No. II.
The influence of moral feeling tends to heighten the pleasure which we
derive from the contemplation of great actions.
Turn over the pages of history and philosophy--study the record of
human events, and the laws of the mind, and we gather as their united
testimony, the truth, that in all ages of the world, whatever has
carried with it the impress of intellect, has commanded the homage
of men. Even among rude and barbarous nations, he who distinguishes
himself by some act of superior sagacity or valor, gains the ascendancy
over his rivals, and is worshiped as Chief. The meed of honor in this
case, is the result of a blind, but still a controlling admiration for
the effect, unattended by a recognition of the cause. In more civilized
communities, it is an enlightened and intelligent tribute to the
offspring of mind.
To the man of imagination there is a powerful charm in the spectacle of
a great mind throwing off the grave clothes of inactivity, and arousing
itself for some mighty effort. There is almost a fearful grandeur
in its movements, as it calls up one after another its slumbering
energies, and girds itself for the struggle. And when it goes forth
in its power to achieve the purposes which it has formed, it treads
with a sternness and majesty which fling around it an irresistible
spell. It is not simply the exhibition of vast strength which it
presents, like the exertion of mere brute force, or the plunge of a
falling avalanche, that awakens in the beholder these emotions of
interest and delight. There is, it is true, in all such exhibitions,
much to inspire sublimity of feeling. But the appeal which we speak
of now, owes its effect to other associations of thought. It is the
soul, the living, moving principle within, directing and controlling
the whole, bending the will and purposes of others into subservience
to its own ‘ruling passion,’ like the earth born giant of old, rising
with fresh strength from every grapple with opposition, and pressing
right onward to the goal of its wishes, with a progress that resembles
the sure march of destiny--it is this which gives to the sublimity
of intellect its distinguishing characteristics. With such a mind,
the man of imagination cherishes a fellow feeling, entering into its
aspirations with kindred ardor, watching with intense interest its
struggles against difficulties, sharing its gloom in the hour of trial,
and its exultation at success. This thrill of sympathy is with him
the vibration of the chord which binds him to the universe, and to
his fellow man. Shut him out from such a kindred with his race; seal
up the fountain of ever-flowing sensibility within his bosom, bid
him gaze upon the sublime achievements of intellect, with a stoic’s
indifference, and you have cut off from him a source of happiness
of the purest and most exalted character, and left him a blank on
creation’s page.
In our contemplation of great actions, perhaps no exercise affords
the imagination more pleasure, than to observe the progress of some
mighty revolution. At first, all is apparently calm and peaceful on the
surface of society, and the beholder finds nothing in the cloudless
sky above, the whispering breeze, or the unruffled serenity beneath,
to forebode the fury of the coming tempest. He does not dream that the
waves of discord and strife are so soon to dash their foam along the
mirror-like tranquillity before him. Yet the principles may be already
at work, whose influence is to arouse these slumbering elements to a
fearful energy. Some youthful mind, destined to be the master spirit
of its age, may be, even at the moment, preparing within the still
retreat of its lonely musings, by patient and toilsome research, the
great problem whose solution is to shake the existing system of things
to its foundations. At length the fullness of the time is come, and
“the little cloud like a man’s hand,” rears its shadowy outline far
in the distant horizon. The voice of the tempest is heard moaning in
suppressed accents, as though wailing a dirge over the wreck it must
make. Darker and still darker above, the sky spreads out its drapery
of mantling clouds. The spirits of the storm awake, and ride forth on
the howling blast, amid the wild roar of the elements, celebrating
the festival of their freedom. The tempest at length has spent its
rage, the pall of blackness is withdrawn, and the bow of promise gives
goodly token of the returning calm. This may seem perhaps a fanciful
description of a revolution. But to the cultivated imagination, the
reality calls up all the intenseness of interest and excitement which
belong to scenes like these. The storm of human passions, when stirred
up and left to range uncontrolled through a community, gathering in its
ranks the ruthless votaries of ambition, avarice and revenge, urged, as
it sweeps onward, by a thousand new impulses from selfish and opposing
interests, may well be likened to the strife of the angry elements.
There is in the majestic energies of human nature, when aroused and
carried forward with a momentum generated by the heart, an exhibition
of more terrific sublimity than all the varied convulsions in the
physical world can possibly present. But we have said enough on this
point, to show, that the source of pleasure to the imagination, which
we are at present considering, is one of no ordinary character, both in
respect to the nature and degree of the gratification which it induces.
And it is now high time that we return to our main object, which is to
notice the influence of moral feeling in enhancing our susceptibility
to this kind of intellectual enjoyment.
We look back with admiration upon the exploits of an Alexander; we are
struck by the power of his genius, by the grandeur of his designs, the
perseverance and energy of his execution. But the truth--the sober
truth, with its disenchanting wand, breaks the charm which these throw
around his memory, and compel our minds, divested of all enthusiasm, to
sink their admiration of the hero in their aversion to the unprincipled
robber of nations. But on the other hand, with how much of unmingled
delight does the imagination contemplate the high moral dignity so
conspicuous in the character of Washington. Both are splendid instances
of the triumphs of genius; but with what different sentiments are they
regarded! Over the memory of the latter, the purity of his motives
and the disinterestedness of his ambition, have thrown a hallowed
and unclouded atmosphere. Thus, it is only when great talents are
ennobled by their subservience to virtue, that they receive the meed of
unqualified admiration. As another illustration of this truth, notice
the reformation in Germany--one of the most eventful dramas ever acted
upon the theatre of the world. Perhaps there is no succession of events
recorded on the page of history, which inspires the imagination with
more thrilling interest--no prouder monument of the achievements of a
single mind.
For a period of not less than a thousand years, the darkness
of midnight had brooded over the nations of the east, relieved
occasionally by some meteor star, whose solitary and transient gleam
seemed only to deepen by contrast the surrounding gloom that succeeded.
The curse of Papacy, with its ignorance, depravity, and superstition,
lay like the frosts of winter upon the intellect and the heart of
man; and the progress of true principles seemed to have been arrested
forever. At this period of mental and moral gloom, nearly coeval with
the dawn of reviving knowledge, arose the man who was to usher in the
commencement of a new and glorious era. He had stood amid the worship
of the temple at Rome, and been an eye witness to the luxury and
licentiousness that defiled the consecrated courts. The name of the
Holy City--the residence of the Vicar of Christ, had been treasured up
in his mind from boyhood, with sacred associations. Alas, how changed
from the image that his fond anticipations had pictured out! That
moment gave birth in his soul to a mighty thought. He stood undazzled
and unallured, though Rome’s pomp, and gaiety and beauty were spread
out like a sea of enchantment before him. From that hour, Martin
Luther was a champion of the truth--of the simple, unperverted truth.
Year after year, with an ardor unchecked by difficulties, undaunted
by the threats of power, he continued to pour the light of his own
illumination over the nations of Europe, until the temple of Papacy
shook to its foundations, and every Catholic king trembled on his
throne. In contemplating this wonderful revolution, it is difficult to
decide, whether our admiration should be most excited by the magnitude
of the event, or the apparent total inadequacy of the means. A humble
and unknown individual, with the Bible in his hand as his only weapon
of warfare, enters the field against a Pontifical hierarchy, that had
swayed for ages the sceptre of an absolute dominion--and PREVAILS. The
sublimity and grandeur of the achievement itself would be deservedly a
theme for the highest flight of the poet’s muse, and the most glowing
strains of the historian. But it is only when we consider the nature
of this triumph, that its full power, as a source of pleasure to
the imagination, can be appreciated. It was a triumph of knowledge
over ignorance. The light of science, which had so long glimmered
but faintly, and at intervals, from the cell of the cloister, now
burst forth in full orbed glory--‘rejoicing like a giant to run his
race.’ It was a triumph of literature and refinement over brutality
and barbarism. From the frozen waters of the north, to the pillars of
Hercules, the intellect of Europe shook off the weight of its darkness,
and awoke to life and activity. It was a triumph of the pure simplicity
of the Christian faith over idolatry, hypocrisy and superstition. The
degraded slave of popish tyranny and imposition cast away the shackles
of his bondage, and arose to assert the dignity of his nature. On every
thing that had been enveloped in the universal chaos, the almighty
mandate was written, “Let there be light.” Thus, in contemplating
this great revolution, it is in the power of its appeal to our moral
sensibilities, that its true sublimity is seen and felt.