and office. And 
thus, after long years of unwearied and unchangeable effort, 
they succeeded in causing it to be solemnly acknowledged 
in their National Senate, and to be written on the statute 
books of their country, that differences of complexion cannot 
annul the claims of nature, and that minds are never to be 
sold. , 
It was then that the light first dawned upon benighted 
and suffering Africa ; and in view of the struggles that pre- 
ceded the rising of that light, we may assert with confidence, 
that even the gentle feeling of benevolence may become so 
quickened and so prolonged, and so active and irresistible, as 
to be truly overwhelming in the contemplation of it. 
§. 250. The spirit of forgiveness in some cases sublime. 
There may be sublimity also in forgiveness. It will gen- 
erally be conceded, that forgiveness, even when the injury 
is a small one, is a pleasing and somewhat striking trait ; 
the more so because men in general are much less apt to for- 
give, than to return injury for injury. But when the injury 
has been a great one, the forgiveness, which is exercised, 
calls forth an increased degree of admiration. 
It is related of Demetrius, (surnamed the conqueror of cities,) 
that, having received a marked and undoubted provocation, 
he laid siege to the city of Athens. The inhabitants made a 
desperate resistance ; but were at last obliged to surrender, 
in consequence of a great scarcity of provisions. Demetrius 
then ordered them, with the exception of the women and 
children, to be assembled together in one place, and to be 296 
NATURE OF MORAL SUBLIMITY. 
surrounded with armed soldiers. Every one was in the 
greatest fear, conscious how much they had injured him, 
and expecting every moment to be put to death. It is not 
surprising, therefore, that they were overwhelmed with joy 
and admiration, when they heard him with a magnanimity 
honorable to human nature, thus address them. "I wish 
to convince you, 0 Athenians, how ungenerously you have 
treated me ; for it was not to an enemy that your assistance 
was refused, but to a prince who loved you, who still loves 
you, and who wishes to revenge himself only by granting 
your pardon, and being still your friend. Return to your 
own homes ; while you have been here, my soldiers have 
been filling your houses with provisions." 
It may with propriety be added here, that the duty of a 
sincere and unlimited forgiveness, even under the most try- 
ing circumstances, is clearly recognized and enjoined in the 
Christian system. And one of the earliest professors of that 
system gave a practical exhibition of the obligation attending 
it. When the martyr Stephen was stoned to death by a cru- 
el and infuriated multitude, as he cast his dying eyes upward 
to the heavens and the visible throne of the Almighty, his 
prayer was not, in the language of an old Roman, "Be ready, 
gods, with all your thunder-bolts, and dash them to pieces 
but in a far more generous and sublime temper of soul, he 
cried with a last and loud voice, "Lord Jesus, receive my spir'd. 
Lord, lay not this sin to their charge." ©21 KTS2ZB2a21®HSQ 
PART SECOND. 
THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES OR CONSCIENCE. 
MORAL OR CONSCIENTIOUS SENTIMENTS. 
CLASS SECOND. 
FEELINGS OF MORAL OBLIGATION. CHAPTER THIRD. 
EXISTENCE OF OBLIGATORY FEELINGS. 
251. Feelings of moral obligation distinct from feelings of moral ap- 
proval and disapproval. 
It was remarked in a former chapter, that the Moral Sen- 
sibilities or Conscience would be found, on an examination 
of its elements, to resolve itself into two classes of feelings ; 
viz. Moral Emotions, and Obligatory feelings or feelings of 
Moral Obligation. Having remarked, so far as seemed to be 
necessary, upon Moral Emotions, viz. the feelings of moral 
approval and disapproval, which are all the states of mind 
which properly come under that head, and also upon some 
of those collateral subjects which seemed to be particularly 
connected with them, we are now prepared to proceed to 
the consideration of the second class, viz. Obligatory feelings. 
It is proper to remark here, that this class of mental 
states, considered as a separate and distinct class, has receiv- 
ed but little notice in philosophical systems ; having general- 
ly been confounded under the familiar designations of con- 
science and the moral sense, with the moral emotions which 
have already been considered. On this account, therefore, 
and also for the reason that they have an important connec- 
tion with the actual operations and with the philosophy of 
the Will, it will be necessary to examine them with some de- 
gree of care. 
§. 252. Proof of the existence of obligatory feelings from consciousness. 
Our first inquiry relates to the actual and distinct exist- 
ence of the states of mind, which now come under considera- 
tion. The existence of feelings of this description is evinced, 300 
EXISTENCE OF OBLIGATORY FEELINGS. 
in the first place, by our own consciousness. We might 
safely appeal to the internal conviction and the recollections 
of any man whatever, and ask whether there have not been 
periods in the course of his life, in which he has experienced 
a new and authoritative state of mind ; a peculiar, but unde- 
finable species of mental enforcement, which required him to 
perform some particular act, and to avoid doing some other 
act, even when his interests and his desires seemed to be 
averse to the requisition thus made upon him? And if so, 
we have here an instance of moral obligation, a feeling or 
sentiment of duty, the precise thing which is meant, when 
we say we ought to do, or ought not to do. 
Take a common and simple illustration. A person, in pas- 
sing along the streets, saw an old man sitting by the way 
side, who bore about him the most convincing marks of 
want, wretchedness, and sincerity in his applications for re- 
lief ; he gave him bread, clothing, and money, conscious that 
it was done, not in view of any personal interest or gratifica- 
tion, or of any selfish object whatever, but under the impulse 
and guidance of a peculiar enforcement within, such as we 
commonly have when we speak of doing our duty ; and if 
so, he then and there had a distinct knowledge of the moral 
sentiment or feeling under consideration. And this knowl- 
edge was from Consciousness. 
§. 253. Further proof from the conduct of men. 
The existence of feelings of obligation is further shown 
by the general conduct of men. It cannot be denied, that 
other motives, distinct from convictions of duty, often ope- 
rate upon them. Their desires, hopes, fears, sympathies, 
their present and future interests all have an elfect. But it 
would certainly argue an evil opinion of human nature alto- 
gether unwarranted, to maintain, that they are never gov- 
erned by motives of a more exalted kind. In a multitude of 
cases they are found to perform what is incumbent upon 
them in opposition to their fears, in opposition to their sym- 
pathies, and their apparent interests. Different persons will 
undoubtedly estimate the amount of interested and selfish 
motives, as greater or less, according as a greater or less 
portion of the good or evil of human nature has come within EXISTENCE OF OBLIGATORY FEELINGS, 
301 
their own cognizance ; but it is impossible, after a cautious 
and candid review of the principles of human action, to ex- 
clude entirely the elements of uprightness and honor. If 
there is any truth in history, there have always been found, 
even in the most corrupt periods of society, upright and hon- 
orable men. And if we are at liberty to infer men's charac- 
ter from their actions, as assuredly we are, we may assert 
with confidence that there are such at the present time. But 
a man of true uprightness and honor is one, who acts from 
the sentiment of duty, the feeling of moral obligation, in dis- 
tinction from motives of an inferior kind. 
§. 254. Further proof from language and literature. 
The existence of obligatory feelings is further proved, not 
only by each one's consciousness, and by the conduct of men 
generally, but by language and literature. In most langua- 
ges and probably in all, there are terms expressive of obliga- 
tion or a sentiment of duty. No account could be given of 
the progress of society, and of the situation and conduct of 
individuals, without making use of such terms. If the words 
rectitude, crime, uprightness, virtue, merit, vice, demerit, 
right, wrong, ought, obligation, duty, and others of like im- 
port were struck out from the English tongue, (and the same 
may be said of other languages,) it would at once be found 
unequal to the expression of the phenomena, which are con- 
stantly occurring in the affairs of men. Now as these terms 
occur, it is rational to suppose, that they intimate something, 
that they have a meaning, that they express a reality. But 
it does not appear, how this can be said of them, unless we 
admit the actual existence of obligatory feelings. 
Turning our attention from single words and phrases, if 
we enter into an examination of the literature of a language, 
we shall come to the same result. A great portion of every 
nation's literature is employed in giving expression and em- 
phasis to moral principles and sentiments. They find a con- 
spicuous place in the most valuable speculations, not of pro- 
fessed moralists merely, but of historians, poets, orators, and 
legislators. But their frequent introduction would seem to 
be altogether misplaced, unsuitable, and unmeaning, if there 
were no real and permanent distinction between virtue and 302 
EXISTENCE OF OBLIGATORY FEELINGS. 
vice, between the sacred requisitions of duty, and those of 
mere personal interest. One of the Roman historians* very 
happily remarks of the elder Cato, that he never performed 
an upright action, in order that he might have the appear- 
ance of being an upright person in the view of men, but be- 
cause he could not do otherwise; (qui nunquam recte fecit, ut 
FACERE VIDERETUR, SED QUIA ALITER FACERE NON POTERAT.) 
Every one, who is familiar with the characteristic traits of 
Cato, will assent to the justness of the remark ; but still it 
would be nugatory and unmeaning, without the existence of 
original principles, involving an internal and moral obligation. 
If any one will take the pains to peruse the writings of Taci- 
tus in particular, he will fully see the bearing of these obser- 
vations. That celebrated historian sketches, in colors dark 
and terrible, the pictures of cruelty and selfishness, treachery 
and deceit, but at the same time he diffuses over the nether 
horrors of flame and smoke the sunlight radiance of benevo- 
lence and patriotism, of honor and truth. Now if you strike 
out from the human breast the emotions of approval and dis- 
approval, and those feelings of obligation, which are subse- 
quently built upon them, you necessarily strike out, not only 
from Tacitus, but from almost all historians of acknowledged 
merit, the most eloquent and ennobling passages ; every thing 
in fact, which places truth in opposition to falsehood, and con- 
trasts meanness and sclfism with justice, rectitude, and honor. 
§. 255. Further proof from the necessity of these feelings. 
And in connection with the observations which have been 
brought forward, we may further ask, what would men be, 
or what would society be, without the basis of moral obliga- 
tion? There must be somewhere a foundation of duty. It 
does not appear, how the bond, which unites neighborhoods 
and states, can be maintained with any requisite degree of 
permanency and strength, without something of this kind. 
Annihilate this part of our constitution, and would not society 
be dissolved? Would not violence and wrath and utter con- 
fusion immediately succeed ? The natural desire of society, 
the sympathies, and the selfish interests of our nature might 
do something by way of diminishing these evil results, but 
* Paterculus, EXISTENCE OF OBLIGATORY FEELINGS. 
303 
could not wholly prevent them. With the dislocation of the 
great controlling principles, which regulate the action of the 
moral world, there would soon be an utter confusion in the 
movements of society, and all the unspeakable evils, attend- 
ant on such a state of things. 
We are aware it can be said, that we have the feelings of 
approval and disapproval, which are of a moral nature. This 
is true. By means of these feelings we are enabled to pro- 
nounce a decision on the merit or demerit of the conduct of 
others; and they thus discharge an important office. It is un- 
deniably necessary, when we consider the various relations 
we sustain to other accountable beings, that we should be 
able to pass a judgment on them. It is necessary also, when 
we consider our own nature and destinies, that there should 
be within ourselves some power of decision on our own con- 
duct. Accordingly the Moral Sensibility, in the exercise of 
emotions of approval and disapproval, effects this great ob- 
ject. But this is not enough. It is not only necessary to be 
able to distinguish between right and wrong ; but to pursue 
the one and avoid the other. We need within us not only a 
monitor, which shall assure us what right is ; but something 
also, which shall speak as it were with a voice of authority, 
and strongly urge us to do what is right. And this object is 
designed to be effected through the medium and agency of 
feelings of obligation. 
Undoubtedly the two classes of feeling are closely connec- 
ted ; emotions of approval and disapproval are antecedent to, 
and are the foundation of feelings of obligation ; but the fact 
of their close connection doesnot prove their identity. Both 
exist and both are necessary. The absence of either, par- 
ticularly of feelings of obligation, would have a disastrous 
bearing on the conduct of men, and on the various interests 
of society. CHAPTER SECOND. 
NATURE OF OBLIGATORY FEELINGS. 
§. 256. Feelings of obligation simple and not susceptible of definition. 
In view of what has been said we assert with confidence, 
that feelings of moral obligation or obligatory feelings, in dis- 
tinction from the antecedent acts of the Moral Sensibility, 
which consist in mere approval and disapproval, actually 
have an existence. In looking into their nature, in distinc- 
tion from the mere fact of their existence, although we do 
not flatter ourselves with being able, by a mere verbal state- 
ment to give a satisfactory notion of them, we would direct 
the attention to some characteristic marks. And the first 
observation to be made is, that these states of mind are sim- 
ple. We cannot resolve them into parts, as we can any com- 
plex state of mind. And as a necessary consequence of this, 
they are not susceptible of definition. Still we cannot admit, 
that this simplicity and the consequent inability to define 
them renders men ignorant of their nature. It is true, that 
the man, who has never experienced the sentiment of obli- 
gation in his own bosom, can have no better means of know- 
ing it from the descriptions of others, than the blind, man can 
have for understanding the nature of the colors of the rain- 
bow. But such a case is hardly a supposable one ; among 
all the tribes of men and amid all the varieties of human deg- 
radation, it will probably not be found to exist; and we may 
therefore say with confidence, that every man knows what 
the feeling of obligation is, not less than he knows what the 
feeling of joy, of sorrow, and of approval is. In other words, 
men have as ready and clear an idea of it, as of any other 
simple notion or feeling. 305 
§. 257. They are susceptible of different degrees. 
NATURE OF OBLIGATORY FEELINGS. 
In obtaining this knowledge, however, which evidently 
cannot be secured to us by any mere process of defining, we 
must consult our consciousness. We are required to turn 
the mind inward on itself and to scrutinize the process of 
interior operation, on the various occasions of endurance, tri- 
al, and action, which so often intersect the paths of life. 
The same consciousness, which gives us a knowledge of the 
existence of the feeling and of its general nature, assures us 
furthermore, that it exists in various degrees. This fact may 
be illustrated by remarks formerly made in reference to 
another state of mind. The word belief is the name of a sim- 
ple mental state ; but no one doubts, that belief exists in dif- 
ferent degrees, which we express by a number of terms, such 
as presumption, probability high probability, and certainty. 
In like manner, the feeling of obligation may evidently exist 
in various degrees, and we often express this variety of de- 
grees by different terms and phrases, such as moral induce- 
ment, slight or strong inducement, imperfect obligation, per- 
fect obligation, &c. 
§. 258 Of their authoritative and enforcing nature. 
It may be remarked further in respect to obligatory feel- 
ings, that they always imply action, something to be done. 
And again, they neverexist, except in those cases, where 
not only action, but effective action is possible, or is supposed 
to be so. We never feel under moral obligation to do any 
thing, which we are convinced at the same time is beyond 
our power. It is within these limits the feeling arises ; and 
while we cannot define it, we are able to intimate, though 
somewhat imperfectly, another characteristic. What we 
mean will be understood by a reference to the words enforce- 
ment, constraint, or compulsion. Every one is conscious, 
that there is something in the nature of feelings of moral ob- 
ligation, approaching to the character of enforcement or com- 
pulsion ; yet not by any means in the material sense of those 
terms. There is no enforcement, analogous to that which 
may be applied to the body, and which may be made irresis- 
tible. < 
The apostle Paul says," the love of Christ constraineth us." 
What is the meaning of this? Merely that the mercy of 306 
NATURE OF OBLIGATORY FEELINGS. 
Christ, exhibited in the salvation of men, excited such a sen- 
timent of obligation, that they found in themselves a great 
unwillingness to resist its suggestions, and were determined 
to go forth, proclaiming that mercy, and urging all men to 
accept it. And it is in reference to this state of things we so 
frequently assert, that weare bound, that we are obliged, or 
even that we are compelled to pursue a particular course in 
preference to another course ; expressions, which, in their 
original import, intimate the existence of a feeling, which is 
fitted by its very nature strongly to control our volition. 
But, although these expressions point to this trait of the 
feeling, they do it but imperfectly and indistinctly, and con- 
sciousness alone can give a full understanding of it. 
§. 249. Feelings of obligation differ from those of mere approval and 
disapproval. 
It is possible that the question may be started why we do 
not class these feelings with Emotions, particularly those of 
a moral kind. And recognizing the propriety of avoiding an 
increase of classes, where it is not obviously called for, we 
shall endeavor to say something, in addition to what has al- 
ready been intimated in the preceding chapter, in answer to 
this question. We have not classed the mental states un- 
der examination with Emotions in the first place, because 
they do not appear to be of that transitory nature, which 
seems to be characteristic of all emotions. Ordinarily they 
do not dart into the soul with the same rapidity, shining up, 
and then disappearing like the sudden lightning in the 
clouds ; but taking their position more slowly and gradually, 
they remain like the sun bright and permanent. In the 
course of an hour a person may experience hundredsand even 
thousands of emotions of joy or grief, of beauty or sublimity, 
and various other kinds. They come and go, return and de- 
part again in constant succession and with very frequent 
changes ; but it probably will not be pretended, that the 
feelings of duty, which are destined to govern man's conduct, 
and which constitute his most important principles of action, 
are of such a rapid, variant, and evanescent nature. A man 
feels tlf£ sentiment of duty now, and it is reasonable to anti- 
cipate, unless the facts, presented to his mind, shall essen- NATURE OF OBLIGATORY FEELINGS. 
307 
tially alter, that he will feel the same to-morrow, next week, 
next month, and next year. He may as well think of alter- 
ing and alienating the nature of the soul itself, as of eradica- 
ting these feelings, when they have once taken root, so long 
as the objects, to which they relate, remain the same in the 
mind's view. 
§. 260. Feelings of obligation have particular reference to the future. 
A second reason for not classing feelings of obligation 
with emotions, particularly moral ones, is the fact, that obli- 
gatory sentiments have special reference to the future. Mor- 
al emotions are of a peculiar kind ; they have a character of 
their own, which is ascertained by consciousness ; but they 
merely pronounce upon the character of objects and actions, 
that are either past or present ; upon the right or wrong of 
what has actually taken place in time past, or is taking place 
at the present moment ; with the single exception of hypo- 
thetical cases, which are brought before the mind for a moral 
judgment to be past upon them. But even in these cases, 
as far as the action of the moral sense is concerned, the ob- 
jects of contemplation are in effect present. The conscience 
passes its judgment upon the objects in themselves consider- 
ed ; and that is all. It goes no further. 
But it clearly seems to be different with the feelings un- 
der consideration. The states of mind, involving obligation 
and duty, have reference to the future ; to something, which 
is either to be performed, or the performance of which is to 
be avoided. They bind us to what is to come. They can 
have no possible existence, except in connection with what 
is to be done, either in the inward feeling or the outward ef- 
fort. The past is merged in eternity, and no longer furnish- 
es a place for action. Obligation and duty cannot reach it, 
and it is given over to retribution. 
261. Feelings of obligation subsequent in time to the moral emotions 
of approval and disapproval. 
Another and third important circumstance to be taken 
into view, in making out the distinction under our notice, is, 
that the sentiments or feelings of obligation are always sub- 
sequent in point of time to moral emotions; and cannot pos- 308 
NATURE OF OBLIGATORY FEELINGS. 
sibly exist, unless preceded by them. The statement is sus- 
ceptible of illustration in this way. Some complicated state 
of things, involving moral considerations, is presented before 
us; we inquire and examine into it; emotions of approval or 
disapproval then arise. And this is all that takes place, if 
we ourselves have, in no way whatever, any direct and ac- 
tive concern, either present or future. But if it be other- 
wise, the moral emotions are immediately succeeded by a 
distinct and imperative feeling, the sentiment of obligation, 
which binds us, as if it were the voice of God speaking in 
the soul, to act or not to act, to do or not to do, to favor or 
to oppose. 
How common a thing it is for a person to say, that he 
feels no moral obligation to do a thing, because he does not 
approve it; or on the contrary, that, approving any propos- 
ed course, he feels under obligation to pursue it ; language, 
which undoubtedly means something, and which implies a 
distinction between the mere moral emotion and the feeling 
of obligation ; and which tends to prove the prevalence of 
the common belief, that obligation is subsequent to, and de- 
pendent on approval or disapproval. On looking at the 
subject in these points of view, we cannot come to the con- 
clusion to rank feelings of obligation with moral emotions, or 
with any other emotions ; but are induced to assign them a 
distinct place. But it is not surprising on the whole, that 
moral emotions are often confounded with them, when we 
consider the invariable connection between the two just 
spoken of, and when also we consider the imperfection of lan- 
guage, which not unfrequently applies the same terms to 
both classes of mental states. 
262. Feelings of obligation differ from desires. 
For the reasons which have now been stated, feelings of 
obligation are not classed with Emotions. We are next ask- 
ed perhaps, why they are not classed under the general head 
of Desires. And in answering this question, we say in the 
first place, that consciousness clearly points out a difference. 
It is believed, that few matters come within the reach and 
cognizance of consciousness, which can be more readily de- 
cided i^fcn, than the difference between our desires and our NATURE OF OBLIGATORY FEELINGS, 
309 
feelings of obligation. We admit, that, in the particular of 
their fixedness or permanency and also of their relation to 
the future, the latter closely approach to the characteristics 
of the former ; and yet a little internal examination will de- 
tect a distinction between them, which is marked and lasting. 
(2) We may not only consult our own consciousness in 
this matter, but may derive information from a notice of the 
outward conduct of men. In speaking of men's conduct, we 
not unfrequently make a distinction ; and we attribute it 
sometimes to the mere influence of their desires or wishes, 
and at other times to the predominance of a sense of duty, 
which is only another name for a sentiment or impulse with- 
in, which is morally obligatory. But there would evidently 
be no propriety in this distinction, if desire and feelings of 
duty were the same thing ; and it would certainly be prema- 
ture and unjust to charge men with universally making such 
a distinction, when there are no grounds for it. 
§. 263. Further considerations on this subject. 
If there is not a fixed, permanent, and radical distinction 
between desires and feelings of obligation, then there is an 
utter failure of any basis of morality, either in fact or in the- 
ory. It will readily be conceded, that morality implies a will, 
a power of choice and determination. But the mere moral 
emotions, viz. of approval and disapproval, do not of them- 
selves reach the Will. They operate on the Will through 
the feelings of obligation ; that is to say, they are always 
succeeded by the latter feelings, before men are led to ac- 
tion. All other emotions operate through the Desires. So 
that the will, in making up its determinations, takes immedi- 
ate cognizance of only two classes of mental states, viz. De- 
sires and Feelings of obligation. But brute animals, as a 
general statement, have all the desires, that men have ; we 
mean all those modifications of feeling, which have been 
classed under that general head, viz. instincts, appetites, 
propensities, the various forms of affection, as resentment, 
love, the parental affection, &c. But still, being evidently 
destitute of all feelings of obligation, we never speak or think 
of them as possessing a moral character. We nevc^^i)laud 
them for doing their duty, nor punish them for i^Bcting 310 
UNIFORMITY OF ACTION IN 
its performance. Our treatment of them proceeds on alto- 
gether different principles. And it would be the same with 
men, if they were wholly destitute of feelings of moral obli- 
gation and had no motives of action but the various forms of 
desire. They could never, in that case, be considered mor- 
ally accountable. They would be without reward, when 
they went right ; and without rebuke, when they went 
wrong. 
CHAPTER THIRD. 
UNIFORMITY OF ACTION IN THE MORAL 
SENSIBILITIES. 
§. 264. Of uniformity in the decisions of the moral nature and the prin- 
ciple on which it is regulated. 
The two classes of feeling, which have been considered, 
viz. moral emotions, by means of which we approve and dis- 
approve of actions, and the subsequent feelings of moral ob- 
ligation, embrace all the states of mind, which are properly 
and strictly included under the head of the Moral Sensibili- 
ties ; although there are a number of collateral or incidental 
inquiries, some of which have been attended to, which are 
worthy of notice. One of the most interesting of these in- 
quiries relates to the Uniformity of moral decisions. In 
entering upon the subject of the Uniformity of the decisions 
of our Moral Nature, we remark, in the first place, that there 
are two kinds of uniformity, viz, uniformity in fact or princi- 
ple, and uniformity in manifestation or appearance. Unifor- 
mity in principle, which is the most important view of the 
subject, necessarily implies a rule or law, by means of which 
the uniformity, which is alledged to exist, may be measured 
and known. And the rule or law, upon which the uniformi- 
ty of the moral nature is unquestionably based, is, that its 
decis^ML (excepting those extremely perverted acts, which 
may jBWy be supposed to imply a state of moral alienation THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 
311 
or insanity, and which do not properly come into considera- 
tion here,) toill in all cases conform to the facts perceived-, in other 
words, will conform to the facts and their relations, as they 
exist in the view of the intellect. 
Estimated by this law, we can hardly entertain a doubt 
that the decisions of conscience may justly be regarded as 
being, at the bottom, uniform throughout the world. It is 
not true, as some seem to suppose, that nature has establish- 
ed one code of morals for civilized and another for Savage 
nations, one law of rectitude on the banks of the Thames, 
and another on the banks of the Ganges ; but in all parts of 
the world, in every nation and in every clime, on the bor- 
ders of every river and on the declivities of every mountain, 
she utters the same voice, announces the same distinctions, 
and proclaims the unchangeableness of her requisitions. 
§. 265. The nature of conscience, considered as an uniform principle of 
action, requires that it should vary in its decisions with circumstances. 
It is well known, that one of the greatest and the only for- 
midable objection, which has been brought against the doc- 
trine of a connatural moral sensibility or conscience, is a 
want of uniformity in its decisions ; in other words, that it 
approves at one time and in one place what it condemns at 
another time and place. The remarks, which have been 
made, enable us to meet this objection fairly and satisfacto- 
rily. We admit that there is a want of that kind of uniformi- 
ty, which by way of distinction we have denominated uni- 
formityin manifestation or appearance ; but it is not true, 
(with the exception of those extreme perversions which come 
under the denomination of moral insanity or alienation,) that 
there is a want of uniformity in fact or principle. It is the 
latter kind of uniformity only, which we are desirous to wit- 
ness as an attribute of the conscience. An uniformity of de- 
cision, based upon any other view, would be disastrous to 
its own authority. In meeting the objection, therefore, 
which has been referred to, all we have to do, is to show, 
that the moral sense or conscience conforms to its own Jaw; 
in other words, is uniform in its action, relatively to the facts 
that are placed before it. As a general thing, we have alrea- 
dy shown this in the Chapter on the Proofs of a Moral Na- 312 
NATURE OF OBLIGATORY FEELINGS. 
ture ; it appears to be unnecessary to prosecute that view of 
the subject further ; and what alone seems to be requisite in 
order to complete the inquiry, is to explain the apparent de- 
viations. 
And our first remark here is, that the nature of conscience 
itself involves, that it must vary in its decisions in accord- 
ance with a variation or change of circumstances. And the 
important law of its own uniformity not only permits this, 
but requires it. As its uniformity exists in relation to the 
facts perceived, and involves the uniformity or sameness of 
those facts, it follows that a change in the facts and their re- 
lations will be attended by a change in the moral cognizance. 
The decisions of conscience, therefore, although erected upon 
a basis of uniformity, and although in fact uniform in refer- 
ence to the principle which has been laid down, are never- 
theless in their manifestations sometimes exceedingly diverse; 
like the multiplied forms of the kaleidoscope, which, although 
they always exist in accordance with fixed optical principles, 
are susceptible of almost every possible variety. Going 
on the supposition therefore, that the general uniformity of 
the decisions of conscience is understood and acknowledged, 
inasmuch as we have already had occasion to give some 
proofs of it, and particularly as it is not generally denied, we 
proceed now to give some account of its variations. And in 
doing this, shall endeavor to show, that they all take place 
in entire consistency with the permanent principles of its own 
nature ; in other words, that the uniformity is real and that 
the deviations are merely apparent. 
§. 266. Differences in the decisions of conscience dependent, in part, on 
differences of intellectual power. 
The diversities in the decisions of conscience will depend 
partly, in the first place, on differences of intellectual power. 
We may illustrate this view of the subject by a case of 
this kind. Two men are required to give an opinion on some 
question, which involves moral duty. The question, we will 
suppose to be, whether it would be right, in a supposed case, 
to attempt a revolution in the civil government. Of these 
two individuals one will pronounce it to be right, the other 
will pronounce it to be wrong. It is admitted, that we have THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 
313 
here a manifested or apparent deviation in the moral action. 
At the same time it is unquestionably the fact, that it is not 
owing to a difference of structure in their moral nature ; but 
rather to a difference in their perceptive and comparing 
powers. 
The one, who pronounces the attempt to be right, in con- 
sequence of his greater reach of thought, is able to foresee, 
after the first convulsive struggles, the subsidence of the an- 
gry passions into a state of permanent quiet, and the reor- 
ganization of the convulsed frame of society into greater 
strength and beauty. With these views he thinks it right 
to attempt to introduce a change into the government of the 
country. The other, whose intellectual vision is more limi- 
ted, unable to extend the perceptive eye into the future, sees 
only the evils of the present moment ; the discord and clam- 
or, the breaking up of old habits and associations, the agony, 
and the blood. With these views he thinks it would be 
wrong to attempt the change in question. The moral na- 
ture, in each instance, pronounces according to the light, 
which is placed before it ; and in each case does what it 
would naturally be expected to do. 
The want of uniformity in this case, so far from being an 
evidence as some seem to suppose, that there are no good 
grounds for the doctrine of a moral sense, is rather an evi- 
dence of the contrary. Although there is not an external 
or apparent uniformity, there is an uniformity in principle ; 
that is to say, the conscience in each case decides according 
to the facts before it, which is the only proper ground of de- 
cision. 
§. 267. Diversities in moral decisions dependent on differences in the 
amount of knowledge. 
Diversities in the decisions of conscience will depend, in 
the second place, on differences in the amount of knowledge, 
whether such differences in knowledge be owing to differen- 
ces of intellective power or to any other cause. In other 
words, the conscience may be led astray, so far as to decide 
otherwise than it would under other circumstances, either by 
a want of facts, or by false statements of facts, or by an in- 
correct combination of facts. This simple statement, if pro- 
perly applied, can hardly fail to explain numerous mistaken 314 
UNIFORMITY OF ACTION IN 
moral judgments, which have been adduced in opposition to 
the doctrine of conscience. When among other things it is 
said, that the conscience of the heathen decides, on many 
points of a moral and religious nature, differently from that 
of a Christian people, it must be recollected that, the latter, 
through the medium of the Scriptures, have a vast amount 
of moral and religious knowledge, which the heathen have 
not. 
The objector to the doctrine of an original moral nature 
alledges, for instance, in support of his views, that the inhab- 
itants of some countries, as is alledged to be the case in some 
parts of India, worship the sun ; and that they appear to be 
conscientious in it ; while the inhabitants of other countries, 
particularly those where the Christian religion prevails, con- 
demn such worship as morally wrong. But if the worship- 
pers of the sun, in the destitution of these sources of infor- 
mation which other nations possess, are fully convinced, that 
the orb of day is not only the source of light, as it obviously 
is, but the source of being also ; that it not only has in itself 
the principle of vivification, but is also the quickening and 
vivifying spirit to all things that exist, it is no evidence 
against the existence of a Moral Nature, that they stand, in 
the view of their own conscience, morally approved in the 
matter of the worship which they render. The result, so 
far as the action of the conscience is concerned, is what 
might reasonably be expected. The difficulty is not in the 
operations of the conscience; but in the antecedent opera- 
tions of the intellect, which, either from a want of facts or a 
false application of facts, have ascribed the attributes of Dei- 
ty to a mere mass of matter. If the people referred to 
possessed the same amount of knowledge in relation to mor- 
al and religious subjects, which Christian nations generally 
possess, the probability certainly is, that there would be no 
diversity in their moral judgments. It will be noticed, we 
do not say, that the worshippers of the sun are to be regard- 
ed as guiltless in the course which they take. What we as- 
sert here has reference merely to the matter under consider- 
ation ; and merely goes to show, that the conscience, in de- 
ciding in accordance with the facts before it, conforms to the 
principles of its own nature, and that the seat or ground of THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 
315 
the error, whatever the amount of that error may be, lays 
somewhere else, than in the action of the moral sensibilities. 
§. 26S. Of diversities in moral judgment in connection with difference 
in civil and political institutions. 
We may reasonably expect, in the third place, to find di- 
versities, and occasional oppositions of moral judgment, in 
connection with differences of civil and political institutions. 
This statement might be illustrated by numerous instan- 
ces from history. The objectors to a moral nature maintain, 
that theft or the unlawfully taking of the property of another 
is a crime; and that conscience, if it exists as a part of the 
mental constitution, will not fail to condemn it universally. 
And in connection with this, they bring forward the fact, 
that in some countries theft, instead of being condemned as 
it should be, prevails very much, and is scarcely regarded as 
a crime. They state, among other things that arc brought 
forward in support of their views, that theft was not only 
permitted, but approved and rewarded by the laws of Sparta. 
The fact, that we may reasonably expect to find diversi- 
ties of moral judgment in connection with differences of civil 
and political institutions, throws light upon the case last men- 
tioned. The Spartans, it is well known, were trained up 
by their political institutions to regard property as of little 
value ; their lands were equally divided ; they ate at public 
tables ; and the great end of all their civil regulations was 
to render the citizens athletic, active, patient, and brave. 
Every thing else was considered subordinate. The permis- 
sion, which was given to the Spartan lads to steal, was a 
part of the public regulations. It was a sort of tax, which 
the citizens voluntarily imposed upon themselves, in order 
to encourage vigilance, endurance, and address in the young- 
er part of the community ; and hence, when they were de- 
tected immediately after the theft, they were severely pun- 
ished for deficiency of skill. Accordingly the theft, which 
was permitted and approved by the Spartans, was a very 
different thing from what goes under that name with us. 
The mere act may have been the same, but there was no 
correspondence in the results and attendant circumstances, 
and in the degree of evil intention. Similar inquiries in 316 
UNIFORMITY OF ACTION IN 
other instances will go far in explaining many apparent devi- 
ations from the permanent distinctions between vice and 
virtue, and will reduce the number of cases of supposed want 
of uniformity in moral sentiments. 
§. 269. Additional illustration of the same view of the subject. 
Under this head we may properly notice, in particular, the 
statement made by travellers, that some Savage tribes are 
very much given to theft. Captain Cook informs us, that 
when he visited the Sandwich Islands in 1778, the inhabi- 
tants exhibited a thievish disposition, taking every thing 
which came within their reach. In explanation of this state- 
ment, it is to be remarked first, that the idea of theft involves 
the idea of property ; and that the right of property is more 
or less strict and absolute in different countries, and under 
different political systems. In consequence of the richness 
of their soil and the favorable nature of their climate, there 
is no question, that the right of property was held by the 
Sandwich Islanders to be less strict and exclusive, than it is 
found to be in less productive countries. The familiar dis- 
tinction of meum and tuum, of our own and another's, was not 
so clearly drawn, and so strenuously adhered to, as it gen- 
erally is in civilized nations ; and the probability is, that 
nearly all the various forms of property were held in common. 
As the right of property was in their estimation less strict, 
the violation of it was less criminal ; and they did not look 
upon the offender with that decided disaprobation, which 
in other places would attach to him, in taking the same arti- 
cles. They probably regarded him with nearly the same 
feelings, with which we regard a man, who, in passing through 
an orchard that belongs to us, takes a few apples ; or who 
occasionally draws water from our well. He takes our prop- 
erty, it is true ; but as the right of property in those cases is 
held, by common consent, to be a loose or mitigated one, we 
do not call it theft, nor regard it as criminal. 
And further, in looking at Captain Cook's account a little 
more minutely, we see evidence in the narration itself of the 
correctness of this view. "At first, (he says,) on entering 
the ship, they endeavored to steal every thing they came 
near, or rather to take it openly, as what we either should not resent, THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 
317 
or not hinder.'1' In another place he says, in explanation of 
their conduct, "they thought they had a right to every thing 
they could lay their hands on." We learn also, that, after 
they were made to understand the English notions of proper- 
ty and the penalty attached to a violation of it, they soon laid 
aside such conduct. It is obvious, if they had attached 
the same ideas to taking property, which we attach to steal- 
ing, they would not have taken it openly, as much so as if 
they supposed they either had a right to it, or that the 
owners would not resent or hinder their taking it. 
§. 270. This view of the subject further illustrated from cases 
of assassination. 
It would be easy to introduce other illustrations, which 
would seem properly to come under this head. For instance, 
there is no crime, in respect to the enormity of which the 
opinion of mankind is more decided and unanimous, than 
that of assassination. But the objector to the doctrine of an 
original moral sense assures us, that about two centuries 
ago, assassinations were frequent in Scotland ; and that they 
appeared to be committed without any symptoms of compunc- 
tion. A state of things, which is sometimes alledged to be 
inconsistent with an implanted and universal moral nature. 
As to the fact of the frequency of assassinations at that 
period, and of their being perpetrated with but little remorse, 
there can be no doubt. But before we can properly pro- 
nounce this state of things to be inconsistent with a moral 
nature, we ought to inquire into the civil and political condi- 
tion of the country. It appears from Dr. Robertson, that the 
power of the Scottish princes was at that time limited ; so 
much so that an attempt to punish the crimes of a chieftain, 
or even of his vassals, often excited rebellions and civil 
wars ; and that, as a general thing, the administration of 
justice was extremely feeble and dilatory. "Under a gov- 
ernment so feeble, (he adds,) men assumed, as in a state of 
nature, the right of judging and redressing their own 
wrongs." There seems to have been a practical abandon- 
ment of all just public authority ; and each man was in a 
great degree left, in the protection of his person and rights, 
to his own efforts. Under such circumstances might we not 318 
UNIFORMITY OF ACTION IN 
reasonably expect, that assassinations would be frequent ? 
Was not this state of things essentially a mere transfer of 
the right of Capital Punishment, which was then universal- 
ly supposed to exist, from the hands of the magistrate to the 
hands of individuals ? If the right of taking life was ac- 
knowledged to be possessed by magistrates, might not private 
individuals naturally be led to suppose, that the same right, 
in extreme cases, devolved upon them, when the magistrate 
failed to afford protection ? And furthermore, if this condi- 
tion of things, dreadful as it undoubtedly was, proves, that 
the Scotch people were by nature destitute of amoral sense, 
then, does it not follow, that they have no moral sense, no 
conscience now? 
§. 271. Reference to a cruel law of the Athenians. 
In connection with the view of the subject, which is now 
before us, we ask the attention of the reader to a single in- 
stance more. At one period of the history of Athens, it was 
decreed, that when the city was besieged, all the useless 
people should be put to death. " This, (says Montesquieu,) 
was an abominable political law, in consequence of an abominable 
law of nations. Among the Greeks the inhabitants of a town 
taken, lost their civil liberty, and were sold as slaves. The 
taking of a town implied its entire destruction ; which is the 
source not only of those obstinate defences, and of those un- 
natural actions, but likewise of those shocking laws which 
they sometimes enacted." 
§. 272. Of diversities and obliquities of moral judgment in connection 
with speculative opinions. 
Furthermore, we may reasonably expect, in the fourth 
place, that there will be diversities of moral judgment, based 
upon diversities in important speculative opinions in morals, 
politics, and religion, and in truth upon almost any subject. 
Some years since the speculative opinion seems to have 
been prevalent through nearly the whole of the civilized 
world, that the Negroes were an inferior race, located in the 
graduation of rank somewhere between the brute animals 
and man. This was the speculative belief. And what has 
been the consequence ? The fires of desolation have been THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES, 
319 
kindled upon the coast of Africa ; villages and towns have 
been destroyed ; a continual war has been kept up among 
the native tribes ; and probably forty millions of persons 
have been torn away from their native country, and consign- 
ed to perpetual slavery. 
While this erroneous speculative opinion held possession, 
to a considerable extent, of the minds of men, the authority 
of conscience was paralyzed ; her voice, if it was heard at 
all, was feeble, and scarcely excited notice. And why should 
it be otherwise ? If the Negroes are truly an inferior race 
to white men, darkened in intellect and imbruted in the af- 
fections, incapable of taking care of themselves and still 
more of any intellectual and social advancement, what harm 
is there in bringing them into vassalage, and making them 
grind, like the brute animals to which they are so nearly re- 
lated, in the prison-house of the more favored species ? The 
difficulty is not so much with the conscience as with the er- 
roneous opinion. 
We learn from the Memoirs of the Rev. John Newton 
of England, a man as much distinguished for his piety as 
for his intelligence and eloquence, that he was for some 
years personally engaged in the Slave Trade ; and that too, 
after he had professed, and to all appearance with great sin- 
cerity, to be guided by the principles of the Christian religion. 
Such were the prevalent notions in regard to the blacks, that 
the traffic does not appear to have occurred to him as being 
morally wrong. He expressly says. "During the time I 
was engaged in the Slave Trade, I never had the least scru- 
ple of its lawfulness." He pursued it without any of those 
compunctious visitings, which could not fail to have troubled 
him, if he had regarded them, as surely they ought to be re- 
garded, as children of the same common parent, and as par- 
ticipators, in the view of unprejudiced justice, in the same 
common inheritance of natural rights. But at the present 
time, owing to the meritorious exertions of such men as Clark- 
son and Wilberforce, and the general progress of just and 
liberal sentiments, the speculative opinion is in a great de- 
gree demolished ; the black man stands forth in the eye of 
philosophy and religion as our brother ; and he, who engages 
in this nefarious traffic, is branded as an outlaw and a pirate. 320 
UNIFORMITY OF ACTION IN 
§. 273. Further illustrations of the influence of wrong speculative 
opinions. 
The speculative opinion has formerly existed very exten- 
sively, and does still to some degree, that the civil authority 
has a right, in relation to its own subjects, to exact conform- 
ity in the matters of religion. And the result has been, that 
thousands and hundreds of thousands, at various times and 
in different countries, have been subjected to imprisonment, 
the torture, exile, and death. And those, who have been 
the leading agents in these horrible transactions, from an 
unconverted Saul of Tarsus down to the Lauds and Bonners 
of later times, have perpetrated them, in their own estima- 
tion, with washed hands and a pure heart. They have gone 
from the Oratory to the dungeon of the Inquisition ; they 
have, with unquestionable sincerity, looked up to heaven for 
a blessing, as they have applied to their mangled victims the 
screw and the wheel of torture ; they have arisen from the 
knee of supplication to kindle with a pious haste the fires of 
Smithfield, and to wield the exterminating sword of the St. 
Bartholomew. They have done all this, merely in conse- 
quence of entertaining a wrong speculative opinion, conscien- 
tiously. 
§. 274. Of the effect of wrong speculative opinions among heathen tribes. 
And if such are the effects of wrong speculative opinions 
in civilized and Christian lands, what can we reasonably ex- 
pect will be the result of erroneous opinions in lands which 
are neither Christian nor civilized ! " If they do these 
things in a green tree, what shall be done in the dry ?" 
It is a truth of universal application, that a wrong intellect 
will make a wrong conscience, because it is the nature, (and, 
although it sometimes suffers under the application of its own 
principles, yet on the whole it is the excellence and glory of 
its nature) that it acts in conformity with the intellectual 
perception. 
It is said that Indian mothers on the banks of the Ganges 
sometimes throw their children into the sacred stream. Is 
this a proof, that they are by nature destitute of the natural 
affections ? Certainly not. Nor is it a proof, that they are 
naturally destitute of a conscience. The whole is probably 
the result of a wrong speculative opinion, viz. that the gods THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 
321 
whom they worship are in some cases propitiated by these 
precious sacrifices, and require them to be made. Under 
these circumstances, they hush, with a fortitude worthy of 
a better cause, the clamors of parental affection ; and in the 
belief, that the will of their gods is paramount to every other 
claim, they consummate the act of unparalleled cruelty with 
scarce a whisper of internal condemnation. 
It is on the ground also of a false speculative opinion of a 
similar kind, that we are probably to account for the system 
of self-torture, such as falling on spikes of iron, dancing with 
bamboos thrust through the sides, and swinging on hooks, 
which is to this day so prevalent in some Eastern nations. 
Conscience naturally condemns any uncalled for injury to 
our persons, and alt infliction of unnecessary suffering; but 
when it is a part of men's settled speculative belief, that the 
will of the gods imposes such suffering and exacts such inju- 
ry, conscience, acting in conformity with the principles of its 
own nature necessarily approves. 
§. 275. Influence of early associations on moral judgments 
Our moral judgments, in the fifth place, are sometimes 
perplexed and led in a direction different from what they 
would otherwise be, by means of early associations. The 
principle of association does not operate upon the moral ca- 
pacity directly ; it operates indirectly with considerable in- 
fluence. When a particular action is to he judged of, it calls 
up in the mind of different individuals, different and distinct 
series of accessory circumstances. It has the effect to place 
the thing, intellectually considered, in a different position. 
This difference in the tendencies of the associating principle 
can hardly fail to have considerable effect in modifying the 
sentiment of approbation or disapprobation, resulting from 
the consideration of any particular action. 
Accordingly when vices are committed by near friends, by 
a brother, or a parent, although they fill us with the deepest 
grief, it is frequently the case, that they do not excite within 
us such abhorrence of the actual guilt, as we should be like- 
ly to feel in other cases. Our prepossessions in favor of the 
persons, who have committed the crime, suggest a thousand 
circumstances, which seem to us to alleviate its aggravation. 322 
UNIFORMITY OF ACTION IN 
We frame for them a multitude of plausible excuses, which 
we should not have thought of doing, had it not been for the 
endearments and intercourse of our previous connection. 
Savage life also gives us an illustration of the views now ex- 
pressed. Owing to the peculiar situation of those in that 
state and the consequent early associations, a factitious and 
exaggerated importance is attached to mere courage ; and 
gentleness, equanimity, and benevolence, are, as virtues, 
proportionally depressed. 
§. 276. Illustration of the principle of the preceding section. 
In the late expedition to the Rocky Mountains, underta- 
ken by order of the Government of the United States, vari- 
ous interesting facts were ascertained concerning the Savage 
tribes, through which the party passed. Among other 
things it was ascertained, that the Omawhaws,* a tribe of 
some note, dwelling a little distance from the river Missouri, 
are wanting in respectful regard to their old people, and that 
they look upon them as useless burdens to the community. 
When the aged go out on a hunting party, or on warlike ex- 
peditions against an enemy, they are sometimes left under a 
hastily erected shelter ; and are thus permitted to perish 
after consuming the scanty stock of provisions, with which 
they are furnished. 
Here, in all probability, we see the influence of early as- 
sociations. The Omawhaws are taught, even from the cra- 
dle, to attach their chief honor to active bravery, to feats in 
battle, and to achievements in hunting. And they transfer, 
(as a Savage would be likely to do,) the unquestionable dis- 
credit of moral and physical debility in the earlier periods of 
life, to the period of old age. They carry these views so 
far, that when through want of provisions some of the tribe 
or of the party must die, the lot inevitably falls on the aged 
instead of the young. But we hold, that this fact does not 
necessarily prove these savages destitute of natural con- 
science. It does not appear, that they expose their old men 
to death in this way before the exhaustion of their provisions. 
And the probability is, that when in that exigency they leave 
them to perish, they do it with feelings of regret and with 
* Long's Expedition to the Rocky Mountains, Vol. I, chs. x, xi. THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 
323 
the consent and choice of the aged sufferers themselves. On 
the supposition that such are the circumstances, under which 
their old men are exposed, the most that can justly be said, 
is, that the feelings of nature, already weakened by the in- 
fluence of unfortunate associations, are made to bow to the 
exigencies of their situation. It may appear, that they have 
a wrong or perverted conscience, (that is to say, a conscience 
led astray by their early habits and associations,) in permit- 
ting the sacrifice of the aged, in preference to that of the 
young ; but it by no means follows that they have no con- 
science at all. Especially as they are described as being 
hospitable, so far as they have any thing to give ; courteous 
and respectful in their general intercourse ; affectionate in 
their families ; and not wanting in justice, in the ordinary 
distribution and management of what little they possess. 
Let those, who, in civilized lands and under equal gov- 
ernments, are comparitively free from suffering, remember, 
before they pronounce unfavorably and harshly upon the 
moral obliquities of others, the intense and uncounted evils, 
which they sometimes endure. The heart, that thrilled with 
sensibility and was alive to every moral impulse, may be left, 
in the intensity of bitter experience and of agonized recollec- 
tions, to the perpetration of deeds of unspeakable horror. A 
missionary, dwelling among the Natives of South America, 
once reproached a woman, with the fearfid crime of having 
put her own infant daughters to death. She replied to the 
missionary in words of the following purport. 
" Father, if you will allow me, I shall tell you what passes 
in my mind. Would to God that my mother, when she 
brought me forth, had shown as much regard and compassion ' 
for me, as to have spared me the pain I have hitherto suffer- 
ed, and must continue to suffer until the end of my days. 
Had she buried me when I was born, I should not have felt 
death, and she would have preserved me from all I am indis- 
pensably subjected to, as well as from labors more cruel than 
death is terrifying. Alas ! who knows the troubles awaiting 
me before it arrives ? Can a mother do any thing more pro- 
fitable to her daughter, than save her from multiplied disas- 
ters, and a slavery worse than death ? Would to God, fath- 
er, I repeat, would to God that she who gave me life had tes- 324 
UNIFORMITY OF ACTION IN 
tified her affection by depriving me of it, at my birth : my 
heart would have had less to endure, and my eyes less to 
weep."* 
§. 277. Of diversities of moral judgment in connection with an exci- 
ted state of the passions. 
Furthermore, there may be diversities of moral judgment, 
in other words the moral nature may occasionally be per- 
plexed and led astray in its action, under the influence of a 
state of excited passion. The action of all the parts of the 
mind is a conditional one ; that is to say, it takes place only 
under certain assignable circumstances. It is, for instance, 
one condition of moral action, as we have repeatedly had oc- 
casion to notice, that there must be an antecedent percep- 
tion of the thing, whatever it is, upon which the moral judg- 
ment is to be passed. This condition of moral action is vio- 
lated in the case under consideration, as well as in others. 
In a time of great excitement of passion the moral emotion, 
which would have existed under other circumstances, has 
failed to arise, because the soul is intensely and wholly ta- 
ken up with another species of feeling. The perceptive and 
comparing part of the mind is not in a situation to take a 
right view of the subject, whatever it is. But after the pres- 
ent passion has subsided, so as to give the person an oppor- 
tunity to inquire and reflect, the power of moral judgment 
returns. And at once the individual, who has been the sub- 
ject of such violence of feeling, looks with horror on the 
deeds which he has committed. So that the original suscep- 
tibility, the existence of which has been contended for, 
cannot justly be said to be extinct in such cases ; although 
its due exercise, as is sufficiently obvious, is prevented by the 
accidental circumstance of inordinate passion. 
Further : those, who imagine, that there are no perma- 
nent moral distinctions, because they are not regarded in mo- 
ments of extreme passion, would do well to consider, that at 
such times persons are unable rightly to apprehend any 
truths whatever, whether they relate to morals or any thing 
else. A murderer, when drawing the blade from the bosom 
of his victim, probably could not tell the quotient of sixteen 
divided by four, or any other simple result in numbers ; but 
* Historical Illustrations of the Passions, (Anonymous, Vol. I, p. 162. THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES, 
325 
certainly his inability to perceive them under such circum- 
stances does not annul numerical powersand distinctions, nor 
prove the absolute want of a power to perceive them. Why 
then should the same inability take away moral distinctions, 
or prove the absolute absence of a moral susceptibility ? 
§. 278. Of the action of the conscience in connection with strong 
temptation. 
We may add to the considerations, which have now been 
brought forward, that there may be expected to be some di- 
versities in the decisions of the moral sensibility, occasioned 
by diversities in the degree of temptation, which happens to 
bear upon it. The moral sensibility or conscience, as it de- 
velopes itself in the feelings of moral obligation, is in imme- 
diate contact with the will, and furnishes a powerful motive 
to action. But the power of these feelings, considered as 
motives to action, is of course limited ; it has its boundaries ; 
it cannot overcome every thing. Of course if our desires, 
which are the antagonist principle of action, are very strong, 
there is a possibility at least of the sentiments of duty being 
overcome. And in point of fact this is sometimes the case. 
But how does it happen, that the feelings of obligation or 
sentiments of duty, which so frequently predominate, have 
less power in these particular cases, than the desires? It is 
because the intellect, under the instigation of the desires, 
gives a distorted view of things, representing our own claims 
in the most favorable light, and darkening and depressing 
the claims of others. The conscience labors under the dis- 
advantage of having before itself an erroneous view of the 
facts ; which have the two-fold effect of reacting upon and 
increasing the intensity of the desires, and at the same time 
of blunting the edge of moral perception. Hence another 
class of what are called violations of conscience ; that is to 
say, of apparent want of uniformity in its decisions. 
Under this head we may properly introduce a statement 
from the travels of Mungo Park. He is speaking of a tribe 
of Africans, called the Mandingoes. After saying, that they 
discovered an insurmountable propensity to steal the few ar- 
ticles of property which he possessed, he goes on to remark 
as follows. " For this part of their conduct no complete 326 
UNIFORMITY OF ACTION IN 
justlfication can be offered, because theft is a crime in their 
own estimation ; and it must be observed, that they are not 
habitually and generally guilty of it towards each other. 
This, however, is an important circumstance in mitigation ; 
and before we pronounce them a more depraved people than 
any other, it were well to consider, whether the lower order 
of people in any part of Europe would have acted, under 
similar circumstances, with greater honesty towards a stran- 
ger, than the Negroes acted towards me. It must not be 
forgotten, that the laws of the country afforded me no protec- 
tion ; that every one was at liberty to rob me with impunity; 
and finally, that some part of my effects were of as great 
value in the estimation of the Negroes, as pearls and dia- 
monds would have been in the eyes of a European. Let us 
suppose, a black merchant of Hindostan to have found his 
way into the centre of England with a box of jewels at his 
back, and that the laws of the kingdom afforded him no secu- 
rity ; in such a case the wonder would be, not that the stran- 
ger was robbed of any part of his riches, but that any part 
was left for a second depredator. Such, on sober reflection, 
is the judgment I have formed, concerning the pilfering dis- 
position of the Mandingo Negroes towards myself. Notwith- 
standing I was so great a sufferer by it, I do not consider 
that their natural sense of justice was perverted or extinguish- 
ed ; it was overpowered only, for the moment, by the 
strength of a temptation which it required no common virtue 
to resist. 
On the other hand, as some counterbalance to this depra- 
vity in their nature, allowing it to be such, it is impossible 
for me to forget the disinterested charity, and tender solici- 
tude, with which many of these poor heathens, from the sov- 
ereign of Sego, to the poor women who received me at differ- 
ent times in their cottages, when I was perishing with hun- 
ger, sympathized with me in my sufferings, relieved my dis- 
tresses, and contributed to my safety."* 
§. 279. Of the existence of a moral nature in connection with public 
robbers and outlaws from society. 
In concluding this subject, there are one or two topics re- 
* Park's Travels in Africa, p. 297. THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 
327 
maining, which may be worthy of a brief notice. Those, 
who object to the doctrine of a moral sense, will be likely to 
appeal in support of their own view of the subject, to the con- 
duct of robbers and outlaws from society. In regard to these 
persons, we are to consider, in the first place, that they are 
few in number, compared with the whole number of mankind. 
And the fact, that a few persons appear to be destitute of a 
conscience, ought not to be admitted in positive disproof of a 
doctrine, which is supported by the evidence presented in so 
great a majority of cases. Furthermore, before the cases of 
those persons referred to can be entitled to much weight in 
the present discussion, it might be important to know, under 
what circumstances they seceded from society, and became 
the enemies of their species. Is it not possible, that some, 
perhaps many of these individuals were driven into their 
present evil course by cruel disappointment and poverty, 
combined with contempt, injustice, and oppression on the part 
of their fellow men ? It is certainly supposable under cir- 
cumstances so trying, that misanthropy, deeply rooted and 
terrible, may spring up in hearts, that in better days were 
distinguished from others only by a higher degree of sensi- 
bility and honor. 
It is somewhere related, that a few years since an Eng- 
lishman was impressed on board a ship of war. He left be- 
hind him a wife and a number of children. The woman 
sometime afterwards was found guilty of stealing a piece of 
cloth, and was executed. At her trial and execution, she 
confessed the crime, and simply mentioned in extenuation of 
her guilt, that the deed was committed under the influence 
of temptation originating from the extreme want and suffer- 
ing of herself and her children, consequent on the cruel and 
constrained absence of her husband. It is easy to imagine 
the terrible feelings, which must have convulsed the bosom 
of the husband on his return? With the bitter recollection 
constantly present to his thoughts, that he had himself been 
torn away from his family by the unfeeling hand of arbitrary 
power, and that his wife was ignominiously put to death by 
the same power, for a crime of which unquestionably his own 
forced absence was the occasion, it would not be greatly sur- 
prizing, if he became from that moment the enemy of his 328 
UNIFORMITY OF ACTION IN 
country and his species, and lived only for revenge. But as 
we see him afterwards a pirate and a robber, burning with 
hatred and clothed with blood, we are not at liberty to say 
absolutely, that he has no conscience. The truth is, that 
such overwhelming feelings of grief, hatred, and revenge 
have seized the mind, that the conscience, if we may so ex- 
press it, is smothered beneath them. In the fever and mad- 
ness of the brain, in the convulsions and clamors around and 
above and beneath it, its still small voice has ceased to be 
heard. Things of this nature are obviously to be taken 
into consideration in forming a just estimate of all cases of 
this kind. 
§. 280. Illustration of the fact that there are the remains of conscientious 
feeling even in the most depraved of men. 
But there is another view, which is worthy of notice in 
connection with this subject ; viz. that among the most de- 
praved and hardened of mankind, among thieves and robbers, 
we sometimes discover a kindness to one another, and a 
strict regard to their word as it has been pledged among 
themselves, and in some cases to others not of their own par- 
ty, which shows the remains of a moral nature. Some 
years since the island of Sicily in the Mediterranean sea was 
infested with Banditti. Mr. Brydone gives his readers to un- 
derstand, in his well known Tour into that country, that he 
took some pains to inquire into the character of these rob- 
bers. A certain individual, in whom he seems to have had 
confidence, gave him the following account of them. 
" He says, that in some circumstances these banditti are 
the most respectable people of the island ; and have by much 
the highest and most romantic notions of what they call 
their point of honor. That, however criminal they may be 
with regard to society in general, yet with respect to one 
another, and to every person to whom they have once pro- 
fessed it, they have ever maintained the most unshaken fidel- 
ity. The magistrates have often been obliged to protect 
them, and even pay them court, as they are know'll to be 
perfectly determined and desperate ; and so extremely vin- 
dictive, that they will certainly put any person to death, 
who has ever given them just cause of provocation. On the 
other hand, it never was known that any person, who had THE .MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 
329 
put himself under their protection, and showed that he had 
confidence in them, had cause to repent of it,-or was injured 
by any of them in the most minute trifle ; but on the contra- 
ry, they will protect him from impositions of every kind, and 
scorn to go halves with the landlord, like most other conduc- 
tors and travelling servants ; and will defend him with their 
lives, if there is occasion. That those of their number, who 
have thus enlisted themselves in the service of society, are 
known and respected by the other banditti all over the 
island ; and the persons of those they accompany are ever 
held sacred. For these reasons, most travellers choose to 
hire a couple of them from town to town ; and may thus trav- 
el over the whole island in safety." 
Mr. Brydone himself further adds in a subsequent pas- 
sage. " I should have mentioned, that they have a practice 
of borrowing money from the country people, who never dare 
refuse them ; and if they promise to pay it, they have ever 
been found punctual and exact, both as to the time and the 
sum ; and would much rather rob and murder an innocent 
person, than fail of payment at the day appointed ; and this 
they have often been obliged to do, only in order, (as they 
say,) to fulfil their engagements, and to save their honor." 
§. 281. Of errors in the statements of travellers. 
The views, which have been presented in this Chapter, 
obviously explain, so far at least as to make them consistent 
with the doctrine of a natural conscien.ce, many of those ca- 
ses of wrong and cruelty in the conduct of Savage tribes, 
which have attracted so much of the notice of travellers. It 
is proper, however, in order to have a fair view of the sub- 
ject, to make one remark more, viz. that the statements, 
which travellers have given of the immoralities, irreligion, 
and cruelties of such tribes, are in some cases either mis- 
takes of the facts or exaggerations of the facts. Mr. Stew- 
art distinctly asserts, that this is the case to a considerable 
extent ; without supposing, however, that, as a general thing, 
such mistakes or exaggerations are intentional. In this 
view Sir James Mackintosh seems to concur. Speaking of 
the universality of those great social and moral principles, 
which are the guardians of human society, he remarks ; 330 
UNIFORMITY OF ACTION IN 
"the exceptions, few as they are, will, on more reflection, be 
found rather apparent than real. If we could raise ourselves to 
that height from which we ought to survey so vast a subject, 
these exceptions would altogether vanish ; the brutality of a 
handful of Savages would disappear in the immense prospect 
of human nature, and the murmurs of a few licentious soph- 
ists would not ascend to break the general harmony."* 
Certainly the probability is, that a full and just statement 
of the moral condition of Savage tribes, containing not only 
an exact specification of the facts, but a philosophical analy- 
sis of them considered in reference to the peculiarities of 
their situation has never been given to the world. In some 
instances travellers have been so much influenced by first 
impressions, as to give an intensity and vividness of coloring 
to their statements, which is far from being warranted by 
subsequent inquiry. In other instances, they have been too 
hasty in their inductions, and have ascribed a trait of immo- 
rality or cruelty to a tribe or nation, which in strictness 
should have been limited to individuals ; and perhaps it may 
be said, have not, as a general thing, exhibited that degree 
of philosophical perception and analysis, which is requisite 
to an accurate and just understanding of this subject. 
§. 282. Instances in proof of the preceding views. 
In some of the early accounts of the Savage tribes of 
North America, (those of Winslow, Hearne, and Colden, for 
instance,) it was confidently asserted, that those tribes were 
destitute of any religion whatever. This was unquestiona- 
bly a mistake. Winslow afterwards corrected it in his Work 
entitled, Good News from New England. " Whereas, (he 
says,) myself and others in former letters wrote, that the In- 
dians about us are a people without any religion, or knowl- 
edge of any God, therein I erred, though we could then gath- 
er no better. " f 
Niebuhr, a traveller of deserved celebrity and weight, in 
speaking of the Arabians, makes the following statement, 
which may be considered as confirmatory of the suggestion, 
that the narrations of travellers are, in some respects at 
least, to be received with some degree of caution. 
* Discourse on the Law of Nature and of Nations, 2d. ed. p. 86. 
f See Francis' Life of Eliot, p. 33. THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 
331 
" Several travellers accuse them of being cheats, thieves, 
and hypocrites. An arbitrary government, which impover- 
ishes its subjects by extortion, can have no favorable influ- 
ence indeed upon the probity of the nation ; yet, I can say, 
from my own experience, that the accusations laid against 
them have been exaggerated above the facts. The Arabs 
themselves allow that their countrymen are not all honest 
men. I have heard them praise the fidelity with which the 
Europeans fulfil their promises, and express high indignation 
against the knavery of their own nation, as a disgrace to the 
Musulman name."* 
A single other instance will tend to illustrate and confirm 
what has been said on this subject. It has been narrated by 
travellers, as a prevalent custom among the uncivilized 
tribes of Africa, that those mothers, who bear twins, imme- 
diately put one of them to death. On this subject, Vaillant 
speaks of himself as having made particular inquiries. The 
result of his inquiries was, that some of the tribes, the Gona- 
quas for instance, are exempt from this reproach. In other 
tribes he admits, that the crime exists ; but asserts, it is very 
rare. He represents the people as revolting at the very idea 
of it. And in those few cases in which it actually exists, he 
expressly adds. " It has its source, however incredible it 
may seem, in the tenderest love. It is a dread of not being 
able to nourish two children, or of seeing them both perish, 
that has induced some mothers to sacrifice one of them." 
And he subsequently makes the further remark. "It would, 
therefore, be a great calumny against these people, to give as 
a constant practice a few barbarous actions, which they con- 
demn, and which they belie so well by their conduct." 
* Niebuhr's Travels through Arabia and other Countries in the East, 
Sect, xxix, Chap. 4. Vaillant's Travels in Africa, p. 296. CHAPTER FOURTH. 
IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS. 
§. 283. Remarks on the reality of right and wrong, and on the standard 
of rectitude, which is involved in their existence. 
If on some occasion we are asked, why we approve of 
some actions and disapprove of others, the answer, which 
we are very likely to give, is, because the action which is 
approved is right, and the action which is disapproved is 
wrong. If we are asked again, why we feel under moral 
obligation to do some things and to avoid the doing of others, 
the answer of the same purport will probably be, because the 
performance in the one case would be right, while the per- 
formance in the other would be wrong This language, if 
it be properly employed, evidently involves, that there is 
such a thing as right, and such a thing as wrong. And the 
existence of right and wrong further involves, that there is a 
great standard of Rectitude, by a reference to which the 
morality of every action is to be measured. This idea we 
hold to be, in the highest sense, an important one. 
If there is such a thing as right and wrong, and if there is 
such a thing, as we shall endeavor in this chapter to show, 
as an imrrtutable distinction between them, it is impossible, 
that the character of human actions, so far as they are done 
deliberately and voluntarily, should be indifferent. There 
is a great law, a great rule and measurement of justice held 
over them, expansive as creation, and lasting as eternity. 
§• 284. Of the origin of the ideas or abstract conceptions of right and 
wrong. 
Of the origin of the ideas of right and wrong, we have 
formerly had occasion to speak. (Vol. I, §. 191.) Of course it IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS. 
333 
will be the less necessary to delay upon that subject here. 
It maybe proper, however, to remind the reader, that the 
terms right and wrong, (which some perhaps might regard 
as a reason for distrusting the reality and permanency of 
rectitude,) do not express anything which is perceptible by 
the senses. Whatever Right or Rectitude may be, in itself 
considered, it is obviously not an object of the mere outward 
perceptivity ; we cannot see it nor touch it ; we cannot de- 
fine its shape, nor designate its locality. Nevertheless it is 
not a matter in any sense remote or doubtful ; but is brought 
home and fully made known to us, in a manner less liable to 
uncertainty and scepticism, viz*, by means of the action of 
the Internal or Pure Intellect ; that is to say, the Intellect, 
operating in virtue of its own nature, and independently of 
the instrumentality of the senses. It is in this way that we 
know it, although not under a material shape. Like the De- 
ity himself, it is ever present, but ever invisible ; silent but 
always operative ; enthroned in the centre of the universe, 
but pervading its utmost limits ; and estimating by the stand- 
ard of its own perfect and unalterable purity all moral actions. 
It is the business of the moral sensibility or conscience, 
by means of the moral Emotions and the feelings of Moral 
It is the business of the moral sensibility or conscience, 
by means of the moral Emotions and the feelings of Moral 
Obligation to bring us into conformity to this standard, and 
to indicate all deviations from it. The standard of right, as 
we have just had occasion to intimate, is revealed in the In- 
tellect ; and not in the Intellect, acting on the doubtful infor- 
mation of the senses, but by its own inherent and unerring 
promptings. The power, the object of which is to securea 
conformity to this standard, exists in the Sensibilities. Ac- 
cordingly it may be added, although men may go astray, and 
in point of fact this is too often the case, notwithstanding the 
admonitions of the Conscience, yet Rectitude itself remains 
unchanged. It is not a mere outside, a mere superficies, 
without any substantiality. Nor is it a mere image, of which 
it can be said in the spirit of cavilling and scepticism, that it 
is inscribed over with characters of doubt and uncertainty. 
In its developement in the inward vision, it not only reveals 
itself with a stamp and likeness of its own, which cannot 
possibly be mistaken for any thing else ; but it is also true, 
which is both philosophically and practically of great impor- 334 
IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS. 
tance, that it stands in its own nature immutably and eter- 
nally based, not, as some seem to suppose, in the fickle foun- 
dations of personal interest and of mere positive enactment, 
but in the unalterableness of the constitution of things. 
This, at least, is essentially the view, which we feel ourselves 
obliged to take of it ; and which we now propose to support 
by the following considerations. 
§. 285. The immutability of moral distinctions supported by the views, 
which men take of things in their nature or essence. 
The doctrine of the permanent nature of Rectitude 
and of the immutability of moral distinctions seems to find 
support, in the first place, from the views, which men are 
generally found to take of things in their nature or essence. 
Every thing, which exists, necessarily has a nature ; not 
merely in the general sense of that term, but a specific na- 
ture of its own. " Every thing," (says bishop Butler,) " is 
what it is, and not another thing." In other words, there is 
something, (although perhaps that something is wholly un- 
explainable,) which renders the thing, that exists, what it is 
in distinction from every thing else ; some element, some 
distinctive quality, some primordial characteristic, something, 
(we do not profess nor consider it necessary to be exact in 
the expression of it,) which is truly and absolutely essential 
both to its existence and the mode of its existence ; and 
without which it would not be what it is. And this is 
equally true, whether the thing in question be made known 
to us as something material or immaterial ; whether it is ob- 
jective or subjective, an object which the mind contemplates 
exterior to itself or an internal and purely mental modifica- 
tion ; whether it be regarded as an independent entity, an at- 
tribute, or a mere relation. This seems to be self-evident 
and undeniable ; because, if the thing, which exists, has not 
a specific or distinctive nature, then it is not a distinct exist- 
ence, but is identical with something else. And this is so 
clear that we need not hesitate to assert, although God, to 
the full extent of his omnipotence, can create things even 
out of nothing, and can modify them with every possibility 
of modification. He cannot do either, without giving them a 
nature; without imparting some distinctive element. These IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS. 
335 
simple and common-sense views we may apply to everything 
which exists or is conceived to exist, to the whole universe of 
mind and of matter, of thought and of objects of thought. 
§. 286. Illustrations of the views of the preceding section. 
(1.) Beginning- with those things which are addressed to 
the senses, we may remark in illustration of what has been 
said, that every kind of color has something in it by which it 
is distinguished from every other color which is truly di- 
verse from it. Every variety of the sensations of taste also,, 
such as sweet, bitter, acrid, sour, has its specific nature^ 
(whether we consider the sensation merely or include the out- 
ward cause that produces it,) which stamps and character- 
izes it as such a sensation, and not another one. All the va- 
rieties of sound, numerous as they are, have each their pe- 
culiarity, their distinctive trait or quality, and which cannot 
fail really and forever to separate them from all other varie- 
ties of sound. In no one of these cases can one sensation or 
perception be another ; each stands by itself in its own na- 
ture and essence, and it is not possible even to conceive of 
them as interchangeable.-(2) If we turn our attention to 
those objects of thought which are internal, and which are 
not so closely connected with and dependent on outward 
causes, as those things just mentioned, we shall find it to be 
the same. We are able, by means of that power of Original 
Suggestion, which constitutes one of the effective elements; 
and characteristics of our mental structure, to frame the ab- 
stract notions of existence, unity, identity, succession, num- 
ber, power, time, space, and the like. And all these have 
respectively a nature, appropriate and peculiar to them- 
selves. Although we are unable to give a verbal definition 
of Unity or of Time, yet every one knows what is meant by 
these terms ; every one has a knowledge for himself, suffi- 
ciently clear and satisfactory for all the common purposes of 
reasoning and practice. But while, in themselves consider- 
ed, they lie clear and distinct in our perceptions, we also per- 
ceive with the entire clearness of intuition, that they are not 
the same ; that each has its appropriate sphere; that they 
stand truly and forever apart from each other. The same 
may be said of Space and Power. Both of these are made 336 
IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS. 
known to us by the original, the suggestive power of the 
mind alone ; and as the mind is the source, so it is the meas- 
use of the knowledge which we have of what we thus term. 
And we may confidently assert, that the mind pronounces 
them not only wholly distinct, but wholly unlike. And it is 
utterly impossible for the human mind, (as we doubt not ev- 
ery one will find on fully making the experiment,) to conceive 
of Power becoming Space, or of Space becoming Power, as 
much so as to conceive of the actual identity of unity and 
time, or of the identity of mere existence and succession. 
And it is the same with every other simple notion, which we 
form, whether of external or of internal origin ; that is to say, 
whether wrought in the mind by the presence of some exter- 
nal object, or flowing from its own fulness. Whatever we 
perceive or feel to exist, which is elementary and simple, we 
never can perceive or feel to exist otherwise than it is ; and 
perceiving it to be just what it is and nothing else, we cannot 
possibly perceive it to be something different.-(3) We might 
carry these illustrations into the Sensitive part of our nature. 
As an example, every man is capable of putting forth, or what 
is perhaps a more proper expression of the fact, of experiencing 
the emotions of pleasure or pain; and although it is admit- 
ted we cannot give an available definition of these emotions, 
still every one knows what they are. And if there is any 
elementary proposition whatever, which is so simple as to 
be beyond all doubt and to possess a truly intuitive character, 
it is, that our experience of pleasure is not the experience of 
pain, and on the contrary, our experience of pain is not the 
experience of pleasure. And furthermore, the abstract no- 
tions, which we are obviously able to form of the emotions 
of pleasure and pain, and which, in point of fact, we always 
do form, whenever we make them the subject of abstract 
inquiry and philosophical analysis, are entirely distinct from 
each other, as well as the emotions themselves. But in re- 
spect to the emotions in particular, the pleasure and pain ac- 
tually experienced, the difference, which by nature exists 
between them, is perhaps more fully and promptly recogniz- 
ed. Without the least hesitation we may appeal to the tes- 
timony of any man's consciousness, whether it is not utterly 
impossible for him even to conceive, (we do not say of the IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS. 
337 
mere substitution of pleasure and pain for each other, which 
is a wholly different thing,) of pleasure, in itself considered 
and in its own nature, as actually being pain, or of pain, 
while it exists as pain, as actually being pleasure. In them- 
selves considered and in their own nature, they are utterly, 
fundamentally, and entirely distinct ; so much so that the 
human mind itself cannot mingle and confound them with- 
out confounding and subverting its own nature as a percipi- 
ent. Even the Supreme Being, although he may cause and 
prolong and diminish them in particular cases, cannot make 
them identical. While they exist, there is necessarily some- 
thing, which constitutes and authenticates their existence ; 
and this constitution or nature of the thing can never be any 
otherwise than what it is. 
§. 287. Application of the foregoing views to the doctrine of the immu- 
tability of moral distinctions. 
The views, which have been given and which are obvi- 
ously fundamental, apply to the abstract conceptions of right 
and wrong, as well as to any other thoughts, emotions, or 
objects of thought, which have been referred to. As to the 
fact that men universally form the notions of right and 
wrong, there can be no question. These ideas take their 
place as clearly and distinctly in the series of our intellectual 
conceptions, as the notions of existence, personality, duration, 
space, and the like. A person, who should be known to be 
incapable of forming them, would be considered an anomaly ; 
a creature altogether out of the line of the ordinary prece- 
dents of human nature. And if we are able to frame these 
notions, as we obviously are, then each of them has its dis- 
tinctive nature ; and if there is any fouudation for the re- 
marks and illustrations already given, as we cannot doubt 
there is, we cannot possibly conceive of them as identical, or 
interchangeable with each other. They are as truly unlike 
as our conceptions of unity and time, or of space and power. 
We can no more conceive of their being identical, than we 
can conceive of the identity of black and white, of bitter and 
sweet, of pleasure and pain, of love and hatred, of a square 
and a circle, of a triangle and a hexagon, or of any other 
things in nature, which are entirely diverse from each other. 338 
IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS. 
They are placed forever apart; they respectively occupy 
their own sphere, and stand upon their own basis ; they do 
indeed sustain a sort of relation to each other, and perhaps 
it may be said, that we cannot have a conception of either of 
them without at the same time having- some conception of 
this relation ; but this relation itself not only involves their 
entire diversity, but places them at the greatest possible re- 
move, and stamps them as the direct opposites and antipodes 
of each other. 
Hobbes maintained, and in this he seems to have follow- 
ed in the track of some ancient philosophers, that our ideas 
of right and wrong are not representative of something per- 
manently existing in the nature of things, but are relative to 
the enactments and operations of human laws and systems 
of government. In other words he maintained, that nothing 
is either right or wrong in its own nature, but is made eith- 
er the one or the other by the laws of the land : what they 
pronounce to be right, is right, and what they pronounce to 
be wrong, is wrong, without regard to any thing else. This 
is a great fallacy. It is true, that the laws of the land can 
make our conduct, considered in relation to those laws, very 
different from what it was before their enactment ; but this 
is not because they can by a direct operation change virtue 
into vice or vice into virtue, but simply because they change 
the circumstances and relations, under which that conduct 
exists. It is just as inconceivable, that a mere human law 
can make an action either virtuous or vicious, while the cir- 
cumstances under which it is performed remain the same, as 
that such a law can make black white, pleasure pain, truth 
falsehood, space time, a square a circle, or make any thing 
e\se identical, which is at the same moment and in its very na- 
ture diverse. We stand here upon strong ground, because 
we go to the bottom ; there is no mistake : the human mind 
must be demolished and undergo a rebuilding and reconstruc- 
tion, before it can verify any other result. Such at least it 
seems to ourselves ; but we willingly leave others to judge, 
while we proceed to other considerations. 
§. 288. The immutability of moral distinctions shown, secondly, from 
the terms and the structure of languages. 
(11.) The unchangeableness of rectitude and the immuta- IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS. 
339 
bility of moral distinctions is shown, in the second place, from 
the terms and the structure of all languages. So far as 
we have been able to notice, those writers, who object to the 
doctrine under consideration, do for the most part resolve 
rectitude into some form of good and happiness on the one 
hand, or into some form of enactment and law on the other. 
This is the predominant direction and train of thought among 
them. But do the terms and the structure of the different 
languages, which are spoken by men, sustain this course ? 
Certainly not. We are not ignorant that Horne Tooke in his 
Diversions of Parley has endeavored to show by etymologi- 
cal considerations, that the English word right is, in its origi- 
nal import, synonymous with the words commanded or ordered. 
But the question is, not what is the derivation of the English 
word right, nor what wrns the specific import of its root ; but 
what is its precise meaning at the present time ? There cer- 
tainly can be no great obscurity or misapprehension in regard 
to it ; it is a word used by writers of no doubtful powers of 
discernment; it is often enough found in those great masters 
of pure English, Fox and Burke, Junius and Chatham. 
But while we assert that it is not obscure, we do not hes- 
itate to admit, that it is undefinable ; which is necessarily 
the case, when we consider, that it is the name of a simple, 
inseparable element of thought. It nevertheless lies clear 
and distinct in every one's conceptions ; and if, in conse- 
quence of its being the name of a simple idea, we cannot de- 
fine what it is, we can unhesitatingly assert what it is not. 
And accordingly we do not hesitate to insist, that the term 
right is used at the present time as expressive of something 
distinct from mere personal good, interest, or happiness. Ou 
a multitude of occasions men use the terms interest, personal 
good, and happiness as expressive of what, in their own 
opinion at least, is so far from being identical with right or 
justice, that it is at the very greatest remove from it. There 
are some men, who have unceasingly pursued their interest 
all their days ; and wrho, if interest and rectitude are identi- 
cal, ought to be accounted exceedingly upright men ; instead 
of being stigmatized by the unanimous voice of the public, 
as they very justly are, with the character of base, dishon- 
est, and unrighteous. There is hardly any practical distinc- 340 
IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS. 
tion so frequently made, and made with so good reason too, 
as that of acting from views of interest in the shape of some 
personal good, and acting from views of right and duty. If 
men have occasion to entrust their property and the manage- 
ment of their affairs to others, they invariably make distinc- 
tions ; they inquire as to traits of character ; it is not enough 
to tell them that their proposed agents are men more or less 
influenced by views of interest ; they wish to know, and are 
not often satisfied short of knowing, whether they are men 
of honesty, men of uprightness. If they have occasion to 
address motives to their fellow-men, in order to induce them 
to pursue a certain course, we again find them making dis- 
tinctions, and addressing some motives to their views of in- 
terest, and as a distinct consideration addressing others to 
their convictions of rectitude. But it can hardly be consid- 
ered necessary to give instances of what is so palpable in the 
transactions of the whole mass of society. What is true of 
the English language ; what is true of the Latin, where we 
find the terms utile andlionestum, conveying what we express in 
English by the interested or beneficial and the upright; will 
undoubtedly be found to be true of all other languages, which 
are so far developed as to be any thing like and adequate mir- 
ror of the perceptions and feelingsof those, who speak them. 
Men also universally make a distinction between what is 
right and what is merely ordered or commanded ; between 
the legality of an action or cause of action, and its moral 
rectitude ; as we shall have occasion to remark more partic- 
ularly hereafter. Now it is to be kept in mind, that lan- 
guage in its terms and in its structure is an index, an expos- 
itor, (and perhaps more completely so than almost any thing 
else,) of the opinions and belief of mankind. If it be indispu- 
tably true, that men in all parts of the world use words with 
this distinction of meaning, we may look upon it as absolute- 
ly certain, that they suppose and fully believe, that such a 
distinction actually exists. And this universality of belief, 
like every thing else, must have its adequate cause ; but we 
are unable to lay our hands on such a cause, except it be 
that the very structure and action of the human mind does 
of itself develope clear and abundant evidence of the dis- 
tinction in question, marking out lucidly the province of rec- IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS. 
341 
titude or virtue, and separating it from that of every other 
possible motive. The human mind, in its structure and its 
original and natural action, cannot lie, if the God, from whom 
it came, is a God of truth ; and constructed as it is, and act- 
ing as it does, if it clearly announces the distinction between 
rectitude on the one hand, and mere personal interest and 
mere authoritative command on the other, (insulating it and 
placing it on an immovable basis of its own,) then it is cer- 
tainly true that such a distinction actually has place ; and 
that there is truly such a separate, appropriate, and un- 
changeable position of virtue. 
§. 289. The immutability of moral distinctions, shown, thirdly, from the 
operation of the passions of gratitude and anger. 
(III.) We have evidence, in the third place, of the indepen- 
dent and immutable nature of moral right from the manner 
in which feelings of gratitude and anger are exercised in 
view of the reception of supposed benefits or injuries.-Men 
are so constituted, that, if a favor is bestowed upon them, 
they are grateful for it. We do not assert, that the exercise 
of gratitude always exists in different individuals with pre- 
cisely the same degree of intensity ; nor that feelings of this 
kind may not in some cases be entirely subdued. But as a 
general characteristic of human nature it is true, that grati- 
tude follows favors or benefits bestowed. And on the other 
hand feelings of dissatisfaction and anger follow the infliction 
of injuries. The argument, which we here offer, depends 
upon the alterations, which are found suddenly to take place 
in the exercise of these feelings. If, for instance, in some 
period of great misfortune and poverty, a stranger freely 
gives us a sum of money, and thereby relieves us from our 
distresses, we feel a degree of gratitude to him. We have 
received an essential benefit, and we cannot help feeling 
grateful. But if we shortly afterwards discover, that in be- 
stowing this gift he was influenced exclusively by personal 
and selfish motives, by some anticipation of ultimate benefit 
to himself, our feelings of gratitude at once cease ; it is im- 
possible, that we should be grateful to him under such cir- 
cumstances. We very justly conclude, that no moral merit 
attaches to him, in consequence of the bestowal of his gift ; 342 
IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS. 
and that he has not the least possible claim upon us for feel- 
ings of that description. But it will be noticed, that we our- 
selves are just as much benefitted by his gift, as if he had be- 
stowed it from purely benevolent motives ; while at the same 
time we may suppose that the personal and self-interested 
objects of the donor are secured. Here are benefits on both 
sides, to the giver and the receiver. Now if mere interest, 
if mere benefit either to ourselves or others, did of itself and 
independently of all other considerations, constitute right or 
virtue, then our feeling of gratitude would not change ; the 
circumstance of the man's acting from interested motives 
would make no difference ; we should be just as grateful to 
him for his kindness at last, as we were at first. But this is 
not the case ; and such is the constitution of our nature that 
it cannot possibly be the case. We accordingly have here 
very striking evidence, that the circumstance of an ac- 
tion's being a beneficial one to the agent, or even to any one 
else, does not necessarily make it a right one ; and that 
mere self interest or good to ourselves is very far from being 
identical with uprightness. And it is essentially the same 
under the reception of supposed injuries. We are at such 
times dissatisfied, indignant, angry ; and have reason to be 
so. But if we subsequently discover, that the sufferings, 
which we have endured, were occasioned by mere accident, 
or by some unavoidable necessity, without any degree of ill 
feeling or evil intention, our feelings at once change ; we 
may grieve and lament at what has happened, but it is im- 
possible in any proper sense of the term to be longer angry. 
Now, although our feelings in respect to the person who has 
injured us are changed, we may suppose that we ourselves 
suffer just as much as we did before, but still we do not feel 
at liberty to make our suffering the measure of the evil inten- 
tion or wrong. That is something which we intuitively per- 
ceive to stand by itself, independently of any results, which 
may have happened ; and which is to be estimated, not by a 
reference to any accidental circumstances whether favorable 
or unfavorable, but from a contemplation of its own nature. 
All these considerations go to show, that in every case of 
voluntary conduct, which is not perfectly indifferent, there 
is a right or wrong; which right or wrong, whatever may IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS. 
343 
be their attendants and accessories, cannot be resolved into 
mere happiness and unhappiness, into mere good and evil, 
nor into any thing else. 
§. 290. Shown, in the fourth place, by the character of the emotions, 
which arise in view of actual instances of right and wrong. 
(IV.) That there is an immutable standard of right and 
wrong is shown, in the fourth place, by the existence and 
character of the emotions, which are always found to arise 
within us, when any instance of right or wrong in actual life 
comes under our notice. The origin of the abstract notions 
of right and wrong is, where Cudworth has placed it, in the 
intellect, using the term in distinction from the sentient 
part of our nature. We are so constituted, that when- 
ever occasions of actual right or wrong occur, these ideas 
or intellections, (if we may use a good term though somewhat 
antiquated,) naturally and necessarily arise within us. God 
has so constituted us, that, in the matter of Morals, the intel- 
lect has a share as well as the sensibilities. It is the intel- 
lect, sometimes we say the pure intellect, (that is to say, the 
intellect, wholly disconnected in its action from the senses,) 
which makes known to us the abstract conception, the pure 
and beautiful ideality of rectitude ; and which therefore con- 
stitutes for every action an inflexible rule or standard of right 
or wrong ; but it is the Moral Sensibility or Conscience, 
which makes known to us and to others, whether we or they 
approximate to or diverge from that standard. Now if we 
look into this interesting and important part of our mental 
nature, (that is to say, into the conscience,) and consider the 
emotions, which have their origin there, we shall have addi- 
tional evidence of the truth of our doctrine. In every in- 
stance of moral conduct there is abstractly a right or wrong 
pertaining to that conduct; it is the province of conscience 
in the exercise of those emotions of approval and disapprov- 
al, which are appropriate to it, to determine which of the 
two it is. In other words there is applicable to every in- 
stance of moral conduct, the immutable standard of recti- 
tude ; and it is the province of conscience to determine, 
whether the action in question is conformable to that rule or 
not. Conformity to the standard of rectitude is approved ; 344 
IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS. 
divergency from it is disapproved ; and the intensity of the 
emotions of approval or disapproval, if the conscience be not 
perverted as it sometimes is, will be in proportion to the 
greater or less degree of divergency from the immutable rule. 
Now here is a distinct class of emotions, the emotions of mor- 
al approval and disapproval ; which, when we consult our 
consciousness in respect to them, we know to be essentially 
different from emotions of beauty, of sublimity, of the ludi- 
crous, and from ail other emotions ; we know them to have 
a specific nature of their own, to be sui generis. Every per- 
son, who is acquainted with the philosophy of the mind, 
knows that every class of emotions has its specific and appro- 
priate objects. And what are the objects, which are the ba- 
sis of these emotions ; in other words, what are the objects, 
in connection with which they are found to exist, and not 
otherwise? Undoubtedly human actions, in connection with 
the great fact derived from the original, and unalterable sug- 
gestions of the intellect, that they are placed under the sur- 
veillance and the requisitions of the immutable standard of 
rectitude. Actions thus circumstanced and nothing else, 
(neither beauty nor interest nor fame nor any other possible 
object of contemplation and pursuit,) are the appropriate ob- 
jects of these emotions. They do not arise on any other oc- 
casions ; they disdain to have any thing to do with lower ob- 
jects ; they elevate themselves to a higher mark ; they in- 
quire not for the pleasure of actions nor for the emolument of 
actions, but for the right or wrong of actions. This is the 
true account of these emotions ; and they, therefore, take for 
granted in their very nature the reality of Right in distinction 
from every thing else, and the real and immutable separation 
of right from wrong. 
But perhaps it will be said, that if mere personal interest, 
good, or happiness does not constitute right, that authority 
and law does. Is not human law, within the acknowledged 
sphere of its operation the rule of duty ? Does it not consti- 
tute the standard of right to those, who come within its 
reach? And especially the Divine law, the express will of 
the Supreme Being, is not that the source of rectitude on the 
one hand and ofcrime on the other ; of rectitude when it is 
obeyed, and of crime when it is disobeyed? These questions IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS. 
345 
undoubtedly are worthy of consideration. We do not feel 
disposed to avoid an answer to them, even if it were practi- 
cable. Something has already been said, having a bearing 
upon them ; but we will let them have a distinct place, with- 
out, however, breaking the train of thought, or altering the 
form of the argument. 
§. 291. Shown, in the fifth place, from the deportment and conduct of in- 
dividuals, and from the character of codes of law and civil institutions. 
(V.) The doctrine of the permanent nature of Rectitude 
and of the Immutability of moral distinctions finds support, 
in the fifth place, from what we notice of the moral judg- 
ments of mankind in respect to the deportment and conduct 
of individuals, and also in respect to the character of codes 
of law, civil institutions, and forms of government. If the 
human mind were so constituted as to receive the doctrine 
as a fundamental truth, that Law of itself, whether human 
or divine, necessarily within the sphere of its operation con- 
stitutes whatever it ordains right, and whatever it prohibits 
wrong, then men would universally agree in the application 
of this standard of rectitude, and would not feel the least 
compunction or hesitation in justifying all actions whatever, 
which might happen to be performed under the requisitions 
of law. But this is not the fact. In a multitude of cases the 
conduct of men, acting under the forms and requisitions of 
law, is condemned by the general voice of mankind as utter- 
ly unjustifiable and wrong. 
One or two instances, (perhaps, however, less to the pur- 
pose than some others which might be adduced,) will illus- 
trate what we mean. In the year 1605, the Dutch govern- 
ment, being then engaged in a fierce war with Spain, gave 
orders, that Spanish prisoners, in retaliation of like severi- 
ties alleged against the Spaniards, should be put to death. 
With these orders the Dutch Admiral Hautain set sail to in- 
tercept a reinforcement of Spanish soldiers, that were under- 
stood to be on their way to Flanders. Having succeeded in 
capturing them, as was expected, he ordered five companies, 
in obedience to the commands of the Dutch Government, to 
be tied together in pairs, and at a given signal to be thrown 
overboard into the sea. This diabolical transaction certain- 
ly finds no response in the human bosom. The heart and 346 
IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS. 
the conscience of mankind rise up against it as a great abom- 
ination, however it may have been sanctioned by law, and 
provoked by the severities of the opposing party. 
The massacre of St. Bartholomew was perpetrated by 
public authority and under the plausible forms of law ; but 
it was a requisition on the very face of it, so high-handed and 
atrocious, that a number of Roman Catholic officers, acting at 
the almost certain risk of the displeasure of the French Gov- 
ernment, refused to lend their agency to carry it into effect. 
Did they, or does any one else, suppose that the mere order 
of the French Government affected either the right or wrong 
of that massacre ? Had it not in itself a character heaven- 
daring, atrocious, black even to the utmost limit of moral 
turpitude ? But this could not be, if human law were in it- 
self and necessarily a source of rectitude, and could spread 
the mantle of justice over all its requisitions. But it is not 
necessary to take up time with such instances. It is enough 
to observe, that men every where and in all ages of the 
world make a distinction between a legal enactment and the 
justice of that enactment, between the form and matter of a law 
and its rectitude; constantly pronouncing, with the utmost 
propriety of language and with the utmost truth in fact, one 
law to be right and another to be wrong, which would be 
abundantly absurd, if the law itself were the source and the 
measure of right. In the same way men pronounce their 
opinions upon codes of law, taken as a whole, and upon sys- 
tems of government. When the laws of Solon are pro- 
nounced to be wise and just, and on the other hand the code 
of Draco to be unjust, and in all similar cases, there is an ob- 
vious implication, that justice is not necessarily identical 
with the mere requisition of government; that right is some- 
thing above and beyond mere human law ; revolving in a 
higher sphere ; spreading abroad a light of its own, and 
holding all actions, all minds, all systems of government, and 
all laws amenable to itself. 
It will be seen, that we bring the subject here to a test 
of the common feeling and the common sense of mankind. 
Although sound philosophy clearly asserts and confirms the 
doctrine of the immutability of moral distinctions, and whol- 
ly denies the opposite doctrine, that the distinction between IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS. 
347 
right and wrong is a merely prescribed and arbitrary thing, 
dependent upon the enactment or will of some lawgiver and 
of course subject to change with every change in such enact- 
ment, still it cannot be said with any justice that the doc- 
trine in question rests solely upon abstract, philosophical in- 
quiry. It is emphatically, as is evident from the remarks 
which have just been made, the doctrine of common sense. 
There is hardly a day passes when we do not hear in com- 
mon conversation, and from those who have not had the ad- 
vantages of a philosophical education, remarks made and 
opinions expressed, which obviously involve it. You may 
be able to perplex a plain and illiterate man with subtle dis- 
tinctions, to such a degree perhaps that he will not be able 
to give a prompt and satisfactory answer, but you will as 
soon overthrow his belief in his own personal identity, as con- 
vince him that right is not right, or that wrong is not wrong, 
or that any power on earth, to say the least, can make right 
wrong or wrong right. This is one of those cases where 
philosophy may confirm the opinions of the great mass of 
mankind if she pleases ; but to overthrow or even to unsettle 
them, is not at her option. 
§. 292. The doctrine further shown from the opinions, which mankind 
entertain of the character and government of God. 
(VI ) The doctrine under consideration is supported, in 
the sixth place, by the opinions, which mankind generally en- 
tertain of the character and the administration of the Su- 
preme Being. Some persons may be disposed to admit, 
that human laws are not in themselves the source of right 
and wrong ; and at the same time be strongly inclined to 
maintain, that it is otherwise with the laws which emanate 
from God. They hold, that the will of God, and nothing 
but the will of God, constitutes whatever of a moral nature 
takes place throughout the universe either right or wrong. 
But the doctrine of the immutability of moral distinctions, 
(in other words that moral right and wrong always has its 
foundation ultimately in the nature and relations of things,) 
if it be capable of being established at all, and has any real 
basis whatever, is of universal application ; it reaches every 
where ; and every where asserts the distinction between 348 
IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS. 
mere will and justice, between power and equity. We 
proceed then to remark, that this doctrine, notwithstanding 
the exceptions now hinted at, is supported by the opinions of 
the great mass of mankind in relation to the character and 
the administration of the Deity. 
In the opinion which mankind generally form of the Su- 
preme Being, we notice that they always include the idea of 
right, equity, or justice. They never think of him as a God 
possessed of knowledge or power merely, but as a God of 
righteousness. And they constantly speak of Him as a just, 
holy, or righteous Being. Whatever He does they assert, is 
done rightly or justly. Now unless we suppose, which we 
certainly are not at liberty to do, that they apply these epi- 
thets without any meaning, we are to regard these terms as 
expressing a distinct and important fact in their belief. But 
this is not true, it the doctrine under consideration be false. 
For, if God's will or mere enactment constitutes of itself, and 
independently of every thing else, all right and wrong, then 
the assertion, that God is right or just and does justly, is ob- 
viously an identical proposition ; and is the same as to say, 
that he is what he is, and does what he does. But we do 
not suppose any one will pretend to say, that men use terms 
with such an absence of all meaning. They obviously have 
a clear perception of the distinction between power and equi- 
ty, between the mere command and the justice of that com- 
mand in their own case, and in the applications of human 
powrer and laws generally ; and they apply the distinction 
without any hesitation to the character and doings of the 
Supreme Being. And they not only apply the distinction, 
but they obviously involve in it the same great ultimate fact, 
which is implied when they apply it to men, viz. that Recti- 
tude is a thing, which is not dependent on mere power, 
enactment, or will in any case whatever. 
For instance, a preacher asserts in the presence of his 
congregation, that the law of God is holy, just and good ; 
every body understands it ; every body assents to it. But 
if he should go on to state, that the Law is just, because it is 
a Law and for that reason solely, and that if it were directly 
the opposite, it would be equally just for the same reason, 
they would undoubtedly reject the statement at once, as ut- IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS. 
349 
terly inconsistent with the common feelings and common 
sense of mankind. If they are not capable of making philo- 
sophical distinctions, they are so constituted, in the very ele- 
ments of their moral nature, as to entertain a far higher no- 
tion of a just law, than such a statement would imply. They 
may be asked, what they mean by right-what they mean 
by the immutability of moral distinctions-what they mean 
by the nature of things-but, although, as has already been 
remarked, they may be puzzled in giving an answer, they 
are not at all perplexed and darkened in their perceptions ; 
and would as soon be brought to disbelieve in the truth of 
the simplest mathematical axioms, as to disbelieve in the 
distinction, the utter and immutable distinction between 
right and wrong, justice and injustice. 
§. 293. Further remarks on the subject of the last section. 
It will of course be understood that we would not be guil- 
ty of the impiety of suggesting, that God ever does in fact 
otherwise than right, or that his Law ever is, or can be oth- 
erwise than perfectly just. What we mean to say is, that 
God is not just in his acts, simply because he has power to 
perform those acts, and that his Law is not just, simply and 
solely because it is a Law ; which, if we are not wrong in 
our views, would involve the annihilation of all justice what- 
ever. The doctrine of the immutability of moral distinctions 
does not, as some might be led to suppose on a slight exami- 
nation of it, set up an authority in opposition to that of God ; 
but merely asserts a great fact in the nature of things, which, 
in whatever point of view it may be contemplated, is entirely 
and in all cases whatever consistent with his character and 
his acts. If it be true, as undoubtedly it is, that God cannot 
by a mere volition make right wrong nor wrong right, it is 
not the less so, that this does not in any respect militate with 
his essential attributes. It constitutes no derogation from 
his perfections, and interposes no obstacle to the administra- 
tion of his affairs. And we here take the liberty to inquire of 
those, who hold that the doctrine under consideration is de- 
rogatory to the character of the Supreme Being, whether 
there are not other things, besides the distinction of right and 
wrong, which do not depend upon his mere arbitrary will? 350 
IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS. 
It certainly, so far as we can perceive, does not depend upon 
the mere enactment or will of God, whether a thing shall ex- 
ist or not exist at the same time. The mere supposition im- 
plies something which is inconceivable. It does not depend 
upon his mere choice or will, (and we hope it may be said 
without incurring the suspicion of any want of due reverence 
for his exalted character,) whether three and three shall 
make six, and four multiplied by four shall make sixteen ; 
whether the whole shall be greater than a part, and things 
equal to the same shall be equal to one another ; whether 
there shall be motion without change of place, or figure with- 
out extension ; whether the three angles of a triangle shall 
be equal to two right angles ; or whether a square, circle, 
and triangle shall be different figures. These are things, 
which it seems to be universally conceded, do not depend 
upon the will of God, or of any other being ; and it is impos- 
sible that they should. But if we are right in our supposi- 
tion, that no one regards this as derogatory to the character 
of the Supreme Being, why is it more so, that there is an 
immutable distinction between right and wrong ; that what- 
ever is right or wrong to-day, will be right or wrong, (all the 
circumstances of the action remaining precisely the same,) 
to-morrow, next day, next year, and forever? 
§. 294. Further proof from a consideration of the relation, which the doc- 
trine bears to the original and permanent character of the Supreme Being. 
(VII.) In the seventh place, if the distinction between 
right and wrong be not permanent and immutable, but de- 
pends wholly upon God's volition, then antecedently to such 
volition, God himself could not have possessed a moral char- 
acter, but must have been wholly destitute of all moral ex- 
cellence.-Obviously the act of volition implies, whenever it 
takes place, the antecedent existence of the being who puts 
forth such volition. If there is any thing self-evident, it cer- 
tainly is so, that there can be no volition, unless there is a 
being already actually existent, from whom the volition pro- 
ceeds. But if moral distinctions be not involved in the na- 
ture of things, but are subsequent to a particular volition, 
which volition creates them and brings them into entity and 
form, then moral rectitude was not predicable of God nor of IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS. 
351 
any other being, until he had put forth such volition. If 
morality, which of course involves the distinction between 
right and wrong, be a matter of creation, then the divine 
character must necessarily have been a moral blank, until 
the act of creation had taken place. It was necessarily, in a 
moral point of view, neither morally good nor evil ; because 
by the supposition, the distinction between moral good and 
evil was not yet established. The volition had not yet come 
to its birth ; the resolve of the Most High was still dormant ; 
the command had not been issued, which was destined to 
call up virtue from its unexistent state, to dislodge it from 
the chaotic mixture of other elements, and give it an impress 
and character. The Supreme Being, therefore, antecedent- 
ly to the origination of morality, (whether that origination 
took place sooner or later, after the lapse of a million of years 
or of a single moment,) was necessarily destitute of moral 
perfections. 
And this is not all. If right and wrong are not immuta- 
ble, but are liable to be abolished or to be interchanged with 
each other by a mere enactment or volition, then it cannot 
be said with propriety and truth, that God is immutably a ho- 
ly or just being. If he can by a mere command change vir- 
tue into vice, or vice into virtue, he can certainly destroy all 
moral excellence whenever he pleases, and blot it out from 
the universe. If his Law can create the distinction of right 
and wrong, his Law can also annihilate it. If morality de- 
pends upon his arbitrary and unrestricted volition, it of course 
depends upon it in the same way, in which the creation or 
destruction of a world depends upon it. And whenever he 
issues his overwhelming fiat, the columns of the moral uni- 
verse will crumble and fall to pieces as readily as those of 
the physical. On this system, the Being, whom we worship 
and adore to-day as holy, just, righteous, may to-morrow un- 
dergo the erasure of his own volition, and not exhibit one 
trait of holiness, justice, righteousness. It will perhaps be 
said, that we have the authority of his own word for the 
permanency of his moral perfections ; in other words, that 
he has promised he will continue to manifest and to do jus- 
tice. Granted. But why is he bound to keep his word? 
Because there is a right and wrong in the case ; because as 352 
IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS. 
an incident to this right and wrong, there is a moral obliga- 
tion, a duty, which is firm and immutable. Here, undoubted- 
ly, is firm footing ; but on the opposite system, which makes 
right and wrong depend on a mere enactment or volition, the 
obligation to keep his word may cease, whenever he wills it 
to be so ; and his word, his law, his moral excellencies may 
all suddenly sink together, and the Being, whom we worship 
as perfectly spotless and holy, may become a Spirit of un- 
mixed and unmitigated evil. 
295. Of the proofs of this doctrine from the appeals which are made 
in various parts of the Scriptures. 
(VIII.) Finally, if we rightly understand the Revelation, 
which God in his great goodness has made to the children of 
men, He has himself taken the ground, not only that the 
principles of rectitude are eternal and immutable, but that 
He himself, with all his transcendent excellencies, is amena- 
ble, and desires to be considered as amenable to them. He 
speaks of his throne not only as established, but as establish- 
ed in righteousness. He speaks of himself not merely as the 
Creator, not merely as a God of wisdom and power, but as a 
just, a holy, a righteous God. And these expressions are 
employed so frequently, and in such connections, as to place 
it beyond all doubt, that they have a distinct and substantive 
meaning, and are not identical in their import with expres- 
sions which intimate his ascendency, power, or greatness. 
And not only this, he seems to have authorized the whole 
universe of moral and intelligent beings, (the human race in 
particular among others,) to act as arbiters and judges in the 
case, whether his character and conduct are not in all respects 
in perfect accordance with the requisitions of that fixed and 
immutable rectitude, which exists interwoven and imbedded 
in the very nature and constitution of things. He does not 
in moral things impose mere arbitrary commands, but only 
such commands as he can support by an appeal to their own 
moral judgments. And such appeals are actually made in a 
number of instances, as in the following passages. "Oh, my 
people, what have I done unto thee? And wherein have I 
wearied thee ? testify against me!" " Come now, and let us 
reason together, saith the Lord." And again he says in a tone IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS. 
353 
of authority and rebuke. "Yet ye say, the way of the Lord 
is not equal. Hear now, oh house of Israel, is not my way 
equal ? Are not your ways unequal ?" He then goes on to 
state the great principles of his moral government, in their 
application to the wicked and the righteous, and appeals to 
them as judges, whether he is not just. And again he says, 
"And now, 0 inhabitants of Jerusalem, and men of Judah, 
judge, I pray you, betwixt me and my vineyard. What could 
have been done more to my vineyard that I have not done in 
it ? Wherefore, when I looked that it should bring forth 
grapes, brought it forth wild grapes ?" And in another pas- 
sage, " Thus saith the Lord, what iniquity have your fathers 
found in me, that they are gone far from me, and have walk- 
ed after vanity, and are become vain ?"* 
From these among other passages of Scripture it appears, 
that God does not require his rational offspring to approve 
his enactments on the ground solely of their proceeding from 
himself, but is willing that they should exercise their own 
powers of examination, and judge for themselves whether 
they are right or not. But this implies that justice on the 
one hand, and command or law on the other, are different ; 
and that, whenever the law is just, it is not so merely be- 
cause it is commanded, but for other reasons. And we may 
here with propriety inquire, whether there is not much sat- 
isfaction in the thought, that the foundations of right and 
wrong, of virtue and vice, are thus deeply and immutably 
laid ? If it were true, that God himself could overthrow or 
demolish them, would it not be a source and occasion of 
great perplexity and dismay ? For such a supposition would 
necessarily involve the possibility of an utter change in his 
own character. If, in our contemplations of the Supreme 
Being, it should occur to us as a thing merely possible, that 
those high perfections, which we now reverence and adore, 
could be transmuted into vices, it would certainly diminish 
our reverence, disturb our confidence, and fill us with un- 
speakable alarm. But this certainly is possible, if the dis- 
tinction of right and wrong is not fixed and immutable, but 
depends wholly on the Divine Will. 
• Ezekiel 18 : 59- Micah 6 : 8. Isaiah 1 : 18. 5 : 3, 4. Jeremiah 2 : 5. 354 
IMMUTABILITY OF MORAL DISTINCTIONS. 
§. 296. Remarks in conclusion of what has been said on this subject. 
Such are some of the considerations, which are commend- 
ed to the attention of the reader. There are others, which 
we shall not particularly notice. For instance, the doctrine 
that right and wrong depends wholly upon law or enactment, 
even that of the Supreme Being, implies of course a knowl- 
edge of that Being. And yet there can be no doubt of the 
fact of our being so constituted, that tribes of men, who are 
destitute of any correct knowledge of the Supreme Being, 
and also atheists, who deny and disbelieve in his existence, 
are capable of forming the notions of right and wrong, of be- 
lieving in a standard of right and wrong, and of conforming 
their ordinary conduct to that standard, much in the same 
way and degree as the great mass of mankind. But we do 
not consider it necessary to remark further ; evidence more 
than enough has already multiplied upon us. 
In view of what has been said we leave the subject in 
the hand of the reader with this single practical remark, 
That uprightness or virtue is an object to be contemplated in 
itself, and to be loved and practised for its own sake.-It is 
to be loved and honored and practised, not simply because it 
is commanded, not simply because it may in its results be 
beneficial, but solely for itself, and out of a regard for its own 
exalted nature. This is a great practical truth, and one 
which strikes at the root of certain systems of moral philos- 
ophy, that have too long had an influence in the halls of edu- 
cation. There can be no question, that it has a very inju- 
rious effect to teach youth, that a certain thing is virtuous or 
vicious, right or wrong, merely because it is commanded, or 
because it is beneficial. It is pernicious, because it lowers 
the standard of moral excellence ; and it is as false, as it is 
pernicious. Virtue is not secondary to something else, but 
is primary ; it has an entity and a character of its own ; of 
all the objects in the universe it is highest in rank ; it is the 
great illuminating point of mind as the sun is the illumina- 
ting centre of matter. And youth, instead of being permit- 
ted to gaze upon the ignis fatuus of expediency or any oth- 
er false fire of earth, should be taught to fix their eye upon 
that great and heavenly light, to contemplate it, to honor it, 
to love it. They should be so imbued with the love of vir- 
the, as to inquire as it were by a sort of instinct, not whether MORAL EDUCATION. 
355 
an action is required by one high in power or promises to be 
beneficial, not whether it will advance the interests of a par- 
ticular sect or party, but in all cases, whether it is right. 
With such a training of their moral dispositions, they will 
stand firm, when every thing is shaken and in commotion 
around them ; they will have strength in themselves, a 
strength not of earth ; they will go forth amid the scenes of 
this dark world, surrounded with a light emanating from 
their own bosoms, and under the smiles of an approving 
God. 
CHAPTER FIFTH. 
MORAL EDUCATION. 
§. 297. Suggestions on the importance of moral education. 
We do not feel at liberty to leave the subject of the Mor- 
al Sensibilities, without offering a few remarks, chiefly of a 
practical nature, on the subject of moral education in gener- 
al. It is perhaps unnecessary to occupy time in attempting 
to show the importance of such education, since no one can 
be ignorant of the deplorable consequences, which follow 
from an utter neglect of it. But notwithstanding the gener- 
al concession of its importance, it has ever held a subordinate 
rank, compared with that purely intellectual education, which 
deals wholly with the mere acquisition of knowledge. 
While no one presumes to assert, that moral education is 
unimportant, it must be acknowledged, that it has been ex- 
ceedingly neglected, in consequence of the greater value, 
which has generally been attached to that training of the 
mind, which has exclusive relation to its intellectual part. 
It seems to be a fact generally admitted, that children and 
youth have been taught with great zeal in every thing where 
the head is concerned, in grammar, geography, arithmetic, 
geometry, astronomy, and the like ; and in almost nothing, 356 
MORAL EDUCATION. 
which concerns the heart. No pains have been spared in 
favor of the intellect, while the sensitive part of our nature, 
the moral emotions, the lower modifications of desire, and the 
affections have been left to take care of themselves. 
Supposing this to be nearly the true state of things, eve- 
ry reflecting mind must contemplate it with regret ; and will 
look forward with great interest to the time, when moral edu- 
cation shall at least be put on a footing with intellectual, if it 
do not take the precedence of it. Certain it is, that a firm 
and ample foundation is laid for this species of mental train- 
ing, if the doctrines, which have been advancedin the course 
of this Work, are correct ; first, that we have intellectually 
the power of forming the abstract conceptions of right and 
wrong, of merit and demerit, which necessarily involves ; 
that there is an immutable standard of rectitude ; and sec- 
ond, that, in the departments of the Sensibilities, we have, 
in correspondence with the fact of such an immutable stand- 
ard, the implanted principle of the Moral Sensibility or Con- 
science, which, in the Emotive form of its action, indicates 
our conformity to the standard of rectitude or divergency 
from it, and in its Obligatory action, authoritatively requires 
conformity. We assert, that we have here basis enough for 
a consistent and durable moral education ; especially when 
we take into view the close connection existing between the 
conscience and the intellect, particularly the reasoning pow- 
er. 
§. 298. The mind must be occupied at an early period either with good 
or bad principles. 
It may perhaps be suggested here, admitting the general 
fact of the great importance of moral education, that it 
would be better to leave the subject of morals, until persons 
are old enough to decide on all subjects of this nature for 
themselves. This suggestion would be entitled to more 
weight, if it were possible in the meanwhile for the mind to 
remain a moral blank. But this does not appear to be the 
case. As the mind is continually operative, it is almost a 
matter of course, that it receives, and as it were incorporates 
into itself moral principles either right or wrong. We are 
surrounded with such a variety of active influences, that he, 
who is not imbued with good, cannot reasonably expect to be MORAL EDUCATION1 
357 
uncontaminated with evil. In order, therefore, to prevent 
the contaminations of vice, it is necessary to preoccupy the 
mind, by the careful introduction and the faithfid cultivation 
of the elements of virtue. Let the young mind, therefore, 
the minds of children and youth, be made the subjects of as- 
siduous moral culture. 
The doctrine, which was formerly advanced by Rousseau 
and others that children and youth are incapable of receiv- 
ing moral and religious ideas, and of sustaining a character 
on moral principles, is unsound in point of fact and most per- 
nicious in its tendency. All experience goes against it. In 
France, where it has found its most numerous advocates, its 
evils have been very deeply felt. A recent French writer, 
who cannot be suspected of giving unfavorable representa- 
tions of his countrymen without a cause, thinks, that the 
widely spread domestic corruption and miseries, which he 
acknowledges to exist, can be corrected only by a greater 
attention to early moral education. This remark implies, 
that the origin of those evils is chiefly to be found in the 
abandonment, (or at least great neglect of such education,) 
without which, it must be obvious to every judicious mind, 
that individual happiness will be exceedingly diminished, 
that the peace of families will be put at hazard, and that the 
props and securities of the commonwealth will be dislocated 
and swept away. 
§. 299. Of the time when moral instruction and discipline ought to com- 
mence. 
We cannot but conclude, therefore, that a course of moral 
training ought to be commenced at an early period. It is a 
truth sufficiently established, that we begin to learn as soon 
as we begin to exist. The infant no sooner comes into the 
world, than the mind expands itself for the reception of 
knowledge, as naturally as the flower opens its rejoicing 
leaves to the rising sun. The earnestness, which it discov- 
ers, as it turns its eye towards the light or any bright object, 
its expression of surprise on hearing sudden and loud sounds, 
its strong propensity to imitate the actions and words of its 
attendants, all show most clearly that the work of intellectu- 
al developement is begun. 
While no one doubts this early developement of the intel- 358 
MORAL EDUCATION. 
lect, it has not been so generally admitted to be true of the 
pathematic and moral part of our nature. But there is no 
sufficient ground, as we have already had occasion to inti- 
mate, for a distinction in this respect ; the developement of 
the head and the heart, of the intellect and the sentient na- 
ture, begins essentially at one and the same time. It is true, 
that the perceptive or intellectual action is necessarily ante- 
cedent in the order of nature ; but the sensitive action, both 
natural and moral, follows closely and pcrseveringly in its 
train. And this also may be added, viz. that the develope- 
ment of the moral nature in its leading outlines appears to 
be sooner completed. Facts and the relations of facts, which 
are the subjects of the intellectual activity, are infinite. But 
the great principles of morals, however multiplied they may 
be in their applications, are in themselves few and simple. 
How few persons at the age of fourteen or sixteen years have 
completed their attainments in knowledge and have fully un- 
folded and strengthened all their intellectual powers ! And 
yet how many at the same age have established such a deci- 
ded moral character either for good or evil as almost to pre- 
clude the hope of a correction of its deformities in the one 
case, or the enhancement of its beauties in the other ! 
§. 300. Of the discouragements attending a process of moral instruction. 
And here we would remark upon one discouragement, 
which frequently attends the efforts of those, who are so sit- 
uated as to render it especially their duty to impart instruc- 
tion to the young. We refer to the fact, that it is sometimes 
and but too frequently the case, that they see but little imme- 
diate good results from their labors. They can see distinct- 
ly the advancement of their pupils in that knowledge, which 
is appropriate to the intellect ; but are less able to measure 
their progress in what pertains to the moral culture. Indeed 
they too often believe, that their instruction is seed sown 
upon stony ground, which is not only unproductive at pres- 
ent, but is absolutely and forever lost. 
This is a great mistake. The truth is, that nothing is 
lost. The moral and religious instruction, which is commu- 
nicated to the youthful memory, is deposited in the keeping 
of a power, which may sometimes slumber but can never die. MORAL EDUCATION. 
359 
It may long be unproductive ; it may remain for years with- 
out giving signs of vivification and of an operative influence ; 
and yet it may only be waiting for some more favorable and 
important moment when it shall come forth suddenly and 
prominently to view. No one, therefore, ought to be dis- 
couraged in the discharge of this duty. In nothing is the 
Scriptural declaration more likely to be fulfilled in its richest 
import. "Cast thy bread upon the waters, and thou shalt 
find it after many days." 
Multitudes of illustrations might be introduced to confirm 
the views of this section. How natural is the following incL 
dent ! And how agreeable, therefore, to sound philosophy ! 
"When I was a little child, (said a religious man,) my 
mother used to bid me kneel beside her, and place her hand 
upon my head while she prayed. Ere I was old enough to 
know her worth, she died, and I was left much to my own 
guidance. Like others, I was inclined to evil passions, but 
often felt myself checked, and as it were drawn back by the 
soft hand upon my head. When I was a young man I trav- 
elled in foreign lands, and was exposed to many temptations, 
but when I would have yielded, that same hand was upon my 
head, and I was saved. I seemed to feel its pressure, as in the 
days of my happy infancy, and sometimes there came with 
it a voice in my heart, a voice that must be obeyed ; Oh, do 
not this wickedness, my son, nor sin against thy God." 
§. 301. Of the importance, in a moral point of view, of adopting correct 
speculative opinions. 
But, while we assert that there is ample basis in the men- 
tal constitution for a moral education, that this education 
ought to be commenced at an early period, and that such a 
course of training has its due share of encouragements, we 
acknowledge, that it is not an easy thing in a few words to 
point out the characteristics, and to indicate the outlines of a 
system of moral culture. Accordingly we shall not attempt 
it any further than to add a few general suggestions. We 
proceed, therefore, to remark, that suitable pains ought to be 
taken to introduce into the young mind correct speculative 
opinions. 
It was seen in a former Chapter, that the conscience acts 360 
MORAL EDUCATION. 
in view of the facts, which are before it. It will follow, 
therefore, if we adopt wrong opinions, whatever they may 
be, they will have an effect upon the conscience. If these 
opinions be important, be fundamental, they will be likely to 
lead us in a course, which under other circumstances we 
should regard as wrong in the very highest degree. The 
belief, that men by nature possess equal rights, is in itself 
nothing more than a speculative opinion ; but this opinion, 
simple and harmless as it may seem in its enunciation, is at 
this moment shaking thrones, unbinding the chains of mil- 
lions, and remodelling the vast fabric of society. The opin- 
ion, that the rights of conscience are inalienable, and that no 
one can regulate by violent means the religion of another, is 
breaking the wheel of torture, and quenching the fire of per- 
secution, and quickening into life the smothered worship of 
the world. The speculative opinion, that Jesus Christ, the 
son of God, appeared in the form of man, and by his death 
made an atonement for sin, is a truth, simple and ineffective 
as it may at first sight appear, which has already changed 
the face of domestic and civil society, and like a little leaven 
which leaveneth the whole lump, is secretly regenerating 
the whole mass of human nature. 
We infer, therefore, that it is highly important to consider 
well what truths we adopt. The doctrine, that it is no mat- 
ter what we believe, if we are only sincere in it, is derogato- 
ry to the claims of human reason and full of danger. What 
persecutor, what tyrant, what robber, what assassin may 
not put in his claim for a sort of sincerity, and in many cases 
justly too? It is a sincerity, a conscientiousness, based on all 
the wisdom, which human intelligence in its best efforts can 
gather up, and nothing short of this, which stands approved 
in the sight of human reason and a just Divinity. 
§. 302. Further remarks on the same subject. 
The important remark of the Savior to his disciples, "and 
ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you 
free," seems to have a connection with this subject. It indi- 
cates that the truth, in other words, substantial and well- 
balanced knowledge, (whatever other aids and appliances 
may be requisite in the progress of the religious life,) is nat- MORAL EDUCATION. 
361 
urally effective, in a very high degree, in the renovation of 
the character, and the support of just morals. In that great 
day, when all hearts are tried, our Conscience itself will 
frown upon us, as guilty of a great dereliction of duty, if we 
have not taken every possible means to enlighten it. 
The false practices of heathen nations, as we have had 
occasion to see in a former chapter, are very many of them 
based on false speculative opinions. The effect of their 
reception of the truth, as it is revealed in the Christian system, 
is at once to do away these practices. Touched by the 
quickening influences of divine knowledge, the benumbed 
and torpid conscience starts into a newness of life, and exer- 
cises once more its long abdicated authority. The whole hea- 
then world, so far as it has come under the influence of the 
Gospel, is a proof of this remark. It is the Word of God, 
filled as it is with moral and religious truth, which is destin- 
ed to be instrumental, under the superintendence of a benefi- 
cent Providence, of the rectification of the moral errors of 
the human race. 
§. 303. Of the knowledge of the Supreme Being, and of the study of re- 
ligious truth generally. 
And in connection with what has been said in the preceding 
section we proceed to remark further, that all morality must 
necessarily be defective, in a greater or less degree, which 
proceeds on the principle of excluding religion. It is true, 
that a man, who is not religious, (in other words, who has 
not a sincere regard for the character and institutions of the 
Supreme Being,) may do many things which are right and 
are morally commendable ; but he does not do all that is 
right ; he comes short in the most essential part ; and he 
thus throws doubt and perplexity, a sort of dimness and ob- 
scuration, over whatever lustre might otherwise have shown 
itself in his other acts. In fact, the amount, in which such a 
person fails to do right, is so very great as compared with 
the amount, in which he does not fail to do right, that it is 
almost a common remark, although not strictly true, that an 
irreligious person does nothing right. At the same time al- 
though he may do some things right, yet his failure in infin- 
itelv the most essential point rendersit impossible to speak 362 
MORAL EDUCATION. 
of him, with any degree of propriety and truth, as a right, 
that is to say, as a just or holy person. 
We assert, therefore, that moral education must include, 
as a leading element, some instruction in regard to the exist- 
ence and character of God and those religious duties, which 
are involved in the fact of his existence and character. Our 
conscience, the office of which is to adjust our duties to our 
ability and the relations we sustain, imperatively requires 
this. In the eye of an enlightened intellectual perception, 
God stands forth, distinct from and preeminent above all oth- 
ers, as an object infinitely exalted ; and a want of love to his 
character and of adhesion to his law is, in the view of con- 
science, a crime so grossly flagrant in itself, as not to be 
atoned for by any other virtue. And not only this, a proper 
regard for the character of the Supreme Being has such a 
multiplicity of bearings and relations, in consequence of the 
diffusion of his presence and the multiplicity of his acts and 
requirements, that the crime involved in the want of it 
seems to spread itself over the infinite number of transac- 
tions, which taken together constitute the sum of life. So 
that the doctrine of the existence of God, received into the 
intellect, and attended as it should be with perfect love in 
the heart, is beyond all question the great foundation and 
support of a truly consistent moral life. 
304. Of the application of the principle of habit in morals. 
The law of habit, the nature of which and some of its ap- 
plications have been explained in former chapters, has an 
important bearing here also. The more scrupulous and ex- 
act we are in the observance of the practical part of morals, 
the more easy it will become. Every repetition of morality, 
in whatever acts it may show itself, will strengthen the mor- 
al tendency. So that at last the whole life will run easily 
and vigorously in the path of rectitude. 
The utterance of the truth is morally right ; deviation 
from the truth or utterance of falsehood is morally wrong. 
And here perhaps we may find an illustration of the effects of 
the law of Habit, in its connection with morals. It probably 
has come within the reader's notice, that there are some 
men, who, in practice as well as in principle, are exceedingly MORAL EDUCATION. 
363 
scrupulous in the utterance of the truth. When they repeat 
either what has come under their own observation or what 
they have learnt from the narrations of others, they are 
strictly and seriously exact in their statement. They are 
conscientiously anxious not to admit the slightest deviation ; 
and this anxiety extends not only to the statement itself, but 
to the manner in which it is received and understood by 
others. They thus form a habit of veracity ; and those re- 
sults, which might naturally be supposed to be involved in a 
case of habit are witnessed. Such persons have so long and 
so steadily exhibited this trait of strict veracity, that it seems 
to be inherent in them, something incorporated in the consti- 
tution itself. No temptations, whether sudden or remote, 
are able to make them swerve from the truth; and their as- 
sertion, whenever and wherever made, instead of being met 
with misgivings and monitory cautions, is readily and fully 
received by those who hear it. 
There is a second class of persons, who would esteem 
themselves injured in having their veracity suspected, but 
who have formed habits, which render it necessary, that 
their testimony should be carefully examined. We allude 
particularly to the habit, which some have formed of telling 
extraordinary stories, or anecdotes of whatever kind, which 
are intended, and are calculated to interest. They consider 
themselves in a measure pledged to meet the interest, which 
they know to be excited on the part of those present, and 
are, therefore, under an extraordinary temptation to enliven 
and embellish their narration. If any circumstances have 
escaped their memory, which were essential to the unity of 
the story, their own invention is taxed to furnish them, since 
it is too late to search for, and of too much consequence to 
omit them. In this way they become in time not a little in- 
sensible to the false coloring, which they give to their state- 
ments, and convey erroneous impressions, without being 
conscious of an intention to deceive. 
The former habit, that of great and conscientious strictness 
in what we say, is not only favorable to truth, but is favorable 
to character ; it raises a man in our estimation, and gives 
him a weight, which he might not otherwise possess. The 
latter contributes, in a greater or less degree, to falsehood ; 364 
MORAL EDUCATION. 
and by inevitably throwing some perplexity and doubt over 
his integrity, essentially lowers the subject of it in the gen- 
eral confidence. 
§. 305. Further views on the influence of moral habits. 
The effects of habit, in its connection with moral charac- 
ter, may be seen frequently in the outward deportment; in 
simplicity and modesty, in a benevolent civility in the 
common intercourse of life, in strict propriety of demean- 
or and expression, and in many other things, which taken 
by themselves seem to be of small consequence, but which 
in their collective influence have unquestionably an impor- 
tant bearing on morals. 
The effects of habit, both for good and evil, are constant- 
ly seen in the various exercises of the appetites and pas- 
sions. Whatever is good and commendable in that part of 
our nature may be strengthened by repetition and encourage- 
ment ; and on the other hand whatever is evil may be weak- 
ened and gradually done away by an opposite system of re- 
pression. It is very desirable in a moral point of view to 
keep the angry or resentful passions entirely under control, 
which it is difficult to do without the aid of the law of habit. 
These passions, like all the other natural and implanted pas- 
sions, reveal themselves outwardly by certain natural signs, 
such as a kindling eye, a flushed countenance, violent gestic- 
ulation, and a hurried and raised tone of voice. And it is an 
interesting fact, that the suppression of the outward signs, 
which in general is a thing entirely within our power, ope- 
rates powerfully to suppress the internal passion. While, 
on the other hand, the outward manifestation, whenever it 
exists, the fierce look, the angry tone, the violent action, gen- 
erally imparts a renovated impulse to it. Accordingly a 
habit of repressing the outward signs of Resentment will be 
found to give great power in properly regulating a state of 
mind, which, whatever may be its character under other cir- 
cumstances, cannot be otherwise than wrong, and deeply 
wrong, in its excess. 
It would certainly not be difficult to point out other appli- 
cations of the principle of habit, where it may obviously be 
made auxiliary to moral improvement. Our moral principles, 
however correct they may be, will be of but little value to MORAL EDUCATION. 
365 
us, unless they are put in practice, by being incorporated 
into the daily and hourly series of living acts. It is thus that 
habits are formed ; which give strength for the present, and 
abundant encouragement for the future. Nor is this all. 
If our habits are the opposite of conscientious, in other words 
if we disregard the suggestions of the moral sense, and in 
repeated and frequent instances throw contempt upon its 
authority, the probability is, that the edge of its perception 
will be blunted, and that it will be partially paralyzed and 
weakened in its operation. It may be difficult, in some re- 
spects, to explain how this result takes place ; but the result 
itself seems to be beyond doubt. In truth it rnay be regard- 
ed as only one form or instance of what appears to be a gen- 
eral fact in our mental constitution, viz. that all the powers 
of the mind suffer under a system of inactivity and repression. 
Action, and action too in a given manner, is their natural 
food, their appropriate aliment ; and when, in consequence 
of any obstacles that may be thrown in their way, they are 
deprived of this, they wither away and become gradually 
more and more undiscriminating and powerless, although it 
cannot be said as a general thing, certainly not in the case 
of the conscience, that they suffer an absolute extinction. 
§. S06. Of the importance of correct morals in connection with our civil 
and political situation. 
Webring what has been said to a conclusion, necessarily 
brief as it is, by the single remark more, that this subject, 
while it is exceedingly important to all persons, is particular- 
ly so to the citizens of this country. In this remark we have 
particular reference to the popular form of our government. 
A government, which is based in power that is lodged some- 
where else than in mere public sentiment, may by possibili- 
ty sustain itself amid the prevalence of loose moral principles. 
But it is otherwise in a government, which depends for its 
support upon the opinions of the people. If there be any 
truth, which the history of all ages has clearly established, 
it is, that a republican form of government cannot be sustain- 
ed for any length of time, without purity in the public mor- 
al sentiment. In this country every thing of a civil and po- 
litical nature depends upon public opinion. There is noth- 366 
MORAL EDUCATION. 
ing in the whole length and breadth of our civil and political 
institutions, from the Constitution of the Union down to the 
charters of the humblest municipal corporations, which is 
not susceptible of being changed, amended, and even abro- 
gated by the power of the popular voice. So that it may be 
said with a great degree of truth, that the permanent law of 
the country, that, which creates, regulates, and preserves 
the whole vast system of written and prescriptive law, is to 
be found in the intelligence and the virtue of the community. 
How deplorable, then, will be our situation, if the time shall 
ever come, when the people of the United States shall per- 
mit themselves to disregard, or to underrate the important 
subject of correct morals ! It is an easy matter to proclaim 
in the corners of the streets the excellence of democratical 
institutions; but it is beyond all question, that every man is 
to be set down as essentially indifferent to their welfare, who 
is not willing to sustain the testimony of his declarations by 
the substantial verification of a virtuous life. He, who devi- 
ates from the standard of strict rectitude, whatever may be 
his professions in behalf of popular rights, deviates in an 
equal degree from the standard of genuine republicanism. 
It is a matter of undoubted historical record, that the 
foundations of our public institutions were laid by men of 
great moral worth ; by men who combined the sternness of 
Roman integrity with the humble and devoted spirit of the 
Christian martyrs ; of whom it might be said with as much 
truth as of any body of men whatever, that they would rath- 
er cut off a right hand or pluck out a right eye, than prove 
faithless to their conscience and their God. And let the 
time come, when the concerns of these now happy Republics 
shall be conducted by men of a different stamp, by men who 
would merge and dissolve their sentiments of duty in the im- 
pure crucible of their selfish interests, and in their disregard 
of rectitude and religion, would dethrone either their God 
or their conscience ; let that time come, whether soooner 
or later, and in the sad experience, that our excellent institu- 
tions cannot possibly be sustained in such a state of things, 
we shall infallibly witness the extinction, and probably the 
permanent extinction, of the happiness we enjoy, and of the 
glory which crowns us. ST^WIBUo 
SENSITIVE STATES OF THE MIND OR SENTIMENTS. 
PART THIRD. 
IMPERFECT AND DISORDERED SENSITIVE ACTION. CHAPTER FIRST. 
DISORDERED AND ALIENATED ACTION OF THE AP- 
PETITES AND PROPENSITIES. 
§. 307. Introductory remarks on disordered sensitive action. 
With what has now been said on the subject of our moral 
nature, we bring the interesting and important department 
of the Sensibilities, in its two leading forms of the Natural or 
Pathematic Sensibilities, and of the Moral Sensibilities, to a 
conclusion. In saying this, however, we have reference to 
its regular and ordinary action ; or that action, which takes 
place in accordance with the ordinary and permanent princi- 
ples of the Sensitive nature. But it remains to be added fur- 
ther, that there are instances here, as well as in the Intellect, 
of marked and disastrous deviations from the salutary re- 
straints, which these principles impose. In other words, 
there is not unfrequently an action of the Sensibilities, which 
is so far out of the ordinary or natural line of the precedents 
of the heart and the morals, that it may be properly describ- 
ed, sometimes as an imperfect or disordered, and sometimes 
as an alienated action. It is to the examination of this 
subject, a knowledge of which is obviously necessary to a 
comprehensive and complete view of the Sensibilities, that 
we now propose to proceed. 
308. Of what is meant by a disordered and alienated state of the sen- 
sibilities. 
It may be proper to remark here, that an imperfect or dis- 
ordered action of the Sensibilities may express merely an ir- 
regularity of action, something out of the common and ordi- 
nary course of action ; or, as the form of expression is obvi- 
ously a somewhat general and indefinite one, it may indicate 370 
DISORDERED AND ALIENATED ACTION 
something more. When, for instance, this irregular and dis- 
ordered state passes a certain limit, goes beyond a certain 
boundary which is more easily conceived than described, it 
becomes Insanity or Alienation. That is to say, the merely 
irregular action becomes an insane or alienated action, when 
it becomes so great, so pervading, and so deeply rooted in 
the mind, that the individual has no power of restoration in 
himself. So that it would seem to follow in view of this re- 
mark, that there may be a disordered state of the mind, 
which is insanity; and under other circumstances a disorder- 
ed state of the mind, which is not insanity, or rather which 
is less than insanity. But in either case, this condition of 
mind is not to be regarded, nor is it in point of fact, a sound 
mental state. Although we may not be able to say specifical- 
ly in a given case, that the disorder has reached the point of 
insanity, yet it is certain that the mind in this disordered 
state, whether the disorder be greater or less, is presented to 
our view in a new and important aspect. 
Unquestionably a wide and interesting field of remark is 
opened here. Nevertheless what we have to say will neces- 
sarily be brief, indicating rather the general trains of thought 
which naturally present themselves, than following them out 
into minuteness of detail. And in executing this plan, im- 
perfect as it can hardly fail to be, we shall conform, so far 
as may be practicable, to those classifications of our Sensi- 
tive nature, which have hitherto helped to aid our inquiries. 
§. 309. Of the disordered and alienated action of the appetites. 
Accordingly we remark, in the first place, that there may 
be a disordered and alienated action of the Appetites. It is 
well known, that the appetites grow stronger and stronger 
by repeated indulgence. While the process of increased ap- 
petitive tendency is going on, there still remains, in the major- 
ity of cases, enough of remonstrance in the conscience and of 
restrictive and aggressive energy in the Will, to ward off that 
state of thraldom, which is rapidly approaching. But in 
some melancholy cases it is otherwise ; the line of demarca- 
tion, which separates the possibility and the impossibility of 
a restoration, is passed ; and from that time onward there is 
nothing but interminable sinking. Such cases as these may OF THE APPETITES AND PROPENSITIES. 
371 
undoubtedly be regarded as coming within the limits of some 
of the multiplied forms of mental alienation. 
The most frequent instances of mental alienation, origina- 
ting in a disordered and excessive energy of the appetites, 
are to be found in that numerous class of persons, who ha- 
bitually indulge in the use of intoxicating drugs, particularly 
ardent spirits. When the person, who indulges in the use of 
intoxicating liquors, has so increased the energjr of this per- 
nicious appetite as really to bring himself within the limits 
of mental alienation, there is no hope of a return by means of 
any effort, which he himself is capable of making. He may 
have a clear perception of the misery of his situation ; the 
desire of esteem may still arouse within him the recollection 
of what he once was and of what he still ought to be ; the 
conscience may still speak out in remonstrance, though prob- 
ably with a diminished voice ; the will may continue to put 
forth some ineffectual struggles ; but it is found to be all in 
vain. If left to himself and not put under that constraint, 
which is proper to persons in actual insanity, it may be re- 
garded as a matter of moral certainty, that he will plunge 
deeper and deeper in the degrading vice of which he is the 
subject, so long as the remaining powers of life shall support 
him in the process. 
The individuals, who are in this situation, seem themselves 
to have a consciousness of this. They see clearly, that in 
their own strength there is no hope. In repeated instances 
such persons have gone to keepers of penitentiaries and other 
prisons, and earnestly entreated for admission, on the ground 
that nothing short of strict seclusion within their massy walls 
would secure them against the ruinous indulgence of their 
appetite. "The use of strong drink, (says Dr. Rush, Dis- 
eases of the Mind, Chap, X,) is at first the effect of free agen- 
cy. From habit it takes place from necessity. That this is 
the case, I infer from persons who are inordinately devoted 
to the use of ardent spirits being irreclaimable, by all the 
considerations which domestic obligations, friendship, repu- 
tation, property, and sometimes even by those which religion 
and the love of life can suggest to them. An instance of in- 
sensibility to the last, in a habitual drunkard, occurred some 
years ago in Philadelphia. When strongly urged, by one of 372 
DISORDERED AND ALIENATED ACTION 
his friends, to leave off drinking, he said, 'Were a keg of 
rum in one corner of a room and were a cannon constantly 
discharging balls between me and it, I could not refrain from 
passing before that cannon, in order to get at the rum.'" 
(See in connection with this subject, Vol. I, §. 99.) 
§. 310. Disordered action of the principle of self-preservation. 
As we advance upward from the Appetites to the region 
of the Propensities, such as the principle of self-preservation, 
the desire of knowledge, the desire of society, and the like, 
we shall find the latter as well as the former, probably with- 
out an exception, subject, in certain individuals, to a greater 
or less degree of what may be termed a diseased or disorder- 
ed action. We begin with the propensive principle of Self- 
preservation, or what may be designated in other terms, as 
the natural desire of a continuance of existence. This prin- 
ciple like the others of the same class, although not general- 
ly in so marked a degree, will sometimes manifest itself under 
such circumstances and in such a manner as obviously to 
show, that its action is not a natural, regular, or healthy ac- 
tion. Persons, under the influence of the disordered action 
of the principle which is connected with the preservation of 
life, multiply, as they would be naturally disposed to do, im- 
ages of danger and terror, which have no existence, nor like- 
ness of existence, except in their own disordered minds. 
They not only see perils, which are invisible to others ; but 
are led to take a multitude of precautions, which in the esti- 
mation of those around them are altogether unnecessary, and 
even ridiculous. 
Pinel under the head of Melancholy mentions a case, 
which may be considered as illustrating this subject. "A 
distinguished military officer, (he says,) after fifty years of 
active service in the cavalry, was attacked with disease. It 
commenced by his experiencing vivid emotions from the 
slightest causes ; if, for example, he heard any disease spok- 
en of, he immediately believed himself to be attacked by it; 
if any one was mentioned as deranged in intellect, he imagin- 
ed himself insane, and retired into his chamber full of mel- 
ancholy thoughts and inquietude. Every thing became for 
him a subject of fear and alarm. If he entered into a house, OF THE APPETITES AND PROPENSITIES. 
373 
he was afraid that the floor would fall, and precipitate him 
amid its ruins. lie could not pass a bridge without terror, 
unless impelled by the sentiment of honor for the purpose of 
fighting." * 
§. 311. Disordered and alienated action of the possessory principle. 
There are instances occurring, with a considerable degree 
of frequency, of a disordered or alienated action of the desire 
of possession or the Possessory principle. Some of these are 
voluntary ; that is to say, are brought about by a course of 
action, of which the responsibility rests upon the individual. 
Others appear to be congenital or natural. Among the 
class of confirmed misers we shall be likely, from time to 
time, to find instances of the first class. There are individ- 
uals among this class of persons, who have so increased the 
energy of the Possessory principle, (Acquisitiveness, as it is 
sometimes conveniently termed,) by a long voluntary course 
of repetition, that its action is no longer under the control of 
the Will, but has obviously passed over into the region of 
mental alienation. Such probably must have been the case 
with a certain individual mentioned by Valerius Maximus, 
who took advantage of a famine to sell a mouse for two hun- 
dred pence, and then famished himself with the money in 
his pocket. It is difficult to tell, however, although a per- 
son may unquestionably become insane in his avarice, wheth- 
er this is actually the case in any given instance, or whether 
notwithstanding its intensity, it falls in some degree short of 
alienation. 
The reader will be able probably, by consulting the resour- 
ces of his own recollection, to understand the applications of 
this subject. Nevertheless we take the liberty to delay a mo- 
ment upon the well known and somewhat singular case of Sir 
Harvey Elwes, of Stoke in the county of Suffolk, England. 
Sir Harvey Elwes inherited from a miserly mother, and an 
uncle of the same parsimonious disposition, the large property 
of £ 350,000. This singular individual, as is sometimes 
the case with misers, is said to have punctually discharged, 
his obligations towards others, and in some instances even 
to have conducted with liberality ; but in whatever concern- 
ed himself his parsimony, notwithstanding his great riches, 
* Pinel, as quoted in Combe's Phrenology, Boston ed. p. 241. 374 
DISORDERED AND ALIENATED ACTION 
was extreme and unalterable. When travelling he accus- 
tomed himself to great abstinence, that he might lessen the 
charges of his maintenance ; and for the same reason he 
supported his horse with the few blades of grass, which he 
could gather by the sides of hedges and in the open com- 
mons. Like his predecessor Sir Harvey, from whom he 
seems to thave derived his title and who was hardly less mi- 
serly than his nephew, he wore the clothes of those, who 
had gone before him ; and when his best coat was beyond the 
ability of any further service, he refused to replace it at his 
own expense, but accepted one from a neighbor. He was so 
saving of fuel, that he took advantage of the industry of the 
crows in pulling down their nests ; and if any friend acciden- 
tally living with him were absent, he would carefully put out 
his fire and walk to a neighbor's house, in order that the 
same chimney might give out warmth to both. Although he 
never committed any of his transactions to writing, he could 
not have been ignorant of his immense wealth ; but this did 
not prevent his being exceedingly apprehensive, that he 
should at last die with want. " Sometimes hiding his gold 
in small parcels in different parts of his house, he would anx- 
iously visit the spot to ascertain whether each remained as 
he had left it : arising from -bed, he would hasten to his 
bureau to examine if its contents were in safety. In later 
life, no other sentiment occupied his mind : at midnight he 
has been heard as if struggling with assailants, and crying 
out in agitation, 'I will keep my money,-I will; nobody 
shall rob me of my property!' though no one was near to 
disturb him in its possession. At length this remarkable per- 
son died in the year 1789, aged nearly eighty, and worth 
nearly a million." * 
§. 312. Instances of the second kind or form of disordered action of the 
possessory principle. 
There are other instances of the disordered action of the 
principle of Acquisitiveness, which appear to be congenital 
or constitutional. In the case of the persons to whom we 
now have reference, the disposition to get possession of what- 
ever can be regarded as property, whether of greater or less 
Origin and Progress of the Passions, (Anonymous,) Vol. I, p. 310. OF THE APPETITES AND PROPENSITIES. 
375 
value, shows itself, not only in great strength, but at a very 
early period of life. There are a considerable number of ca- 
ses of this kind to be found in the writings of Gall and Spurz- 
heirn ; and there are some notices of similar cases in a few 
other writers. Dr. Rush, for instance, in his Medical Inqui- 
ries, mentions a woman, who was entirely exemplary in her 
conduct, except in one particular. " She could not refrain 
from stealing. What made this vice the more remarkable was, 
that she was in easy circumstances, and not addicted to ex- 
travagance in any thing. Such was the propensity to this 
vice, that, when she could lay her hands on nothing more 
valuable, she would often, at the table of a friend, fill her 
pockets secretly with bread. She both confessed, and la- 
mented her crime." * 
Some of the facts, which are given by Dr. Gall, are as 
follows. " Victor Amadeus I., King of Sardinia, was in 
the constant habit of stealing trifles. Saurin, pastor at Ge- 
neva, though possessing the strongest principles of reason 
and religion, frequently yielded to the propensity to steal. 
Another individual was, from early youth, a victim to this 
inclination. He entered the military service, on purpose 
that he might be restrained by the severity of the discipline ; 
but having continued his practices, he was on the point of 
being condemned to be hanged. Ever seeking to combat his 
ruling passion, he studied theology and became a Capuchin. 
But this propensity followed him even to the cloister. Here, 
however, as he found only trifles to tempt him, he indulged 
himself in his strange fancy with less scruple. He seized 
scissors, candlesticks, snuffers, cups, goblets, and conveyed 
them to his cell. An agent of the government at Vienna had 
the singular mania for stealing nothing but kitchen utensils. 
He hired two rooms as a place of deposit ; he did not sell, 
and made no use of them. The wife of the famous physician 
Gaubius,had such a propensity to pilfer, that when she made a 
purchase, she al ways sought to take something. The Count- 
esses M., at Wessel, and P., at Frankfort, had also this pro- 
pensity. Madame de W. had been educated with peculiar 
care. Her wit and talents secured her a distinguished place in 
society. But neither her education nor her fortune saved her 
from the most decided propensity to theft. Lavater speaks 376 
DISORDERED AND ALIENATED ACTION 
of a physician, who never left the room of his patients with- 
out robbing them of something, and who never thought of 
the matter afterwards. In the evening his wife used to ex- 
amine his pockets ; she there found keys, scissors, thimbles, 
knives, spoons, buckles, cases, and sent them to their respec- 
tive owners." * 
§. 313. Disordered action of imitativeness or the principle of imitation. 
The proof, that there is in man a principle of imitation, 
which impels him to do as others do, is so abundant, as prob- 
ably to leave no reasonable doubt upon the candid mind. 
This principle, as compared with its ordinary operation and 
character, is found in some individuals to exhibit an irregu- 
lar or diseased action. M. Pinel, as he is quoted by Dr. 
Gall, speaks of an idiot woman, " who had an irresistible pro- 
pensity to imitate all that she saw done in her presence. 
She repeats instinctively, all she hears, and imitates the ges- 
tures and actions of others with the greatest fidelity ; and 
without troubling herself with any regard to propriety." f 
Under the form of Sympathetic Imitation, the disordered ac- 
tion of this principle becomes very important; so much so 
that we shall leave the subject here for the purpose of con- 
sidering it more at length than we could otherwise do, in a 
separate chapter. 
§. 314. Disordered action of the principle of sociality. 
The principle of Sociality, obviously one of the implanted 
propensities of our nature, may exist with such a degree of 
intensity as justly to entitle its action to be called a disorder- 
ed, and in some cases even an alienated action. In connec- 
tion with this remark, it may be proper to revert a moment 
to the precise idea, which we attach to the term alienation, 
considered as expressive of a state or condition of the mind. 
There may be an imperfection of mental action, there may 
be a disorder of mental action, which is nevertheless not an 
alienation of mental action. The term alienation properly 
applies to those forms of mental action, which are so much 
disordered as to set at defiance any efforts of the will to con- 
trol them ; in a word they are involuntary. So that in ac- 
cordance with this statement, there may be either a disor- 
dered state of the principle of sociality or of any other prin- 
•GaU's Works, Vol. 4th, Am. Ed. p. 132. f The same, Vol. I, p. 320. OF THE APPETITES AND PROPENSITIES. 
377 
ciple, (that is to say, one which is irregular, but still is sus- 
ceptible of correction under the efforts of the will;) or there 
may be, when this disorder is found to exist beyond certain 
limits, an alienated, an insane state. But, although this dis- 
tinction should be fully understood, it is not necessary, in the 
remarks, which for the most part we have occasion to make, 
that we should always keep it distinctly in view. 
But to return to our subject. An irregular action of the 
social principle, whether it be truly alienated or exist in 
some lighter form of disorder, may show itself in two aspects, 
which are entirely diverse from each other, viz, either in a 
morbid aversion to society, or in a desire of society inordi- 
nately intense. Persons, to whom the first statement will 
apply are generally, and for the most part justly, designated 
as Misanthropes. Under the influence of some sudden revul- 
sion of the mind, of some great disappointment, of some ill- 
treatment on the part of near relatives and supposed friends, 
or of some other powerful cause, the natural tie of brother- 
hood, which binds man to his fellow-man, is snapped asun- 
der, and the soul flees to the rock and the desert never more 
to return. Such instances, the Timon of Athens of Shaks- 
peare, the Black Dwarf of Walter Scott, and numerous others, 
are too frequently found, not only on the recorded annals of 
human nature, but in almost every one's personal experience, 
to require any minuteness of notice. 
SI 5. Further remarks on the disordered action of the social propensity. 
There is another class of cases, which in their character 
appear to be directly the reverse of those which have just 
been mentioned. Individuals, when they are cut off from 
society, particularly the society of their friends, are some- 
times the subjects of a misery inexpressibly intense. We 
have already had occasion to allude to the case of the young 
Foscari, who was banished from Venice ; and who died ap- 
parently in consequence of the mere mental anguish which 
he suffered. Cases were also mentioned of death, resulting 
from solitary confinement in prison. (§. 148.) There is an 
exceedingly painful disease, founded in a great degree, upon 
the disordered action of the social principle, which is termed 
by physicians Nostalgia ; but which is more commonly known 378 
DISORDERED AND ALIENATED ACTION 
under the familiar designation of home-sickness. This dis- 
ease, which is sometimes fatal, is said to have frequently 
prevailed among the Swiss, when absent from their native 
country. The beautiful sky, which shone over them in their 
absence from their native land, the works of art, the allure- 
ments of the highest forms of civilization, could not erase 
from their hearts the image of their rugged mountains and 
their stormy heavens. They had society enough around 
them, it is true ; but it was not the society, which their 
hearts sought for, or in which in existing circumstances they 
could participate. They bowed their heads under the influ- 
ence of a hidden and irrepressible sorrow ; and in many ca- 
ses not merely pined away, but died in the deep anguish of 
their separation. 
In the year 1733, a Russian army, under the command of 
General Praxin, advanced to the banks of the Rhine. At 
this remote distance from their native country this severe 
mental disease began to prevail among the Russians, so much 
so that five or six soldiers every day became unfit for duty ; 
a state of things which threatened to affect the existence of 
the army. The progress of this home-sickness was termina- 
ted by a severe order from the commander, (designed proba- 
bly, and which had the effect to produce a strong counteract- 
ing state of mind,) that every one affected with the sickness 
should be buried alive.* 
There may be a disordered action of the desire of Esteem. 
This principle is not only an original one; but as a general 
thing it possesses, as compared with some of the other Pro- 
pensities, a greater and more available amount of strength. 
It is a regard for the opinion of others, (a sense of character, 
as we sometimes term it,) which, in the absence, or the too 
great weakness of higher principles, serves to restrict the 
conduct of multitudes within the bounds of decency and or- 
der. This principle is good and important in its place, and 
under due regulation ; but it is exceedingly apt to become 
irregular, unrestrained, and inordinate in its exercise. This 
view throws light upon the character of many individuals. 
It is here probably that we may discover the leading defect 
§. 316. Of the disordered action of the desire of esteem. 
• Dr. Rush on the Diseases of the Mind, 2d, Ed. p. 113. OF THE APPETITES AND PROPENSITIES. 
379 
in the character of Alcibiades, a name of distinguished celeb- 
rity in the history of Athens. His ruling passion seems to 
have been not so much the love of power, as the love of ap- 
plause. In other words, his great desire was, as has been 
well remarked of him, "to make a noise, and to furnish mat- 
ter of conversation to the Athenians." 
Pope, in the First of his Moral Essays, illustrates this sub- 
ject, in his usual powerfid manner, in what he says of the 
Duke of Wharton ; the key to whose character he finds in 
the excessive desire of human applause. 
" Search then the ruling passion. There alone 
"The wild are constant, and the cunning known ; 
"This clue once found unravels all the rest, 
"The prospect clears, and Wharton stands confest. 
"Wharton, the scorn and wonder of our days, 
"Whose ruling passion was the lust of praise. 
"Born with what'er could win it from the wise, 
"Women and fools must like him, or he dies. 
The inordinate exercise of this propensity, as is correctly 
intimated by Mr. Stewart, tends to disorganize the mind. The 
man, who is under the influence of such an extensive appe- 
tite for the world's smiles and flatteries, has no fixed rule of 
conduct ; but the action of his mind, his opinions, desires, 
hopes, and outward conduct, are constantly fluctuating with 
the changing tide of popular sentiment. It is nearly impos- 
sible, that the pillars of the mind should remain firm, and 
without more or less undermining and dislocation, under 
the operation of such a system of uncertainty and vicissi- 
tude. Nor is this all. When persons, who are under the 
influence of this excessive desire, are disappointed in the pos- 
session of that approbation and applause, which is its natural 
food, they are apt to become melancholy, misanthropic, and 
unhappy in a very high degree. In fact, numerous cases of 
actual Insanity, if we look carefully at the statements of wri- 
ters on the subject of Mental Alienation, may probably be 
traced to this source. 
And where insanity does not supervene, there are some 
times consequences scarcely less unfavorable. It is well 
known that within a few years a number of gifted individu- 
als have been hurried to an early grave, in consequence of 380 
DISORDERED AND ALIENATED ACTION 
being held up to public contempt and ridicule in anonymous 
Reviews. The case of Henry Kirk White, too keenly alive 
to the frowns and favors of popular sentiment, notwithstand- 
ing his great and unquestionable excellencies, will illustrate 
what we mean* The circumstance, that the inordinate ex- 
ercise of this desire is sometimes connected with distinguish- 
ed vigor of intellect and purity of moral sentiment, does not 
necessarily secure the disappointed and calumniated individ- 
ual who is the subject of it, against great anguish of mind ; 
so great in some instances as not only to destroy happiness 
but life itself. 
§. 317. Disordered action of the desire of power. 
Men become disordered in mind, and sometimes actually 
insane, not only by the inordinate indulgence of the desire of 
esteem and the desire of possession, but also, perhaps with 
no less frequency, under the influence of the exaggerated 
and intense desire of power. They are looking onward and 
upward with an excited heart and constrained eye, to some 
form of authority, honor, and dominion, till this desire, 
strengthened by constant repetition, becomes the predomi- 
nant feeling. Instances, where the disorder of the mind 
arises in this way and exists to this extent, are innumerable. 
But it is not always, that it stops here. If the desire is sud- 
denly and greatly disappointed, as it is very likely to be, the 
reaction upon the whole mind may be such as to cause dis- 
order in all its functions, and leave it a wide mass of ruins. 
The history of those, who are confined in Insane Hospi- 
tals, furnishes a strong presumption, that such results are 
not unfrequent. Although the mind is deranged, the pre- 
dominant feeling, which led to the derangement, seems still 
to remain. One individual challenges for himself the honors 
of a Chancellor, another of a King ; one is a member of Par- 
liament, another is the Lord Mayor of London ; one, under 
the name of the Duke of Wellington or Bonaparte, claims to 
be the commander of mighty armies, another announces him- 
self, with the tone and attitude of a Prophet of the Most 
High. Pinel informs us, that there were at one time no less 
than three maniacs in one of the French Insane Hospitals ; 
• Keats, the author of Endymion, may probably be regarded as anoth- 
er recent instance. OF THE APPETITES AND PROPENSITIES. 
381 
each of whom assumed to be Louis XIV. On one occasion 
these individuals were found disputing with each other, with 
a great degree of energy, their respective rights to the 
throne. The dispute was terminated by the sagacity of the 
superintendent, who approaching one of them gave him with 
a serious look to understand, that he ought not to dispute on 
the subject with the others, since they were obviously mad. 
"Is it not well known (said the superintendent,) that you 
alone ought to be acknowledged as Louis XIV?" The in- 
sane person, flattered with this homage, cast upon his com- 
panions a look of the most marked disdain, and immediately 
retired. 
The principle of veracity or the tendency of mind, which 
leads men to utter the truth, appears to be an original or im- 
planted one. This principle, either through habit or by nat- 
ural defect, sometimes exhibits itself in strangely perverted 
forms. Dr. Rush speaks of a lying disease. " It differs 
from exculpating, fraudulent, and malicious lying, in being 
influenced by none of the motives of any of them. Persons 
thus diseased cannot speak the truth on any subject nor tell 
the same story twice in the same way, nor describe any 
thingas it has appeared to other people. Their falsehoods 
are seldom calculated to injure any body but themselves, be- 
ing for the most part of a hyperbolical or boasting nature, 
but now and then they are of a mischievous nature, and in- 
jurious to the characters and property of others. That it is 
a corporeal disease, [that is to say, in some way connected 
with a diseased state of the body,] I infer from its sometimes 
appearing in mad people, who are remarkable for veracity in 
the healthy states of their minds, several instances of which 
I have known in the Pennsylvania Hospital. Persons affec- 
ted with this disease are often amiable in their tempers and 
manners, and sometimes benevolent and charitable in their 
dispositions."* 
Enough perhaps has been said on this part of our subject, 
to give at least a general idea of it. The same train of 
thought, and with scarcely any modification, will apply to all 
the original appetites and propensities. They are all implan- 
ted by the Creator of the mind; they are all good in their 
§. 318. Disordered action of the principle of veracity. 
Rush on the Diseases of the mind, 2d Ed. p. 265. 382 
SYMPATHETIC IMITATION. 
place and under proper regulation ; they are all, not only 
morally evil in their exaggerated and inordinate form, but 
are attended with more or less of mental disorder, from the 
slightest shades of disorganization to the deep and terrible 
miseries of permanent insanity. 
CHAPTER SECOND. 
SYMPATHETIC IMITATION. 
§. 319. Of sympathetic imitation and what is involved in it. 
We endeavored, in its proper place, to illustrate the natu- 
ral origin and the prevalence of the propensity to imitation. 
In connection with the general truth of the existence of such 
a propensity, it is proper to observe here, that there is a 
subordinate and peculiar form of imitation, which is deserv- 
ing of a separate notice ; and particularly so on account of 
its practical results. We speak now of what has been appro- 
priately termed Sympathetic Imitation. 
It is implied in all cases of Sympathetic Imitation, that 
there is more than one person concerned in them ; and it ex- 
ists in general, in the highest degree, when the number of 
persons is considerable. Some one or more of these individ- 
uals is strongly agitated by some internal emotion, desire, or 
passion ; and this inward agitation is expressed by the coun- 
tenance, gestures, or other external signs. There is also a 
communication of such agitation of the mind to others ; they 
experience similar emotions, desires, and passions. And 
these new exercises of soul are expressed on the part of the 
sympathetic person, by similar outward signs. In a single 
word, when we are under the influence of this form of imita- 
tion, we both act and feel as others. And this happens, not 
only in consequence of what we witness in them, and appa- SYMPATHETIC IMITATION. 
383 
rently for no other reason ; but it happens naturally ; that is 
to say, in virtue of an implanted or natural principle. The 
view, which we are inclined to take of this principle, is, that, 
although we may properly speak of it, on account of its close 
resemblance, as a modification of the more ordinary form of 
Imitativeness, yet on the whole it is so far distinct and spe- 
cific in its character, as to entitle it to be regarded as a sep- 
arate part of our sensitive nature. As such, it might have 
been treated of in another place ; but in its ordinary action 
it is generally well understood ; and we have delayed the 
consideration of it till the present time, because it is our 
principal object to give some account of its disordered or 
alienated action. 
§. 320. Familiar instances of sympathetic imitation. 
Abundance of instances, (many of them frequent and fa- 
miliar,) show the existence of sympathetic imitation; in 
other words, that there is in human feelings, and in the signs 
of those'feelings, a power of contagious communication, by 
which they often spread themselves rapidly from one to 
another. 
In general it may be remarked, (says Mr. Stewart,) that 
whenever we see, in the countenance of another individual, 
any sudden change of features ; more especially, such a 
change as is expressive of any particular passion or emotion ; 
our own countenance has a tendency to assimilate itself to 
his. Every man is sensible of this when he looks at a per- 
son under the influence of laughter, or in a deep melancholy. 
Something, too, of the same kind takes place in that spasm 
of the muscles of the jaw, which we experience in yawning ; 
an action which is well known to be frequently excited by 
the contagious power of example. Even when we conceive, 
in solitude, the external expression of any passion, the effect 
of the conception is visible in our own appearance. This is 
a fact of which every person must be conscious, who attends, 
in his own case, to the result of the experiment ; and it is a 
circumstance, which has been often remarked with respect to 
historical painters, when in the act of transferring to the can- 
vass the glowing pictures of a creative imagination."* 
To these statements, illustrative of sympathetic imitation, 
may be added the fact, that if there are a number of children 
* Stewart's Elements; Vol. nr, Chap. n. 384 
SYMPATHETIC IMITATION. 
together, and one of them suddenly gives way to tears and 
sobs, it is generally the case, that all the rest are more or 
less affected in the same manner. Another case, illustrative 
of the same natural principle, is that of a mob, when they 
gaze at a dancer on the slack rope. They seem not only to 
be filled with the same anxiety, which we may suppose to 
exist in the rope dancer himself; but they naturally writhe, 
and twist, and balance their own bodies, as they see him do. 
It has also been frequently remarked, that when we see a 
stroke aimed and just ready to fall upon the leg or arm of 
another person, we naturally shrink, and slightly draw back 
our own leg or arm, with a sort of prophetic or anticipative 
imitation of the person on whom the blow is about to be in- 
flicted. Hysterical paroxysms are said to have been some- 
times produced at witnessing the exhibition of the pathetic 
parts of a drama. And even the convulsions of epilepsy have 
been excited by the mere sight of a person afflicted- with them. 
§. 821. Of sympathetic imitation in large multitudes. 
It has been often noticed, that the power of sympathetic 
imitation has been rendered intense, nearly in proportion to 
the numbers assembled together. In a large army, if the 
voice of triumph and joy be raised in a single column, it im- 
mediately extends through the whole. On the other hand, 
if a single column be struck with panic, and exhibit external 
signs of terror by flight or otherwise, the whole army is like- 
ly to become rapidly infected. The tremendous power of 
the mobs, which are often collected in large cities, may be 
explained in part, on the same principle. The dark cloud, 
that is standing upon the brow of one, is soon seen to gather 
in darkness on the brow of his neighbor ; and thus to prop- 
agate itself rapidly in every direction, till one universal gloom 
of vengeance settles broadly and blackly upon the moving sea 
of the multitude. 
Similar results are sometimes witnessed in large delibera- 
tive assemblies. The art of the orator introduces a common 
feeling, which glows simultaneously in their bosoms. Soon 
some one, either sustained by weaker nerves or under the in- 
fluence of stronger internal impulses, gives signs of bodily ag- 
itation. Those, who sit nearest, will probably next imbibe SYMPATHETIC IMITATION, 
385 
the contagion ; which spreads and increases, until the whole 
assembly is in a tumult. The spread of this sympathetic 
communication will be particularly rapid, if the first instances 
of emotion and action are of a decided and strong character. 
The statements, which have been made, are matters of 
common observation, and can hardly be supposed to have es- 
caped the notice of any. But there are various other facts 
on record of a less common character, although involving es- 
sentially the same principles. 
§. 322. Of the animal magnetism of M. Mesner in connection with this 
subject. 
About the year 1784, M. Mesner of Vienna professed to 
perform various and important cures by what he called ani- 
mal magnetism. As this new mode of healing was introdu- 
ced into France, and much interest was felt on the subject, 
Louis the Sixteenth appointed a number of persons to exam- 
ine into it ; among whom were Lavoisier, Bailly, and Dr. 
Franklin, at that time American minister at Paris. On in- 
quiry it appeared, that it was common in the process to as- 
semble a considerable number of patients together. The pa- 
tients were placed round a circular box or bucket of oak, the 
lid of which was pierced with a number of holes, through 
which there issued movable and curved branches of iron. 
These branches were to be applied by the patient to the dis- 
eased part. The commissioners, who were witnesses to 
these proceedings, found that no effect was produced at first. 
The patients usually sat an hour and sometimes two, before 
the crisis came on ; being connected with each other mean- 
while by means of a cord passed round their bodies. At 
length some one, wearied and nervous, and with feelings ev- 
idently much excited, was thrown into extraordinary convul- 
sions. And in a short time the whole body of patients be- 
came similarly affected, in a greater or less degree. But the 
commissioners themselves, after having witnessed these sin- 
gular results, consented to become the subjects of these ex- 
periments in their own persons. But they testify that no ef- 
fect was produced upon them. They also aver, when the 
process was gone through on persons alone, the same effects 
were not produced, as when a number were together, pro- 
vided the attempt were made for the first time. In the fol- 386 
SYMPATHETIC IMITATION. 
lowing extract they seem to attribute the results partly to 
imagination, and partly to sympathy, that is to say, to Sym- 
pathetic Imitation. 
" The magnetism, then, (the commissioners remark), or, 
rather, the operations of the imagination, are equally discov- 
erable at the theatre, in the camp, and in all numerous as- 
semblies, as at the bucket ; acting, indeed, by different 
means, but producing similar effects. The bucket is surroun- 
ded with a crowd of patients ; the sensations are continually 
communicated and recommunicated ; the nerves are at last 
worn out with this exercise, and the woman of most sensibil- 
ity in the company gives the signal. In the meantime, the 
men, who are witnesses of these emotions, partake of them 
in proportion to their nervous sensibility ; and those, with 
whom this sensibility is greatest, and most easily excited, be- 
come themselves the subjects of a crisis. 
" This irritable disposition, partly natural and partly ac- 
quired, becomes in each sex habitual. The sensations hav- 
ing been felt once or oftener, nothing is now necessary but 
to recall the memory of them, and to exalt the imagination to 
the same degree in order to operate the same effects. The 
public process is no longer necessary. You have only to con- 
duct the finger and the rod of iron before the countenance, 
and to repeat the accustomed ceremonies. In many cases, 
the experiment succeeds, even when the patient is blindfold- 
ed, and, without any actual exhibitions of the signs, is made 
to believe that they are repeated as formerly. The ideas are 
re-excited ; the sensations are reproduced ; while the imagi- 
nation, employing its accustomed instruments, and resuming 
its former routes, gives birth to the same phenomena."* 
Multitudes of other facts equally well attested, show the 
sympathetic connection between mind and mind ; and the 
sympathy between the mind and the nervous and muscular 
system. Few are more interesting and decisive than what is 
stated to have occurred at Haerlem under the inspection of 
Boerhave. " In the house of charity at Haerlem, (says 
§. 323. Instances of sympathetic imitation at the poor-house of Haerlem. 
•Rapports des Commissaires charges par le Roi, de i'Examen du Mag- 
netisme Animal, (as quoted by Stewart.) SYMPATHETIC IMITATION. 
387 
the account,) a girl, under the impression of terror, fell into 
a convulsive disease, which returned in regular paroxysms. 
One of the by-standers, intent upon assisting her, was seized 
with a similar fit, which also recurred at intervals ; and on 
the day following, another was attacked ; then a third, and 
a fourth ; in short, almost the whole of the children, both 
girls and boys,were afflicted with these convulsions. No 
sooner was one seized than the sight brought on the parox- 
ysm in almost all the rest at the?same time. Uuder these 
distressing,circumstances, the physicians exibited all the 
powerful antepileptic medicines with which their art furnish- 
ed them ; but in vain. They then applied to Boerhave, who, 
compassionating the wretched condition of the poor children, 
repaired to Haerlem ; and whilst he was inquiring into the 
matter one of them was seized with a fit, and immediately he 
saw several others attacked with a species of epileptic con- 
vulsion. It presently occurred to this sagacious physician, 
that, as the best medicines had been skilfully administered, 
and as the propagation of the disease from one to another 
appeared to depend on imagination, [the sympathy of im- 
agination,] by preventing this impression upon the mind, the 
disease might be cured ; and his suggestion was successfully 
adopted. Having previously apprized the magistrates of his 
views, he ordered, in the presence of all the children, that 
several portable furnaces should be placed in different parts 
of the chamber, containing burning coals, and that irons, bent 
to a certain form should be placed in the furnaces ; and then 
he gave these farther commands ; that all medicines would 
be totally useless, and the only remedy, with which he was 
acquainted, was, that the first, who should be seized with a 
fit, whether boy or girl, must be burnt in the arm to the ve- 
ry bone by a red hot iron. He spoke this with uncommon 
dignitys and gravity ; and the children, terrified at the 
thoughts of this cruel remedy, when they perceived any ten- 
dency to the recurrence of the paroxysm, immediately exer- 
ted all their("strength of mind, and called up the horid idea 
of the burning ; amfwere thus enabled, by the stronger men- 
tal impression, to resist the influence of the morbid propen- 
sity. 388 
SYMPATHETIC IMITATION. 
324. Other instances of this species of imitation. 
It would not be difficult to multiply cases, similar to those, 
which have been mentioned. A few years since, there was 
a man in Chelmsford, Massachusetts, who had a family of six 
children, one of whom became affected with the chorea or 
St. Vitus' dance. The others, in the indulgence of that 
thoughtless gaiety which is natural to children amused them- 
selves with imitating his odd gestures, until after a time they 
were irresistibly affected in the same way. At this state of 
things, which seems to be susceptible of an explanation in no 
other way than on the principles of sympathetic imitation, 
the family, as may naturally be supposed, were in great af- 
fliction. The father, a man of some sagacity as well as singu- 
larity of humor, brought into the house a block and axe, and 
solemnly threatened to take off the head of the first child, 
who should hereafter exhibit any involuntary bodily move- 
ments, except the child originally diseased. By this meas- 
ure, which proceeded on the same view of the human mind 
as the experiment of Boerhave just mentioned, a new train 
of feeling was excited, and the spell was broken.* 
It may be added, that not only those inrthe same family, 
and in the same building, have been seized ; but the conta- 
gion has sometimes spread from one to another, (by the mere 
imitation of sympathy as we suppose,) over whole towns, 
and even large districts of country. This was the case in a 
part of the island of Anglesey, in 1796 ; and still later in this 
country in some parts of Tennessee f 
• §. 325. Application of these views to the witchcraft delusion in New 
England, 
The doctrines of this chapter furnish, in part at least, an 
explanation of the witchcraft delusion, which prevailed in 
New England about the year 1690. In the first place it is to 
be recollected, that the existence of witches and wizards, 
possessing a powerful but invisible agency, was a part of the 
popular creed, and was generally and fully believed. It is 
further to be recollected, that the people were as a general 
thing very ignorant at that time, a state of mind exceedingly 
* Powers' Essay on the Influence of the Imagination, p. 32, 
t See Edinburg Med. and Surg. Journal, Vol. in, p. 446, SYMPATHETIC IMITATION. 
389 
favorable to any superstition or delusion of that sort; and 
also that their minds were kept in a state of constant and 
high excitation, not only in consequence of living scattered 
abroad and remote from each other, but by residing, in many 
cases, in the midst of dense and dark forests. 
Under these circumstances certain individuals, probably 
under the influence of some form of nervous disease, became 
affected with pains in certain parts of the body, resembling 
the pain occasioned by the pricking of pins or by sudden and 
heavy blows ; and in some cases became subject to certain in- 
voluntary motions of the body, similar to those of the chorea 
or St. Vitus' dance. Of course, in accordance with the com- 
mon belief, those mysterious personages, popularly denomi- 
nated Witches, were at their work ; and the whole country 
was at once thrown into a ferment. It is not easy to con- 
ceive a more favorable basis than this for the operations of 
the powerful principle of Sympathetic Imitation. The few 
cases of nervous and muscular disease, which existed at first, 
were rapidly propagated and multiplied on every side ; and 
as the popular belief ascribed them to the agency of Satan, 
manifested in the subordinate agency of witchcraft, the in- 
fatuation soon arose to the highest point. The accusations 
of innocent individuals as exercising the art of witchery, and 
the scenes of blood which followed, were the natural conse- 
quence. Similar views will probably apply to the witch- 
craft delusions, which to the ruin of thousands of individuals 
have prevailed in other periods and countries. 
As sympathetic imitation, if it be correctly considered as 
a distinct and specific modification of the more ordinary form 
of Imitativeness, is to be regarded as an original part of our 
mental constitution, we may well suppose it has its beneficial 
ends. But it is evident from the facts which have been giv- 
en, that it may also be attended and under certain circum- 
stances is very likely to be attended, with results of a difler- 
ent kind. Hence the direction has sometimes been given by 
physicians, that a free intercourse with persons, subject to 
convulsive attacks, ought not to be unnecessarily indulged 
in, especially by such as are inclined to nervous affections. 
§. 326. Practical results connected with the foregoing views. 390 
SYMPATHETIC IMITATION. 
And this precautionary rule might be extended to other ca- 
ses ; for instance, of madness. " It is a question, (says Mr. 
Stewart in the chapter already referred to,) worthy of more 
attention than has yet been bestowed upon it by physicians, 
whether certain kinds of insanity have not a contagious ten- 
dency, somewhat analogous to that which has just been re- 
marked. That the incoherent ravings and frantic gestures 
of a madman have a singularly painful effect in unsettling 
and deranging the thoughts of others, I have more than once 
experienced in myself; nor have I ever looked upon this 
most afflicting of all spectacles, without a strong impression 
of the danger to which I should be exposed, if I were to wit- 
ness it daily. In consequence of this impression, I have al- 
ways read, with peculiar admiration, the scene in the Trage- 
dy of Lear, which forms the transition from the old king's 
beautiful and pathetic reflections on the storm, to the violent 
madness in which, without any change whatever in his ex- 
ternal circumstances, he is immediately after represented. 
In order to make this transition more gradual, the poet in- 
troduces Edgar, who, with a view of concealing himself from 
Lear, assumes the dress and behavior of a madman. At ev- 
ery sentence he utters, the mind of the king, "whose wits,11 (as 
we are told in the preceding scene,) were "beginning to turn,11 
becomes more and more deranged, till at length every ves- 
tage of reason vanishes completely." 
§. 327. Application of these views to legislative and other assemblies. 
We have already had occasion to intimate, that the effects 
of sympathetic imitation have been strikingly experienced in 
public assemblies ; and we may here add, when those effects 
have been strongly marked, they have seldom been benefi- 
cial. In all political deliberative assemblies, external signs 
of approbation and disapprobation should be in a great de- 
gree suppressed. There is generally enough in the subjects, 
which are discussed, to excite the members, without the ad- 
ditional excitement, (to use a phrase of Buffbn,) of "body speak- 
ing to body.11 It is said of the famous Athenian tribunal of 
the Areopagus, that they held their deliberations in the night, 
in order that their attention might not be diverted by exter- 
nal objects. And without expressing an opinion on this prac- SYMPATHETIC IMITATION. 
391 
tice, it is certainly not unwise to guard against the terrible 
influences under consideration ; otherwise truth, honor, and 
justice will often be sacrificed to feeling. Every public de- 
liberative assembly has probably furnished facts illustrative 
of the propriety of this caution. 
Similar remarks will apply to religious assemblies, and 
perhaps with still more force ; as religious subjects are more 
important and in general more exciting than any other. If 
in such an assembly the feelings of a few individuals become 
so strong as to show themselves very decidedly in the coun- 
tenance and the movements of the body, and particularly by 
sobs and loud outcries, it will not be surprising, if this state 
of things should quickly spread itself through the whole body. 
In this way it is probable, that serious evils have sometimes 
been experienced ; and that true and false religious feelings 
have been confounded. It is true, that people may some- 
times be led by the mere power of sympathy to attend to re- 
ligious things ; and so far, if there are no collateral evils, the 
result may be regarded as favorable ; but at the same time 
it should be kept in recollection, that the feelings, which are 
really propagated from one to another by mere sympathy, 
are not in themselves religious feelings in any proper sense 
of the terms, though they are often confounded with them. CHAPTER THIRD. 
DISORDERED ACTION OF THE AFFECTIONS. 
§. 328. Of the states of mind denominated presentiments. 
We proceed now to remark, that there may be a disorder- 
ed action of the Affections or Passions, as well as of the low- 
er principles of the Sensitive nature ; and this remark is de- 
signed to apply to both classes of the Affections, the benevo- 
lent and those of an opposite kind. We do not propose, how- 
ever, in this Chapter to confine ourselves very strictly to the 
Affections properly so called ; but shall introduce some col- 
lateral or connected subjects ; which maybe regarded as too 
interesting to be omitted, and at the same time as too unim- 
portant to require a distinct place. They may be expected, 
moreover, to throw indirectly some light upon the leading 
topic of the chapter. We begin with the subject of presen- 
timents. 
Many individuals have had at certain times strong and 
distinct impressions in relation to something future ; so much 
so that not the least doubt has remained in their own minds 
of its being something out of the common course of nature. 
It is related for instance, of the non-conformist writer, Isaac 
Ambrose, whose religious works formerly had some celebrity, 
that he had such a striking internal intimation of his ap- 
proaching death that he went round to all his friends, to bid 
them farewell. When the day arrived, which his presenti- 
ments indicated as the day of his dissolution, he shut himself 
up in his room and died. Mozart, the great musical compo- 
ser, had a strong presentiment, that the celebrated Requiem 
which bears his name, would be his last Work. Nothing DISORDERED ACTION OF THE AFFECTIONS. 
393 
could remove this impression from his mind. He expressly 
said,"it is certain I am writing this requiem for myself ; it 
will serve for my funeral service." The foreboding was re- 
alized. It is stated of Pendergrast, an officer in the Duke of 
Marlborough's army, that he had a strong foreboding, that 
he would be killed on a certain day. He mentioned his con- 
viction to others, and even made a written memorandum in 
relation to it.* Henry the Fourth of France, for some weeks 
previous to his being assassinated by Ravaillac, had a dis- 
tinct presentiment, which he mentioned to Sully and other 
men of his time, that some great calamity was about to be- 
fal him. 
Some cases of Presentiments can undoubtedly be explain- 
ed on natural principles. Some accidental circumstance, a 
mere word, the vagaries of a dream, any trifling event which 
happens in the popular belief of the time and country to be 
regarded as a sinister omen, may have been enough in some 
cases to have laid the foundation for them ; and the subse- 
quent fulfilment may have been purely accidental. Nor is it 
necessary, so far as we are able to perceive, to suppose that 
in any cases whatever there is any supernatural or miracu- 
lous interposition. But if this is not the case, it is difficult to 
account for the deep conviction which sometimes fastens up- 
on the mind, a conviction upon which arguments and persua- 
sions are found to make no impression, except upon the 
ground, that the action of the Sensibilities is in some degree 
disordered. But of the specific nature of that disorder, the 
trait or circumstance which distinguishes it from other forms 
of disordered mental action, it is difficult to give any account. 
§. 829. Of sudden and strong impulses of mind. 
There is another disordered condition of mind, different 
from that which has just been mentioned, and yet in some 
respects closely allied to it. Some persons, whose soundness 
of mind on all ordinary occasions is beyond question, find in 
themselves at certain times a sudden and strange propensity 
to do things, which, if done, would clearly prove them, to 
some extent at least, deranged. As an illustration, a person 
* Boswell's Life of Johnson, Vol. II, p. 48. 394 
DISORDERED ACTION OF THE AFFECTIONS. 
of a perfectly sane mind, according1 to the common estimate 
of insanity, once acknowledged, that, whenever he passed a 
particular bridge, he felt a slight inclination to throw himself 
over, accompanied with some dread, that his inclination 
might hurry him away. Such slight alienated impulses are 
probably more frequent, than is commonly supposed. And 
they exist in every variety of degree, sometimes scarcely 
attracting notice ; at others, bearing the broad and fatal 
stamp of dangerous insanity. 
Dr. Gall mentions the case of a woman in Germany, who, 
having on a certain occasion witnessed a building on fire, 
was ever afterwards at intervals subject to strong impulses, 
prompting her to fire buildings. Under the influence of these 
impulses she set fire to twelve buildings in the borough where 
she lived. Having been arrested on the thirteenth attempt, 
she was tried, condemned, and executed. "She could give 
no other reason, nor show any other motive, for firing so ma- 
ny houses than this impulse, which drove her to it. Not- 
withstanding the fear, the terror, and the repentance she 
felt in every instance after committing the crime, she went 
and did it afresh."* Would not sound philosophy, to say 
nothing of the requisitions of religion, have assigned such a 
person to an insane hospital, rather than to the block of the 
executioner ? 
The same writer, who has collected numerous valuable 
facts in relation to the operations of the human mind, men- 
tions the case of a German soldier, who was subject every 
month to a violent convulsive attack. "He was sensible, (he 
proceeds to remark,) of their approach, and as he felt, by de- 
grees, a violent propensity to kill, in proportion as the parox- 
ysm was on the point of commencing, he was earnest in his 
intreaties to be loaded with chains. At the end of some days 
the paroxysm and the fatal propensity diminished, and he 
himself fixed the period at which they might without dan- 
ger set him at liberty. At Haina, we saw a man, who, at 
certain periods, felt an irresistible desire to injure others. He 
knew this unhappy propensity, and had himself kept in 
chains till he perceived that it was safe to liberate him. An 
individual of melancholic temperament was present at the 
* Gall's Works,Vol. 4th,Am. Ed.p. 105. DISORDERED ACTION OF TIIE AFFECTIONS. 
395 
execution of a criminal. The sight caused him such violent 
emotion, that he at once felt himself seized with an irresisti- 
ble desire to kill, while at the same time he entertained the 
utmost horror at the commission of the crime. He depicted 
his deplorable state, weeping bitterly, and in extreme per- 
plexity. He beat his head, wrung his hands, remonstrated 
with himself, begged his friends to save themselves, and 
thanked them for the resistance they made to him."* 
§. 330. Insanity of the affections or passions. 
From the instances which have been given, it will be seen, 
that sudden and strong impulses, indicating a disordered 
state of the mind, may exist in reference to very different 
things, and also in very various degrees. The cases last 
mentioned were of such an aggravated nature, that they may 
properly be regarded as instances, (and perhaps the same 
view will apply to some other cases of a less marked charac- 
ter,) of actual alienation or insanity. And as such they may 
be correctly described as instances of the insanity of the Af- 
fections or Passions. 
The insanity of the passions is a state of mind somewhat 
peculiar, even as compared with other forms of insanity. 
The powers of perception, in cases of insanity of the passions, 
are often in full and just exercise. The mind may possess, 
in a very considerable degree, its usual ability in comparing 
ideas and in deducing conclusions. The seat of the difficulty 
is not to be sought for in what are usually designated as the 
intellectual powers, in distinction from the sensitive nature; 
but in the passions alone. The victim of this mental disease 
does not stop to reason, reflect, and compare ; but is borne 
forward to his purpose with a blind, and often an irresistible 
impulse. 
Pinel mentions a mechanic in the asylum, Bicetre, who 
was subject to this form of insanity. It was, as is frequent- 
ly the case, intermittent. He knew, when the paroxysms 
of passion were coming on, and even gave warnings to those, 
who were exposed to its effects, to make their escape. His 
powers of correctly judging remained unshaken, not only at 
other times, but even in the commission of the most violent 
* Gall's Works, Vol. I, Am. Ed. p. 329. 396 
DISORDERED ACTION OF THE AFFECTIONS. 
and outrageous acts. He saw clearly their impropriety, but 
was unable to restrain himself; and after the cessation of 
the paroxysms, was often filled with the deepest grief. 
§. 331. Of the mental disease termed hypochondriasis. 
The seat of the well known mental disease termed Hypo- 
chondriasis is to be sought for in a disordered state of the 
Sensibilities. It is, in fact, nothing more nor less, than a 
state of deep depression, gloom, or melancholy. This is the 
fact; and we never apply the term hypochondriasis to a 
state of the mind, where such gloom or melancholy does not 
exist; but it is nevertheless true, that the occasion or basis 
of the fact may sometimes be found in a disordered condition 
of some other part of the mind. One or two concise state- 
ments will illustrate what we mean. 
One of the slighter forms of hypochondriasis can perhaps 
be tracedi to inordinate workings of the Imagination. The 
mind of the sufferer is fixed upon some unpromising and gloo- 
my subject ; probably one, which has particular relation 
either to his present or future prospects. He gives it an un- 
due place in his thoughts, dwelling upon it continually. His 
imagination hovers over it, throwing a deeper shade, on 
what is already dark. Thus the mind becomes disordered ; 
it is broken off from its ordinary and rightful mode of action ; 
and is no longer what it was, nor what nature designed it 
should be. 
There is another, and Stillmore striking form ofhypo- 
chondriasis, which is connected in its origin withan aliena- 
tion of the power of belief. As in all other cases of hypochon- 
driasis, the subject of it suffers much mental distress. He 
is beset with the most gloomy and distressing apprehensions, 
occasioned, not by exaggerated and erroneous notions in gen- 
eral, but by some fixed and inevitable false belief. One 
imagines, that he has no soul ; another, that his body is 
gradually but rapidly perishing ; and a third,*that he is con- 
verted into some other animal ; or that he has been trans- 
formed into a plant. We are told in the Memoirs of Count 
Maurepas, that this last idea once took possession of the mind 
of one of the princes of Bourbon. So deeply was he infected 
with this notion, that he often went into his garden, and in- DISORERED ACTION OF THE AFFECTIONS. 
397 
sisted on being watered in common with the plants around 
him. Some have imagined themselves to be transformed 
into glass, and others have fallen into the still stranger folly 
of imagining themselves dead.-What has been said confirms 
our remark,that,although hypochondriasis is, in itself consid- 
ered, seated in the sensibilities, yet its origin may sometimes 
be found in a disordered state ofsome other part of the mind. 
It is also sometimes the case, that this disease originates 
in a violation of some form of sensitive action. It is not on- 
ly, as its appropriate position, seated in the sensibilities ; but 
it sometimes has its origin there. It is related of a certain 
Englishman, a man of generous and excellent character, that 
his life was once attempted by his brother with a pistol. 
He succeeded, however, in wresting the pistol from his broth- 
er's hand, and on examination found it to be double charged 
with bullets. This transaction, as might be expected in the 
case of a person of just and generous sentiments, filled him 
with such horror, and with such disgust for the character of 
the man, that the secluded himself ever after from human 
society. He never allowed the visits even of his own chil- 
dren. It is certainly easy to see, that under such circum- 
stances the sensibilities may receive such a shock as to leave 
the subject of it in a state of permanent dissatisfaction and 
gloom. In other words, he may in this way and for such rea- 
sons become a confirmed hypochondriac. 
§. 832. Of intermissions of hypochondriasis and of its remedies. 
The mental disease of hypochondriasis is always under- 
stood to imply the existence of a feeling of gloom and depres- 
sion ; but this depressed feeling does not exist in all cases in 
the same degree. In all instances, it is a source of no small 
unhappiness ; but in some the wretchedness is extreme. 
The greatest bodily pains are light in the comparison. It is 
worthy of remark, however, that the mental distress of hy- 
pochondriasis is in some persons characterized by occasional 
intermissions. An accidental remark, some sudden combina- 
tion of ideas, a pleasant day, and various other causes are 
found to dissipate the gloom of the mind. At such times 
there is not unfrequently a high flow of the spirits, corres- 
ponding to the previous extreme depression. As this dis- 398 
DISORDERED ACTION OF THE AFFECTIONS. 
ease, even when mitigated by occasional intermissions, is 
prodigal in evil results, it becomes proper to allude to certain 
remedies, which have sometimes been resorted to. 
(1) The first step towards remedying the evil is to infuse 
health and vigor into the bodily action, especially that of the 
nervous system. The nerves, it will be recollected, are the 
great medium of sensation, inasmuch as they constitute, un- 
der different modifications, the external senses. Now the 
senses are prominent sources of belief and knowledge. Con- 
sequently when the nervous system, (including of course the 
senses,) is in a disordered state, it is not surprising, that per- 
sons should have wrong sensations and external perceptions, 
and, therefore, a wrong belief. If a man's nerves are in such 
a state, that he feels precisely as he supposes a man made of 
glass would feel, it is no great wonder, when we consider the 
constitution of the mind, that he should actually believe him- 
self to be composed of that substance. But one of the forms 
of the disease in question is essentially founded on an erro- 
neous, but fixed belief of this kind. Hence in restoring the 
bodily system to a right action, we shall correct the wrong 
belief, if it be founded in the senses; and in removing this, 
we may anticipate the removal of that deep seated gloom, 
which is characteristic of hypochondriasis. (2) As all 
the old associations of the hypochodriac have been more or 
less visited and tinctured by his peculiar malady, efforts 
should be made to break them up and remove them from the 
mind, by changes in the objects, with which he is most con- 
versant, by introducing him into new society, or by travel- 
ling. By these means his thoughts are likely to be diverted, 
not only from the particular subject, which has chiefly inter- 
ested him ; but a new impulse is given to the whole mind, 
which promises to interrupt and banish that fatal fixedness 
and inertness, which had previously encumbered and pros- 
trated it. (3) Whenever the malady appears to be 
founded on considerations of a moral nature, the hypochon- 
driasis may sometimes be removed, or at least alleviated, by 
the suggestion of counteracting moral motives. If, for in- 
stance, the despondency of mind has arisen from some sup- 
posed injury, it is desirable to suggest all well founded con- 
siderations, which may tend to lessen the sufferer's estimate DISORDERED ACTION OF THE AFFECTIONS. 
399 
of the amount of the injury received. When the injury is 
very great and apparent, suggestions on the nature and duty of 
forgiveness may not be without effect. But whatever 
course may be taken, it is desirable, that the attention of the 
sufferer should be directed as little as possible to his disease, 
by any direct remarks upon it. It was a remark of Dr. John- 
son, whose sad experience enabled him to judge, that con- 
versation upon melancholy feeds it. Accordingly he advised 
Boswell, who as well as himself was subject to melancholy 
of mind, "never to speak of it to his friends, nor in company." 
§. S33. Disordered action of the passion of fear. 
The passion of fear, inasmuch as there are various ob- 
jects around us which are or may be dangerous, is obviously 
implanted in us for wise purposes. But it not unfrequently 
exhibits an irregular or disordered action. This disor- 
dered state of the affection may discover itself, when consid- 
ered either in reference to the occasion on which it exists, or 
in reference to the degree in which it exists. In some cases 
for instance, it is connected with objects which in the view 
of reason and common sense ought not to excite it. Some 
persons are afraid to be alone in the dark ; It is exceedingly 
distressing to them. Others are afraid (so much so per- 
haps as to be thrown into convulsions by their presence,) of 
a mouse or a squirrel or an insect. It will be necessary to 
refer to, and to give some explanation of cases of this kind, 
under the head of Casual Associations. 
Again fear may exist with such an intensity as essential- 
ly to affect the mind, and even cause insanity. Probably the 
power of this passion is not well understood. Certain it is, 
that terrible results have often followed from the attempts of 
persons, particularly of children, to excite it in others, even 
in sport. Many instances are on record of individuals, who 
have been permanently and most seriously injured, either in 
mind or body or both, by a sudden fright. 
Sometimes, especially when connected with permanent 
causes, it gradually expands and strengthens itself, till it is 
changed into despair. The Distinctive trait of Despair, in 
distinction from all other modifications of fear, is, that it ex- 
cludes entirely the feeling of hope, which exists in connection 400 
DISORDERED ACTION OF THE AFFECTIONS. 
with fear in other cases. Despair may exist, therefore, in a 
greater or less degree, and with a greater or less amount of 
mental anguish, in accordance with the nature of the thing, 
whatever it is, which occasions it. When great present or 
future interests are at stake, and the mind in relation to 
those interests is in a state of despair, the wretchedness 
which is experienced is necessarily extreme. 
§. 334. Perversions of the benevolent affection. 
There are some singular perversions of the benevolent af- 
fections, which are worthy of notice here. It is not unfre- 
quently the case, that persons in a state of mental alienation 
are entirely indifferent to, and sometimes they even hate 
those, whom at other times they love most sincerely and 
deeply. It is perhaps difficult to explain this, although it is 
practically important to know the fact.- Dr. Rush in speaking 
of a singular apathy or torpor of the passions, which is 
sometimes found to exist, says ; " I was once consulted by a 
citizen of Philadelphia, who was remarkable for his strong 
affection tor his wife and children when his mind was in a 
sound state, who was occasionally affiicted with this apathy, 
and when under its influence lost his affection for them all, so 
entirely, that he said he could see them butchered before 
bis eyes without feeling any distress or even inclination to 
■rise from his chair to protect them." (2) There are other 
cases, where there seems to be not merely an extinction of 
the benevolent affection ; but its positive conversion into ha- 
tred. The same philosophic physician mentions the case of a 
young lady, who was confined as a lunatic in the Pennsylva- 
nia Hospital in the year 1802. One of the characteristics of 
her insanity was hatred for her father. She was gradually 
restored ; and for several weeks before she was discharged 
from the Hospital, discovered all the marks of a sound mind, 
excepting the continuance of this unnatural feeling of hatred. 
On a certain day she acknowledged with pleasure a return of 
her filial attachment and affection ; and soon after was dis- 
charged as cured.* (3)There are other cases, where in- 
sanity is the indirect result of the mere intensity of the be- 
nevolent affections. In cases of this kind the affections are 
* Rush on the Diseases of the mind, pp. 255, 345. DISORDERED ACTION OF THE AFFECTIONS. 
401 
so strong-, so intense, that they arc unable to withstand the 
shock of sudden and great opposition and disappointments.- 
"A peasant woman, (says Dr. Gall,) became insane three 
times ; the first, at the death of her brother ; the second, at 
the death of her father ; and the third at that of her mother. 
After she had recovered the third time, she came to consult 
me. As she was very religious, she complained to me of her 
unfortunate disposition to be afflicted, at the loss of persons 
who were dear to her, more than religion permits ; an evi- 
dent proof that she had yielded to grief, although she had com- 
batted it by motives, which were within her reach." Pinel 
also mentions the case of a young man, who became a violent 
maniac, a short time after losing a father and mother, whom 
he tenderly loved. It is true, that in these cases the proxi- 
mate cause of the insanity is sorrow or grief; but the re- 
mote cause, and that without which the unfortunate result 
would not have existed, is an unrestrained and excessive po- 
sition of the benevolent affections. It may be proper to 
add here, that sudden and strong feelings of joy have in re- 
peated instances caused a permanent mental disorgan- 
ization, and even death itself. "The son of the famous 
Leibnitz died from this cause, upon his opening an old chest, 
and unexpectedly finding in it a large quantity of gold. 
Joy from the successful issue of political schemes or wishes, 
has often produced the same effect. Pope Leo the Tenth 
died ofjoy, in consequence of hearing of a great calamity 
that had befallen the French nation. Several persons died 
from the same cause, Mr Hume tells us, upon witnessing the 
restoration of Charles the Second to the British throne ; and 
it is well known that the door-keeper of Congress died of an 
apoplexy, from joy, upon hearing the news of the capture of 
lord Cornwallis and his army, during the American revolu- 
tionary war."* 
* Rush on the Diseases of the Mind, p. S39. CHAPTER FOURTH. 
DISORDERED ACTION OF THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 
§. S35. Nature of voluntary moral derangement. 
The moral, as well as the natural or pathematic Sensibili- 
ties, the Conscience as well as the Heart, may be the subject 
of a greater or less degree of disorder and alienation. There 
are probably two leading forms, at least, of moral derange- 
ment, viz. VOLUNTARY, and NATURAL OT CONGENITAL. Ill 
regard io voluntary moral derangement, we remark, as an 
interesting and practically important fact, that man may vir- 
tually destroy his conscience. There is sound philosophy in 
the well known passage of Juvenal, " nemo repente fuit 
turpissimus." The truth, implied in this passage, is unques- 
tionably applicable to all persons with the exception of those 
few cases, where the moral derangement is natural or con- 
genital. A man is not in the first instance turpissimus or a 
villain, because his conscience makes resistance, and will 
not let him be so. But if the energies of the will are exer- 
cised in opposition to the conscience, if on a systematic plan 
and by a permanent effort the remonstrances of conscience 
are unheeded and its action repressed, its energies will be 
found to diminish, and its very existence will be put at haz- 
ard. There is no doubt, that in this way the conscience 
may be so far seared, as to be virtually annihilated. Multi- 
tudes have prepared themselves for the greatest wickedness, 
and have become in fact morally insane, by their own volun- 
tary doing. There is a passage in Beaumont in his "King 
and no King," which strikingly indicates the progress of the 
mind in such cases. DISORDERED ACTION OF THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 
403 
"There is a method in man's wickedness ; 
" It grows up by degrees. I am not come 
" So high as killing of myself; there are 
" A hundred thousand sins 'twixt it and me, 
" Which I must do- I shall come to't at last. 
We say in such cases the conscience is virtually annihila- 
ted. And by this remark we mean, that it is inert, ineffi- 
cient, dormant, paralyzed. We do not mean, that it is 
dead. The conscience never dies. Its apparent death is im- 
pregnated with the elements of a real and terrible resurrec- 
tion. It seems to gather vivification and strength in the pe- 
riod of its inactivity ; and at the appointed time of its reap- 
pearance inflicts a stern and fearful retribution, not only for 
the crimes which are committed against others ; but for the 
iniquity, which has been perpetrated against itself. 
§. S36. Of accountability in connection with this form of disordered 
conscience. 
If the moral sensibility, under the system of repression 
which has been mentioned, refuses to act, the question ari- 
ses, whether at such a time a person is morally accountable 
for his conduct. As his conscience does not condemn him in 
what he does, is the transaction, whatever its nature, a crim- 
inal one ? There can be but one answer to this question. 
If the individual is not condemned by his conscience, it is the 
result of his own evil course. We may illustrate the sub- 
ject by a case,which is unhappily too frequent. A man, who 
commits a crime in a state of drunkenness, may plead, that 
he was not at the time aware of the guilt of his conduct. 
And this may be true. But he was guilty for placing himself 
in a situation, where he knew he would be likely to injure 
others, or in some other way commit unlawful acts. His 
crime, instead of being diminished, is in fact increased. It is 
two-fold. He is guilty of drunkenness, and he is guilty of 
every thing evil, which he knew, or might have known, 
would result from his drunkenness. 
In like manner, a man is not at liberty to plead, that he 
was not in the commission of his crimes condemned by con- 
science, if it be the fact, that he has by a previous process 
voluntarily perverted, or hardened the conscience. On the 404 
DISORDERED ACTION OF 
contrary, it would be fair to say, as in the case of drunken- 
ness, that he has increased his guilt; for he has added to the 
guilt of the thing done the antecedent and still greater crime 
<of aiming a blow at the mind, of striking at the very life of 
the soul. Practically he is not self-condemned, for the mere 
reason, that he has paralyzed the principle, by which the 
sentence of self-condemnation is pronounced. But in the 
eye of immutable justice, there is not only no diminution of 
his guilt, but it is inexpressibly enhanced by the attempts to 
murder, if we may so express it, the principle, which more 
than any thing else constitutes the dignity, and glory of 
man's nature. (See §. §. 236,237.) 
The other form of moral derangement is natural or con- 
genital. We do not know, that we are authorized to say, 
that men are by nature,in any case whatever, absolutely des- 
titute of a conscience ; nor, on the other hand, have we posi- 
tive grounds for asserting, that this is not the case. There 
is no more inconsistency or impossibility in a man's coming 
into the world destitute of a conscience, than there is in his 
being born without the powers of memory, comparison, and 
reasoning, which we find to be the case in some idiots. But 
certain it is, that there are some men, who appear to have 
naturally a very enfeebled conscience ; a conscience which 
but very imperfectly fulfils its office ; and who, in this re- 
spect at least, appear to be constituted very differently from 
the great body of their fellow-men. They exhibit an imbe- 
cility, or, if the expression may be allowed, an idiocy of con- 
science, which unquestionably diminishes, in a very consid- 
erable degree, their moral accountability. A number of 
those writers, who have examined the subject of Insanity, 
have taken this view, and have given instances in support of 
it. 
"In the course of my life, (says Dr. Rush,) I have been 
consulted in three cases of the total perversion of the moral 
faculties. One of them was in a young man, the second in a 
young woman, both of Virginia, and the third was in the 
daughter of a citizen of Philadelphia. The last was addicted 
to every kind of mischief. Her wickedness had no intervals 
yvhile she was awake, except when she was kept busy in 
§. 337. Of natural or congenital moral derangement. THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 
405 
some steady and difficult employment." He refers also to 
instances in other writers. 
Dr. Haslem in his Observations on Madness has given 
two decided cases of moral derangement. One of these was 
a lad about ten years of age. Some of the traits, which he 
exhibited, were as follows. He early showed an impatience 
and irritability of temper ; and became so mischievous and 
uncontrollable, that it was necessary to appoint a person to 
watch over him. He gave answers only to such questions 
as pleased him, and acted in opposition to every direction. 
" On the first interview I had with him, (says Dr. Haslem,) 
he contrived, after two or three minutes acquaintance, to 
break a window and tear the frill of my shirt. He was an un- 
relenting foe to all china, glass, and crockery ware. When- 
ever they came within his reach, he shivered them instantly. 
In walking the street, the keeper was compelled to take the 
wall, as he uniformly broke the windows if he could get near 
them, and this operation he performed so dexterously, and 
with such safety to himself, that he never cut his fingers. 
To tear lace and destroy the finer textures of female orna- 
ment, seemed to gratify him exceedingly, and he seldom 
walked out without finding an occasion of indulging this pro- 
pensity. He never became attached to any inferior animal, 
a benevolence so common to the generality of children. To 
these creatures his conduct was that of the brute ; he op- 
pressed the feeble, and avoided the society of those more 
powerful than himself. Considerable practice had taught 
him that he was the cat's master, and whenever this luckless 
animal approached him he plucked out its whiskers with 
■wonderfid rapidity ; to use his own language/4 I must have her 
beard off." After this operation he commonly threw the crea- 
ture on the fire, or through the window. If a little dog came 
near him he kicked it ; if a large one he would not notice it. 
When he was spoken to, he usually said, "I do not choose to 
answer." When he perceived any one who appeared to ob- 
serve him attentively he always said, "Now I will look un- 
pleasant." The usual games of children afforded him no 
amusement ; whenever boys were at play he never joined 
them ; indeed the most singular part of his character wms, 
that he appeared incapable of forming a friendship with any 406 
DISORDERED ACTION OF 
one ; he felt no considerations for sex, and would as readily 
kick or bite a girl as a boy. Of any kindness shewn him, he 
was equally insensible ; he would receive an orange as a 
present, and afterwards throw it in the face of the donor." 
This unfortunate lad seems sometimes to have been sen- 
sible of his melancholy condition. When on a certain occa- 
sion he was conducted through an insane hospital and a mis- 
chievous maniac was pointed out to him who was more strict- 
ly confined than the rest, he said to his attendant, "this 
would be the right place for me." He often expressed a wish 
to die ; and gave as a reason, that God had not made him 
like other children." 
§. 333. Of moral accountability in cases of natural or congenital moral 
derangement. 
The question recurs here, also, whether persons, who are 
the subjectsofa natural or congenital moral derangement, 
are morally accountable, and in what degree. If there is 
naturally an entire extinction of the moral sense, as in some 
cases of Idiocy there is an entire extinction of the reasoning 
power, which, although it may not frequently happen, is at 
least a supposable case, there is no moral accountability. A 
person in that situation can have no distinct perception of 
what right and wrong are ; nor can he be conscious of doing 
either right or wrong in any given case ; and consequently, 
being without either merit or demerit in the moral sense of 
the terms, he is not the proper subject of reward and punish- 
ment. He is to be treated on the principles that are appli- 
cable to idiots and insane persons generally. 
In other cases where the mental disorder is not so great, 
but there are some lingering rays of moral light, some feeble 
capability of moral vision, the person is to be judged, if it is 
possible to ascertain what it is, according to what is given 
him. If he has but one moral talent, it is not to be presumed 
that the same amount of moral responsibility rests upon him, 
as upon another who possesses ten. The doctrine, which 
requires men, considered as subjects of reward and punish- 
ment, to be treated alike, without regard to those original 
diversities of structure which may exist in all the depart- 
ments of the mind, not only tends to confound right and 
wrong, but is abhorrent to the dictates of benevolence. Ma- THE MORAL SENSIBILITIES. 
407 
ny individuals, through a misunderstanding of this important 
subject, have suffered under the hands of the executioner, 
who, on principles of religion and strict justice, should have 
been encircled only in the arms of compasion, long suffering, 
and charity. 
CHAPTER FIFTH. 
CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS IN CONNECTION WITH THE 
SENSIBILITIES. 
§. 339. Frequency of casual associations, and some instances of them. 
In the first volume of this Work, which had especial rela- 
tion to the intellect, we gave some instances of Casual As- 
sociation, directing our attention to those that were of great 
strength, and were wholly caused by accidental circumstan- 
ces. Reference was made to the casual associations in re- 
spect to the place of sensation, the ideas of extension and 
time, of extension and color, &c. It is necessary, however, 
to resume the consideration of the subject in this place, and 
to illustrate the vast power, which the laws of association 
possess over the Sensitive, as well as over the Intellectual 
part of our nature. 
By a thousand circumstances, and in thousands of instan- 
ces, the feelings are wrenched from their natural position, 
and shoot forth and show themselves in misplaced and dis- 
proportionate forms. Casual associations, in the shape of 
antipathies, fears, aversions, prepossessions, remorse, &c., 
are found seated in many a mind, which is otherwise unem- 
barrassed and unexceptionable in its action ; they have es- 
tablished their empire there on immovable foundations, and 
are incorporated with the whole mental nature. 
If it were otherwise, how could a man, that would willing- 
ly face a thousand men in battle, tremble at a mouse, a squir- 
rel, a thunder-shower, at the trivial circumstance of placing 408 
CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS IN CONNECTION 
the left slipper on the right foot, or any other very trifling 
thing ! And yet such instances are without number. It 
may be considered singular enough, but so it is ; that some 
men cannot endure the sight of a fish, eel, or lobster ; anoth- 
er person is disgusted at the sight of cheese, honey, eggs, 
milk, or apples ; another is exceedingly distressed, and even 
convulsed at the sight of a toad or a cat, a grasshopper or a 
beetle. 
§. 340. Of association in connection with the appetites. 
We now proceed to give a few illustrations of this inter- 
esting subject, which has hitherto received so little attention. 
In doing this, it may be incidentally remarked, that the In- 
stinctive tendencies in man, which are but few in number, 
are in their own nature of such a fixed and decided character 
as apparently to be placed, in a great measure, beyond the 
reach of association. But it is not so with the Appetites. 
On the contrary, they are subject to very strong influences 
from that source, as will appear by some statements. 
I. Almost every article, which is capable of being mas- 
ticated and digested, is made in one country or another an 
article of food. It is the case, at the same time, that there 
are many articles, used as food in one country, which are 
not used as food in another. This difference in the manner 
of living is to be ascribed, in many cases, to some early and 
fixed association. In some countries the people eat rats, 
mice, frogs, lizards, horse-flesh, dogs, locusts, caterpillars 
&c.* In other countries, in our own for instance, the asso- 
ciations adverse to the use of such kinds of food are so strong, 
that it is next to impossible to overcome them. 
IL There are appetitive associations of a different kind. 
It is well known, for instance, that the appetite for drink 
may be inflamed by a mere name, or the sight of a particular 
building or place, or the return of a certain hour of the day. 
This unquestionably is the result of a casual association. 
And the association may have become so strong, that the 
appetite is rendered wholly irrepressible, whenever such ob- 
jects recur. This is particularly true, when the liquor it- 
self, the rum, gin, wine, or brandy is placed directly before 
* Lander's Niger, Vol. I, Am. ed. pp. 170, 179. Lives of Celebrated 
Travellers, Vol. I. Am. ed. pp. 102, 215. WITH THE SENSIBILITIES. 
409 
the thorough-going drunkard. The appetite in a moment be- 
comes so strong as to convulse the whole soul. He is agita- 
ted and rent with a sort of madness ; and rushes upon the ob- 
ject before him, much as the furious lion seizes and rends his 
keeper, when he has accidentally seen and tasted his blood. 
§. 341. Of casual associations in connection with the propensities. 
As we pass on from the Appetites to the consideration of that 
part of our Sentient nature, which was examined under the 
head of the propensities, we find some instances of the pow- 
er of association, both in strengthening and in annullingthem. 
Among other Propensities, which have a distinct and 
natural origin, is the desire of society ; but it is undoubtedly 
the case, that peculiar circumstances may operate either to 
increase this desire, or to annul it altogether. All cases of 
decided and permanent Misanthropy, for instance, are the 
work, with perhaps a few exceptions of congenital alienation, 
not of nature, but of circumstances. If a man of kind and 
benevolent feelings is exceedingly ill treated by one, whom 
he has often favored, it is possible at least, that it will result 
in a fixed aversion to that person, which nothing can after- 
wards overcome. 
If a deep and permanent injury were inflicted, not merely 
by a friend, but a brother, the effect on the mind might be so 
great, as not only to break up the original principle of socia- 
bility, but implant a decided and unchangeable hostility to 
the whole human race. Such treatment would be so contra- 
ry from what the injured person had a right to expect, that 
the mind would be thrown entirely out of its original position; 
and with such force as to be unable to recover it. 
§. 342. Other instances of casual association in connection with the 
propensities. 
The desire of power, in the remarks which were formerly 
made upon that subject, was regarded as an original propen- 
sity. This principle may become disordered in its action by 
becoming inordinately intense, and also in connection with 
some casual association. Mr. Locke in his Letters on Tolera- 
tion mentions the case of an individual, whose mind was so 
long and intently fixed upon some high object, that he be- 410 
CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS IN CONNECTION 
came partially insane. He was for the most part rational at 
other times, but whenever the object he had so earnestly 
pursued was mentioned, it brought into exercise so many in- 
tense associations, that he immediately became deranged. 
Although we might find it difficult to illustrate this sub- 
ject from the ordinary forms of the propensity to Imitation, 
the power of casual associations may distinctly be shown in 
sympathetic imitation. If a person's feelings be from any 
cause so strongly excited as to show themselves in involun- 
tary bodily action, subsequently the mere sight of the per- 
son, place, or instrument, that was prominently concerned in 
the original excitement of the mind, will generally be attend- 
ed with a recurrence of the sympathetic bodily action. Af- 
ter such results have followed a number of times, the asso- 
ciation will become so strong, that it will be very difficult, if 
not impossible for the sympathetic person to repress the out- 
ward bodily signs in all cases, coming within the reach of the 
association. 
The same views may undoubtedly be carried into the 
higher department of the Affections or Passions. It is suffi- 
ciently evident, for instance, that the passion of fear is an 
attribute of man's nature ; and in ordinary cases it is suscep- 
tible of being subjected to the control of reason and the sen- 
timents of duty. But this is not always the case. Casual 
associations are sometimes formed, which no effort of reason 
and no calls of duty can rend asunder. We will endeavor 
to illustrate this subject by some familiar instances. 
Some persons have been exceedingly frightened by thun- 
der and lightning at early periods of life. The fright may 
have been occasioned either directly, or by the actual terrific 
power and nearness of the explosion, or by merely seeing an 
exhibition of great fear in parents or others more advanced 
in years. And from that hour to the end of life, they have 
never been able, with all possible care and anxiety, to free 
themselves from the most distressing fear, on such occasions. 
Casual associations, occasioned by some unfortunate cir- 
cumstances in early life, have been the source of very great 
and irrepressible fears in respect to death. The fear of 
death is natural; and perhaps, we may say, is instinctive; 
§. 943. Inordinate fear from casual associations. WITH THE SENSIBILITIES. 
411 
but it does not ordinarily exist in such intensity, as essential- 
ly to interrupt one's happiness. And yet from time to time, 
we find unhappy exceptions to this statement. Miss Hamil- 
ton, in her Letters on Education,gives an interesting account 
of a lady, who suffered exceedingly from such fears. She 
was a person of an original and inventive genius, of a sound 
judgment, and her powers of mind had received a careful 
cultivation. But all this availed nothing against the impres- 
sions, which had been wrought into her mind from infancy. 
The first view, which she had of death in infancy, was ac- 
companied with peculiar circumstances of terror ; and the 
dreadful impression, which was then made, was heightened 
by the injudicious language of the nursery. Ever afterwards 
the mere mention or idea of death was attended with great 
suffering ; so much so, that it was necessary, by means of 
every possible precaution, to keep her in ignorance of her 
actual danger, when she was sick ; nor was it permitted at 
any time to mention instances of death in her presence. So 
that the estimable writer of this statement asserts, that she 
often suffered more from the apprehension, than she could 
have suffered from the most agonizing torture, that ever at- 
tended the hour of dissolution.* 
§. 344. Casual associations in respect to persons. 
That the Affections may be more or less disordered by 
means of casual associations is further evident from what we 
notice in the intercourse of individuals with each other. 
Men sometimes form such an aversion to others, or associate 
with them such sentiments of dread, that the connection of 
the persons and the feelings becomes permanent and uncon- 
querable. It has sometimes been the case, that a man of 
distinguished talents has been defeated and prostrated by 
another, in an argument perhaps, on some public occasion ; 
and although he harbors no resentment against his opponent, 
and has no sense of inferiority, yet he never afterwards 
meets him in company without experiencing a very sensible 
degree of uneasiness and suffering. 
Persons have sometimes been ill treated by others; and 
this occasionally forms the basis of an invincible association, 
•Elementary Principles of Education, Letter III. 412 
CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS IN CONNECTION 
either of aversion or of dread. The poet Cowper, in early 
life, suffered in this way. A boy of a cruel temper, his supe- 
rior in age, made him the object of long continued ill treat- 
ment and persecution. "This boy, (he remarks,) had im- 
pressed such a dread of his figure upon my mind, that I well 
remember being afraid to lift up my eyes upon him, higher 
than his knees ; and that I knew him by his shoe buckles, 
better than by any other part of his dress." 
An individual was once perfectly cured of madness by a 
very harsh and offensive operation. During all his life after, 
he acknowledged with the most sincere gratitude, that he 
could not have received a greater benefit; and still he was 
utterly unable to bear the sight of the operator, it suggested 
so strongly the dreadful suffering which he underwent.* 
Some men have an exceeding and unaccountable aversion 
to the mere features and countenance of another, and cannot 
bear to be looked upon by them. A statement is somewhere 
given of a person of a noble family, who was not able to bear 
that an old woman should look upon him. Certain persons, 
in a season of merriment, which is not always wisely direct- 
ed towards these humbling infirmities of our nature, succeed- 
ed in suddenly and unexpectedly introducing him into the 
presence of one such, but the shock to his feelings was so 
great as to terminate in his death. 
§. 845. Casual association in connection with objects and places. 
The mental operations, in consequence of strong casual 
associations, may be perplexed in their action in connection 
with particular places and objects. " Some persons, (says 
Dr. Conolly in reference to this subject,) are mad and un- 
manageable at home, and sane abroad. We read in Aretoeus 
of a carpenter, who was very rational in his workshop, but 
who could not turn his steps towards the Forum without ue- 
ginning to groan, to shrug his shoulders, and to bemoan him- 
self. Dr. Rush relates an instance of a preacher in America, 
who was mad among his parishioners, except in the pulpit, 
where he conducted himself with great ability ; and he also 
speaks of a judge, who was very lunatic in mixed society, 
but sagacious on the bench." 
"I have known patients, says the same writer in anoth- 
* Locke's Essay, Bk. 2. Chap. 32. WITH THE SENSIBILITIES. 
413 
er place,) in whom there was a tendency to mania, complain 
of the difficulty they found in guarding against dislike, not 
only of particular individuals, but of particular parts- of a 
room, or of the house, or of particular articles of furniture or 
dress ; those momentary feelings of uneasiness or antipathy 
to which all are subject, becoming in them aggravated or 
prolonged."* In connection with the facts just stated, he 
mentions the case of an individual, who could not bear the 
sight of white stockings ; and of a certain Russian general, 
who entertained a singular antipathy to mirrors ; so much so 
that the Empress Catherine always took care to give him 
audience in a room without any. 
In connection with this class of facts, it may be proper to 
refer a moment to a singular practice, which is related of Dr. 
Johnson ; and which is unquestionably to be ascribed to some 
early and unfortunate association. His biographer has given 
an account of it in the following terms. " He had another 
particularity, of which none of his friends ever ventured to 
ask an explanation. It appeared to me some superstitious 
habit which he had contracted early, and from which he had 
never called upon his reason to disentangle him. This was, 
his anxious care to go out or in at a door or passage, by a 
certain number of steps from a certain point, or at least so 
that as either his right or left foot, (I am not certain which,) 
should constantly make the first movement when he came 
close to the door or passage. Thus I conjecture : for I have, 
upon innumerable occasions, observed him suddenly stop, 
and then seem to count his steps with a deep earnestness ; 
and when he had neglected or gone wrong in this sort of 
magical movement, I have seen him go back again, put him- 
self into a proper posture to begin the ceremony, and having 
gone through it, break from his abstraction, walk briskly on, 
and join his company." 
The same marked tendencies of mind may sometimes be 
discovered in connection with particular days or other periods 
of time. Pinel mentions a lady, who fancied that Friday 
was a day of ill omen and ill luck. " She at length carried 
346. Of casual association in connection with particular days. 
* Conolly on Insanity, Lond. Ed. p. 98, 218. 414 
CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS IN CONNECTION 
this notion so far, that she would not leave her room on that 
day. If the month began on a Friday, it rendered her ex- 
tremely fearful and miserable for several days. By degrees, 
Thursday, being the eve of Friday, excited similar alarms. 
If ever she heard either of those days named in company, 
she immediately turned pale, and was confused incher man- 
ner and conversation, as if she had been visited by some fa- 
tal misfortune." * 
Statements, much to the same effect, have been made of 
an individual no less distinguished than Lord Byron. From 
some circumstance or other he became deeply impressed with 
the belief, that Friday was destined to be in relation to him- 
self, an unlucky or ill-omened day. This was not a mere 
transitory feeling, which was under the control of his philos- 
ophy ; but was deeply seated and operative. And with his 
characteristic frankness he did not hesitate to declare, or 
rather he took no pains to conceal, that his mind was actual- 
ly under the despotism of this strange influence, f 
We will subjoin here, as bearing some affinity to the cases 
which might properly be arranged under this head, an in- 
stance mentioned in the Encyclopedia Americana, by the au- 
thor of the article on Memory. The statement is as follows. 
"How strange are the associations of ideas, which often take 
place in spite of us. Everyone must have experienced such. 
The writer recollects a melancholy instance in the case of 
an insan.e boy in an hospital, whose derangement was refer- 
red to an irreverent association with the name of God, which 
occurred to him while singing a hymn in church, and of 
which he could not divest himself, the painfulness of the im- 
pression making it occur to him more forcibly every time he 
sung in church, till his reason became unsettled." 
§. 347. Antipathies to animals. 
Nothing but the fact of the existence and great power of 
casual associations can explain the circumstance, that indi- 
viduals have from time to time discovered a very great antip- 
athy to certain animals. Tasso, according to his biographers 
would fall into convulsions at the sight of a carp. Henry 
* Treatise on Insanity, Davis' Translation, p. 140. | Moore's Life 
of Byron, Vol. II, p. 458. WITH THE SENSIBILITIES. 
415 
the Third of England could not be persuaded to sit in the 
room with a cat. Admiral Coligni, a name justly renowned 
in the history of France, was so afraid of a mouse, that he 
could not be induced to admit one to his presence, unless he 
had his sword in his hand. 
No man ever gave more decided proofs of courage, than 
the celebrated Marquis de la Roche Jacqueline ; but it is a 
singular fact, (although no account is given of the origin of 
this strange association,) that he could not look in the face of 
a squirrel without trembling and turning pale. He himself 
ridiculed his weakness in this respect, but with all his efforts 
he could not prevent the physical effects, which have been 
referred to, whenever he was in the presence of that harm- 
less animal. 
But we have an incident nearer home, which appears the 
less surprising, because we know the origin of it. The late 
governor Sullivan of Massachusetts, when a boy, fell asleep 
under a tree, and was awaked by a serpent crawling over 
him. He arose in great terror, ran towards the house, and 
fell down in a convulsive fit. Afterwards through life he re- 
tained such aversion for every thing of the serpent kind, that 
he could not see one, or even the picture of one, without fal- 
ling into convulsions. 
Peter the Great of Russia, who certainly was not wanting 
in expansion and force of mind, was subject to a strong and 
invincible aversion of this kind. His biographer, without 
giving any explanation of it, merely mentions the facts as 
follows. " Nothing was so much the object of the Czar's 
antipathy as a black insect of the scarabeus or beetle kind, 
which breeds in houses that are not kept clean, and especial- 
ly in places where meal and other provisions are deposited. 
In the country the walls and ceilings of the peasant's houses 
are covered with them, particularly in Russia, where they 
abound more than in any other part of the world. They are 
there called taracan ; but our naturalists give them the name 
of dermeste, or dissecting scarabeus. 
" Although the Russian monarch was far from being sub- 
ject to childish fears or womanish fancies, one of these in- 
sects sufficed to drive him out of an apartment, nay, even out 
of the house. In his frequent journies in his own dominions 416 
CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS. 
he never went into a house without having his apartment 
carefully swept by one of his own servants ; and being assur- 
red that there were no taracans to fear. One day he paid a 
visit to an officer who stood pretty high in his esteem, at his 
country house, which was built of wood, at a little distance 
from Moscow. The Czar expressed his satisfaction with 
what was offered him, and with the order he observed in 
the house. The company sat down to table, and dinner was 
already begun, when he asked his landlord if there were tar- 
acans in his house ? 
' Not many,' replied the officer without reflecting; 'and 
the better to get rid of them, I have pinned a living one to the 
wall.' At the same time he pointed to the place where the 
insect was pinned, and still continued to palpitate. Unfortu- 
nately, it was just beside the Czar, in whom the unexpected 
sight of this object of his aversion produced so much emo- 
tion, that he rose instantly from table, gave the officer a vio- 
lent blow, and left his house with all his attendants."* 
* Stselhin's Original Anecdotes of Peter the Great. 
THE END. APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
CHAPTER FIRST. 
NATURAL SIGNS. 
§. 1. Of the natural and necessary communication of the mental states 
from one to another. 
It requires but a slight acquaintance with the predomi- 
nant traits and the history of the human race, to be fully sat- 
isfied of the intention of Providence, that our internal expe- 
riences, including both the suggestions of the intellect and 
the emotions of the heart, shall be communicated to others. 
The saying is not more common than true, that man is not 
born for himself alone. Not only his family and the friends, 
who share in his private personal intercourse, but his country 
and the whole human race possess a positive degree'of inter- 
est in him. He comes into existence in society ; he is train- 
ed up in society ; his home, his permanent residence is in so- 
ciety. It is there that he finds the theatre of his sufferings 
and his joys ; of all that he expects to endure, and of all, that 
he permits himself to hope for, in the present life. 
And if it were otherwise, if man had not in fact the socie- 
ty of his fellows, he would still not be in utter solitude. Let 
him be doomed to suffer the fate of the king of Babylon, to be 
driven out and to dwell with the beasts of the field ; and he 
will not fail to make companions of them, and will take de- 
light in it. He will even, where nothing else can be found to 
respond to the wants of his heart, converse with inanimate 
nature, with the flowers and trees, with the storms and the 
lightning ; he will bless the fruit that nourishes him, and the 
shade that protects him ; he will thank the blossom for its 418 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
fragrance, and the distant waterfall for its pleasant sounds. 
It may be asserted, therefore, with good reason, that a 
foundation is evidently laid in the human constitution for the 
intercourse of man with his fellow-man ; and that such inter- 
course is essential to his existence and his happiness. And 
hence it happens, that not merely our thoughts and feelings, 
in themselves considered, but the mode, in which they are to 
be communicated from one to another, becomes an interest- 
ing subject of inquiry. The mode, or rather the instrument, 
by which this communication takes place, is Language in its 
various forms. 
§. 2. Mental states first expressed by gestures and the countenance. 
The term language, which is employed here in its most 
general sense, and as standing for all signs of thought and 
feeling, embraces every thing, that proposes itself for consid- 
eration in this part of our inquiries. But in order to render 
what we have to say the more easily understood, we shall 
consider the general subject under the distinct and important 
forms of Natural signs, Oral or spoken signs, and Written 
signs. And in the prosecution of this plan, we are first to 
consider natural signs, or such as a person would use, who 
found himself incapable of employing either written signs or 
speech. 
It is worthy of notice in respect to any individual, who is sep- 
arated in very early life from the human family, and permitted 
to grow up without any instruction in the use of the organs of 
speech, that he will be entirely ignorant in what way to em- 
ploy such organs, with the unimportant exception of being 
able to utter a few inarticulate cries. The story of the wild 
boy, found in the forests of Lithuania in 1695, which is intro- 
duced, with some comments of his own, in Part First of Con- 
dillac's Origin of Knowledge, may be referred to, among oth- 
er instances, by way of confirming this remark. The same 
inability of articulate speech is noticedinthose unfortunate 
individuals, who are born deaf, and arc commonly known 
under the designation of deaf and dumb persons. 
But these persons are not without language, although 
they are incapable of articulate speech, and although we 
may suppose them ignorant of all artificial aids whatever in 
communicating thought. The kindness of nature has not 419 
failed to make a provision for them, which serves, although 
in a limited degree, to enable them to reveal to each other 
their thoughts and feelings. In the absence of other meth- 
ods of mental communication, they are furnished with the 
visible and impressive language of gestures and of the coun- 
tenance. 
The expression of the countenance, exclusive of the eye, 
depends chiefly upon two things, the change of color in the 
face, and the movement or play of the muscles. But in most 
cases we find the intimations of the face combined with 
movements of other parts of the body. Thus, the flushed 
countenance, with the hand uplifted, denotes in general an 
emotion of rage. In admiration or wonder the countenance 
is animated with a quick play of the blood and muscles ; the 
hand is elevated; and the body thrown back. A look, slight- 
ly illumined with a smile, with none, or but a small motion 
of the body, is an indication of satisfaction or peace. But 
without entering into a full description of these signs, it may 
be said with great certainty, that fear, contempt, derision, 
grief, disappointment, malice, feelings of the ludicrous 
anxiety, deep thought, terror, despair, have their natural 
signs. Without the aid either of written or spoken language 
they can be distinctly expressed by means of gestures, inar- 
ticulate sounds, and changes in the countenance. 
NATURAL SIGN'S. 
§. 3. Of the use made of natural signs by the deaf and dumb. 
In proof of what has now been said of the capacity of nat- 
ural signs for the expression of certain mental states, we may 
refer particularly to the deaf and dumb. As already intima- 
ted, these unfortunate persons have a language of their own; 
that is to say, they have a system of signs, partly natural 
and part of which they have been led to invent, either by 
their wants, or because they have found pleasure in the em- 
ployment. Let any person, who has been familiar with the 
deaf and dumb, and has paid attention to their modes of com- 
municating their feelings, be introduced into the company of 
an individual afflicted with that calamity, who is an utter 
stranger to him. They are no sooner met together, than 
they have the appearance of old acquaintances, speaking a 
common language. The deaf and dumb person will enter 420 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
readily, and with much earnestness, into the mute conversa- 
tion which has been commenced ; and by means of that lan- 
guage, to which he has been accustomed, will answer the 
various questions that are'put to him. But the system of 
signs, brought into use on such an occasion, is founded, in a 
considerable degree at least, in nature ; it employs those ele- 
ments of expression, which God has given to all mankind, 
and seldom goes beyond mere bodily movements, and the 
language of the looks. 
There have been instances of a number of individuals in 
the same family, unable to hear or to articulate. It is ex- 
ceedingly pleasing to witness their quickness of invention in 
framing their vocabulary of gestures, and their readiness in 
conversing with each other by means of them. They inter- 
pret an inclination of the head, a movement of the hand or 
arm, a contraction of the muscles of the face, even the 
slightest motion of the finger, as readily as another person, 
who is able to hear, can interpret the most familiar words. 
What a striking declaration do we here have, that, 
in the defect of oral and written signs of thought, nature has 
a resource, which is antecedent to all other forms of lan- 
guage ! 
There are some slight gestures, which appear to be arbi- 
trary, but which are found to be susceptible of being traced 
back and resolved into others. Mr. Stewart remarks, that 
an instructor of Deaf and Dumb informed him, that his pu- 
pils, (whatever part of the country they came from,) agreed 
in most instances, in expressing assent by holding up the 
thumb and dissent by holding up the little finger " It can 
be explained, (he observes,) only by supposing, that these ges- 
tures are abbreviations of those signs, by which assent and 
dissent are generally expressed in the language of nature ; 
and in truth, the process by which they were introduced 
maybe easily conceived. For the natural sign of assent is 
to throw the body open, by moving the hand from the breast 
with the palm towards the body and the thumb uppermost. 
The natural sign of dissent is the same movement ; with the 
back of the hand towards the body, and the little finger up- 
permost. The former conveys the idea of cordiality, of good 
humor, and of inviting frankness ; the latter of dislike and 
aversion. If two dumb persons were left to converse together NATURAL SIGNS. 
421 
it is reasonable to suppose that they would gradually abridge 
their natural signs for the sake of despatch, and would con- 
tent themselves with hinting at those movements, which could 
be easily anticipated from the commencement ; and in this 
manner might raise those apparently arbitrary marks of as- 
sent or dissent, which have just been mentioned." 
§. 4. Further illustrations of the great power of natural signs. 
The facts, which have already been referred to, are a 
sufficient proof of its having been wisely and kindly ordered 
that there should be a Natural language. The beneficial re- 
sults of this provision cannot be misunderstood in the case of 
persons, who are by some accident cast among a people, 
whose oral or written language is unknown ; and especially 
in its connection with the deaf and dumb. These persons 
come to their instructors, not only weighed down by the 
pressure of other incidental evils, but ignorant, speechless, 
and wanting in Confidence. The pupil and instructor have 
never before seen each other, and they are unable to commu- 
nicate either by means of speech, or of written signs. But 
nature speaks in the dialect of the countenance and of action ; 
the pupil enters on his course of instruction, and in a single 
year learns by the aid of signs, and chiefly by the aid of nat- 
ural signs, the meaning of thousands of words. This is un- 
questionably ascribing great efficacy in natural signs ; but 
not greater than seems to be warranted by the following au- 
thentic statements. 
" In the summer of 1818, a Chinese young man passed 
through Hartford, Connecticut, in which place there is an 
Asylum for the education of the deaf and dumb. He was so 
ignorant of the English language that he could not express 
in it his most common wants. The principal of the Asylum 
invited the stranger to spend an evening within its walls, and 
introduced him to Mr. Laurent Clerc, the celebrated deaf- 
and-dumb pupil of the Abbe Sicard, and at that time an as- 
sistant teacher in the Asylum. The object of this introduc- 
tion was, to ascertain to what extent Mr. Clerc, who was en- 
tirely ignorant of the Chinese language, could conduct an in- 
telligent conversation with the foreigner, by signs and ges- 
rures merely. The result of the experimet surprised all 422 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
who were present. Mr. Clerc learned from the Chinese ma- 
ny interesting- facts respecting the place of his nativity, his 
parents and their family, his former pursuits in his own coun- 
try his residence in the United=States, and his notions con- 
cerning God and a future state. By the aid of appropriate 
signs also, Mr Clerc ascertained the meaning of about twen- 
ty Chinese words. When the conversation began, the stran- 
ger seemed to be bewildered with amazement at the novel 
kind of language that was addressed to him. Soon, however, 
he became deeply interested in the very expressive and sig- 
nificant manner, which Mr. Clerc used to make himself un- 
derstood ; and before one hour had expired, a very quick and 
lively interchange of thought took place between these so 
lately entire strangers to each other. The Chinese himself 
began to catch the spirit of his new deaf and dumb acquain- 
tance and to employ the language of the countenance and 
gestures with considerable effect to make himself understood. 
"About a year afterwards the principal of the Asylum visi- 
ted Cornwall, a small village in Connecticut, where upwards 
of twenty heathen youths were receiving education under the 
patronage of the American Board of Commissioners for For- 
eign Missions. With the consent of the principal of that in- 
stitution, the principal of the Asylum one evening gathered 
around him several of these interesting strangers, from the 
islands of the South Sea, and from the different tribes of the 
North American Indians. The object of the interview was, 
to ascertain how far a conversation could be conducted with 
them merely by signs and gestures. The result was similar 
to that in the case of Mr. Clerc's intercourse with the Chi- 
nese. Questions were proposed to them on a variety of top- 
ics relating to their own individual history and that of their 
families, to the state of manners and morals in their respec- 
tive countries, and to their early religious knowledge. For 
example, Thomas Hoopoo, a native of Owhyhee, was asked 
if his parents were living ; how many brothers and sisters 
he had ; when he left his native shores ; whether his coun- 
trymen worshipped idols, and sacrificed human victims ; how 
the women were treated by the men ; what was the climate 
of his country ; what its productions ; with many inquiries of 
a similar nature, all of which he well comprehended, and to NATURAL SIGNS. 
423 
many of which he replied by signs. The meaning, too, of a 
number of Owhyhee words was ascertained by signs merely, 
and found to correspond with the import, which had been 
previously assigned to them in a dictionary, which had been 
for some time preparing in the school ; and indeed, in a va- 
riety of instances, the most correct meaning of such words 
was established, by the medium of signs, in a more satisfac- 
tory way than had been previously attempted. Throughout 
this conversation the heathen youths appeared to take a deep 
interest, and to have a peculiar aptitude, both in comprehen- 
ding the signs which were proposed to them, and in invent- 
ing such as were necessary for a reply. 
"On the testimony of several of the South-Sea islanders, 
it appeared, that not a few of the signs, employed in the in- 
struction of the deaf and dumb, are precisely the same, which 
their countrymen use to supply the deficiency of, or to give 
emphasis to, their own comparatively barren language ; 
a fact which had indeed been anticipated, from the circum- 
stance so often observed by the teachers of the deaf and 
dumb among their pupils, that mutes, who meet for the first 
time, are able to understand each other fully on many com- 
mon topics ; the Author of nature having laid the foundation 
in the very constitution of our species, and in the structure 
and processes of the visible creation, for a universal expres- 
sion of the same ideas, on a vast variety of subjects, by simi- 
lar signs"* 
§. 5. Of the system of signs existing among the North American Savages. 
It is an interesting fact in relation to the present subject, 
that a system of natural signs is affirmed, on the most re- 
spectable authority, to exist among the Savage tribes through- 
out North America, which is universally understood by them. 
A considerable catalogue of these signs has been given to the 
public by persons, who have travelled and resided among 
the aboriginal inhabitants, and have thus had ample oppor- 
tunities of knowing. The following, among others, are in- 
stances. 
(1) Sun. The fore-finger and thumb are brought together 
at the tip so as to form a circle, and held up towards the 
* T. H. Gallaudet's Essayson the Language of signs in the (London) 
Christian Observer, Sept, and Oct. 1836. 424 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
sun's track. To indicate any particular time of the day, 
the hand with the sign of the sun is stretched out towards 
the east horizon, and then gradually elevated, to show the 
ascent of that luminary, until the hand arrives at a proper di- 
rection to indicate the part of the heavens, in which the sun 
will be at the given time. (2) Night or sleeping at night. 
The head, with the eyes closed, is laterally inclined for 
a moment upon the hand. As many times as this is repeat- 
ed, so many nights, either with or without the additional no- 
tion of sleep, are indicated. And it will perhaps occur to 
the recollection here, that this is the sign for the same thing, 
which is generally found to be adopted by deaf and dumb 
persons. (3) Combat. The clenched hands are held 
about as high as the neck, and five or six inches asunder, 
then waved two or three times laterally, to show the ad- 
vances and retreats of the combatants ; after which the fin- 
gers of each hand are suffered to spring from the thumb to- 
wards each other, as in the act of sprinkling water, to repre- 
sent the flight of the missile weapons, which are used by 
them. (4) Prisoner. The fore-finger and thumb of the 
left hand are held in the form of a semicircle, opening to- 
wards, and near the breast; and the fore-finger of the right, 
representing the prisoner, is placed upright within the curve 
and passed from one side to the other, in order to show that 
it will not be permitted to pass out, &c.* 
The epithet, symbolic, is sometimes applied to such com- 
binations of gestures as these ; but appears to be more gen- 
erally applied to representative actions, which are either 
more formal and complicated, or in which the resemblance 
to the thing signified is less obvious, however simple the ac- 
tion may be in itself. So that symbols, (if there be truly any 
distinction worthy of being retained,) differ rather in degree 
than in kind ; implying either greater complexity, or greater 
remoteness between the sentiment and the action, than in 
ordinary imitative gestures. 
See Volume First of the Transactions of the American Philosophical 
Society, Long's Expedition from Pittsburg to the Rocky Mountains, and 
Flint's Valley of the Mississippi, Letter xv. NATURAL SIGNS. 
425 
All travellers among our Savage tribes furnish illustra- 
tions of symbolic actions, although until recently they have 
not been generally aware of the existence of a system of imi- 
tative signs by mere gesture. They accordingly tell us, 
that friendly and peaceable sentiments are symbolically inti- 
mated, when a stranger appears among a tribe, carrying or 
smoking a large pipe of clay or marble, adorned with feath- 
ers, which the Indians call a calumet. The method of con- 
firming a treaty of peace is also symbolical, it being done by 
means of what the Savages call a belt of wampum. This 
belt is composed of shells of different colors, wrought into the 
shape of beads, which are strung upon thongs and strongly 
united together. The parlies concerned hold the ends of the 
belt, and are thereby understood to signify reciprocal truth 
and sincerity. 
Symbolical action is known to have been frequently em- 
ployed in Oriental countries, owing in some measure to the 
great vivacity and bodily activity of the people. Those, 
who are acquainted with the Bible, know how frequently it 
was resorted to among the ancient Hebrews. It will be suf- 
ficient merely to allude to the following instances, which may 
be more fully understood by a reference to the Scriptures.-■ 
Elisha directs Joash to shoot arrows out of a window east- 
ward. Jeremiah, acting under divine direction, hides the 
linen girdle in the hole of a rock near Euphrates ; he breaks 
a potter's vessel in the sight of the people ; he puts on bonds 
and yokes, and casts a book into Euphrates. Ezekiel weighs 
his beard, delineates the siege of Jerusalem on a tile, &c. 
It has sometimes been thought, that such symbolic ac- 
tions were below the dignity of the prophetic office. In the 
view of the opposers of the Bible, they have appeared mean, 
absurd, and fanatical. But it ought to be remembered, that 
it was the spirit of the times, the feeling of the people them- 
selves, which dictated those exhibitions. It may further be 
said, that this is the spirit of all times and all countries, 
where it is not controlled and subdued by civilization ; and 
that even civilization does not always subdue and exclude it. 
§. 6. Of the symbolic exhibition of the Hebrews. 426 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
The meaning of many of those signs, which are called 
natural, is learnt from experience. The action being a rep- 
resentative or imitation of the thing itself, it necessarily sug- 
gests whatever is intended to be signified. But there are 
some, which appear to be understood instinctively, and of 
course independently of experience ; for instance, a smile, or 
frown, or the signs of terror. The opinion, that there is to 
a certain extent an original or instinctive interpretation of 
signs appears to be maintained by writers chiefly on the fol- 
lowing grounds. 
(1) We are clearly led in all our inquiries, whether of an 
intellectual or a physical kind, to the conclusion, that the 
great Author of nature has some purpose or design in his 
works. Now there can be no dispute, that he has furnished 
men with a large apparatus of natural signs. Almost every 
desire and passion of the human sold is capable of being ex- 
pressed in that way. Peace of mind, the desire of knowl- 
edge, especially when quickened by any peculiar circumstan- 
ces, the benevolent affections, intensity of thought, the 
passions of joy and grief, all have their appropriate lan- 
guage, beaming in the eye, quivering on the lips, contract- 
ing in the forehead, reddening and dimpling in the cheeks ; 
and are rendered yet more emphatic by the attitude, the ges- 
tures, and the tones of voice. It being, therefore, an ad- 
mitted fact, that his Creator has furnished man with a sys- 
tem of natural signs, it is but reasonable to suppose, that he 
has furnished him also with a corresponding power of inter- 
pretation ; and that man is thereby enabled, at the very 
earliest period, to avail himself of the price, which has thus 
kindly been placed in his hands. It is maintained, that this 
is the probability or presumption, arising in the mere view of 
the facts ; and also that such presumption is supported by the 
analogy of other cases. We not only find, for instance, in 
human nature a love of the truth and a disposition to utter it, 
but a corresponding principle of belief; and by analogy we 
should be led to expect, in like manner, a corresponding 
power of interpretation, where we find a system of signs sus- 
ceptible of being interpreted. 
(2) But there are other circumstances, which seem to af- 
§.7. Of the instinctive interpretation of certain natural signs. NATURAL SIGNS. 
427 
ford direct and positive proof of what we should thus be led 
to expect. The power of interpreting natural signs is no- 
ticed at a very early period, long before the ability to inter- 
pret arbitrary signs. Children understand the meaning of 
smiles and frowns, of a soothing or threatening tone of voice, 
of the expressions of joy and grief, at a time of life, when 
they cannot be supposed capable of so much observation as 
to remark the connection between a passion and its external 
effect. While they are months learning the alphabet, and 
years elapse before they can read a book with facility, they 
read and understand the signs of nature, as soon as their ears 
are opened to hear, and their eyes to see, and without the aid 
of a laborious system of training. 
§. 8. Further evidence of the instinctive interpretation of natural signs. 
(3) There is another train of thought tending to illustrate 
this subject. It is an undoubted matter of fact, that the 
knowledge of the intellectual operations and of the passions 
cannot be fully communicated lotheir pupils by instructors 
of the deaf and dumb, in the ordinary modes. They cannot 
here, as in the case of external objects, write the name, and 
then point to the object in explanation of it. They are 
obliged to rely almost wholly on natural signs, particularly 
those of the countenance, in the explanation of what is tak- 
ing place within. And when an instructor, who is well 
versed in the language of such signs, throws the workings of 
the soul into the looks, it is interesting to see, with what 
avidity and ease, his unfortunate pupils decypher this dialect 
of flesh and blood and muscular motion. It cannot be said 
here, that the power of interpretation depends on the pre- 
vious experience of the pupils, because we suppose the in- 
structer, (which is often the fact,) is expressing mental acts 
and operations, with which they have hitherto been unac- 
quainted, or with which, as existing in the mind of another, 
they cannot possibly be made acquainted in any other way. 
(4) Those signs, which are maintained to be susceptible 
of an instinctive interpretation, affect us more than others. 
The passions of hatred, love, and anger, interest us much 
more strongly, when they are represented in the counten- 
ance, than when they are expressed by mere written or spo- 428 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
ken words. So that unquestionably we give to some natur- 
al signs a significancy, which we do not, and cannot give to 
others, and still less to those forms of language which are 
purely arbitrary. This being the case, it seems to be rea- 
sonable to conclude, that the mind has an original power of 
interpreting to some extent. 
(5) This power seems to be necessary as an introductory 
step to the formation of all conventional language. Artificial 
language, whether we regard it as written or spoken, is ar- 
bitrary, and a matter of mere agreement. But if it were not 
of divine original, as many writers have contended, it is evi- 
dent, that there must have been some antecedent signs, by 
means of which such agreement was first formed. And we 
can think of no instrument, which could have been employed 
to this end, except the instinctive power of interpreting those 
signs of gesture, tones of voice, and movements of the coun- 
tenance, which we find from the earliest period of life to be 
expressive of emotions and the passions. 
There is another consideration on this subject, in addi- 
tion to those already alluded to, which it is proper to men- 
tion, although the train of thought cannot be pursued to any 
length. The brute creation, as well as men, have their 
natural signs. They are destitute, it is true, of the natural 
language of the countenance ; but they are rich in that of 
the voice. Every mountain and forest is vocal with the low- 
insr of herds, the bleating of flocks, the threatening cries of 
animals of prey, and the infinitely varied notes of birds. By 
the sounds, which are continually sent forth, they communi- 
cate to each other their joys and sorrows, their jealousies 
and hopes, their attachments and their aversions ; and prob- 
ably no one doubts, that they are instinctively interpreted, for 
it is not easy to see, in what other way they could be under- 
stood. But if the Creator has given this power of interpre- 
tation to brutes, we cannot well suppose, that he has alto- 
gether withholden it/rom men, when'-he has given them the 
same natural signs, and with an originally equal necessity of 
their beifig interpreted. 
§. 9. Considerations on the use of natural signs. 
Before dismissing the subject of this chapter, it remains NATURAL SIGNS. 
429 
to be remarked, that it is one of no little practical importance, 
although it may be often thought otherwise. 
An attention to natural signs could hardly fail to be of ad- 
vantage in infant schools, and in all cases of instruction of 
very young" children. The knowledge, which is suited to 
their minds, is that, which we have already described as hav- 
ing an external origin. Consequently, the objects or action?, 
with which they are to be made acquainted, must be present- 
ed to the sight or some other of the senses. But in the ab- 
sence of objects, the instructor, if he have studied the lan- 
guage of natural signs, will be able to convey the meaning of 
many words by gestures ; a method, which will secure the 
purpose designed, and will not be wanting in interest to the 
little pupils. "Notwithstanding, (says Dugald Stewart,) 
the decline of natural language in consequence of the use of 
artificial signs, the acquaintance which we still have with 
the former, (however imperfect,) is of essential service in 
teaching children the meaning of the latter. This may be 
easily exemplified by first reading over to a child one of 
iEsop's fables without taking your eye from the book, or 
using any inflection of voice ; and afterwards telling him the 
same story with the commentary of your face, and gestures, 
and tones." 
Again, the doctrine of natural signs is deserving of great- 
er attention than it has received, when it is considered in 
connection with the Deaf and Dumb. No small acquain- 
tance with them is implied, in being able to fix upon such as 
are suitable in the instruction of these unfortunate persons. 
And the worth of such acquaintance, therefore,can be conjec- 
tured from its subserviency to their improvement and happi- 
ness. If there were no other result, the labor attending the 
study of natural signs, would be amply repaid by this. 
Furthermore, some knowledge of natural signs might be 
found profitable to all travellers and sojourners among na- 
tions of an unknown tongue, and among others to Missiona- 
ries. It is one of the pleasing features of the present times, 
that men, from almost all the civilized parts of the world, are 
gone out to announce in heathen lands the glad news of the 
Gospel. One of the American missionaries in India, remark- 
ing on the acquisition of languages, observes, that, in receiv- 430 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
ing lessons from his instructor, they were often compelled to 
resort to signs and gestures, in order at all to understand 
each other. Similar aids may be expected to be afforded 
from this source, in all other cases analogous to this. Lu- 
cian has somewhere made mention of a king, whose domin- 
ions bordered on the Euxine sea, who, happening to be at 
Rome in the reign of Nero, and having seen a pantomime 
perform, begged him of the Emperor as a present, in order 
that he might employ him as an interpreter, among the na- 
tions in his neighborhood, with whom he could have no in- 
tercourse on account of the diversity of language.* These 
are not unimportant considerations, and there is ground for 
making this remark, also, that a knowledge of natural signs 
is subservient, in some measure, to the success of the fine or 
liberal arts, particularly sculpture and painting, and also to 
the successful exhibition of the art of oratory. 
The arts of sculpture and painting are addressed to the 
eye ; and one great object in those arts is to express emotions. 
Those, therefore, who practice them, must study the con- 
nection between the illuminations of the eye, the color and 
muscular movements of the face, and the general attitude, 
which are the natural outward signs, and the internal feel- 
ings which correspond to them. It is not possible, that a 
single trait of character or even a single feeling should be 
conveyed by those admirable arts, except by means of natu- 
ral signs. And hence the obvious conclusion, that no man 
can excel in them, without a knowledge of that form of lan- 
guage. Similar remarks will apply to the orator. He ad- 
dresses the eye as well as the ear ; and whenever he com- 
bines the language of looks, tones, and gestures with the 
arbitrary signs of articulate speech, he cannot fail to increase 
the interest of his hearers. 
* See Stewart's Philosophy of the Mind, Part II, Chap. I, §. 1. CHAPTER SECOND. 
ORAL SIGNS OR SPEECH. 
§. 10. Remarks on the original formation of oral signs. 
Although we cannot but admire the wise provision of 
nature, in furnishing men with natural signs, it ought to ex- 
cite our gratitude, that they are not left, in the communica- 
tion of their thoughts and affections from one to another, to 
the assistances merely, which are given them in that way. 
Possessed of the organs of speech, they are capable of form- 
ing signs, which are addressed to the ear, and which, from 
their very nature, are in a great degree conventional and ar- 
bitrary. And we stop a moment to remark here, that we 
find, in this use of the organs of speech, a striking instance of 
the direction and power, which the mental nature is capable 
of giving to the bodily action, and of the value of mental en- 
dowments in general. The brute animals are known to pos- 
sess the physical requisites of articulation in a considerable 
degree ; and some of their tribeshave been frequently taught 
to utter the names of persons, and even distinctly to repeat 
whole sentences. Nevertheless we do not find among the 
brute animals an oral language, a system of conventional 
sounds of their own making, and the general use and inter- 
course of speech. They are not only destitute of the prelim- 
inary requisite of the natural signs of the countenance, but 
the formation of a conventional language implies also the 
exercise of a degree of intellect, which they do not possess. 
Nothing short of the high capacities of the human mind is 
capable of securing this great result. 
And such is the undeniable difficulty of employing the 
complicated machinery of articulation so as to form words, 432 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
it is proper to remark in this place, that there has even been 
a doubt in the minds of some, whether men, if wholly left to 
their own efforts, would ever have acquired this power. 
Such persons admit, that others may acquire the power by 
a long- or laborious process of imitating, after it has been 
once attained; (and in fact we daily see this in the case of 
children ;) but they cannot easily persuade themselves, that 
the unaided faculties of the mind were equal to the original 
acquisition. 
Hence it has been the opinion of the persons now alluded 
to, that we are indebted for the power of forming oral signs, 
or of speaking, to the direct interference of the Deity himself 
in behalf of our first parents. This is undoubtedly a matter 
-of opinion ; and we may even add of probability ; although 
it does not appear to be susceptible of clear and decided proof. 
The Bible, which is designed rather to subserve the moral 
and religious interests of mankind, than to gratify antiquari- 
an curiosity, does not entirely set us at rest on this point. It 
does indeed say, that God brought the beasts of the field and 
the fowls of the air to Adam to see what he would call them ; 
but it is not said, that God gave the names himself, or that 
he directly aided Adam in giving them ; although the suppo- 
sition, that such assistance was granted, may be held to be 
supported by the circumstance, that he either then or before 
obviously stood in need of it, and also by the consideration of 
that beneficence, which is continually manifested in the deal- 
ings of the Supreme Being with his creatures. 
§. 11. Of the possibility of forming an oral language without divine aid. 
With the assurance, which is so abundantly given in Rev- 
elation, that in ancient times the Supreme Being had commu- 
nications with his creatures in diverse ways, no reasonable 
objection can be felt to the doctrine, which makes God the 
direct author of oral language, provided there be found in 
the Scriptures sufficient evidence in favor of it. At the same 
time, notwithstanding the difficulties that beset the whole 
inquiry, it cannot be denied, that some reasons may be pro- 
posed in support of the opinion, that the formation of an oral 
language is within the unaided reach of the human faculties, 
of which God also is the author. ORAL SIGNS OR SPEECH. 
433 
It is admitted, that if a man be placed in utter solitude, 
and be permitted to grow up in that situation, there is no 
reason to anticipate that he will ever have the command of 
articulate speech. The effort to obtain it is too great, when 
he finds no one around him, with whom to compare his la- 
bors, to sympathise in his discouragements, and to cheer 
him on to a successful termination. But his prospect is very 
different in the bosom of society ; he there finds a multitude 
of incitements and assistances, which in the other situation 
he would be destitute of, and although it would cost him ma- 
ny a struggle, he would probably find himself rewarded at 
last for his labors, in the possession of their object. 
But if it be admitted, that man, existing in society, would 
be able to acquire the power of articulate speech, the next 
inquiry is, what more is wanting in order to institute an oral 
language? Simply this; he must form a convention or 
agreement with his associates, by means of which distinct 
and separate sounds shall be made to stand for separate and 
definite objects. And having arrived at this point in the in- 
quiry, we shall no doubt be called upon to show, how such 
convention or agreement could possibly be made. And it 
must be acknowledged, there is but one answer ; it can be 
made by means of Natural Signs, and in that way alone. 
Natural signs are not only indispensable in the original 
formation of an oral language ; but were it not for their assist- 
ance, it would be impossible to teach Oral language to chil- 
dren, even after it had been once formed. When a mother 
teaches her native tongue to her children, she utters a par- 
ticular sound; the child himself perhaps utters the same 
sound ; but how does the child know, that the sound is to 
stand for a particular object, for a watch, a chair, a table, a 
man, &c. ? It is evident that he can form the association 
of the sign with the thing signified, only through the agency 
of the antecedent language of natural signs. By means of 
tones of the voice, changes of the countenance, and gestures, 
the mother succeeds in awakening an interest in the child, 
and in communicating her general design ; she then points 
to the object at the same time with the utterance of the 
sound or name ; and she repeats this process, till the child, 
by the aid of its instinctive power of interpreting natural 434 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE, 
signs, fully comprehends the meaning of the articulate 
sound.* 
It will be remembered, that the inquiry, which has been 
attended to in this section, is not, whether the original form- 
ation of oral language by man's unaided effort is probable ; 
but merely whether it be possible ? " Let us suppose, (says 
Chateaubriand,) a Savage in possession of his senses, but 
not having speech ; this man, pressed by hunger, meets in 
the forest some object proper to satisfy it, he utters a cry of 
joy at seeing it, or at carrying it to his mouth. Is it not pos- 
sible, that having heard the cry, the sound, be it what it 
may, he retains it, and repeats it afterwards, every time he 
perceives the same object, or is pressed with the same want. 
The cry will become the first word of his vocabulary, and 
thus he will proceed on till he arrives at the expression of 
ideas purely intellectual." 
§. 12. Oral signs or words are in general arbitrary. 
In oral language, sounds stand lor things, or rather the 
ideas of things ; but there is no resemblance between the 
sign and the thing signified. The fact, that articulated 
sounds, or words, are representative of the states of the mind, 
is founded on arbitrary agreement. And as this agreement 
necessarily involves the consent of the great mass of any 
people, by whom oral signs are employed, the alledged con- 
fession of the emperor Augustus was made with good reason, 
that he was of himself unable to introduce a single new word 
into the Latin tongue. 
If this statement were not correct, if words had any natu- 
ral fitness for that purpose, for which they are employed, and 
were not conventional, there would be but one language. 
Instead of the multiplied diversities in dialects and language- 
es, which we now witness, there would be the same words 
for things of the same nature throughout the world. But 
this is not the case. On the contrary, every body of men, 
as it happens to be separated from other communities by 
mountains, oceans, and other causes both physical and politi- 
cal, forms for itself its own arbitrary system of signs. 
• See De Gerando's Histoire des Systemes de Philosophic, Tome I, 
Chap. 3d. Note B. ORAL SIGNS OR SPEECH. 
435 
It ought to be observed, however, that there is a slight 
exception to this general view of the arbitrary nature of oral 
signs. We allude to a class of terms, of which the words, 
CRASH, TWANG, BUZZ, WHISTLE, SHRILL, HISS, RATTLE, may be 
mentioned as specimens. There is evidently some resem- 
blance between these words, as they are enunciated by the 
voice and the things for which they stand ; in other langua- 
ges, some words, similar to these, that is, having a like rela- 
tion to the things for which they stand, are to be found. But 
with this exception, which is one of very limited extent, 
words are truly arbitrary and conventional sounds, formed 
in the progressive history of the human race on such occa- 
sions of want or of convenience as seemed to call for them. 
These occasions, on which words were first employed, and 
their arrangement into classes, (what grammarians call Parts 
of Speech,) merit a brief consideration. 
§. 13. Words at first few in number and limited to particular objects. 
In the infancy of the human race, men were without a 
knowledge of the arts ; they had no laws, but the dictates of 
conscience, no regularly instituted form of government; their 
food was the fruits of the earth, and they lived under the 
open sky, except when they retreated from the storm or the 
sunshine to the shade of trees, or the cooler recesses of cav- 
erns. Their ideas, therefore, were few ; the articulate 
sounds, which either the active ingenuity of nature, or the 
special interference of Providence had taught them not only 
to frame, but to employ as the instituted signs of things, 
must have been few also ; even more so than their ideas. 
The few names, which they were able thus early to em- 
ploy, related chiefly to the objects, with which they were 
more immediately and particularly conversant. They gave 
a name to the sun that shone by day, and to the moon which 
ruled the night ; they invented an oral sign for the tree, 
under which they sat at noon ; for the cavern, to which they 
occasionally retired ; for the fruit, which relieved their hun- 
ger ; and for the running water, at which they slaked their 
thirst. Afterwards they were led to form general names, 
standing for a number of objects, and probably in the follow- 
ing manner. 436 
14. Of the formation of general names or appellatives. 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
Naturally possessed of too much activity of spirit, to rest 
satisfied with remaining in one place, or to quiet their curios- 
ity with a small number of objects, they engaged in some 
new enterprise, explored new tracts of country, and thus en- 
larged their knowledge- In going from place to place, they 
necessarily met again with those particular objects, with 
which they had formed such an intimate acquaintance in 
their first residence. They met with other trees, with oth- 
er animals, with other caves and fountains, which they at 
once perceived to be of the same kind with those, that had 
previously come under their observation. 
The recurrence of these new objects instantly called up 
the others. This happened by a law of their nature, which 
they could not control ; and the recollection was the more 
intense, as, in the infancy of things, curiosity is more alive, 
and astonishment more readily and deeply felt. The objects, 
with which they had become first acquainted, could not be 
recalled without a remembrance, at the same time, of the 
names, which they had given them. As they perceived the 
objects which they now beheld, to be the same in kind with 
those, which they first knew, they at once concluded and ve- 
ry naturally that they had an equal right to the names with 
those, to which those names were first appropriated. They, 
therefore, exclaimed, a Iree ! a cave ! a fountain! whenever and 
wherever they met them. And thus what was at first a par- 
ticular term, and was employed to express only an individual, 
had its meaning extended, and came in time to stand for a 
whole class of objects. 
Such, there can hardly be a question, was the origin of 
general names, and the statement is not only agreeable to 
the natural course of things, but is indirectly confirmed by 
many incidents. When the Spaniards first arrived at a cer- 
tain region bordering on the gulph of Mexico, and found that 
the soil was rich, the dwellings good, the people numerous ; 
they cried out, it is another Spain, and after that it bore the 
name of New Spain. When they first sailed along the coast 
of Columbia, they noticed an Indian village built on piles, to 
arise it above the stagnant water, and being from that cir- 
cumstance reminded of the mistress of the Adriatic, they cal- ORAL SIGNS OR SPEECH. 
437 
led that region Venezuela, (Little Venice,) which is the name 
of the province to this day.* And it is on the same principle, 
that people so often find themselves in this country giving 
names to the objects around them in allusion to what exists 
on some other continent ; calling a large river another 
Thames, and mountains of great altitude, the American Alps. 
So readily does the mind connect together things, which are 
remote, and seek for analogies between what is novel and 
what is familiar. 
§. 15. The formation of appellatives implies the feeling of resemblance. 
We discover, in the way which has just been mentioned, 
the origin of appellatives or common names, (in treatises of 
a scientific nature more commonly termed genera and spe- 
cies,) the formation of which has sometimes been considered 
a matter of difficult solution. If the statement, which has 
been given in the preceding section, be a correct one, the 
mental process, so far from being difficult, is definite and sim- 
ple. Nature has made a provision, which is prompt and ea- 
sy in its applications, and abundantly successful in its results. 
There is, first, the perception of different objects of the same 
kind ; then the suggestion or feeling of resemblance in re- 
spect to those objects, and finally, the giving of the common 
name to such objects or parts of objects as are reached by 
the feeling of resemblance. 
The feeling of resemblance is a distinct thing from the 
previous perception of the individual objects. If there had 
not been, between the perception of the objects and the giv- 
ing of the common name, an intermediate feeling of resem- 
blance, the primitive framers of language would have been 
as likely to have assigned the same appellative to the cave 
and the mountain and the river, or to any other things al- 
together dissimilar, as to those resembling objects, to which 
it was assigned. 
When, therefore, those persons, who hold to the doctrine 
of the Nominalists, assert, that all general abstract ideas are 
but names, they appear to mistake. There is something 
more than the mere name, viz. that feeling of resemblance, 
which has been mentioned, and which, although it is difficult 
to explain it, except it be by referring each one to his own 
* Am. Quar. Rev. March 1831, p, 167. 438 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
intellectual experience, is clearly too important a circum- 
stance to be hastily overlooked, and thrown out of the ques- 
tion. (See the Chapter on General Abstract Ideas.) 
§. 16. On the increase of the number of nouns and appellatives 
After a certain number of sounds had been selected and 
agreed upon, as the signs or names of objects, the extension 
or increase of this part of oral language became comparative- 
ly easy. We may suppose that objects in nature were from 
time to time discovered, such as trees, plants, flowers, miner- 
als, &c. which were unknown before ; but, instead of utter- 
ing and agreeingupon altogether new sounds as their names, 
men searched among the treasures already in their posses- 
sion, and found them there. This was particularly, and we 
may suppose almost uniformly the case, when there were 
words already existing, which could be rendered, by their 
combination, descriptive of traits or qualities in the newly 
discovered objects. Nor are these statements wholly con- 
jectural. They appear to be confirmed by what we notice 
every day in the history of languages. When, for instance, 
a new word is wanted in the English language, to express 
some distinct idea not yet provided for, a sign entirely new 
is not invented for it. Every one knows, that there is a 
great repugnance felt to coin new words out of sounds, that 
have hitherto had no meaning attached to them. But the 
practice is to form a new word by a combination of others, or 
perhaps by an alteration, either in the beginning or the ter- 
mination of the word, according to the settled analogy of the 
language. In case there are no words in the language, which 
can either be compounded or altered so as to answer the pur- 
pose, resort is frequently had, in preference to framing a 
sound entirely new, to foreign languages. Many words in 
the English language have been introduced from the Greek, 
the French, and the Italian, although these are not its great 
and original sources. 
It is this tendency to alter rather than invent new words, 
which lays the foundation of the well-known fact, that there 
is a regular system of composition, of increase, and of diminu- 
tion in words, running through every language. A single 
word, (for instance the verbs of the Latin, Greek, and He- ORAL SIGNS OR SPEECH. 
439 
brew languages,) may assume ten, twenty, or even fifty dif- 
ferent forms ; and every form is expressive of a distinct idea. 
And hence the primitive words of all languages, even those 
that are most copious, are comparatively few in number. 
§. 17. Of the formation of verbs. 
In the exercise of their power of appointing articulate 
sounds as signs of thought, we now suppose men to have pro- 
ceeded so far as to form general nouns or appellatives, and 
to employ them with facility. But they soon find, that there 
is need of another class of words, which are of great conse- 
quence both in the construction and the application of oral 
language, viz. verbs. 
As the ideas, expressed by verbs, concern actions rather 
than objects, and the attributes, affections, and relations of 
things rather than the things themselves, and cannot, there- 
fore, be so easily defined to the understanding and fixed up- 
on by it, words of this kind were not, we may suppose, so 
rapidly formed as appellatives, although some of them must 
have been of very early origin. 
Their origin may be illustrated in this way. Let it be 
admitted, that the primitive inhabitants have given names to 
certain wild animals; Condillac supposes, that such names 
were given first, before those of trees, fountains, &c. It 
soon happens, as is very natural and reasonable to be imag- 
ined, that they see one of these animals advancing towards 
them with great speed and apparent ferocity. Certainly they 
would have an idea of the motion of the animal as something 
different from the animal itself ; and if they could give a 
name to the animal, why not to the fact of his coming to- 
wards them or running from them as the fact might be ? 
In the formation of the noun substantive or general term, 
they exclaimed, The tiger ! The lion ! and this exclamation 
became in time the common name. But now they discover 
a new attribute or action of the animal, which affects them 
strongly and deserves a distinct appellation, and hence they 
utter some new exclamation ; it may be conjectured, the 
word, comes or rushes ; and the cry now is, tiger-rushes ! 
lion-comes ! The articulate sounds, which under such cir- 
cumstances are adopted, whatever they may be, are eventu- 440 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
ally fixed upon, as the conventional and permanent represen- 
tations of certain actions, attributes, and affections of things, 
and in the maturity of society and of knowledge, when man 
finds all that he has learnt subjected to a more exact and sci- 
entific classification, they are accordingly classed as verbs. 
§. 18. The formation of adjectives and other parts of speech. 
It has been conjectured, that nouns and verbs were, in 
time of origin, the earliest of all the parts of speech ; and, in 
truth, the hypothesis does not rest solely upon conjecture. 
It was the object of men at first to express their ideas as they 
could; and they reckoned it of but little consequence, 
whether they did it with great precision or elegance. Ad- 
jectives, conjunctions, adverbs, prepositions, relative pro- 
nouns, were introduced by degrees, as they were found to be 
needed ; but nouns and verbs could never be dispensed with. 
And in addition to this consideration, that these classes of 
words could not at any time be dispensed with, there is much 
reason to suppose from a variety of investigations, that adjec- 
tives and some other subordinate parts of speech were deriv- 
ed either from verbs or substantives, and of course they must 
have been subsequent in the period of their formation. 
Agreeably to this statement it is found, that in the dia- 
lects of some Savage tribes, those qualifying words, which 
we call adjectives or adnouns, do not exist. "The Mohe- 
gans, (says an American writer,) have no adjectives in all 
their language. Although it may at first seem not only sin- 
gular and curious, but impossible that a language should ex- 
ist without adjectives, yet it is an indubitable fact."* This 
fact, strange as it may seem at first, is undoubtedly consis- 
tent with what we notice in many of the most improved lan- 
guages. Thus in the English we say, a clay color, a lead col- 
<or, a sea fish, a wine vessel, a gold ring. But clay, lead, sea, 
wine, gold, are originally nouns, and are still used as such. 
We here call them adjectives, and not nouns, merely because 
they are employed as subordinate to other nouns, and for 
the purpose of qualifying them. 
In other cases, adjectives can be traced back to verbs. 
Thus the adjective proud is ascertained to be the Anglo Sax- 
* Dn Jonathan Edwards' Remarks on the Mohegan Indians. oral signs or speech. 
441 
on prut, which is the past participle of prytian. The ad- 
jective tall may also be traced to the Anglo Saxon, being the 
past participle of the verb tilian, to lift up. The epithet 
right is from the past participle of the Latin verb rego, to 
govern or order. 
§. 19. The foregoing principles confirmed from the deaf and dumb. 
The statements of the last section, introduced to show 
that some adjectives were originally nouns, are confirmed by 
what is almost invariably noticed in the Deaf and Dumb. 
Massieu, the celebrated pupil of the Abbe Sicard, is a proof. 
He had acquired a clear conception of the qualities of ob- 
jects, in distinction from the objects themselves, to which 
they belonged. But when he first attempted to express 
those qualities in words, he invariably made use of other 
nouns, and not adjectives ; selecting of course the names of 
such objects as were remarkable for the qualities inquestion. 
If, for instance, he wished to express the quality or at- 
tribute of speed in one of his companions, instead of saying, 
Albert is swift, be would say, Albert is a bird. Ifhewish- 
ed to express the quality of courage, instead of saying, Paul 
is bold, he would say Paul is a lion. He would express his 
perception of sweetness of disposition in another, not by say- 
ing, William is amiable, but William is a lamb.* 
§• 20. Of the formation of propositions. 
We should remember, in considering the subject of artifi- 
cial language, that it was originally framed by comparative- 
ly artless men, and that its different parts appeared, not in 
obedience to a sort of prophetic invention merely, but as they 
were called for by an urgent necessity. There is good rea- 
son to suppose, in view of the considerations already advanc- 
ed, that the earliest denominations or classes of speech were' 
those, which were subsequently called verbs and common 
nouns. But soon there were framed other parts or classes 
of speech, that were not permanently included under the 
names of verbs and appellatives, but in time assumed a dis- 
tinct denomination. And this was the case, not only with 
adjectives, but with prepositions. 
* See Cours D'Instruction d'un Sourd-muet de Naissance par Roch- 
Ambroise Sicard, 2d Ed. p. 47. 442 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
Prepositions are the names of real objects, actions, attri- 
butes, and relations, not less than the parts of speech, from 
which they are, in a great measure, derived. The preposi- 
tion with, for instance, is asserted by etymologists to have 
been originally the imperative mode of a Saxon verb, which 
means to unite or join. The sun with his rays enlightens 
and warms the earth; that is, the sun, join his rays, en- 
lightens, &c. In like manner, the preposition through is said 
to have been originally the Teutonic substantive tiiuruh, 
meaning a door, gate, or passage. The beams of the sun 
pass through the air ; that is, the beams of the sun pass ; the 
air is their door or passage-way. The preposition from is the 
Anglo Saxon frum, which means beginning or origin. In 
the proposition, The rays came from the sun, we have the 
two distinct propositions, viz. the rays came, and the sun 
their beginning or source. The lamp falls from the ceiling ; 
that is, the lamp falls ; the ceiling is its beginning, or the 
place where the falling begins.* 
§. 21. Of the origin and original import of conjunctions. 
The general doctrine, that nouns were first formed, after- 
wards verbs, and that these were the sources of other class- 
es of words, is strengthened by what we know in respect to 
that species of connectives, called conjunctions. 
The conjunction, if, was originally a verb in the impera- 
tive mood, viz. gif, the imperative of the Saxon word, gifan, 
which is the same with the modern English infinitive, to 
give. If we consider the original import of the words in this 
sentence, viz. If ye love me, ye will keep my commandments, 
it will stand thus ; Give or grant this, viz. ye love me, ye 
will keep my commandments. 
The conjunctions, unless, lest, and else, are derivatives 
from the Saxon verb, lesan, to dismiss. The meaning, con- 
veyed in this sentence, viz. Unless ye believe, ye shall not 
understand, may be thus analyzed ;-Dismiss, ye believe, 
(the circumstance of belief being out of the way,) ye shall 
not understand. 
The conjunction, though, was originally a verb in the 
* See this subject more fully considered in the Epea Pteroenta or 
Diversions of Purley of Horne Tooke. ORAL SIGNS OR SPEECH. 
443 
imperative from the Saxon, thafian, meaning to grant or al- 
low. The word was originally thaf or thof, and is thus of- 
ten pronounced by the people in some parts of England to 
this day. This sentence, Though he slay me, I will trust in 
him, may be thus explained, in conformity with the etymolo- 
gical derivation ;-Allow, grant this, he will slay me, I will 
trust in him. 
§. 22, Further remarks on the meaning of conjunctions and other particles. 
Observations, similar to those, which have been made in 
reference to conjunctions and prepositions, will apply to oth- 
er subordinate parts of speech, (which, including conjunc- 
tions and prepositions, are sometimes known under the name 
of particles.) Accordingly it will be found on examination, 
that many adverbs were originally either nouns, verbs, or the 
participles of verbs. But this inquiry, interesting and im- 
portant as it unquestionably is, cannot be further prosecuted 
here. It is proper, however, to guard the foregoing views by 
saying, that when a language is fully formed and settled up- 
on, we would not advise a confident and indiscriminate refer- 
ence to the etymology of particles,'in order to determine their 
present significancy ; although in many cases, as in those 
mentioned in the preceding section, such a reference throws 
light upon them. Whatever particles may have been at first, 
whether nouns or verbs, or whatever direct and positive sig- 
nificance they may have once had, they are at last, when 
the language is fully formed, evidently without meaning, ex- 
cept so far as they are connected with other words. 
The proper use of them seems to be, to express the states 
of our mind, as we pass from one clause of a sentence to 
another, or from one proposition to another ; also the restric- 
tion, distinction, and opposition of our thoughts. Admitting, 
then, that, in some instances, we can derive considerable aid 
from etymology, the surest method of ascertaining the mean- 
ing of this class of words, is by observing the operations of 
our own minds, as we connect together our ideas in clauses, 
sentences, and consecutive propositions. 
§. 23. Of the origin of particular or proper names. 
Although general names or appellatives, as appeared in §. 
13, were first applied to particular objects, as soon as they 
became general and were employed to denote classes of ob- 444 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
jects, they were no longer of use in the specification of indi- 
viduals. Their utility in that respect necessarily ceased. 
Hence arose the class of substances or nouns, called particu- 
lar or proper names, designed especially to indicate individu- 
al objects. In ascertaining to what objects, terms of this 
kind shall be assigned, it can only be said, that we give prop- 
er names to such things, as we have frequent and urgent oc- 
casion to mention ; no other rule can readily be laid down. 
We, accordingly give particular names to rivers, lakes, 
cataracts, mountains, because we have frequent occasion to 
speak of them individually, of the Mississippi, the La Plata, 
the Alps, and the Appenines. There is still greater reason, 
why we should give names of this sort to our fellow beings, 
with whom we constantly associate, and on whom our hap- 
piness is in no small degree dependent. But the assignation 
of proper names is far from being limited to men, or to rivers, 
or to mountains, or to cataracts. We continually meet with 
them. The merchant gives names to his vessels, the far- 
mer to his oxen, the hunter to his dogs, the jockey to his 
horses, on the same principles and for the same reason, that 
one river is called Ganges and another Danube, and that one 
man is called John, and another William. 
24. Principle of selection and significancy of proper names. 
But a question arises, On what principle are the names 
themselves selected ? Proper names undoubtedly were at 
first expressive of some qualities or events, pertaining- to the 
individuals or objects, to which they were applied. Thus in 
the Hebrew, certainly one of the most ancient of languages, 
the name Benjamin signifies a favorite or prosperous son ; 
Joshua intimates help or deliverance ; Samuel implies a dis- 
position to hear or obey God ; Moses, although perhaps not 
originally a Hebrew word, is supposed to denote a person 
drawn from the waters. 
In the Gaelic language, Cairbar the strong man ; Morna, 
the well beloved ; Cathmor, great in battle ; and a multitude 
of other significant names might be referred to, as illustra- 
ting and confirming this view. 
In the Latin the celebrated name of Brutus alludes to the 
fact, that Lucius Junius acted the assumed part of a brutish ORAL SIGNS OR SPEECH. 
445 
or foolish person, in order to conceal his patriotic designs. 
The renowned cognomen of Coriolanus was first given in re- 
ference to an assault of Corioli by a Roman soldier. The 
name of Publicola expressed the attachment of the first indi- 
vidual who bore it, to the rights and interests of the people. 
Every reader of Roman history knows, what splendid associ- 
ations of a historical kind are connected with the names of 
Capitolinus and Africanus. And names were not only given 
by the Romans in reference to personal achievements and 
historical events ; but as expressive of mental qualities, occu- 
pations, and situations in life. Accordingly one man is called 
Egerius for his poverty ; another is called Serranus in allu- 
sion to his business as a cultivator of the soil ; another is cal- 
led Cato out of regard to his wisdom. 
§. 25. Of the origin and significancy of the names of places. 
The names of places also have a meaning ; it is sometimes 
a direct and positive significancy ; at others only an allusion 
to historical facts. There is ample reason for believing, that 
this is true almost without exception, although the original 
import is now in many cases lost. 
The ancient Hebrews came to a mountainous ridge ; they 
saw that it was plentifully watered, and that it was clothed, 
even to its summit with oaks and firs, with laurels and olives; 
and they named it Mount Carmel, which means in the He- 
brew tongue the mount of the garden of God. An early Chris- 
tian teacher, according to the traditions of the country, hav- 
ing been put to death on a certain hill, it was thence called 
Montmartre ; the name, to this day, of a celebrated eminence 
in the neighborhood of Paris. When Columbus entered a 
capacious and safe harbor, with a rich and beautiful surround- 
ing country, he called the place Puerto Bello, by a name de- 
scriptive of its predominant features. And so of instances 
without number. 
On this subject a careful examination of the various dia- 
lects of the North American Savages would undoubtedly 
throw light. The meaning of very many proper names has 
already been ascertained, with a greater or less degree of 
probability, by careful inquirers into these languages. A 
company of Indians, seated on the banks of a river, and see- 446 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
ingit opposed and violently driven in different directions by 
the projecting rocks, would naturally enough call it the Ken- 
away, which means, in the Shawanese tongue, the river of 
whirlpools. Among many other similar instances, the words 
Mississippi and Niagara, which have no meaning for an Ang- 
lo-American, are accurately descriptive in the Aboriginal dia- 
lects ; the former signifying the great river, and the latter 
the thunder of waters. 
CHAPTER THIRD. 
WRITTEN SIGNS. 
The formation of oral language preceded that of written 
language, by which we understand those artificial signs, 
which are addressed to the eye instead of the-ear. With all 
the advantages of oral language, men could not long be in- 
sensible to the great convenience of a mode of communica- 
tion, which did not require personal presence. Previously 
to resorting to written signs, the transmission of commands 
from one place to another required the agency of persons es- 
pecially commissioned for that purpose. Laborious and ex- 
pensive as was this method of sending communications, it 
was not always a successful one. The most faithful messen- 
ger was liable to misunderstand the subject of his embassy, 
or to fail in communicating it with precision to others. 
All history likewise, during the period antecedent to the 
invention of written language, was necessarily embodied in 
traditions. The father, who had himself participated in 
great national events, told them to the son ; and the son re- 
peated them in the ears of the succeeding generation. It 
was thus that the poems of Ossian are said to have been 
handed down. It was thus, according to Tacitus, (de mori- 
bus Germanorum, §. 2, 3,) that the legends and heroic songs 
§. 26. Of the causes which led to the formation of written signs. WRITTEN SIGNS. 
447 
of the ancient tribes of Germany were transmitted. And it 
was from traditions, repeated through succeeding ages, that 
Garcillasso composed the history of the Incas of Peru. 
Sometimes the rude nations of antiquity assisted their 
traditionary recollections, by planting groves, throwing to- 
gether monumental heaps of stones, and instituting games ; 
but even these precautions did not avail. Various mistakes 
were found to arise ; statements became confused and per- 
plexed ; till the unadorned truths of real history could no 
longer be separated from the embellishments of fiction. 
Being, therefore, put upon some other artificial method of 
making their thoughts known to each other at the present 
time, and of transmitting their knowledge to future ages, 
men at last invented the different forms of written language. 
§. 27. The first artificial signs, addressed to the eye, were pictures. 
Although they did not find oral language suited to all 
their purposes, it seems to have been beyond their power, 
immediately to invent alphabets. The object of their earli- 
est efforts was exhausted in making visible sketches of ac- 
tions and events precisely as they exist. 
The expression of ideas in this method has been more or 
less practised in all nations during the early periods of their 
history, and has been of considerable aid to them in making 
out the record of their early annals. We are informed in the 
Pentateuch, that figures were embroidered in the curtains of 
the holy of holies ; and learn from the ancient poems of 
Homer, that Helen wrought in embroidery the pictures of the 
battles, in which the attractions of her own person had caus- 
ed the Greeks and Trojans to be engaged. The expres- 
sion of ideas by painting in colors, or by pictorial writing in 
other ways, is found to exist among the Savages of North 
America. Bows and arrows, hatchets, animals of various 
kinds are imprinted on the bodies of their chiefs, the indica- 
tions of their calling and of their heroic qualities. They go 
further, and are able to point out actions, situations, and 
events, although imperfectly. They often in their journey- 
ings leave behind them figures, either painted or rudely car- 
ved, which convey much important information to those, who 
happen afterwards to come the same way. 448 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
A recent and somewhat striking illustration of this topic 
cannot well be omitted. It is found in the Journal of an ex- 
pedition, that was sent out in 1820, to explore the north- 
western region of the United States. A part of the compa- 
ny, in passing across from the river St. Louis to Sandy 
Lake, had missed their way, together with their Indian at- 
tendants, and could not tell where they were. In conse- 
quence of being in this situation, the Indians, not knowing 
what might be the result, determined to leave, at a certain 
place, a memorial of their journey for the information of such 
of their tribe as might happen to come in that direction af- 
terwards. In the party there was a military officer, a person 
whom the Indians understood to be an attorney, and a min- 
eralogist ; eight were armed ; when they halted, they form- 
ed three encampments. The Savages went to work and 
traced out with their knives upon a piece of birch bark a man 
with a sword for the officer, another human figure with a 
book in his hand for the lawyer, and a third with a hammer 
for the mineralogist ; three ascending columns of smoke de- 
noted the three encampments, and eight muskets, the num- 
ber of armed men, &c.* 
We find pictorial delineations to have been practised, in 
particular, among the original inhabitants of Mexico. It is 
related by historians, that when the Spaniards first landed 
upon that coast, the natives despatched messengers to the 
king Montezuma, with a representation painted on cloth, of 
the landing and appearance of the Europeans. The events 
and appearances which they wished to describe, were new 
to them, and these pictured representations were the meth- 
ods, which they adopted, in preference to any other, to ex- 
press those ideas, which they deemed it important the king 
should immediately possess. 
Pictures, like the language of mere gesticulation, are a 
very imperfect mode of communicating ideas, as they must, 
from their very nature, be limited, in a great degree, to the 
description of external events. They fail in disclosing the 
connections of those events, in developing dispositions, in- 
tricate trains of thought, and, in some measure, the pas- 
* Schoolcraft's Narrative Journal, Chap. vm. WRITTEN SIGNS. 
449 
sions. Attempts were, therefore, soon made to introduce 
another form of writing called hieroglyphics. 
§. 23. Of hieroglyphic writing. 
Hieroglyphics, (from the Greek words, hieros, sacred, 
and glupho, to carve,) are figures sometimes painted or em- 
broidered, and at others carved out, used to express ideas. 
They differ from pictorial writing, chiefly in being an abridg- 
ment of it, and also in this particular, that they select, by the 
aid of analogies more or less remote, figures, for the purpose 
of expressing the less obvious mental emotions and abstract 
truths. 
Hieroglyphics were employed much more among the 
Egyptians than elsewhere, and the whole art probably arose 
in this way. The method of communicating thoughts by 
means of paintings, as among the Mexicans, and which, un- 
doubtedly, existed among the Egyptians, previous to the in- 
vention of hieroglyphics, was found inconvenient. The 
work was difficult in the execution, and bulky when it was 
completed ; aad there was, accordingly, very soon an attempt 
at the abridgment of that method. Hence the head was 
used to designate a man ; two or more hands with weapons 
opposed, a battle ; a scaling ladder, set against a wall, a 
siege ; a man's two feet in water, a fuller of clothes ; a leaf- 
less tree, the winter. Thus the first step towards the for- 
mation of a hieroglyphical system was taken. 
But when those, who depended on this mode of expres- 
sing their thoughts, came to certain classes of the passions, 
the moral qualities, and a variety of abstract truths, they 
were under the necessity of selecting certain visible objects, 
the delineation of which would be likely to suggest such 
truths and qualities. The eye was accordingly selected, to 
signify wisdom ; ingratitude was expressed by a viper, biting 
the hand that gave it food ; courage, by a lion ; imprudence, 
by a fly ; cunning, by a serpent. As the number of ideas 
among the people increased, and became more and more ab- 
stract, greater ingenuity was required in the invention of hi- 
eroglyphical characters to express them. Thus, a winged 
globe, with a serpent issuing from it, came to denote the uni- 
verse, or universal nature. 450 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
In the opinion of Goguet, by no means an incompetent 
judge on any question of that kind, the methods of pictorial 
delineation and of hieroglyphics have prevailed, in a greater 
or less degree, in the early periods of almost every nation on 
earth. And he takes occasion to make the remark, which 
appears to be sufficiently sustained by the fact, that such an 
universal concurrence cannot be considered as the effect of 
accident or imitation ; we must discern in it the voice of na- 
ture speaking, in an uniform tone, to the gross capacities of 
the first generations of men.* 
§. 29. Of the written characters of the Chinese. 
The third step in the progress of the human mind towards 
the invention of an alphabetical character, was the framing 
of such arbitrary signs, as are employed by the Chinese at 
the present day. 
It is a peculiarity of the written language of the Chinese, 
that it employs artificial and arbitrary delineations. Thus, 
for the idea, expressed by the English word, prisoner, we 
have this delineation, which is less complicated than many 
others, viz. a figure, approaching in its form to a square, with 
another figure nearly in the shape of an equilateral triangle, 
placed in the centre of it. The character, which, as it is ar- 
ticulated, is eul, and answers to the English word ear, is 
somewhat in the shape of a parallelogram, crossed at nearly 
equal distances from the ends by lines, drawn at right an- 
gles to the sides. 
As hieroglyphics are an improvement on the mode of ex- 
pressing ideas by painting, the characters, employed by the 
Chinese, may with good reason be considered the next step 
in advance of hieroglyphics. It is a proof of this, that many 
of the characters, particularly those called elementary, bore 
originally an analogy or resemblance to the objects for which 
they stand. They were of course anciently hieroglyphics, al- 
though now arbitrary characters. The fact, on which this 
conclusion is founded, is ascertained by consulting ancient in- 
scriptions on cups of serpentine stone, on vases of porcelain, 
on seals of agate, and the characters used in editions of very 
ancient books. The characters, which at present stand for 
the sun, moon, a field, and the mouth, are quite arbitrary, 
§. 30. The Chinese character an improvement on the hieroglyphic. 
* Goguet's Origin of Laws, Arts, and Sciences, Bk. II, Chap. 6. WRITTEN SIGNS. 
451 
and we discover no analogy between them and the object ; 
but it was otherwise at first. The sun was originally rep- 
resented by a circle with a dot in the centre ; the moon by 
the segment of a circle ; a field by a figure resembling a 
square, set off into smaller divisions by two lines intersecting 
each other at right angles in the centre ; a mouth, by a fig- 
ure intended to represent the projection of the lips. 
The progress of the system of the Chinese from a hiero- 
glyphical to a purely arbitrary character may perhaps be 
better illustrated by the following story, than by any abstract 
statement. 
A tavern-keeper in Hungary, unable to write, kept ac- 
count of the sums due to him by strokes chalked on his door ; 
to each series of strokes was annexed a figure to denote the 
customer, to whom they applied. The soldier was represen- 
ted by the figure of a musket, the carpenter by a saw, the 
smith by a hammer. In a short time, for convenience the 
musket was reduced to a straight line, the saw to a zig zag 
line, the hammer to a cross ; and thus began to be formed a 
set of characters, gradually receding from the original figure. 
The resemblance might at last be entirely lost sight of, and 
the figures become mere arbitrary marks. 
But it is to be recollected, that the artificial delineations, 
towards the formation of which the human mind has thus 
gradually advanced, were used to denote ideas merely, and 
not sounds or words as they are enunciated. The two sys- 
tems of oral and written signs are supposed as yet to have 
been entirely independent of each other. It could not be 
long, however, before they would assume new relations, and 
written characters would gradually be employed as signifi- 
cant of sounds, as well as of thought. 
The idea, which we express by the word prisoner, had 
its correspondent delineation, its appropriate arbitrary figure ; 
it also had its appropriate oral sign or sound. The oral sign 
would by association call up both the thing itself and the 
written delineation. And on the other hand, the written 
character would naturally suggest both the idea and the oral 
sign. It was in this way, arbitrary written characters grad- 
ually gave up their original office, and came to stand as di- 
rectly representative of sounds, and indirectly of ideas. 
§. 31. Artificial delineations employed as signs of sound. 452 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
This was coming back to the original intention of nature, 
which seems to have framed the powers of the human voice 
with the design of making them the predominant instrument 
of intellectual communication, whatever aid might be deriv- 
ed to them from other sources. 
§. 32. Formation of syllabic alphabets. 
But it was desirable, that every possible benefit should be 
derived from this new application of arbitrary written marks, 
as signs of words. The next step, therefore, was to fix upon 
such sounds as are elementary, and also upon certain charac- 
ters to represent them. But to ascertain what sounds are 
elements and their exact number, was exceedingly difficult ; 
and it is highly improbable, that it was done at once. The 
improvers of language, however, not only succeeded in de- 
tecting monosyllables in their vocabulary of words, and in 
distinguishing them from polysyllables, but also in resolving 
compound words into their monosyllabic parts. The first al- 
phabets, therefore, as is generally supposed, were syllabic ; 
that is, were single syllables, consisting of a consonant 
sound, combined with a vowel sound. The base of these syl- 
lables being single consonants, variously modified by vowels, 
the distinction was at some subsequent period made between 
consonant and vowel sounds ; characters and names were 
appropriate to each ; and alphabets consequently assumed 
a new form. Such, after many laborious investigations, 
seems to be the general sentiment as to the progress of hu- 
man invention through the successive forms of pictures, hie- 
roglyphics, the arbitrary delineations of the Chinese, and syl- 
labic alphabets, to alphabets of letters. Abundant proofs are 
extant, that these various methods of artificial writing have 
been employed at different periods ; and such is their mutual 
relation, it is not difficult to conceive of the progress of the 
human mind from one to the other. 
§. S3. The preceding views confirmed by recent researches. 
The general views of the preceding sections receive some 
confirmation from the recent laborious and learned research- 
es into the antiquities of Egypt. The prosecution of these 
researches, and the accumulation of light on the various mon- 
uments of that remarkable country render it probable, that 
the present inquiry will not always be regarded as a conjec- WRITTEN SIGNS. 
453 
tural one, but that it may at last be satisfactorily settled. It 
appears to be even now sufficiently ascertained, that there 
existed among the ancient Egyptians an alphabet, represen- 
tative of simple sounds. The visible characters, standing for 
the sounds, are either the exact pictures or the hieroglyph- 
ics of objects. On examination it appears, that the pictures 
and hieroglyphics are taken from objects, the oral signs or 
names of which begin with the same articulate sounds,which 
they are themselves destined to represent. Thus the image 
of an eagle, which in the Egyptian oral language is called 
Achom, became the sign of the vowel A. Hence it is proba- 
ble, they began in the examination of this subject with the 
names of objects. It was by the analysis of these names, that 
ultimately the resolution of the human voice into its syllabic 
and primary elements was made. And in giving signs to el- 
ementary sounds, they selected those pictures or hieroglyph- 
ics of objects, the names of which had particularly assisted 
them in their analysis. 
The same is essentially true of other ancient languages. 
The names and forms of the Hebrew alphabet were, for the 
most part, designations of sensible objects. The first word 
of the alphabet is called Aleph, which means an ox. It may 
be conjectured, therefore, that the broad sound of A was first 
separated from other elementary sounds in the analysis of 
that word. And after such analysis and separation, the name 
and figure of the ox were retained as its permanent written 
and oral signs. Perhaps it should be added, that the resem- 
blance between the written signs and their original arche- 
types is to be sought chiefly in the ancient Hebrew charac- 
ter, and not in that at present in use. 
S4. On the recent formation of the Cherokee syllabic alphabet. 
Great expectations have justly been directed towards the 
learned labors of Champoilion and his associates ; but it was 
probably not anticipated, that an uneducated North Ameri- 
can Savage would throw light on these obscure inquiries. 
The Cherokees, like the other Aboriginal inhabitants of 
America, had their pictorial delineations, and probably some 
hieroglyphic characters but nothing more ; the sounds of 
their language had never been expressed by an alphabet 
either of single letters or of syllables. This was the work of 454 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
the Cherokee, See-qua-yah, (known more generally by the 
English name of George Guess,) who deserves to be remem- 
bered with honor. 
About the time of the defeat of the American general St. 
Clair, when Guess was a young man, a letter fell into the 
hands of the Indians, which greatly excited their curiosity. 
In some of their deliberations in respect to it, the question 
arose among them, whether the mysterious power of the 
talking leaf was the gift of the Great Spirit to the white man, 
or the discovery of the white man himself? Most of his 
companions were of the former opinion, while Guess as stren- 
uously maintained the latter. It was this incident, which 
first directed the thoughts of Guess to the subject of written 
signs. The following statements were taken from his own 
lips in the winter of 1828, when he was on a visit to the city 
of Washington with some other persons of his tribe ; and its 
accuracy can be relied on.* 
§. 35. Facts relative to the invention of the Cherokee alphabet. 
The letter, and the discussions connected with it, "fre- 
quently became a subject of contemplation with him after- 
wards, as well as many other things which he knew, or had 
heard, that the white men could do ; but he never sat down 
seriously to reflect on the subject, until a swelling in his 
knee confined him to his cabin, and which at length made 
him a cripple for life, by shortening the diseased leg. Depriv- 
ed of the excitements of war and the pleasures of the chase, 
in the long nights of his confinement, his mind was again di- 
rected to the mystery of speaking by letters, the very name of 
which, of course, was not to be found in his language. From 
the cries of wild beasts, from the talents of the mocking bird, 
from the voices of his children and his companions, he knew 
that feelings and passions were conveyed by direct sounds 
from one intelligent being to another. The thought struck 
him to try to ascertain all the sounds in the Cherokee lan- 
guage. His own ear was not remarkably discriminating, and 
he called to his aid the more acute ears of his wife and chil- 
dren. He found great assistance from them. 
When he thought that he had distinguished all the differ- 
ent sounds in the language, he attempted to use pictorial 
* See Knapp's Lectures on American Literature, Leet. I. WRITTEN SIGNS. 
455 
signs, images of birds and beasts, to convey these sounds to 
others, or to mark them in his own mind. He soon dropped 
this method, as difficult or impossible, and tried arbitrary 
signs, without any regard to appearances, except such as 
might assist him in recollecting them, and distinguishing 
them from each other. At first these signs were very numer- 
ous ; and when he got so far as to think his invention was 
nearly accomplished, he had about two hundred characters 
in his alphabet. By the aid of his daughter, who seemed to 
enter into the genius of his labors, he reduced them at last 
to eighty six, the number he now uses. He then set to work 
to make these characters more comely to the eye, and succee- 
ded. As yet he had not the knowledge of the pen as an in- 
strument ; but made his characters on a piece of bark, with 
a knife or nail. At this time he sent to the Indian agent, or 
some trader in the nation, for paper and pen. His ink was 
easily made from some of the bark of the forest trees, whose 
coloring properties he had previously known ; and after see- 
ing the construction of the pen, he soon learned to make one, 
but at first he made it without a slit ; this inconvenience 
was, however, quickly removed by his sagacity. His next 
difficulty was to make his invention known to his country- 
men ; for by this time he had become so abstracted from his 
tribe and their usual pursuits, that he was viewed with an 
eye of suspicion. His former companions passed his wigwam 
without entering it, and mentioned his name as one who was 
practising improper spells, for notoriety or mischievous pur- 
poses ; and he seems to think that he should have been hard- 
ly dealt with, if his docile and unambitious disposition had 
not been so generally acknowledged by his tribe. At length 
he summoned some of the most distinguished of his nation, 
in order to make his communication to them ; and after giv- 
ing the best explanation of his discovery that he could, strip- 
ping it of all supernatural influence, he proceeded to demon- 
strate to them in good earnest that he had made a discovery. 
His daughter who was his only pupil, was ordered to go out 
of hearing, while he requested his friends to name a word or 
sentiment which he put down, and then she was called in 
and read it to them ; then the father retired and the d iugh- 
ter wrote ; the Indians were wonder-struck, but not entirely 
satisfied ; See-quah-yah then proposed that the tribe should 456 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
select several youths from among their best young men, that 
he might communicate the mystery to them. This was at 
length agreed to, although there was some lurking suspicion 
of necromancy in the whole business. John Maw, (his In- 
dian name I have forgotten,) a full-blood, with several oth- 
ers, were selected for this purpose.-The tribe watched the 
youths for several months with anxiety, and when they of- 
fered themselves for examination, the feelings of all were 
wrought up to the highest pitch. The youths were separat- 
ed from their master and from each other, and watched with 
great care. The uninitiated directed what master and pupil 
should write to each other, and the tests were viewed in such 
a manner as not only to destroy their infidelity, but most 
firmly to fix their faith." 
36. Conventional written signs as expressive of numbers and quantities. 
The invention of written signs, as well as oral, gave in- 
creased power to the action of the mind ; and the assistances 
thus rendered were so obvious and decisive, that the princi- 
ple of expressing thoughts by conventional written signs was 
extended to other cases. Hence the origin of numerical and 
algebraic expressions. In the science of Algebra, the sub- 
jects of mathematical analysis, such as extension, quantities, 
forces, and their relations, instead of being expressed by 
words and sentences in the ordinary way, are represented by 
the letters of the alphabet. At first the large or capital, and 
afterwards the small letters, being in some respects more 
convenient, were used for this purpose. And the system has 
been by degrees fully extended, not only to the quantities 
and forces thus represented, but to the operations performed 
in respect to them. It was regarded by scientific persons, as 
an improvement worthy of some notice, when the processes 
of adding and subtracting in algebra came to be expressed by 
the Latin terms plus and minus ; it was considered a further 
improvement, when these terms were in writing abridged 
into the initial letters p and m, and when they were subse- 
quently altered into the signs + and -, &c. 
The late Mr. Playfair, in his Historical Sketch of the Dis- 
coveries and Improvements in Science from the Revival of 
Letters to the present Century, has the following instructive 
remarks on the subject before us. Speaking of some im- WRITTEN SIGNS. 
457 
provements by Des Cartes, he adds, "the leading principles 
of algebra were now unfolded, and the notation was brought, 
from a mere contrivance for abridging the common language, 
to a system of symbolical writing, admirably fitted to assist 
the mind in the exercise of thought. 
The happy idea, indeed, of expressing quantity and the 
operations on quantity, by conventional symbols, instead of 
representing the facts by real magnitudes, and enunciating 
the second in words, could not but make a great change in 
the nature of mathematical investigation. The language of 
mathematics, whatever may be its form, must always consist 
of two parts ; the one denoting quantities simply, and the 
other denoting the manner in which the quantities are com- 
bined, or the operations understood to be performed on them. 
Geometry expresses the first of these by real magnitudes or 
what may be called natural signs ; a line by a line, an angle 
by an angle, an area by an area, &c. ; and it describes the 
latter by words. Algebra, on the other hand, denotes both 
quantity, and the operations on quantity, by the same sys- 
tem of conventional symbols. Thus, in the expression r3 - 
ax2-[-b"~=o^ the letters a.b^x^ denote quantities, but the terms 
x3 ax2,&c. denote certain operations performed on those quan- 
tities, as well as the quantities themselves ; x3 is the quantity 
x raised to the cube ; and ax2 the same quantity x raised to 
the square, and then multiplied into a, &c. ; the combination, 
by addition or subtraction, being also expressed by the signs 
4- and -. 
Now, it is when applied to this latter purpose that the al- 
gebraic language possesses such exclusive excellence. The 
mere magnitudes themselves might be represented by figures, 
as in geometry, as well as in any way whatever ; but the 
operations they are to be subjected to, if described in words, 
must be set before the mind slowly, and in succession, so 
that the impression is weakened, and the clear apprehension 
rendered difficult. In the algebraic expression, on the other 
hand, so much meaning is concentrated into a narrow space, 
and the impression made by all the parts is so simultaneous, 
that nothing can be more favorable to the exertion of the 
reasoning powers, to the continuance of their action, and 
their security against error." CHAPTER FOURTH. 
CHARACTERISTICS OF LANGUAGES. 
§. 37. All languages have their characteristic traits. 
From the consideration of the origin and use of particular 
words and phrases, we naturally proceed to the characteris- 
tic peculiarities of languages. It is with nations in some de- 
gree as with individuals ; every nation has a character, as 
each man has ; and in like manner, every language possesses 
its distinctive traits, not less than the mode of expression, 
which is employed by individuals. 
Let us, therefore, look a moment at this subject in refer- 
ence to particular writers.-The style of a writer is under- 
stood to have relation chiefly to his choice of words and his 
manner of arranging them. Every writer of genius employs 
a style in some degree peculiar to himself. It cannot well 
be otherwise, since the mind of every individual is, in some 
respects, unlike that of all others. There are differences in 
situation ; differences in intellect and feeling, in knowledge 
and taste, which necessarily lay the foundation of differences 
in style. Whenever, therefore, a writer attempts to embody 
and set forth to others the series of his intellectual operations 
and feelings, such exposition will necessarily have a form 
and impress of its own. So true is this, that it is hardly 
more difficult to detect an author's style, when it is once 
well-formed, than it is to distinguish one man's hand-writing 
from another's. And what is true of his manner of ex- 
pression in the case of an individual, is equally so of national 
dialects. The languages of all nations have a style or pecu- 
liarity of manner. They are marked by certain prevailing 
characteristics, which readily distinguish them from those of 
other nations. CHARACTERISTICS OF LANGUAGE. 
459 
§. Characteristics of the languages of uncivilized nations. 
In the first place, there are certain general traits which 
are characteristic of all languages, that are spoken by the 
rude, uncultured tribes of men. As such uncivilized commu- 
nities are in general ignorant of alphabetical writing they 
cannot be expected to furnish us with numerous specimens 
of mental effort. Their glory is committed to the traditions 
of their country ; and we rarely find among them any thing 
more than some brief historical sketches, war songs, and 
speeches. But even from these imperfect sources, we can 
form a judgment on the present subject. 
The words, which such tribes employ, are generally few 
in number, compared with the vocabulary of civilized na- 
tions. Their knowledge is very limited ; their ideas are few ; 
and it is a necessary consequence, that their words should 
be fewlikewise. Incapable of aiding their perceptions by re- 
mote deductions of reasoning, they draw instruction from the 
visible teachings of the woods, the waters, and the sky ; but 
even the external world is very imperfectly learnt, while 
they are almost wholly ignorant of the world within. And 
the range or compass of their language corresponds to the 
compass of their knowledge. 
It is further worthy of remark, that only a small propor- 
tion of the words, employed by uncivilized tribes, are the 
signs of abstract ideas. Having but few abstract notions 
and, consequently, but few names for them, they are under 
the necessity of resorting constantly to figurative illustrations ; 
so that their language seems to partake of the materiality of 
the external objects, with which they are chiefly conversant. 
But aided, as they are, by metaphorical expressions, their 
stock of words still remains small ; and the sentences, which 
they utter, must, therefore, of necessity be short. 
These short and figurative sentences, are inspirited by the 
infusion of the untamed passions of a savage mind. There 
is a vivacity in their griefs, their joys, and their anger, which 
is almost peculiar to uncivilized life. "The bones of our 
countrymen, (say the Chiefs,) lie uncovered ; their bloody bed 
has not been washed clean ; their spirits cry against us ; they 
must be appeased ; sit no longer inactive upon your mats ; 
lift the hatchets ; console the spirits of the dead. 460 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
§.39. Characteristics of language in civilized and scientific nations. 
As a nation advances in knowledge, its language becomes 
more strictly conventional, losing by degrees that metaphor- 
ical aspect, which it presented in its earlier periods. A va- 
riety of new words are introduced, which previously had no 
existence, because the things, for which they stand, were 
not then known. New arts have their technical names and 
epithets, and new sciences furnish us with their novel no- 
menclatures. 
The distiller speaks of the cohobation of liquors ; the 
worker in mines of collieries ; the chemist of sulphates and 
muriates ; the botanist and mineralogist employ a variety of 
terms, peculiar to their respective departments. An increas- 
ed refinement and abstraction discovers itself in terms ap- 
propriated to moral, political, and literary subjects ; and the 
language in all respects is more removed from the senses, 
and becomes more intellectual. But while it is, by a natural 
consequence of mental improvement, more exact and scien- 
tific, it is less directly and strikingly indicative of external 
objects and of the passions of men, and is, therefore less po- 
etical. As terms become more abstract, they are necessari- 
ly less picturesque. This is the natural consequence of 
their not being limited to particular objects, but extended 
over a vast surface of things. A Savage if he had the most 
refined language of Europe at his command, would be at a 
loss to express in it the strong emotions, which agitate him, 
and the outward and living beauties of his woodland scenery; 
he would choose for that purpose the dialect of his tribe. 
§. 40. Characteristics of languages depend much on the people's habits. 
Individual writers, as already observed, have a style, that 
is, characteristics of expression, of their own ; for every one 
has a tendency to connect together thoughts or words, which 
are the signs of thought, agreeably to his peculiar intellectu- 
al habits and passions. But languages also, considered in 
their whole extent, have a style ; because the nations, the 
whole mass of people, that make use of those languages, have 
their characteristics as well as individuals. It follows, then, 
from'this/that] languages assume their general character or 
style, in a good measure, from that of the people ; and this 
is what we are willing to maintain. CHARACTERISTICS OF LANGUAGE. 
461 
It will certainly be found on inquiry, that the language of 
every people has words, combinations of words, peculiarities 
of grammatical construction, &c. springing entirely out of the 
national habits and the exigencies of their peculiar circum- 
stances. Thus, as was remarked on a former occasion, we 
have the word corban in Hebrew, ostrakismos in Greek, 
proscriptio in Latin, and we may add, anggaros in Persian, 
roturier in French, and many others, which are either 
wholly peculiar to their respective languages, or employed 
with some peculiarity of meaning, not elsewhere acknowledg- 
ed. No modern language had originally words precisely cor- 
responding to the Latin terms tribunus, consul, proconsul, 
prjetor, jEdilis, lictor, &c. The terms, by which they are 
translated into the modern languages of Europe, are the Lat- 
in words themselves with only a slight alteration of form. 
The Greek and Latin Languages are distinguished by the 
practice of transposition ; and for this purpose they have fur- 
nished certain classes of their words with particular varia- 
tions, by means of which they are made to refer to other 
words, with which they are naturally connected by the 
meaning or the sense of the passage. We find combinations 
of words and peculiarities of grammatical construction in the 
Hebrew and its cognate dialects, which we do not find either 
in the languages of Greece and Rome, or in those of modern 
Europe ; and this will be found to be more or less the case 
in all other languages or classes of languages, which we 
may compare together. It is owing both to a deficiency of 
appropriate terms, and to peculiarities in grammatical con- 
struction, that Missionaries have often met with great per- 
plexities in translating the Bible into the dialects of heathen 
countries. 
The single fact, without going into particulars, that no 
person can become fully acquainted with the true import and 
spirit of a language, without an acquaintance with the geog- 
raphy of their country and its natural scenery, without a 
knowledge of the dress, buildings, arts, religion, customs, and 
history of the people, seems enough in support of the remark, 
that languages take their character from the circumstances 
of those, who speak them. If the fact, on which the conclu- 
sion is founded, be doubted, then we ask, why instructors 
consider it so essential, that their pupils should have a knowl- 462 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
edge of the antiquities of the Romans, of the antiquities of 
the Greeks, of the antiquities of the Hebrews?-and why this 
course is pursued, or is acknowledged to be requisite, in re- 
spect to every other dead language? * 
§. 41. Languages aid in forming correct ideas of national character. 
If the statements in the preceding section be true, it fol- 
lows that a knowledge of languages very much helps us in 
acquiring a knowledge of the character of the people, who 
speak them. The study of every language is the examina- 
tion of a new chapter in the history and operations of the 
mind ;-that is, of the mind, as it is modified by the peculiar 
circumstances, the climate, government, habits, &c., of a 
people. Without an acquaintance, therefore, with their ver- 
nacular tongue, the critic will in vain take it upon him, to 
judge of the philosophy of their literature and character. It 
is this more than any thing else, that breathes the national 
spirit ; it fixes and retains it, when all its other monuments 
and memorials are gone, and after the nation itself is extinct. 
We may perhaps even go further, and assert, that chang- 
es in languages are indices to particular events. In other 
words that events of an extraordinary nature, whether they 
have relation to the sciences or politics, are often accompa- 
nied with corresponding effects on language. No one can be 
ignorant, that great and radical changes in the sciences are 
usually attended with alterations, improvements, and acces- 
sions of this kind. Some years since the French chemist 
Lavoisier laid the foundation of a new system of chemistry. 
In order to complete and sustain the revolution, of which he 
had been so conspicuous an instrument, he and his associates 
invented a new nomenclature, which has since been pretty 
generally adopted. 
Nearly at the same time happened the great political con- 
vulsion in France, which also had its effects on the French 
language. The patriotic Necker remarked this, and com- 
plained with no small degree of feeling of the barbarisms, 
which he asserted had sprung up within a short time. He 
* See for some further illustrations of this subject Heckewelder's and 
Duponceau's Correspondence respecting the Languages of the American 
Indians, Letter viii. CHARACTERISTICS OF LANGUAGE. 
463 
instanced, in particular, the words, influencer, utiliser, exception- 
ner, preconiser, fanatiser, patrioser, petitioner, vetoter, and harmonier. 
§. 42. Of the correspondence between national intellect and the progress 
of a language. 
Whatever may have been at any time thought, it will be 
found on examination, that those individuals, who are looked 
up to, as the eminent writers of a nation, seldom arise, until 
its language is nearly or quite completed. They employ it, 
as the people have formed it; and the people have formed 
it, as their feelings and habits prompted. 
The circumstance, that language is a great and admirable 
instrument of intellectual power, is of itself no small confir- 
mation of the doctrine, that developements of intellectual 
strength will correspond to the progressive improvement of 
a language, and that its great men, those who are to speak 
in it as long as it shall exist, will not make their appearance, 
until it shall have arrived to some degree of perfection. 
Let it be supposed, that, in the midst of a Savage tribe, 
whose language is rude, a person is found of perfect mental 
organization, capable of remembering, separating, and com- 
paring ideas, with a quickness of invention, and other quali- 
ties of genius above the common lot. He has influence over 
the minds of others ; he is consulted in difficult emergencies; 
he is accounted wise ; but how far he falls short of the mark, 
which is reached by others of originally no greater genius, 
who appear in a civilized community, and with the advan- 
tage of a perfect language ! 
" It is with languages, (says Condillac,) as with geometri- 
cal signs ; they give a new insight into things, and dilate the 
mind in proportion as they are more perfect. Sir Isaac 
Newton's extraordinary success was owing to the choice 
which had already been made of signs, together with the 
contrivance of methods of calculation. Had he appeared 
earlier, he might have been a great man for the age lie would 
have lived in, but he would not have been the admiration of 
ours. It is the same in every other branch of learning. The 
success of geniuses, who have had the happiness even of the 
best organization, depends entirely on the progress of the 
language in regard to the age in which they live ; for words 
answer to geometrical signs, and the manner of using them 464 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
to methods of calculation. In a language, therefore, defec- 
tive in words, or whose construction is not sufficiently easy 
and convenient, we should meet with the same obstacles as 
occurred in geometry before the invention of algebra. The 
French tongue was for a long time so unfavorable to the pro- 
gress of the mind, that if we could frame an idea of Corneille 
successively in the different ages of our monarchy, we should 
find him to have been possessed of less genius in proportion 
to his greater distance from the age in which he lived till at 
length we should reach a Corneille, who could not give the 
least mark of abilities." Origin of Knowledge, Pt. II, §. I. 
This writer thinks, it may be demonstrated, that there 
can be no such thing as a superior genius, (meaning proba- 
bly a developement of superior genius,) till the language of a 
nation has been considerably improved. And certainly it 
must be admitted, that the expectation of great and success- 
ful mental efforts of a literary kind, before the developement 
and organization of the national language, can hardly be bet- 
ter expected, than the forming of statues, and the building of 
temples, and the execution of paintings, before men have in- 
vented those auxiliary instruments, by which the trees of the 
forest are hewn into shape, and the marble is cut and drawn 
up from the quarry, and the colors are to be prepared, and 
laid upon the canvass. There is soundness of thought, as 
well as power of expression in the remark of a modern critic. 
" The first works of the imagination are poor and rude, not 
from the want of genius, but from the want of materials. 
Phidias could have done nothing with an old tree and a fish- 
bone, or Homer with the language of New Holland."* 
§. 43. Different languages suited to different minds, and to different kinds 
of subjects. 
Some languages are more suited to certain minds than 
they are to others ; more adapted also to the discussion oi 
certain subjects, than others. Accordingly the French lan- 
guage is simple, clear, precise, and, therefore, favorable to 
abstract investigations. And it is here, it may be conjectur- 
ed, that we find one cause of the great excellence of the 
mathematicians and the philosophers of that nation. There 
is also a facility in its construction, and a conciseness and ex- 
* Edinburgh Review, Vol. xlvii, p. 11. CHARACTERISTICS OF LANGUAGE. 
465 
expressi veness in its particles, which render it eminently a 
colloquial language ; and in this respect it is precisely such as 
the lively and sociable disposition of the French people re- 
quires it to be. The French themselves concede, that other 
languages are better adapted to express the higher flights 
of imagination, and the more profound displays of the pas- 
sions. 
The Italian language, which has the Latin for its basis, 
although abundantly modified by the intermixture of the in- 
flections and phrases of the successive conquerors of Italy, 
is characterized by exceeding harmony. There is perhaps 
a want of diversity in its sounds, so much so that even its 
harmony is apt to prove tiresome. But it appears, notwith- 
standing, to be well suited to poetry of a plaintive and seri- 
ous cast, particularly elegiac. It also furnishes a great num- 
ber of expressive and nicely discriminated terms, having a 
relation to the science of music. 
The Spanish language seems to indicate, in its sonorous 
fullness, that dignified and measured solemnity, which is so 
well known to be characteristic of the people, who speak it. 
But it is as courteous, as it is dignified. It has abundance of 
terms, precisely suited to express every form and degree of 
deference, courtesy, and honor. The order of chivalry first 
arose among the Spaniards, and as all the members of that 
romantic institution were bound to practice the most refined 
courtesy, as well as the most devoted heroism, it naturally 
happened, that many expressions of respect and politeness 
were introduced in that way, which have since been re- 
tained. 
§. 44. Such differences shown by attempts at translating. 
The remarks of the preceding section lead us further to 
observe, that differences in their power of expression and 
other specific peculiarities of languages disclose themselves 
in all cases of a translation from one language to another. 
The remark has often been made, and probably with great 
correctness, that there are many languages, into which the 
Paradise Lost of Milton could not be translated ; and per- 
haps none, where it could be done with perfect safety to the 
various and peculiar beauties of the original work. 
But the difficulty of representing in a translation the en- 466 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
tire shape and value of an original, is not limited to works of 
imagination. There are some languages, which are almost 
wholly destitute of particular classes of terms, both of a sci- 
entific and of a moral and philosophical nature ; a state of 
things, which of course renders translation extremely diffi- 
cult, so far as such classes of words are concerned. The 
Greek language is said to have been destitute of suitable 
terms in philosophy, till after the time of Socrates ; and it 
was the same with the Latin, till after the time of Cicero, 
who introduced, by means of his philosophic writings, many 
new terms on those subjects. Both languages are destitute 
of a multitude of terms, which have a place in such abstract 
and experimental sciences, as have received new develope- 
ments and applications, or perhaps a new existence, in mod- 
ern times.* The Bohemian and the Swiss languages are 
spoken by nations, that are shut up in inland and mountain- 
ous countries, and being separated from the ocean, are igno- 
rant of all navigation, excepting such as they are acquainted 
with on the limited scale of their own lakes and rivers. They 
are accordingly found to be greatly deficient in the terms, 
that are employed in the building, rigging, and managing of 
ships, f 
Sometimes whole classes of terms acquire a specific char- 
acter, in consequence of the prevailing pursuits and habits of 
the people. In one country a high degree of honor is attached 
to the life of a shepherd, as among the ancient Hebrews and 
the Arcadians ; in another to that of a cultivator of the soil, 
as among the Romans ; and in another, to that of a merchant, 
as among the Tyrians and Carthaginians ; and the supposed 
value of the calling becomes in time transferred to the terms, 
having a relation to it. The Abbe de Lille translated the 
Georgies of Virgil into French ; but he complains in the pre- 
face of his work, that it was rendered difficult in consequence 
of the ideas of want and meanness, which the French are ac- 
customed to associate with the life of a husbandman. The 
same difficulty is said to have been experienced by those, 
who have attempted to translate the Seasons of Thompson 
into that language. 
* Degerando, Histoire des Systernes de Philosophic, Part I, ch. 9. 
f See the Dissertation of Michaelis on the Influence of Language on 
O pinions, §. iv. CHARACTERISTICS OF LANGUAGE. 
467 
§. 45. Of the advantages attending the study of languages. 
It cannot have escaped notice, that it has been our object 
throughout, to render the present Work, as much as possible, 
a practical one ; and we accordingly propose to conclude the 
train of thought embraced in this Appendix, by offering a few 
considerations on the utility of the study of languages. It 
is well known that the study of languages, more particularly 
the Greek and Latin, has long been made a part of public ed- 
ucation. The reasons, which are commonly given for occu- 
pying a considerable portion of time in this way, are chiefly 
these. 
(1) Much information is locked up in these languages. 
The original Greek and Roman literature is of itself highly 
valuable ; their poets, historians, and orators, are worthy of 
being compared with those of any age or nation. In vigor 
of thought and purity of taste, in an enlightened freedom of 
inquiry, and in exaltation of moral and political sentiment, it 
is generally conceded, that the original literature of no na- 
tions whatever, taken as a whole, presents more favorable 
claims to notice. In addition to this, vast numbers of liter- 
ary and other treatises have been written in the Latin lan- 
guage in later periods, particularly on the readings and inter- 
pretations of ancient authors, and on obscure and difficult 
points of history. A person ignorant of that language is shut 
out from the greater part of these important documents. 
(2) The intercourse of the world has been so much increas- 
ed in consequence of the spread of knowledge and the facili- 
ties of commerce, that an acquaintance with some of the 
modern languages, particularly the Spanish, Italian, and 
French, is considered highly desirable. An entire ignorance 
of all modern languages is thought to imply a very defective 
education. But the languages which have been mentioned, 
together with the Portuguese, have their origin in great part 
from the Latin ; and can be more easily and perfectly learnt 
by previously giving some attention to the parent dialect, 
than by attempting them without it. 
(3) No one, who speaks the English language, can deny 
the importance of a thorough knowledge of it. It embodies, 
and retains the vast wisdom of many good and learned men ; 
and is the medium, by which the thoughts and feelings ol 468 
APPENDIX ON LANGUAGE. 
our own generation and of our own hearts are to be commu- 
nicated. But in the knowledge of this language, the student 
will find himself assisted by an acquaintance with the Latin, 
since no inconsiderable proportion of the words in the Eng- 
lish language are derived from that source. The Greek, 
which is a source of many English words, has a similar ar- 
gument in its favor ; and the additional circumstance of be- 
ing the original language of the New Testament. 
(4) The study of languages answers a good purpose, as a 
sort of basis of education. During the period from eight to 
eleven years of age, the intellect may be supposed to be de- 
veloping itself under the mere guidance of nature. It is a 
great point in education to aid this developement, to keep 
the mental powers in exercise, and to promote their growth. 
This object is known to be secured by the study of langua- 
ges in a high degree ; certainly much more than by the study 
of ethics, history, mineralogy, chemistry, &c. ; or even the 
more appropriate study of arithmetic. It is thought, that 
the object cannot be secured in so high a degree, by any 
other course of study whatever, which can be pointed out. 
(5) It has also been strongly contended, that an acquain- 
tance with any language is a valuable acquisition, because 
it opens new views of mental character. The language of 
every nation is modified by the exigencies of the people, who 
speak it ; and by individual and national traits. It embodies 
their emotions, customs, prejudices, domestic and political 
history. No man, therefore, can make himself fully acquaint- 
ed with a new language, without having more correct and 
broader views of the developement of the mind, of the pro- 
gress of men, as they rise from barbarism to refinement, and 
of human nature in general. And these advantages can be 
secured by the study of the Greek and Latin languages, no 
less than by others. 
END.