The sorrows of life necessary to soften and humanize the heart--The
excitement of social sympathy often produce characters of a higher
order than the mere possessors of talents--Moral evil probably
necessary to the production of moral excellence--Excitements from
intellectual wants continually kept up by the infinite variety of
nature, and the obscurity that involves metaphysical subjects--The
difficulties in revelation to be accounted for upon this principle--The
degree of evidence which the scriptures contain, probably, best suited
to the improvements of the human faculties, and the moral amelioration
of mankind--The idea that mind is created by excitements seems to
account for the existence of natural and moral evil.
The sorrows and distresses of life form another class of excitements,
which seem to be necessary, by a peculiar train of impressions, to
soften and humanize the heart, to awaken social sympathy, to generate
all the Christian virtues, and to afford scope for the ample exertion
of benevolence. The general tendency of an uniform course of prosperity
is rather to degrade than exalt the character. The heart that has never
known sorrow itself will seldom be feelingly alive to the pains and
pleasures, the wants and wishes, of its fellow beings. It will seldom
be overflowing with that warmth of brotherly love, those kind and
amiable affections, which dignify the human character even more than
the possession of the highest talents. Talents, indeed, though
undoubtedly a very prominent and fine feature of mind, can by no means
be considered as constituting the whole of it. There are many minds
which have not been exposed to those excitements that usually form
talents, that have yet been vivified to a high degree by the
excitements of social sympathy. In every rank of life, in the lowest as
frequently as in the highest, characters are to be found overflowing
with the milk of human kindness, breathing love towards God and man,
and, though without those peculiar powers of mind called talents,
evidently holding a higher rank in the scale of beings than many who
possess them. Evangelical charity, meekness, piety, and all that class
of virtues distinguished particularly by the name of Christian virtues
do not seem necessarily to include abilities; yet a soul possessed of
these amiable qualities, a soul awakened and vivified by these
delightful sympathies, seems to hold a nearer commerce with the skies
than mere acuteness of intellect.
The greatest talents have been frequently misapplied and have produced
evil proportionate to the extent of their powers. Both reason and
revelation seem to assure us that such minds will be condemned to
eternal death, but while on earth, these vicious instruments performed
their part in the great mass of impressions, by the disgust and
abhorrence which they excited. It seems highly probable that moral evil
is absolutely necessary to the production of moral excellence. A being
with only good placed in view may be justly said to be impelled by a
blind necessity. The pursuit of good in this case can be no indication
of virtuous propensities. It might be said, perhaps, that infinite
Wisdom cannot want such an indication as outward action, but would
foreknow with certainly whether the being would choose good or evil.
This might be a plausible argument against a state of trial, but will
not hold against the supposition that mind in this world is in a state
of formation. Upon this idea, the being that has seen moral evil and
has felt disapprobation and disgust at it is essentially different from
the being that has seen only good. They are pieces of clay that have
received distinct impressions: they must, therefore, necessarily be in
different shapes; or, even if we allow them both to have the same
lovely form of virtue, it must be acknowledged that one has undergone
the further process, necessary to give firmness and durability to its
substance, while the other is still exposed to injury, and liable to be
broken by every accidental impulse. An ardent love and admiration of
virtue seems to imply the existence of something opposite to it, and it
seems highly probable that the same beauty of form and substance, the
same perfection of character, could not be generated without the
impressions of disapprobation which arise from the spectacle of moral
evil.
When the mind has been awakened into activity by the passions, and the
wants of the body, intellectual wants arise; and the desire of
knowledge, and the impatience under ignorance, form a new and important
class of excitements. Every part of nature seems peculiarly calculated
to furnish stimulants to mental exertion of this kind, and to offer
inexhaustible food for the most unremitted inquiry. Our mortal Bard
says of Cleopatra:
Custom cannot stale
Her infinite variety.
The expression, when applied to any one object, may be considered as a
poetical amplification, but it is accurately true when applied to
nature. Infinite variety seems, indeed, eminently her characteristic
feature. The shades that are here and there blended in the picture give
spirit, life, and prominence to her exuberant beauties, and those
roughnesses and inequalities, those inferior parts that support the
superior, though they sometimes offend the fastidious microscopic eye
of short-sighted man, contribute to the symmetry, grace, and fair
proportion of the whole.
The infinite variety of the forms and operations of nature, besides
tending immediately to awaken and improve the mind by the variety of
impressions that it creates, opens other fertile sources of improvement
by offering so wide and extensive a field for investigation and
research. Uniform, undiversified perfection could not possess the same
awakening powers. When we endeavour then to contemplate the system of
the universe, when we think of the stars as the suns of other systems
scattered throughout infinite space, when we reflect that we do not
probably see a millionth part of those bright orbs that are beaming
light and life to unnumbered worlds, when our minds, unable to grasp
the immeasurable conception, sink, lost and confounded, in admiration
at the mighty incomprehensible power of the Creator, let us not
querulously complain that all climates are not equally genial, that
perpetual spring does not reign throughout the year, that God's
creatures do not possess the same advantages, that clouds and tempests
sometimes darken the natural world and vice and misery the moral world,
and that all the works of the creation are not formed with equal
perfection. Both reason and experience seem to indicate to us that the
infinite variety of nature (and variety cannot exist without inferior
parts, or apparent blemishes) is admirably adapted to further the high
purpose of the creation and to produce the greatest possible quantity
of good.
The obscurity that involves all metaphysical subjects appears to me, in
the same manner, peculiarly calculated to add to that class of
excitements which arise from the thirst of knowledge. It is probable
that man, while on earth, will never be able to attain complete
satisfaction on these subjects; but this is by no means a reason that
he should not engage in them. The darkness that surrounds these
interesting topics of human curiosity may be intended to furnish
endless motives to intellectual activity and exertion. The constant
effort to dispel this darkness, even if it fail of success, invigorates
and improves the thinking faculty. If the subjects of human inquiry
were once exhausted, mind would probably stagnate; but the infinitely
diversified forms and operations of nature, together with the endless
food for speculation which metaphysical subjects offer, prevent the
possibility that such a period should ever arrive.
It is by no means one of the wisest sayings of Solomon that 'there is
no new thing under the sun.' On the contrary, it is probable that were
the present system to continue for millions of years, continual
additions would be making to the mass of human knowledge, and yet,
perhaps, it may be a matter of doubt whether what may be called the
capacity of mind be in any marked and decided manner increasing. A
Socrates, a Plato, or an Aristotle, however confessedly inferior in
knowledge to the philosophers of the present day, do not appear to have
been much below them in intellectual capacity. Intellect rises from a
speck, continues in vigour only for a certain period, and will not
perhaps admit while on earth of above a certain number of impressions.
These impressions may, indeed, be infinitely modified, and from these
various modifications, added probably to a difference in the
susceptibility of the original germs, arise the endless diversity of
character that we see in the world; but reason and experience seem both
to assure us that the capacity of individual minds does not increase in
proportion to the mass of existing knowledge. (It is probable that no
two grains of wheat are exactly alike. Soil undoubtedly makes the
principal difference in the blades that spring up, but probably not
all. It seems natural to suppose some sort of difference in the
original germs that are afterwards awakened into thought, and the
extraordinary difference of susceptibility in very young children seems
to confirm the supposition.)
The finest minds seem to be formed rather by efforts at original
thinking, by endeavours to form new combinations, and to discover new
truths, than by passively receiving the impressions of other men's
ideas. Could we suppose the period arrived, when there was not further
hope of future discoveries, and the only employment of mind was to
acquire pre-existing knowledge, without any efforts to form new and
original combinations, though the mass of human knowledge were a
thousand times greater than it is at present, yet it is evident that
one of the noblest stimulants to mental exertion would have ceased; the
finest feature of intellect would be lost; everything allied to genius
would be at an end; and it appears to be impossible, that, under such
circumstances, any individuals could possess the same intellectual
energies as were possessed by a Locke, a Newton, or a Shakespeare, or
even by a Socrates, a Plato, an Aristotle or a Homer.
If a revelation from heaven of which no person could feel the smallest
doubt were to dispel the mists that now hang over metaphysical
subjects, were to explain the nature and structure of mind, the
affections and essences of all substances, the mode in which the
Supreme Being operates in the works of the creation, and the whole plan
and scheme of the Universe, such an accession of knowledge so obtained,
instead of giving additional vigour and activity to the human mind,
would in all probability tend to repress future exertion and to damp
the soaring wings of intellect.
For this reason I have never considered the doubts and difficulties
that involve some parts of the sacred writings as any ardent against
their divine original. The Supreme Being might, undoubtedly, have
accompanied his revelations to man by such a succession of miracles,
and of such a nature, as would have produced universal overpowering
conviction and have put an end at once to all hesitation and
discussion. But weak as our reason is to comprehend the plans of the
great Creator, it is yet sufficiently strong to see the most striking
objections to such a revelation. From the little we know of the
structure of the human understanding, we must be convinced that an
overpowering conviction of this kind, instead of tending to the
improvement and moral amelioration of man, would act like the touch of
a torpedo on all intellectual exertion and would almost put an end to
the existence of virtue. If the scriptural denunciations of eternal
punishment were brought home with the same certainty to every man's
mind as that the night will follow the day, this one vast and gloomy
idea would take such full possession of the human faculties as to leave
no room for any other conceptions, the external actions of men would be
all nearly alike, virtuous conduct would be no indication of virtuous
disposition, vice and virtue would be blended together in one common
mass, and though the all-seeing eye of God might distinguish them they
must necessarily make the same impressions on man, who can judge only
from external appearances. Under such a dispensation, it is difficult
to conceive how human beings could be formed to a detestation of moral
evil, and a love and admiration of God, and of moral excellence.
Our ideas of virtue and vice are not, perhaps, very accurate and
well-defined; but few, I think, would call an action really virtuous
which was performed simply and solely from the dread of a very great
punishment or the expectation of a very great reward. The fear of the
Lord is very justly said to be the beginning of wisdom, but the end of
wisdom is the love of the Lord and the admiration of moral good. The
denunciations of future punishment contained in the scriptures seem to
be well calculated to arrest the progress of the vicious and awaken the
attention of the careless, but we see from repeated experience that
they are not accompanied with evidence of such a nature as to overpower
the human will and to make men lead virtuous lives with vicious
dispositions, merely from a dread of hereafter. A genuine faith, by
which I mean a faith that shews itself in it the virtues of a truly
Christian life, may generally be considered as an indication of an
amiable and virtuous disposition, operated upon more by love than by
pure unmixed fear.
When we reflect on the temptations to which man must necessarily be
exposed in this world, from the structure of his frame, and the
operation of the laws of nature, and the consequent moral certainty
that many vessels will come out of this mighty creative furnace in
wrong shapes, it is perfectly impossible to conceive that any of these
creatures of God's hand can be condemned to eternal suffering. Could we
once admit such an idea, it our natural conceptions of goodness and
justice would be completely overthrown, and we could no longer look up
to God as a merciful and righteous Being. But the doctrine of life and
Mortality which was brought to light by the gospel, the doctrine that
the end of righteousness is everlasting life, but that the wages of sin
are death, is in every respect just and merciful, and worthy of the
great Creator. Nothing can appear more consonant to our reason than
that those beings which come out of the creative process of the world
in lovely and beautiful forms should be crowned with immortality, while
those which come out misshapen, those whose minds are not suited to a
purer and happier state of existence, should perish and be condemned to
mix again with their original clay. Eternal condemnation of this kind
may be considered as a species of eternal punishment, and it is not
wonderful that it should be represented, sometimes, under images of
suffering. But life and death, salvation and destruction, are more
frequently opposed to each other in the New Testament than happiness
and misery. The Supreme Being would appear to us in a very different
view if we were to consider him as pursuing the creatures that had
offended him with eternal hate and torture, instead of merely
condemning to their original insensibility those beings that, by the
operation of general laws, had not been formed with qualities suited to
a purer state of happiness.
Life is, generally speaking, a blessing independent of a future state.
It is a gift which the vicious would not always be ready to throw away,
even if they had no fear of death. The partial pain, therefore, that is
inflicted by the supreme Creator, while he is forming numberless beings
to a capacity of the highest enjoyments, is but as the dust of the
balance in comparison of the happiness that is communicated, and we
have every reason to think that there is no more evil in the world than
what is absolutely necessary as one of the ingredients in the mighty
process.
The striking necessity of general laws for the formation of intellect
will not in any respect be contradicted by one or two exceptions, and
these evidently not intended for partial purposes, but calculated to
operate upon a great part of mankind, and through many ages. Upon the
idea that I have given of the formation of mind, the infringement of
the general law of nature, by a divine revelation, will appear in the
light of the immediate hand of God mixing new ingredients in the mighty
mass, suited to the particular state of the process, and calculated to
give rise to a new and powerful train of impressions, tending to
purify, exalt, and improve the human mind. The miracles that
accompanied these revelations when they had once excited the attention
of mankind, and rendered it a matter of most interesting discussion,
whether the doctrine was from God or man, had performed their part, had
answered the purpose of the Creator, and these communications of the
divine will were afterwards left to make their way by their own
intrinsic excellence; and, by operating as moral motives, gradually to
influence and improve, and not to overpower and stagnate the faculties
of man.
It would be, undoubtedly, presumptuous to say that the Supreme Being
could not possibly have effected his purpose in any other way than that
which he has chosen, but as the revelation of the divine will which we
possess is attended with some doubts and difficulties, and as our
reason points out to us the strongest objections to a revelation which
would force immediate, implicit, universal belief, we have surely just
cause to think that these doubts and difficulties are no argument
against the divine origin of the scriptures, and that the species of
evidence which they possess is best suited to the improvement of the
human faculties and the moral amelioration of mankind.
The idea that the impressions and excitements of this world are the
instruments with which the Supreme Being forms matter into mind, and
that the necessity of constant exertion to avoid evil and to pursue
good is the principal spring of these impressions and excitements,
seems to smooth many of the difficulties that occur in a contemplation
of human life, and appears to me to give a satisfactory reason for the
existence of natural and moral evil, and, consequently, for that part
of both, and it certainly is not a very small part, which arises from
the principle of population. But, though, upon this supposition, it
seems highly improbable that evil should ever be removed from the
world; yet it is evident that this impression would not answer the
apparent purpose of the Creator; it would not act so powerfully as an
excitement to exertion, if the quantity of it did not diminish or
increase with the activity or the indolence of man. The continual
variations in the weight and in the distribution of this pressure keep
alive a constant expectation of throwing it off.
"Hope springs eternal in the Human breast,
Man never is, but always to be blest."
Evil exists in the world not to create despair but activity. We are not
patiently to submit to it, but to exert ourselves to avoid it. It is
not only the interest but the duty of every individual to use his
utmost efforts to remove evil from himself and from as large a circle
as he can influence, and the more he exercises himself in this duty,
the more wisely he directs his efforts, and the more successful these
efforts are; the more he will probably improve and exalt his own mind,
and the more completely does he appear to fulfil the will of his
Creator.