and moral nature of man is still more important--that noble art, which
has the charge of training the ignorance and imbecility of infancy
into all the virtue, and power, and wisdom of maturer manhood--of
forming, of a creature, the frailest and feeblest perhaps which heaven
has made, the intelligent and fearless sovereign of the whole animated
creation, the interpreter, and adorer, and almost the representative
of the Divinity. The art, which performs a transformation so wondrous,
cannot but be admirable itself; and it is from observation of the laws
of mind, that all which is most admirable in it is derived. These
laws we must follow indeed, since they exist not by our contrivance,
but by the contrivance of that nobler wisdom, from which the very
existence of the mind has flowed; yet, if we know them well, we can
_lead_ them, in a great measure, even while we _follow_ them. And,
while the helpless subject of this great moral art is every moment
requiring our aid,--with an understanding that may rise, from truth
to truth, to the sublimest discoveries, or may remain sunk forever in
ignorance, and with susceptibilities of vice that may be repressed, and
of virtue that may be cherished,--can we know too well the means of
checking what is evil, and of fostering what is good? It is too late
to lie by, in indolent indulgence of affection, till vice be already
formed in the little being whom we love, and to labour then to remove
it, and to substitute the virtue that is opposite to it. Vice already
formed, is almost beyond our power. It is only in the state of latent
propensity, that we can with much reason expect to overcome it by the
moral motives which we are capable of presenting; and to distinguish
this propensity before it has expanded itself, and even before it is
known to the very mind in which it exists,--to tame those passions
which are never to rage, and to prepare, at a distance, the virtues of
other years,--implies a knowledge of the mental constitution, which
can be acquired only by a diligent study of the nature, and progress,
and successive transformations of feeling. It is easy to know, that
praise or censure, reward or punishment, may increase or lessen, the
tendency to the repetition of any particular action; and this, together
with the means of elementary instruction, is all which is commonly
termed _education_. But the true science of education is something far
more than this. It implies a skilful observation of the past, and that
long foresight of the future, which experience and judgment united
afford. It is the art of seeing, not the _immediate effect_ only,
but the _series of effects_ which may follow any particular thought
or feeling, in the infinite variety of possible combinations--the
art often of drawing virtue from apparent evil, and of averting evil
that may rise from apparent good. It is, in short, the philosophy
of the human mind applied practically to the human mind,--enriching
it, indeed, with all that is useful or ornamental in knowledge, but
at the same time giving its chief regard to objects of yet greater
moment--averting evil, which all the sciences together could not
compensate, or producing good, compared with which all the sciences
together are as nothing.
FOOTNOTES:
[7] Essay on the Human Understanding.--Introd. sect. 6, 7.
[8] Pope's Essay on Man, Ep. iv. v. 73-76.
[9] Seneca, de Ira, lib. ii. cap. 9.
[10] Pope's Universal Prayer, v. 25-32.
[11] Inquiry concerning the Human Understanding, sec. I.
[12] Tacitus, edit. Lipsii, p. 484, 5.
[13] Essay on Criticism, v. 15, 16.
LECTURE IV.
RELATION OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF MIND TO THE CULTIVATION OF MORAL FEELING.
We have already, Gentlemen, considered the relation which the
_Philosophy of Mind_ bears to the _Sciences in general_, and its
particular application to those sciences and arts, in which the mind
is not merely the instrument with which we carry on our intellectual
operations, but the very subject on which we operate, as in the great
arts of reasoning, and persuading, of delighting with all the charms
of poetry and eloquence, of judging of the degrees of excellence that
have been attained in these delightful arts; and, still more, its
application to the noblest, though, in proportion to its value, the
least studied of all the arts, the art of _education_. It remains
still, to point out some moral effects which the study of the Science
of Mind produces in the _inquirer himself_, effects which may not be
obvious at first sight, but which result from it, as truly as the
intellectual advantages already pointed out.
One very powerful and salutary influence of moral science arises
directly from the mere contemplation of the objects with which it is
conversant--the benevolent affections, the pleasure which attends
these, the sacrifices that are made by generous virtue, and all the
sublime admiration which they excite--the sordid and malevolent, and
joyless passions of the selfish--the fear and shame that attend the
guilty in society, and the horrors that, with a certainty of constant
return more dreadful than their very presence, await them in their
solitary hours. It is good to have these often before us, and to
trace and contrast all the immediate, and all the remote effects of
vice and virtue, even though we should form, at the time, no direct
reference to our own past or future conduct. Without any such reference
to ourselves, we must still be sensible of the pleasure and serene
confidence which attend the one, and of the insecurity and remorse
which forever hang over the other; and the remaining impressions
of love and disgust, will have an influence on our future conduct,
of which we may probably be altogether unconscious at the time. It
is, in truth, like the influence of the example of those with whom
we habitually associate, which no one perceives at any particular
moment, though all are every moment subject to it; and to meditate
often on virtue and happiness, is thus almost to dwell in a sort of
social communion with the virtuous and happy. The influence of moral
conceptions has, in this respect, been compared to that of _light_,
which it is impossible to approach, without deriving from it some faint
colouring, even though we should not sit in the very sunshine,--or
to that of _precious odours_, amid which we cannot long remain,
without bearing away with us some portion of the fragrance. “Ea enim
philosophiæ vis est, ut non solum studentes, sed etiam conversantes
juvet. Qui in solem venit, licet non in hoc venerit, colorabitur: qui
in unguentaria taberna resederunt, et paulo diutius commorati sunt,
odorem secum loci ferunt: et qui apud philosophiam fuerunt, traxerint
aliquid necesse est, quod prodesset etiam negligentibus.”[14]
The nature of the process, by which this moral benefit arises from the
mere contemplation of moral objects, frequently repeated, is far from
obscure, though it depends on a cause to which you may perhaps as yet
have paid little attention, but which, in an after part of the course,
I shall have an opportunity of illustrating at length,--the influence
of the associating principle in the mind,--of that principle, by which
ideas and other feelings, that have often co-existed, acquire, forever
after, an almost indissoluble union. It is not merely, therefore, by
having traced, more accurately than others, the consequences of vice
and virtue, as affecting the general character, that the lover of moral
science strengthens his admiration of virtue, and his abhorrence of
vice. But, by the frequent consideration of virtue, together with the
happiness which it affords, and of vice, together with its consequent
misery, the notions of these become so permanently, and so deeply
associated, that future virtue appears almost like happiness about
to be enjoyed, and future vice like approaching misery. The dread of
misery, and the love of happiness, which are essential principles of
our very physical existence, are thus transformed into principles of
_moral conduct_, that operate, before reflection, with the rapidity,
and almost with the energy of instincts,--and that, after reflection,
add to our virtuous resolutions a force and stability, which, as
results of mere reasoning, they could not possess.
It is, besides, no small advantage of the abstract consideration of
virtue, as opposed to the miseries of vice, that, in considering
these philosophically, we regard them as stripped of every thing that
can blind or seduce us; and we behold them, therefore, truly as they
are. It is not in the madness of intemperate enjoyment, that we see
drunkenness in the goblet, and disease in the feast. Under the actual
seduction of a passion, we see dimly, if we see at all, any of the
evils to which it leads; and if the feelings, of which we are then
conscious, were those which were forever after to be associated with
the remembrance of the passion, it would appear to us an object, not
of disgust or abhorrence, but of delight and choice, and almost of a
sort of moral approbation. It is of importance, then, that we should
consider the passion, at other moments than these, that the images
associated with it may be not of that brief and illusive pleasure,
which stupifies its unfortunate victim, but of its true inherent
character, of deformity, and of the contempt and hatred which it
excites in others. Such is the advantage of the point of view, in
which it is seen by the _moral inquirer_, to whom it presents itself,
not under its momentary character of pleasure, but under its lasting
character of pain and disgust. By habituating himself to consider the
_remote_, as well as the immediate results of all the affections and
passions, he learns to regard virtue, not merely as good in itself, at
the moment in which it is called into exercise, but as an inexhaustible
source of good which is continually increasing; and vice not merely
as a temporary evil in itself, but as a source of permanent and yet
deeper misery and degradation. Every generous principle, which nature
has given him, is thus continually deriving new strength, from the very
contemplation of the good which it affords; and if, in the frailty
of mortality, he should still be subject to the occasional influence
of those very passions, which, in cooler moments, he detests, he
yet does not fall, thoroughly and hopelessly. There are lingering
associations of moral beauty and happiness in his mind, which may save
him still,--associations that must render it, in some degree at least,
more difficult for him than for others, to yield to seductions, of
which he has long known the vanity, and which perhaps even may, in
some happier hour, lead him back to that virtue, of which he has never
wholly forgotten the charms.
The charms of virtue, indeed, it is scarcely possible, for him who has
felt them, wholly to forget. There may be eyes that can look unmoved
on the external beauty which once delighted them. But who is there
that has ever been alive to its better influence, who can think of
moral loveliness without a feeling of more than admiration,--without a
conscious enjoyment, in the possession of what is so truly admirable,
or a sigh at having lost the privilege of dwelling on it with delight,
and at being obliged to shrink from the very thought of what it once
appeared?
“For what can strive
With virtue? which of nature's regions vast
Can in so many forms produce to sight
Such powerful beauty?--Beauty, which the eye
Of hatred cannot look upon secure;
Which Envy's self contemplates, and is turn'd
Ere long to tenderness, to infant smiles,
Or tears of humblest love. Is ought so fair,
In all the dewy landscapes of the Spring,
The Summer's noontide groves, the purple eve
At harvest-home, or in the frosty moon
Glittering on some smooth sea, is aught so fair
As virtuous friendship? As the honour'd roof,
Whither, from highest heaven, immortal love,
His torch etherial, and his golden bow,
Propitious brings, and there a temple holds,
To whose unspotted service gladly vow'd,
The social bond of parent, brother, child,
With smiles, and sweet discourse, and gentle deeds,
Adore his power? What gift of richest clime
E'er drew such eager eyes, or prompted such
Deep wishes, as the zeal, that snatcheth back
From Slander's poisonous tooth a _foe's_ renown,
Or crosseth Danger in his lion-walk,
A rival's life to rescue?”
The study of moral science, then, we have seen, has a direct tendency
to strengthen our attachment to the virtues which we habitually
contemplate. _Another_ most important advantage derived from it,
relates to us in our higher character of beings _capable of religion_,
increasing our devotion and gratitude to the Divinity, by the clearest
manifestation which it gives us of his provident goodness in the
constitution and government of the moral world.
The _external universe_, indeed, though our study were confined to the
laws which regulate its phenomena, would afford, in itself, abundant
proof of the power and wisdom by which it was created. But power and
wisdom _alone_ excite admiration only, not love; which, though it may
be feigned in the homage that is universally paid to power, is yet,
as an offering of the heart, paid to it only when it is combined with
benevolence. It is the splendid benevolence, therefore, of the Supreme
Being, which is the object of our grateful adoration; and, to discover
this benevolence, we must look to creatures that have not existence
_merely_, like inanimate things, but a capacity of enjoyment, and means
of enjoyment. It is in man,--or in beings capable of knowledge and
happiness, like man,--that we find the solution of the wonders of the
creation; which would otherwise, with all its regularity and beauty,
be but a solitary waste, like the barren magnificence of rocks and
deserts. God, says Epictetus, has introduced man into the world, to
be the spectator of his works, and of their divine Author; and not to
be the spectator only, but to be the announcer and interpreter of the
wonders which he sees and adores. Ὁ Θεὸς--τὸν ἄνθρωπον θεατὴν εἰσήγαγεν
αὐτοῦ τε καὶ τῶν ἔργων τῶν αὐτοῦ· καὶ οὖ μόνον θεατὴν ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐξηγητὴν
αὐτῶν.[15] “Hæc qui contemplatur,” says another ancient Stoic, with a
little of the bold extravagance of his school,--“Hæc qui contemplatur,
quid Deo præstat? Ne tanta ejus opera sine teste sint.”--“Curiosum
nobis natura ingenium dedit; et artis sibi ac pulchritudinis suae
conscia, spectatores nos tantis rerum spectaculis genuit, perditura
fructum sui, si tam magna, tam clara, tarn subtiliter ducta, tam
nitida, et non uno genere formosa solitudini ostenderet.”[16]
In the study of what might be considered as the very defects of our
moral nature, how pleasing is it, to the philosophic inquirer, to
discover that provident arrangement of a higher Power, which has
rendered many of the most striking of the apparent evils of life
subservient to the production of a general utility, that had never
entered into the contemplation of its remote authors. He who has never
studied the consequences of human actions, perceives, in the great
concourse of mankind, only a multitude of beings consulting each
his own peculiar interest, or the interest of the very small circle
immediately around him, with little, if any, apparent attention to the
interests of others. But he who has truly studied human actions and
their consequences, sees, in the prosecution of all these separate
interests, that universal interest which is their great result;
and the very principle of self-regard thus contributing to social
happiness,--unconsciously indeed, but almost as surely as the principle
of benevolence itself.
Each individual seeks a several goal,
But Heaven's great view is _one_, and that the whole.
That counterworks each folly and caprice;
That disappoints the effect of every vice;--
All Virtue's ends from Vanity's can raise;
Which seeks no interest, no reward but praise;
And build on wants, and on defects of mind,
The joy, the peace, the glory of mankind.[17]
I have already,[18]--when treating of the influence of just views
of the extent and limits of our faculties, in fixing the proper
tone of inquiry, and lessening equally the tendency to the opposite
extremes of dogmatism and scepticism,--stated some important moral
advantages that arise from this very moderation of the tone of inquiry,
particularly with respect to the temper with which it prepares us to
receive dissent from our opinions without anger, or insolent disdain,
or even astonishment. So much of the intercourse of human society
consists in the reciprocal communication of opinions which must often
be opposed to each other, that this preparation of the temper, whether
for amicable and equal discussion, or for mutual silent forbearance,
is not to be lightly appreciated as an element in the sum of human
happiness. On this point, however, and on its relation to the still
greater advantages, or still greater evils, of national or legislative
tolerance or intolerance, I before offered some remarks, and therefore
merely allude to it at present.
The tolerance with which we receive the opinions of others is a part,
and an indispensable part, of that general refinement of manners to
which we give the name of _politeness_. But politeness itself, in
all its most important respects,--indeed in every respect, in which
it is to be separated from the mere fluctuating and arbitrary forms
and ceremonies of the month or year,--is nothing more than _knowledge
of the human mind directing general benevolence_. It is the art
of producing the greatest happiness, which, in the mere external
courtesies of life, can be produced, by raising such ideas or other
feelings in the minds of those with whom we are conversant, as will
afford the most pleasure, and averting, as much as possible, every idea
which may lead to pain. It implies, therefore, when perfect, a fine
knowledge of the natural series of thoughts, so as to distinguish, not
merely the thought which will be the immediate or near effect of what
is said or done, but those which may arise still more remotely; and
he is the most successful in this art of giving happiness, who sees
the future at the greatest distance. It is this foresight acquired by
attentive observation of the various characters of mankind in a long
intercourse with society, which is the true knowledge of the world; for
the knowledge of the mere _forms_ and _ceremonies_ of the world, which
is of far easier acquisition, is scarcely worthy of being called a part
of it. The essential, and the only valuable part of politeness then,
is as truly the result of study of the human mind, as if its minutest
rules had formed a regular part of our systems of intellectual and
moral philosophy. It is the philosophy indeed of those, who scarcely
know that they are philosophizing; because _philosophy_, to them,
implies something which has no other ornaments than _diagrams_ and
frightful _algebraic characters_, laid down in systems, or taught in
schools and universities, with the methodical tediousness of rules of
grammar; and they are conscious, that all, or the greatest part of what
they know, has been the result of their own observation, and acquired
in the very midst of the amusements of life. But he, who knows the
world, must have studied the mind of man, or at least--for it is only
a partial view of the mind which is thus formed--must have studied it
in some of its most striking aspects. He is a _practical_ philosopher,
and, therefore, a _speculative_ one also, since he must have founded
his rules of action on certain principles, the results of his own
observation and reflection. These results are, indeed, usually lost
to all but to the individual: and the loss is not to be considered as
slight, merely because the knowledge, which thus perishes, has been
usually applied by its possessor to frivolous purposes, and sometimes
perhaps to purposes still more unworthy. When we read the maxims of
La Rochefoucauld, which, false as they would be, if they had been
intended to give us a faithful universal picture of the moral nature
of man, were unfortunately too faithful a delineation of the passions
and principles that immediately surrounded their author, and met his
daily view, in the splendid scenes of vanity and ambitious intrigue
to which his observation was confined,--it is impossible not to feel,
that, acute and subtle as they are, many of these maxims must have been
only the expression of principles, which were floating, without being
fixed in words, in the minds of many of his fellow courtiers; and the
instruction, which might be received from those who have been long
conversant with mankind, in situations favourable to observation, if,
by any possibility, it could be collected and arranged, would probably
furnish one of the most important additions which could be made to
moral science.
How much politeness consists in knowledge of the natural succession of
thoughts and feelings, and a consequent ready foresight of the series
of thoughts, which it is in our power indirectly to excite or avert,
must have presented itself in a very striking manner to every one,
whose professional duties, or other circumstances, have led him to pay
attention to the lower orders of society. The most benevolent of the
poor, in situations too in which their benevolence is most strongly
excited, as in the sickness of their relations or friends, and in which
they exert themselves to relieve obvious pain, with an assiduity of
watching and fatigue, after all the ordinary fatigues of the day, that
is truly honourable to their tenderness, have yet little foresight
of the mere pains of thought; and while in the same situation, the
rich and better educated, with equal, or perhaps even with less
benevolence of intention, carefully avoid the introduction of any
subject, which might suggest, indirectly to the sufferer the melancholy
images of parting life, the conversation of the poor, around the bed
of their sick friend, is such as can scarcely fail to present to him
every moment, not the probability merely, but almost the certainty
of approaching death. It is impossible to be present, in these two
situations, without remarking the benefit of a little knowledge of
the human mind, without which, far from fulfilling its real wishes,
benevolence itself may be the most cruel of torturers.
The same species of foresight which is essential to the refinements
of social intercourse, is equally essential in the active occupations
of life, to that knowledge of times and circumstances, which is so
important to success; and though this knowledge may be too often
abused, to unworthy purposes, by the sordid and the servile, it is
not the less necessary to those who pursue only honourable plans, and
who avail themselves only of honourable means. Such is the nature of
society, that the most generous and patriotic designs still require
some _conduct_ to procure for them authority; and, at least in the
public situations of life, without a knowledge of the nature both of
those who are to govern, and of those who are to be governed, though it
may be very easy to _wish well to society_, the hardest of all tasks
will be the task of _doing it good_.
May I not add, as another salutary moral effect of the Science of
Mind, the tendency which the study of the general properties of our
common nature has to lessen that undue veneration, which, in civilized
society, must always attend the adventitious circumstances of fortune,
and to bring this down, at least some degrees, nearer to that due
respect which is indispensable for the tranquillity and good order of
a state, and which no wise and patriotic moralist, therefore, would
wish to see diminished. It is only in the tumultuous phrenzy of a
revolution, however, or in periods of great and general discontent,
that the respect of the multitude for those who are elevated above
them, in rank and fortune, is likely to fall beneath this salutary
point. So many of the strongest principles of our nature, favour the
_excess_ of it, that, in the ordinary circumstances of society, it
must always pass far beyond the point of calm respect; so far beyond
it, indeed, that the lesson which the people require most frequently
to be taught, is, not to venerate the very guilt and folly of the rich
and powerful, because they are the guilt and folly of the rich and
powerful. It is to the objects of the idolatry themselves, however,
that the study of a science, which considers them as stripped of every
adventitious distinction, and possessing only the common virtues and
talents of mankind, must be especially salutary. In the ordinary
circumstances of a luxurious age, it is scarcely possible for the
great to consider themselves as what they truly are; and though, if
questioned as to their belief of their common origin with the rest of
mankind, they would no doubt think the question an absurd one, and
readily own their descent from the same original parentage; there can
be as little doubt, that in the silence of their own mind, and in
those hours of vanity and ambition, which, to many of them, are almost
the whole hours of life, this tie of common nature is rarely, if ever
felt. It is impossible indeed, that it should be often felt, because,
in the circumstances in which they are placed, there is every thing to
remind them of a _superiority_, of which their passions themselves are
sufficiently ready to remind them, and very little to remind them of an
_equality_, from the contemplation of which all their passions are as
ready to turn away. There are, however, some circumstances which are
too strong for all these passions to overcome, and which force in spite
of them, upon the mind that self-knowledge, which in other situations,
it is easy to avoid. In pain and sickness, notwithstanding all the vain
magnificence which the pride of grandeur spreads around the couch, and
the profusion of untasted delicacies, with which officious tenderness
strives to solicit an appetite that loathes them, he who lies upon the
couch within, begins to learn his own nature, and sees through the
splendour that seems to surround him, as it were, without touching him,
how truly foreign it is to that existence, of which before it seemed
to form a part. The feeling that he is but a _man_, in the true sense
of that word, as a frail and dependant being like those around him, is
one of the first feelings, and perhaps not one of the least painful,
which arise in such a situation. The impression, however, of this
common nature, is, while it lasts, a most salutary one; and it is to be
regretted only, that health cannot return without bringing back with it
all those flattering circumstances which offer the same seductions as
before to his haughty superiority.