i
GIFT OF
Mr. Henry F. May
THE
REMAINS
REV. JAMES MARSH, D. D
LATE PRESIDENT,
PROFESSOR OF MORAL AND INTELLECTUAL
PHILOSOPHY,
UNIVERSITY OF VERMONT;
WITH
A MEMOIR OF HIS LIFE.
SECOND EDITION
BURLINGTON :
CHAUNCEY GOODRICH.
1845.
Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1843,
BY CROCKER & BREWSTER,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.
" Sunt qui scire volunt eo fine tantum ut sciant, et turpis curiositas est.
Et sunt qui scire volunt ut sciantur ipsi, et turpis vanitas est. Et sunt item
qui scire volunt, ut scientiam vendant, verbi causa, pro pecunia, pro honori-
bus, et turpis quaestus est. Sed sunt quoque qui scire volunt, ut sedificent,
et charitas est ; et item qui scire volunt, ut eedificentur, et prudentia est.
Horum omnium soli ultimi duo non inveniuntur in abusione scientjse, quippe
qui ad hoc volunt intelligere, ut benefaciant." St. Bernard. Floret cap.
196.
*
8341G2
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CONTENTS.
Preface, - - - -
Memoir,
Entrance at Dartmouth College, -
Religious Experience, ....
Entrance at Andover,
Appointment as Tutor at Dartmouth, *
Short Residence at Cambridge, ...
Return to Andover, ....
Review of Ancient and Modern Poetry,
Translation of Bellerman, ...
Journey southward ; introduction to Dr. Rice,
Visit to Dr. Rice at Richmond,
Employment at Hampden Sidney College,
Return to New England, -
Second Residence at Hampden Sidney,
Return to New England, - - -
Appointment as Professor at Hampden Sidney, Ordi-
nation and Marriage, .....
Appointment as President of the University of Ver-
mont,
His Views of Collegiate Education, . - -
Exposition of the Course of Instruction and Disci-
pline in the University, -
Death of Mrs. Marsh,
Review of Professor Stuart's Commentary on the
Epistle to the Hebrews, ....
Publication of Coleridge's Aids to Reflection,
Page.
5
13
15
17
20
20
29
30
50
51
52
57
58
62
65
71
73
76
78
84
86
87
91
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CONTENTS.
Page.
Publication of Selections from the old English Wri-
ters on Practical Theology, - - - - 103
Second Marriage, - 104
Resignation of the Presidency, and Acceptance of the
Chair of Moral and Intellectual Philosophy, - 105
Publication of Herder's Spirit of Hebrew Poetry, 110
Studies and Plans as Professor, - -' - - 110
Theological Views, 119
Opposition to Evangelism, 125
Loss of his second Wife, .... 128
Sickness and Death, - - * . - - " 130
Appendix.
Letter to S. T. Coleridge, .... 135
to a Young Clergyman, - - - - 139
to Rev. S. G. W. - - - - 140
to J. M. - - - - - - 143, 148
from Dr. Rice, 149
from Dr. Follen, 151
from Mr. Gillman, - - - - 153
from H. N. Coleridge, - - - - 156
from Dr. Green, --*--- 158
Outlines of a Systematic Arrangement of the "Depart-
ments of Knowledge, with a View to their Organic
Relations to each other in a General System, - 157
Space, 188
Time, 190
Geometry, Chronometry, Permutations, - 193
Metaphysical Principles of Natural Philosophy, 194
The Dynamic Theory, - - - - 195
Distinguishable Powers of Nature, and Laws
of Action, ------ 197
Light and Heat, - - " " " 204
Electricity, - 205
Crystalization, 206
Organic Life, 206
CONTENTS. XI
Page.
Remarks on some of the leading points connected with
Physiology, - - - - - -211
Tendency of Inorganic Matter to Spherical
Forms, 214
Crystallization, - -/ - - - 216
Organic Life, 218
Vegetable and Animal Life distinguished, - 224
Remarks on Psychology.
Chapter 1. Limits and Method of Psycholog-
ical Inquiry, 239
Chapter 2. Preliminary Facts and Distinc-
tions, 248
Chapter 3. Additional Remarks on the Nature *
and Aim of the present Inquiries. Distinc-
tion of the Powers or Faculties of the Soul, 259
Chapter 4. Cognitive Faculties, Conscious-
ness, and Self-consciousness, - - 274
Chapter 5. The Powers of Sensation, - 286
Chapter 6. Distinction between Empirical
and Pure or Mathematical Intuitions of
Sense; and between what belongs to
Sense and what belongs to the Higher
Powers of Understanding and Reason, 302
Chapter 7. Continuation of the same subject.
The Inner Sense, and its Objects, - 316
Chapter 8. Memory, and Power of Associa-
tion, 327
Chapter 9. Recapitulation, - - - 342
Chapter 10. Peculiar Function of the Under-
standing, 354
Chapter 11. General Conception of Reason,
and its relation to the Understanding, 360
On the Will, as the Spiritual Principle in Man. A
Letter to a Friend, 368
On the Relation of Personal Existence and Immortal-
ity to the Understanding and the Reason, - 391
Discourse on Conscience, .... 398
Necessary Relation of our Real Purposes to their Le-
I m *
Xll CONTENTS.
Page,
gitiraate Results, under the Divine Government.
A Sermon on Hypocrisy, - - - - 423
Three Discourses on the Nature, Ground, and Origin
of Sin.
Discourse 1, 439
Discourse 2, ..... 468
Discourse 3, 487
Discourse on the True Ground in Man's Character
and Condition, of his Need of Christ, - - 502
Address at the Inauguration of the Author as Presi-
dent of the University of Vermont, - - 556
Discourse at the Dedication of the University Chapel,
on the Necessary Agency of Religious Truth in the
Cultivation of the Mind, 585
Tract on Eloquence, 611
Tract oh Evangelism, - - ' - - -629
4
I
PREFACE.
As to my own share in the work here presented
to the public, I should be disposed to say nothing,
were it not proper for me to give some account of
the manner in which I have endeavored to dis-
charge a delicate office of friendship.
The late Dr. Marsh, near the close of his life,
committed his papers to my care, with the request,
that I would select from them such as I might
think suitable, and cause them to be published.
He hoped they might be not without use to the
world ; at least, that they would prove acceptable
to his friends, and perhaps a source of some little
benefit to his children. A few of these writings
were already designed for the press by himself;
but none of them had, as yet, undergone that re-
vision and that careful correction, which doubtless
he would have chosen to bestow on them, had his
life and health been spared.
The papers consisted of letters, comprising a
voluminous and interesting correspondence ; of
translations, chiefly from German writers on phi-
1*
VI PREFACE.
losophy ; of lectures and fragments relating to the
several subjects which entered into the author's
course of instruction ; and of sermons and ad-
dresses, written by him on various occasions, ordi-
nary and extraordinary.
Of the letters, I have inserted several entire,
and extracts from many more, whenever they
served to assist me in drawing up the biographical
memoir. The translations, I have wholly omitted,
as not coming within the purpose of the present
publication. Some of the lectures and more im-
portant fragments have been introduced, and such
of the discourses, as seemed most fully to embody
the author's views on subjects in which he felt the
deepest interest.
In the arrangement of these papers, I have fol-
lowed the same order which the author was accus-
tomed to observe in the instruction of his classes ;
and I think the careful reader will find no difficulty
in tracing in it somewhat of a logical connexion.
The first in the series is the fragment of a letter,
begun in compliance with the request of a literary
friend, but I believe never completed, or sent to its
destination ; and to which I have given its present
place, as furnishing an appropriate introduction to
the following essays. The tract on physiology
claims no other merit or importance than that of
presenting, in a distinct and lucid manner, the
main principles which Dr. Marsh regarded as
lying at the basis of that important science, with
which he was in the habit of commencing his
course of philosophy. The views are the same
PREFACE. Vll
which may be found hinted at in the writings of
Coleridge, and which are more fully exhibited in
the works of Cams, and other German authors.
The lectures on psychology, which follow, are
complete, so far as they go. I ought, perhaps, to
say, that the author was never quite satisfied with
them in their present shape ; and that he was on
the point of recasting them in an entirely different
form, when he was arrested by the sudden attack
of the disease which brought him to the grave. It
was owing, no doubt, to this dissatisfaction with
the first part of the lectures, that he could never
prevail on himself to finish out the sketch as he
had begun. The latter part of the subject, rela-
ting to the feelings and to the will, was certainly
not the least interesting to himself; nay, on some
accounts, was considered by him as the most im-
portant of all, from its near connexion with morals
and religion. I have endeavored, in a measure, to
supply the deficiency, by inserting the letters
which come next ; wherein, as also in several of
the discourses, the views held by the author on the
subject of the Will, and on the connexion of the
understanding with the active powers, are discuss-
ed, and set forth as distinctly as the narrow limits
he allowed himself, would permit.
On Metaphysics, or philosophy properly so call-
ed, where the eminent and peculiar power of Dr.
Marsh, as an expounder of the highest truths of
science, chiefly appeared, nothing unfortunately has
been left by him, except scattered hints, on loose
scraps of paper, not to be reduced to any form,
vili PREFACE.
even of aphorisms, which would render them intel-
ligible to the general reader. In his lectures, Dr.
Marsh seldom made use of notes, but chose rather
to trust himself to the fulness of his own mind. I
have selected the discourses out of a larger num-
ber, which were written, for the most part, to be
delivered in the College chapel. They contain
his views on most of the important subjects, re-
specting which it is desirable that the views of
such a man should be known. The sermon on
Conscience, and the two or three discourses on
Sin, I think it must be acknowledged, contain a
developement of principles, fundamental in their
nature, and direct in their bearing on the most
essential questions of theology.
As to the biographical memoir, it aims at noth-
ing beyond a sketch of the simple incidents in the
life of an unpretending scholar and christian. I
have attempted neither to trace the development
of his mind, nor to give an exposition of his philo-
sophical system. The one I leave to some abler
pen, and refer for the other to his own writings.
It is enough for me, if I have succeeded in present-
ing the humbler traits of his meek and gentle
character, without disparaging its worth by the
smallness of my offering.
J. Torrey.
June 1, 1843.
MEMOIR
LIFE OF JAMES MARSH, D. D.
James Marsh, the author of the following Re-
mains, was born in Hartford, Vermont, July 19th,
1794. His father, Mr. Daniel Marsh, was a re-
spectable farmer, a man of plain good sense, and
the same native sincerity and candor which formed
so beautiful a trait in the character of his son.
Joseph Marsh, Esq., the grandfather of James,
was one of the most active and intelligent among
the early settlers of Vermont. He came from
Lebanon, in Connecticut, and established himself
at Hartford, about the year 1772, shortly after the
first beginning of the settlements in that quarter
of the country. Being a man of talents and en-
terprize, he soon took a prominent part in the po-
litical concerns of the State, which was then en-
gaged in its disputes with the various foreign par-
ties that claimed the right of jurisdiction over the
2
14 MEMOIR.
territory. He was a member of that convention
at Westminster, which declared, in the name of
the people, the independence of Vermont ; and
which afterwards assembled at Windsor, and form-
ed the original Constitution of the State. On the
adoption of this constitution, and the organization
of the Government, in 1778, he was chosen the
first Lieutenant Governor ; an office which he con-
tinued to hold, at intervals, for a number of years.
James Marsh was born in the house of his grand-
father, a pleasant mansion in the retired valley of
Otta Quechee river. As it was intended that he
should follow the occupation of his father, he
spent here the first eighteen years of his life in
the hardy labors of the field. With this arrange-
ment of his parents he was not only satisfied, but
well pleased. No man was ever more strongly
attached to the place of his birth ; and the inde-
pendent life of the farmer had a charm for him,
which never lost its hold on his imagination. In
his letters, he often speaks of those woods and
meadows in which he had spent so many pleasant
days ; and, even at the close of his professional
studies, thought seriously of returning to his fath-
er's farm, where he hoped to find that leisure and
freedom for the activity of his mind, which he did
not expect to enjoy in more immediate contact
with the world. His elder brother, who was des-
tined for college, having, for some reason, been
diverted from his purpose, James was induced to
take his place ; and accordingly, at about the age
of eighteen, turned his attention for the first time
MEMOIR. 15
to the preparatory studies. Having completed
these, under the care of Mr. William Nutting, who
was then preceptor of the Academy at Randolph,
he was admitted as a member of Dartmouth Col-
lege, in the autumn of 1813.
The college at this time, or soon after, became
involved in those notable difficulties, which finally
resulted in the establishment of a rival University,
whose brief existence began and ended, I believe,
within the period of Mr. Marsh's residence at
Hanover. Such a state of things, it might easily
be supposed, could hardly tend to any advantage
of the young men whose fortune it was to be then
connected with the institution. The troubles,
however, were mostly outward ; within the bosom
of the college, the strictness of discipline and reg-
ularity of studies never suffered any serious inter-
ruption. Some of the best scholars ever educated
at Dartmouth went through the worst of these
days. In fact, the several departments of instruc-
tion were never better filled than they were at pre-
cisely that time, and the whole was under the
direction of that wise and excellent man, Presi-
dent Brown, whose premature removal, in the full
vigor of his power and highest promise of useful-
ness, inflicted on the college the severest loss it
was ever called to sustain.
Under these favorable influences, Mr. Marsh
soon gave evidence of the fine parts with which
he was endowed. The late period when he be-
gan to study, subjected him, at first, to some in-
convenience ; but the disadvantage of an imper-
A
16 MEMOIR.
feet preparation operated with him only as a stim-
ulant to greater exertion, and was in fact compen-
sated, in no slight degree, by that maturity of mind
and those industrious habits he had brought with
him from the farm. The same free and enterprizing
spirit which afterwards formed his distinguishing
character as a student, manifested itself in him
from the first. Without being ambitious to shine
in any particular branch of learning, he seemed
intent on exploring the whole field of knowledge,
and exercising his faculties in every right direc-
tion. This expansive tendency of his mind did
not lead him, however, to overlook the importance
of thorough and exact discipline. He aimed at
becoming an accurate and profound as well as
general scholar, and never allowed himself to be
satisfied with superficial attainments. Although a
great devourer of book, he was not in the habit of
reading at random, and as fancy led him, but was
uniformly guided by a leading purpose, which he
had distinctly conceived and settled in his own
mind.
If he had a decided preference at this time for
any particular class of studies, it was perhaps for
the ancient languages and literature ; especially
the Greek, which he did not cease to study and
admire as long as he lived. His proficiency in
these languages, while at college, was very re-
spectable ; his skill in them consisted chiefly in an
ability to read them with ease and fluency, and
with a discriminating sense of their beauties of
style and expression. Neither his time nor his
I
MEMOIR. 17
means allowed him to do much more. In connec-
tion with these studies, he pushed his inquiries to
a considerable extent in literary history and criti-
cism. The only writings of his college days
which have been preserved, relate almost entirely
to these subjects. In the mathematics and the
severer sciences, he was patient and thorough,
shrinking from nothing that was abstruse or diffi-
cult, but rather taking delight in whatever served
to task his powers and rouse them to their utmost
exertion. His lighter reading was, of choice, con-
fined, for the most part, to the old English writers,
whose fulness of thought and fresh vigorous lan-
guage furnished a more pleasurable excitement to
his mind, than the tamer productions of more re-
cent times. Yet there was no period of the Eng-
lish literature which he did not make it a point to
study, in its best authors.
In the spring of 1815, Mr. Marsh was for a
while interrupted in these studious pursuits by an
important event, which gave the decisive turn to
his whole future life. During a season of uncom-
mon attention to the subject of religion in the col-
lege, in which most of the students participated,
his own mind became interested in that subject,
and his serious reflections resulted in a change of
views and feelings, which he ever afterwards re-
garded as the commencement of a new life in his
soul. Among his earliest papers, is one which
contains a full account of the progressive steps by
which he was led, after many severe inward con-
flicts, to place his hope on what he considered to
3
18 MEMOIR.
be a sure foundation. He says he had been in-
structed from childhood in the great things per-
taining to another world ; but his first serious im-
pressions were now almost entirely forgotten.
His mind was recalled to them by hearing that one
of his fellow-students had become serious. A few
days afterward, being present at a religious meet-
ing, where the individual just mentioned offered
some remarks and a prayer, his attention was
completely arrested, and fixed upon his own per-
sonal condition. He went home, laid aside his
studies, and applied himself to the reading of re-
ligious books and to reflection. His first effort
was to commit himself to God, in a voluntary and
conscious act of surrendering up every thing to
him, as his rightful Lord and Sovereign. But
every attempt of this kind only convinced him the
more of the great distance and alienation of his
heart from the source and centre of all good. He
remained in this state of feeling for some days.
When he found he was making no progress in the
performance of what he conceived to be his first
duty, he became alarmed, and began to fear lest
he should return back to his former indifference
and unconcern. The horrible suspicion arose in
his mind, that he was given over to hardness of
heart, which threw him into a state bordering on
despair. " I envied those around me (he says)
whom I looked upon as in a more hopeful condi-
tion than myself, and my heart rose in opposition
to the divine sovereignty. Yet I struggled with
my misery, and was in the greatest fear, lest I
MEMOIR. "19
should be left to blaspheme the name of my Cre-
ator. Filled with dismay, and almost overcome
by the suggestions of a rebellious heart, I went to
visit one whom I knew to be, like myself, in great
darkness and depression, in order to join with him
in lamenting our wretched state." Here, during
the interview with his friend, he first found relief
from these dismal apprehensions. The opposition
of heart with which he had been so long strug-
gling, seemed to give way for the admission of
better feelings ; although for several days he
scarcely ventured to hope the change was of that
radical and permanent nature, which he felt to be
necessary for his peace. But gradually his views
became more clear and decided. " The things of
another world (he says) completely filled my mind,
and God appeared to me to be all in all. I have
no apprehension that I experienced any remarka-
ble displays of his character ; 1 saw no particular
application of his mercy to myself; but he ap-
peared infinitely glorious, and I felt that if I had
ten thousand souls, I could with confidence com-
mit them to his mercy and care. I experienced
no fears respecting my own situation, and no par-
ticular joys or exulting hopes ; but a calm and
tranquil peace of mind, such as the world could
neither give nor take away."
These feelings, however, did not continue long
without suffering some abatement ; and his faith
was soon subjected to a variety of trials. "At one
time in particular," he notices, " after being en-
gaged in meditation, I took up a proposition of
20 MEMOIR.
Euclid. As I proceeded in the demonstration, all
my faith in things invisible seemed to vanish, and
I almost doubted the reality of my own existence.
By degrees, my convictions became more settled
and less dependent on circumstances. I could
pursue my studies with calmness, proceeding, as I
hope, from a belief that it was my duty, and a
confidence that God was able to preserve me. At
times, however, I have feared that my peace arose
rather from the decay of religious affections, than
from true evangelical faith. Yet I thought, from
self-examination, that I discovered some marks of
a growing principle of Christian life. I thought
my desires after holiness and an increase of the
Christian graces, together with the sense of my
own sinfulness and the imperfection of my best
performances, were becoming more strong, and
furnished some evidence of a state of grace."
Under these impressions, Mr. Marsh took an
early opportunity to make a public profession of
religion ; and on the 7th of August in the same
year, united with the church at Dartmouth Col-
lege. After recording this event, he says : " With
the members of this church, and under the instruc-
tion of our beloved pastor, the Rev. Professor
ShurtlirT, I now enjoy the most favorable and
agreeable means for improvement in christian
knowledge, and for growth in the christian life.
That I may have grace to improve these distin-
guishing blessings to the glory of the great Giver
of every good and perfect gift, to the honor of that
Redeemer who was delivered for our sins and
MEMOIR. 21
raised for our justification, to the good of the
church in this place and the upbuilding of the
church universal, and, finally, to my own spiritual
and everlasting welfare, is, so far as I know my
own heart, my most sincere and ardent prayer."
It is impossible, as it seems to me, for any one
to read this account, without being satisfied that
Mr. Marsh himself was fully convinced he had ex-
perienced, at this time, a great and decided change
in his religious character ; had passsd a crisis in
his spiritual life, different from any thing he had
ever before known, and worthy of being held by
him in perpetual remembrance. That he might
be mistaken on this point, is possible ; as who may
not be, in regard to a thing so deceitful as his own
heart? But, at all events, he felt that this was to
him the beginning of a new life. Henceforth his
aims were fixed and all his powers consecrated to
one great object. His studies, which had been
for a while interrupted by this all-engrossing sub-
ject, were now resumed, and pushed forward with
unabated ardor. The change in his religious char-
acter had neither contracted his mind nor dimin-
ished his enthusiasm in the pursuit of knowledge.
It rather stimulated him to greater exertion ; his
mind expanded with the more ennobling principle
by which its energies were now directed ; and in-
stead of contracting his aims, and seeking to con-
tent himself with humbler attainments in human
science, he felt himself bound, more than ever, to
cultivate, to the utmost possible extent and in
every direction, the powers which God had given
him.
MEMOIR.
With these enlightened views of his duty under
the present circumstances, he went on to complete
what he had already so successfully begun, in lay-
ing the foundations of a thorough and truly liberal
education. Without neglecting the regular tasks
required of him, he was led, by his own indefati-
gable zeal, to venture far beyond the beaten track,
and to push his inquiries into every part of the field
where the human mind has left any monuments of
its power. Thus he became a general scholar, in
the worthiest sense ; not a mere smatterer, pos-
sessing the show without the substance of learn-
ing, but profound, systematic and clear, as well as
comprehensive, in all his views. This was the
character with which he left college ; and few have
acquired it more fairly, or have sustained it with
greater constancy, than he did, through the whole
of his subsequent life.
s/ Having finished his collegiate studies, Mr. Marsh
was at no loss to decide as to the choice of a pro-
fession. He was inclined to Theology by the
native bent of his mind, as well as by his religious
feelings; and he had no reason to doubt that this
was the course marked out for him by divine Prov-
idence. Accordingly, in November, 1817, he en-
tered the Theological school at Andover, with a
view to prepare for the sacred ministry. Here he
remained about one year, when he received and
accepted an invitation to become a tutor at Dart-
mouth College.
In this situation he spent two of the happiest,
and in many respects most profitable years of his
MEMOIR. 23
life. Being in a good degree familiar with the
branches of science in which he was called to in-
struct, and at full liberty to take his own course,
as to the employment of his leisure hours, he had
ample opportunity, which he did not fail to im-
prove, of giving greater extent, as well as solidity,
to the foundations which had been already so
broadly laid. His studies, at this time, went over
a wide range, but they were regular and severe. "^
He cultivated more general and familiar acquaint-
ance with the great writers of antiquity ; studying
the various forms of the ancient languages, at their
purest sources ; and perhaps he might now say, as
Milton did of himself at the same age, that he had
not merely wetted the tip of his lips in the stream
of these languages, but in proportion to his years,
swallowed the most copious draughts. But what
he chiefly aimed at was, to make himself familiar
with the spirit of the ancient literature ; to pene-
trate to the ground of all its diversified forms, and
to master the secret of the mighty charm by
which it binds all hearts that come within its in-
fluence. While investigating this subject, in which
he was led to compare the spirit of the ancient lit-
erature with the modern, he became interested in
the study of the middle ages, and read every thing
he could get access to on this important period,
which, as containing within itself the germ of
modern cultivation, he thought deserving of more //
attention than it usually received. After the same
manner, he studied the literature of more recent
times, endeavoring everywhere to look beneath the
24 MEMOIR.
surface and the mere form, and to find out the
pervading spirit which characterized each particu-
lar author, and his age. In all this he never lost
out of sight, the great practical end of self-culture.
In contemplating the efforts of other minds, and
searching for the causes of their failure or success,
he was aiming to develope his own. Freedom,
boldness, and vigor of thought, were the qualities
by which he was most strongly attracted. He
preferred those writers above all others for their
influence on his own taste and habits of thinking,
who possessed most of what he considered the pe-
culiar characteristics of modern genius, profound
moral sentiment, and intensity of feeling. In a
letter written at this time, wherein he speaks of
the style of thinking that belongs to different
classes of literature, and to different persons, ac-
cording as their tastes and characters are formed
by one or the other, he adduces Pope and Byron,
the one as an example of a cold and unfeeling
style, the other of a style characterized by im-
mense power of thought, feeling and expression.
Of Byron, he says, " you will soon be tired of him
as an example, but he seems to me to live more
than other men. He has conceived a being in his
imagination of stronger powers, of greater capacity
for suffering and enjoying, than the race of mor-
tals, and he has learned to live in him. * It is,'
he says,
1 to create, and in creating live
A being more intense, that we endow
With form our fancy.'
MEMOIR. 25
How vastly does every thing of a religious na-
ture swell in importance, when connected in our
minds with, a being of such capacities as Byron
seems to us to be ! When I speak as I do of this
author, I know you will not imagine that I can
ever intend to approve his moral feelings, or com-
mend the moral tenor of his works. But why
should not the disciple of Christ feel as profound-
ly, and learn to express as energetically, the power
of moral sentiment, as the poet or the infidel f It
is this, that I aim at in my devotion to Byron. I
love occasionally to hold communion with his
spirit, and breathe its energy. It gives me new
vigor, and I seem in reality to live a being more
intense." Such was Mr. Marsh's literary creed at
the present time ; afterwards it became somewhat
modified.
In the same letter, he speaks of his tutorship as
a drudgery, which he would be glad to be rid of.
This was written near the close of the first year
he spent in that office, but he consented to remain
for another. The fact that he was requested to do
so, proves that his services were acceptable, at
least that he was chargeable with no serious neg-
lect of his duty. To the students, he could scarce-
ly fail to be other than a pleasant and profitable
instructer, though his mode of teaching, and his
habits of familiar intercourse with his pupils, were
quite different, I suspect, from what had been cus-
tomary before. " There are some," he says, in a
letter written after he had left Hanover, " who
seem to know no way of managing young men,
4
\S
/r
26 MEMOIR.
but by the terror of authority ; but such a method
tends to break, down all the independent spirit
and love of study for its own sake, which I thought
it of so much importance to cherish." Perhaps he
then carried his notions on this subject a little too
far ; perhaps his own method of allowing and en-
couraging young men to use an unlimited freedom
in the choice of their studies, would have proved
incompatible with any regular system of discipline
calculated on the average wants of the youthful
mind. But if he was in an error here, it was from
judging of others by himself, and too charitably
presuming that none would be tempted, in such a
case, to turn their liberty into licentiousness.
However that might be, a mind so deeply imbued
as his was, with the true spirit of the scholar,
could not fail to infuse a portion of his own zeal
into those who were under his care ; and his influ-
ence at Dartmouth, was, I doubt not, in the highest
degree salutary. One effect at least, it must have
had, namely, to raise the tone of scholarship, and
inspire higher aims, than those connected with the
mere task- work of the recitation room.
His devotion to these labors, and to his other
literary pursuits, did not prevent him from culti-
vating, as he had opportunity, the social affections
of his nature. Although a real student, he was as
far as possible from being a recluse. No man had
a stronger love for cultivated society, nor under-
stood better what such society ought to be. He
had a constant longing after more freedom of in-
tellectual intercourse, and thought the benefit to
MEMOIR. 27
*
be derived from such intercourse incomparably
greater than could be gained from books alone and
solitary studies. " Not that I would like," he says
in one of his letters of this period, "the unre-
strained intercourse of French petits-maitres or
petittes-maitresses ; but surely there can be no
objection to the free and hearty expression of
friendship, or to that easy and familiar interchange
of thought, which we find in the letters of Cowper
and his correspondents, and, indeed, of all the
literary men of the last century, as Shenstone,
Gay, &c. Such a state of society seems to me to
promise much more exercise of social feelings and
sympathies, than our constrained, cautious and
freezing reserve. Where a prohibition is put upon
the expression of all the social affections, and we
dare not give proof of their existence, there is
great reason to fear they do not exist long. A fire
may indeed live for a time, if buried in ashes ; but
if buried too long, we look in vain for the cheer-
ing flame or the glowing embers. We rake off
the ashes, and all is gray."
The society which he found at Hanover must
doubtless have been exceedingly pleasant to him,
and perhaps contributed, more than any thing else,
to reconcile him to the long suspension of his pro-
fessional studies ; for love had some influence here,
as well as literature. He had fixed his affections
on a young lady of the place, in all respects most
worthy of his choice ; and as the inclination proved
to be mutual, an affair of the utmost importance
to his future happiness was thus settled. This
V
28 MEMOIR.
person, whom he afterwards married, was Miss
Lucia Wheelock, daughter of James Wheelock,
Esq., and a niece of the former President. Many
of the extracts which I shall hereafter introduce,
are taken from letters of Mr. Marsh, addressed to
her. But besides the agreeable circle into which
he was thus drawn, he enjoyed the intimacy of
several literary friends, men of the same age and
of like spirit with himself, in whose society he
found the most constant excitement to intellectual
activity. They formed a club, of which I have
often heard him speak, as one of the best schools
of discipline to which his mind had ever been sub-
jected. They met together, I believe, once a
week, for literary discussion, the reading of origi-
nal pieces, and the criticism of each other's per-
formances. In preparing himself for these meet-
ings, Mr. Marsh was accustomed to lay out his
whole strength. The free, unrestrained inter-
change of thought which was here encouraged, fell
in completely with his own views ; and the lively
debates of the club gave an impulse to his mind,
the effects of which were not soon forgotten.
On many accounts, the two years which Mr.
Marsh spent as a tutor at Hanover, were among
the most memorable of his life, and had the most
important influence upon his future character, both
as a scholar and a theologian. Perhaps he had
employed his time in the best possible manner, to
prepare himself for the sphere of action to which
he was looking forward, as the ultimate aim of his
labors. If, instead of devoting his leisure to more
MEMOIR.
29
general objects, to the study of ancient and mod-
ern learning, to the cultivation of his taste and the
discipline of his reasoning powers, he had under-
taken to pursue and complete his theological stud-
ies, with an impatient zeal to be engaged in the
active duties of his profession, he might have ac-
complished'something ; though less, I apprehend,
than many in the same situation. A man who
took nothing for granted, but felt himself bound to
know the grounds of every thing he professed to
understand and believe, could never have satisfied
himself by such a superficial preparation, and
must have felt constantly embarrassed by the in-
adequacy of his own views. As it was, he took
the right course for a mind constituted like his ;
and the result was such as might have been pre-
dicted by any one who knew the comprehensive-
ness of his intellect and the sincerity of his aims.
In the autumn of 1820, Mr. Marsh returned to
Andover, for the purpose of completing his pro-
fessional studies. But before he sat down to his
books, he concluded to spend a short time at Cam-
bridge, partly for the sake of social relaxation, and
partly for the purpose of becoming better acquaint-
ed with the literary advantages of the place. He
was aware that this step might be misinterpreted,
and expose him to the risk of some jealousy and
disapprobation ; but, conscious of the uprightness
of his motives, he was not to be deterred by any
fears of that sort from gratifying so rational a wish.
" I hope to learn," he said, " how to defend my
religious principles (which, I am more and more
MEMOIR.
V
confident, will never differ essentially from those I
have been taught to believe) with more enlarged
views, and on more philosophical grounds, than I
should be able to do with the advantages offered
at Andover." With these advantages, however,
he was well satisfied. At Andover, he found
means and opportunities for prosecuting his theo-
logical inquiries as ample as he could desire ; and
he intended neither to disparage nor to neglect
them. But he wished to extend his acquaintance
with men as well as books, and with other minds
than those who had been trained in the same
school with himself. From such intercourse he
expected to derive the advantage of which he
speaks above, and thought it would be of import-
ance to him in his future studies.
It was his intention to remain at Cambridge
about two months ; but for some reason or other,
he shortened his stay, and was at Andover again
in the middle of November, where he soon found
himself settled completely to his mind. " I would
& tell you, he says in a letter of this date, " how
favorably I am situated here. 1 room with our
old acquaintance, Mr. M., which particular you
will be apt to think not very favorable. But he
being a rough body, I shall be sure, I think, to get
one of the benefits that my Lord Bacon proposeth
from intercourse with friends. For though the
first fruits of friendship be to divide care, and the
second to gain counsel, yet even without these, * a
man learneth of himself, and bringeth his own
thoughts to light, and whetteth his wits as against
MEMOIR. 31
a stone, which itself cuts not.' I board in com-
mons, and room in college ; partly from necessity,
but principally from choice. I have begun a very
Pythagorical mode of living, and if I devour less
beef than my fellows, I hope to devour more books,
which I can command better here than any where
else."
Mr. Marsh entered upon the work now before
him with the zeal of an indefatigable student, but
with the seriousness also of one who felt how
much was depending on the issue. Writing to a
friend, he says : " The commencement here of a
permanent system of labor impresses it upon me
more strongly than I have ever felt it before, that
I am engaging, and at my own risk, in the serious
business of life. In a word, I begin to think, as
if it were time to be in earnest, and to do with
my might what my hands find to do. It is much
easier and I am aware it is much better suited
to my inclination to feel one's self free from re-
sponsibility, and at liberty to be governed by the
impulse of the moment, than to be a man among
men, to form and maintain a character on elevated,
uniform and consistent principles. There are
many, it is true, whose characters and conduct
are uniform and consistent, because they are un-
consciously govorned by habits, and perhaps prin-
ciples, impressed upon them from infancy. There
are comparatively few who sustain with uniform-
ity a character of their own formation, who con-
sciously govern themselves by principles tried and
approved at the tribunal of their own reason and
32
MEMOIR.
conscience. To form and support a character in
this way, on noble and just principles, should and
will ensure a more enviable reputation than all the
accomplishments and acquirements of mere intel-
lectual greatness."
His private journal, as well as many of the let-
ters he wrote during this period, show how uni-
formly and how conscientiously he sought to gov-
ern himself by these pure principles, and how
completely he subordinated the love of learning
and the ambition of the scholar, to the higher aims
of the christian. In this respect, I am sorry to
say, his character was often grossly misapprehend-
ed. Many seemed to consider him as a " mere
scholar," a man given wholly to books and to
speculative inquiries; one in whom the life of reli-
gion was smothered by his too much learning, and
who could feel no interest or sympathy in any
thing except what was purely intellectual. Nothing
gave him more pain than to find himself so misun-
derstood. But he saw no way of correcting the
mistake, except by steadfastly pursuing his own
course, and leaving it to correct itself. It was for
this reason, doubtless, he felt somewhat disappoint-
ed at first, in the social privileges at Andover.
For the purpose of mutual benefit, he chose to
associate with a few whose views of the objects
and aims of study seemed most nearly to corres-
pond with his own. These excellent young men,
too, fell into the common mistake of considering
him as a mere scholar, and he was compelled to
feel, he said, that his intercourse and conversation
MEMOIR. 33
with them must be nothing more nor less than a
continual trial of strength and comparison of in-
tellectual acquirements. This, for a while, gave
him great uneasiness. But, as his true character
came to be better known by his friends, the unnat-
ural constraint of such sort of intercourse gave
way to more cordial feelings ; and the friendships
which he formed at Andover, were among the
most pleasant recollections of his life.
The impression, however, was never wholly re-
moved from the minds of all, that Mr. Marsh was
too much given to study, and not sufficiently atten-
tive to other more practical duties. In one re-
spect, this was true. He did feel, I may say, an
aversion to every thing that is formal and merely
outward in religion. Perhaps he carried his no-
tions on this subject to a fastidious extreme. At
any rate, I shall not attempt to defend them. But
if the record of his private feeling can be trusted,
he was a man who habitually held communion
with his heart in secret, and kept an altar there to
the living God, whose fires were never suffered to
go out. Speaking, in one of his letters, of the
means enjoyed for religious improvement at Ando-
ver, he says : " Our general intercourse is less fa-
miliar than it might and ought to be, in this as in
other things ; and from what I have told you of
my habits, you might suppose that I should derive
little assistance from others, in regard to religious
feelings. Such has, indeed, been the case ; but
though far too unfeeling and indifferent, I hope
still that I have learned something about the way
5
v
i/
34 MEMOIR.
of life. There are frequent conferences and class
meetings ; but I have attended few of them, sim-
ply because I did not find them profitable. It
might be my own fault ; but they seemed too for-
mal, and not sufficiently familiar to allow the nat-
ural play and expression of feeling. When that
is the case, and when there is not some particular
cause to raise the general tone of feeling above
the restraint of forms, nothing is more profitless
to me than the constantly recurring routine of for-
mal assemblies of any kind." It would be wrong
to infer, however, from what he has said here, that
Mr. Marsh felt an objection to such meetings gen-
erally, or thought that they could not be made
profitable, even to himself. Soon after this, he
speaks of a club or association which was about to
be formed, for the purpose of familiar and free con-
versation on practical religion. " We shall make
it an object," he says, " to remove all formality
and restraint, as far as possible ; and it will be-
come, I hope, a kind of religious levee. If so, I
have no doubt it may be highly useful in many re-
spects. It will introduce more freedom of inter-
course, and, I hope, a higher tone of conversation,
both in style and matter, than any thing we have
here now. To myself, I hope it will be profitable,
by directing my mind more to practical and exper-
imental religion. I confess, too, I have some wish
to remove an impression, which, I fear, has been
too correct, that I was a mere scholar, and had lit-
tle regard for any thing but merely speculative in-
quiries. The impression, in fact, I found, a few
MEMOIR.
35
weeks since, was so strong, as to justify anxiety
on my part to remove it ; and I believe I have
done so, in a great measure. I have asserted, and
must try to prove by example, that diligence in the
pursuit of study is compatible with religious feel-
ings. Pray for me, my dear friend, that I may
not be deceived, in circumstances which so much
expose me to the sophistry of my own heart."
The plan which Mr. Marsh proposed for him-
self, in resuming his theological course at Andover,
was comprehensive, beyond any example which
could have come within his own observation ; and
embraced a more extensive circle of studies, than
it would be thought useful or expedient for most
men to undertake. It is by no means my wish to
hold him up, in this respect, as a model for any
one's imitation. The humbler plan, which expe-
rience seems to approve, as best adapted, in the
majority of cases, to secure the ends of a profes-
sional education, is, to lay its foundation deep,
rather than broad ; and to aim at thoroughness and
accuracy in a few things which the profession re-
quires to be well known, rather than at a general
and superficial acquaintance with many. But
there are some minds which will not be so con-
fined ; which are borne onward, by a sort of irre-
pressible impulse, to extend their energies beyond
the absolute demands of their profession ; which,
in fact, cannot pursue a particular branch of sci-
ence, without seeking to trace its connexion and
its relations with every thing that can be known.
Such minds are apt to know their own wants, and
\S
//
36 MEMOIR.
to understand, better than others can tell them,
how to shape their course, so as to fulfil the des-
tiny to which they are appointed, and to effect the
greatest good of which they are capable in their
day and generation.
In a journal, which Mr. Marsh now began for
the purpose of noticing in it the progress of his
daily inquiries, he lays out the course of study
which he meant to pursue, under the following
heads :
" 1. A general system of ancient history and
literature, to commence with Hebrew Geography,
Natural History, Chronology ; and so to the char-
acter, and civil and religious fortunes of the peo-
ple.
" 2. With a view to prepare myself earlier than I
should, for coming to the historical sense of the
New Testament, I begin with the- history of the
Jews, at the return from captivity.
"3. I connect, with both these, partially, the
studies in Professor Stuart's department; namely,
the critical study of the Old and New Testament.
The sum and final result of these several courses
will be the right understanding of the doctrines of
the sacred Scriptures, in Dr. Wood's department.
I must, of course, feel myself, at present, very
poorly prepared for these last investigations. So
far as they proceed on the ground of natural reli-
gion, I can prosecute them effectually. It will
afford a useful, though severe exercise of abstract
thought ; and I shall add to the pleasure of it, by
associating it, as far as practicable, with the his-
MEMOIR. 37
tory of natural religion, as it exists in fact in the
writings of the pagan philosophers.
" 4. In addition to these, I must contrive, if I
can procure the means, to pursue modern literature
one hour a day." All the studies which he men-
tions here, if we except the last, were within the
sphere of his profession, and strictly conformable
to the course at the Seminary. But he pursued
them according to his own method, as a voluntary
exercise, in addition to the prescribed course of
studies, to which at the same time he meant to
devote all needful attention. Of his method, as
well as of the wide range of his inquiries, I shall
have occasion to speak more particularly hereafter.
In connexion with these more strictly professional
studies, he contrived to find time for acquiring a
good knowledge of two or three modern languages,
and for investigating to some extent, at the origi-
nal sources, the history and literature of the mid-
dle ages. It may seem difficult to conceive how
he could be employed, at one and the same time,
in so many different pursuits, without losing him-
self entirely in the multiplicity of his objects, and
defeating his own end, by grasping after so much
at once. In his journal, however, he never com-
plains of being distracted or hindered by the va-
riety of his studies ; but often takes occasion to
notice the evidence of his success. February 21,
1821. He makes the following entry: " Of my
progress in the German language, I have been
more conscious than ever before, and begin to feel
as if I had conquered it. On Saturday in the
38 MEMOIR.
forenoon, I read in the regular course of my stud-
ies about fifty pages, and read it well. In Span-
ish, too, I have done something, and shall conquer
it within the year. My Hebrew I have had some
fears about, but think I shall master it." The
whole record of this day, which happens to be
more full than usual, furnishes, perhaps, as faith-
ful an account as could be given of the manner in
which he was accustomed to employ his time.
" At the club on Friday, [this was an associa-
tion of students, formed chiefly by his own means,
for the familiar discussion of subjects connected
with their studies,] I was rather surprised to find
that though I had devoted but half a day to the
subject, (the Apostolic Fathers,) my knowledge of
them was as good as any one's. I do not make this
record from vanity, but the fact is to me a proof
of the superiority of my system of study. The
question was started about the rise of the Gnostic
sects; and as 1 was not very fully acquainted
with it, spent some time afterwards in looking
into eastern philosophy, in order to trace back
their principles. Read forty pages in Heeren's
Ideen, respecting the religion of Zoroaster. He
considers the authenticity of the Zendavesta, as
the record of that system, to be established ; and
from the contents of the work, proves the religion
to have been first set up in the Bactro-Median
kingdom, east of the Caspian, at least one hun-
dred years before the reign of Gustasp, or Darius
Hystaspes, in whose reign it is generally thought
Zoroaster lived. It was transferred to Persia, and
MEMOIR.
39
made the court religion of that empire by Cyrus.
I took an abstract of the system, and shall say
no more of it here.
" I have made some progress in Dr. W's. de-
partment during the week, and some in the critical
knowledge of the New Testament. I have learnt,
too, how to connect this study more with the cul-
tivation of practical piety, by reflecting carefully
on the subject or the chapter which I have studied,
and applying it directly to my own heart ; I may
mention, too, in this place, the fair prospects of
the club noticed in my last record ; [this was
another club, and the same that he alludes to in
one of his letters, quoted a few pages back ;] the
objects of which I must endeavor to connect some-
how systematically with this subject.
" For two or three days my attention has been
principally turned to the Hebrew Sacrifices, the
subject for our club next week. I must try to
write on it, and connect it with the sacrificial rites
of pagan nations.
" To-day spent two hours in reflecting on this
subject, before I rose. In the forenoon, studied
pretty faithfully the six or seven first chapters of
Leviticus, which contain the substance of the
whole matter, and will require yet more thought.
Read several pages in John, and am nearly pre-
pared to mark out the plan of a dissertation.
" Spent an hour on the subject of chronology,
and nearly two hours in reading twice over Hor-
ace's Epistle to Augustus, containing 270 lines.
It has much interesting matter, relating to the
40 MEMOIR.
tastes of the Romans, the state of literature among
them at that time, and many opinions which are
interesting, as the opinions of Horace. Reading
it again with my pupil [a young gentleman from
Yale College, who had been placed under his care]
will make me master of all that is valuable in it.
" Wrote a letter to my friend B., and read 30
pages of Hallam's dissertation on the state of soci-
ety in the middle ages. He does not seem to be
acquainted with the opinions of De Stael and
Schlegel ; or if he is, he does not, in my opinion,
give them the right influence in forming his notions
of the human mind in the decline of the Roman
Empire. I learned from him some interesting
facts, about the state of the Latin language in the
provinces. In addition to what I already mention-
ed, with a view to Gnosticism, I read 10 or 12
pages of Muenscher, who traces it to the emana-
tion system, through the medium of the Jewish
sects."
Mr. Marsh speaks, in the above extract, of his
system of study. He seldom read any authors in
course, but for the most part simply consulted
them on the subjects which interested him, and
aimed to make himself master of their leading-
thoughts. By this practice, he acquired a habit of
looking through a book, and seizing its most valu-
able contents, which surprized those who were not
acquainted with his peculiar method. In reading
an author for the first time, he gave but little
attention to his language, but endeavored to enter
fully into his meaning, and to get at the scope of
MEMOIR. 41
his views. After this, he would seek to express
the same thoughts in his own language, and then
compare what he had done with the original. This
was a very frequent exercise with him ; and he
maintained that while it tended gradually to ele-
vate and refine his own style, it gave him a much
clearer perception of the precision and elegance of
the writer's language, than he could obtain in any
other way. He was also accustomed to make
copious abstracts from the more important works
which he studied, and several of these remain
among the fragments of his early writings that
have been preserved. Close thinking, he said,
often superseded, with him, the use of books. It
was in this way he usually prepared himself for the
daily recitations ; and he sometimes found that he
had thus anticipated nearly all that was said, and
moreover, could connect the different subjects to-
gether, so as to make a more simple system, than
was practicable with one who read much without
reflection.
With the more dry and scholastic studies of this
period, he was in the habit of intermingling a
lighter kind of reading, particularly poetry. He had
now, in a great measure, lost his admiration of
Byron, and became attached to Wordsworth, and
other poets of the same class. He thought they
breathed more of the true sublimity, the settled
elevation and purity of christian sentiment, than
could be found in many other writers. " There
is in them," he says, in one of his letters, " a
power of thought that enlarges and strengthens the
6
42 MEMOIR.
|r
intellectual power, while it elevates the whole
soul, and fixes it in calmer seats of moral strength.
It is the poetry that, of all, I would prefer to make
my habitual study. Nor wouid I study it as I
used to study poetry, but with a direct practical
purpose, to nurse my own faculties, to imbibe its
spirit, to breathe its purity, and recurring constant-
ly to the Gospel, the still purer fountain from
which it derives its characteristic excellencies, to
form that exalted character which should be the
aim of every christian.
Into the various knowledge which he was thus
accumulating, Mr. Marsh strove from the first to
introduce a principle of unity, which should reduce
it to one harmonious system in his own mind.
This effort was no less characteristic of the man
than his continued thirst for new acquisitions ; and
it was the ground of that deep interest which he
always felt in philosophical studies. In the early
part of his journal, he mentions Dr. Brown's trea-
tise on cause and effect, as a work which he had
read, with great attention, and unbounded admira-
tion of the author as an acute and powerful rea-
soner. " I find myself," he says, " too strongly
inclined to admit his theory, independently of the
reasoning by which it is supported, from the sim-
plicity which it introduces into all our speculations
/ on the phenomena and powers of nature." Very
different was the opinion which he came afterwards
to entertain of this writer and his theory. Even
now he felt altogether dissatisfied with the old
method of the Scotch and English philosophers,
MEMOIR. 43
which he thought too formal, cold and barren.
They did not, he said, keep alive the heart in the
head. He wanted something which could meet
more completely all the facts of his own conscious-
ness, and explain the deeper mysteries of his spir-
itual being. For this reason the writings of St.
Paul seemed to him superior to all worldly philos-
ophy. " I have studied," he says, in his journal,
" the eighth chapter of Romans, with much inten-
sity and much satisfaction. 1 find the only way
to understand St. Paul is to analyze his argument,
and get at the scope of his thoughts, by close and
profound attention. It is the best introduction to
the only life-giving philosophy, to enter with con-
genial feelings into those views of man which he
everywhere developes." At this time he was in
the habit of studying a good deal the works of
Coleridge, particularly the " Sketches of his Lite-
rary Life and Opinions." With the aid of Cole-
ridge and Madame de Stael, he began, moreover, to
consult Kant's Critique of the Pure Reason, then s
a perfect terra incognita to American scholars. If
I mention that in addition to this, he undertook to
read through the works of Plato, and make a copi-
ous analysis of each dialogue, without meaning to
neglect any of his regular and more appropriate
studies; many, I fear, would be disposed to think
he had altogether overrated his own powers, and
undertaken what he could not possibly perform to
any good purpose. But he thought differently of
it ; and in truth, his simple style of living, his
Pythagorical diet, as he termed it, gave him a
44- MEMOIR.
great advantage ; so that with clear and definite
views as to what he would accomplish, he was en-
abled to do more than most men would think pos-
sible, without either sacrificing his health, or being
overburthened and oppressed by the variety of his
pursuits.
He had a simple aim in all this. It was, as I
have before said, to satisfy the instinctive desire of
his mind afier unity in all his knowledge. But
with this, he was endeavoring, also, to obtain
deeper insight into the grounds and nature of that
faith, which he felt to be the life of his soul. The
real difficulties in those great questions which had
been called up in recent controversies, lay deeper,
as he conceived, so far as they properly came
within the province of speculation, than the par-
ties on either side had as yet reached. He was
desirous of searching to the bottom of them, and
was willing to undergo all the labor and painful
suspense which such an investigation must neces-
sarily involve. The following letter, addressed to
the friend of his heart, at Hanover, seems to have
been written while he was thus engaged.
Andover, July 1st, 1821.
My Dear L. I rejoice to hear of the more
interesting attention to religion on the Plain, and
among the students; and am the more ready to
make an apology for my own loss of a letter, be-
cause, in such a situation, the time that would
have been devoted to me, may have been, and, I
presume, has been, more profitably employed. For
MEMOIR. 45
your heart is engaged, I am aware, more than mine
has been, in this most interesting and important of
all subjects ; though I hope you do not think me
wholly indifferent to experimental piety. I trust
I am far from it ; though I have, for some time,
been in the habit of contemplating it with perhaps
too much of the coolness of the speculative scholar.
It is the almost unavoidable consequence of de-
votion to study, and of any thing like a compre-
hensive view of the vast field which religious con-
troversy now embraces. The simple, unlearned
christian, who knows only his Bible, and daily reads
that with an unquestioning confidence in the more
simple truths which he reads, and which he that
runs may read, may well be, in some respects, the
envy of the puzzled though learned man of books.
He goes on in the even tenor of his way, with his
head at ease, and his heart unmoved, but by the
feelings of penitence and love. He knows nothing
of the ten thousand distracting questions, the har-
rowing doubts and maddening skepticism, that dry
up the heart and seethe in the brain of the unfor-
tunate student, who has ventured to pass the con-
secrated limit of his traditional faith, and look back
upon it with the cool eye of critical investigation.
Few, indeed, let me assure you, even of those who
undertake, as professional men, to examine and es-
tablish the principles of their faith, know any thing
of this. Their principles are, in fact, fully estab-
lished in their own minds, before they begin to ex-
amine them. They will boast, perhaps, of having
dived into the very quagmire of skepticism, and
i
46 MEMOIR.
fathomed its hidden depths ; when, if the truth
were known, they have probably floated along the
surface, or coasted the shores of this mighty deep,
in the cock-boat of their own opinionated self-con-
fidence. They see that all below is dark and
dreamy ; and fancy, like Chateaubriand upon the
Dead Sea, they can hear the groans of Sodom and
Gomorrah beneath them. No wonder they choose
the upper air, and leave unruffled the abyss below.
They now see the light, and are resolved to re-
joice iu it. But wo to the daring and ill-starred
adventurer who plunges into the metaphysic
depths of controversial theology ! Well may he
ponder his voyage ; for it is little less difficult than
that of our great adversary, when he passed
"the throne
Of chaos, and his dark pavilion spread
Wide on the wasteful deep."
He will soon find himself in
" A gulf, profound as that Serbonian bog
Betwixt Damiata and Mount Casius old,
Where armies whole have sunk."
The man, to speak in plain language, who at
this day undertakes to settle for himself the vari-
ous systems of theology, must not only unravel the
mysteries of " fate, free-will, foreknowledge abso-
lute, &c, without getting lost in their mazes, but
while floundering in an everlasting ' hubbub wild '
of ancient learning crazed, and made to dance,
like Epicurus' atoms, to the ' harmonious discord '
I
MEMOIR. 47
of some German metaphysical bagpipe, he must
be careful to keep his balances nicely adjusted,
and weigh with statistical accuracy the " hot, cold,
moist and dry " of these " embryo atoms." He
must meet the theories of the philologist and
the theories of the philosopher. He must si-
lence, says one, every whisper of emotion, and
let reason teach him. Listen to the heart, says
another ; it is the very sanctuary and the oracle of
truth. And then, in a situation like mine, how
many struggling propensities of the heart withdraw
it from the simple feeling of the gospel truth !
The love of popularity and the love of independ-
ence, the pride of knowledge and the pride of
ignorance, the pride of liberality and the pride of
orthodoxy, put up and let down the mind on one
side and on the other ; while, to use a figure of
Luther, like a drunken man on horseback, it goes
plunging and reeling onwards. Truly, a man in
such a course, if like Dante he has his Beatrice,
or divine love for a guide, may arrive at heaven at
last ; but, like Dante, he must do it by first going
through hell and purgatory. I do not mean to say
that I have any serious doubts in regard to the
system of faith which we professed together be-
fore the altar ; nor have I quite enough of Caesar's
courage to say that I am rather telling you what
is to be feared than what I fear ; for I see difficul-
ties in every system, enough to confound the weak-
ness of human reason. But this I know, that
such an abstraction from the things of this world,
and such a devotion to the things of God and the
48 MEMOIR.
things of an invisible future, as are the fruits of
our New England revivals, are most rational in
themselves, and most suitable to the character of
immortal beings. Let us earnestly hope and pray
that the revival will extend through the place and
the college."
It would be wrong, however, to infer from any-
thing he has said in this rather imaginative and
playful letter, that he ever allowed himself to be
so absorbed in these speculations, or carried away
by them, as to forget the humble and docile tem-
per which it became him to cherish, as a disciple
and learner at the feet of his divine Master. " I
may allow myself," he says in his journal, " to
speculate with some boldness on points of dogmati-
cal theology ; I may question my duty impels me
to question on what grounds every received arti-
cle of faith is rested by those who defend it. I may
question the origin and authority of the Scriptures ;
but when I have admitted their divine original, I
have only to ask what they teach. And O may I
ever ask with an honest, humble heart. The
teachings of the divine Jesus I cannot question,
even if I would. I am compelled, after all my
speculations, to bow down to him with most un-
questioning submission and confidence. How
much, how very much is contained in the simple
expression of his honest disciple, ' He taught as
one having authority, and not as the Scribes.'
Yes, his instructions have more in them than all
the ingenious speculations of Jewish or Grecian
doctors, and they come with authority from on
MEMOIR. 49
high. It is not by bold speculation these are to
be learned, or their spirit imbibed. ' He that doeth
the will of my Father shall know of the doctrine.'
An honest simplicity of heart will lead to the
understanding of mysteries which the wise men of
this world have not known, even the mysteries of
the soul of love and faith, and hope and trust
in God, and that peace that passeth all knowl-
edge. Most fervently would I pray for that pov-
erty of spirit, that meekness and lowliness of mind,
that guides to the knowledge and imitation of
Christ.
In this spirit of Christian simplicity of heart,
combined with the enthusiasm and independence
of a true scholar, Mr. Marsh prosecuted and com-
pleted his theological education at Andover. Nor
should I fail to mention, that he felt, during all this
time, the same interest which he ever afterwards
continued to manifest, in the great benevolent en-
terprizes of the day. Thus he says in one of his
letters, dated April 14th, 1822 : " I am more and
more convinced, indeed, I was convinced long
ago, I feel more and more, that whatever is con-
trary to the highest religious elevation and purity,
is not only sinful, but disgraceful. In other words,
my philosophy and my habitual feelings coincide
more, I trust, with the spirit of religion ; and it is
not self-denial, but pleasure to engage in its du-
ties. You may think this a roundabout way of
telling you a simple fact ; but in my mind it is
not so simple as it may seem. I have thought
more than ever, of late, on the great efforts made
50 MEMOIR. A
to evangelize the world, and of the exceeding
desirableness of that great object. It is the cause
of God, and my prayers shall daily ascend for its
prosperity. In one way or another, too, I hope I
may yet do something for a cause so grand, where
it is an honor to add but one stone to the mighty
structure. I know not, and have for myself but
little choice, in what way it may be, whether with
my voice or my pen ; but 1 could not die in peace
without the consciousness of having at least at-
tempted something, as a co-worker with the holy
men, who are honored as the instruments of God
in doing his own glorious work. I have always,
indeed, approved it as the glory of the age, but
have not had my enthusiasm enkindled in regard
to it, as a work in which / wish to engage.
Henceforth my voice and my influence, whatever
may be my situation, will, I hope and believe, be
I , most decidedly on the part of all that is godlike
and benevolent. I am beginning to prepare my-
self for the active duties of a minister, and am
ready to believe I shall find more pleasure in it
than I have ever done in my studies."
I should mention, that some time during his
last year at Andover, he wrote an article, which
made its appearance in the July number for that
year of the North American Review, and con-
tained the results of his studies for some time past
in the favorite branches of taste and criticism.
It is a review of an Italian work by Gattinara di
Breme, and bears the running title of " Ancient
and Modern Poetry ; " but it was the writer's
*.
MEMOIR. 51
design to point out the distinguishing features of
modern genius as compared with the ancient ; and
more particularly to show how much, in the pecu-
liar character of modern art, is due to the influence
of Christianity in giving a more spiritual direction
to the powers of the human mind. The subject
was one upon which he had read extensively, and
reflected still more than he had read. This is
evident on every page of the essay, which, so far
from bearing any of the marks of a new and un-
practised hand, might easily be mistaken for the
production of a veteran critic. The performance
did him great credit in the estimation of all whose
good opinion he was most anxious to win.
About the same time, he engaged in another lit-
erary enterprize, of somewhat greater moment.
In connexion with a friend then residing at the
Seminary as a licentiate, he undertook to translate
and prepare for the press, the German work of
Bellerman, on the Geography of the Scriptures.
The great want, which he felt to exist, of a stan-
dard work in the English language on this impor-
tant branch of Biblical learning, rather than any
hopes of profit or fame, was his chief inducement
in employing himself upon so dry a task ; nor did
he desist from it, until, on his part, it was fully
completed.
The effect of this intense and continuous appli-
cation of mind began now, for the first time, to
manifest itself upon his health ; and, by the per-
suasion of his friends, he was induced to throw
aside his studies for the present, in order to try the
62 MEMOIR.
benefits of a short sea voyage, and of a visit to
the South. He embarked at Boston, on board a
coaster bound for New York, with the intention,
when he arrived there, of shaping his course in the
way that promised to be most agreeable. After
spending a short time among the friends whom he
found in New York, he proceeded to Princeton,
where he arrived in the first days of May, when
nature was in full bloom, and, as he expresses it,
" the air filled with fragrance and with poetry."
Writing from Princeton, he says : " In general, I
find myself, thus far, much better pleased with this
country, than with New England ; partly from the
climate, and partly from the more social character
of the people ; and, were it not for my friends,
might be strongly tempted to forget the land of
my fathers. I am aware that much of the pleas-
ure I now feel, however, is to be attributed to cir-
cumstances that are not permanent, and so my es-
timate may be unfair ; and very probably may be
changed, when I arrive again in our delightful val-
lies. Horace has somewhere said, that change of
place does not change the mind ; but really, I be-
lieve he was mistaken, for I find mine changing
with every scene." This journey, which he un-
dertook simply for the restoration of his health,
was the means of introducing him to many new
and valuable friends, some of whom had an impor-
tant influence in deciding the course of his future
life. It was at Princeton he first became ac-
quainted with that excellent man, the Rev. Dr.
MEMOIR. 53
i
Rice, by whose means he was led, eventually, to
direct his steps to Virginia.
Having spent several weeks in this tour to the
South, which he extended as far as Philadelphia,
he returned home by the way of New Haven.
Here he passed some days in the family of the
venerable Dr. Morse, who took a strong interest
in his behalf, and urged him, after the completion
of his professional studies, to establish himself in
that town, as the editor of a religious periodical
review. This plan, though in the end it issued in
nothing, long occupied a place in Mr. Marsh's
thoughts ; who never wholly relinquished it, in-
deed, until he had finally concluded to take up his
residence at the South. After a short visit to his
friends in New Hampshire and Vermont, he was
enabled, in June, to resume his studies, which he
prosecuted with unabated vigor till the following
September, when he left the Seminary, to enter
upon the more untried scenes of active life.
To many young men, especially those of a re-
tiring disposition, there is no period of life more
trying and full of anxieties and depressions, than
that which intervenes between the attainment of a
profession and the fixing on a place for settlement
in the world. There are some, who seem to fall
naturally into their proper position ; others are put
there by powerful or influential friends. Not a
few are left to find it as they can ; and the best of
these must often struggle the hardest, and toil
through many a year of wandering, before they
can arrive at the field which Providence has al-
54 MEMOIR.
lotted them. This proved to be a long and pain-
ful season of suspense to Mr. Marsh. He had
many reasons for wishing to be soon settled in life.
It was a torment to his active mind, to be left
without any definite object ; while, moreover, his
outward relations and engagements seemed to urge
upon him the necessity of fixing, with the least
possible delay, upon his sphere of action.
He had looked forward to this necessity with a
sort of shrinking dread ; for although conscious
of possessing talents and qualifications which fitted
him for eminent usefulness, yet he had little or no
confidence in himself, as possessing those exterior
advantages which are soonest to strike the eye of
the world ; and the very idea of soliciting patron-
age, or subjecting himself, in any way, to a condi-
tion of servility or dependence, was most abhor-
rent to all his feelings. Hence, as I have before
observed, he proposed, at first, on leaving his stud-
ies at Andover, to live, for a while, on his father's
farm. "It is very essential," he said, in address-
ing the person most interested in his decision, "it
is very essential to my happiness and usefulness,
to be able to pursue my objects in my own way ;
and, with the independence and leisure which I
may hope to secure, I have little doubt that I shall
bring to pass more in five years, than I shall with
the perplexity that is likely to attend any public
employment which is open to me."
The few friends at Andover, to whom he dis-
closed his plans, thought it a romantic scheme,
much fairer in prospect, than it would prove to be
MEMOIR. 55
in the actual trial : and assured him, that at all
events, he would not be suffered to remain long in
his retreat. Some of them believed that he would
find reasons for abandoning his plan before he left;
the Seminary. There appears to have been some
ground for this conjecture ; for shortly after, the
prospect was held out to him from a quarter where
it was not altogether unexpected, of an active em-
ployment, quite agreeable to his wishes. An effort
had been made, I believe, by his friends at Prince-
ton, to procure him a place as an assistant to Dr.
Rice, in the editorship of a theological and literary
magazine, to be published at Philadelphia. Assured
of the friendship of Dr. Rice, and the favorable
opinion which that gentleman entertained of his
qualifications to write for a public journal, he
thought it not unlikely that he might soon hear
from him on the subject. Thus he was " hung
up for a while," as he expresses it, " between
Philadelphia and the farm, and vibrating with a
very irregular motion."
About this time, Dr. Green left the presidential
chair of Nassau Hall College, in New Jersey, and
Dr. Rice was elected his successor. In a letter to
Mr. Marsh from one of his Princeton friends, it is
intimated that Professor Lindsey, who was then
connected with the same college, might perhaps
be chosen to the place left by Dr. Green ; and
that, in this case, Mr. Marsh would be strongly
recommended to the vacant Professorship. But
however that may have been, the unsettled posi-
tion of his friend Dr. Rice, destroyed all the pros-
56 MEMOIR.
pects of Mr. Marsh for the present at the south,
and he made up his mind to go home to the farm.
How he employed himself there, I have no
means of ascertaining, from his letters or journal :
except that a month or two after his return home,
he appears to have been engaged on the transla-
tion of Bellermann, which he finished in Decem-
ber, having despatched five hundred pages in a
fortnight. He was now without an object to de-
tain him at home ; and, harrassed with doubt and
perplexity, he at last resolved to throw himself in-
to the scenes of life, where exertion would be
called for, and struggle to perform what the provi-
dence of God should seem to point out as his duty
in the world. So on the 6th of January, 1824,
he left his father's house, in compliance, as it would
seem, with an invitation from Dr. Rice, and arrived
at Princeton in the middle of the same month.
From Princeton he writes home, as follows :
" Of my future prospects, I can tell you nothing
new at present. Dr. Rice has not declined the
presiding here, and the whole matter is yet in a
state of uncertainty. Dr. R. was still sick at
Hampden Sidney College, three or four weeks
since, but was improving, and is probably at Rich-
mond before this. From what I can learn, my
business there will be principally with the maga-
zine ; and whether anything permanent is to be
expected, here or there, is yet entirely in the dark.
But if I gain nothing else, I have an opportunity
to try the strength of my own faith and patience,
and I hope the occasion will not be lost. If what
MEMOIR. 57
is lost, in worldly prospects, is gained in firmness
and consistency of christian character, the loss will
be great gain. You see that I am in a serious
mood, and look upon life with very sober feelings ;
but do not think that I am discouraged or unhap-
py. I trust I have too much philosophy, and
above all too much faith, to have my feelings very
greatly depressed by any such vicissitudes as may
happen to me. If we have still to learn that hap-
piness is not to be sought in worldly prospects, a
severe lesson may not be useless."
He proceeded onward to visit Dr. Rice at Rich-
mond, and was received by that noble-hearted
man and his excellent lady, with a frank and cor-
dial welcome. The doctor himself was but just
recovered from a most distressing and tedious sick-
ness, which had reduced him to the very brink of
the grave. Mr. Marsh gives an interesting account
of his first appearance in public, before his people,
which shows in a most favorable light the amiable
character of the man with whom the destinies of
his life seemed now about to be connected. " He
yesterday attended meeting in the morning ; and
after service by another (for he was unable to
preach), he slowly climbed into the pulpit and ap-
peared to his people, for the first time in public.
He alluded in the most impressive manner to his
sickness, and in reference to the deep interest and
earnest prayer of his people, said, I stand before
you as one prayed back from the brink of eternity.
The people were all in tears, and I was never
more interested than at such an expression of feel-
8
58 MEMOIR.
ing between a pastor and his people, especially
when, trembling with agitation, he leaned upon the
desk, while the whole congregation united in sing-
ing the doxology, with tears in their eyes."
In this amiable family, and in the pleasant soci-
ety of Richmond, Mr. Marsh spent several weeks,
before any thing was decided as to his future em-
ployment. " The family," he says, " have treated
me with the greatest friendship, and I feel more
attached to them than I could have believed I
should in so short a time. Their affectionate kind-
ness, indeed, makes me ashamed of my constitu-
tional coldness and reserve J for I can find neither
language nor gestures to make a suitable return
for the attentions which I continually receive.
Mrs. R. especially treats me with the confidence
of a sister ; and she seems resolved to think that
the doctor and I shall somehow fall pretty near to-
gether, wherever our lot is fixed in the world. He
is now balancing between Princeton and Hamp-
den Sidney ; and the strong attraction here keeps
him at present from falling either way. We have
both been struck with the coincidence of our views
and feelings on almost all the important subjects
on which we have conversed ; and I know few
things that would be more desirable to me in set-
tling, than to be connected with him. But it will
be hard, 1 am aware, to break off the ties that
hold us to New England." At length it was de-
cided that Mr. Marsh should go to Hampden Sid-
ney, but with what prospects, or in what capacity,
seems to have been left somewhat doubtful. In
MEMOIR. 59
announcing this, Mr. Marsh says, " I have no
doubt, though he has not said it in so many
words, that Dr. Rice has some view to his own
decision in sending me there. The worst circum-
stances is, that my duty is so undefined, that I
shall be in danger of doing nothing to my satisfac-
tion ; but I hope to do some good." The follow-
ing was his first letter from Hampden Sidney, and
is interesting as giving his first impressions of the
scene of his future labors.
" H. S. College, Feb. 25, 1823.
" I am once more seated in a solitary room, and
at leisure to let my thoughts wander at will, at
least for a few moments. But they very soon reach
the place of their destination, though it is far away.
No sooner do I seat myself alone, and look upon
the magic characters that are written in the fire,
than I feel as if mounted upon " the wondrous
horse of brass," and am transported in a moment's
time to the fairy land of our own green hills and
greener meadows. I can scarcely see, so swift is
the motion of the " bridleless steed," the vast
regions that vanish behind me, till I reach the lit-
tle retreat where I have so often wandered. I
know when I approach it, by the green hills and
mountains ; and even the snow that covers the
whole, with its sparkling uniformity, cannot de-
ceive me. The moment I look from the fire, the
charm is dissolved. The little naked, white-
washed room, the fireplace without furniture, the
face of the country all around, the woolly-headed
60 MEMOIR.
servants, and the recollection of many a tedious
mile, remind me that the comforts of a New Eng-
land home are far from me. But I do not mean
to give you a very sad picture of Virginia, lest I
should have occasion to varnish it over again.
But if you should ever be inclined to come here,
I can tell you something of what you will meet
with. You will find the whole household estab-
lishment on a most wretched footing. The
houses of the most respectable families in this
country are not so well provided with what we
call conveniences of life, as those of ordinary farm-
ers in New England. Every thing is left to the
servants, and every thing is out of order. But
the Virginians hate trouble, and so concern them-
selves little about it. They never make any apol-
ogies, but welcome you kindly and heartily to such
as they have. The servants are generally negli-
gent, and a day behind-hand, (a Yankee phrase,)
and a stranger, at first, fares among them but
poorly. Here I live quite in college style ; have a
room by myself in friend Cushing's house, and
board with him and three other young gentlemen,
(students,) quite in an old bachelor way. No
woman is connected with the establishment, but a
black cook, in another building. I have a few
Hebrew scholars, and meet with the theological
society of students, and preach occasionally. Dr.
Rice is still deliberating about coming here to
establish a theological seminary. If he comes, as
he probably will, he will wish me to be connected
with him. But whether he will have sufficient
MEMOIR. 61
means to support an assistant, and whether, if he
does, it will be ray duty to make a longer stay
here than I contemplated, are questions that I can-
not decide at present. We must leave our con-
cerns with Providence, and I pray that I may be
prepared to do what that shall direct, with submis-
sion, if not with cheerfulness.
" I have found good people here, and am in the
room which the good Dr. Hoge occupied as his
study. The names of Drury, Lacy, and of Dr.
Alexander, are written about the windows and
walls. The shadows of many good men, indeed,
seem to rise up around me, and exhort me to do
with my might what my hands find to do. Pray
for me, that I may be a faithful servant of the
Lord Jesus."
Mr. Marsh found many friends in the pleasant
neighborhood of Hampden Sidney ; but the nature
of the employment in which he was now engaged,
as well as the entire uncertainty of his future pros-
pects, depressed and discouraged him. He ex-
presses these feelings in his next letter. " Good
as the people are," he says, " and well as I am
treated, I feel myself alone. In a word, I was
never made for society. The feelings that might
flow spontaneously in solitude with my friends,
are chilled, and all powers of sympathy destroyed,
by the intercourse of the world. I have not
learned, and never can learn, to throw myself
into the bustle of society and enjoy the unre-
strained intercourse of feelings. Either my heart
is not sufficiently susceptible by nature, or I have
62 MEMOIR. ;.....* -a
loaded it too much with the lumber of learning,
and kept it mewed up too long in the cell of the
student It has strong and permanent attach-
ments, and I feel their strength now more than
ever ; but the lighter spirits that float nearer the
surface of the soul, and are ready to flash out on
every occasion, are exhausted by the midnight
lamp, or more probably were never there. I am
sometimes almost resolved to give up this vain at-
tempt to act in public, and devote myself to study,
till an opportunity to be useful as a literary man shall
present itself. I am satisfied that I shall never
do any thing valuable in any other way ; and the
attempt only leaves such a feeling of discourage-
ment and dissatisfaction with myself, as makes
me unhappy, and in the end unfits me for doing
any thing."
The acting in public, to which he alludes above,
was preaching; a duty for which, even under the
most favorable circumstances, he never thought
himself well calculated ; and which must have
been peculiarly irksome and painful in the present
depression of his mind. One of his correspond-
ents at Hampden Sidney afterwards good-humor-
edly alluded to his "attempts" of this sort, and
thought them by no means so bad. " The sinks"
he says, "you used to make at college, are fre-
quently spoken of. This should encourage you to
do better, if you still continue to preach, which, I
hope, is the case."
Tired, at length, of the suspense and uncer-
tainty, from which he saw no prospect of being
MEMOIR. 63
very soon relieved, Mr. Marsh determined to aban-
don all expectations of being usefully employed at
the South, and turned his steps towards home,
where he arrived some time in the month of May.
The little success, which he imagined he had met
with in his pulpit essays in Virginia, led him to
turn his attention, more seriously than ever, to
other fields of exertion ; and he now resolved to
devote himself to literary labors, provided the way
should be opened for his doing it with the pros-
pect of usefulness to his fellow men. He thought
he saw an opening of this sort at New Haven,
where an editor was wanted for the Christian
Spectator. Accordingly, he wrote a letter of in-
quiry to a friend ; and, while waiting for the an-
swer, which was delayed long beyond his hopes,
addressed the following consolatory lines to Miss
Wheelock, now in Maine, who naturally sympa-
thized in all the trials with which he was himself
so perplexed and embarrassed. " There are many
things which we look upon as blessings, that are
incompatible with each other, from their own na-
ture or ours ; and it is very probable that, after
comparing what we possess with other things that
we wish for, we should find such to be the case
with them, and deliberately prefer our present
condition. The different parts of our fortune must
be consistent with each other; and wealth and
worldly prosperity are not often found joined with
the meek and patient temper, which I hope we
may both cherish and love more than any outward
distinctions. ' Let Euphorion (says Bishop Tay-
64 MEMOIR.
lor,) live quietly with his old rich wife ; and re-
member, thou canst not have his riches, unless you
have his wife too.' Now, for myself, I know few
with whom I would exchange circumstances, on
the whole, poorly as I think of some of mine. But
the most trying thing to our pride, after all, is, to
admit that we need consolation. The very idea
of it, as of being pitied, is humiliating ; and it is
more natural to harden ourselves against disap-
pointment, and take refuge in self-confidence and
pride, than meekly to study wisdom and content-
ment by such reflections. This is especially the
case, when our fortune seems to depend chiefly
upon ourselves ; and to keep one's feelings calm
and unruffled, to be patient and humble, in such
circumstances, is itself a great victory. You will
think, from this style, that I am in very low spirits,
and looking on every side for support; but it is not
the case. I am studying with some diligence ;
and hope, as soon as a door of usefulness is opened,
to engage with some zeal and success. In the
mean time, my dear L., let us employ the means
of happiness and usefulness in our power; and, in
whatsoever state we are, therewith be content
ourselves, and diffuse peace and contentment
around us."
The answer from his friend at New Haven at
last arrived, and the prospect, of which he never
had very high notions, proved so much more indef-
inite and discouraging than he feared, that he im-
mediately wrote to decline any further action un-
der the conditions proposed. It was a great pity
*
MEMOIR. 65
that Mr. Marsh's application, in this case, met
with no better success ; for no man could have
been found, who would have entered with a more
genial spirit into the management of such a work ;
and, undoubtedly, no efforts would have been
spared by him, to render it such as he had marked
out in his imagination. About this time, some of
his friends, without his own knowledge, used their
influence to find a place for him at Cambridge ;
and one or two of the Professors, to whom the
subject was mentioned, spoke favorably of the
plan. But before any thing definite could be done,
the sky began to break in another quarter ; and
Mr. Marsh was summoned to meet Dr. Rice, whose
plans were now matured, and who was recruiting
his health at Saratoga Springs. Mr. Marsh lost
no time in complying with the invitation of that
noble and well-tried friend; and soon wrote back
from Troy, with the good spirits of a man who
had found, at last, what he had almost learned to
give up in despair.
"I met Dr. Rice," he says, "yesterday, in Al-
bany, and have spent part of the day with him and
Mrs. Rice, at Dr. Chester's. I find every thing
arranged as I had wished ; and the course of my
own future labors is at last so defined, that I know
what I have to do, and can begin to act with a
view to a connected and regular plan. I begin to
feel, indeed, as if the field of my labor was spread
before me, and the horrors of suspense and doubt
and indecision are losing their hold. My efforts,
for the present, will be divided between the Col-
9
66 MEMOIR.
lege and the Theological School ; but the instruc-
tion will all be in departments in which I am much
interested, and for which I am, perhaps, best qual-
ified."
Before setting his face to the South, however,
Mr. Marsh made a journey through the White
Hills, to Saco, in Maine, for the purpose of visit-
ing his friend and the destined companion of his
labors in the field he was about to visit. From
thence he went to Boston, and soon after took
passage, in a coaster, for Norfolk, where he ar-
rived safely on the last of November.
The passage was a stormy one ; and Mr. Marsh,
who was the only person in the cabin free from
sickness, found employment enough in taking care
of the passengers who were not so well off.
Among the rest was a little black-eyed Jewess of
fifteen, who spoke and wrote German, Dutch,
French and English, and read Hebrew. "You
may well suppose," he says, " that I would be a
good deal interested in this fine daughter of Abra-
ham, as well from her origin, as her personal char-
acter. She seems a very inexperienced and sim-
ple girl, though she has been in several of the
European capitals, and resided in most of the prin-
cipal cities in this country. She has been so sick,
too, all the way, as scarcely to be able to help
herself at all ; and, some of the time, could not
even hold up her head ; so that I was compelled,
though, indeed, no compulsion was necessary, in a
case of so much helplessness and distress to place
myself by her side, and afford all the support and
I
MEMOIR. 67
assistance in my power, in the midst of confusion
and sometimes of terror." The young Jewess
was the only other passenger in the ship, besides
himself, bound for Richmond ; and when they ar-
rived, introduced her friendly companion and pro-
tector to her father's family, and a host of Jewish
acquaintances. The next morning, he went to the
Synagogue, and was much gratified with the op-
portunity to witness their religious service. When
this was over, " several of the congregation came
to me at once," he says, " and spoke to me, and
seemed much gratified to have observed that I read
the Hebrew with points. Some very interesting
looking boys, especially, seemed anxious to talk
with me ; and I had several quite polite and even
pressing invitations to call on them. I am the
more pleased, as they, in fact, know little of He-
brew, and seem anxious to learn; and I hope I
may be of some service to them." These details
are so characteristic of the man, that I could not
forbear, though at some risk of being tedious, in-
serting them in this place.
At Richmond he soon had the pleasure of meet-
ing Dr. Rice and his lady, who arrived from Bos-
ton by land, not an hour after himself. Here he
had another opportunity of witnessing the strong
attachment of the people to their former pastor.
" I felt," he says on this occasion, " as if I was too
much a stranger, and had too little sympathy with
the strong feeling that *vas expressed. One com-
pany had hardly dried their tears, till others of the
good doctor's people came in, and some of them
68 MEMOIR.
sobbed aloud, as they hung upon Dr. and Mrs.
Rice, and kissed them. In short we were all very
happy to be together in Richmond."
His happiness was not less, when he found him-
self, at last, quietly settled and engaged in the in-
teresting and important duties of his calling, asso-
ciated with such a man as Dr. Rice, whose excel-
lent qualities of mind and heart opened more and
more upon him, on better acquaintance. " Taking
him all in all," he said, " I value his character
more than that of any man whom I have yet
known, decidedly. He is a great and good man,
with the devotion of a primitive saint, and the en-
thusiasm of a scholar." Thus pleasantly situated,
with a definite object before him, and the prospect
of more extended usefulness, Mr. Marsh soon re-
gained the vigor and elasticity of mind to which
he had been long a stranger, and entered with an
ardor which he inspired in all around him, into his
cherished but long neglected studies. " I was
kept up last night," he says in a letter which he
wrote soon after commencing his duties at Hamp-
den Sidney, " till 12 o'clock, by a discussion in a
society we have formed here, and which, by the
excitement and interest it is producing, reminds
me of Hanover more strongly than any thing of
the kind 1 have enjoyed since the days of my
tutorship." I cannot forbear to remark here, that
the excitement and interest of which he speaks,
was a contagion caught from his own mind, and
which seldom failed to be spread by his simple,
earnest words, whenever he spoke upon any sub-
MEMOIR. 69
ject with which his own mind was full. This was
one among many other causes of his great power
and success as a teacher. " I slept but little," he
continues, "and dreamed of 'auld lang syne.'
And I am never more happy, than in that state of
feverish excitement, in which the mind is too
much roused to admit of sleep. I feel then the
superior dignity and worth of mind, too serious
for anything volatile or playful, and my thoughts
fix on great and serious subjects. I feel, too, a
consciousness of intellectual strength, that may
have something of pride mixed with it, but which
still I would not lose* because it prompts me to
worthy enterprizes. You perceive I am getting
my thoughts and feelings aroused here, and acquir-
ing self-confidence once more. I am doing so :
and I see here a field of labor, large enough for all
the powers I ever had the vanity to think myself
possessed of." There was but one perplexing dif-
ficulty to be encountered, and one which, even to
the candid and liberal mind of Mr. Marsh, ever
ready to make the largest allowance for habits of
thinking and feeling different from his own, seem-
ed insurmountable. " Slavery," he says, " presses
upon this southern country with an intolerable
weight. In whatever direction I turn my thoughts,
to devise plans for the intellectual and moral im-
provement of the people, slavery and its necessary
accompaniments stare me in the face, and mock
me with the fruitlessness of my efforts. The sim-
ple and obvious fact, that men who have from fifty
to a hundred slaves, must have large plantations to
70 v MEMOIR.
support them, and must consequently live scattered
at a distance from each other, presents, of itself,
insuperable difficulties in the way of any high de-
gree of cultivation."
The particular employment of Mr. Marsh, in
his connexion both with the college and 'with the
theological school, was the teaching of languages ;
but he meant by no means to confine himself to
that comparatively limited sphere. Some of his
friends were anxious that he should preach ; and
were at a loss to see why so good a talker might
not talk in the pulpit as well as elsewhere. But
he looked upon the matter in a different light.
" I have," he says, " an unconquerable inclination
to a course of thinking, and habits of mind, which
are almost or quite incompatible with preaching ;
and in following which, I hope to be more useful
than I could ever hope to be as a public speaker.
Every man who can wield a pen and write to the
purpose, and who sees the state and prospects of
this country, ought to feel himself called on to use
it in the promotion of moral principles and right
views of religious and moral improvement. Shall
I tell you, I would aim, if I could hope to pro-
duce even a little effect, to influence the views of
intelligent men, and rouse all who have the ca-
pacity, to something of enthusiasm in promoting
the solid and permanent moral interests and the
highest happiness of this free and happy country,
to wipe away the dark stain of slavery, and be-
come, in the language of Milton, the soberest,
MEMOIR. 71
wisest, and most christian people of these latter
days."
In the theological school especially, to the es-
tablishment of which Dr. Rice had consecrated his
life, Mr. Marsh took the deepest interest, as an
institution most intimately connected with all those
objects which he thought it most desirable to pro-
mote. But like the great and good man who had
given himself wholly to it, he was for placing it
on the broadest foundation, and for having it de-
voted to no other interest than simply Christ and
the church. " What is wanted here," he said,
" is a school as free as possible from sectarian feel-
ings, with liberal plans, and primitive zeal and
devotion. I most sincerely desire that such an
one may be built up ; and could I be useful in
accomplishing it, would do almost any thing in my
power to do, but shall never sacrifice my inde-
pendence of opinion, or labor upon the paltry lit-
tleness of any human system."
It was with this school Mr. Marsh expected to be
ultimately connected as Professor of the Oriental
languages. This was the wish of Dr. Rice ; and
the presbytery who had the oversight of the Insti-
tution, cordially concurred in it. As the funds,
however, did not at present suffice for the full
support of a Professor in that department, Mr.
Marsh was solicited to remain for a time on
a somewhat different footing, but which would
make him sure of an adequate support. Every
thing seemed now prepared for his permanent
settlement in life. Accordingly, in the summer
72 MEMOIR.
of 1824, he set out on his return to New Eng-
land, for the purpose of being married, and making
such other arrangements as were suited to his
present plans.
Instead of taking the direct route and trav-
elling in the speediest way, Mr. Marsh chose to
improve this opportunity to visit, at his leisure,
whatever was most remarkable and interesting in
the State which he had now adopted as his own.
Accordingly he started on horseback, and directed
his course towards the West. I have heard him
speak of this journey as one of the most pleasant
and interesting he ever made. He saw much
that was new in men and manners, as well as in
the face of nature, and tried life in some of its
strangest forms. One night he reached, almost
dead with fatigue, the log-hut of a German widow,
near the highest point of the Capen mountains.
The sons were out hunting bears ; but the old lady
said she never turned any body away, and it was
five miles to another house. " So," says he, " I
waited upon myself, or, in the woman's dialect,
1 gave some truck to my critter,' and after a frugal
supper of apples and milk, climbed the ladder, and
went to bed, among all sorts of lumber and all
kinds of four-footed beasts and creeping things."
The garret, however, he observes, was well aired,
and he could see, as they revolved around, all the
hosts of heaven. At another time, he passed the
Sabbath in the family of an old Scotch Presbyte-
rian, who possessed all the strong peculiarities of
his race, and with his broad accent spent nearly
MEMOIR. 73
the whole day in giving him his Hght on many
passages of the Bible. He had lived there, in
the very heart of the Alleghany, for thirty years,
with very few neighbors, and those mostly igno-
rant Germans ; and when a stranger called upon
him who seemed able to receive the light, he
felt himself called upon to let it shine for the
benefit of the world. His wife was from the
neighborhood of Washington, with the manners
and education of a lady. Our traveller marvelled
somewhat, and was very much interested to meet
with such a family in that mountainous wilder-
ness. At Brownsville, on the banks of the Mo-
nongahela, he visited his brother, who had been
settled there for several years ; and the three hun-
dred miles which he had travelled on horseback
having fully satisfied his inclination, he now sold
his horse, and performed the rest of the journey
by the way of Lake Erie, and down the canal to
Albany.
As soon as he had arrived among his friends at
the north, he received the notice of his appoint-
ment to a Professorship in Hampden Sidney Col-
lege. At Hanover, on the 12th of October, he
was ordained to the sacred office of a christian
minister ; on the 14th was married, and immedi-
ately thereupon set out with his wife for their new
home, which they reached in health and safety, on
the 30th of the same month. While at the north,
some of his friends had predicted that he would
not be suffered to remain long out of New Eng-
land. He smiled at the well meant compliment ;
10
74
MEMOIR.
but saw no reason to complain of his lot, or to sup-
pose that it might be changed. The department
assigned to him in the college, was not the one he
would be likely to have chosen for himself. He
was conscious of being better fitted for another
sphere. In the knowledge of languages, it is true,
both ancient and modern, his attainments were ex-
tensive ; but he had studied them rather for his
own use, than with any view or expectation of
teaching them to others. To the minute accuracy
of a well trained grammatical scholar, he made
little pretension ; perhaps his habits would never
have allowed him to become a great proficient
in that branch of learning. But his idea of what
constitutes a philologist was both just and ade-
quate ; and, as it now seemed evidently to be the
design of Providence that this should be the busi-
ness of his life, he set himself earnestly to the task
of preparing himself thoroughly for his duties,
gathering around him for this purpose, all the
means he could find at hand, and sending abroad
for such necessary books as he could not obtain
nearer home. At the same time he exerted him-
self to excite a greater interest in classical studies,
and to correct the popular notion, which had al-
ready crept into some of the schools of learning,
that such studies are useless, and ought no longer
to have a place in our systems of education. On
this subject his opinion was very decided ; and it
may not be out of place to insert here, some of the
views which he shortly afterwards embodied in an
able article published in the Christian Spectator. "It
MEMOIR. 75
is not merely," he maintained, " as forming habits
of mind, the benefits of which are to be afterwards
enjoyed, that the employment of months and years
in the study of language is to be defended. It
must, from the nature of the case, be the most di-
rect and effectual method, if faithfully pursued, of
developing our own minds, and hastening our in-
tellectual growth. This will be the result, to some
extent, whatever language be the object of atten-
tion, if it be studied critically, and its principles
fully comprehended. But for the purposes of gen-
eral instruction, it is our duty to employ, as the
instruments of cultivation, those languages which
exhibit the most regular and the most perfect de-
velopement of the human mind. In making our-
selves masters of these, as contained in their clas-
sic authors, * * we do indeed appropriate to our-
selves the intellectual treasures of many genera-
tions. In the organization of a language, philo-
sophically contemplated and understood, we have
the human mind itself, as it w T ere, exhibited to our
view in its complex and diversified operations. In
studying a language like the Greek, containing a
regular structure and systematic developement
from its own radical forms, we trace the gradual
and progressive evolutions of thought ; we follow
the mind in the history of its advancement ; and
often in investigating the derivative forms of a sin-
gle root, and observing the relations and transitions
of thought which they exhibit, we obtain views
and secure a knowledge of the human mind, of
more interest to the philosopher than the history
76 MEMOIR.
of an Oriental dynasty." While thus laboring to
promote a spirit of classical learning in the Col-
lege, he did not forget the other duties which de-
volved on him, in his connexion with the Theolog-
ical School. He made it a point to read every
day a portion of Hebrew, and he began to study
the Aramaic and Syriac languages. He now com-
menced also the translation of Herder's Spirit of
Hebrew Poetry, the first parts of which were pub-
lished in several successive numbers of the Chris-
tian Repository at Princeton. At the same time
he kept up an active literary correspondence with
scholars, both at the north and the south, and with
some of our missionaries among the Indians, from
whom he drew much curious information respect-
ing the forms and structure of the languages
spoken by those southern tribes.
From first to last, Mr. Marsh was connected
with Hampden Sidney College about three years ;
a time hardly sufficient to enable him fully to re-
alize any of his plans. But when he was called,
as he so soon was, into another field, he left behind
him an impression of his competency to fulfil the
highest expectations of his friends ; and during
that short period, many young minds took from him
a direction which decided their characters for life,
as was long afterwards, in several cases, gratefully
acknowledged.
In October, 1826, Mr. Marsh was appointed
President of the University in his native State. It
was not the first time he had been thought of, as
a suitable person to fill that responsible office. As
w
MEMOIR. 77
early as 1821, while a theological student at An-
dover, he had been consulted about becoming a
candidate for the place, which happened then to
be vacant. But, by the advice of his friends, he
prudently declined making any positive engage-
ment ; and such, indeed, was the condition of the
college, and so uncertain were its prospects, that
the corporation proceeded no farther, on that occa-
sion, than to appoint a temporary head ; leaving it
in the power of the faculty to suspend, at any mo-
ment they pleased, the course of public instruction.
The affairs of the college were now in a some-
what better condition. Since the time I have just
spoken of, the old college edifice, it is true, had
been destroyed by fire ; but this misfortune, which
was already, in a measure, repaired by the erection
of new buildings, had been the means of calling
forth an expression of public sympathy which au-
gured well, inasmuch as it evinced the interest still
felt in the State for the preservation of its oldest
institution of learning. In other respects, how-
ever, there was not much that could be considered
very hopeful or inviting. The students were few
in number ; the funds not wholly free from embar-
rassment ; the library and apparatus a mere name ;
and besides, an impression seemed to prevail with
many, that an institution doomed to so many
strange calamities, was never destined to succeed,
and had better be given up by its friends.
All these circumstances were well known to Mr.
Marsh ; nor had he failed to measure his own
strength, and to consider how far he was prepared
i
i
I
78 MEMOIR.
to contend with such difficulties. The situation,
as he states in his journal, was not one for which
he supposed himself, in all respects, best qualified.
But he thought that, on the whole, the way of his
duty was clear, and resolved to undertake the re-
sponsible trust, hoping, as he expressed it, that, by
the Divine assistance, he should be able to conform
his habits to the duties required of him, and to act
with energy and effect. To re-establish in the
public confidence and favor an institution which
seemed on the very verge of extinction, appeared
to him an object worthy of his highest efforts; and
he saw, moreover, an opportunity, the most favor-
able that could be desired, for introducing such
improvements in the system of discipline and in-
struction, as were called for by the wants of the
age. This was the great business to which he first
directed his energies ; and no sooner was the fac-
ulty reorganized, than he brought it forward as a
matter for thoughtful inquiry and earnest discus-
sion.
I need not say that, on the whole subject of ed-
ucation, Mr. Marsh's views were liberal and en-
larged. It would be out of place for me here to
enter into a full exposition of his opinions on the
collegiate systems of this country. He had stud-
ied them faithfully, and compared them with those
of the old world. I shall content myself with a
brief statement of what he considered to be the
chief defects in the prevailing systems, and of the
means by which he thought these defects might
be at least partially remedied, without any wide
MEMOIR. 79
departure from the spirit and essential character of
our institutions.
It was his opinion, that in our colleges gener-
ally, the rules for the admission of students were
too limited and inflexible. Admitting the princi-
ple, he said, in its fullest sense, that the business
of education is to develope the mind, and to make
it conscious of its own powers ; and that a certain
course of studies must be insisted on, as, on the
whole, best adapted to this end ; yet, why exclude
any who may be unfortunately prevented from em-
bracing the whole of this course, from the privi-
lege of taking that part of it which lies within
their means? There seemed to him to be no good
reason for this. The best system, he maintained,
is, after all, but partial in its effect ; it cannot give
a full developement to every capacity of the mind,
nor fit it alike for all the various pursuits of life.
Why, then, in aiming exclusively at an object
which is in itself unattainable, forget others which
also have their importance ? It is better to have
a partial education, than none at all ; it is better
to get this at a college, furnished with ample and
liberal means of instruction, than at inferior schools,
where no such means are enjoyed. So he rea-
soned ; and he believed that the evils, which, it
might be feared, would result from thus extending
the privileges of collegiate instruction, were either
imaginary or could easily be obviated. There was
no necessity implied in it of lowering the standard
of education, or of encouraging young men to pur-
I
80 MEMOIR.
sue a partial course, whose circumstances allowed
them to do more.
He was also for allowing considerable more lat-
itude to the native inclinations and tendencies of
different minds. It was absurd to expect every
young mind to develope itself in just the same
way ; and equally absurd to confine each one to
the same kind and quantity of study, as if it were
possible for all to receive alike. Wherever a right
tendency appeared, he thought it should be encour-
aged, and allowed the freest room to unfold itself;
and that to set up any particular system of study
as an absolute law, from which there could be no
departure, was to forget the true business of edu-
cation, and sometimes the surest way to frustrate
its end. But the independence for which he con-
tended was not an unlimited one. He would still
have a regular, systematic course of studies for the
general guidance ; and as this would be adapted to
the average wants of the students, all might be
required to conform to it, without preventing or
discouraging any who might be disposed to push
their studies in other directions, to whatever ex-
tent they pleased.
He thought the methods of instruction in use
too formal and inefficient. There was not enough
of actual teaching, and too much importance was
attached to text-books. He wanted to see more
constant and familiar intercourse between the
mind of teacher and learner. The student, he
held, should be required, not merely to exercise
his talents in apprehending the ideas of others,
m
MEMOIR. 81
but should have his mind brought in contact with
those of his instructers, and his own powers of
thought and judgment invigorated and sharpened
by competition with theirs. In his opinion, there
was a want of free and familiar discussion, and of
such actual trial of the scholar's powers, as would
give him the habit of applying them with promp-
titude and effect, and impart that knowledge of
one's own resources, which is so important in the
business of life.
In regard to morals and formation of character,
he did not consider that to be necessarily the best
system which secures the most minute and strict
observance of college rules, or even of the exter-
nal requisitions of morality ; but that which most
effectually unfolds and exercises correct principles
of action in the mind of the individual scholar.
The virtue which is practised from a love of it, he
said, and from the dictates of a growing moral
principle, is of more value than that which pro-
ceeds from a fear of college censures. The one
affords permanent security for the future charac-
ter of the individual ; the other may leave him
exposed to temptation, which he has no means of
resisting, the moment he ceases to feel his accus-
tomed restraints. And the same principle he
would apply to every department of intellectual
cultivation. The mind, he said, whose powers,
by whatever course of study, are thoroughly
awakened and exercised in the proper manner, is
prepared to act with promptitude in every emer-
gency, and can readily acquire the particular
11
82 MEMOIR.
knowledge necessary in the peculiar circumstances
in which it may be placed. The scholar, for ex-
ample, who has successfully cultivated his reason-
ing powers, and accustomed himself to the inde-
pendent exercise of his own judgment in the use
of them, will be able to reason correctly, whether
at the bar or in the senate ; but he who has mere-
ly learned Euclid without studying for himself
and putting in practice the principles of reasoning,
may be lost the moment he traverses beyond the
book, and in the practical duties of life, may show
himself a dunce. To develope and cherish, then,
those great principles which are to form the char-
acter of the student in his intercourse with the
world, to call into vigorous and habitual exercise
those powers which are the elements of all intel-
lectual power, and to do this by employing, as the
means, departments of knowledge which will in
themselves be of the greatest practical utility, he
considered to be the true aim of education, which
ought never to be lost sight of in a minute atten-
tion to less important matters.
Many evils, as he conceived, were connected
with the mechanical system at present adopted in
the classification of students ; and he thought it in
the highest degree desirable to fix upon some
method which should pay more respect to the real
abilities and attainments of scholars, and which
would allow them to pass from one division to
another, according to the degree of proficiency or
promise which they actually manifested. But he
was fully aware of the practical difficulties which
: |
MEMOIR. 83
must attend every plan of this sort which could be
proposed ; and therefore never urged this point,
except as one that he rather wished than ever ex-
pected to see fully accomplished. In a word, he
thought the whole collegiate system of study, as
existing in this country, too much of a mechanical
routine, wherein each individual who had taken
the prescribed number of steps and gone through
all the forms, might be sure of his degree in the
arts at the end of the course ; it mattered little
whether he had been idle or industrious. The
mere formal examinations which were then deemed
sufficient at many of the colleges, appeared to him
to be, on the whole, rather worse than useless.
Examinations rightly conducted, on the other
hand, he considered of the utmost importance,
both as furnishing a powerful incentive to study,
and a very fair means of determining the real
attainments and merit of the scholar.
The improvements he proposed may be briefly
summed up under the following heads : First, as
to the rules for the admission of students, he would
have them so modified as to extend the privileges of
collegiate instruction, under certain regulations, to
those whose necessities would limit them to a part
only of the general course. Secondly, as to the
system of discipline, he would have a mode of
government more entirely parental, and more ex-
clusively confined to the exertion of moral and
social influence, and where this failed, would pre-
fer simply to exclude the unworthy individual from
the enjoyment of his privileges. Thirdly, as to the
84 MEMOIR.
method of instruction, he would have it uniformly
directed in all its branches to the ultimate result
of a full and manly developement of the individual,
without thwarting or coercing the native tenden-
cies of his mind. Fourthly, as to the system of
classification or subdivision, he would have it such
as at least to encourage those who showed them-
selves able and disposed to do more than accom-
plish the prescribed course, to pursue other addi-
tional studies under the advice and direction of the
faculty. Fifthly, he proposed to have all designa-
tions of rank and of scholarship proceed on the
absolute instead of the relative merit of the stu-
dent, and to be determined on a close examination,
by appropriate marks, to be recorded at the end
of each year.
These views and opinions, which I have taken
partly from my own recollections and partly from
the original paper submitted by Mr. Marsh to the
corporation of the University, were after being
fully discussed by the faculty and by that body,
adopted as the ground-work of a change in the
whole system of the institution, afterwards made
known to the public in a pamphlet drawn up by di-
rection of the faculty, and entitled "An Exposition
of the Course of Instruction and Discipline in the
University of Vermont." The pamphlet was sent
to such as it was thought would be likely to take
an interest in the subject of which it treated.
Several of the Presidents and Professors connected
with other colleges in New England, were pleased
to express their approbation of the main features
MEMOIR. 85
in the plan, and thought there could be little doubt
that the experiment would ultimately prove a suc-
cessful one. As to its actual success, it may be
remarked, that the system has thus far fulfilled
every reasonable expectation of its friends; though
it must be allowed that, owing to various circum-
stances, it has been unavoidably subjected to some
essential modifications.
Having accomplished this object, in effecting
which, I may observe, he had the cordial co-opera-
tion of his fellow officers in the faculty, and having
thus established his character as an enterprising
and efficient President, Mr. Marsh now turned his
attention to other matters, more immediately con-
nected with his favorite pursuits. From the first,
he had been accustomed to take an active part in
the business of instruction. The department to
which he chiefly confined himself in teaching, was
intellectual and moral philosophy, the same which
afterwards became his more exclusive field of
labor. Philosophy was with him a far more com-
prehensive, more deeply seated and vital interest,
than many seem willing to regard it. It had occu-
pied his most earnest thoughts, ever since he could
call himself a student ; and on all the important
questions and principles which it embraces, he had
already attained to a clear knowledge, both of what
the human mind had done, and what still remained
to be accomplished. The problem which now in-
terested him, and to which he chiefly directed his
inquiries and meditations, was to fix definitely the
true and only legitimate method of scientific in-
86 MEMOIR.
quiry ; such a method as would involve in its own
very nature the necessity of progress, and which
would vindicate the result to which it led, by being
one and identical with the constitution of the hu-
man intellect itself. To the want of this, he
thought, might be attributed most of the errors and
deficiences of the prevailing systems. He felt it
to be the first duty which he owed to those whom
he was to guide in the study of philosophy, to take
care that they should receive no direction from
him which he had not ascertained, to his own satis-
faction, to be the way prescribed by reason and
truth. But the clear and conscious knowledge of
a truly philosophical method, not merely in its gen-
eral outlines, but in all its wide details and appli-
cations, as it is one of the most important, so it is
one of the most difficult, and therefore slowest
attainments of a meditative mind. It was not till
after many years, that Mr. Marsh succeeded in so
far realizing his object as to be quite satisfied
not with his leading principles, for these had long
been well settled in his mind but with the en-
tire form of his system, as containing within itself
the unity of an organic whole.
Early in the year 1828, an event occurred in his
family which diverted his attention entirely from
these matters, and for many months engrossed all
his feelings and thoughts. This was the sickness
of his wife ; which, gradually assuming a more
and more threatening character, at length took the
form of a settled decline, and resulted in her death
on the 18th of August, in the same year. Thus
MEMOIR. 87
were his hopes of happiness cut off, as he remarks
in his journal, in the only place where he expected
to find it the domestic circle. They had been
connected in marriage a little less than four years ;
their hearts had been united for a much longer
period. The pure and devoted attachment of Mr.
Marsh to this excellent woman shone mildly forth
in all their intercourse with each other, while to-
gether, and remains embalmed, I may say, in an
enduring form, for his friends, in the letters he
wrote her from Andover and from the south ;
letters in which the warmth of true affection is ex-
pressed with a noble simplicity, as it gushes uncon-
sciously from the depth of christian principles.
This was the first of his domestic calamities, and
on this account, if no other, doubtless the most
severe of all he was ever called to experience.
But he was enabled to endure it with christian for-
titude and resignation.
As soon as he had recovered from the first shock
of this heavy affliction, he returned to his studies,
with a determination to turn them to some practi-
cal account ; and the following year of his life was .
one of uncommon activity. During the next win-
ter and the spring of 1829, he published, in the
Vermont Chronicle, a series of papers, signed
" Philopolis," on the subject of popular education.
He also wrote, for the Christian Spectator, a long
and elaborate review of Professor Stuart's Com-
mentary on Hebrews. This article, which con-
tains the germ of some of those thoughts the wri-
ter afterwards more fully unfolded, is chiefly val- //
88 MEMOIR.
uable on account of the clear and distinct manner
in which he has defined the particular province
and pointed out the true use of grammatical inter-
pretation, as applied to the Scriptures. " The
Jews," he says, " had no need of learned criticism
and a large apparatus of antiquarian lore, to under-
stand the words of our Saviour or of Paul. They
required but the ordinary exercise of the under-
standing; and if they did not discern the deep
spiritual import of the words addressed to them, it
was because they were earthly minded, and had
not the Spirit. Now it is the precise and appro-
priate aim of such criticism as that of Professor
Stuart, to give us the same advantages which they
enjoyed ; to place us in the same relative condition
for apprehending spiritual truths, in which they
were placed. It is to clear away the incidental
obstacles to our right discernment, that the princi-
ples and the apparatus of criticism are employed.
The duty of the critical and grammatical inter-
preter is, to show us precisely and definitely the
notions which a writer's words must naturally have
conveyed to the understanding of those to whom
they were addressed. It is simply to accomplish
this, that it becomes necessary to investigate the
laws and usus loquendi of the language employed ;
and so fully to occupy our minds with all that was
peculiar and important in the habit and condition
of the people addressed and of the writer, as to be
able, as, it were, to see with their eyes and hear
with their ears. If the critic enables us to do this,
or, having done it himself, gives us, with clearness
MEMOIR. 89
and fidelity, the result of his labors, it will then
depend, as in the case of the Jews, upon the state
of our own spiritual being, how far we shall ap-
prehend the things of the Spirit." Speaking of
the prejudice which existed against this sort of
learning, since it had been abused in Germany to
the purposes of infidelity, he goes on to remark
that "we have more fear of injury to the cause of
religion from the influence of superficial modes and
systems of philosophizing, than from the principles
of criticism. It is the surreptitious introduction
of false philosophy alone, that gives any just
ground to fear the results of interpretation ; and
to this we are exposed far more in the application
of criticism without principles, than of that which
is guided by the laws of language and the princi-
ples of right reason. It is, in short, the evil heart
of unbelief, that we have reason to fear, as the
perverter and misinterpreter of the truth. Free
us from this, and we fear not the dangers of crit-
ical inquiry. We are of the number of those who
believe that, in the legitimate and conscientious
employment of our understandings and rational
powers, we are bound to follow truth with our
whole hearts ; and that in so doing, even though
we might not attain it, we could not be at war
with it. If we thus study the word of God with
an humble and believing spirit, the more largely
and deeply we explore it, the richer will be our
harvest of truth and righteousness. If, in follow-
ing after, we still obey the truth, we can never be
led astray. The law in the conscience bears wit-
12
y
90 MEMOIR.
ness to the thunderings of Mount Sinai, as the
voice of God. That which he has revealed in his
word, can in no case be at variance with what he
has written in our hearts. It may be at ivar with
our passions and selfish purposes ; it may be above
the comprehension of our understandings ; but it
cannot contradict the unbribed and unequivocal
voice of reason."
4/ Simple and true as all this may now seem, it
was strange language for the time in which it was
uttered ; and placed the right interpretation of
Scripture on far different and higher grounds, than
what had commonly been contended for. Instead
of making it to rest, ultimately, on certain ingen-
ious rules of human invention, as if the living
truth of God's word could be determined and set-
tled by such fallible means alone, he insisted upon
the necessity, also, of a coincidence between what
is in our own spirit, and what God has revealed in
his word ; and maintained, that there is no light
which can guide us to a right and full understand-
ing of the Scriptures, except that which first shines
in our own hearts. So, in another place, he says :
** M Wherever the subject treated is of a spiritual
nature, we must have, in addition to all these out-
ward helps, the exercise and developement of the
corresponding spiritual acts and affections in our
own consciousness. How is it possible, otherwise,
for us to understand the words, or to refer them to
the things designated ? We may have a notion of
their effects and relations ; but the words, in this
case, mean more than these ; and more must be
MEMOIR. 91
known, before the meaning of the writer can be
fully apprehended. We must sit at the feet of our
divine Master, and learn of him, and obey his
commands, before we can know of his doctrine,
before we can fully understand or believe in the
name of Jesus." In a word, the prevailing doc-
trine of the day was, Understand, and then be-
lieve ; while that which Mr. Marsh would set forth,
not as any thing new, but as the old doctrine of
the church from the earliest times, was, Believe,
that ye may understand. Fides enim debet prae-
cedere intellectum, ut sit intellectus fidei premium, ct/
" Such views," he adds, " may not, indeed, be
learned from the superficial philosophy of the Pa-
leian and Caledonian schools; but the higher and
more spiritual philosophy of the great English di-
vines of the seventeenth century abundantly teaches
them, both by precept and by practice." For these
old English divines, he entertained the highest re-
gard and deepest veneration. He had already de-
termined in his own mind, when he wrote the
above, to publish a selection from their best pieces,
with an introduction and occasional notes of illus-
tration. Such a work, he hoped, might contribute
somewhat to diffuse a better taste than seemed
generally to prevail, with regard to religious books,
and to direct the attention, especially of young
men, to the almost forgotten "treasures of ancient
wisdom." About this time, he received a copy of
Coleridge's "Aids to Reflection ;" and was struck,
not so much with the coincidence of that author's
views with his own, as with the adaptedness of the
y
92 MEMOIR.
work to the very end which he had himself pro-
posed. With Coleridge's other writings, he had,
as I have before intimated, been long familiar, and
esteemed him highly, both as a profound metaphy-
sician and the highest English master for clearness
and precision of philosophical language. It was
with no small delight, he now saw the genius of
that remarkable man employed to illustrate one of
his own favorite authors ; and the opportunity
which thus offered itself, of introducing both Leigh-
ton and Coleridge to the American public, was
one, he thought, which ought not to be neglected.
Coleridge was known on this side the Atlantic,
chiefly as a' metaphysician and a poet. His " Lay
Sermons" might have led a few curious readers to
suspect that he sometimes ventured also on the
discussion of theological questions ; but these pro-
ductions were generally regarded, I imagine, as
having more of a political than a religious bearing.
The only work of his that had as yet been publish-
ed, in this country, was his " Literary Life and
Opinions ;" and from this work many gathered
that the writer belonged to that eccentric class of
transcendental philosophers, with the deep mystery
of whose metaphysical doctrines no man of sense
would think it worth his while to perplex himself.
In short, " Coleridge's Metaphysics" had become
a sort of bye-word for something pre-eminently
obscure and unintelligible. To set up such a wri-
ter as a guide to serious reflection, on the most
important of all subjects, and to secure for him
that respect and confidence, without which no
MEMOIR. 93
author can be read to any profitable purpose,
might have been justly considered a presumptuous
undertaking, had it been attempted bv any man
without that deep insight into the aim of the
work, and that clear conviction of its power to
work its own way into notice, if but once fairly
brought before the public, which Mr. Marsh pos-
sessed. As it was, we may well suppose, he had
some misgivings of his own ; for besides the prej-
udice mentioned above, there was anpther to be
encountered, of still greater magnitude, in the ob-
stinacy of long established opinions, of opinions
" unassailable even by the remembrance of a
doubt." Earnest reflection upon 01 "-selves and
the laws of our inward being, would lead us to
feel, according to Mr. Coleridge, the utter incom-
patibility of the system of philosophy commonly
received, with the doctrines of a spiritual religion,
and even with our own necessary convictious. We
should see the necessity of taking other grounds,
and of resorting to other distinctions than any to
be found in the popular system of the day, in order
satisfactorily to account for some of the most com-
mon facts of our consciousness, as well as to recon-
cile faith with reason, and thus justify the ways of
God to man. The tendency of his work was,
therefore, to undermine the only foundation which
many a favorite theory had to build upon, in re-
cent days, both in metaphysics and theology.
There was some hazard in attempting to push into
public notice, a work which so boldly attacked the
system which, as to its leading principles, was
1
1/4
MEMOIR.
adopted in this country by a sort of tacit consent,
as the only true philosophy of the human mind.
Mr. Marsh felt this to be so. " In the minds of
our religious community especially," he says,
" some of its important doctrines have become
associated with names justly loved and revered
among ourselves, and so connected with all our
theological views of religion, that one can hardly
hope to question their validity without hazarding
his reputation, not only for orthodoxy, but even
for common sense. To controvert, for example,
the prevailing doctrine with regard to the freedom
of the will, the sources of our knowledge, the na-
ture of the understanding as containing the con-
trolling principles of our whole being, and the uni-
versality of the law of cause and effect, even in
connection with the arguments and the authority
of the most powerful intellect of the age, may
even now be worse than in vain."
But besides his own conviction of the goodness
of his cause, there was one other consideration
which encouraged him to proceed with his under-
taking : " I have reasons for believing," he says,
" there are some among us, and that their number
is fast increasing, who are willing to revise their
opinions on these subjects, and who will contem-
plate the views presented in this work, with a lib-
eral and something of a prepared feeling of curios-
ity. The difficulties in which men find them-
selves involved by the received doctrines on these
subjects, in their most anxious efforts to explain
and defend the doctrines of spiritual religion, have
MEMOIR. 95
led many to suspect that there must be some lurk-
ing error in the premises. It is not that these
principles lead us to mysteries which we cannot
comprehend ; they are found, or believed at least
by many, to involve us in absurdities which we
can comprehend.
In regard to the number of this class who were
dissatisfied with the prevailing theories, and who
were prepared to listen, with somewhat more than
a feeling of curiosity, to views professedly drawn
from a deeper insight into human nature, Mr.
Marsh had not deceived himself. It might be said
to comprise every earnest and reflecting mind not
already committed to some system. The time,
indeed, was quite ready for the appearance of such
a work ; it was only necessary to secure for it a
favorable impression, and to fix the attention of
thinking men upon the real points of interest, the
important doctrines and distinctions it aimed to
set forth.
These were the objects which Mr. Marsh had
in view in writing his " Preliminary Essay," a
befitting introduction to the noble work which it
recommends, designed more especially, in the first
instance, for the purpose of making an application
of the doctrines therein contained, " to opinions
and discussions (then) prevailing among our-
selves," but conceived in so large a spirit, and
with such a grasp of the whole field of inquiry,
embracing as it does questions of the deepest and
most enduring interest, as might well challenge
for it the attention of this or any other age.
96 MEMOIR.
I shall here quote a considerably long passage
from this valuable performance, as serving to show
better than any thing that could be said, the
thoughtful and considerate manner in which he
went about his undertaking, and the mingled hopes
and fears with which he looked forward to its
result. " In republishing the work in this coun-
try," he says, " I could wish that it might be re-
ceived by all for whose instruction it was designed,
simply as a didactic work, on its own merits and
without controversy. I must not, however, be
supposed ignorant of its bearing upon those ques-
tions which have so often been, and still are, the
prevailing topics of theological controversy among
us. It was indeed incumbent on me, before in-
viting the attention of the religious community
to the work, to consider its relation to existing
opinions, and its probable influence on the progress
of truth. This I have done with as severe thought
as I am capable of bestowing on any subject, and
I trust, too, with no want of deference and con-
scientious regard to the feelings and opinions of
others. I have not attempted to disguise from
myself, nor do I wish to disguise from the readers
of the work, the inconsistency of some of its lead-
ing principles with much that is taught and re-
ceived in our theological circles. Should it gain
much of the public attention in any way, it will
become, as it ought to do, an object of special and
deep interest to all who would contend for the
truth and labor to establish it upon a permanent
basis. I venture to assure such, even those of
MEMOIR. 97
them who are most capable of comprehending the
philosophical grounds of truth in our speculative
systems of theology, that, in its relation to this
whole subject, they will find it to be a work of
great depth and power, and, whether right or
wrong, eminently deserving of their attention. It
is not to be supposed that all who read, or even
all who comprehend it, will be convinced of the
soundness of its views, or be prepared to abandon
those which they have long considered essential
to the truth. To those whose understandings by
long habit have become limited in their powers of
apprehension, and, as it were, identified with cer-
tain schemes of doctrine, certain modes of contem-
plating all that pertains to religious truth, it may
appear novel, strange, and unintelligible, or even
dangerous in its tendency, and be to them an oc-
casion of offence. But I have no fear that any ear-
nest or single-hearted lover of the truth as it is in
Jesus, who will free his mind from the idols of
preconceived opinion, and give himself time and
opportunity to understand the work by such reflec-
tion as the nature of the subject renders unavoid-
able, will find in it any cause of offence or any
source of alarm. U the work become the occasion
of controversy at all, I should expect it from those
who, instead of reflecting deeply upon the first
principles of truth in their own reason and con-
science, and in the word of God, are more accus-
tomed to speculate that is, from premises given
or assumed, but considered unquestionable, as the
constituted point of observation, to look abroad
13
98 MEMOIR.
upon the whole field of their intellectual visions,
and thence to decide upon the true form and di-
mensions of all which meets their view. To such
I would say, with deference, that the merits of
this work cannot be determined by the merely
relative aspect of its doctrines, as seen from the
high ground of any prevailing metaphysical or the-
ological system. Those, on the contrary, who
will seek to comprehend it by reflection, to learn
the true meaning of the whole and of all its parts,
by retiring into their own minds, and finding there
the true point of observation for each, will not be
in haste to question the truth or the tendency of
its principles. I make these remarks because I
am anxious, as far as may be, to anticipate the
causeless fears of all who earnestly pray and labor
for the promotion of the truth, and to preclude
that unprofitable controversy that might arise from
hasty or prejudiced views of a work like this. At
the same time I should be far from deprecating
any discussion which might tend to unfold more
fully the principles which it teaches, or to exhibit
more distinctly its true bearing upon the interests
of theological science and of spiritual religion. It
is to promote this object, indeed, that I am in-
duced, in the remarks which follow, to offer some
of my own thoughts on these subjects, imperfect I
am well aware, and such as, for that reason as
well as others, worldly prudence might require
me to suppress. If, however, I may induce re-
flecting men, and those who are engaged in the-
ological inquiries especially, to indulge a suspicion
MEMOIR. 99
that all truth which it is important for them to
know is not contained in the systems of doctrine
usually taught, and that this work may be worthy
of their serious and reflecting perusal, my chief
object will be accomplished." From some partic-
ular expressions, as well as from the general tenor
of these remarks, it would seem as if the writer
supposed that the publication might possibly be
an occasion of engaging him in controversy.
Though he deprecated this, he did not dread it.
Had he been called forth by a worthy antago-
nist in defence of his author's views, on any im-
portant topic, he would doubtless have obeyed the
summons, and we might have seen, under the ex-
citement of dispute, a still more masterly expo-
sition than any he has given, of what he considered
the only true spiritual philosophy.
The able manner in which he acquitted himself,
in this case, of his undertaking, established his
reputation as a good scholar and profound meta-
physician, both at home and abroad. But what
was of more consequence in his own view, since
he had been induced to engage in the enterprize
out of no regard to himself, but from the simple
love of truth and the strong interest he felt in
the spread of sounder principles of philosophy,
was to see the work producing its silent but sure
effect. Though no notice was taken of it, so far
as I remember, in the more important periodical
journals, it met with a rapid sale, and found read-
ers among all classes and sects. If all did not
approve the doctrines it taught, few could deny
100 MEMOIR.
the great moral and intellectual power which it
every where exhibited. There were some pro-
fessed scholars, indeed, men of elegant taste and
clear understandings, rather than of deep and ear-
nest thought, who affected a sort of contempt for
such obscure speculations, which they looked upon
as useless, if not wholly unintelligible. Others
there were who seriously doubted whether the
introduction into practical religion of habits of
thinking so metaphysical and abstract, could well
consist with fervent piety and a zeal to do good ;
while a (ew believed that some of the doctrines
advanced were erroneous in themselves and dan-
gerous in their tendency. But far greater was the
number of those who thought that by this timely
publication, good service had been done to the
cause of religion and of true philosophy ; and
many were the letters of congratulation and of
inquiry which Mr. Marsh received on this occasion
from various parts of the land. In a word, the
interest excited by the work went quite beyond
the modest expectations of its editor, and he flat-
tered himself that the good effected by it would
be not less extensive.*
* Soon after the publication of the Aids to Reflection, Mr.
Marsh received the degree of Doctor of Divinity from Columbia
College in the city of New York. In 1833, the same honor was
conferred on him by Amherst College in Massachusetts. Partly
for confirmation of what I have said above, and partly for the sake
of the valuable remarks they contain, which I should be sorry to
have lost, I have introduced into this note a few extracts from va-
rious letters, received by Mr. Marsh on this occasion. The excel-
lent writers, whose names I withhold, will pardon the freedom I
take, in consideration of my motives. 1. " I thank you very sin-
MEMOIR. 101
Mr. Marsh sent his edition of the " Aids " to
Coleridge, accompanied with a letter, which I shall
cerely for your kindness in sending me a copy of ' Aids to Reflec-
tion.' I have delayed writing, till I should have read the book.
And it is, I must say, with no ordinary interest I have read it. In
the first place, the author, or as he oddly enough calls himself, the
editor, exhibits everywhere a mind of mighty grasp. The concep-
tions and reasonings of such a mind, cannot but make a strong im-
pression. Though occasionally eccentric, I cannot look at them
without pleasure, nor seriously attend to them without profit.
I love once in a while to be roused by something new. Sec-
ondly, the author's taste is congenial with mine, as to the old
English writers. Leighton has for many years been as favor-
ite an author with me as with Coleridge. The same of the other
English books he refers to, so far as I have read them. And I
wish most heartily, that our young men, especially young minis-
ters, might form their taste and their habits of thinking on the
model of the old authors, rather than those of a modern date. I
could name some ten or a dozen old writers that I would not give
up, for all that have lived the last two or three generations. Third-
ly, Coleridge goes much farther than I expected he would, in
maintaining what I consider fundamental principles, as to the
christian religion. Most of his practical views I mean his views
of the nature of Christian piety and of the Christian life, seem to
me scriptural and excellent ; and I have fewer objections to make
to his doctrinal opinions, than I supposed I should have when I
read your preface. And this fact leads me to think, either that
you have somehow misapprehended the prevailing sentiment of
the orthodox in New England, or else that I differ from them more
than I am aware. As to many things which Coleridge asserts on
the philosophy of religion, (if I am so happy as to understand him)
I hold the same ; though it would seem that both you and he re-
gard those things as at war with what Calvinists believe. But in
some of these cases, he appears to me to have adopted a mode of
thinking and writing, which makes plain things obscure, and easy
things difficult. I am able, if I mistake not, to take some doc-
trines, which he holds forth, or rather covers up, with hard, ab-
struse and almost unintelligible phraseology, and to express them
in language which shall carry them to the mind of every enlight-
ened Christian and philosopher with perfect clearness. Now I ac-
knowledge it is a good thing to make men think, yea, and to compel
102 MEMOIR.
insert in the Appendix. To this letter he never
received any answer ; but the state of the author's
them to it, if that is necessary. But it would be a serious question,
whether this can be most effectually done by investing moral and
philosophical subjects in obscurity, or by covering them with
light. For myself, I wish as little of abstruseness and unintelligi-
bleness in books as may be. I am conscious of too much of this
in regard to many, if not most subjects, as they lie in my own
mind ; and I am always glad to find myself relieved by luminous
thoughts and luminous language in others." 2. " Your remarks
in the Introduction to Aids to Reflection, are deemed by some
rather heretical, and they even have been quoted, on the other side,
as proofs, that there is a declension from the stiffness of former
days. But on one great point, that of human power, so essen-
tially connected with the sense of accountableness, I have, for
some years, been inclined to adopt what I suppose are also your
own views, and have occasionally given such instruction to the
senior class ; that is, have stated, that motives are not efficient
causes ; and therefore a volition is not accounted for by ascribing
it to motives ; a determiner must be found ; and that determiner,
unless some otherspirit, is our own spirit. Our own mind is the
originator, the cause. Here is power ; and we could have no idea
of power in God, unless we first found it in ourselves. The denial
of this, makes God the universal agent and comes to Spinozism
in fact destroying the sense of responsibleness." 3. "As Co-
lumbia College has at the late commencement added your name
to its list of honorary graduates, you may perhaps read with some
interest the discourse which you will receive with this letter.
Permit me, at the same time that I request your acceptance of the
pamphlet, to express to you the very great gratification which I
have received from your preface and notes to your reprint of Cole-
ridge. He is an author to whom I owe much in the formation of
my opinions, and whom I have always regarded with a sort of
affection. You have double claim upon the thanks of the Ameri-
can public, as well for making known to them so excellent a
work, as for adding to its value and utility by your own exposition
of his object and meaning." 4. "Will you pardon the liberty,
which, though a stranger, I take in asking of you the favor of a
letter to Mr. Coleridge in England. The Aids to Reflection, which
you have been the means of bringing before the American pub-
lic, have excited in me a strong desire to see their author. The
MEMOIR. 103
health, taken in connection with his well-known
carelessness about his own productions, sufficiently
accounted, perhaps, for this seeming neglect. It
is the concurrent testimony of all the Americans
who subsequently visited Coleridge, and of whom
I have had an opportunity to inquire, that he never
expressed himself otherwise than as gratified with
what had been done for the spread of his writings
on this side the Atlantic. From the most intimate
friends of that excellent man, from Mr. Henry
Nelson Coleridge, Mr. Gillman and Dr. Green,
Mr. Marsh received many letters, expressing how
highly his labors were appreciated ; and, as farther
proof of this, his essay was prefixed, by Cole-
ridge's nephew and executor, to the last London
edition of the Aids, in 1839. I have thought it
right, for reasons which it is not necessary now to
state, to introduce several of these letters in the
Appendix to this Memoir.
The first American edition of the Aids to Re-
flection was published in November, 1829; and
was followed, in May, 1830, by the first volume of
" Selections from the old English writers on Prac-
tical Theology;" a work which did not meet with
views which he presents, and which are so happily sustained in
your introduction, are views, many of which I have held some
years; and I cannot but hope that their promulgation, under such
auspices, is destined, in this country at least, to effect a new era
in Moral and Metaphysical Philosophy." To these extracts from
letters of eminent men, in church and state, many others might be
added of the like kind and import ; but these are enough to show
the impression which was produced by the work through which
the subject of this memoir first became generally known to the
public as an author.
104 MEMOIR.
sufficient success to encourage the editor to pro-
ceed with the undertaking. After all that has
been said in praise of the solid and sterling quali-
ties peculiar to the eminent divines of those ear-
lier times, every attempt, I believe, to give them
general currency, at least in this country, has
proved rather a failure. The craving of the pres-
ent age seems to be after aliment of a different
sort, lighter and more easily digestible; but whether
better adapted to promote the growth and devel-
opement of a truly spiritual life, each must judge
for himself from his own experience. The tracts
published by Mr. Marsh were, Howe's " Blessed-
ness of the Righteous," and Bates' "Four Last
Things." He thought of the former, that "for
depth of insight, combined with practical efficiency
in its appeals to the heart, it was at least one of
the best things in the language." But there were
now other matters which claimed and engrossed
his whole attention.
He had, by this time, succeeded in furnishing
himself with most of the helps which he thought
it necessary to have around him, in order to the
successful prosecution of his philosophical studies.
He had also formed a new marriage connexion,
with the sister of his former wife ; and the breach
in his domestic circle being thus happily repaired,
he would have felt himself more at liberty, than at
any previous time, for his favorite pursuits, had it
not been for the discouraging condition of things
in the college whose interests were confided to his
care. It was a remark he dropped in one of
MEMOIR. 105
i
his letters to a friend, and I have heard him re-
peat the same myself, that " during the great part
of his life, he had found himself chained in situa-
tions where he felt paralyzed in the exertion of his
powers, and vainly longed for freedom." This
casual expression gave utterance to a feeling, which
those who knew him and his circumstances will
best know how to appreciate. Nothing could be
more foreign from the native gentleness of his
spirit, as well as from the christian principles by
which he habitually governed himself, than the in-
dulgence of any thing like a fretful, impatient
temper. He meant simply to state what was in-
deed most true, in regard to his experience of life,
that outward circumstances were generally against
him ; and the aspirations of his mind, instead of
being quickened and encouraged by what did not
depend on himself, met with constant checks and
occasions of diversion. He was sensible of a cer-
tain incongruity between the situation in which he
was placed and the kind of duties to which he was
called, and the decided inclination and bent of his
intellectual energies. Hence he accounted for it,
that so little had been done by him, compared with
what he might have accomplished, in a situation
more favorable for the realizing of his own plans
and wishes.
There was no time, perhaps, when he had a
more painful sense of this, than at the present
juncture of affairs in the University. When he
took the presidential chair, it was with no expec-
tation of being called upon to perform any thing
14
106 MEMOIR.
beyond the common duties of the station. For
these, he felt himself competent ; and so indeed
he was. In the business of instruction, no man
could excel him ; and the deep paternal interest
which he felt for the right developement of the
young minds that came under his care, gave an
influence to his advice, and an authority to his
government, most salutary and effectual. For the
details of business, for financial concerns, and
whatever else belongs to the outward relations of
a college, he did not think, himself, that he was so
well fitted. These were matters with which he
always chose to have as little to do as possible.
But a crisis had now arrived in the affairs of the
University, which seemed to call for this sort of
activity in its presiding officer, more than for any
other. The revolution which had been effected
in the system of studies and of discipline, while it
added to the respectability of the institution
abroad, left it to struggle, with narrow means, un-
der the many disadvantages of a new experiment.
The number of students, instead of being increased
by the change which opened the doors to a class
of young men never before permitted to share in
the advantages of collegiate instruction, on the
whole, rather diminished. Every thing had been
done that could be, to place the institution on the
best footing, as to its internal concerns and ar-
rangements ; nothing remained but to satisfy the
public, on which it depended for its support, that
the advantages secured and offered were worth en-
joying. Dr. Marsh was clearly convinced of the
MEMOIR. 107
necessity of this course ; he saw no other way left,
of bringing the system, upon which so much labor
had been bestowed, to the test of a fair experiment,
and thus securing the prosperity of the institution
whose interests he had identified with his own.
But without disparagement of his character, whose
excellence lay in quite another direction it may be
said that neither he nor his friends had any confi-
dence in his qualifications for a business of this
sort. His friends doubted whether their president
could enter with any comfort to himself, or any
reasonable prospect of success, on the formidable
undertaking which the present emergency seemed
to require. These doubts were not held back,
and they were responded to with equal frankness
and good feeling on the part of the president. It
was a matter, he said, which had long lain with
weight on his own mind, whether he was in the
situation best suited to the habits of his mind, or
for the realization of those objects which he had
most at heart. He had little doubt that he might
employ his energies with greater satisfaction to
himself and usefulness to the world, in a sphere
that would allow more opportunity and scope for
the free action of his mind in its own chosen direc-
tion. The details of business were occupying all
his time, and unfitting him for those higher pur-
suits, which, if he might judge by his own experi-
ence and feelings, constituted the true business of
his life. The duties of the presidency had become
irksome to him, and he was anxious to be relieved
from its burthensome honors. As an effort was
108 MEMOIR.
about to be made for the pecuniary relief of the
college, he wished to take that opportunity of
leaving his place, with a view either to assume the
duties of a professor, or to retire from public life
altogether.
To the latter of these propositions, no friend of
his or of the institution, which was so indebted to
him for its substantial worth and character, could
listen for a moment. At the same time, it could
hardly be expected of him to take a step perhaps
without a precedent, and seemingly risk his char-
acter for firmness and self-respect, by voluntarily
assuming a lower station in the institution over
which he had once presided. Of any ordinary
man this could not be expected. But Dr. Marsh
was exempt from that vulgar pride which is always
ready to sacrifice to a miserable self-esteem the
sense of duty and the highest apparent good.
With a true greatness of soul, which few men ever
possessed or exhibited in an equal degree, in re-
linquishing his place as president, he determined
to comply with the earnest wishes of his friends,
and still retain his connexion with the university.
Had he done the former without the latter, it
would have been looked upon as a very ordinary
transaction. But by simply changing his relations,
while he showed a noble disregard to himself, he
consulted the best interests of the institution, which
was looking to his decision. Let it not be under-
stood by any thing here said, that Dr. Marsh was
not considered by those who best knew him an
excellent president. On the contrary, he was
MEMOIR. 109
eminently qualified for his station in every most
important respect. It was a peculiar crisis in the
affairs of the college, which alone, in his own view
and that of others, justified the change and led
him to take a step that created at first, as was to
be expected, some surprise and wonder ; but as
soon as the whole truth was known, gained for
him on all sides that heartfelt respect and esteem,
which in the end are sure to be awarded to a great
action.
This event of his life I find recorded in his
diary, with a few remarks, expressed with charac-
teristic modesty : " During the year 1833 a change
took place in my public relations, which must not
be wholly unnoticed in this faithful, though so
often interrupted journal. I had never considered
myself so well qualified for the office which I had
previously held, as for some other station ; and this
feeling was expressed in this journal at the time
of my entering upon its duties. It brought me in
contact with the world more than suited my taste,
and required a kind of action for which, indeed, I
was unqualified, and for which it was fighting
against nature to qualify myself. The institution
was undoubtedly, as things were, suffering at the
time from the want of more active exertion to
avail ourselves of the position which we had gained
in the confidence of the public in respect to our
course of instruction and internal management.
As the best method, therefore, of meeting all the
wants of the institution, I withdrew from the pres-
idency and took the chair of Moral and Intellectual
110 MEMOIR.
Philosophy, using my influence to bring in Mr.
Wheeler in the place which I had before occu-
pied."
>/ In the course of the same year, 1833, he found
time to complete and publish in two volumes
12mo. the work of Herder on the " Spirit of He-
brew Poetry." The first dialogues were transla-
ted while he was at Hampden Sidney, and given
to the public, as I have already mentioned, in the
Christian Repository. This work of Herder's,
although considered one of his best performances,
and ranking as a classical and standard production
among his countrymen, has never attained, I be-
lieve, to any great degree of popularity among our-
selves. It contains many bold opinions, and novel
interpretations of scripture, quite at variance with
the more sober views, and as I think, more correct
taste, that prevails in our own religious community.
Dr. Marsh was disposed, at first, to qualify some
of the more objectionable passages, by means of
accompanying notes, but he soon gave up that
plan. "My belief is," he says, " that such is the
character and spirit of the work, taken as a whole,
as to give it an influence highly beneficial to the
cause of truth and of sound Biblical learning among
us, if only it be read in the spirit that dictated it,
and to correct in the general result, whatever in-
dividual errors of opinion it may contain." So he
left it to stand or fall on its own merits.
The important change in his public relations,
which freed him from those responsibilities and
disturbing cares of business, he had found to be so
MEMOIR. Ill
incompatible with a continuous and proper devo-
tion of his mind to the subjects which chiefly in-
terested him, was not followed immediately by the
result which he and his friends bad anticipated.
He found himself assailed by doubts, which he
could not at once entirely overcome, whether the
step he had taken would be rightly interpreted by
all ; whether he had paid sufficient respect to the
feelings and interests of his family ; whether, after
all, he could properly remain with an institution
whose prosperity might seem to some to be con-
nected with the fact of his leaving the presidency ;
and by other scruples of the like nature. These
preyed upon his mind for a time, and unfitted him
even for his favorite studies. In itself, the change
was most desirable to him ; he felt it a relief to be
quit of those tiresome honors, which he had not
coveted before they were conferred, nor for their
own sake cared for afterwards. But he felt that
his character was of some consequence ; and had
a dread of being thought weak, in doing what no
weak man, no man without a moral courage like
his own, would ever have ventured to do. But
these feelings gradually wore away ; and vanished
entirely, when it became evident that his motives
were every where rightly appreciated, and that
none were disposed to view his conduct in any
other light than one which reflected honor on him-
self, and confirmed the propriety of his decision in
so important a matter. The four or five succeed-
ing years were devoted by him, almost without
interruption, to a course of laborious study, in
112 MEMOIR.
which, as he says in his journal, it was his grand
object to prepare himself, by reading and reflec-
tion, for taking a comprehensive view of all the
parts of knowledge, as constituting a connected
and organic whole, and to understand the relations
and relative importance of the several parts. "This
systematic view," he observes, " being once clear-
ly attained, I cannot but think, it will be compar-
atively easy to write instructively, and to develope
the truth, in various departments of learning, with
reference to fixed principles."
He has here expressed what were indeed the
leading aims of his whole life scire ut sedificat,
scire ut sedificetur but aims to which the short
remainder of it was devoted, with a more exclu-
sive and continuous attention. This would be a
proper place to exhibit to my readers some account
of the method which he pursued in his inquiries, as
well as of the system of philosophy out of which
it grew, or in which it resulted ; but the contract-
ed limits of my plan will not allow me to enter in-
to any copious detail. From his familiarity with
the writings of Coleridge, and the high respect
which he ever felt and expressed for Coleridge's
authority in matters of this sort, it has been hastily
inferred that he was no more than a disciple of
that great master. It would be a mistake, how-
ever, to suppose that the opinions of Dr. Marsh
were taken up immediately from any particular
author or school. Submission to the authority of
great names was something wholly alien from the
character of his mind : although no man was more
MEMOIR. 113
modest in the estimation of his own powers, or
more ready to confess his obligations, in all cases
where he had been benefitted by others. It may
be said of him with greater justice than of many
who have laid far higher claims to originality, that
his system was the result of his own profound
meditation, and one to which he was irresistibly
led, in endeavoring to construct for himself a con-
sistent and connected whole, out of the materials
of his knowledge. He acted upon his own maxim,
laid down at the beginning of the " Preliminary
Essay," that " it is by self-inspection only, we can
discover the principle of unity and consistency,
which reason instinctively seeks after, which shall
reduce to a harmonious system all our views of
truth and being, and destitute of which, all the
knowledge that comes to us from without, is frag-
mentary, and in its relation to our highest inter-
ests as rational beings, the patch-work of vanity.
In seeking for this principle of unity within him-
self, he became early convinced, even from the
first, that the ultimate views of truth and grounds
of conviction could be placed no where within the
domain of sense or of the speculative understand-
ing. The distinct and appropriate offices of these
powers, the one to present the mere elements of
knowledge, the other to limit and define, to gen-
eralize and arrange, precluded, in his view, the
possibility of arriving by their means at the ulti-
mate ground of all knowledge and reality. The
senses furnish us with nothing but the phenomenal
aspects of being, in their inconstant, fluctuating
15
114 MEMOIR.
and endless variety. The human understanding,
an important instrument, but not a source of
knowledge, can do no more than to analyze and
combine, under the form of conceptions, what has
thus been presented ; and the highest unity it can
arrive at by this process, is but a generalization of
particulars, an abstraction, which may again be
analyzed and recombined without end. Giving
up the search for a principle of unity in this direc-
tion, he found himself forbidden again, in the
depth of his moral convictions, to rest in the con-
clusions of the mere speculative reason. The
unity thus arrived at, or rather assumed in the first
place, as a necessary hypothesis to a consistent
scientific whole of knowledge, betrayed its radical
defect, by confounding the Creator with his crea-
tures ; and thus conflicting with the demands of
our moral being. It might please the mere man
of intellect, led on by no other interest than an
aimless thirst for knowledge, but must ever fail to
satisfy the still deeper wants of the spirit, when
but once fully awakened to a sense of what it
needs. Both as a philosopher and as a christian,
Dr. Marsh felt that the ultimate ground of truth
must also be a living ground. The soul, as a liv-
ing and life-giving principle, could not be satisfied
with abstractions, nor its hollow cravings be stilled
with unsubstantial shadows and barren formulas.
The great question with him was not alone
what is truth ? but, what is that which imparts to
truth its living reality ; which connects knowing
with being ; and in the clear perception and con-
MEMOIR. 115
templation of which, the whole aggregate of our
knowledge begins to reduce itself to the form, not
merely of a systematic, but of an organic unity ?
He would find this no where but in the mysterious
union of the contemplative and the moral, of free-
dom and necessity, in the self-consciousness of
the spirit ; in that act of freedom by which the
spirit affirms the reality of its own being, and
in this sees the ground of its knowledge of all
else that is real. The will, the moral part of
our being, is here placed in supremacy, the prac-
tical raised in honor above the merely contem-
plative ; but at the same time, both are in one, in
the being of the spirit itself.
It would be wholly foreign from my object, even
if it were in my power, to go at large into all the
explanations which might be deemed necessary for
the elucidation of this point, so fundamental in
that system of philosophy, which, for the sake of
distinction, has sometimes been called the spirit-
ual, and which Dr. Marsh not merely advocated,
but, so to speak, identified with all his habits of
mind. I will observe, however, that, according to
this view, no living and actual knowledge can be
arrived at simply by speculation. The man must
become what he knows ; he must make his knowl-
edge one with his own being ; and in his power to
do this, joined with the infinite capacity of his
spirit, lies the possibility of his endless progress.
This was the kind of progress which Dr. Marsh
consciously aimed at, in all his studies ; and hence
the wide scope and liberality of his method. Hence
116 MEMOIR.
the fearlessness with which he pushed on his in-
quiries far beyond the limits of ordinary specula-
tion, safe in his fundamental position, that nothing
could be true for him which was contradicted by
" the interests and necessities of his moral being."
Hence the discriminating judgment which he al-
ways evinced in his choice of books and of authors ;
the course of his reading being invariably directed
with a view to the great end which he never lost
sight of, the developement of his own spiritual
being. With respect to the fortunes and fates of
different philosophical sects, he had but little curi-
osity. I doubt if he ever read a single author,
merely for the purpose of gratifying an idle wish
to know what opinions he entertained, and what
influence he exerted on his particular age. The
only interest which he felt was for the truth, ever
one and the same, under all its different manifesta-
tions; and when he had found an author who
showed marks of deep and earnest thought, he
used him, not as a transient companion, but as a
bosom friend, to consult and hold communion with
on all fit and necessary occasions. Few persons,
I apprehend, ever studied the two master spirits of
the Grecian philosophy with a deeper insight into
their meaning, or a keener perception and relish of
their respective excellencies. Plato was his favor-
ite author, whom he always kept near him. With
some of the works of Aristotle, particularly his
Treatise on the Soul, and his Metaphysics, he was
scarcely less familiar. Of the old English writers
MEMOIR. 117
on philosophical subjects, I need not say that his
knowledge was most intimate and thorough.
But his reading and reflection were by no means
confined to matters strictly philosophical. He
took a deep and lively interest in the discoveries
of modern science, particularly in all those which
have contributed to throw more light on the great
processes and agencies of nature, through the
whole of her vast domain. In* all these discover-
ies, truly deserving to be called such, he saw the
tendency of science to dismiss the material con-
ceptions hitherto so prevalent, and to become more
dynamic. The contemplation of nature, as pre-
senting an ascending series of distinguishable pow-
ers, acting by laws correlative to ideas contained
potentially in our own minds, and thus serving to
reveal what is within us to ourselves, was one on
which he delighted to dwell, as leading to the
most intelligible view " of the relation of our
finite spirits to nature on the one hand, and to the
spirit, as their own proper element, on the other."
He has given us some of his views on this subject
in the letter on the Will, which I have inserted in
the present volume.
The zeal with which he labored, however, in
the true vocation of the scholar, striving continu-
ally to turn his knowledge to account as a means
of self-developement, did not lead him to forget or
to overlook the duty which required him to em-
ploy his powers also for the benefit of others. He
had a strong desire to be useful, and studied dili-
gently to know how he might use his talents and
s/
4
J
118 MEMOIB.
acquisitions so as best to subserve, in his own
proper sphere, the glory of God and the good of
mankind. Several works, of more or less import-
ance, were projected by him in the course of his
public life, and some of them partially executed.
Two of these deserve to be mentioned, since he
had bestowed on them considerable thought, and
never wholly given up the purpose, which in re-
gard to one of them was publicly announced, of
sending them before the world. The first was a
system of logic, the plan of which he drew up as
early as 1832, or earlier. It was to follow, in its
general divisions and arrangement of matter, the
German work of Fries on the same subject.* The
" novelties in terminology necessary to a thor-
oughly scientific system " seems, from one of his
letters, to have been what chiefly delayed him in
the execution of this work. He was waiting,
moreover, in hopes of deriving some assistance in
respect to language from Coleridge's promised
"Elements of Discourse." Dr. Marsh has left
nothing in manuscript on this subject except a
free translation of Fries' work, which he seems to
have made a sort of preparatory exercise to his
own. The other work which he had in contem-
plation, but never found time to execute, was a
treatise on Psychology. The few chapters on this
subject, contained in the present volume, were
written without any view to publication, for the
use of the classes which he instructed in that de-
partment of science.
* Bee Dr. Follen's Letter in the Appendix.
MEMOIR. 119
To these labors he was prompted simply by the
interest he took in the cause of education, and by
his desire to supply, so far as lay in his power, a
defect which he conceived to exist in the common
text-books, relating to those important parts of
intellectual discipline. The same wish to be useful
wherever he could, led him sometimes to engage in
still humbler services in literature, and he thought
himself not unworthily employed in translating
and preparing for the press the little German work
of Hedgewisch on the elements of chronology.
But these matters, however important in their
place, had no other interest for him but as they
were connected with the business of education,
and subsidiary to higher ends. His more serious
thoughts were habitually directed to the great
truths and studies which belong especially to
man's moral and religious nature. The knowl-
edge of ourselves, of that which constitutes our
distinctive humanity, and of our relations to that
higher world which is the proper home of our
spirits, was in his view the science of sciences,
without which all the rest would be without a
basis and without meaning. The position of Cole-
ridge, that the Christian faith is the perfection of
human intelligence, was one which he adopted
from the fullest conviction of its^ruth. Hence,
instead of making the distinction which many do,
between faith and philosophy, as if they were at
irreconcilable war with each other, as if it were
impossible for the same individual to have them
both together, but the possession of the one neces-
120 MEMOIR.
sarily implied the abandonment of the other, he
held it to be our duty as Christians, " to think as
well as to act rationally, and to see that our con-
victions of truth rest on grounds of right reason."
" What is not rational in theology," he main-
tained, " is of course irrational, and cannot be of
the household of faith." Not that reason is com-
petent to teach us the peculiar doctrines of Chris-
tian revelation. This certainly lies altogether be-
yond its province. Not that it can give us those
experiences or states of being which constitute
experimental or spiritual religion. These rest
on other grounds. But neither the doctrines nor
experiences of true religion can contradict the
clear convictions of right reason. He thought it
a point of great moment, and well worthy of con-
sideration, that it is not the method of the genuine
philosopher to separate his philosophy and religion,
and, adapting his principles independently in each,
leave them to be reconciled or not, as the case
may be. A thinking man " has, and can have
rationally, but one system, in which his philosophy
becomes religious, and his religion philosophical."
n/ It is no part of my design to speak at any length
of Dr. Marsh's religious creed, which indeed dif-
fered in no essential respect from that professed
and taught by ffte early reformers ; but I may ob-
serve that the points on which he insisted with
peculiar earnestness, as being immediately con-
nected with the feeling of responsibleness, and
with right views of moral evil, and as most liable,
at the present day, to be perverted, were those of
MEMOIR. 121
the freedom of the will, and of human dependence.
As to the former, his views are well-known. In
regard to the latter, he said that he could not con-
ceive of a more irrational dogma, or more contra-
dictory to the inward experience of the Christian,
or one that involves more inconvenient conse-
quences, than that which teaches the existence of
a self-regenerative power, and places the seat of
moral evil out of the will. The whole seemed to
him to be mistaking and misrepresenting the great
fact on which Christianity itself is based, as the
antecedent ground of its necessity, the fact of
original sin. " Those writers and teachers," he
said, " who think in this way to make the subject
more clear, do in fact so lean to their own under-
standing as to insist on comprehending it in a
sense in which it is incomprehensible, and of
course misconceive it to the extent of making it
no sin at all. Hence, of necessity, if consistent,
they must also misconceive the doctrine of redemp-
tion, and indeed make both the disease and the
remedy a very superficial affair, and very easily J
understood"
On the point last mentioned, the doctrine of
redemption, he had the misfortune to find that his
views, owing perhaps to the different position from
which he was accustomed to look at the subject,
were very frequently misapprehended. Those
with whom he conversed on this point were apt
to take partial statements, which could not be
understood without a knowledge of the whole sys-
tem to which they pertained, and give them an
16
122 MEMOIR.
undue importance. Thus, when, in speaking of
the atonement, he confessed his ignorance of the
objective nature of the work, he was sometimes
understood as denying the doctrine altogether ;
than which nothing could be farther from his
thoughts. Alluding in one of his letters to a con-
versation of this sort, in which his views appear to
have been perversely misapprehended, he says :
" I did not deny even the vicarious nature of
Christ's death. I held it to be essential to the
work of redemption ; but as to the precise rela-
tions of it, and the mode in which it is effective to
that end, I could not dogmatize as confidently as
many others are prepared to do." There is a re-
mark of his on this point, which he made in his
last illness, and which is quoted in the discourse
preached at his funeral by President Wheeler, so
beautiful and pertinent that I cannot 'forbear to
transcribe it in this place : " If I speculated on
this subject," said he, " it was only to place it
within the necessary limits of systematic contem-
plation. I never dreamed of removing a single
feature of light or shade from it as it stands, and
must stand, to the common faith, and for the com-
mon salvation, of all believers. And what I may
have said or think, no more impairs its use for the
purposes of spiritual life, peace and joy, to myself
and others, than the analysis, which the chemist
makes of water, destroys it for common use."
Once he received a letter from a divine of some
note, with whom he had corresponded on this
topic, in which the writer, after lamenting the per-
MEMOIR. 123
version of his great learning and talents, charitably
quoted, as applicable to his case, some of the most
pointed texts of Scripture about " philosophy and
vain deceit," " profane babblings," " making ship-
wreck of the faith," and other passages of like
import. What reply he made to that individual,
or whether he ever made any, I have no means of
knowing ; but he observed in general, with regard
to those who were so fond of misrepresenting him,
" Whether I or they lean more to our own under-
standing, and trust more in human wisdom and
philosophy falsely so called, is not perhaps for me
to decide. If I were disposed to controversy, it
would, I suppose, be very easy for me to make a
noise in the great Babel ; but they make enough
without my help."
So far was he, indeed, from being in any sense
carried away by his philosophy from the Christian
faith, that it was from the religious point of view,
and by the Christian standard, he was accus-
tomed to judge of the character, bearing, and in-
fluence of everything that came under his notice,
whether in the religious, political or literary world.
Without enlarging on this, I will simply introduce
here an extract from one of his letters to a valued
correspondent, in which he touches upon the cur- . x
rent literature of the day. " How little," he says, ' ^
" of the literature that falls in the way of young
people, and of that which is most fascinating, is
what we could wish in this respect, (viz. its relig-
ious influence.) The works and life of Sir Walter
Scott leave the reader, to say the least, indifferent
124 MEMOIR.
to religious principle ; those of Charles Lamb are
certainly no better ; and with all the high aspira-
tions of Wordsworth, there is much in his writings
that is more favorable to an undefined naturalism
or pantheism, than to the truth of the gospel.
The fact is, I fear, that the Christian world has,
of late, enjoyed too much worldly prosperity for
the spiritual interests of the church itself, and our
Christianity hangs so loosely upon us, that we are
in danger of forgetting and denying both the
Father and the Son. We want men, who, com-
prehending the philosophy and the spirit of the
age, have at the same time the spirit, the active
zeal and the eloquence of Paul. The young men
about Cambridge and Boston among Unitarians,
and to some extent among others, I have no doubt,
will adopt the " spiritual philosophy," so called,
against Locke and Edwards ; and will they stop
with the Eclecticism of Cousin? As the young
men of education go, so goes the world. The
popular religious works, and the general style of
preaching among all classes and denominations,
have too superficial and extraneous a character to
protect speculative minds at all against the philo-
sophical dogmas and criticisms with which our
popular literature is so abundantly furnished. We
need either a deeper and more heartfelt and heart-
protecting practical piety, or else a more vigorous
and profound philosophical spirit, in the interest of
truth, and armed for its defence. We ought in-
deed to have both ; but how are we to obtain
them ? "
MEMOIR. 125
In all efforts for the promotion of the great
interests of humanity, for the increase of true re-
ligion and piety among ourselves, and for the gen-
eral spread of Christianity through the world, Dr.
Marsh took a deep and lively interest. He looked
upon such efforts as the glory of the age, and felt
it a privilege to co-operate in them as far as his
means and opportunities would allow. But while
he heartily approved of all the great objects which
in these latter days have enlisted the feelings and
called forth the activity of Christian benevolence,
he could not always approve of the measures re-
sorted to for promoting them. He had little faith
in the efficacy of any other means to reform the
world, than the simple power of gospel truth.
Expedients of mere human cunning and contriv-
ance, whatever might be their immediate effects,
appeared to him rather an injury to the cause they
pretended to advance, and the more so in the same
proportion as they departed from the noble sim-
plicity of the gospel. He was astonished at the
ease with which even good men sometimes allowed
themselves to be deceived in this matter ; and he
could no longer be still, when he observed whole
communities rushing thoughtlessly into innovations,
wrong in principle and unsafe in practice, which,
whatever they might promise at first, could scarce-
ly fail to result otherwise than in injury to the
cause of true religion, and destruction to the peace
and order of the churches. On one occasion in
particular, he felt himself called upon to take an
open and determined stand against an innovation
mjLM
126 MEMOIR.
-
of this sort, which, under the sanction and patron-
age of influential men, in and out of the State,
was threatening to become the universal order of
the day. "Sometime in the year 1836, an itinerant
minister, or evangelist, by the name of Burchard,
came on a visit to the State of Vermont, and was
employed to preach in some of the churches. He
was a man of considerable address and power over
the passions, with a quick perception of individual
character, and great tact in adapting a set of meas-
ures to bring the community into a certain state
of feeling, and then make the public feeling react
upon the minds of individuals. The seeming suc-
cess that attended his labors inspired a very gen-
eral confidence both in the man and in his meas-
ures ; and the new system of making converts by
rudeness of language, joined with a certain tact-
ical skill, threatened to supplant, at least for a
time, the more orderly and quiet means of winning
souls to Christ by the power of the truth. Dr.
Marsh looked upon the whole movement with sus-
picion from the first ; but when the scenes came
to be enacted before his own eyes, he felt com-
pelled to employ his pen and the whole force of
his personal influence in opposition to a system so
palpably mischievous and absurd. Its friends and
advocates were in the habit of appealing to expe-
rience, and thought the propriety of the measures,
revolting as they might be to the unbiased sensi-
bilities of the pious heart, was still sufficiently
confirmed by their surprising results. He could
not listen to such language ; his great objection to
MEMOIR. 127
the whole system was its confessedly empirical
character. " Are we to be told," said he, " when
a novel system of measures for the promotion of
religion is proposed, that with the Bible in our
hands, and all that we know, or ought to know, of
the principles of the gospel in their application to
the conscience, we must not pass our judgment
upon it till we have tried it ; and whatever may
be our objections to it beforehand, its apparent
good results must silence them ? But who is to
judge the nature of the results, and how long a
time is to be allowed for proving that what appears
to be good, is truly so ? If immediate appearances
of good are to be taken as an unanswerable argu-
ment in favor of a novel system of doctrines and
measures, and the majorities in our churches are
to judge and decide on those appearances, uncon-
trolled by that knowledge and insight into the
deeper principles of religious truth, which can be
expected only as the result of mature reflection
in those who are set for the defence of the gospel,
what limit can there be to new experiments, and
how long will our churches sustain themselves
under influences so radically subversive of what-
ever is fixed and permanent, whether in doctrines
or the institutions of religion ? " The representa-
tions and remonstrances of Dr. Marsh, through the
press, before associations of ministers, and wherever
he could get access to the public mind, were not
without their effect ; and the evil which threatened
to deluge the religious community, and against
which he was the first to lift up a standard, grad-
#
MUtm t
128 MEMOIR.
ually subsided and died away from this part of the
land.
I have nothing more to relate in regard to mat-
ters connected with the public life of this truly
great and good man. The remainder of his days
were passed in the silent pursuits of study, in the
faithful discharge of his professional duties, and in
the patient endurance of great privations and the
severest domestic trials. In 1838, he lost his
second wife ; and in consequence partly of this
event, and partly of pecuniary embarrassments,
found himself under the unpleasant necessity of
disposing of his house, and of breaking up his
family. The last entry which he made in his
private journal relates to these melancholy and
painful reverses :
" Aug. 20. How much have I gone through,
in the providence of God, since the last record was
made here ! Again am I left alone, and my chil-
dren motherless. My dear wife, after a lingering
decline since March last, was taken to her final
rest on Sunday morning, the 12th of this month,
at about three o'clock, just ten years, within twen-
ty-four hours, since the like affliction befel me.
What lessons of instruction, what excitements and
encouragements to the service of God, have I not
received in the life and death of these beloved
companions ! What examples of simplicity and
purity of heart, of self-denial and devotion to their
domestic duties, to their friends, to the cause of
truth and to God ! Dear L., with all her sincere
and hearty devotion, and her warm affection as a
f
MEMOIR. 129
wife and mother, gone, too, from a world of trial
to a world of rest and blessedness ! Thanks be to
God for all that she was while she lived, and es-
pecially for that consolation which she has left in
the assurance that a spirit so meek, so devoted,
and so acquiescent in the will of God, cannot but
be blessed wherever it is conscious of the presence
and government of God.
" Sept. 16. After an absence of three weeks at
Hartford, partly to dispose of my children, and
partly to recover from fatigue and exhaustion of
spirits, I returned yesterday. And oh to what a
place have I returned ! How changed from what it
used to be, when on returning, I was received here
with open arms and bounding hearts ? I no
longer have a family around me, nor the endear-
ments of a home. My mother-in-law is with
another daughter at Montpelier, my children are
dispersed, so that 1 am now here literally alone.
Oh that my time may be consecrated to the truth,
and to God, that when I have accomplished my
task, I too may go to my rest with the same com-
posure and holy confidence in God, as were exhib-
ited by the dear companions of my past years.
" Sept. 30. During the past fortnight I have
done little but make arrangements for my accom-
modation, and prepare to enter again upon my
professional duties. Alas ! how can I again be-
come interested in those pursuits which I have so
long prosecuted with the cheering smiles of com-
panions, and amid the endearments of a home,
now so desolate. I am here in my solitary rooms,
i
130 MEMOIR.
and look around in vain for her to whom I loved
to go when the labor of the day was done. To
whom now can I go for comfort when I am sad,
and to what rejoicing heart can I run, when my
own heart is animated with new views of truths,
with new hopes and more cheerful prospects ?
What does not remind me that I am alone and
desolate ? But why do I dwell upon such reflec-
tions? Let me rather gird my mind for the duties
of life, and spend my remaining days as a pilgrim,
still and ever looking, while I labor on, for that
rest which remaineth for the people of God."
The physical constitution of Dr. Marsh was
never very robust, and several years before the last
attack of the disease which brought him to the
grave, bleeding at the lungs, he had been visited
in the same manner, and for a time felt somewhat
alarmed for himself. But he soon recovered, and
enjoyed his usual health till the winter of 1841-2,
when, after taking a slight cold, he was suddenly
seized in the night-time, while on his bed, with a
recurrence of the complaint, but not so as to give
him at first much uneasiness. In a few days,
however, the bleeding returned, with an increase
of violence, and it soon became evident, both to
his friends and to himself, that there could be no
expectation of his permanent recovery.
This gave him no other solicitude than it would
be natural for one to feel, who was conscious
within himself of great and useful plans which he
had long been preparing to carry into execution,
but which must now, to all appearances, fail of
MEMOIR. 131
their accomplishment. With the returning Spring,
he indulged a feeble hope that he might so far re-
cover as to be able to make a journey to the South,
in quest of the temporary relief which was all he
looked for to be obtained from a milder climate.
But this hope also was soon abandoned ; when he
cheerfully surrendered himself to the will of God,
and directed his thoughts to the great work of
preparing for the inevitable event which was so
near before him. Through his whole illness, he
enjoyed remarkable clearness and serenity of
mind ; and those of his friends who were privi-
leged to sit by him and listen to his heavenly dis-
course, will never forget the impression left on
their minds by those sadly pleasing interviews.
His sickness was attended with but little pain or
uneasiness, except what arose from an occasional
difficulty of breathing. He died on Sunday morn-
ing, July 3, 1842, at the house of his brother-in-
law, David Reed, Esq., in Colchester, in the 48th
year of his age. His funeral was attended with
every demonstration of respect by a large and
friendly concourse of the citizens of Burlington,
of clergymen from the neighboring towns, and of
the members of the University to which he be-
longed ; and a discourse, which has been published,
was pronounced on the occasion by the Rev. Dr.
Wheeler, President of the University. To that
discourse I refer my readers for a faithful portrait-
ure of the man, as well as for many of the beauti-
ful sayings that fell from his lips, and expressed
132 MEMOIR,
the peace, serenity and christian trust, with which
he awaited his approaching change.
In the personal appearance of Dr. Marsh, there
was nothing which would strike or interest a com-
mon observer ; but few there were, perhaps, who
sooner won upon the respect and esteem of stran-
gers, even on the slightest intercourse, so gentle
were his manners, so sensible and yet so unpre-
tending the style of his conversation. " I know
not," says one of the best judges, " that I ever
met with a person for whom I felt so deep a rev-
erence on so short an acquaintance. But he car-
ried a character in his face not to be mistaken
in which, except in one other instance, I never
saw so legibly written the peace of God. The
moral beauty which was so striking in his expres-
sion, had an elevation in it, from its connexion
with his mind, that I have rarely seen. And how
winning the simplicity of his manners ! You could
not for a moment doubt, that they were the neces-
sary growth of a pure heart, and no common order
of intellect."
His feeble and tremulous voice disqualified him
for making an impression as a public speaker ; but
in the lecture-room in the College chapel, and in
other places where he had " fit audience though
few," the depth of his thoughts, the calm earnest-
ness of his manner and the felicity and appropri-
ateness of his language never failed to interest his
hearers, beyond all power of a more fluent but
superficial eloquence.
MEMOIR.
m
His habits of living were temperate and abste-
mious, almost to a fault. Without being fastidious
or particular about his diet, he confined himself, of
choice, for the most part to vegetable food, and
seldom ate or drank beyond a very moderate
allowance. He was fond of walking, and once
travelled on foot, in a direct course, over mountain
and valley, from Burlington to Hartford, his
native place. As a student, he was regular and
severe, seldom allowing any day to pass without
its appointed task, and often noting down in his
journal what books he had read, and the impres-
sion they had left on his mind. He devoted much
time also to meditation and to writing, and with
all his other duties and labors, maintained an ex-
tensive and learned correspondence, in which he
poured out the treasures of his intellect without
stint or measure. If his letters could be collected,
they would form, I have no doubt, a most interest-
ing and instructive volume.
His life was cut short, before he could realize,
as he wished and intended to do, the objects to
which so many hours of laborious study and pro-
found reflection had been devoted. But who will
say that he lived in vain ; that he has done nothing
for the promotion of a right philosophical spirit,
nothing for the advancement of moral and religious
truth, and nothing in giving an impulse and direc-
tion to other minds, whose influence may be felt
hereafter ? Some may doubt the soundness of his
philosophy, and perhaps the orthodoxy of his
creed. But none can question the nobleness of
134
MEMOIR.
his aims, the purity and disinterestedness of his
motives, and the untiring diligence of his endeav-
ors after all that is praise-worthy and true. May
there be many others to rise up and follow in his
steps.
APPENDIX.
LETTERS OF DR. MARSH. V
[To S. T. Coleridge.]
Burlington, Vt, U. S. A., March 23, 1829.
Dear Sir : The motives which lead me to hazard
the presumption of addressing you, I hope will appear, in
the course of this letter, to be such as may justify me to
your sense of propriety. Although a stranger to literary
reputation, and never likely to be known to you by other
means than by sending yoii my name, I venture to believe
you will give me credit for higher aims than the gratifica-
tion of literary vanity in so doing. I should probably ex-
pose myself to a more deserved imputation of the sort, if
in a country where they are not very generally known, I
should claim such an acquaintance with your works, and
such a sympathy with their spirit, as would entitle me to
seek an intercourse with yourself. But I do not mean to
claim for myself so much as this ; and only say, that from
my past knowledge of your " Literary Life," some ten
years ago, I have sought, as my opportunities would per-
mit, a more intimate acquaintance with your writings, and
with your views on all the great and important subjects of
which you have treated. If I have not been benefitted by
so doing, and those with whom I have been associated, it
is not your fault ; for I have long been convinced, that
though " there are some tilings hard to be understood," and
y
136 APPENDIX.
though your views are not, in the works which we have,
unfolded from first principles in a manner suited to the
novice in philosophy, yet it is in consequence of the false
and superficial notions to which the world is accustomed,
rather than to their inherent difficulty, that your philosoph-
ical writings have been so generally considered mystical
and unintelligible. I trust, however, that I have derived
some degree of profit and of clearer insight from the study
of your writings, and have sometimes ventured to hope
that they would acquire an influence in this country which
would essentially benefit our literature and philosophy.
You probably know, nearly as well as I can tell you, the
state of opinions among us, in regard to every department
of intellectual effort. We feel here so immediately the
changes in these matters which take place in England and
Scotland, that important discussions on questions of gen-
eral interest to literary men and christians, when started
there, soon draw attention here, and are followed up with
similar results. The miscalled Baconian philosophy has
been no less talked of here than there, with the same per-
verse application. The works of Locke were formerly
much read and used as text books, in our colleges ; but of
late have very generally given place to the Scotch writers ;
and Stewart, Campbell and Brown are now almost uni-
versally read as the standard authors on the subjects of
which they treat. In theology, the works of Edwards
have had, and still have, with a large portion of our think-
ing community, a very great influence ; and we have had
several schemes of doctrine, formed out of his leading
principles, which have had each its day and its defenders.
You will readily see the near affinity that exists between
his philosophical views and those of Brown ; and yet it
happens, that the Unitarians, while they reject Edwards,
and treat him with severity for his Calvinism, as it is here
called, give currency to Brown for views that would seem
to lead to what is most objectionable in the work on the
Freedom of the Will. There has lately risen some discus-
sions among our most able orthodox divines, which seem
to me likely to shake the authority of Edwards among
APPENDIX. 137
I '
them ; and I trust your " Aids to Reflection" is, with a
few, exerting an influence that will help to place the lov-
ers of truth and righteousness on better philosophical tf
grounds.
The German philosophers, Kant and his followers, are
very little known in this country ; and our young men who
have visited Germany, have paid little attention to that
department of study while there. I cannot boast of being
wiser than others in this respect ; for though I have read
a part of the works of Kant, it was under many disadvan-
tages, so that I am indebted to your own writings for the
ability to understand what I have read of his works, and
am waiting with some impatience for that part of your
works, which will aid more directly in the study of those
subjects of which he treats. The same views are gener-
ally entertained in this country as in Great Britain, re-
specting German literature ; and Stewart's History of
Philosophy especially has had an extensive influence to
deter students from the study of their philosophy. "Wheth-
er any change in this respect is to take place, remains to
be seen. To me, it seems a point of great importance, to
awaken among our scholars a taste for more manly and
efficient mental discipline, and to recall into use those old
writers, whose minds were formed by a higher standard.
I am myself making efforts to get into circulation some of
the practical works of the older English divines, both for
the direct benefit which they will confer upon the religious
community, and because, in this country, the most practical
and efficient mode of influencing the thinking world, is to
begin with those who think from principle and in earnest ; /f
in other words, with the religious community. It is with
the same views, that I am aiming to introduce some little
knowledge of your own views, through the medium of a
religious journal, which circidates among the most intelli-
gent and serious clergy, and other christians. It is partly
with a view to this, that I venture to address you, and to
request the favor of an occasional correspondence with y
you. In the last number of the Journal alluded to, the
" Christian Spectator" for March 1629, published at New &
18
I
>/
138 APPENDIX.
S
Haven, Connecticut, I have a review of Prof. Stuart's
Commentary on Hebrews, in which I have given a view
of the Atonement, or rather Redemption, I believe nearly
corresponding with yours, and indeed have made free use
of your language. In a note, I had also given you credit
for it, but the note was omitted by the publishers, and a
_/ few paragraphs of their own remarks added. If you should
have the curiosity to see the use which I have made of
your works, the journal can be found, I presume, at Mil-
lers' American Reading Room, or at the office of the Chris-
tian Observer. It has been my intention to write an arti-
cle, or perhaps more than one, for the same journal, on
your "Aids to Reflection ; " but my other duties will prob-
ably prevent it for the present. I shall send you, with this,
an Address delivered by me on coming to my present
place, in which also you will find free use made of your
works ; and I cannot resist the inclination also to refer you
to an article on Ancient and Modern Poetry in the North
American Review for July 1822, which I wrote while pur-
suing professional studies at Andover, Massachusetts. If
you should impute to me some weakness in thus referring
you to some few things which I have written, I can only
say, that as you seemed, in your Literary Life, to be grati-
fied with the use made of your political essays in this
country, I have also a farther motive in the supposition
that you might be gratified with knowing that your philo-
sophical writings are not wholly neglected among us. If,
after reading the pieces to which I have referred, Sir, you
should think the seed which you have been sowing beside
all waters, is likely to bring forth any valuable fruits in
these ends of the earth, I beg that you will pardon my
boldness, and write as suits your convenience, to one who
would value nothing more highly than your advice and
guidance in the pursuit of truth, and the discharge of the
great duty to which I am called, of imparting if to those
who are hereafter to be men of power and influence in
this great and growing republic.
With sentiments of the highest esteem,
Your very obedient servant,
JAMES MARSH.
APPENDIX. 139
[To a young Clergyman.]
Burlington, March 9, 1837.
My Dear Sir : I have some experience, as you sug-
gest, in regard to such thoughts and speculations as you
are busied with at present. I have occupied a great deal
of time, and expended a great deal of thought, in conceiv-
ing what I could do in different circumstances from those
in which I was placed ; and could I have followed my own
inclinations, and have had a farm to go to, I should at one
period very certainly have rusticated myself, and quit pub-
he life altogether. For a great part of my life, I have felt
myself chained to situations in which I felt myself par-
alyzed in the exertion of my powers, and vainly longed
for freedom. But I now feel that had I yielded less to
such feelings, and without any reflective reference to what
I could or could not do, gone on to do my utmost, more or
less, in the sphere of duty in which I found myself placed,
I should have saved myself vast trouble, and done the
world more good. I am convinced that the views you
have in regard to the union of farming, or any other busi-
ness of that sort, with the higher duties of one who means
to exert an extended influence on the intellectual and
moral and religious character of those about him, however
fair at a distance, are not easily realized in practice.
There is a continual tendency to merge the higher ends
in the lower, and very few would do more than to hold
their own, in regard to intellectual power and resources.
One, too, is exposed to more injurious imputations in re-
gard to motives, and his authority and influence with oth-
ers are more weakened, by their taking such a course, than
in preaching for a salary ; and I know no way of avoiding
this evil any where, but by a life so consecrated to the
discharge of duty, so laborious and self-denying and holy,
that we may appeal, with the apostle, to every man's con-
science, for the simplicity and godly sincerity of our con-
versation. I would say, in a word, if you will allow me to
speak freely my own mind, do not allow your powers to
be relaxed and their effect paralyzed, by reflections upon
140 APPENDIX,
other possible conditions of usefulness ; but consider your-
self as called of God to preach the gospel where you are,
till his Providence shall plainly call you elsewhere, and,
making that your first and great object, " make full proof
of your ministry." In the mean time your mind will be
enlarged, and you will be better prepared to do good to
your own people, as a religious teacher, if you keep before
you all the interests of humanity, in their widest extent,
and so labor for these, that your weekly routine of paro-
chial duty shall become at length but a subordinate part
of your labors for the great cause of truth and of right-
eousness. R told me, when here, that your peo-
ple were more and more pleased with your style of preach-
ing, and that your prospect of usefulness was every way
good. As the matter appears to me, therefore, I would
say, think of nothing else for the present, but of doing your
utmost in the sphere of duty that surrounds you. I could
give you a long talk upon the various points in your letter,
and an earnest one, if it were worth while ; but you see
my drift, and can readily supply the rest. I will only add,
with emphasis, do not waste time and energy, as I have
done, by thinking what you could do in other circum-
stances ; but let the only question be, how can I do most
here, where the providence of God has placed me, for ac-
complishing the great ends to which my life is consecrated,
making the proper duties of your station the first and start-
ing point of all.
Very sincerely, yours, &c,
J. MARSH.
[To the Rev. G. S. W., Sackett's Harbor, N. Y.}
Burlington, Feb. 2, 1838.
My Dear Sir : I am sorry your letter has been so
long unanswered, and that I should have seemed so negli-
gent of your claims. But I assure you it has not been as
APPENDIX. 141
it may have seemed in the case, for indeed I have written
the amount of three or four letters, at different times ; but
in my attempt to bring a great subject within the compass
of a letter, have so perplexed it that I cannot send what I
have written. So, as I have not time to try again, and if I
did, should probably succeed no better, I must do at last
what I might have done at first, send you a brief and hasty
reply. You do not, in fact, need any help from me, to fol-
low out the problem upon which you have been at work,
and I am glad to see that you are so obviously on the right
track. What I aimed at, in what I wrote, was to show ^
some of the more general and philosophical principles
which connect your view of the identity of subject and
object with the grounds of philosophical truth universally.
But the subject is too extensive and too difficult for a let-
ter. I will only say here, then, that the doctrine, in its
practical bearing, as you apply it to the leading doctrines
of the gospel, is nothing more than a philosophical expres-
sion of what is implied in numerous passages of Scripture,
as understood by the old divines, and as they must be un-
derstood, if we would find in them any spiritual meaning.
I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me.. Only so far as
this is true, and I have the inward experience of the cru-
cifying of the old man and of the awakened energies of a
new and spiritual life ; i. e., only so far as I am crucified
with Christ, and risen with him, by that power of Christ
which effectually worketh in them that believe ; only so
far, I say, is Christ any thing for me, either in his death or
his life. We may, indeed, know him after the flesh, as
we know our fellow-men ; i. e., historically and from out-
ward experience, but not inwardly and spiritually. He is,
and can be recognized as, my Redeemer and Saviour, only
as by the living power of his Spirit he has become the in-
ward and actual life of my life, so that by virtue of his
gracious inworking, my enslaved will is freed from the
bondage of nature, empowered to overcome* the propensi-
ties of nature, to abjure the evil principle of self-will, or
the law of nature, and freely to obey the universal law of Y
truth and holiness.
142
APPENDIX.
But this statement even, I am aware, seems mystical
when presented in this naked way ; and should I attempt
to enlarge here, I should only make it worse. But there
is a way, I believe, of developing the subject, and of ex-
hibiting the relation of the subjective to the objective, in
the successive gradations of powers, from those of organic
life in its lowest forms, upward to the development of the
supernatural or spiritual, that would throw light on the re-
lation of our spiritual being to nature and to the spiritual.
I can only say here, that as the powers of our natural life
have their correlative objects in the natural world, so that
which is spiritual in us must seek and find its correlatives
in the spiritual world ; and that universally the subjective
is the measure of the objective, each necessarily presup-
posing the other, as the condition of its actual manifesta-
tion. Thus the correlative of conscience is God, and with
the awakening or actuation of the subjective, there is a
necessary presentation of the objective, and a commensu-
rate conviction of its reality. In other words, God is the
objectivity and reality of the conscience, and in proportion
as the conscience is awakened, does it become impossible
to doubt the existence of God. In like manner, we may
say that where the principle of spiritual life is awakened,
it has its correlative object, Christ, in the fulness of his
divine nature, as that which it presupposes, in the same
sense that the principle of organic life presupposes the
world of sense, as its necessary condition and correlative.
But not to leave you with these vaguenesses for the
sole answer to your letter, after so long delay, I will direct
one of our recent graduates at Rochester to send a manu-
script to you, which is in his hands, and was originally
sent to Mr. Dana, of Boston. It may help you to carry out
your thoughts in some particulars, and even in theological
matters, though it is not itself properly theological. I will
thank you to return it to me as soon as convenient.
Yours, truly,
JAS. MARSH.
APPENDIX. 143
[To Mr. J. M.]
Burlington, April 2, 1838.
My Dear Sir : I rejoice, and hope I am truly thank-
ful to the God of all grace, for such news as your letter
contains. I rejoice with you, in your experience of the
blessedness of trusting in him, and of looking to that Lamb
of God, which taketh away the sin of the world. If there
is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, there is
surely cause of joy and gratitude for us, when, as we have
reason to hope and believe, our friends are brought from
darkness to light ; and in addition to the general causes of
rejoicing, there is also that arising from our personal rela-
tions. We have all here felt much interest in your relig-
ious feelings and character, and anxious not only on your
own account, but thatto your other qualifications for act-
ing well your part in a world that so much needs both
thinking and good men, you might have also that of a
fixed religious principle, that of faith in God and faith in
the truth. We may now, I trust, cherish with confidence
the belief that in whatever outward sphere of action your
judgment, and the advice of friends, may lead you to seek
the ends of living, they will always be worthy ends, and
subordinate to the great end of glorifying God. Where
there is not a principle of religious faith, you will under-
stand now how it is that, while we hope for the best, we
cannot feel assured for our young men, that they will al-
ways be found walking in the truth, or that they will not
become the prey of a worldly and selfish ambition. But
when a man's will is brought in subjection to the law, or
rather inwardly actuated by the living power of conscience,
as God working in it both to will and to do, and when the
understanding is illuminated by that inward light, which
shineth more and more unto the perfect day, this power
and light we can trust with implicit confidence, not only
as securing the man himself amidst the bufietings of
temptation, but as having a diffusive energy, and exerting
a controlling influence upon the world around. I hope
and pray that in and through you, as a chosen instrument
144 APPENDIX.
^_ *
of God, they may be manifested for the promotion of every
good word and work, and for the salvation of many souls.
As to the sphere of action in which you shall seek to serve
God in your generation, I hardly dare give advice, but will
mention some of the considerations which seem to me to
pertain to the question. I take it for granted, that a Chris-
tian, animated by the ardor of love to Christ and to the
souls of men, will most naturally seek to engage in labors
immediately promotive of the glory of the one, and of the
salvation of the other. I have no doubt, moreover, that
he will find more satisfaction, more that is congenial to his
feelings, in preaching the gospel of Christ, and striving to
win the souls of men unto obedience to its law of love,
even with all the hardships and self-denial which the
ministry of the gospel involves, than in any other sphere
of duty. Yet it could not be inferred that it is the duty of
every man, even of every one qualified for it, to engage
directly in the labors of the ministry. Constituted as our
Christian communities are, requiring, as they do, the pow-
er of truth and religious principle in every department,
requiring indeed to be pervaded by the spirit of truth,
there is no regularly constituted sphere of duty, where the
most enlightened and warm-hearted Christian may not
find s ample scope for the exercise of all his powers and all
his graces. In reference to the interests of education and
to the political interests of the country, connected as they
so obviously are with the interests of the world, and rest-
ing ultimately for their security on the diffused influence
and power of truth, as I have no doubt you now very clear-
ly perceive, how often have I wished for men in our public
councils, who could see things from the higher point of
view to which you allude ! How much do we need men,
who, seeing things from that vantage ground, could and
would advocate the cause of truth and right with the elo-
quence of Burke and Chatham, combined with that inner
soul and spirit of eloquence, winch the writings of Paul
the Apostle most adequately express ! What soul so vast
in its conceptions, or so exuberant in the overflow of Chris-
tian affections, as not to find objects large enough, and
APPENDIX.
145
mm
interests sufficiently dear, for the full employment of mind
and heart, among those which every day demand the la-
bors of the pen and the press, of the pulpit and the halls
of legislation. But I see I am giving you little help in de-
ciding the question of employment, unless you should be
led to look at objects more immediately connected with
the exertion of Christian influence than the study and
practice of law, which it seems to me you will find too far
insulated to meet the promptings of your own heart. And
yet I should not think it time misspent, to employ a year
or so in the study of legal principles and matters connected
with them. Theology I would at all events study, in some
form ; if not with a view to preaching, yet as necessary to
the higher objects, which I trust you will, at all events,
aim at in life. But you must come down here and talk of
this matter more at large. At present, your thoughts will
be chiefly occupied with the more immediate spiritual
interests of yourself and those around you ; and it is best
they should be so. You will find, probably, that you still
know but in part, and that the depths of evil in your own
heart, its self -flattering devices and consequent dangers,
with the corresponding depth and height of the exceeding
love and preventive grace of God, are learned but by de-
grees The more you know of the one, the better will
you understand the other.
We are anxious to have you come and mingle with
your former companions here, in the hope that you may
be the means of good to them. There is, we trust, rather
more than the usual sobriety and susceptibility to religious
impressions among the students, and I hope that our new
arrangement for religious worship maybe made a blessing.
I am glad you read Cudworth, and wish you would join
with his writings those of John Howe and Leighton.
Howe's Blessedness of the Righteous, for depth of in-
sight combined with practical efficiency in its appeals to I
the heart, is at least one of the best things in the language.
Very affectionately and truly yours,
J. MARSH.
i.
19
* *
146 APPENDIX.
[To the same.]
Burlington, Oct. 2, 1840.
My Dear Sir : I have but this moment received
your letter, and too late, I fear, for you to get an answer
before tomorrow morning. However, I will do my best to
have it reach you. I shall not probably have occasion to
use the long discourse which you have, within a few
weeks, and you are quite welcome to keep it. The ser-
mon which I inquired for, has appeared, so that I shall not
need to ask for your copy.
I fear I can hardly give, in a letter and in so much
haste, a series of subjects for discussion, that will be of
much service to you. I will, however, give an outline, that
may be filled up afterwards. It will be connected, as you
will see, with the philosophical views, which must of ne-
cessity determine the method of a theological system ; but
at the same time I would discuss each topic, under the
practical aspect which it assumes in the word of God.
1. Anthropology. Man, as a created, a dependent, a
responsible, and therefore a free or self-determined, a
spiritual and personal being ; his relation to the absolute
and universal law of truth and duty, his primitive or ideal
character and condition as formed in the Divine image,
his fallen condition by nature, and relation of the finite
free will to an individual nature on the one hand, and to
the redemptive power of the Word and Spirit of God on
the other.
In connection with these topics, study carefully the
Epistles of Paul, especially that to the Eomans, with
Usteri's Paulinische LehrbegrirT, Tholuck's Commentary
on Ptomans, Heinroth's Anthropologic and Psychologic,
Coleridge, and I will venture to add, my sermons. Right
views of these subjects are indispensable to all that fol-
lows, as pertaining to the Christian system.
2. The doctrine of a revelation, of inspiration, &c, and
the true idea of these as connected with anthropology and
psychology. The whole subject connects itself with our
APPENDIX. 147
views of the relation of the understanding to the reason on
the one side, and to sense on the other. You will find
valuable helps in the latter part of both works of Heinroth
to which I referred above, as well as in Coleridge. Cole-
ridge's work on Inspiration is not yet published. The
common works, your teachers can refer you to. Nordhei-
mer and Henry can probably help you to the German
books.
3. The doctrine of Redemption. Distinguish its sub-
jective and objective necessity. The former, as already
considered under the first head. The latter is a vexed
question, and you will do well to study it as presented by
different systems of Theology, and as treated by Tholuck
and Coleridge, neither of whom, however, is very explicit.
See Tholuck's Commentary on Romans, 5th chapter.
This is, of course, closely connected with the work of Re-
demption in the same relations as subjective and objec-
tive, or relative to the subject redeemed, and to the
necessary requisitions of the law and character and God.
The common method is to treat first, as connected with
this whole subject, of the person and character of Christ,
his relation to man and to God, and so to the several
offices which he bears, as connected with the work of re-
demption.
4. The effects wrought in the redeemed regenera-
tion, faith, repentance ; and so all the fruits of the Spirit.
This will involve, again, the relation of the believer to
Christ, and the agency of the Spirit of God. The doctrines
of justification and sanctification, and their relation to each
other, you will find points of much controversy, and requir-
ing careful study. Read St. Paul for yourself, and with
all the help you can get. This topic lies at the bottom of
some great divisions among theologians, and is connected,
as you will see, with the main topic under the previous
head.
The church, or the relation of believers to each other, as
one in spirit, and to Christ, as their common head, and as
constituting the spiritual church, governed by a spiritual
law, and co-operating to a spiritual end. The visible
148 APPENDIX.
church, as grounded on and deriving all its life and power
and authority from this, and so a mere lifeless and spirit-
less and unmeaning semblance, except as it expresses the
actual and living presence and power of Christ in his
members his body, which is the church.
The future state of believers and unbelievers, future
rewards and punishments, the spiritual world, the judg-
ment and its consequences, &c. Theology in its limited
sense, the rational idea of God grounds of a rational
conviction of his existence mode of existence person-
ality, triunity, relation to nature or the material universe,
and to the spiritual world, or spiritual existences.
But I have made out a longer list than I intended ; yet
I could think of no better way, than to put the subjects in
the form of a systematic outline. Many things, however,
are left out, as you will perceive, which are necessary to
a complete system. I believe you will find what I have
given, to be subjects that have a systematic relation to
each other, and you can take up more or less, and more or
less minutely, as you choose. For the purposes of the
pulpit, I would discuss everything in a practical form, and
carry nothing there simply speculative. My own more
elaborate sermons are not such as I would approve for
common use. There is so much of speculative interest in
all our schools, that the plain, practical preaching of the
gospel is likely to be lost sight of. Pray you rise above
this ; and let your sermons breathe and utter forth the sol-
emn earnestness and the yearning love for the souls of
men, that characterize the gospel itself. Whatever may
be the character of my own sermons, the exhibition of
such a spirit is, in my deliberate judgment, the only
preaching.
Yours truly,
J. MARSH.
APPENDIX. 149
LETTERS FROM CORRESPONDENTS.
[From Dr. Rice. J
Union Theological Seminary, April 14, 1829.
My Dear Sir : I have felt badly, that none of us an-
swered the very interesting letter written by you, just
after your great bereavement. I wish you to know the
circumstances, which prevented my writing. Your letter
came to hand just as I was preparing a sermon to preach
on a particular occasion. As soon as this preparation was
made, I had to leave home, and was laboriously engaged
during a tour of six weeks. On my return, I had all the
cares of the commencement of the session. By that time,
your letter, in being handed about among the neighbors,
was lost. I do most fully concur with you in opinion as
to the importance of getting into circulation the writings
of the great men who lived in the seventeenth century.
And if you can succeed in your design, a benefit of incal-
culable value will be conferred on New England. The
theological taste has been too long formed on the model of
metaphysics. Systems and sermons are moulded into
this form. Rhetoric is extinct. Eloquence, instead of be-
ing like the garden of Eden, bright in celestial light, and
breathing the airs of heaven, is a very Hortus Siccus, with
every flower labelled and pasted on blank paper; the
colors all faded, the fragrance gone, and "behold all is
very dry." There must be a new model. But it will
never be framed by our teachers of Sacred Rhetoric.
Indeed I have no doubt, but that they will impede the
progress of Reformation. Something may be expected
from an increased study of the Bible. If it were studied
right, great improvements would of course follow. For
the spirit of that inimitable composition cannot be breath-
ed into a man, without an awakening of something in him
corresponding to its sublimity, its pathos, its overpowering
eloquence. The men whom we agree in adniiring were
>
150 APPENDIX.
made what they were, in a great degree, by the Bible.
Instead of sitting down to study it with a system of
metaphysics to control their philology, they brought them-
selves to its sacred pages, that they might feel the vis ful-
minea, and breathe the heavenly aura of divine truth.
Convinced that it was an emanation from the Eternal
Source of truth, they entirely gave themselves up to its
influences, and were borne by it extra flamanlia moenia
mundi.
How different the writers of the present day ! But I
need not stay to point out the contrast. You have espe-
cially marked the difference in regard to religious feeling.
It is true that the present age requires action. But cer-
tainly religion is getting to be too much, in some places,
an affair of business. It is becoming cold and calculating.
And should the present excitement wear off, I apprehend
the church will be left in a deplorably desolate and barren
condition. I could wish indeed the activity of Christians
to be increased a thousand fold ; but I wish to see them
borne on by that profound, deep-toned feeling which per-
vaded the inmost souls of such men as Leighton, Baxter,
and Howe. But as to the business part of your undertak-
ing, 1 hardly know what opinion to give. I should think
that you would do well to have a subscription sufficient to
cover your expenses. Selections have generally sold
badly. The prevailing taste is for other things. Such
poetry as Mrs. Hemans's, is more popular than Milton's.
A souvenir in polite literature, and a sermon of cut and dry
metaphysics, or cut and dry rhetoric, is all the rage. I think
that there have been several English editions of Leighton.
His whole works then would scarcely do well. Howe,
Baxter, etc., are too voluminous for general reading, and
would afford very good opportunity for selection. Bishop
Hopkins is one of my favorites of the old school I could
wish you to take something from him. Jeremy Taylor
has been republished in this country. Some extracts from
Thomas Browne's Beligio Medici would furnish a choice
morceau nor would I neglect the "silver-tongued Bates."
Barrow has vast force, but not much feeling. He has no
APPENDIX.
rhetoric. If these hasty hints should give you any plea-
sure, I shall be glad.
Mrs. Rice unites with me in most affectionate remem-
brances, and best wishes for your health and usefulness.
Yours most truly,
JOHN H. RICE.
To the Rev. James Marsh, Burlinglon, Vermont.
[From Dr. Follen.]
Cambridge, April 14, 1832.
Dear Sir : Your very kind letter, which assured me
of your favorable reception of the views of German phi-
losophy which I had given in my Inaugural Discourse, has
been a source of great satisfaction to me. I have delayed
answering your letter in the hope to find some leisure
hours, in which I could express to you more fully my sen-
timents on those topics of deep interest which you touch
upon, and do my best to answer your questions. But a3
the desired time for a long letter may not arrive, I will in
a few lines give you my views of what seem to me, from
a very limited and recent experience in this country, to be
the most desirable steps to be taken in order to infuse life
and intelligence into the clay of our present philosophical
literature and instruction. Your edition of Coleridge, with
the excellent prefatory aids, has done and will do much to
introduce and naturalize a better philosophy in this coun-
try, and particularly to make men perceive that there is
much in the philosophy of other nations, and that there is
still more in the depths of their own minds that is worth
exploring, and which cannot be had cheap and handy in
the works of the Scotch and English dealers in philoso-
phy. Still there is a want of good text-books, of works
in which that spirit of a better philosophy is carried into
each of its special branches. And here the important
question arises, which of the various disciplines which
152 APPENDIX.
constitute the highest department of human knowledge,
should be selected to begin the work of reformation.
There are two on which I rest my hopes as the pioneers
in philosophy. In a community which is deluged with
superficial discussions on momentous questions which can
be settled only by philosophic principles, I look upon
Psychology and the history of Philosophy as the parents
of a new race of thoughts and modes of reasoning. Those,
therefore, who would dispose and prepare the public mind
for the reception of philosophy in all its branches, who
would lead men not only to use, but to understand their
own reason, should lend the whole weight of their intellec-
tual eminence to those two sciences. The one makes
men acquainted with the ideas of others on the subject of
philosophy, the other teaches them its realities in their own
minds ; the one leads their understandings abroad to be-
come acquainted with the intellectual world without them,
the other guides them home to its living springs within
them. I am not acquainted with a thorough work or a
good text-book on either of those sciences in English;
and in German literature, rich as it is in valuable works in
these departments, I know no one of which a mere trans-
lation would meet the wants of the community, though
they furnish excellent materials. Thus, in the philosophy
of the human mind, the Anthropology of Kant, and the
Psychologies of Cams, Fries, and others, would greatly
aid an able compiler, but neither of them would of itself,
probably, succeed in supplanting the genteel and palata-
ble philosophy of Brown. In the history of philosophy,
an extract from Tenneman's great work, considerably
larger than his own synopsis of it, I should think would
be the most suitable undertaking. A truly philosophical
logic seems to me the third great desideratum ; and it was
with great pleasure that I heard from our mutual friend,
Mr. Henry, that you had actually announced one on the
basis of Fries, whose work I consider the best on that sub-
ject. Among the German works on logic, in your posses-
sion, you do not mention that of Schulze, (the author of
Aenesidemus,) which he used as a text-book in his lee-
APPENDIX. 153
tures in Gottingen, and that of Tasche, compiled from the
notes taken of Kant's lectures on logic. If these books
should be of any service to you, I should be happy to lend
them to you, and will send them in any way you may
point out. There are many other topics on which I wish
to communicate with you, particularly the plan of Mr.
Henry to publish a philosophical journal, which seems to
me a very desirable object. But I must conclude now,
with the expression of my hope that this summer will not
pass away without bringing me the pleasure of a personal
acquaintance with you. At any rate, I earnestly hope for
a frequent exchange of thought with you upon subjects of
such deep interest to us both. ^
With the highest esteem,
Your friend and servant,
CHARLES FOLLEN.
To President James Marsh, Burlington, Vermont.
[From Mr. Gillman.]
Highgate, Feb. 24th.
Dear Sir : Although your kind and sympathizing
letter has remained unanswered, it gave me unfeigned
satisfaction, as I felt it a mark of regard for myself, and an
affectionate testimony of love for the memory of one of
the best of human beings. Sorrow and sickness have,
ever since we lost him, followed so closely on each other,
that I have left many things undone which I yet never
lost sight of; and among them was the assurance I owed
you of my sense of the value of those feelings which in-
duced you to address me. I am sorry I cannot give you
any information respecting the writings Coleridge has left.
But Mr. Henry Nelson Coleridge intends himself the
pleasure of forwarding the new works, entitled " Literary
Remains," published since his death, by the Bishop of
20
I
154 APPENDIX.
Vermont, who has offered to convey any parcel to you. I
am obliged by your introduction of that gentleman to me ;
we were highly pleased with his manly simplicity, and in-
teresting appearance and manners. I beg your acceptance,
my dear Sir, of the first volume of Coleridge's Life. The
second volume is not yet finished, but it will, I think, be
the most interesting of the two, as it will contain so many
notes and memoranda of his own. How much I wish you
could have known, or even have seen him ! I enclose the
copy of an epitaph I wrote for a very humble tablet, which
I put up in our church at Highgate ; and also a copy of his
will, which latter will no doubt interest you deeply ; a copy
too, of the last thing he wrote, ten days before he breathed
his last, and when in his bed and suffering greatly. I must
now, my dear Sir, beg you to accept my cordial regard, and
to rest assured of the sentiments of esteem with which I
am Yours, faithfully,
JAMES GILLMAN.
To Dr. Marsh.
I
SACRED TO THE MEMORY
OF
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE;
POET, PHILOSOPHER, THEOLOGIAN.
This truly great and good man resided for the last nineteen
years of his life,
In this Hamlet;
He quitted " the body of this death,"
July 25th, 1834,
In the Sixty Second year of his age.
Of his profound learning, and his discursive genius, his
literary works are an imperishable record.
To his private worth,
His social and christian virtues,
James and Ann Gillman,
The friends with whom he resided, during the above
period, dedicate this tablet.
Under the pressure of a long and most painful disease,
his disposition was unalterably sweet and angelic.
He was an ever- enduring, ever-loving friend,
The gentlest and kindest teacher,
The most engaging home companion.
" O framed for calmer times, and nobler hearts !
O studious poet, eloquent for Truth!
Philosopher, contemning wealth and death,
Yet docile, childlike, full of life and love :
Here, on this monumental stone, thy friends inscribe thy worth."
Reader ! for the world, mourn.
A light has passed away from the earth.
But for this pious and exalted Christian, rejoice :
And again I say unto you, rejoice !
Ubi
Thesaurus
Ibi
S. T. C.
156 APPENDIX.
[Letters from H. N. Coleridge.]
[1]
10, Chester Place, {Regents' Park,) London,
June 2, 1839.
Dear Sir: The Bishop of Vermont having kindly
offered to convey a small parcel to you, I gladly avail my-
self of the opportunity to beg your acceptance of the third
and fourth volumes of the Literary Remains of Mr. Cole-
ridge, published by me, and also a copy of a new edition
of the Aids to Reflection, in which you will see that I have
reprinted your Essay. All Coleridge's works are now
printed uniformly, except the Biographia, and sold cheap-
ly ; and I hope to add the B. L. to the number, within a
twelvemonth.
With great respect, believe me,
dear Sir, yours, very faithfully,
HENRY N. COLERIDGE.
To the Rev. James Marsh.
12]
April 1, 1840.
My Dear Sir : Pray accept my thanks for both your
letters, which were very interesting to me. The principal
object of this note, however, is to say that I have never
seen the New York edition of the Aids to Reflection, to
which you refer. Mr. Pickering's name is usurped in the
title page, neither he nor I having any knowledge of the
publication ; and if it is so used as to induce readers to
believe that the edition has any peculiar sanction from us
in England, I think it an unfair transaction. Professor
McV. I conjecture only to be Prof. McVickar. I do not
know whether he is the gentleman who used to be known
to Mr. Southey, and whose son I met in London about a
year ago. Of the merits of the New York edition, or the
propriety of the preface, I can of course say nothing in my
present ignorance, except that I should not agree with any
denial of your having rendered a great service to the cause
APPENDIX. 157
of sound philosophy as involved in the principles taught
by Mr. Coleridge. My uncle was born and bred, and
passed all his later life, and died, an affectionate member
of the church of England ; but the fact of church mem-
bership would not in and of itself have influenced one of
his conclusions. He was a member of the church, be-
cause he believed that he had ascertained by observation
and experience that it presented the best form of Chris-
tian communion, having regard to primitive precept and
practice, social order, and the developement of the indi-
vidual mind. I am sorry there should be any parties
among Christ's disciples; though increasing in strength,
they still need union in their warfare.
If you should find a fair opportunity, I should be much
gratified with a copy of your reprint of the Aids. I have
nothing to send you at present ; but am closely getting
on, as I find leisure, with an edition of the Biographia
Literaria, with notes, biographical and others.
Mr. Green means very shortly to beg your acceptance
of a copy of his Hunterian Oration, with notes and ap-
pendices, and another Lecture he is publishing in a vol-
ume under the title of Vital Dynamics.
Pray excuse this short note, which I write amidst much
occupation, wishing you to believe me, my dear sir,
Yours very faithfully,
H. N. COLERIDGE.
[3]
My Dear Sir : I trust you will excuse a very few
lines in acknowledgment of your last letter. And I wish
to mention, that several months ago, I sent to Mr. C.
Goodrich a copy of the last edition of the Friend, which,
from your silence, I almost fear he cannot have received.
I already possess a copy of Dr. McVickar's edition of the
Aids. I trust, that you are to be the editor of the new
edition of the other works. I am going tomorrow morning
158 APPENDIX.
for a ramble on the continent ; but hope to get out, soon
after my return, the little volume of which I believe I
spoke to you The Confessions of an Inquiring Spirit
You are aware that there are editions of all Mr. Coleridge's
prose works, except the Biographia. With the Friend,
Mr. Green sent you a copy of his Hunterian Oration. I
hope both have been received. Mr. Allen sent me all his
letters, and Dr. Mc Vickar has lately sent me his. The
Editor seems to me totally unfriendly, not to you only, but
to Coleridge.
Believe me, my dear Sir,
Yours very faithfully,
H. N. COLERIDGE.
[From Dr. Green.]
King's College, London, Feb. 25, 1839.
My Dear Sir : Interested as I am in all that relates
to the character of my lamented friend Coleridge, and to
the promulgation of those truths which it was the great
aim of his life, even at the sacrifice of his worldly inter-
ests, to establish, I need not say how much gratification
I have received in learning from one, so well qualified as
yourself to give an opinion, that Coleridge's writings are
appreciated, and that with your aid they are forming for
themselves a widening circle of admirers in the United
States.
In reply to your inquiries respecting his works that re-
main to be published, I beg to acquaint you, that he has
left a considerable number of miscellaneous papers, of the
nature of which you will be enabled to form a judgment
from the three posthumous volumes entitled, " Literary
Remains," which have already appeared. No time will
be lost in putting forth another volume. Much, however,
will still remain for publication, including a variety of es-
says and detached observations on subjects of theology,
APPENDIX. 159
biblical criticism, logic, natural science, &c, in connection
with his philosophical views. I dare not, however, prom-
ise any finished work, except a short though highly inter-
esting one " On the Inspiration of the Scriptures." And
I may add, that, beyond the design of getting these works
through the press, and of reprinting those which are out of
print, no intention exists at present of publishing an uni-
form collection of his prose writings.
I presume, however, that your main inquiry relates to
the work that was expected to contain the full develope-
ment of his system of philosophy ; but I regret to say that
this, which would have been the crowning labor of his
life, was not accomplished ; nor can this unfortunate cir-
cumstance be a matter of surprise to those who are ac-
quainted with the continual suffering from disease, which
embittered the latter part of this truly great man's life. I
cannot doubt that the announcement of this desideratum
will be no less a disappointment to Coleridge's transatlan-
tic friends than to his admirers in England ; but to none
will the disappointment prove more grievous than to my-
self, as the task of supplying the deficiency devolves, by
my dear friend's dying request, on my very inadequate
powers. I am now, however, seriously at work, in the
humble hope of fulfilling this duty, (as far as my means
of accomplishing it permit;) and I propose, in the first in-
stance, to give a succinct and comprehensive statement of
principles, such as will enable the readers of Coleridge's
writings to see the connection of the thoughts under the
guiding light of the unity of the ideas from which they
flowed. In this attempt to set forth the principles of Mr.
Coleridge's system, I am not without the hope of estab-
lishing them as the principles of philosophy itself, and of
showing that' the various schemes which have been
framed by the founders of the numerous philosophical
schools and sects, are not disparates or contraries, but
merely partial views of one great truth, and necessary
steps and gradations in the evolution of the human mind
in its inherent and necessary desire of philosophical truth-
la closing this, I trust that I shall be enabled to rescue
160 APPENDIX.
the all-important doctrine of ideas from the obloquy and
scorn, which a narrow and barren pseudo -philosophy of
the senses has but too Well succeeded in throwing upon a
Method, alone calculated to vitalize and realize human
speculation, and to give power and dignity to the mind.
Nay ! I do not despair of reconciling philosophy with re-
ligion, and of showing that, whilst philosophy must con-
sent to be her handmaid, religion may derive a reciprocal
benefit, in the proof that religion is reason as the essential
form of inward revelation. Whether my ability be equal
to the task of giving an outward reality in distinct state-
ment, to Coleridge's high and ennobling speculations, can
be only known to the God of truth, to whom I pray for
light and strength, under the almost overwhelming sense
of the difficulty of doing that which could be adequately
done only by the Author.
I remain, my dear Sir,
Yours, very sincerely,
JOSEPH HENRY GREEN.
To Rev. James Marsh.
[From the same.]
King's College, London, March 5, 1841.
My Dear Sir : When I contrast the date of this let-
ter with that of your welcome communication, I am truly
ashamed of having so long delayed the acknowledgment
of the great pleasure it afforded me, not only on its own
account, but as an earnest (which I trust it is) of our bet-
ter acquaintance, and of the support which we may mutu-
ally give each other, in the establishment of the philosophy
of ideas, of which in the present age Coleridge was un-
' questionably the reviver and re -originator. And if the
* Vital Dynamics," with your approbation of which I am
highly flattered, should at all contribute to enlist scientific
APPENDIX. 161
men in the cause, and to infuse a more vital philosophy
into science, especially physics, I shall derive the high
gratification of having been one of the instruments, under
Providence, of promulgating the truths of a spiritual phi-
losophy, and of rescuing the pursuits of noble minds from
the taint of errors, which I fear are too apt to arise under
the dominant influence, hitherto prevalent in physics, of
a philosophy, the tendency of which is assuredly to place
all reality in sensuous intuition, consequently to withdraw
the mind injuriously from supersensuous truths, and in
confounding faith with belief, to substitute conjecture,
probability, and the subjective condition of the believer's
mind, for the proper evidence of the great truths upon
which the whole moral fife of man is based. We may,
indeed, discern an order of Providence in the develope-
ment of physical science ; and we can scarcely doubt that
it could not have advanced, in connexion with the imper-
fect nature of the human mind, which sees only in part, ex-
cept under the condition of a too exclusive attention to the
senses, and to the forms of sense, which it mainly owed to
Descartes and Gassendi ; whilst we cannot but admit that
physical science and natural knowledge are important ele-
ments in the cultivation of man, both as it respects the de-
velopement of his intellect and the creation of the means
and instruments of civilization and of a common participa-
tion by the whole race in the blessings granted to any
one more favored portion. We have indeed learned a bet-
ter creed than that derived from a sensuous philosophy,
which mistakes means for ends ; and viewing the acquisi-
tions of science in relation to the moral man, of whom the
intellect is after all but a fragment, we press onwards to
the goal, at which the intellect, with its noblest product,
science, is still to be subordinated to the moral will in that
moral life of the whole man, head and heart, in which
philosophy even must await its final and complete vivifi-
cation. I fear that you estimate too highly the labors of
the English so called natural philosophers, and I should
hesitate to ascribe to them generally a higher merit than
the talent of generalization ; at all events, the perception
21
162 APPENDIX.
of law in the spirit of a true dynamic philosophy has
scarcely more than dawned upon some few of my coun-
trymen ; and had I not been prompted by a deep sense of
the momentous nature of the truths which I have endeav-
ored to inculcate in my oration, I should hardly have ven-
tured with those auditors and readers, to whom it was
addressed, to cast my bread upon the waters. Should you
think that an advantageous impression might be made by
its publication on your side of the water, I pray you to
dispose of it as you may see fit ; and well convinced I am
that a preface from your pen would incalculably aid its
effect both there and in this country.
There is, however, one passage in your letter, which has
excited an apprehension in my mind that I may have been
misunderstood, and that in respect of the relation of God
to nature you may be disposed to infer that my doctrines
are tainted by the erroneous tendency of Schelling's phi-
losophy to Pantheism ; for that such is its tendency, not-
withstanding his declaimer, I cannot doubt. Now if there
was any one point, on which above all others Coleridge
manifested the utmost anxiety, it was that of preventing
the possibility of confounding God with nature ; and per-
haps no better evidence can be offered than the formula,
which he was frequently in the habit of repeating : World
God = : God world = Reality absolute ; the world
without God is nothing, God without the world is already,
in and of himself, absolute perfection, absolute reality.
And this doctrine of genuine Theism he has most nobly
vindicated, in its inalienable connection with the doctrine
of the Trinity as it is set forth in the Nicene Creed, by
establishing as a truth of reason the Personality of God ;
a doctrine which is the very foundation of moral truth, as it
is the dominant principle of Coleridge's system, but to
which Schelling's philosophy is inadequate ; and I do not
think that I am asserting too much in saying that its inad-
equacy to the attainment of the idea is virtually confessed
in its utter improgressiveness after a certain period long
since passed, and that it is this inadequacy which has
APPENDIX. 163
Jk
probably prevented Schelling's long promised completion
of his philosophy in a systematic form.
I send you herewith a small brochure, just published, on
a subject which now is agitating the medical profession in
this country ; and though you can take no part in its par-
ticular object, yet I have thought that its general scope and
design might not be unacceptable to you, and that it might
interest you as a specimen of reasoning by ideas. It will
at least show that I am not idle, though drawn off for a
time from what I must ever consider as the main business
of the remainder of my life, the exposition, in a systemat-
ic form, of the philosophy of my great and excellent
teacher.
With my fervent wishes for your welfare, and my sin-
cere prayers for the continuance of your successful labors
in the cause of truth,
Believe me, my dear Sir,
Yours ever very sincerely,
JOSEPH HENRY GREEN.
To the Rev. James Marsh.
I
1
**
'
I A
vjftt"
4:
'W
.%
REMAINS,
24
*-' templated as the ground of these or to be more
^QJLs ...
precise, it is the law of its action, as capable of
being discerned in the fleeting phenomena which
it produces, that science seeks to determine ; it
being necessarily assumed, that each distinguish-
able power acts uniformly, according to a deter-
minate law of working.
The question for the scientific naturalist then is
always, what power, and acting according to what
law, do the phenomena require us to assume, as
the abiding ground of the phenomena, and in order
to account for them. This view, it will be seen,
obviously pre-supposes the most accurate observa-
tion and discriminating analysis of the phenomena,
or, as they are called, facts, in every case, as the
necessary condition of our knowledge. Yet the in-
terest with which this observation is conducted,
depends on the instinctive striving of the mind to
apprehend that which lies beyond the sphere of
sense, and to refer phenomena to an intelligible
and abiding law of action. How soon, when this
intellectual impulse is not awakened, do the most
novel and striking phenomena cease to interest
and become wearisome to sense !
In entering upon a course of philosophical study,
it is all-important as a ground of right method,
not only that we should bear in mind the true na-
/y
REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 213
ture and use of facts or phenomena, but in our
contemplation of the powers of nature, as indicated fyjfc ^X "vfc
by them, that we should direct our attention in a 1j^,v^^Lu^-
general way, to the relations which these, powers pJU^-fr^^- 1 -^ 1
hold to each other. The general remark, to which /^^ck^-^
the slightest knowledge of physiology bears testi- (j^Jc- ^
mony, and which I have particularly in view, is, (j^&ZTu* "t*
that we discover a progressive developement of
the powers of nature, the higher all along pre-sup-
posing the lower and more universal as the condi- "-^J'*^
tion of its existence. Thus, for an obvious illus- ^X P*
tration, the powers of organic life pre-suppose #* *"
those of inorganic nature, and the higher powers
in the sphere of organic nature pre-suppose the _ ^^JLUZu**-
lower.
Another general remark nearly connected with
the last is, that, in tracing upward the progressive n i
powers of nature, and the products of their agency,
we find the more universal taken up, and with the
necessary modifications, included in the more spe-
cific, yet so as to be subordinated to its agency. "bk**J
The universal is present in the specific, but as a f tfc ^ <*- *
subordinate agency, pre-supposed and necessary, y^zLL*.-
yet only as means to the more determinate ends
of a higher power. Thus the universal powers of
attraction and repulsion, which belong to all mat-
ter, are present, and modify the agency of deter-
minate chemical affinities, and the process of crys-
tallization, while at the same time the law of grav-
ity and its correlative repulsive forces are overcome
by these higher tendencies. So these agencies in
their turn, including also the more universal, are
214 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY.
taken up and made subordinate and subservient to
the still higher powers of organic life. Again, in
the sphere of physiology itself, we must regard
life, organic life, in its lowest form or most gene-
ral characteristics, as belonging in common and
identically to all organized beings, the same in
animals as in plants, the same in the blood and in
the elementary tissues of the human system, as in
the microscopic animalcule. But at every step
the higher power, which prescribes the more spe-
cific, and so the individualised form and law of
action, makes the inferior and more universal the
plastic element and material, which it shapes to
the upbuilding of its own form, and the attainment
of its own higher end.
In looking at the phenomena of material nature,
as indicating the distinguishable powers which be-
long to it, the most obvious are those of form.
Distinction and determinate arrangement of parts,
constituting deiiniteness of forms in space, express
more or less clearly the agency of the powers by
which they are produced. At the same time pro-
gressive developements of outward form necessa-
rily connect themselves with and assist us in trac-
ing the gradations of living powers already men-
tioned.
As this consideration of distinguishable and
gradually developed forms is a point of great in-
terest in physiology, it may suggest some valuable
incentives to reflection if we trace the tendency of
inorganic nature and of the more universal powers
of matter to manifest themselves in an analogous
manner.
REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 215
We see the great masses of the material uni-
verse assume a form nearly spherical. The reason
of this and of the variation from a perfect sphere
in the tendency to a spheroidal shape, is found in
the most universal laws of action pertaining to ma-
terial masses, and which indeed may be regarded
as the necessary and universal constituents of mat-
ter attraction and repulsion slightly modified
by the motions of each particular mass. In other
words, we refer the form of the heavenly bodies to
the agency primarily of attraction and repulsion, (J? ' t/*>** '
and we can see that such must be the form of a iji*&-A* t ^ An>
material mass the relation of whose parts was in-
fluenced by no other agency. The same law of
form, resulting from the agency of the same
powers, manifests itself in the soap-bubble and in
the globule of mercury or the rain drop. The
most simple application of these powers would be
where no chemical relations or properties interfere
and modify their action, but where the force of
repulsion is inversely as the cubes of the distances
from the centre, while that of attraction is inversely
as the squares. But so far as external form is
concerned, the result is the same in all perfectly
fluid bodies of whatever density, and so of all mas-
ses in which the relation of the parts to each other
and to the whole is determined by these powers.
In this case then, we can refer the phenomena to
the law of action from which they result, and see
a priori that they must be what they are. We
have a scientific insight into the formative power,
and contemplate the phenomena as the sensible
216 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY.
manifestation of an intelligible law, the form in
which the supersensuous and intelligible makes
itself visible and tangible. The outward form is
here and every where the visible product and record
of the power and its law of action.
These powers then, pertaining to matter uni-
.cJU^i^b^ versally, do not of themselves serve to distinguish
one kind of matter in respect to form or otherwise
from another, but, unmodified by other powers,
would give to all material wholes the same exter-
nal form. Whatever other powers are superadded
therefore to modify the form and relation of parts
in a given mass, must pre-suppose the presence of
these, and so far as their tendency is diverse in its
effect, can become efficient only by overcoming
them.
In the process of crystallization, we detect the
presence of such a superadded power, manifesting
> a tendency distinct from that of universal attrac-
tion and repulsion, and building up in each kind of
mineral substance its specific form. While the
formative tendency of the powers before spoken
of is, like the powers themselves, coextensive with
matter and every where the same, we find here
diversity of form and of the formative agency, con-
nected apparently with diversity in the chemical
and electro-magnetic properties of different mine-
rals. The distinctive characteristics of this power,
or formative process, as exhibited in the phenom-
enal results, form a distinct branch of study, and
have acquired a kind of scientific precision. Yet
we have not, as in the former case, an idea and
REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 217
scientific insight into the nature of the agency fj
from which the crystalline form results : and the *
science oi mineralogy, therefore, as to its ultimate
principles, is still empirical in its character. It is
sufficient here merely to direct your attention to
a comparison of the phenomena of crystallization
as already known to you, with those exhibited in
the elementary forms of organic life. Remarks on
the general notions of living power and the life of
nature.
Observe, that in the formative process in mine-
rals, although the crystal may be regarded as, in
a certain sense, an individualization of the specific q\ J
formative power of a given mineral, yet the phe-
nomena do not indicate that this power has be- '
come subjective in the crystal, and so works by t-^Y
means of it as its organ. They lead us rather to tf v> " )T^fcE
contemplate it as present with the diffused sub-
stance of the mineral in its state of solution, in the
same sense in which attraction and repulsion are
present to all material substance, and in like man-
ner determining it, when no other agencies ob-
struct the process, to assume in each mineral a
specific crystalline form. Thus in any or all parts
of a mineral solution, or influenced by mere ex-
traneous and accidental circumstances, nuclei may ,
be formed, i. e. the individualizing process com-
menced. This is in fact no true individualizing
of the power, but only a manifold exhibition of it
in its phenomenal forms. Just as attraction and
repulsion manifest their presence in all the drops
of a falling shower, so the more specific agency of
28
218 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY.
a higher power is exhibited as diffusively present
in the flakes of the falling snow. It acts as it
ccfct ^iv.' were immediately and outwardly upon the homo-
geneous crystallizable material, without the inter-
. A./ru.u.vention of an antecedent seminal principle, as the
P<^iAkVu con dition of its action upon the surrounding ele-
/ / *_ /ments. Thus, when the nucleus is formed, it is
not the organic instrument ol its own growth; but
the same agency which determined the locality
and form of a given nucleus, continues to increase
it by apposition of successive strata upon the sur-
face.
oLu- The crystal has no organs has an angular and
Pi geometric form is homogeneous in its mass
no internal motion of parts nor included fluids
but is 'A fixed solid.
Here then is the point of transition from mineral
to vegetable and animal, from crystalline to organ-
^vwjic forms. In the simplest and most elementary
! I , form of vegetable or animal existence, whether in
the most simply organized plant or animalcule, or
in the elementary tissues of more complex forms,
Lr the phenomena compel us to assume a subjective
power, hypostasized in, and one with, the living
, / \jdt*~^ f rm > in which its agency is manifested. The
organic form is not a mere fixed product or relic
of the agency which produced it, but the outward
manifestation of a present living power.
That power, too, in its relation to the organi-
zable elements by which the organic form is to be
Ku/L o*-*-3 upbuilt, cannot be regarded as immediately present
m rK,i*X^d-to them in their local diffusion, but acts upon them
REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 219
only from within outwardly, by means of parts
already organized, and through these, as the ne-.j^r^l*. '
cessary condition of its outward action. Hence , /
organic forms proceed only from antecedent forms,
and cannot be conceived as producible in the order ^ ^
of nature, by any powers pertaining to inorganic
matter, and uninfluenced by previous organization.
Again, relatively to the powers of inorganic
nature, that of organic formation manifests itself
obviously as a higher and controlling power. With-
out annihilating the mechanical and chemical
agencies of the inorganic elements, or even the
tendency to crystalline forms, the power of life
subordinates all these to the developement of its
own specific and individual form. They must be
conceived as still present, with all their distinctive
tendencies, in the several elements to which they
belong, but modified in their action and made the
instruments of a higher power, striving, by means
of these, for the attainment of its own prescribed
end.
In respect to the distinctive phenomena of or- j, /
ganic formations, the following particulars may be ^
observed. 1st. In the lowest forms and elemen- ^a^^
tary tissues, we distinguish containing vessels and 9^ v
contained fluids ; so that fluids here enter into the -fe*-*~* means. If we begin with the production of forms
in the lower sphere of inorganic nature, we see
that a given crystal can be constructed only where
xx l the homogeneous integral elements already exist.
L*, C< The principle of life in the vegetable seed, with its
assimilative power, can compose for itself the ma-
terials of its growth, whenever the more simple as-
similable ingredients are brought within the sphere
of its agency.
In the lowest form of animal organization, we
find, added to the assimilative functions, an appar-
atus by which the animal through its own agency
grasps and brings in contact with its assimilative
organs, the aliments that would not otherwise be
within their reach. At the next step in the as-
cending scale we find the power of locomotion, by
which the animal is enabled to range with more or
less freedom in search of its appropriate food, and
guided by its senses, to select in a wider and wider
sphere of external nature, the means necessary for
its organic ends. Yet here we find different spe-
cies limited as to those means in an endless vari-
ety of modes and degrees, by the specific relations
both of their assimilative powers and muscular
organs to their corresponding objects. Many in-
REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 233
sects, as the silk worm, are limited in the selection
of their food to the leaves of a particular species of
plants, or like the honey bee, to the same or nearly
resembling fluids secreted by different plants.
Some are confined to vegetable, others to animal
substances, and all are more or less limited by the
outward conditions of climate and the multiplied
outward circumstances to which their organization
has reference.
In all these respects, the human system is the
least limited in the conditions of its existence. It J L^
has a greater power of assimilation, and can ex- r {
tract its nourishment from a greater variety of out-
ward elements, or convert thern into its proper
aliment. The whole sphere of nature is capable
of being made, by the agency of his manifold
powers, directly or indirectly subservient to his
wants, and conducive to the accomplishment of
his ends; and the subjective powers of his being, in
their full developement, and as the means of this,
have the world in all the manifoldness of its
powers and agencies as their correlative object.
With these views of the relations subsisting be-
tween the subjective powers of the organic system
and its correlative objects in the outer world, let
us proceed to look more nearly at the subjective
principle itself, 1st. in its relation to the material
of its organism, 2nd. in that of its distinguishable
powers to each other in their successive evolutions,
and 3d. in respect to its unity, individuality, and
finality or determination to an end, in the succes-
sive gradations of organized being.
30
234 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY.
1. The subjective principle of organization, in
its relation to the material elements and the pow-
ers which pertain to them as inorganic matter, it
has been already remarked, must be considered as
a higher power, supervening, and subordinating
these to its own law of being. Observe farther,
that the conditions of the problem require us to re-
gard it as, in respect to its material, an interpene-
trating power. The before inanimate and inor-
ganic matter, when acted upon and interpenetrated
by this, becomes vital, is, so long as it constitutes a
part of the living organism, living matter, both the
solid and fluid parts of the organism being alike
pervaded by one and the same power. While,
therefore, we distinguish this principle from any
that before pertained to the unorganized elements,
it is not to be conceived as extraneous to it when
organized. There are no ultimate atoms or mole-
cules, retaining their previous form and character,
by the different arrangement and combination of
which, as mechanical elements, different organic
structures are built up. The ultimate parts are
interpenetrated by the power of life, no less than
by the power of gravity, and, so long as they con-
tinue so, have a tendency to assume the organic
form, to manifest the specific irritability, or to con-
vey the peculiar impressions of sense, which per-
tain to the specific principle of life in each organ-
ism. The specific power of life reveals itself in a
visible and tangible form, and constitutes the essen-
tial character of the living organ ; all inferior pow-
ers, being, as it were, taken up into this, and made
REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 235
the transparent media, through which it manifests
itself. Thus, in the eye of the serpent, we cease
to regard the mechanical and chemical properties
of its visible and tangible parts; and it is not surely
the weight, or the chemical agents, as oxygen, hy-
drogen, &c, which constitute the organ. That
which we mean by the eye of the serpent, and
which makes it to be what it is, is the inward
power, which looks through it, and reveals to our
senses the distinctive character of the animal itself.
I say through it, or by means of it, not meaning a
mechanical instrumentality, separable from the
power that uses it, but as being the outward form
and living manifestation of the power itself, correl-
ative to our senses and percipient faculties, which
could apprehend it only under material and sensi-
ble forms. The form is instinct with the life,
which in its peculiar and impressive power is felt
and contemplated, as present in and one with the
organ, which bespeaks its presence. The same is
true of the whole animal, in all that pertains to its
outward form and expression, as an object of
sense. /
Thus the powers of organic nature enter into, are
inherent in, and identical with, the material, organic
form. This is their mode of existence and of action
in the world of sense ; and if we intellectually distin-
guish between the subjective, intelligible principle, \
as an idea, and the extended sensuous form, in
which that idea is realized, we still recognize them
as one and the same object, in its two different
relations to sense on the one hand, and to intelli-
gence on the other. The principle of life in the j
236 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY.
vegetable seed, or, still farther back, in the powers
which produced the \ seed, is put forth, attains an
outward existence and developement, in the plant,
which reveals to our senses its specific form, and
all its sensible properties. The living power here
no longer abides in the seed, nor in its antecedent
birth place, the mysterious generative powers of
the parent plant ; it is put forth, it is here in the
plant itself, which it has organized, and in which it
abides as its distinctive and proper essence.
The subjective principle of organic life, there-
fore, is not a power which ? abiding in itself as a
subject, puts forth in the world of sense outward
forms other than itself, and having an objective re-
lation to it. It simply produces and puts forth it-
self, and loses itself in, or is identified with, the
extended, outward form ; in which alone it has an
actual existence. It becomes objectized in the
world of outward forms through itself, or by" means
of its own organic action, but, in its lower potence,
as mere organic life, in plants and in the vegetable
sphere of animal organization, not for itself.
Q
2. But, in the second place, what are the rela-
tions of the distinguishable powers of organic life
to each other ? The powers referred to, as distin-
guishable here, are, 1. Productivity, or the process
of nutrition and growth in the developement of a
specific form ; 2. Irritability, whose proper seat
and organ is the muscular fibre ; and, 3. Sensibil-
ity, which has its organ in the nervous system:
In what has just now been said of the relation
REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY. 237
of the subjective power of life to the material
form in which it objectizes itself, it must be ob-
served that the remarks apply alike to all the
powers of organic life. They all interpenetrate
and impart their own character to the material ele-
ments and living forms which they animate. But
relatively to each other, we may with propriety
speak of those forms of organization which are
peculiar to the several powers above enumerated,
as having successively higher degrees of vitality,
and being in the same order more and more re-
moved from the sphere of inorganic nature. Each
antecedent power and form of life is in a sense the
basis of that which follows, and which is as it
were evolved out of it, or makes it the instrument
and material by which it objectizes itself. Thus
the agency of the productive power of assimilation
and organic developement is presupposed as a ne-
cessary antecedent to the existence of irritability.
This is distinct from the immediate functions of
secretion, assimilation and growth, yet cannot ex-
ist without these, since its peculiar organs are pro-
duced by their agency. Irritability is a higher
principle of vitality, a higher form of living action,
which realizes itself in nature by means of the
lower. In relation to external nature, therefore,
it is more subjective, i. e., as a living power, far-
ther removed from those inorganic powers and
agencies which are immediately opposed and
brought in subjection to the assimilative powers
of life ; while at the same time, as remarked be-
fore, the appropriate action of its organs in the
238 REMARKS ON PHYSIOLOGY.
living system intervenes as it were between the
external objects of nature and the agency of the
organs of nutrition. It is itself opposed, not to
the chemical agencies of inorganic matter, like the
function of assimilation, as its proper correlatives,
but to those powers which oppose a mechanical
resistance to the attainment of the means neces-
sary for organic existence. Its peculiar organs
overcome or remove the mechanical forces neces-
sary to be overcome in order to the prescribed ac-
tion of the organs of nutrition, and by the func-
tions of locomotion, prehension, mastication, de-
glutition, respiration, circulation, &c, bring the
materials of nutrition into contact with its proper
organs. Where this power manifests itself, there-
fore, in its higher form of vitality, as in the animal
organization compared with the vegetable, it may
be said to detach and withdraw more distinctly the
organic form to which it pertains, from the sphere
of inorganic powers ; to give to the whole system
a higher character of separate and distinct exist-
ence, in the higher developement of its subjective
powers and organs, and in the relation of action
and reaction between these and their correlative
objects in the outer world ; and at the same time,
in its relation to the inferior power of nutrition, to
enfold within its own organs, to protect, and more
effectually to secure, the agency of those functions
by means of which its own existence and agency
are sustained.
PSYCHOLOGY.
CHAPTER I.
THE LIMITS AND METHOD OF PSYCHOLOGICAL
INQUIRY. .
The term psychology (%J/v%vi, the soul, and hoyog,
doctrine), according to its etymological import,
signifies the science of the soul, or a scientific re-
presentation of its several powers ; the phenomena
which they exhibit, and the laws of their action.
In its widest extension, as used by some wri-
ters, it includes essentially within its sphere all the
living powers of human nature. The inducement
to give it this extension, arises from contemplating
those powers in the unity of that principle of life,
of which they are the manifold developement, and
which assigns to each its appropriate agency. As
it is the same living spirit, which manifests itself
outwardly in the physical organization of the body,
and inwardly in the phenomena of consciousness,
it might seem proper to include the whole under /
the term psychology, as above defined. Thus all
the powers of the soul, as the one principle of life
240 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
in man, are represented in their proper relations,
and connected with the organs, in and through
which alone they are manifested to our experi-
ence.
This extended view, however, embracing all
that pertain to the outward and inward life of
man, as a distinct species of earthly existence,
more properly constitutes the science of man, or
anthropology. As such, it forms a particular
branch of that department of natural science,
which investigates the phenomena and laws of
living nature, or biology.
The powers thus manifested in the complex life
0,000 J ^t^of man, though referable to one indivisible princi-
^Jy^tA P^ e f ^ e ' are J et naturally distinguished into two
"fail* /kw(^kinds. The one kind constitute the outward life,
the vegetative organic powers, by which the body
is developed, nourished, and sustained ; the other,
the inward life of the soul, whose phenomena are
manifested to our observation only in our inward
consciousness.
To investigate the powers of our vegetative,
/) t Ajj *~**-U*
mode in which the facts and phenomena belonging ^Jji^ V-o
to each are known. The powers and agencies
which manifest themselves in the organic life of
the body, in the nourishment, growth and repro-
duction of its material parts and organs,, are not
objects of consciousness, but of the outward sense,
under the relations of space, extension, form, mo-
tion, &c, of material organs, and the investigation
of them is inseparable from the study of anatomy
and chemistry.
The phenomena of our inward life, on the other
hand, can be known only by reflection upon our
own consciousness, and cannot be exhibited under
the relations of space, or explained by reference to
the modifications of extension, form and motion in
the material organs. . .
Though the phenomena which are the objects ! ^ u >
respectively of physiology and psychology, are . w t3^ o\
easily distinguishable, and known by different
modes, they have yet an intimate relation and in-
terdependence, the investigation of which is of
great interest, and may be termed comparative
anthropology. That mind and body act and react
upon each other ; that the powers of life, which de-
termine the form and combination of the bodily
organs, are through them connected with those
which we find in our consciousness ; and that the
agencies of the mind again influence the state and
the developement of the material organs, cannot
be doubted. Yet we can learn nothing of the
31 '
242
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
form and structure of an organ from the state of
consciousness that it serves to awaken in the
mind, nor of the nature of feeling, thought, &c,
from any examination of the organs of the body.
vJ For a knowledge of psychology, therefore, we
must look not to the anatomy of the organs of
^ ^v- *7 r^i sense, or^of the brain and nerves, however impor-
-t/Ca ^aj^LAJ! tant tnese ma J De in the science of man, in a more
/ . general sense, but to reflection upon our own con-
sciousness, and a careful observation of the phe-
nomena which are there exhibited. In doing this,
the same rules and cautions are to be observed, as
in the observation of external nature. To fix the
attention, and mark with precision the phenomena
presented, to generalize and form conceptions with
caution, and avoid hasty conclusions from inade-
quate premises, are of the same importance here,
as in the study of physics, and more difficult.
- Simply to observe, to distinguish and arrange
'/V il< '' tne f ac ts of consciousness, as presented in our ex-
tZf. perience, aiming at nothing more, constitutes em-
tpirical psychology. To seek for the principles
from which those facts may be deduced and ex-
plained, and thus to acquire a rational insight into
the laws of our inward being, is rational psychol-
ogy, or the metaphysics of our inward nature.
In a system of empirical psychology, it is not of
course attempted to establish a priori principles ;
yet some principles of arrangement must be adopt-
ed, and these principles will result from the pre-
vious logical and philosophical views of the en-
quirer. The arrangement of the facts is the
YIAj'I'S ,Uwt'-
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
243
application to them of logical principles of
method.
In adopting an arrangement with a view to a
course of instruction, it is necessary to have re-
gard to the relations of the facts to be observed
and systematized, to our consciousness. No true
and living knowledge of psychology can be com-
municated to the scholar, any farther than he is
led to observe and recognize the phenomena rep-
resented in his own inward experience. Now all
the phenomena which properly belong to the sub-
ject considered in a general view, are those which
belong to all men, and which every man, there-
fore, capable of the necessary exercise of reflec-
tion, may find in himself. Yet some classes of
phenomena are more obvious, and more easily to
be designated and recognized, than others. For
those, therefore, who are commencing the study,
it is obviously important to begin with the more
obvious, and proceed to the more abstruse and
difficult parts of the subject.
We cannot, for this reason, adopt the method
pursued by some writers, of commencing with the
inward, and as it were central, powers of life in
the soul, in order to show in our progress, the re-
lation of the various phenomena to these, as their
origin. This view may be taken with advantage
by those already accustomed to reflection and fa-
miliar with the facts, but would be necessarily un-
intelligible in the commencement of the study.
We must, then, first observe and analyze with care
those things which can be most easily designated.
>j^_/"
244 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
But, in whatever method we pursue the subject,
//Lt^L-.jLt) it will be found attended with difficulties which
I M a i -* do not pertain to the study of external nature.
The natural impulse of the mind carries our at-
ulT~ * - <- t tention to the world without, to the objects of the ,
-- outer senses.) We distinguish, and arrange, and
cJbjS^XtM gi ye names to the objects of the material world,
as matter of necessity, even when not impelled by
the interests of knowledge. But comparatively
few ever turn their attention steadfastly to the ob-
servation of what passes in the inner world of their
own consciousness. Those who do so, find the
phenomena here exhibited to their inner sense,
too fleeting to be fixed for the purpose of examin-
ation, and too subtle and complicated to be dis-
tinctly conceived and classed, so as to be repre-
sented by steadfast terms and made communicable
by language.
Hence one of our greatest obstacles to the pro-
gress of knowledge here, is the vagueness of the
flfct.-v-*^* cA language relating to the subject, and the difficulty
^^^J of one's determining the precise distinction, which
another has intended to mark by a particular
word.
Connected with the difficulties of the language
belonging to this subject, we must bear in mind
c^Lf/\c*A tne f act so f ten noticed, that all the terms which
*. i f rvvxA/' designate^ facts of our inward consciousness, were
ru>A originally metaphorical in this use of them, and in
their literal signification applied to objects of the
outer world. This resulted necessarily from the
process by which language is formed ; and beside
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 245
the vagueness, which is inseparable from the use
of metaphorical terms, has occasioned the intro-
duction of hypotheses and modes of explaining the
phenomena of our inward life, which are wholly
alien to their nature.
Another consideration of importance here is, /(v Art^CA
that while terms are vague and fluctuating, they
lead much more unavoidably to indistinctness and ,
misapprehension in our views of the facts desig- ~v->
nated by them, than in the study of physical sci- ^
ence. Chemists may employ different terms to
signify the same substance, and yet perfectly un-
derstand each other in regard to it. The sub-
stance is or may be before them ; and however
they may differ in regard to its nature and proper-
ties, they are always able at least to know what is
the subject of dispute. In psychology, we have
no way of designating a fact but by words, or a
reference to the outward circumstances in which
the fact exists.
Again, it is by no means easy for different writ- -!Q-v4*~ rw~G
technical terms to be employed. The phenomena A
themselves vary their aspect according to the re-
tA=^
lations in which they are viewed, and consequently
in accordance with the theory which the writer
adopts, and with reference to which his technol-
ogy is formed. Hence the terms cannot be altered
and made to coincide, so long as the systems differ.
In other words, our language here is nearly insep- /y-o(JL
arable from the theory which we adopt; and we < HfajSi
cannot speak of facts of our inward consciousness, \2j5
246 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
without betraying by our language, the system by
which we express our views of their nature and re-
lations. Thus, if we use the same words, it is
only in a vague and indeterminate sense, or each
in a different sense ; and if we think with precision,
and reduce our views to a logical and consistent
system, we must have technical terms corresponding
with it, and growing out of it. This arises from
the fact, that nothing in our inward life exists sep-
arately or separably from the rest. Feeling,
thought, will, &c., all co-exist in the same indi-
visible state of consciousness, and are the same
act under different relations.
Yet the distinction between words and things,
between verbal and real definitions, exists here, as
well as in regard to other subjects ; and though in
i^^vf J&
of the phenomena exhibited by it, in its various
relations to and combinations with other sub-
stances. Thus the phenomena exhibited by char-
coal in its combination with other elements in
gun-powder, make an additional item in our knowl-
edge of the nature and properties of charcoal. In
this view, it is easy to perceive that our knowledge
of its properties, or its possible phenomena, as
learned from experience, can be complete only
when we have observed it in every possible variety
32
- *
V
250 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
of circumstances in relation to other substances in
nature. We can never know that we have learn-
ed all.
Note. It will aid us in the use of language,
and in understanding what may be said hereafter,
if I explain here the senses of the word nature.
As I have employed it in the previous sentence, it
implies the sum of all that exists in space and time ;
i. e., as extended and continuous, and under the
relation of cause and effect, or mutual action and
reaction.* In this sense, whatever is a part of na^
ture stands in a necessary relation to every other
part, in space, or time, or both. This is nature
considered as phenomenal, and with reference to
our power of observation. Considered with refer-
ence to the understanding and the laws of its phe-*
nomena, we speak of nature as having an inward
principle of unity, determining the phenomena by
/S fixed laws. The same distinction is made, when
we speak of the nature of a particular substance.
In the first sense, it means the sum of the proper*
* Action and reaction. Wechselwirking, not the same with
cause and effect, but a relation in which two or more things mut-
ually and reciprocally condition and determine each other; as the
parts of a machine, or of a body in the mechanical relation of its
parts. So the parts of an organic system hold this relation to each
other, and all the parts of the material universe reciprocally act
and react. A cause, on the other hand, in its highest sense, pro-
duces and gives to its product its character as a whole in itself,
and in the relation of its parts to each other, without being itself
in the relation of reciprocal action with it, or being itself deter-
mined by it. Thus the cause and its effect are not parts of one
whole. God and the works of creation do not constitute a whole
with reciprocity of action, but he produces the universe as a
whole in itself, by a free causative act, which goes forth out of
himself, and realizes its purpose in the projected reality contem*
plated as other than the agent,
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 251
ties, or possible phenomena, which it exhibits in its
relations with other substances ; and in the other,
it signifies the inward principle, by virtue of which
the phenomena are determined, or their laws given.
3. With these preliminaries, I remark, that the
soul, as an object of possible experience and em-
pirical knowledge, is included in the sum of that
which we call nature, and sustains the consequent
relations to the outward world of sense, or what-
ever exists in space and time. The relations of
cause and effect, action and reaction, subsist be-
tween the soul and the outward objects of sense.
It is capable of being affected by them, and of ex-
hibiting its own corresponding properties. It is
by our inward experience, the phenomena exhib-
ited in our consciousness, that we learn how the
soul is acted upon, add reacts, in the various cir-
cumstances in which we find ourselves placed, and
thus acquire a knowledge of its properties.
4. What we learn of the soul, here, is the
modes in which it is capable of being affected
from without ; the specific susceptibilities, recip-
tivities of impressions, and powers of reaction,
which it manifests. Thus, seeing and hearing,
hunger and thirst, are modes in which the soul
acts according to its own nature, and to which it
is excited by the corresponding outward objects.
The life of the plant, though capable of being
acted upon from without, and of developing the
inward powers of its nature, does not exhibit the
powers of which we are conscious.
I
252 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
5. The susceptibility of passive impressions
from without, or the feciptivity of the soul, is
called the faculty of sense, and is the faculty of
being excited to action, and to the developement
of its own inward powers, by outward stimulants.
The specific powers of action, so excited, are ne-
cessarily considered as predetermined in the in-
ward principle of life.
In speaking of the determinate relations which
subsist between the outward object and the inward
susceptibility of being affected in a specific man-
ner, we sometimes represent the outward object
as the cause of the affection or correlative action
of the mind, of which we are conscious, and of
this as the effect. It is important to observe with
precision, in what sense these terms are here used,
and what are the precise facts and limitations of
n/ our experience in the case. From what has been
said, it will be perceived, that the effect of which
we are conscious, results from the specific relation
V s of two correlatives, an objective and a subjective,
the coincidence of which is necessary to the result,
as known in our consciousness. If either were
\ th\ different from what it is, the conscious result would
be different. Hence, in regard to the relation of
cause and effect, if we say that an outward object
is the cause of a result in my consciousness, it is
also true, that the specific excitability of the pow-
ers of the soul, and the existence of those powers,
are necessary, as a precondition, without which the
outward object could have produced no such effect.
Hence, again, we must assume the relation of ac-
t
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 253"
tion and reaction, instead of cause and effect, as u
the ground of the phenomena.
I dwell upon this preliminary view of the gen-
eral relation of the soul to nature, and of the sub-
jective to the objective, because it is important, in
order to determine the nature and the direction of
our inquiries, and precludes various questions,
which have occupied much space in the specula-
tions of former times. Whether w r e have any
innate ideas, or the soul be as a piece of blank pa-
per, or of sealing wax, on which outward objects
make an impress, simply, of their own characters
or forms, with other questions of the like kind,
will hardly be asked by those who have well con- ^
sidered the general relations here exhibited. It
will be seen at once, that the phenomena of con-
sciousness which have reference to the world of
sense, are determined, not solely by the outward
object, but also by the specific reaction of the sub-
ject, according to the inherent laws of its own na- ^r
ture. Thus, to illustrate the point still more
clearly, from a comparison of the agencies of dif-
ferent substances, the diamond, placed among the
surrounding agencies of the material world, exhib-
its only mechanical powers of reaction. It re-
flects, and refracts the light, resists mechanical /
pressure, &c. A vegetable seed, or plant, not
only reacts upon surrounding objects mechanically,
but, when acted upon by its appropriate stimulants,
reacts according to its own specific law of organi-
zation and self-developement. It unfolds its sev-
eral organs, with their peculiar functions, and all
i
254 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
the phenomena of vegetable life and growth, ac-
cording to its own nature. Here it stops. It has
no reciptivitj, no capacity for the impressions of
sense ; and under no circumstances, by no stimu-
lants, can feeling, sensibility, be excited in it. It
belongs not to its nature. In the lowest forms of
the animal kingdom, we have, in addition to the
specific powers and excitabilities of the plant, that
of irritability; and, if not in the lowest, in the
higher forms, that of sensibility, the external per-
ceptions of sense, instinct, intelligence, &c. The
point to be remembered here, is, that, in all these
cases, the external objects and agencies are the
same, so far as the mere presence of these objects
is concerned, but each reacts according to its own
nature, and in the developement and activity of its
own inherent powers.
It is not to be inferred here, from the proposi-
J^rv^ji^ "f tion that the soul possesses in itself specific pow-
i^ ce4v, ers > wn i cn determine the possible impressions and
a 131/t a g enc i es of which it is capable, that these pow-
A^ers could be unfolded, and called into act, with-
out the presence of those objects on which its ac-
tivities terminate. They belong to the soul,
indeed, not as actual, but only as possible, until
the presence of their correlative object furnishes
the occasion for their developement ; just as the
/^jpower of the magnet becomes actual, only when
"^(van object approaches, capable of being attracted
by it, and exciting its magnetic power. Though
the subjective nature of the soul, as self-deter-
minant, prescribes certain fundamental conditions-
**
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 255
to all possible excitements from without, through
the medium of sense, and determines the formal
law of its own possible agencies, yet the relations
of sense are necessary to the actual developement
and consciousness of its powers. In regard to its J UjL-> 'H- ^
reciptivity of impressions through the medium of
sense, the soul is conceived as passive ; or sense is
the organ, through which it is acted upon ; and
the faculties of knowing, desiring, willing, &c, as &L-
the inward principles of action, which are not giv-
en from without, but require only the phenomena
of sense, as the condition and occasion of their
developement.
In these remarks, I have spoken of the relation
of the powers of the soul to the objects of sense,
and through the faculty of sense, without refer-
ence to the physical organs. Nor from our con-
sciousness alone should we know any thing of the
material and organic structure of the organs of
sense, as the medium through which the impres-
sions of sense are received.
In speaking of the relation of the soul to the
world of sense, I have represented it, as one of
action and reaction, the resulting phenomena of
ivhich are manifested in our consciousness. The y j^.
objects of sense act upon the mind, and excite
to action its inward powers. Here we have a
knowledge at the same time, of the outward ob-
ject, and the inward agency which is excited by
it. The outward object known, is extended in L^-
space; the inward feeling, sensation, desire, thought,
&c, is not extended in space, but only continuous
256 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
in time. We cannot conceive those powers and
agencies of which we are conscious within our-
selves, as occupying space ; nor can we conceive
any thing as acting upon them and exciting them
through the medium of sense, that does not oc-
cupy space.
The medium of connexion and the condition of
{jtscaX, intercourse between these, is the outward life and
/ *P organization of the body. What this is, as an or-
ganic system, we learn, not from our inward con-
sciousness, but, as we do other objects existing in
space, by observation and experience. It is only
by experience, that we learn the particular con-
nexion of each organ with the intercourse which
subsists between the inward life of consciousness
and external nature. No consciousness of that
which belongs properly to the inner sense, can give
us, of itself, any knowledge of the outward form
and structure of the organs of the body. In the
state of perfect health, the bodily organs are them-
selves unfelt, and as it were the transparent me-
dium, through which the soul acts and is acted
upon.
Yet we recognize the body, each as his own
f w U-~. D dy> ana " tne hfe f tne body? as his own life. It
belongs to him, as a part of his being, as the out-
ward form and condition of his existence in space.
It is the outward man, in and through which the
inward powers of the soul express their form and
character. It is the necessary mode of our exist-
ence in the world of sense, without the interven-
tion of which we have no knowledge, either ob-
4
t
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 257
jective or subjective, no existence in nature, either
in spqge or time. It is not merely an organ, or
material mechanism, to be conceived as distinct * , (TWr^l
from our personal self, but it is our proper self as
existent in space, in the order and under the laws C*^^-^
of nature. With it are associated all our wants, Q^\^JW^
and all our gratifications, as creatures of this world,
and in our relation with the objects of nature.
We cannot separate the organic cravings of the
body, as hunger, thirst, the want of air, &.c, and
our wants as self-conscious and personal beings.
These, and the higher cravings of our intellectual,
moral and spiritual being, are all referred to one
indivisible self. / hunger, am cold or hot, &c,
though these states are at once referred to the
body, and used of the inward powers of the soul
only in a metaphorical sense. While, therefore,
we can draw a clear line of distinction between
what belongs to the conscious soul and the out-
ward objects of nature, known to us through the
medium of our bodily organs, we cannot so clearly
distinguish between the affections of the soul and
those of the body, or those which essentially grow
out of the physical organization. The early dawn
of the inward life of the soul would seem indeed
to be, as in brutes, but the life of the body accom-
panied with consciousness. Thus the pain attend-
ing the organic action of the lungs, excited by the
first impulse of the air, the feeling of the want of
nourishment, and the consequent desire and striv-
ing after it, may be supposed to be among the first
33
L
258 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
facts of consciousness, and are essentially con-
nected with the life of the body. #
The right view of the relation of the conscious
cwL CjJ) sou 1 to tne organic life of the body, seems then to
be this. The first principle and organic power of life
in the body commences in a lower sphere, in corn-
er \J%st*\ mon w i t h tne universal powers of life and organiza-
" tion in plants and animals, for a knowledge of
which, we must refer to comparative anatomy and
comparative physiology. This unfolds itself in the
process of fcetal organization and growth, and in
the production of the manifold organs of the body
with their several functions, antecedent and pre-
paratory to the higher power of consciousness.
The organic agencies, thus commenced, continue
and carry on their work, in the process of growth
and reproduction ; themselves in a sphere below
our consciousness, but furnishing the ground and
nourishment for a higher life, which, having only
its basis and the elements of growth in the out-
ward organs and the world of sense, has its prin-
ciple of unity and self developement in the inner
world of consciousness. For as the life of the
body begins in an unconscious organization, whose
inherent principle, with its whole process of devel-
opement, according to the law of its nature, are in
unconsciousness, so the principle of our inward
life, the life of the soul, has its first dawning, its
first actuality, and the whole process of its devel-
opement, in consciousness. But that conscious-
ness is awakened, and its materials furnished, by
the agencies of our organic life. The organic
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 259
cravings of the body awaken the first feelings of
the soul; the first desires are for their gratification,
the first direction and use of the outward senses,
and the first acts of the will in the exertion of
muscular power, all have reference to the life of
the body.
Yet in the consciousness of self, and the refer-
ence of these affections to self, there is a new
principle of life, it must be remembered, distinct,
from the life of the body, and having its own laws
of action.
CHAPTER III.
ADDITIONAL REMARKS ON THE NATURE AND AIM
OF THE PRESENT INQUIRIES. DISTINCTION OF
THE POWERS OR FACULTIES OF THE SOUL.
In passing from the general relations subsist-
ing between the soul and the objects of the outer
world, to consider it more directly as it is in it-
self, I wish to make a few additional remarks on
the nature and aim of our inquiries.
The purpose of these studies, then, is nothing / U-Ai/k. *f {
less, than a reflective and rational knowledge of i J
our own inward being. In strict propriety, we
have no concern with the objects of the outer
world, even the phenomena of our own physical
organization, except as instrumental in bringing
kcria^
260 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
A> forth into ait those powers, and so producing those
phenomena, the nature of which is to be learned
by reflecting upon our own inward experience.
The object-matter of our study is that which
every one means, when he speaks of himself.
We seek to understand ourselves, by self-inspec-
tion.
The possibility of this, and of that self-reflec-
Jvv L j^^w^ tion by which we present to ourselves the agen-
? J%L*Ls *J s rt-"^t'& of our own being as objects of knowledge,
\j sUL becomes none the less incomprehensible, but rather
more and more mysterious, as we reflect upon it.
K+tj w^H^vv^ That it is possible, we know from the fact of its
reality ; and it is by the exercise of this power,
that all self-knowledge is to be attained. We
place our own being, as it were, before us, and
subject it to our own scrutiny, observe its phe-
nomena, and determine the laws by which they
are regulated. These phenomena, as they appear
to our conscious observation, are fleeting and
changeable, varying with each successive moment,
yet all referred to the same ground of being, and
recognized as modifications of the same self.
This then, is the form of that inward experi-
ence, by which we advance in a knowledge of our-
selves. In relation to all that exists as reality, we
think of its existence as independent of its being
known, and equally real, whether known or not.
So in relation to our own being, we may distin-
guish between the reality existing, the powers at
work in us and the laws of their agency, as ob-
jects of knowledge, and the reflex act, by which
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 261
they are known. The one seems to us indepen- /Vy ^ rvt^v
dent of the other. It is by reflective thought, by
making ourselves reflectingly conscious of what l(s^<^^~
we do, and feel, and think, that we gain experi- ^ <~ Ufl ^7
ence, such as will advance our self knowledge, \* ') /-P
The first state or relation of our being, as distin- v^U*-' t - A '
guished from our conscious reflection upon it, is as J ,
it were the direct and immediate going forth of
the powers of life, seeking their own ends accord-
ing to their inherent laws of action ; just as in those
organized beings to whose powers of life and ac-
tion no consciousness supervenes. The other
state or relation of knowing supervenes as it were,
finds and recognizes the powers and agencies of
our being as already given, as antecedent to and
independent of our knowledge.
Yet the conscious self recognizes these powers
and agencies thus given, as its proper attributes.
It is I that know, and feel, and desire, and will y
and at the same time reflect upon these modes of
being and acting as mine. I refer them to self;r /y
to my own being, as their proper ground or cause ;
to one identical self, as the subject in the unity Cnr ^ $
of which are included all those attributes, or rather
as the one cause of all those agencies, of which I jf
am conscious. The subjective self, however, con-
sidered in this relation, is not the immediate ob-
ject of intuition and experience, but is inferred as
the cause of those effects which are immediately
known in our consciousness. It is not myself, in
the constituent principle of my being, but the sue-
262 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
cessive and empirical acts, or states, which form
the momentary conditioning of my being.
>/ The one identical principle of self, as thus in-
ferred, is conceived as the inherent principle of
life, having the same relation to the powers of the
soul, which the principle of organic life has to the
organs and functions of the body. In all the man-
ifoldness of its operations, it is still the same prin-
ciple, pervading and giving life to all. It is the
same self, that feels, and thinks, and wills, that
sees and hears, fears and hopes, and in its essen-
tial being, prescribes the possible forms of its
agencies. We represent its several modes of ac-
tion as distinguishable powers, to which the cor-
responding phenomena are severally referred; yet
we conceive these powers and modes of action, as
predetermined in the unity of the one living prin-
ciple. In other words, we conceive a unity and
spontaneity of action in that to which we refer as
sf the first principle of our inward life.
Since at each moment of existence only a par-
ticular condition or modification of our powers is
manifest in our consciousness, we think of self as
embracing not only that momentary form of being,
but also that essential principle, and those powers
of possible manifestation, to which the momentary
states are referred, and which are conceived as
permanent in the subject.
* The spontaneity of the principle of life consists
in its inherent tendency to unfold its powers accor-
ding to the inward law of its own being, and work
towards the attainment of an end to which it is
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 263
determined, not by mechanical force from without,
but in its own nature and constituent idea. The
soul, like every other living power, is thus deter-
mined, and puts forth spontaneously its own pow-
ers for its own ends ; though it requires the out-
ward conditions before spoken of, in order to the
actuation of its powers, and the, realization of its
ends.
The passive feeling of that ivunt of the neces-
sary conditions of self-developement which exhib-
its the soul in its negative relation as a capacity to
be filled, whose supply or corresponding positive
is to be sought for out of itself, and which is the in-
separable accompaniment, or rather inherent form,
of conscious existence in the feeling of self, may
be conceived as the common ground necessarily
implied in all particular states and modifications of
consciousness. So too all the specific powers and
actuations of our inward being are inseparable
from, and only conceivable as proceeding from, the
one principle which we call self, as the manifold
forms in which its being is manifested.
This primary feeling of self, in one view, may
be considered a passive state, as we cannot con-
ceive of its arising, but in conjunction with an im-
pression from without, or, as a state of being af-
fected ; and every such state must be a particular
state, or a specific determination of self. But then
we have seen, that the same feeling rises in con-
junction with every specific determination of con-
sciousness, and must, therefore, be in itself uni-
versal. It involves, too, the developement of a
264 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
power, distinctive in its character, and not belong-
ing to the lower orders of the animate creation.
It is, therefore, a specific activity of the soul,
awakened, perhaps, from without, but an essential
form of its being, and having the same relation of
antecedency to all particular modifications of self,
which space has to all the possible determinations
of form in space, as the ground of their possibility.
Though we may not be distinctly conscious of this,
we in fact involve it, whenever we use / as the
subject of a proposition. If I say, I am cold, the
universal / am is involved ; and so, in the applica-
tion of every particular predication to the subject
J. So much for the general idea of self, and its
relation to the specific powers and agencies which
are unfolded to our consciousness.
What, then, are these powers, and the most gen-
eral distinctions among them ?
Though the feeling of self is a necessary ac-
companiment of all particular states of conscious-
ness, whether active or passive, yet we have no
such intuition of its nature, as to be able to deter-
mine, a priori, the powers and agencies of which
it is capable, or the possible effects of which it is
to be the cause. These, we can learn only by ex-
perience ; and it is only by the process of abstrac-
tion, applied to the phenomena of experience, that
we distinguish what we call the several powers,
or faculties, of the soul. The mode of distin-
guishing them, or of classing the phenomena, has
not, indeed, been uniform. Without stopping at
present to give an account of different methods, or
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 265
their several merits, I shall state briefly that which-
seems to me the most satisfactory. S
1. In the first place, then, we may distinguish
the powers of knowledge, or the cognitive facul-
ties. Whether these should be placed first in or-
der, seems to admit of some reasonable doubt ; but
it will be most convenient to treat of them first ;
and unless we aim at a metaphysical deduction of
all the powers of the soul from a first principle, it //
is not a question of primary importance. There
are, however, very good grounds for placing these
before the others, since in the presence of an ob-
ject to our cognitive powers, nothing else is neces-
sarily implied as antecedent to it ; while any other j-
agency of the mind, of which it is the object, pre-
supposes a recognition of it as present. We ex-
perience the cognitive agency of the soul in the
first act of consciousness, and can conceive a be- .
ing endued with a conscious knowledge of objects,
or capable of representing them to itself, without
the feeling of any interest in them, and incapable ,
of acting upon them. The human mind, indeed,
has sometimes been treated as if it consisted es-
sentially in the power of knowing, or of repre-
senting to itself the objects of knowledge. Prac-
tically considered, however, we may perhaps re-
gard the power of representing the objects of
knowledge to ourselves, as only an instrumental
agency, subservient to the developement of other
powers, and the attainment of other ends, than >
those which terminate in knowledge merely. We
cannot at least separate the exercise of this pow- J
34
266 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
V
SY
er from those principles of our being which give a
practical interest to knowledge, without leaving
knowledge itself unsubstantial and lifeless.
2. In connexion with the inward feeling of self
before treated of, there arises in us a consciousness
of the state or condition of self. Every such
state or condition has a relation to the inherent na-
ture and tendencies of our being, in the spontane-
ous direction and agency of its powers, as deter-
mined in the essential law of our inward life.
Certain conditions are necessary to the develope-
ment of the powers of life, and to our being in
that state which the law of our nature requires in
order to our well-being. Thus a feeling or con-
sciousness of our present state is a feeling either
of want or of satisfaction in relation to the de-
mands of our nature. From the sense of want,
as of hunger, arises a desire for those objects
which our nature craves for the attainment of the
ends to which it is spontaneously directed ; and
hence we have an interest in those objects. In
the gratification of a specific desire, excited in us
by the attainment of its correlative object, we find
pleasure, and pain in the want of it; as we feel
also aversion to that which obstructs the gratifica-
tion of our desires. Thus our wants, our propen-
sities, our desires and aversions, as the ground and
occasion of the interest which we feel in the ob-
jects of knowledge, of our hopes and fears, our
pains and pleasures, form the second division of
(/ the powers of the mind. From the connexion
which they have with the wants and the develope-
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 267
Y
ment of the organic system, and their analogy to
the system of nutrition in the powers of organic
life, they are often distinguished as the heart, or the ^
source of life and action in our inward being.
3. As we can conceive a perception or presen-
tation of an object without any feeling of desire
or aversion directed towards it, so we can con-
ceive the additional awakening of these feelings
without any power to act either for obtaining or
avoiding it. Thus we can conceive a plant en-
dued with a consciousness of its wants, and with
a knowledge and desire of the objects necessary
to satisfy them, without any power to act in rela-
tion to the means of supply. Again, we can con-
ceive such a relation between a living being and
the outward objects by which its organic wants
are to be supplied, as that the action and reaction
shall be immediate, and uncontrolled by any other
than a physical force. This seems to be the case
with pure instinct, where the presence of the out-
ward object and the feeling of want produce a liv-
ing action directed to its attainment, of the same
nature with the spontaneous contraction of the
muscles in breathing, where the stimulus of the air
and the reaction of the organs is independent of
thought or volition. The only difference between
this purely organic action and simple instinct, seems
to be, that the action and reaction in the latter re-
quires the intervention of sense, as a representative
or cognitive power, through which the outward ob-
ject excites the action of the powers necessary for
its attainment.
268 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
To make still another distinction, we may con-
ceive a power working in an orderly manner to-
wards the accomplishment of a particular end,
without any distinct conception or consciousness
of the end to which its labors are tending. This
is exemplified in the formative power by which all
organic forms are developed ; (in the instinctive
working of the bee in building its comb ; of the
bird in building its nest, &c^ In these cases, the
inward impulse to outward action prescribes the
law of action, and determines the result by the
same law of nature and necessity in the agency
which works in the insect, for the forming of its
wing, and by means of it as its instrument, for the
building of its comb or nest.
>/ But we are conscious in ourselves and experi-
ence in our working a higher power than any of
these. We have not only a perception and know-
ledge of the objects which correspond to our wants
and a desire to appropriate them, but also a power
to act for the attainment of the ends which our
wants and desires prescribe. We have not only a
power to work towards the attainment of an end,
but also the power to conceive beforehand, to de-
liberate and resolve upon the end to be attained
and the means of its attainment. When the pres-
ence of the object has excited the desire for its at-
tainment, the action does not follow by an organic
or mechanical law of action, but we have power
to determine freely whether we will gratify the
desire or not. This seems to me a fair statement
j/oi the power of the will, as we recognize it in our
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
269
y
experience. It is not necessary here to solve all
the difficulties connected with the philosophical
doctrine of an absolute freedom of will. I will
merely say, however, that it is not implied in the
doctrine of a free will, that it acts independently of
the understanding and the desires and propensities
of the heart, or that its determinations are without
grounds ; but only that the grounds of its deter-
minations are in the character of the will itself. "
We have power to make ourselves conscious of
the inward impulses and the outward excitements
which stand in the relation of action and reaction
to each other; and instead of being carried along
as passive spectators of an agency beyond the con-
trol of the conscious self, we feel that we are able
to interfere by our own act, to judge of the influ-
ences that work upon us and of the propensities of
which we are conscious, to approve or disapprove
of that which the law of our nature is working in
us, and either to resist its tendencies or deliber-
ately to make it our own work. This power of
deliberate resolve is what is meant by the will, as
distinguished from the heart or the seat of the de-
sires ; and that power of thought and intelligence
which is thus directed by the will for the attain-
ment of its own ends or the determination of its
own resolves, is the power of voluntary thought
and self-control. It is the understanding, as con-
nected with the faculties of knowledge, and distin-
guished from those which are involuntary or spon-
taneous in their agency,
It is.this power of voluntary self-inspection and
self control, which places man above nature, even
270 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY*
his own nature, and constitutes him a free and re-
sponsible agent, and the deliberate resolves of his
Vw^^/tC^ will, made, that is, in the exercise of his under-
,LJ,*f standing, his own acts. The brute is incapable of
. (T conscious and deliberative resolve : and what it
does is therefore the product of the power of na-
ture working in it, and cannot be imputed to it as
its own work.
In this power of self-control is involved not only
a control over our outward acts in the use of our
x muscular powers, but also a power of modifying
, Avwi - 4 ' and directing the phenomena of our inward being
(^ ti/ti^ ^ and the agencies of which we are conscious, with a
U x view to the accomplishment of our own deliberate
purposes. Thus all that belongs to our nature is
in a certain sense placed under our own control,
and we have the power of self-develop6ment, of
voluntary self-cultivation, in bringing what pertains
to our nature under subjection to laws which we
ourselves impose, and with a view to ends which
we have ourselves chosen.
The principles which predominate in the will in
doing this, constitute the character of the will, and
of the man as a free and responsible agent.
The relation between the conscious soul and the
c/WWt *_ wor ] c { f sense, I have remarked, is one of action
and reaction. The inward powers of the soul can
be actuated, only as they have a correlative which
excites them to action, and on which their agency
terminates. Again, it was said, they can neither
act nor react, but according to that inherent form
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 271
of being, or law of action, which constitutes the
inward nature of the soul. ~
The same is obviously true of the principles of J ^
organic life ; and the growth of the body till it at-
tains its perfect form and stature, is but the devel- ^ <**
opement of powers necessarily implied and presup- LJ^LkfL*
posed in the first incipient process of its organiza- \} \ >
of the organic system and the arrangement and
*v
; j J CyV6* **0
272 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
connexions of the nerves, which observation and
experiment have shown to be necessary to it.
Hr?t n~h--4 Why it is that in a particular state of the organs
"""V of nutrition, and with the necessary connexions of
the nervous ganglia belonging to them, I should
feel the affection of hunger, or thirst, or nausea,
or any other affection, whether pleasurable or pain-
ful, we cannot tell, nor conceive any resemblance
between the state of the material organ as its phe-
nomena are exhibited to our outward senses, and
the feeling of hunger. We do, however, know the
relation of hunger to the organic wants of the sys-
tem : and this feeling is the inward form in which
those wants are made known to the being itself,
in order to their being supplied. It expresses, un-
der the form of consciousness, a relation between
the organic life and the objects of nature necessary
to unfold and sustain it. It reveals itself in our
consciousness, and is felt as a want, as a striving
of our physical nature after its appropriate objects
in the world of sense ; or rather, perhaps, the or-
ganic state is accompanied by a conscious affection,
which excites a desire and striving after the
means of its gratification.
Here we must distinguish between the relation
~ JZ~ which subsists between the organic life and its
-j means of developement, or its correlatives in the
material world, and our feeling of that relation, or
the phenomena of consciousness which arise from
it. We can conceive the relation to subsist, and
k. ( a consequent action and reaction to take place, as
in plants, and in many of the involuntary agencies
fUlAv
D
U. .
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 273
of our organic system, which do take place, inde-
pendently of our sensibility or consciousness.
When consciousness does not exist, as in the flki^ - *
spontaneous agencies of the system, the relation <^C^\ y"t
between the organic wants ana" the outward ob-
jects to which they are related, is immediate, and
independent of voluntary action. Where a sense , .
or consciousness is awakened in connexion with
the organic wants of the system, We find a mus-
cular apparatus, supplied with nerves from the cen- l^-^^j^^
tre of consciousness, which that sensibility excites I^U rwtAAj.,
us to call into action, for the accomplishment of
the ends which the organic wants require.
But I have spoken only of that sensibility which
is immediately connected with the wants of the
system ; and we have reason to suppose that this
is the first of which we are conscious, and that
which primarily gives us an interest in the objects
of sense without us. The obscure feeling of want
impels the infant to seek the means of supply, and
here the muscles and the organs of sense, properly
so called, are put in requisition, and are ready fur-
nished as instruments by which the cravings of
nature are to be supplied.
But not only are the organs ready for use ; the
correlative objects in nature also are at hand, and
that action and reaction which in some cases we
have seen to be immediate, is here accompanied
with the developement of the higher power of sen-
sibility, and conscious pleasure or pain.
I have presented the subject again in this view,
in order to point out distinctly the relation of the
35
274 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
organic wants of the system to our consciousness
and to the developement of the inward powers of
the soul, and also their relation to the outward
muscular organization of the organs of sense.
I shall not give an anatomical account of these
organs, but proceed at once to what belongs more
strictly to^the subject.
>
CHAPTER IV.
COGNITIVE FACULTIES. CONSCIOUSNESS AND
SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS.
In entering upon a more particular consideration
of the powers of knowing, I wish to direct your
attention to a distinction which is fundamental in
i<^"tv^^tu^\ relation to the whole subject of self-knowledge.
All the powers of our inward being, it was said,
like those of our organic life, require in order to
\sJLf^P(/v^ r tne i r activity to their being put forth in act
the excitement of their correlative object. As the
power of the nfagnet cannot be put forth, unless
excited by the presence of a correlative power, or
agency in the iron, so no power of the soul can
become active, or be in act, but with a correspond-
ing relation to an object by which it is excited,
and on which its action terminates. Conceive
then, the law of action and reaction, in regard to
the powers of knowing, to be" the same as in our
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 275
organic powers and in the magnet, and the reac-
tion resulting from excitement to be equally im-
mediate ; and let us apply the comparison which
is here suggested.
When the power of the magnet is excited by
the presence of iron, its agency is immediate and
inseparable from the notion of its existence in the
magnet. When the fibres of a muscle are irri-
tated by nervous or galvanic influence that is,
acted upon according to the nature of their specific
excitability they immediately react, and the re-
agency is exhibited in the contraction of the mus-
cle. Here, however, let it be observed, that the
organic reaction of a living and organic power is
not, like mere mechanical reaction, to be measured
by the force of the excitement according to any
mechanical law. But the point to be noticed here
is, that the reaction is of a specific nature, and is
immediate, determined by, and flowing from the
nature of the organ.
( In like manner, it is the function of a part at ^
least of the nervous system to feel. ) The nerves
are organs of sensation, and when acted upon
affected either by the state of their organs, with
which they are connected, or by an agency from
without, they react according to their specific na-
ture, or law of action ; and this reagency of the
nervous organ manifests itself, not in motion under
the relations of space like the muscle, but in the
sensation of pain or pleasure, of sweet or bitter,
&c, according to the specific function of the ner-
vous organ affected. The reaction here, observe,
276 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
is immediate as before, and its specific form is man-
ifested not in space, not outwardly, but in time,
and inwardly in the mind. In these cases, so far
as the action and reaction is simply organic, i. e.,
pertaining to the state of the organ, the one is
limited and determined by the other. The feeling
of pain ceases with the exciting cause ; the sense
of sweetness, with the action of its exciting cause
upon the nerves of taste. So with all the affec-
tions of sense, so far as they are immediate and
arise from the immediate and organic reaction of
the nervous organs of sense. Sensation is the
form of immediate and organic reaction of the
nerves of sense, and ceases with the influence
which excites it.
But though sensation is thus, in its strict sense,
limited to the present state of the organ of sense,
it properly belongs not to the body, but to the
UwU/vp mind, and is the result of the most immediate co-
jj, fuS~-fAj incidence of an objective with a subjective agency
L-j Wvv^tii 11 tne nervous system, as the organ or necessary
condition of such action and reaction. Now sen-
sation is inseparable from intuition, as the form of
immediate knowledge, since it is a finding of a de-
terminate affection ; and in this therefore, we have
the first awakening of the faculties of knowledge,
in their immediate reaction, as excited through the
nerves of sense.
The point then, on which I wish to fix your at-
tention here, is, the distinction between immediate
knowledge, or immediate consciousness, and reflec-
tive self-knowledge. According to the common
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 277
use of the word consciousness, it is inseparable
from sensation, since a sensation of which we
are not conscious, is no sensation. Yet there is ^
no difficulty in conceiving a capability of sensation, ) 'H , c ,
when the reaction should be in every sense limited '
by the exciting cause, should cease with it, and
leave no further trace of its existence. May we
not conceive the same of a form of conscious ^
knowledge therefore? i. e., of a consciousness ///y^v) ula^a**
fleeting like the successive changes in the state of ^
the organs ; a finding of fleeting affections and phe-
nomena of sense, that is at the same moment a
losing ; a self, that at each successive instant is
wholly absorbed in present feelings and impulses,
with no power to loose the chain that thus binds
it to the present and the real. Does it alter the
case, whether that which thus absorbs the con-
sciousness, be a feeling of organic pain or pleasure,
or the presence to the outward senses of objects
exciting desires, or even of images of those objects
to the inner sense ? All the self-knowledge aris-
ing from such a consciousness, would be a succes-
sive knowledge of present states; and if the images
of the past were represented in the consciousness, it
would be without the power of comparison, or of
thinking of them as belonging to the past, or of
distinguishing between the real, and the possible
or imaginary. It would not be indeed a self-
knowledge at all, or awaken a consciousness of
self, as distinct from the present state of conscious-
ness, or from the object of knowledge.
278 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
But the consciousness which is the instrument
of self-knowledge, is a higher form of conscious-
ness, and necessarily involves the idea of self, as
distinct from the object. Conscious knowledge,
in the proper and philosophical use of the term
conscious, always implies this distinction, and the
reference of successive states of consciousness to
self as the permanent ground of its existence.
Here is not only the immediate reaction of that
power which belongs to sense, and is coextensive
with the affection of the organ, and specifically
distinct in each several organ ; but there is awak-
ened a higher power, which stands in the same re-
lation to the immediate phenomena of sense in
general, as the powers of sense do to their several
correlatives. I mean, that the conscious self is
excited by every state of sensuous affection, and
reacts according to its own higher law of action.
,j Whatever is present in the sense is its correlative.
This higher consciousness is therefore simple,
and does not admit of being distinguished into
parts, either like or unlike. It cannot therefore
be described, but can be known only by being pos-
sessed. The immediate affections of sense, and
the immediate consciousness of these, as I have
been speaking of it, is one thing when we hear,
another when we see, &c. ; but that of which I
am now speaking, the consciousness of self, is al-
ways the same, and identical with itself. It is the
same / that is conscious of the various affections
of sense, both of the outer senses, as of hearing,
seeing, &c, and of the inner sense. In this sense
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 279
of the term consciousness, there are not several
kinds of consciousness, but several and various
kinds of objects present to one and the same con-
sciousness.
This consciousness then may be considered as a
sort of inward eye, whose objects are the succes-
sive and manifold modifications of our immediate
and primary consciousness ; or rather, the imme-
diate and primary affections and agencies of our
being, as manifested under the forms of sense.
As such, it is the organ of self-knowledge, and
under the control of the will. Its most essential
characteristic, as distinguished from that presence
of objects which is immediate in the sense, is its
subordination to the will, in regard both to its in-
tensity and the extension of its view.
Its character will be understood from a refer-
ence to the ordinary use of language in regard to
self-consciousness, and the degrees of clearness
or obscurity in our consciousness of our own pow-
ers and their agencies. I am at no time distinctly
conscious of all the knowledge w 7 hich I possess,
or of the various powers of thought and feeling
which yet belong to me, even though I may never
have been distinctly conscious of their agency. So
too I may not be distinctly conscious of exercising
all the powers of thought which are active at a
given moment ; and to become conscious of them,
must employ a vigorous effort of attention. So
even in regard to the outer senses. A harmony of
sounds or a combination of colors, blending to-
gether, produce an effect on my senses, while yet
s/
4j
many agencies going on in the mind of all men +
from day to day, and within the reach of distinct
consciousness, of which yet most men never be- '
come conscious. But we cannot become distinctly
conscious of those agencies of our being which
are not phenomenal in the sense, or do not affect
either the outward or inward sense. That which
is present in the sense, constitutes the material of
reflective consciousness ; and nothing can be in
our conscious thought that was not before in the
sense. ~
It is by the excitement of the power of self- (//u^vw 7 j
consciousness of the reflective / directed to //^ ~-\
tinctly conscious of what it is that distinguishes C l^yj
it, and must become so by an effort of attention,
yet no effort can make me conscious of any thing
there, not already contained in the sensuous intu-
ition. The immediate intuition of the outward
object may cease, and the sensuous image recur to
me and be the repeated object of study ; but I can
bring nothing oat of it, nor find any thing in it,
that was not given in the original impression.
Thus reflective consciousness brings and gives no-
thing to the object of consciousness ; but only no-
tices, marks, distinguishes what was given in that
primary consciousness, which was coextensive in
every respect with the impression of sense.
So it is in regard to self-knowledge, or the re- ^'Jfj
flective self-consciousness of the powers and oper-
ations of my own inward being. I can become
conscious of, and study reflectively, only that which
is present and given for my observation in what is
generally termed the inner sense, or in that which
has the same relation to my inward being which
the outer senses have to the external world. I
am sensible of the successive states of my own
feelings, as pleasant or painful ; of hope and fear ;
je^-v-
3
284 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
of the activities of thought, desire and will ; and
it is only that of which I am sensible, that I make
an object of conscious attention. The sense, here,
as in the agency of the outer senses, does not in-
deed know, but furnishes all the materials of know-
ledge. When I look into my own inward being,
I find there certain phenomena in the horizon of
the inner sense; just as when I look abroad in
space, I find phenomena there which are given in-
dependently of my will, and may be attended to
or not. That presence then of the phenomena of
my inward being by which they become possible ob-
jects of attention and distinct consciousness, is what
I mean by the inner sense. The powers and
agencies of my being which do not affect the inner
sense, or are. not presentable under the forms of
sense as a something given and appearing, cannot
become an object of consciousness. From the
phenomena which are manifested, we may infer
the existence and reality of such an agency ; but
we can never be conscious of it.
Consciousness, then, in its proper sense, begins
with the distinguishing of self from that which is
other than self; and is increased in the increasing
habit of reflection upon those agencies which have
their origin in our own being;. It would have its
completion, if such were possible for us, in the
simultaneous intuition of all the powers of living
action which belong to us, in the unity of their
origin ; so that our being and our knowing should
be identical.
To take a very general review, then, of the
steps by which we arrive at self-consciousness, we
^
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 285
may begin with the power of life. In the vegeta-
ble, we have simply the productive power, or
growth ; a continuous going forth of living power L jvv/I^jc/
producing its outward organic form; a continuous
striving after the realization of the specific idea inCj^< u ^^ r ^
space. <^JU ^J^
Now suppose the plant, in striving after its spe- h
cine end, of which it has no knowledge, to be in-
fluenced by sensibility, a feeling of pain, which re-
strains it in one direction, and of pleasure, which
allures it in another; that when the ascending
shoot meets with an obstruction, there is a sen-
sation awakened that impels it to vary its direc-
tion, and seek the end for which it is striving in a
new course. This may be conceived without sup-
posing in the plant any notion of the end, or of
self as the agent seeking that end.
Again, suppose the power of life, in seeking its
own developement, to require and be furnished
with the apparatus of animal organization, and
capable of apprehending and appropriating by its
outward organs, the objects around it, to its own
purposes. Suppose it to be impelled by inward
desire, and guided by outward senses, in appropri-
ating the surrounding objects necessary to its spe-
cific ends. Suppose it to be repelled from one ob-
ject by a sense of pain, and attracted to another
by a sense of pleasure, and by the senses as or-
gans of perception, to distinguish the objects of
desire and aversion, so as to seek the one and
avoid the other. May we not conceive its powers
of knowledge as limited to this, and perfectly sub-
V
\S
4
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
ordinate to the wants of its nature, as instrumental
for their supply, and directed solely to the discrim-
ination of those outward objects which are neces-
sary to this end. Such powers, with the keenest
sagacity in detecting the objects of desire and skill
in the adaptation of means to ends for their attain-
ment, are clearly distinguishable from the power
to reflect upon those subjective wants and desires
which impel us to action, and give us an interest in
the objects of knowledge, and upon the power of
knowing itself.
Thus to reflect and distinguish consciously be-
tween the subject J, as feeling, desiring, willing
and knowing, and the object of desire or knowl-
edge, and to refer the successive states of con-
sciousness to self as its acts or affections, is the
dawn of self-consciousness, and an attribute of
personal existence. The power of self-conscious
reflexion, by which I pronounce the word J, and
recognize a thought, or an act, as my thought or
my act, involves the highest form and mystery of
existence, the completed developement of the se-
ries of natural powers, and is the dawn of spirit-
ual existence.
*|#%
CHAPTER V.
THE POWERS OF SENSATION.
We proceed, then, to apply the power of self-
conscious reflexion, which stands in the same rela-
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 287
tion to all that is knowable, in the agencies of
our being, to an examination of the powers of
knowledge, as co-ordinate in the arrangement be-
fore given, with those of desire and will.
In treating of the powers of knowledge, we dis-
tinguish,
First, that of immediate or sensuous intuition ;
Second, that of thought, or mediate cognition.
The distinction between these will appear more
fully, when we come to the consideration of the
second, or the faculty of thought. For the present,
it is sufficient to say of sensuous intuition in gen-
eral, that I understand by it that power of presen-
tation, whose objects are immediately present in
their individual reality, as distinguished from those
general conceptions which belong to the faculty
of thought.
The power of immediate sensuous intuition
may be distinguished again, into 1, that of the
outer, and 2, that of the inner sense.
1. The outer sense, or that power by which
we become acquainted with the external world of
sense as distinguished from our own inward being,
has its several distinct organs in the structure of
the human body. These organs are the media,
and furnish the conditions, of our intercourse with
the world of sense, and of our knowledge of its
existence and properties. Our possible knowledge
of it by experience, is limited and conditioned by
the modes of knowing which pertain to these sev-
eral organs. Whether in the nature of things,
other forms of sense revealing to us other proper-
288
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
\ --'.'..- " ,, ~-
t^^y^tc/
it fUA
ties of the objects of sense are possible, is more
than we can determine.
It will be of use to distinguish in the functions
of the outer sense generally, the two relations of
subjective and objective. The subjective relation
of a conscious affection of sense, is that affection
considered with reference to the subject as a, mod-
ification of its state of being, and may be distin-
guished in its connexion with the feelings of plea-
sure and pain, as agreeable or disagreeable. An
affection, or a conscious presentation, thus referred
to the subject, is a sensation.
The same considered in its external relation to
an immediate and individual object of sense, is an
intuition; and this term is used not only with
reference to the organ of sight, but to all the
senses.
With this distinction, it may be observed, that
in comparing the affections of the different organs
of sense, or the presentations peculiar to them, we
find in some a predominance of the subjective, or
the sensation, in others of the objective, or the in-
tuition of the outward object. Whatever con-
sciously affects the organic system, may be consid-
ered as affecting the sense, and in this use of the
term, the whole body is an organ of sense, since
by the universal diffusion of the nerves, the whole
seems capable of being so excited as to awaken
conscious sensations. The sensations connected
with the ordinary functions of life, as hunger and
thirst, and the pleasure arising from the satisfac-
tion of the appetites, the general sense of health,
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 289
or sickness, of elastic vigor or the langor of fa-
tigue, all belong to the body as an organ of sense,
and connecting our conscious being with a world
of sense. We may distinguish here also, various
peculiar affections of the nerves generally, diffused
over the surface of the body, or particular parts of
it, as those produced by tickling or by rubbing the
skin, and the general sensations of cold and
warmth. In all these, it is obvious the subjective
affection is almost exclusively recognized ; though
in all cases of a conscious affection of sense, in
which we feel ourselves passively acted upon, a
change produced in our state of being without a
conscious agency on our part to originate it, we
refer it more or less distinctly to a cause other
than self, and out of self.
From these vital sensations or subjective affec-
tions of the organs, terminating in the subject, Jh \^JL, ^
there is a gradual transition to those which are "
almost wholly objective; and we may state it as a
general law, that the more distinct the subjective
sensation, the less" distinct is the objective intuition,
and inversely.
In enumerating the powers of sensation, and the
modes in which we are capable of being sensuously
affected through the organs of the body and by
means of the nervous system, we should perhaps
consider the diffusive power of conscious sensation "~ - v
which is common to all parts of the body, as the & ^^^
common basis of the more specific affections, and
coextensive with the diffusion of animal life. CBy
virtue of this, every portion of the organic system
37
*
290 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
is capable of conveying to the mind a sensation of
pain or pleasure ; and the sum of such sensations,
united in the common consciousness, makes up at
each moment the state and condition of our organic
existence, as pleasurable or painful.^In this, we
embrace the inward functions of life, the feeling
of health and sickness, as well as the immediate
affections of the external nervous tissues. I re-
peat again, that all such bodily sensations, though,
as sensations, subjective in the sense above de-
fined, and giving no distinct intuition of an object,
are yet referred by the mind, to a cause out of the
mind, and gradually, with the progress of experi-
ence, to distinct organs and localities in space.
Above the sphere, as it were, of this universal
jfcc^t-^w sense, or as a higher developement and specifica-
s%^a^ tion of it, we enumerate the so called five senses
of touch, taste, smell, hearing, and sight.
Of these five senses, that of touch is in some
respects more nearly allied than the others to the
t general sensibility of the system. It extends in
1 Art* t^yL some degree to all parts of the surface, since the
skin is every where more or less sensible to the
v . , touch, and enables us to distinguish some of the
I properties or objects brought in contact with it.
'Even below the surface indeed, in the opening of
-Jl^vt'! a wound, we can distinguish the temperature and
perhaps some of the other properties of bodies in-
serted into it.
Yet, however, this sense is more distinctly de-
veloped in its peculiar organs, the ends of the fin-
gers. By the more full developement of the
9
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 291
nerves of sense at these points, the delicate tex-
ture of the skin by which they are protected, and -
the support and fixture which the nails give when
we press our fingers upon an object, we attain by
these organs, a distinctness in the impression and
corresponding perception of this sense, which is
not given by any other part of the body, and prob-
ably does not belong to any other animal. The
ends of the toes also have, in some instances of a
loss of the hands, been found capable of nearly
equal delicacy and precision in their sense of
touch, and the end of the tongue is often used for
the same purpose. ^
These organs, in common with the general sur-
face of the body, are sensible to cold and heat,
though from their general exposure, less so to the
changes of temperature in the atmosphere than
parts of the body which are less exposed. We
however use them when we wish to examine the
temperature of a body with more accuracy, as an
external object of perception, and a property of the
body. Of the nature of caloric, as taught by
chemistry, and the laws of its action, or of any
thing concerning it, but as a sensible property of
bodies, the organs of touch give us no perception.
The perceptions peculiar to the sense of touch,
are those of properties belonging to the surface of
bodies, as rough and smooth, moist and dry ; and
to this sense, aided by the muscular movement of
the hands and the intuition of the relations of fa**
space, those also, pertaining to the figures and
solidity of bodies, as even and uneven, round and
n
_ _< v**^ **
292 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
; angular, hard and soft, elastic and UBelastic, &c.
In all cases, the organs of touch must be in
contact with the object, in order to give us a per-
ception of its properties.
The sense of taste has its distinct and peculiar
,-s, ^^ organ, to which, as in all the senses but that of
JoJlK*-* , touch, its power of sensation and perception is ex-
clusively confined. This organ is the tongue and
palate, which are furnished with a peculiar nerve
y^M' (x^ .- t- v of taste gives us no aid in representing to ourselves
the outward form and the mathematical or me-
chanical properties of bodies ; and the knowledge
which it gives us, is confined wholly to their
chemical properties, such as acid and alkaline,
sweet and bitter, mild and corrosive. These,
however, we perceive by this sense as properties
of external objects, as distinctly as we do the
properties which come under the cognizance of the
other senses.
f This sense is peculiarly and immediately con-
nected with the organic wants of the body, and
, vu*- rv^wc." t ne functions of nutrition. As such, its sensations
are nearly allied to those connected with the gen-
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 293
eral functions of organic life, in health and sick-
ness ; and as an organ of knowledge, it is easily
and often vitiated by the general state of the
organic system of nutrition.
In its relation to the feelings of pleasure and Ll *-*"
pain, the sense of taste is peculiarly important, as
compared with the other senses ; and it seems to
be capable of higher cultivation as an instrument
of pleasure in man, than in any other animal, in
regard to the variety and to the exquisiteness of
its affections. We eat and drink, not merely to
satisfy our organic wants and still the cravings of
appetite, but for the specific pleasures which it
affords. By this circumstance, again, we are led
to employ it with more effect in distinguishing
those properties in bodies which stand in corres-
pondence with the specific excitabilities of this
sense. C ji
To the sense of smell may be applied also many C/ *
of the remarks which have been made respecting C-AX*.*
that of taste. Like that, it is intimately connec- Lr\i\j
ted with the functions of organic life; and there ^~ljCc>*^u|
is a like predominance of the subjective in its af-
fections. Its sensations, too, can be excited only
in its proper organ, and by the influence of the ex-
citing cause upon the peculiar nerves of this sense
diffused over the expanded membranes of the nose.
Its affections are unlimited in variety, like those of
taste ; but in its relation to life, and to the feelings
of pleasure and pain, its more ordinary function is
rather to warn and protect us against that which is
offensive and injurious, than to serve as a means of
enjoyment.
294 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
Of external objects it gives us no distinct know-
i ry.J/jtii^^ ledge, except of their power to excite the sensa-
tions of which we are conscious ; and the proper-
"" *-*. ties in bodies to which this power is referred, are
in most cases distinguished only by referring them
to the objects to which they belong, as the odor of
the rose, of musk, &c. These properties of bodies
are not perceived, or the sensations excited, as in
the senses before mentioned, by the contact of the
object with the organ, but by means of a diffused
influence of the body upon the atmosphere, or of
effluent particles which reach the organ of sense.
v ; v In regard to the degree of excitability, and of
the correlative perceptive power of this sense,
though not perhaps in the multiplicity and variety
of its affections, we seem to be placed behind
many species of the inferior animals.
The sense of hearing has for its organ the outer
] / / an( ^ tne mner ear ? ana " tne external cause of its
sensations is the vibrations of the atmosphere pro-
duced by the vibratory motion of elastic bodies.
These vibrations are conveyed by the outer ear to
the complex mechanism of the inner ear, through
which they affect the nerve peculiar to this sense.
The subjective affections of the sense of hearing
are not referred as readily to the organ of sense,,
as in those before described. Its subjective rela-
tion is no less affecting with reference to the feel-
[^ U**a^- ings of pleasure and pain which it excites; but
bvJv.V^ those feelings are less organic, and seem to belong
more immediately to the inward life of the soul.
We are pleased or pained by sounds ; but the
. REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 295
pleasures and pains are not like those of taste or N
touch, felt as sensations in the organ. It is only
when the concussions of the atmosphere are ex-
tremely violent, or the sounds discordant, that we
feel a local affection of the organ ; and persons
seem often in doubt whether both or only one ear
is at all sensible to sound. .
The general expression for the objective percep- J t/iAv-^y ^
tions of this sense is, sound. We hear sounds, /ZfL, tcA*^
and nothing but sounds, as the organic nerve can _ A 'hj/ t ^ i *
react to outward impressions in no other mode. It
is not necessary that impressions should be con-
veyed to the nerve in the way above mentioned in
order to the sense of sound, since a vibration com-
municated through the bones of the cranium so as
to reach the nerve, is known to produce the sen-
sation.
Sounds are perceived and clearly recognized as J/ "** *0 ^-
objective, but without experience cannot be re- ,->^e?fcr U*^ **,
ferred to the outward cause ; nor can any outward ^^(.,"4^""^
representation of it be made from the affections of
the sense of hearing alone. It is by experience,
and the observations of the other senses, we first
learn to distinguish the sounding body, and the vi- A"*-**
brations in it and communicated by it to the at-
mosphere, which are the conditions of sensation.
We do not, therefore, perceive sounds immediately
as properties of bodies, as we do the properties
perceived by touch and taste, nor as having form
and permanence in the outer world of sense ;
though by experience we learn to refer it to the
proper cause, and to judge of its direction and dis-
tance.
296 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
But though we do not give to the perceptions
of this sense, shape and coloring in the outward
relations of space, and they seem to have but a
4%JLlv' fleeting existence in time, jet they establish a re-
lation between man and nature, more affecting and
more exciting to the powers or our inward being
than any other sense. ( Sounds have for our feel-
ings a significance, as if the heart of nature was
speaking to our hearts, and gave us an insight into
the inward life powers of the natural objects by
which we are surrounded. Hence the effect upon
our feelings, produced by the roar of the tempest,
the rolling of thunder, and the soothing murmur of
the rivulet ; or the cries of animals, and the sing-
ing of birds. .But the peculiar world of sound is
the product of man's own spirit, in music and lan-
guage, by which, in a more distinct and intelligible
form, mind holds intercourse with mind, and heart
with heart.
The distinctions of sound most general and im-
ij XvAc*-- (/ portant, as perceived in the affections of sense, are,
confused and tumultuous sounds, in which the vi-
brations of the air cannot be referred to any intel-
ligible law; and tones, either musical or articulate.
a i Of the sense of sight, both as to the mechanism
* of its organ, the eye, and as to the outward con-
ditions of its sensations, we know more in some
uAjCpv vV*. respects than of the other senses. By this, how-
^t^*CtftA.'-ever, it is only to be understood that there is more
M tAJL>s+ in the organ, in its relation to the outward condi-
^^julA- tions of sight, that is intelligible on mechanical
principles, and more in the agency of light, the
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 297
outward medium of vision, the laws of which can
be scientifically known, than in the affections of
the other senses. Why it is, that, under these
mechanical conditions, rays of light, falling upon
the retina of the eye, produce the phenomena of
vision, we cannot explain, and only know it by ex-
perience.
The organ, we know, is so constructed upon
optical principles, that rays of light, coming from / Jn/w r^^
an outward object, are refracted by the chrystal- r~
line lens, so as to form an inverted image of the
object upon the corresponding portion of the retina
of both eyes ; that the retina, an expansion of the
optic nerve upon the back side of the interior sur-
face of the eye-ball, is connected by the optic
nerve with the substance of the brain ; and that
these conditions are necessary to our seeing the
object.
Why it is, that we see objects single with two
eyes, and erect, while the image upon the retina
is inverted, are questions that seem to suppose the
images to be objects of vision, as if there were (/w^T
another eye behind them ; otherwise, there would \. *
be the same reason for inquiring why we hear but *
one sound with two organs of hearing. It is a
matter of some interest to observe the circum-
stances in which we do see objects double, and the
influence of the understanding in correcting the
irregularities, in this respect, of the organic action.
It is a more important point, to distinguish what
is the peculiar power and agency of this sense, and
its subjective and objective relations. These are
38
<*LA>Wl
fkfc
r.
298 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
essentially the same as in the other senses, so far
\ as this : that there is a peculiar subjective power
of sensibility, and a peculiar objective agency as
its proper correlative ; and the product of these,
in the relation of counteracting forces, is the spe-
yy^4 cific sensation belonging to this sense. That spe-
cific sensation is color. If, then, it be asked,
whether color is subjective or objective ; whether
it is an afTection of self or a property in bodies ;
the answer is, that the afTection of color, as a con-
scious affection of the sense, is a product, having
two factors ; the specific sensibility of the optic
nerve, and the rays of light coming in contact
with it upon the retina of the eye. This is the
point of union of two distinct and counteracting
forces, the product of which is the sensation of
color ; and the product has no actual existence,
but so long as the two powers are in act, and un-
der these conditions and relations. Now, if we
look for the sensation of color in the excited action
of the nerve, as if this needed only to be wakened
in order to produce the sensation of color, we shall
find, in the agency of the organ and its nerve, no-
thing resembling color. So, if we investigate the
laws of light, and the properties of luminous bod-
ies, and fully understand the science of optics, with
the chemical agencies of light, all of which, ex-
cept its peculiar relation to the optic nerve, may
be understood by one born blind, we shall find
here nothing in the least resembling the conscious
affection of color, or that could by possibility give
us any knowledge of color. The affection is not
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 299
only not knowable, but does not exist, except in
and during the actual counteragency of these two
polar forces, the product of which is the matter of
my immediate consciousness. .
It is a peculiarity of this sense, that we are j\ 'h CCaw
more conscious of the waking state and activity of \ytr c* /t--
the subjective power of the organ, in the absence t^JU. ,v*
of the objective condition necessary to its proper
sensations, than in the other senses. The optic
nerve is perhaps always excited in our waking
moments ; or at least, we are often conscious of
an effort to see, where no rays of light meet the
eye ; and we therefore speak of seeing blackness
or darkness, though in truth there is in that case v?w*-**
no sensation of seeing, but only a conscious striv-
ing after the objective condition necessary to sight.
As the subjective cause of the sensation of see-
ing is voluntarily put forth, and the organ directed
at will towards different points, we naturally see
colors in the direction of the organ. While the J [ o^Xa
organ is fixed, we can direct the attention to dif- "*"?
ferent points around that to which the axis of the
organ is directed, and thus acquire the notion of ^^
an extension of the color to the distinct points, and 4^ l
so over an extended surface, from all points of
which the external agency, which is one of the
factors of the sensation, proceeds.
By the immediate and proper function of this
sense, then, we have the sensation of color ; and
by this, connected with the power of voluntarily
changing the direction of the organ and the con-
* ,fv>
300 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
scious attention of the mind, we represent the
color as diffused over the surface of bodies.
. /j,^jhj The affections of this sense vary in intensity or
quantity with the degrees of light, from zero to
the highest point of illumination ; and in quality,
v*-*^ from blackness to whiteness, and through the mod-
ifications of the several colors of the spectrum.
The study of these properly belongs to optics, and
need not be dwelt upon here.
In regard to the immediate intuitions of the sense
U-w- ' ' *of sight, it may be said farther, in proof that they
f^tJ^riZA* are not simply intuitions of things in themselves.
^Js^s 'Considered as lying passively before us, but pro-
ducts of two factors, as before described, that they
are not the same for different persons, nor for the
^lyvv#v same p erson a t all times. Instances are named of
persons who can make no other distinction of color
but black and white, with their varying degrees of
intensity ; of others who distinguish all the colors
of the spectrum but blue. It is, moreover, as true
of the perceptions of color as of the affections of
fc~ any other sense, that we can never determine
whether they are alike in different persons.
The same is true of the apparent magnitude of
objects as immediate objects of intuition. If you
JJfc Im*"* ask how large the moon appears to my eye, I can
y-vwju .&^ answer on ty D y comparing it with some other in-
tuition. If I say, as large as an eighteen inch
globe, the question recurs, at what distance the
globe is supposed to be placed ; and so we come
to the angle subtended by the object. But this
angle does not determine the apparent magnitude
av\^
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 301
absolutely, since the distance of the object is not
given in the immediate intuition, and different per-
sons represent the moon as at different distances,
and the same person at different times. We see
an object, then, under a determinate angle simply; ) ^Sft
and its apparent magnitude will vary from a mi-
nute point to a magnitude indefinitely great, ac- , *
cording to the distance at which I represent it ;
and sight alone does not determine the distance.
Still it does not appear to me true, as sometimes
represented, that extension is not given at all in
the immediate intuition of this sense. Both the ..
impression upon the retina and the corresponding <^vf Gsk~*-v
presentation of the outward object have extension, L? V 1 ^*
since neither is a mathematical point. Distinct {jt^* vaw
points are given, and diversities of color, side by ^ f ^y^ V"^
side in the same presentation; and, as before re- / ^"l
marked, the presentation remaining unchanged,
the attention may be directed successively to these
several points and colors in a way that seems to
me necessarily to involve the distinctions of place,
as given in the sensuous presentation, in the same
sense as the color itself is given; i. e., so that it
needs only attention, to be conscious of it. It is d^J-M-tCsj
the essential characteristic of space, and of objects
existing in space, as known to the sense, that
every part is out of, or extraneous to, every other
part ; and this is certainly given in the immediate
presentations of the sense of sight. This is still
more obvious, if we suppose the eye to move so
as to change the direction of its axis, or the ob-
jects present to it to be moved at an angle with
302 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
the axis ; either of which would exhibit the phe-
nomena of motion, which is inseparable from the
representation of space. i.-
Cj
CHAPTER VI.
DISTINCTION BETWEEN EMPIRICAL AND PURE OR
MATHEMATICAL INTUITIONS OF SENSE j AND BE-
TWEEN WHAT BELONGS TO SENSE AND WHAT
BELONGS TO THE HIGHER POWERS OF UNDER-
STANDING AND REASON.
Still, the distinctive and peculiar presentations
of the sense of sight are colors ; and we can only
C^ say, that space, as an object of pure sense, and its
relations and forms, as objects of the understand-
""y ing and imagination, are more obviously suggested
^V*-w by the phenomena of this than by those of the
other senses.
It is equally true of all the senses, that their af-
fections give us an immediate and intuitive per-
-, ception of an objective reality of a something dis-
tinguishable from self, and independent of our own
voluntary agency ; of something other than self,
and out of self. How the mind is first awakened
to a consciousness of this sense or perception of
outness, and so of space, we cannot tell. But we
can see that the representation of space, con-
sciously or unconsciously, is necessary, a priori, or
I
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 303
_ h (o-y^
selves of this form of consciousness. We cannot /?*- <
conceive the negative of space and time./ They
are immediate and necessary intuitions, including
Y all other possible intuitions of sense, and being
the necessary ground of possibility for all others.
Time is inseparable from consciousness. The af- C j ,
fections which in our consciousness we refer to self,
are successive. The conscious self, as present in
the successive states of consciousness, and contin-
uously the same, is the necessary condition of our
representation of time as successive.
Though the intuitions of space and time may
be excited in our consciousness, by occasion of our
experience or perception of something in space
{
y
304 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
and time, they are still therefore in their proper
origin antecedent to, and the a priori ground of,
all experience, and predetermine the conditions of
our knowledge. They are implicitly contained as
the ground form of whatever is known in our ex-
perience, space in our outward, and time in both
our outward and inward experience. Thus we
may abstract from our perception of any thing
known, all those properties which affect us with
the sense of reality in the phenomena of touch,
taste, smell, &c, but its ground form as extended
in space, or continuous in time, or both, still re-
mains and cannot be abstracted.
Thus we have an intuition of space and time,
independently of any thing existing in space and
time, and this is what is meant by pure sense.
The intuition of objects existing in space and
time, in those immediate affections of sense which
are peculiar to the several organs of sense, as
warmth, color, sound, &c, is distinguished from
the former as empirical sense.
Here, if we would distinguish accurately be-
tween that which belongs to sense, in our imme-
diate intuitions, and that which belongs to the
higher powers of understanding and reason, seve-
ral observations are necessary.
1. An essential character of what pertains to
sense is its manifoldness, and the mutual exclu-
siveness of its parts. In the intuitions both of
pure and of empirical sense, every part is out of
and excludes every other part. In the objects of
pure sense, time and space, the parts are alike ;
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 305
but in the intuitions of empirical sense, there is an
infinite manifoldness in quality, as well as quan-
tity. Not only are the affections of the different
senses unlike and exclusive of each other, but
there is an infinite manifoldness in the quantity
and quality of the affections and intuitions of the
same sense. This is illustrated by the distin-
guishableness of that which affects the sense in
the tones of voice, to such an extent, that the
blind man learns to distinguish persons without *
limit, by this alone. /
2. The sense takes cognizance only of the
present and the individual, in the objects of empi-
rical intuition, in distinction from that which is
absent either in time or space, and from that
which is general or universal. Thus the affections
of sense are essentially transitional, and in a per-
petual flux. The difficulty of understanding this,
arises from our confounding what strictly pertains
to the senses, with what results from the agency /
of other powers. I find myself at the present
moment affected by a determinate impression of
the sense of sight. I see what I have learned to
call a piece of white paper. If I remove the pa-
per, the sense is no longer affected by it. The
image of it, which I may represent to the inner
sense of the imagination, is then present to the
inner sense as an image, which, by the exercise of
another power, I refer to an absent object, and a
past impression, of which it is the present repre-
sentative. A reference of that which is present
in the sensuous consciousness to the past and
39
306 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
future, or to the absent in space, does not pertain
to the faculty of sense, but to the understanding.
The empirical sense is limited to the present and
the actual, as a passive receptivity of impressions ;
and we can find in our consciousness of these, only
what is given in the passive affections. Again, to
illustrate the individuality of sensuous intuitions,
as opposed to general conceptions ; suppose your-
self looking at an object which you call a tree.
Now the word tree will serve to express an indefi-
nite number of intuitions, no one of which is iden-
tical with that which you now see. The word
tree, expresses a general conception, and does not
serve to represent the present intuition. If you
can designate it more particularly as an oak tree,
your term is still general ; and when you have ex-
hausted the powers of language, in seeking ade-
quately to express what belongs to the sensuous
intuition and distinguish it from other sensuous
intuitions, there will still remain an infinity of
particulars which belong to its individuality as an
immediate object of sense, which may be thought
of as distinguishable by thought, but which we
have not yet attended to and designated by the
faculty of thought, and by language. The distin-
guishable in the immediate intuitions of sense is
thus the inexhaustible material of thought, in itself
infinitely manifold, and infinitely diversified. Each
present intuition of each of the senses, is distin-
guishable as an intuition of sense from every intu-
ition of the other senses, and from every other in-
tuition of the same sense, as other than these, and
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
307
having its own distinctive individuality, and its
own reality. /
3. Unity, therefore, and the principles by
which the manifold in the intuitions of sense is
combined together and represented as one, and
by which the individual is referred to the general,
do not belong to the faculty of sense. So far as
space and time are, properly speaking, objects of
sense, as implicitly contained in the intuitions of
empirical sense, they are presented only as a man-
ifoldness of parts, mutually exclusive, without a ^
principle of union. Suppose I look upon an ex-
tended landscape, and see its parts as coexisting
in space. For the immediate intuition of sense,
there are as many distinguishable parts as there
are points, each given in its position as related to
the eye and to the other points in the sphere of
vision, given also in its determinate qualities of
form and color ; and what I wish to say here, is,
that the faculty of sense furnishes no principle of
unity, by which these manifold phenomena are
presented and thought of as one, or as parts of
one whole. So with relation to time. The affec-
tions of sense, considered as successive, are repre-
sented in our consciousness as a point in motion ;
and each successive moment excludes from the
sphere of immediate sensuous intuition, that which
was present in the previous moment.
4. That which belongs to the faculty of sense,
as the passive receptivity of impressions, in its
strict limitations, is to be distinguished, both from
that which we perceive as necessary, (the contrary
308 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
of which is seen to be impossible, ) and from that
which depends on the loill. In an affection and
intuition of sense, as when I open my eyes upon a
window, I find myself conditioned, my conscious
state modified in a precise and determinate man-
ner, and have a precise and determinate intuition
of a sensuous object. Its apparent extension,
form, color, multiplicity and relation of parts, &c,
as present in my intuition, are wholly independent
of my own will. They are there before me ; and
when I open my eyes, I see them, whether I will
or not, with just these precise and determinate
limitations of quantity or quality, neither more nor
less; and no effort of thought or will can make them
different as sensuous phenomena, from what I see
them to be. I seem to myself to be the passive
recipient of impressions ; to have the state of my
consciousness affected by that over which I have
no control. It presents itself, therefore, as an inde-
pendent reality, of which I have the highest possi-
ble certainty. My intuition contains the unequiv-
ocal assertion of its reality in all its particulars.
Again, my affection or intuition changes perhaps,
with each successive moment, with the variation
of the intensity or the direction of the light, or
from other causes, and this too, independently of
my voluntary agency. And thus, though I see
and assert the reality of the phenomena here, and
the existence of that which is present to the sense
as independent of self, and so objective, I do not
see or assert its necessity, or the impossibility of
its being otherwise than it is at any given moment,
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
309
V
y
or of its entire nonexistence. This is the charac-
ter of all that is known empirically, or by means
of the empirical sense.
5. There is then, a wide difference between
the functions of sense as an organ of empirical
knowledge, in our immediate and merely sensuous
intuitions of the manifold in space and time, and
that which we have called pure sense, as an intu-
ition of the a priori and necessary ground of expe-
rience, under the forms of space and time. In the
former, we experience a fact, and our knowledge
is assertory. In the latter, we have an intuition of
necessary truth, and our knowledge is apodictic ;
I affirm not merely the fact that it is now so and
so, but that it must of necessity be so, now and at
all times. *
Again, in time and space, or what are called the
intuitions of pure sense, we extend our view be-
yond all the limits of experience, and represent
them as infinite. We moreover combine the man-
ifold intuitions of empirical sense, under the forms
of time and space, and represent them as included >
and as composing one universe.
Whence then come the ideas of necessity, of
infinity, and of unity, in these representations ?
Strictly speaking, only the qualities of objects
corresponding to the distinctive perceptivity of
the several senses, and empirically known as re-
alities in space and time, are the objects of sensu-
ous intuition ; and the a priori ground of the possi-
bility of experience in the presentations of space
and time, with the ideas of infinity and unity, be-
long to the reason.
310 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
Each of our senses has its distinct and peculiar
objects in nature. The sense of sight perceives
colors ; that of hearing, sounds ; that of smell,
odors ; each so different in kind from all the rest,
that if one sense be- wanting, its immediate and
proper objects can never be known by the sepa-
rate or combined agency of all the rest. There is
nothing in the perceptions of one to suggest, or in
V any way to connect with it, those of another. ( The
principle of unity, therefore, must be referred to
the unity of our reason. It is by the develope-
ment of this, that we represent to ourselves space,
which to the empirical sense is but an infinite
manifoldness, or an infinite multiplicity of points,
each extraneous to all the others, as being yet one
space, of which all particular spaces are parts, and
which therefore comprehends infinite manifoldness
uL.- in unity.
It is by the same principle of unity in reason,
that we combine all the manifold variety of phe-
nomena presented to the several senses in space, as
belonging to and parts of one world, included in
space. Neither of these is perceived by the em-
pirical sense ; but this mode of representing them
originates in the mind with the dawn of reason, and
we think of it as a necessary mode. It is not
founded in experience, but is a priori. If we
strive to represent the matter otherwise, we fail to
do so, because the mind still assumes a higher
unity in which all are included. Such is the
spontaneous utterance of reason, the moment we
are capable of rational insight, and take a rational
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 311
view of the objects of knowledge. The same re-
marks apply to our representation of time, and of
the sequence of events in time. We represent
time as one continuous succession of like parts,
and cannot think of it as broken and severed into
two or more. So of nature, as including the whole
series of events in time. We represent it as an
unbroken series ; and if we seek to do otherwise,
our imaginations spontaneously fill up the interval
and connect the one with the other, as necessarily ^Y
parts of the same unity.
If now we consider our representations of a
limited and individual object in space and time,
we shall find the process to be of a like kind. It
includes three things clearly distinguishable.
1. The intuitions of empirical sense, in the
sensible qualities of the object. These are mani-
fold, and as immediate phenomena of sense, are
wholly dissimilar and disconnected. Sound has
no affinity to color, nor hardness to the affections
of smell.
2. The intuition of space and time, in which
these qualities are represented as existing object-
ively each for itself.
3. The union and comprehension of these sep-
arate qualities, the immediate objects of the seve-
ral senses, in a limited and determinate form and
figure in space and time.
Of the two first, nothing more need be said at
present. By what process of the mind we come
to represent sensible qualities under the determi-
nate relations of figure and position in space and
312 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
of duration in time, as in the third particular, needs
further inquiry.
Here it is important to observe the distinction
^WxfcX-, between the immediate perception of the qualities
tujk f an object, which express its relations to the per-
+j cipient as susceptible of being specifically affected
muJmX*' ky them, and the representation of its quantity, as
determined by its extension and mathematical form
_-%u w an d relations in space.
Our perceptions of qualities generally give us,
in the affections of the outer senses, a knowledge
of reality, existing out of self and in space ; and,
moreover, excite the spontaneous powers of the
mind, not only to the contemplation of the unity,
the several dimensions and the boundlessness of
space, but also to the construction of mathemati-
cal forms in space, each having its unity given to
it by the mind itself. Now this power of the
'jhr^. mind, thus freely and independently of the con-
trol of the empirical sense, to construct forms in
space, is called the productive imagination* No-
* The simplest and most obvious import of the word imagina-
tion is that which is suggested by its etymology. An image is
the sensuous form and representation of an object, without the
substance ; as a shadow, a picture, the colored image of an object
r> reflected in a mirror, or formed by a lens.( These are external to
the mind ;\ and, as well as the objects which they represent, be-
long to the outer sense. The word image is also used to designate
those representations of outward objects which are presented to
the inner sense ; as, when I call to mind an absent friend, I have
his image present to my inner sense. Rather, that which is so
presented to my inner sense, when the abstract object is called to
mind, is called an image ; and the power of presenting and mak-
ing use of such images is the imagination in the most obvious
sense. Now such images are presented in the ordinary remem-
brance of an object formerly known. An image is also presented
in the casual succession of images, under the law of spontaneous
association.
f
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 313
thing is plainer than that this power can, indepen-
dently of experience, produce mathematical forms
and constructions without limit, in the exercise of
its own activity, with only the postulates that are
given in the immediate apprehension of space.
This is an important point ; and the mathemat- /7 s ) r.
ical intuition of forms and their relations in space J > r^^lc*
is properly the common ground of all our know- L^Aq^ ^j *(
ledge of distinct outward objects, and of our zbll-j^^J JlA
ity to understand each other in regard to the iden- f J ^ j"
tity, the quantity and quality of objects. The ff
mathematical intuitions of pure sense and the pro-
ductive imagination enable us to give to the mani- ,Q
fold empirical phenomena of an object, a syntheti- J crvn
cal unity, by representing them as combined under
a determinate figure in space.
Here the mathematical form, as the construction
of the productive imagination, and the object of
pure sense, becomes xhe fixed and determinate lim-
itation of the qualities which are referred to the
object as an object of empirical sense. We can
represent the qualities as varying in number and J? ^X J
degree ; but the figure and position in space, as an -Jyjr.
object of pure sense, cannot be abstracted ; but
remains as the fixed ground of reference and com-
parison. The imagination, in representing the
figure of an object, and its relations and bounda-
ries, is excited, indeed, and guided, to some ex-
tent, by the empirical affections of the senses of
touch and sight ; but we can acquire distinct know-
ledge only by reflexion upon the empirical phe-
nomena, in their relations to possible forms con-
40
314 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
templated as objects of pure sense. It is by its
freedom from the domination of the present and
the actual in the immediate affections of empirical
sense, and its activity in the construction and con-
templation of*the possible, that it furnishes the
antecedent ground for such reflexion, for the com-
parison of the empirical with the mathematical ;
of the fleeting and indeterminate with the fixed
and determinate ; and thus enables us to represent
the actual under mathematical forms. Thus the
spontaneous agency of the imagination and the
iutuitions of empirical sense furnish the form and
matter of our knowledge of objects; and it is by
observation and reflection, that our knowledge is
y^*~ rendered distinct.
Here it is to be observed, that only the qualities
are immediate in the intuitions of empirical sense,
and that in them there is no principle of unity.
Again, in the intuitions of pure sense, as be-
longing to the passive sense alone, there is no
unity, but infinite manifoldness.
The representation of unity, the contemplation
of the manifold as one, is an act of the mind it-
self, grasping its object, and comprehending the
many in a unity of consciousness.
: \ % '4>/0-'* This representation of unity, or the power of
^\^> comprehending many as one, belongs to the origi-
A *# ... i/ na l f rm of the understanding, and is the subjec-
/ I 40 ** ve conditio 11 or " knowing. The mere presenta-
1 tion of the manifold in the intuitions of empirical
sense, is not knowledge ; but the material of a pos-
sible knowledge, or that which may be known.
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 315
The understanding apprehends and takes cogni-
zance of it, according to its own inherent forms
and powers of apprehension and of knowledge.
The distinction of the subjective from the ob-
jective, of the self from the not self, in the prima-
ry act of self-consciousness, it has been already
remarked, is the activity of the awakened power
of thought. So the reference of that which is
given in an immediate intuition of sense to self as
one, or to an object considered as one, is an act of
the understanding. The doing this is the uniting
of the manifold in a unity of consciousness ; and
this is the form under which the understanding
takes cognizance of that which is presented as the / 1
material of knowledge. An object of knowledge ^"^ j
for the understanding is that in which the mani- ] \^AnMr^^i
fold qualities of a sensuous intuition are combined'Vljs-> CvwC/t
in a unity of consciousness. We represent vari- i*t**Jifj**
ous distinct qualities, as extension, hardness,
sweetness, whiteness, &c, as united in one and
the same object. Each of these, as immediately
affecting the sense, and contemplated as an objec-
tive reality existing in space, I represent as having
its reality, and as being substantiated, in a subject
other than self and out of self, and therefore in
space. Now I say, the understanding, in combin-
ing these in a unity of consciousness, and at the
same time giving them outwardness in space, re-
fers many qualities to one and the same subject in
one and the same space. But this other subject
represented in space is the object of the under-
standing ; and what is represented as an object in
V"
s
316 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
space, is of course extended and constructive by
the imagination under the mathematical form, and
determinations of pure sense as a figure ; and thus
the empirical qualities of an object are presented
as united in a form representable in space.
CHAPTER VII.
CONTINUATION OF THE SAME SUBJECT. THE IN-
NER SENSE AND ITS OBJECTS.
The principal aim here is, to distinguish clearly
between what is given in the immediate affections
of sense as the passive receptivity of the mind, and
what pertains to the higher power which takes
cognizance of what is thus given. In the former,
we have the material or object-matter of possible
knowledge, as manifold as our susceptibility of im-
pressions under all the forms and affections of
sense ; in the latter, that agency of the mind which
is excited by and directed to this, apprehending,
knowing it, &c. Now to this higher agency there
necessarily belongs a unity, inseparable from the
unity of consciousness as expressed in the form, /
think, I know. In the self, as knowing, there is
no representation of manifoldness, but a simple
unity. The manifold, as given in the intuitions of
sense, I combine in one consciousness, or refer to
self as one percipient. This is the necessary form
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 317
of thought and of conscious knowledge. That
which is given as the material of thought and of
knowledge, is an intuition, and antecedent to the act
of knowing, by which the manifold of the intui-
tion is synthetically combined in a unity of con-
scious perception. The^act by which I represent
the manifold in a unity, is an act of spontaneity,
originating in the cognitive power, and does not
belong to the sense. We can represent nothing
in the immediate intuitions of sense as syntheti-
cally combined, without having first combined it
together by our own act. Whether we are con-
scious of it or not, the representation of the union
of many distinguishable qualities in one object
does not come from the objects ; is not given in
the affections of sense ; but proceeds from the un-
derstanding itself. It is not meant to say that the
object is not one, and that the synthesis is not real;
but only that its unity is not among the qualities
given in the affections of sense. Nor indeed is
the unity and connexion of parts here intended,
such as we learn by experience to exist in an or-
ganized body, or by any particular bond of union
in the object itself; but that which the under-
standing spontaneously gives to whatever is pre-
sented, and must give, in order to bring it within
its apprehension and make it an object of knowl-
edge. Thus we think of the sum of all outward
existences as one universe ; of the objects within
the sphere of our vision as one prospect, one land-
scape, &c. ; and contemplate the particular objects
embraced as parts of one whole. That we cannot
318 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
do otherwise does not prove that the unity is given
in the intuitions of sense ; but only that we do so
by an act of spontaneity, and not an act of choice.
The power of perception or apprehension, when
excited by that which is present to the sense, acts
4 spontaneously and independently of the will, as to
the mode of apprehending it; just as the sense,
when affected from without, acts spontaneously in
the intuition of that which belongs to sense. The
intuition of the manifold in the immediate af-
fections of sense, is the spontaneous agency of
s the faculty of sense ; the apprehension of what
is given in the intuition in a unity of conscious-
ness, is the spontaneous act of the understanding,
according to its own inherent laws of action.
Neither the intuition of sense, nor the perception
of the understanding, is under the direction of the
will as it regards the laws of their agency. The
agency of both is thus far immediate upon the
presence of its object, and inseparable from it, and
therefore, as it were, organic and antecedent to
voluntary reflection. We can only, in regard to
these agencies, reflect and make ourselves distinctly
conscious of what we have done, after we have
done it. Thus, in this case, we are not conscious
of the synthesis of the distinguishable qualities of
an object as our own act; but the subsequent ana-
lysis which we make of the object as apprehended
by the understanding, proves an antecedent syn-
thesis, and we distinguish by analysis, only what
we had combined in the synthesis. Here observe,
that all the qualities so combined, are given in the
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 319
intuition ; and it is only the synthesis or putting
together of these in what the understanding pre-
sents to itself as one object, that originates in the
act of the understanding ; and all that analysis can
do again, is to dissolve the unity, and distinguish
the original qualities given in the intuition. The
union of many in one is not properly an additional
particular, to be enumerated with the several par-
ticulars so united. Nor does the representation of
unity arise from a perceived connexion of the sev-
eral parts or particulars, but that of connexion rather
from the antecedent unity. It must therefore
be sought for in that agency of the understanding,
which, from its own subjective nature, must be the
same for all the objects of its apprehension, and
independent of any ground of the representation in
the nature of the objects so apprehended.
Here it may be necessary, in order to avoid mis-
conception, to mark more clearly another distinc-
tion ; that, I mean, between the subjective and the
objective unity of our perception.
By the subjective unity of a perception, it is
meant to express the identity of the conscious per-
ceiving, as directed to the several distinguishable
particulars in an object. It is the same self and
the same agency, that apprehends the several qual-
ities of an object as coexisting in space, or as suc-
cessive in time. The thought, that all the several
particulars given in an intuition belong to me, con-
stitutes the subjective unity of a perception. It
combines the manifold in the affections of sense
in one act of self-consciousness, and I represent
320 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
them all as my affections. There is an identity
of the conscious percipient in all ; otherwise, self
would be as manifold as the qualities of the objects
of sense of which I am conscious.
The objective unity of a perception, on the other
hand, is the representation of the immediate qual-
l | ~ ities perceived in an intuition, not as having an
$ identity of relation to me, but as having a mutual
relation and connexion with each other as quali-
ties of one object. Again, in its objective unity,
an object of perception has its determinate posi-
tion and direction in space, and stands in relation
to other objects. It is necessarily represented un-
der the mathematical forms and relations of pure
sense, and has its extension, figure, &c, determined
for the percipient by the constructive agency of
the imagination. As such, and so determined, it
becomes a distinct object of the understanding, as
distinguished from sense, and an object of percep-
tion as distinguished from intuition. The intui-
tion is the immediate presentation of the manifold
in the affections of sense ; the perception is the pre-
sentation of the many as one objective thing, com-
bining manifoldness in unity.
The same remarks which have been made re-
specting our apprehension of that which we pre-
sent to ourselves as existing in space, will apply,
for the most part, to our apprehension of objects
as existing in time. Whatever is present, either
to the outer or to the inner sense, is necessarily
represented as existing in time, or as having dura-
tion ; and the same distinction between pure and
%
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 321
empirical sense manifests itself, as in regard to ex-
istence in space. The same distinction holds also
between the manifoldness of what affects the em-
pirical sense and the unity of consciousness under
which it is apprehended by the understanding.
The successive moments, and therein distinguish-
able parts of duration in time, are apprehended as
combined to make up one time ; or those within
given limits, as one period of time, one day, and
one hour, &c. ; and thus an object is apprehended
(abstractly from its qualities, which affect the sev-
eral senses empirically), as having extension, fig-
ure and duration, mathematically determinable in
space and time ; and an objective unity, combining
in one object a manifoldness of parts and properties
analytically distinguishable from each other.
2. The term inner sense, as distinguished from
the outer senses already treated of, properly desig-
nates the immediate consciousness of the states and
agencies of our own inward being. As I have an
immediate intuition of the qualities of outward
objects, as color, hardness, &c, which I refer to a
ground of being out of self, so I have an immediate
intuition of affections and agencies, which I refer
to self, as their proper ground and source ; such as
the feeling of pleasure and pain, desiring, willing,
and the activities of thought.
It is not, however, to be understood, that we
mean by this language to indicate a specific sense,
having its distinct organ, like the several external
senses. It is meant only that the states and agen-
cies of our inward life are immediately present to
41
L
322 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
our consciousness, as the passive material of
knowledge, and so apprehensible to the under-
standing ; in the same way as the immediate af-
fections and intuitions of the outer senses are ap-
prehensible. When we direct the attention of the
understanding to what is passing in our own being,
we find the objects of attention presented for ob-
servation in a form which has all the characteris-
tics (in its relation to the apprehensive faculty)
which were before enumerated as pertaining to
V^Lcw sense# As P resent m our immediate consciousness,
jj or in the inner sense, they are manifold, immedi-
ate and individual, present and actual, as the mate-
rial of knowledge, and distinguishable from that
agency of the reflective understanding which takes
cognizance of them. They are presented, not as
extended and objective in space, admitting of con-
struction by figure, and so picturable to the outer
sense, but as continuous in time, and capable of
being designated and reproduced in our conscious-
ness.
jl An essential difference here between what per-
tains to the affections of the outer and what we
speak of as the inner sense, is, that while the ob-
jects affecting the outer senses exist independently
of our agency, and require only that the senses be
directed to them, and the attention excited, in
order to be perceived, those that belong to the
inner sense are our own agencies, and exist only
so long as the mind is in act, or actually affected,
conditioned in the manner which we wish to ob-
serve. When the feeling of pleasure or pain, or
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 323
the act of desiring, willing, thinking, &c, has
ceased, it no longer exists as an object of the inner
sense ; and how can we have a sensuous intuition
of that which has no existence, or a perception of
that of which we have no intuition ?
It is only, therefore, by reproducing and bring-
ing again into the conscious presence of the inner
sense, our past states of consciousness, by the ac- i **/ ^
tivity of our own minds, that they can become A/i* *
possible objects of attention and observation. This
is done either spontaneously by the law of associ-
ation, or voluntarily by the control of the will over
the faculty of thought.
Thus, whatever I have once been conscious of
as a state of my own inward being, may be repro-
duced in my consciousness ; and whatever has
such a connexion with my inward being as to be
potentially reproducible in my consciousness by
the activity of my own reproductive and represen-
tative faculty, may be said to belong to the inner
sense, and to be a part of the internal world ; as
whatever exists in space, so as to be potentially an
object of outward intuition, belongs to the outer
sense, and to the external world of sense.
It will be seen from this view, that we include
among the objects of the inner sense those agen-
cies of the soul which have for their object the
outer world of sense. Thus I present to myself
an absent object of sight, a house, a tree, &c.,
whether in a dream, a reverie, or by a voluntary
act of thought; and I picture it as outward, in
space, with all its surrounding accompaniments.
324 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
Here the agency itself has or may have an out-
ward object perceptible to the external senses.
But that which is now actually present to the
mind is not the outward object itself, nor is it pres-
ent to the outer sense, but a representative image
of it only, the work of the reproductive imagina-
tion ; and this image, which exists only so long as
the imagination presents it, belongs only to the in-
ner sense or the inward consciousness. It has no
reality out of the mind ; and as an object of the
inner sense, is a sensuous image or representative
of an outward object, having the same relation to
the inner sense which the object itself has to the
outer sense. As an act of the reproductive imagi-
nation, it has the same reality for the inner sense
that the object itself has for the outer sense. Thus
all the reproduced images of the outer world, con-
sidered as representative acts of the imagination,
in dreams, &c, and reflected upon by the under-
standing, are presented to its apprehension as sen-
suous and present in the inner sense.
The same remarks of course apply to all the
agencies and states of the mind, in doing and suf-
fering, in thought, desire, and will. Considered
as objects of the reflective understanding, they are
presented for its apprehension in that immediate
consciousness of the inward phenomena of our own
being which is termed the inner sense.
The inward life and activities of the soul are
subjected to our observation and conscious notice.
I not only feel pleasure and pain, joy and sorrow,
love and hate, desire and will, think, imagine, &c.,
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 325
but can make all these agencies themselves the
objects of the reflective understanding; can ap-
prehend and fix my attention upon them as objects
of study and of knowledge. Their presentation
in the inner sense or immediate consciousness is
the beginning and primary condition of self-knowl-
edge, as the presence of the material world to the
outer sense is the condition of our knowledge of
that.
But the point of most importance, here, is to J ,
distinguish clearly between what pertains to sense, v
or is sensuous, and the proper agencies and pro-
ducts of thought, or of the understanding as the
faculty of thought. Whatever is presented as im-
mediate and individual in our consciousness for the
attention and apprehension of the understanding,
and so as the object matter of its cognitive agency,
belongs as such to the sense ; while that which is
derived from it, by comparison, abstraction, &c.,
in the form of general conceptions, belongs to the
understanding, as the product of its agency em-
ployed upon the immediate intuitions of sense.
Following this distinction, not only the original in-
tuitions, whether of the outer or of the inner
sense, but the re-presentation of these in their
manifoldness by the agency of the imagination or
representative faculty, is also sensuous ; and such
a re-presentation is not a conception, but an image
of sense merely ; and the mere reproduced sensu-
ous image, like the original intuition, is not knowl-
edge, but only the material of a possible knowl-
edge.
JL
326 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
It may be remarked here, that the objects of the
inner sense are embraced in the general form of
self-consciousness, or are recognized as existing in
self; as the objects of the outer senses are re-
ferred to a ground out of self, and recognized as
existing in space. This consciousness of self, as
the ground and presuppositum of those phenomena
which I refer to self, is termed pure and a priori
self-consciousness, as the necessary a priori ground
of our knowledge of the particular modifications
of self, as the intuition of space is the necessary
antecedent ground of our representation of objects
as existing in space. The conscious / am is ne-
cessarily involved as an antecedent in every quali-
fied determination of consciousness which makes
known to me how and what I am. To this, too,
pertains that representation of self, or the conscious
/, by which all my individual and successive feel-
ings, desires, thoughts, &c, are presented and
combined as the activities of one and the same in-
dividual. What are the possible modifications and
agencies of that self of which we are conscious,
can be known only by experience in the progres-
sive developement of its powers, and by making
ourselves conscious of those agencies as manifested
in the inner sense. Here they may be more or
less distinctly manifested, or our power of attend-
ing to and apprehending the phenomena there pre-
sented may be greater or less, according to age
and habits of thought, or to the general discipline
and power of the understanding.
*
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 327
In general, it may be said, the phenomena pre-
sented to the inner sense, like those of the outer
world, are in a state of perpetual flux, varying
with every fluctuation of the powers of our inward
life, and the numberless influences which serve to
repress or to excite them. To most men, too, it
is an unknown world, as their observation and
their thoughts are directed exclusively to the world
without ; and it is only by careful discipline of the
understanding, and great precision in the use of it
acquired by philosophical reflection, and a critical
discrimination of terms, that we can seize upon
and trace the phenomena of our inward being.
CHAPTER VIII.
MEMORY AND POWER OF ASSOCIATION.
Thus far, in treating of the powers of knowl-
edge, we have considered only those agencies by
which we have an immediate perception of a pres-
ent object, as existent in time and space. The dis-
tinctive characteristic of these is, that they are
accompanied with a sense of reality, and an irre-
sistible conviction of the actual present existence
of the object perceived, as it is perceived, and in-
dependent of the act of perception. The imme-
diate affections of sense in these agencies are pas-
.
328 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
sive and involuntary; and what is given in the
sense is apprehended by the understanding, as de-
termined so and so in all its modifications of quan-
tity, quality and relation, and existing at this pre-
cise time and place.
We proceed now to the consideration of other
agencies and other modes in which the mind pre-
sents to itself the objects of its attention. In
these, the mind is more or less freed from the im-
mediate and absolute domination of sense and the
law of outward necessity ; and they form a sort of
transition from the passive determination of sense
to the freedom of voluntary thought. These, ac-
cording to the common use of language, may be
designated, in their general character, as the mem-
ory, the power of association, and the fancy or
imagination. But without attempting at present
to use these terms with precision, either as they
are or as they should be employed, I shall aim
merely to point out the more important distinc-
tions in things, as they are verified in our own
consciousness.
1. The power of simple sensuous re-presenta-
tion of a past intuition of sense, or, in general, of
a past state of consciousness.
When, by those agencies which have been al-
ready treated of, we have had an immediate per-
ception of the objects of knowledge, either in the
presentation of the outer or of the inner sense as
present to the sense, we can afterwards re-present
and contemplate them as past and absent. If, in
travelling, I pass a house upon the road, and ob-
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 329
serve it, have a distinct perception of it, my mind
can afterwards, when the object is now distant or
no longer in existence, re-present the house and
make it again the object of attention.
But observe, that in this simple representation,
the present agency of the mind is determined by
the past consciousness. It is merely, as it were, a
recurrence of a past state of consciousness, not
now as actual, indeed, but as representative, yet
limited and determined in all its particulars by the
actual past. The mind exercises no freedom of
construction, but presents to itself the past and
absent object as it was, with all its attendant cir-
cumstances of time, place, &c. In regard to its
object, the mind is equally passive as in the im-
mediate perception of the house when present to
the outer sense. That which is now present to
the mind is the simple counterpart or the repre-
sentative image of that which was before present.
Such a re-presentation of a past consciousness
may be called either simple memory, or referred to
the re-productive imagination. In its relation to
our powers of knowledge, it may be considered as
the reserved copy of an actual experience, reserved
in the mind, and capable of being re-presented as
an object of attention, and as containing the sen-
suous material of knowledge for the understand-
ing ; and the more perfectly it re-presents the ac-
tual past, i. e., the more entirely the present act
of the mind as representative is passively deter-
mined by the past as real, the more perfectly does
it subserve the purposes of the understanding.
42
330 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
2. But again, the mind can present to itself a
modified image of the past, or a part only of a past
object without the remainder. This is done in-
voluntarily, in the imperfect and indistinct repre-
sentations which we make of our past experience.
Thus, in the illustration above given, I may repre-
sent the house without being able to fix the time
and place in which I observed it ; or I may recall
these and have but an indistinct image of the form,
color, size, &c, of the house itself. Here is an
involuntary modification of the original conscious-
ness. The present image, as representative, only
partially represents the past and real, or presents
it with the abstraction of more or less of that
which belonged to the original. Here we have
the distinction of remembering and forgetting, and
our ability or inability to re-present a past object
of perception ; and the degree of clearness and
perfection with which 1 am able to represent it,
depends upon various circumstances, both in the
original activity of the mind in the perception, and
in its present agency. In the progress of our ex-
perience, the mind becomes stored with the images
of the past, forming for each individual a world of
his own, in which he expatiates, or the parts of
which rise and fall, as it were, present themselves
clearly and adequately, or vaguely and imperfectly,
in the horizon of his present consciousness, and
supply him with the materials of thought and
knowledge. An important point to be observed
here is, that in the modified and partially abstract-
ed images of the past, the mind is already to
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 331
some extent freed from the domination of the im-
mediate impressions of sense.
3. The images which the mind has thus
formed, which had their origin in, and were repre-
sentative of, immediate and individual objects of
sense, become wholly freed from the order in time
and place, and from the connexion with each other
which they had as strictly representative of past
reality; and are spontaneously recombined in a
different order in time and place, and in new com-
binations with each other. Thus if, after passing
one house upon the road, I pass another of differ-
ent size, form, color, &c, I may afterwards re-pre-
sent the latter as antecedent in my experience to
the former, and combine in the representative im- ,
age the color of one with the figure and situation
of the other ; or their qualities, without regard to
time and place, may be transferred and recombined
with each other, and with the qualities of other
objects without limit. In a word, the combina-
tions of distinguishable particulars, as presented in
our actual experience, are dissolvable in the inward
agencies of the mind, and the particulars reprodu-
cible under new arrangements and combinations
without limit, as we experience in our dreams and
our waking reveries, and witness in the effects of
delirium, &c.
4. In the new arrangements and combinations
which take place in the spontaneous reproduction
of these sensuous images, we trace the operation
of certain principles by which they are deter-
mined, and which constitute what is called the
law of association.
332 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
The substance of this law in general, as the law
of spontaneous association, is, that images or par-
tial images of past states of consciousness have a
tendency, when present in our consciousness, to
recall others by relations subsisting among them-
selves, and independently of voluntary effort.
Thus, in our dreams, and whenever the spontane-
ous activity of the mind is left free from the con-
trol of the will and the interference of voluntary
thought, we find one image calls up another, and
a continuous succession of phenomena float before
the inner sense. These, indeed, are not composed
wholly of images of the outer sense ; but what-
ever has preexisted in our consciousness may be
represented and affect the present succession. Not
only so ; the present state of feeling, as cheerful or
melancholy, may have its influence in determining
the character of the associated imagery ; and this
again may have a reciprocal influence upon the
tone of the mind itself.
The most general principle, in regard to the
tendency of one object to recall another, is, that
whatever affections have once coexisted in our con-
"(f sciousness, as parts of one total impression or state
of consciousness, acquire thereby a tendency mu-
tually to reproduce each other. Thus, if, while
observing the house upon the road, I was convers-
ing with a fellow traveller, not only all the out-
ward circumstances would tend each to recall,
when re-presented to the mind, all the others, but
the subjects of our conversation, and the images
which that brought before the mind, would become
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 333
associated with the house, and tend to recall it.
A single word, or tone, or momentary feeling, if
afterwards heard, or felt, or represented, may serve
to bring the whole scene or any particular part of
it again before the mind.
Subordinate to this general principle, (1.) one v \ \ -'
image will tend more or less strongly to recall an-
other, in proportion to the strength of the original
impressions, and of the connexion which was
formed between them as parts of one total impres-
sion. Thus, if two objects of novel and peculiar
interest are present and occupy my mind, as two
distinguished persons, for example, at the same
time or in immediate succession, one will thereby
acquire a tendency always to recall the other.
(2.) This tendency will depend upon the relation
of the present state and tone and occupation of
my mind to the object to be associated, and a par-
ticular image will excite this or that other image
of objects originally forming parts of the same to-
tal impression, according as one or the other is
most consonant to its present state. When cheer-
ful, the same image would suggest a different
train of associated images from what it would
when melancholy. (3.) The principle of similar-
ity in the original affections of consciousness has
an influence upon the succession of the train of
representations. Affections of one sense tend
rather to recall each other, than the affections of
another sense ; sounds suggest other sounds, colors
other colors, &c. In general, the nearer the affin-
ity of representations to each other, the greater is
834 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
their tendency, other things being equal, to asso-
ciate each other.
We may enumerate, in addition to these, the
principle of order, of contrast, &c, but it is more
important to remark that all the agencies of the
mind are connected together as manifestations of
one inward life ; and the excitement of one power
has a tendency in a greater or less degree to ex-
cite every other. The present feelings influence
the associations of the past ; and whether in a mu-
sing mood or in a dream, this or that particular
train of imagery, this or that incident in our past
history, this or that picture of life originally formed
in the mind by the chance medley of a dream or a
novel, shall be now brought back to our conscious-
ness, depends upon contingencies that can be re-
duced to no general rule.
The clearness and vividness with which we re-
present past intuitions and states of consciousness
depend upon several circumstances; as, (1.) the
force and distinctness of the original impression ;
(2.) the fitness of the occasion to reproduce in all
its parts what constituted the original state of con-
sciousness ; and, (3.) the present vigor of the mind
and activity of the reproductive imagination itself;
(4.) state of health and affections of the organic
system.
In general, if one part of a total and complex
impression of sense, as one distinct object in a
landscape, awakens a strong interest and produces
a vivid impression, the remainder will produce but
a feeble one ; or if a variety of strong impressions
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
335
A
u
k.
ft
*
are produced at the same time, they tend to con-
fuse each other ; and these different effects will be
obvious in the subsequent representations.
It is only by the power of association, or the
tendency of a present consciousness to reproduce
former experiences, that the accumulated stores of
past observation and experience are treasured up
in our minds ; and in this way, as we have reason
to suppose, all the materials of each one's past *
history are so linked together as to be capable of
being represented to our consciousness. If so,
then nothing is in such a sense forgotten as to be
wholly lost from our minds; and we often find
that what at one time we could not recall by any
effort of recollection, will at another, without an
effort, and by the spontaneous power of associa-
tion, be brought clearly and vividly to mind.
In common language, however, we are said to
have forgotten a thing, when we cannot recall it
by the voluntary effort of the understanding in di-
recting the train of associations.
On the other hand, the power of memory, more
strictly defined, is the faculty of re-presenting to
the mind what has been before present to it, with
the consciousness that it has been so. We may
distinguish, here, the case in which we merely are
conscious that what is now present has been be-
fore present, and that in which we refer it to its
original connexions in time and place.
From the law of association, also, in part, arises
the formation of habits, and the anticipation of
the future. When the same process in which
/ifi/W
u\
Y\i
336 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
either the agencies of the mind alone, or those of
the mind and body together are concerned, has
been often repeated, each antecedent act excites
and reproduces its consequent by immediate and
spontaneous association, without an effort of thought
or of will. So, in regard to the future, when we
have seen phenomena often succeed each other in
a certain order, the occurrence of the antecedent
awakens the representation of the consequent in
the same relation of time, i. e., as yet future. By
this passive or rather spontaneous association with
the present of that which is yet future, even the
brutes have the power of foresight.
Thus far, I have spoken of the law of associa-
tion as a principle of spontaneity ; and of memory
and imagination chiefly as dependent on this, and
spontaneously reproducing the past in our con-
sciousness. In this form, merely, they exhibit
only the uncultivated and rude nature of man, as
it is common to him with the brutes. Left to this
alone, he would be wholly the creature of circum-
stances, directed by sensuous impulses, over which
he could have no power of control.
But, practically speaking, the will and the un-
derstanding in every one, with the first dawn of
conscious intelligence, controls and modifies, in a
greater or less degree, the law of spontaneous as-
sociation. It was before remarked, that, even in
the spontaneous agencies of the mind, the order
and combinations presented in our actual experi-
ence are dissolved, and new arrangements and
combinations produced.
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 337
I proceed now to remark, that the association of
objects presented to us can be influenced by the
will, and that we can, by voluntary efforts of the
understanding, determine the order and the con-
nexion of that which is treasured up in our mem-
ories. Thus, among the particulars presented in a
total impression to the outer senses, or at the same
time present to the inner sense, we can at will fix
the attention upon an individual or upon any por-
tion of the whole, abstract it from the rest, and
connect it or associate it by voluntary thought with
whatever else we are able to bring before our con-
sciousness. If our attention, for example, be fixed
upon a ship, as part of a scene presented either to
the outer or to the inner sense, we can think of it
in its relation to science or art, or in its relation to
natural scenery, and determine its associations ac-
cordingly, in its relation to our former stores of
knowledge. In this way, I determine, in a greater
or less degree, by my own voluntary effort, my
subsequent ability to rememberit, and the associa-
tions by means of which I shall be able to recall
it. It is by this higher power of thought, directed
to the objects present in the horizon of our con-
sciousness, that we are able to choose and limit
the objects that shall occupy our minds ; shut out
intruding associations; and thus pursue a fixed
purpose, and give a predetermined method to the
succession of associated thought and imagery.
Thus the spontaneous agencies of the mind are
gradually brought under methodical arrangement,
determined by the prevailing habits of thought j ~s
43
i
338 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY,
and even our dreams give proof of the mode in
which our waking hours are employed, and of the
degree in which our minds are disciplined and cul-
tivated.
The influence of the power of attention, both
in fixing particular states of consciousness or par-
ticular objects in our memories, and in rendering
our associations methodical, is of the highest im-
portance. The power to select, among the num-
berless objects present to our consciousness, that
which is suited to a preconceived purpose, with the
exclusion of the rest ; to retain it against the force
of the natural current of spontaneous association ;
is that which renders us capable of self-cultivation
and self-control. By this, we are able to rise
above the law of mere brute nature, and direct the
agencies of our minds to the accomplishment of
purposes which reason prescribes.
* The voluntary activity of the mind is no less
distinguished above its spontaneous agencies, in
what we have called the productive imagination.
In its spontaneous agencies, it was remarked that
it often produced new combinations among the
images of the past, as in our dreams, etc. But
these are rather the product of nature working in
us, than our own work. They are the results, re-
vealed in our consciousness, of powers which lie
beyond the reach of our immediate and voluntary
control, no less than the organic agencies of the
nervous and arterial systems.
But the imagination, in its higher functions, is
the power by which we are able voluntarily to
rt
I
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 339
present to ourselves images, constructed and com-
bined otherwise than they are given to us in our
experience. If my mind were absolutely limited
by my actual experience, and I could only re-pre-
sent the actual past, then a series of objects, seen
to exist in only one order and mode of combina-
tion, could not be presented by the mind to itself
in any other mode. The objects a, b, c, if known
in our experience only in the order of succession
in which they are given, would always be repre-
sented in the same order ; and there could arise
in the mind no occasion for the distinction be-
tween the actual and the possible. But we know
not only that the spontaneous law of association
may represent them in a different order, but that
we can arrange and combine them, in the images
which we present to ourselves at will, without re-
gard to the order in which they were known in
our experience, and thus make ourselves conscious
of the distinction between the actual and the pos-
sible.
Thus the imagination is not at all limited in its
agencies, by the forms and combinations of the
real world of our experience ; but those images
which are first furnished by the intuitions of sense,
we can, by an exertion of voluntary power, shape
and combine together, and present to the inner
sense in an endless variety of forms. We can re-
present an individual object, like the sun for ex-
ample, as multiplied or enlarged, and think of the
sky as filled with a thousand suns. When we see
an object of a red color, we can represent to our-
I
*
340 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
selves that color as extended to other objects, and
spread over all that surrounds us. So we can re-
present the qualities of an object, as abstracted
one after another, till the whole disappears, and is
represented as non-existent.
In all its creations, however, the imagination is
limited in regard to the materials of its workman-
ship to that which is given in the intuitions of pure
and empirical sense. However free the play of
imagery in fictitious representations may be, the
imagination, under the control of the will, can only
contribute the form and method in which the ma-
terials already given are combined together.
Hence the man born blind can combine in the
creations of his imagination no representations of
color, nor the deaf of sounds. Thus all the mate-
rials are from the empirical sense ; the form and
principle of combination in space and time, from
the mind itself.
v^ A distinction of great importance is made here,
between the mere aggregations of forms and
imagery, and that agency of the imagination in
which the imagery is strictly subordinated to the
expression of a pre-conceived idea. The former
agency is distinguished by some as the fancy, the
other as the imagination, in its proper sense. It
is the office of the former to collect and call up
as it were the images of the inner sense, as the
materials by which the creative ideas of the imag-
ination are to be expressed or realized.
The power to distinguish the possible from the
actual, and to present to ourselves a scene or com-
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 341
bination of circumstances, as possible, differing
from and better than the real, is the ground ot
hope, and the exciting cause of all effort to im-
prove our condition. It is the guide of the under-
standing, as it were, in presenting beforehand the
objects not yet existing, which the understanding
contrives the means of attaining.
It is this power, also, that constructs those
figures which are the necessary objects of the un-
derstanding, in seeking after general truths, as the
basis of its conceptions. We abstract from the
individual images of sense their distinctive charac-
ters, and present a general outline that applies to
several individual objects in common. When we
use a general term, as man, house, tree, &c, we
bring before our mind a sensuous representation of
it, that serves to designate the meaning of the
word, without including the characters which dis-
tinguish individuals of the species named from
each other. Or rather, perhaps, the imagination
enlightens the understanding here, by presenting
varying forms, or differing individual images of the
class, each of which includes the characters com-
bined in the general conception, with the con-
sciousness of the distinction between the concep-
tion and the individualized image. This will be
best exemplified by reference to the construction
of geometrical forms, all which are the work of
the productive imagination. When we represent
to ourselves the meaning of the word triangle,
ellipse, &c, it is by constructing figures, each of
which includes the characters combined in the
/
SY
sr
342
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
definition, with the consciousness that they are
only inclusive of the conception, while the indi-
vidual peculiarities of each are unessential.*
Again, the activity of the imagination is neces-
Wt . tvvX- sary to invention, in the useful as well as in the
AXiJVih'h fi ne arts '> since whatever is to be realized, must
first be presented by the imagination as a possi-
ble construction.
CHAPTER IX.
RECAPITULATION.
i
Before proceeding to treat more particularly of
the understanding as the power of voluntary
thought, let us review very briefly what has been
* A scheme, as constituting the identity of a conception in dif-
ferent minds, and the ultimate ground of community in language,
can exist only in the common method, or rule of representation,
by which the imagination is directed in producing images of
objects included under a general term. An individual object can
be subsumed under a general conception, only as it has in it that
which is identical in kind with the conception itself; i. e., as it is
generated, in the mode of conscious representation, by the same
method, by the same rule of generation in the productive imagi-
nation.
Different minds are brought to a mutual understanding of terms,
as designating a determinate agency in consciousness as common
to them all. Thus the images which A and B present to them-
selves, when the word triangle is used, are not identical, and
may be widely diverse. How then, since they represent the
word, each by the image in his own mind, does it mean for them
the same thing"? It does so, only as they are able to determine a
method in the productive agency of the imagination, by which the
image is constructed, and in the identity of the method is found
the basis of intelligibility in the use of the word.
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 343
said of the powers of knowledge. I wish to do
so, chiefly, for the purpose of bringing together into
one view the leading distinctions which have been
made, and stating, more technically perhaps, the
terms by which I shall usually designate them.
1. In speaking of the powers of knowledge,
we mean those agencies of the mind whose func- a -~ t/V 1
tion it is to know, or by whose activity we pre- 1 -^ ^
sent to our consciousness, under some form, that
which pertains to our knowing, as distinguished
from designing and willing.
2. To know is a verb active, and necessarily J J^^ "^
implies a something known. Every exercise of _.
the powers of knowledge, therefore, involves the '"T ' -
distinction of an act, and an object on which that'
act terminates.
3. That on which a specific act terminates, as Jvw^-c^ 4 -"^
its specific correlative, is its immediate object. lA i^-
The object, according to its etymology and the /A
sense here given it, is that which lies opposite or ^ " j
over against the agent.
In order to render more obvious the distinction , - x_
of immediate in our knowing, I must anticipate, in '
a word, an account of that which is mediate, as
contrasted with it. When I have formed a pre-c^^-^
vious conception, no matter by what method, and^V^^
by means of that, as applied to the objects around
me, call this object of sense a triangle, that an ap-
ple, &c, my knowledge that the one is a triangle
and the other an apple, is through the medium of
the conceptions previously formed and present in
the understanding ; and this knowledge is, there-
344
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
) < t/KAA^
fore, mediate. Now the intuition of that to which
the conception is applied is antecedent to and inde-
pendent of the act by which we determine what it
is, as coming under this or that determining con-
ception.
4. That faculty by which we present to our-
selves, or become conscious of the presence of,
that in our knowledge which is thus antecedent to
the determining of what it is, of that which is
knowable in distinction from the act of knowing,
is the faculty of sense.
In this strict employment of terms, therefore,
the sense does not know, but is the organ by which
we present to ourselves the material of knowledge.
It is the receptive faculty, the vis receptiva of the
mind ; and that which is present in the sense is a
something given, of which the sense is the passive
recipient.
5. The act of receiving, here, however, in what
is denominated the passive reciptivity of the sense,
is, nevertheless, an act, and supposes a specific
power of action. To be receptive of the impres-
sions of color, sound, &c., implies a specific sus-
ceptibility, not belonging to inanimate things. In
every conscious affection of sense, therefore, there
is a present determination of the passive suscepti-
bility of impressions, as in the affections of red-
ness, sweetness, hardness, &c.
6. In these determinations of our conscious-
/i ness, we have the most immediate and original
union or coincidence of the self with the not self;
f g^^o-**iv f tne su bjective and the objective; and distin-
v-i An/5
HjL
. ^Lcaj-c
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 345
guish, in the same state of consciousness, the acts' ^-i> l - v " .
of seeing, feeling, hearing, &c, from the imme- r***-^**' *{jt
diate correlatives of these in the qualities seen, ~ '
felt, heard, &c.
In these immediate and passive affections of our i a hL. (
consciousness ; in these agencies of the vis recep-^
tiva, in which we thus distinguish the conscious" - - (\4
seeing, tasting, &c, from a somewhat seen, tasted,
&.c, consists the feeling which we have of exist-
ence of something real and actual. In every such
state of consciousness, there is an affirmation, a
certainty of the reality, not only of the acts of
seeing, &c, but of the somewhat seen, insepara-
ble from the consciousness itself.
7. That in our immediate affections of sense,
which we are conscious of as our own act, we re-
fer to self, as the abiding ground of its reality ;
and that which we are conscious of as present to
the sense, but not as originating in our own agen-
cy, we refer to a ground of reality out of self, J$^
That out of self, to which we thus refer what is
immediately present in our consciousness, is an
object of perception ; and the affections of sense ,
which we refer to it are its qualities, and express
the relations between the object and our suscepti-
bility of impressions, or the modes in which it is
presentable to our minds.
8. Again, whatever is a possible object of *
knowledge for us, must be, in some mode, presen- //}l.^t < ) tj j&
table in our consciousness, as the condition of . t"~ t~"
its being known. Now the various forms and im-
pressions of sense, are the modes of presentation
44
346 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
in which whatever is existent in time and space
can alone manifest itself to us and become appre-
hensible as an object of knowledge.
9. All our powers of knowledge are originally
. excited and called into conscious action by the
V^v-A-Aw Vi- affections and excitements of sense ; and all the
, <2 uXutXu^- anc | j n t j ie str i ct limitation of the term, each sense
renders us conscious only of its specific correla-
tive in the qualities of the object ; the sight, of
colors ; the hearing, of sounds, &c.
(2.) The intuition of space and time, as distin-
guishable from the empirical qualities represented
as existent in space in time, and the necessary a
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 347
priori ground and condition of that representation.
This intuition is the agency of pure sense, as dis-
tinguished from empirical; and, as belonging to the
sense merely, is the presentation of the unlimited
manifoldness and mutual exclusiveness of parts as
coexistent in space and successive in time, without
unity or form.
(3.) The representation of a unity and mutual
relation of parts to each other in space and time,
and in the object represented as existent in space
and time. The unity and relation here spoken of,
are the necessary form under which the under-
standing apprehends the manifoldness of that
which is present in the affections of sense, in order
to make it an object of knowledge. The various
qualities presented to our consciousness by the em-
pirical intuitions of sense, are referred to one
ground of reality, existing objectively in space.
Thus it is apprehended by the spontaneous agency
of the understanding, as one thing with manifold-
ness of properties.
(4.) There is in the perception of an object, as
existent outwardly in space, also, a necessary ex-
citement and activity of the imagination as a
power of construction. The object, in its relation
to space and lime, is represented as having figure,
mathematical form and relations in space, and du-
ration in time. Strictly speaking, the manifold-
ness of an object is apprehended in a unity of con-
sciousness, perhaps only by means of the unity of
its mathematical figure as constructed by the im-
agination. This may be termed the original and
348 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY,
a priori unity of perception, as grounded in the
necessary form of the understanding and the unity
of consciousness, and independent of the particu-
lar form and relation of parts in the object appre-
hended.
., 11. As objects in space and out of self are
t 4 ^ presented to our consciousness in the immediate
ir*****^ affections of the outer senses, so what belongs to
C -\A
^u*- f >o^*-*t) Ur 0W n agencies and the subjective states of our
J^%aX-^* v - inward being, is present to our consciousness as
/f^-4^ vvv the possible object of knowledge, in what is termed
//- LtA** i-**** tne i nner sense, or the immediate empirical self-
li). consciousness.
12. What has been once consciously presented
,L *sf to the sense in our experience as actual, or as an
sciousness have, spontaneously, to recall each other.
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 349
It is exhibited in its most simple form, in the re- Qh^ft
calling of past experiences in the order and ar- l L yV ^,
rangement as to time and place which belonged to
the original impressions, as in simple memory.
But any objects which have been present in our
consciousness, as parts of a total impression, ac-
quire thereby the power each to recall the other.
15. By the voluntary effort of attention, we f 9"u (Ua^
can abstract and associate particular objects in a -^ {/L lv
total impression, with reference to the purposes of -4- f*./V
the understanding, and gradually subordinate the
spontaneous agencies of the reproductive imagina-
tion to the methods of the understanding, as the
power of voluntary thought.
16. The reproductive imagination is the power (f^LavVtv-fr
of presenting imaginary intuitions of past states
of consciousness, or images representative of past
intuitions, in an order determined by associations
previously formed among the objects or agencies
represented, whether those associations have been
formed spontaneously or voluntarily.
17. The voluntary employment of the repro- /7
ductive imagination, in calling up images of past
states of consciousness and of absent objects, is V
the fancy ; and the relation which those images
have, when thus called up by the free play of the
imagination, and not subordinated to a pre-con-
ceived end, is a merely fanciful relation.
18. The conscious presenting to the mind of A
an antecedent idea or purpose, and the subordina- . -
tion of the images of sense to the intelligible de- fon*/%^\s
velopement and manifestation of that idea or pur-
350 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
pose, by so shaping and associating them as to
give them the form and position which the purpose
requires, is the productive imagination. The most
simple exercise of this, is in the production or
construction of geometrical ideas and forms in
space. These, for the pure sense, are purely ideal
and imaginary constructions ; as, when I think of
a line or a circle, my imagination produces it, con-
structs it as an object for the pure sense. I re-
present it to the empirical sense, when I draw it
with chalk upon a black-board, determining the
direction of my hand by reference to the ideal
construction presented by the imagination under
the form of pure sense. Here that which is pre-
sented to the empirical sense has no use or mean-
ing, but as it serves to awaken and fix in the
minds of others, the mathematical idea of which it
is but an imperfect image. So of the images of
sense made use of by the poet, to express the
ideas which give character and unity to his repre-
sentations. They are only the plastic matter to
which the imagination gives form, or which it
uses as the subordinate material in the production
and realization of its own ideal creations. The
idea, the form here which determines the shape
and relation of parts in the combined unity of the
whole, and in comparison with which the images
employed as the material of its construction are
matter of indifference, is the production of the
creative imagination. This is the higher and pe-
culiar power of imagination, as distinguished from
the power of merely representing, whether spon-
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 351
taneously or voluntarily, images of past states of
consciousness.
19. It should be added, that under the law of .
association are connected together, not only im- ^ ^ ^
ages of past objects and states of consciousness,
but all the powers and activities of our inward
life ; so that the excitement of one awakens the
activity of another, according to the principles of
association by which their agencies are connected. c ' wu ' ^"^)
Thus, an image of sense excites a feeling of plea- u^S^
sure or pain ; and that, an act of will ; that, a con-
ception ; that, another image of sense, &c.
20. It is of comparatively little importance, in
a practical point of view, to particularize and dis- j
tinguish the relations by which the spontaneous
associations of our minds are determined. These
associations, under the law of spontaneity alone, LJt
belong to our mere irrational nature ; have no in-
herent unity nor rational tendency, but are varied
by all the accidental influences to which the sus-
ceptibilities both of the outer and the inner sense
are subjected.
21. An involuntary interest or predominant jw
passion, exerted and continuing its influence, may 0|.
direct and fix the attention so as to determine r^^"
the associations and form habits of mind ; but un- f\xJ^
less brought under the control of the self-deter-
mining power of thought, and directed to rational-
ly prescribed ends, it is still but the dominion of
nature, working in us, and subjecting us to its law,
as creatures of sense.
/
352 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
\
22. All rational, systematic discipline and
r t P*/i*~dZ' to 1 - cultivation of mind, consists in the acquired do-
^ c minion of the power of voluntary thought over the
mere natural and spontaneous law of association.
In proportion as the mind is cultivated, the prin-
ciples of a higher order and of logical relation are
introduced, and influence the associations by
which images are re-produced in our conscious-
ness, and manifest themselves in the wildest play
of fancy and even in our dreams. It is the proper
aim of self-cultivation thus to bring all the treas-
ures of memory, all the stores of fancy, and all the
agencies of the mind, under subjection to laws of
method, prescribed and realized by the power of
the reflex understanding, and with reference to
those ultimate ends which reason and conscience
prescribe.
Thus the spontaneous association of the phe-
nomena presented in our consciousness among
themselves, and the influence of voluntary atten-
tion and thought, are the two fundamental prin-
ciples which determine the connexion aud succes-
sion of all that pertains to the inner world of our
consciousness. The former is properly distin-
guished as the law of association, the latter as re-
flexion ; and they are, in a certain sense, opposed
to each other, since the exercise of reflexion dis-
solves the connexions which subsist under the law
of association, and forms new connexions, and new
sequences of thought and imagery. Thus, by the
voluntary and repeated contemplation of objects
under any determinate order of arrangement, we
#
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
353
acquire the power of always re-calling them in the
same order. On this principle, we can voluntarily
form associations according to the relations of
cause and effect, of genus and species, of resem-
blance and contrast, or by any other law of method
which the understanding may determine, and
which is best adapted to the particular purpose in
view.
The power of reflection over the law of associa- f
tion, is best shown in the formation of habits.
Here we often see that a series of thoughts or ft
images, of mental acts or muscular motions, which
at first were connected with conscious and labo-
rious efforts of attention and reflection at every
step, as in learning to read or speak a language,
come, by repeated exercise, to follow each other
without effort ; and the perfect triumph of reflec-
tion here is exhibited, when that which the under-
standing has prescribed and introduced by reflec-
tion, and for a self-proposed end, comes to be per-
formed by the law of spontaneous association.
We thus give law to the agencies of our own
minds, and the law which we impose becomes a
second nature. It is not only true, as it seems to
me, that we are not conscious of an effort of reflec-
tion in the performance of that which has become
properly a habit, or is fully established in our asso-
ciations, but that there is no longer an act of re-
flection necessary. The acts follow each other
by the law of spontaneous association, each ante-
cedent exciting and producing its consequent in
the series ; subject, however, to the control of the
45
354 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
understanding, in regard to the purpose to which
such agencies are, for the time being, directed.
This power to subordinate the associative power
> kc^wfc~ to the pre-determined purposes of the rationalized
understanding, forms a striking distinction between
man and the brutes ; and the degree in which it is
actually so subordinated in the individual mind,
. marks the degree of its rudeness and of its culti-
vation, of its weakness and of its strength. The
man of sound and cultivated mind subjects all the
activities of his mind to his own chosen purposes ;
the uncultivated or powerless mind is the sport of
associated images and impulses, over which he has
no control.
CHAPTER X.
PECULIAR FUNCTION OF THE UNDERSTANDING.
The agencies of the productive imagination and
of the understanding are alike under the control
of the will, and alike control the associations of
fancy, and subject them to their own law ; but for
different ends, and in different ways. The imagi-
nation combines images, giving them, as far as
may be, at the same time, vividness of form and
coloring, while it shapes them either to the more
fanciful display of its own energies and the pro-
duction of mere amusement, or subjects them to
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 355
the more rigid requisitions of a higher law of rea-
son, in the production of the beautiful and sub-
lime. The understanding, on the other hand, ab-
stracts from the individualized images of empirical
sense their generic characters and forms, and com-
bines them according to their logical relations and
in rigid subordination to the requirements of truth,
or to the attainment of its own pre-determined
ends.
The understanding, as the faculty of reflection,
by the voluntary control over the re-productive
imagination, in recalling for the purposes of re-
flection past states of consciousness, and by di-
recting its attention to the phenomena presented
to the inner sense, aims at a rational self-knowl-
edge. The immediate intuitions of the inner
sense are but momentary and fleeting states of our
inward life manifested to our consciousness. Ra-
tional self-knowledge requires an insight into the
laws of those agencies of our inward being whose
sensuous phenomena are exhibited to the inner
sense. For the attainment of this, the agencies
must be voluntarily re-excited, the phenomena re-
produced and often contemplated ; and to do this,
requires not only the power of directing the at-
tention inwardly to the agencies of our own minds,
but the energies of thought.
The power of doing this, of voluntarily re-ex-
citing and contemplating, as by an inward eye, the
agencies of our own inward being, is the faculty
of thought, the understanding in its strict and
proper sense. It is thus, too, the faculty of self-
356 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
knowledge, a higher consciousness, to which the
mere empirical consciousness of the affections of
the inner sense is subordinate. It is by this repe-
tition of our immediate consciousness, and the di-
rection of our understanding to the re-presentations
thus consciously recognized in the inner sense,
that we are able to rise above mere sensuous in-
tuition, and attain knowledge.
It was before remarked, that our immediate
sensuous intuitions are not properly a knowledge
of their objects, but only contain the material of
knowledge. It is the function of the understand-
ing to know what is presented in our intuitions.
When the senses are first directed to a novel ob-
ject, they have at the first moment an intuition of
its qualities as an immediate object of sense ; and
scarcely any thing is gained in the clearness of the
immediate sensuous intuition by its continuance or
repetition. As an object of sense, it may be clear-
ly and fully before me at once. Yet every one is
conscious that the instinctive desire of knowledge
is not satisfied with this, and that indeed it is not
knowledge. Higher powers than those of sense
are awakened, and we instinctively inquire what
it is. We seek to interpret to ourselves the phe-
nomena presented to our sense, and make that
which is already an object of intuition for the
sense, an object of knowledge for the understand-
ing. We repeat our attention, perhaps, to an out-
ward object, in order to be able to present a more
clear and perfect image to the inner sense ; but the
ability to present such an image, though a step
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 357
towards it, is not yet a knowledge of the object
which it represents. It is not an act or product
of the understanding, but remains in the sphere of
sense.
But though neither the immediate intuitions of
the outer and the inner sense, nor the sensuous
images of these presented to the inner sense, con-
stitute a knowledge of their objects, yet they con-
tain all the materials of our knowledge of them.
In these immediate intuitions of sense, the objects
of knowledge have imparted, as it were, to our
minds, all that our minds can receive. We have
presented them in our consciousness, in the only
mode in which we can take immediate cognizance
of them ; and in the images of sense, we have re-
served and can represent to our minds all the char-
acteristics of the original intuition which are ne-
cessary for the purposes of the understanding.
Here, too, observe, that in the images thus repre-
sented, though sensuous in their form, there is not
only a partial abstraction of the individuality and
manifoldness which belonged to the original intu-
ition, but, as representable images, they have be-
come a possession of the mind itself, partaking of
its character, and no longer dependent upon the
condition or continued existence of that which
they represent.
It is the materials thus treasured up, and repro-
ducible in the inner sense, or, rather, the states of
consciousness here represented, on which the en-
ergies of thought are employed, and from which
the knowledge of the understanding is derived.
358 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
The attainment of this knowledge, moreover, is,
properly speaking, self-knowledge. Our immedi-
ate knowledge of the objects of sense is com-
prised in the intuitions of sense ; and the exercise
of thought is directed to the consideration and un-
derstanding of what is contained in those intui-
tions. The aim of reflection is thus to know our
own knowing ; to understand the intelligible form
of that which is present in our immediate con-
sciousness. The energies of thought, of reflec-
tion, cannot go beyond this. The understanding
has no insight into the object of knowledge, aside
from what is given in the conscious affection of
sense. It can only know what is already given in
the intuitions of sense, and the re-presented im-
ages of these ; that is, what is already the posses-
sion of the mind in a sensuous form. But its aim
is, to render us distinctly conscious of that in our
immediate experiences, of which we were not be-
fore conscious ; by considering, reflecting, com-
paring, distinguishing, &c, to bring out and mark
with distinct consciousness what was already pres-
ent and contained in our immediate sensuous pre-
sentations, but was not noticed. Thus the sensu-
ous presentation to the inner sense, of the room
which we employ for a chapel, contains all the
materials which we have or can have for a knowl-
edge of it. But this may be present to our minds
without our noticing the likeness or unlikeness of
its parts, or any of those relations, the conscious-
ness of which constitutes, in fact, our knowledge
of it. To make ourselves distinctly conscious that
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 359
the windows on the opposite sides, in this image
of the room, are equal in number, but different in
form; to compare their size ; to notice their rela-
tive position, the character and size of the panes
of glass, as compared with those in other windows ;
and so of whatever is distinctly knowable in the
object presented as the mathematical figure of the
room ; the geometrical figures formed by its diago-
nal or other lines, &c, is the province of thought.
However full and perfect the sensuous representa-
tion may be, without such thought, we know no-
thing about the object. It is plain, too, that
thought adds nothing but its own activity ; and that
in the sensuous image we had presented to our-
selves, had already possessed the mind of, all that
can be known by the most mature reflection,
whether referable to the external object or to the
spontaneous agency of the mind itself. If, there-
fore, the presenting of the sensuous image be a
knowing of the object represented, the purpose of
reflection is, as before observed, only to repeat
consciously and thoughtfully to ourselves, what we
already know ; to re-cognize our former knowing ;
to reconsider our former doing ; in a word, to
bring distinctly before the eye of our reflective
self-consciousness, what was already a part of self,
as an agency of the mind, and permanently repre-
sentable to the inner sense.
Observe, that all which is given in the case sup-
posed, of the re-presented image of the room, as
the material of reflection, is determined by the law
of spontaneity, as distinguished from voluntary
360 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
agency. We have recalled the image of the room
to mind, perhaps, voluntarily ; but all that the im-
age contains is independent of our will. Its uni-
ty as an object of consciousness, its figure and rela-
tions in space, and all that belongs to the affections
of empirical sense in the image represented, its
connexion with other objects, near or distant, and
its being included as a part in the unity of nature,
&c, the mode in which we present it in all these
respects, is determined, I say, by the law of spon-
taneity. But whether / reflect and reconsider
what I have thus presented, and how I have pre-
sented it, its distinguishable qualities and relations,
depends upon my will. The exercise of the fac-
ulty of thought, in other words, is voluntary.
But again, though I may think or not think, as
I will, yet, if I think at all, this agency, too, has
its law of spontaneity. I can think, only accord-
ing to the inherent and necessary laws of the un-
derstanding, as the faculty of thought.
CHAPTER XI.
GENERAL CONCEPTION OF REASON, AND ITS RE-
LATION TO THE UNDERSTANDING.
That which I have now spoken of as the spon-
taneous agencies of our conscious being, in dis-
tinction from the voluntary, is, in one sense of the
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 361
term, the manifestation of the power and law of
reason. But I have before spoken of these spon-
taneous agencies in the empirical affections of
sense, and the sequences of the spontaneous law of
association, as being a mere irrational nature in
our minds ; as nature working in us, rather than
our own work ; and probably the same in the
higher order of brutes, as in man. ^
These two statements are apparently contradic-
tory, yet both true. Considered as reason, the
power thus actuated and manifesting itself to our
reflection, is not our reason, yet a power working
in us according to a rational law. In its immedi-
ate relation to the understanding and will, that is,
to the personal self and self-consciousness, it is
the law of our nature, given to us, and working in
us, as the organific power of life works in the or-
ganization and growth of a plant, or of our bodily
systems, independently of our own personal con-
trivance or purpose. Yet, considered in itself, and
as the subjective law of action in our minds, so far
as the mode and form of that agency is spontane-
ous, (and, in regard to our wills, necessary, not ac-
quired by experience, but a priori, i. e., deter-
mined by its own inherent principle, antecedently
to experience,) it is a rational agency. It is the
actuation in us, of that universal power which is
the real ground and actual determinant of all liv-
ing action, and one with the power and life of na- dr
ture. We recognize it as reason, only so far as
we make ourselves conscious of it in the opera-
46
362 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
tions of our minds, as a necessary law of action.
Thus, when, by the excitement of the outer
senses, I am led to represent to myself an object
existing outwardly in space, thence to the intui-
tion of pure space, of the unity and infinite exten-
sion of space, the possibility of producing a line
in the same direction ad infinitum, and to see the
necessity of what is so presented to my conscious-
ness, I recognize the power thus called into action
and consciously exerted, as the spontaneous agen-
cy of reason, acting according to its own law, and
determining, for our understanding, the modes and
conditions of all our knowledge. When, in the
example before made use of, I represent the room
in its form and relations, as I do, including all that
is knowable in it, as an object of reflexion, it is
plain that my will has no power to present it oth-
erwise. The whole is fixed and determined by
the spontaneity of reason and a law of necessity,
which I cannot contradict without placing my un-
derstanding in contradiction to reason. A diffi-
culty arises, here, from our habit of considering
the mind as simply passive, in regard to the pres-
ence of the immediate objects of sense. Yet a
moment's reflection, only, is necessary to make
ourselves conscious, that in .the presentation of
these to our distinct consciousness, the mind is ac-
tive ; excited to action, perhaps, from without ;
but when excited, acting according to its own law.
What its agency is, and the law of its action, we
learn, as before observed, by the voluntary exer-
cise of the faculty of thought.
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 363
So of the law of thought itself; we learn what
it is, by making the operation of the mind, when
we think, itself the object of reflective thought.
And this is the purpose of logic ; to ascertain and
exhibit in the abstract, the necessary laws of
thought. Now that which is necessary and a
priori, in the agency of this power, or the inherent
ground why I think so and so, and cannot think
otherwise, as to the mode of my proceeding, in the
agency of thought, is the law of reason. Thus, in
reflecting upon what is presented as the object of
knowledge, I think of it under the relation of sub-
ject and predicate, or substance and attributes, the
thing in itself and its qualities, of unity and mul-
teity, &c. And that which prescribes these neces-
sary laws of thought, is the pure reason, by its
own spontaneity, independent of and antecedent to
any determination of the will, or purpose of the
understanding, itself considered as the instrument
of the will. We can only, by voluntarily directing
the exercise of thought upon its own mode of
proceeding, make ourselves conscious of these
laws ; of what we do, and how we do it, when
engaged in the employment of the understanding.
But a very interesting and important example of
what I mean by the spontaneity of reason, and of
the relation of its agencies to that of the reflex un-
derstanding, is found in the mathematical intuition
of pure sense. This has already been referred to
incidentally ; but the nature of mathematical intui-
tion, as distinguished from the faculty of thought,
is deserving of more particular attention on its
364 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
own account, as well as to exemplify the point now
in question.
In mathematical intuition, we are imme*diately
conscious of an agency which we recognize as
necessary; independent of experience, and antece-
dent to reflection. If we refer again to the image
which we present to ourselves of the chapel, we
find that we have presented it in a determinate
mathematical form, in its relation to space. If we
reflect farther upon what we have done in this act
of presentation, we become conscious that we have
presented a mathematical figure limited on all
sides by a something affecting our senses of sight,
touch, &c. ; but that this mathematical figure in
space is independent of those material boundaries,
and still remains fixed, as a distinct and permanent
object of pure sense, when that which affects the
empirical sense is abstracted from the image. The
figure itself we cannot abstract. We may cease to
think of it, but when we do think, we represent it
as still there, and always of necessity there, with
the same mathematical determinations of form.
Again, on further reflection, I find that I have
given this mathematical figure, in its construction,
certain determinate properties, of which I can make
myself distinctly conscious. I have represented it
as longer in one direction than the other. I see
that I have made its opposite sides parallel, each
of its sides a rectangle, and the whole figure rec-
tangular and six sided ; that in this six sided
figure, two of the sides are placed horizontally and
four perpendicularly. If I reflect still farther, I am
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 365
conscious that I have represented each of these
sides as bounded by four mathematical straight
lines, meeting in mathematical points, at four right
angles, and the opposite sides parallel and equal. I
see that a line drawn diagonally through this four-
sided figure, divides it into two triangles; that
in these triangles, two sides and the included angle
of the one, are equal to the corresponding parts in
the other ; that they are necessarily equal, and the
three angles of each equal to two right angles.
Again, if I look farther at the parallel lines, I
see that they are so related to each other, that if
produced indefinitely, they will never meet ; and
that they cannot enclose a space.
In addition to this, I become conscious by re-
flection, that certain properties, which I find in this
figure and its several parts, belong not only to this
particular figure, in this particular place, but neces-
sarily to all six sided rectangular figures, rectan-
gles, triangles, straight lines, &c. Thus in con-
templating the properties of these straight lines, I
may become conscious that no two straight lines
can include a space ; that not only in these but in
all possible triangles, the three interior angles are
equal to two right angles ; and that it cannot be
otherwise. So, too, in looking at the relations of
the sides aud angles of a triangle, I see them to be
such, that in all possible constructions of it, it will
be either right-angled, obtuse-angled or acute-
angled ; that any two sides will be greater than
the third side, he. The same remarks may be
extended to all the constructions and demonstra-
tions of pure mathematics.
366 REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY.
The important point of distinction to be noticed
here is, that these solid and plain figures, lines
and angles, together with the properties enumerat-
ed, and whatever else the geometrician may distin-
guish and demonstrate as their properties, are pro-
duced and presented to the inner sense by a power
whose agency is antecedent to reflection, which
makes them what they are, and gives to them the
properties which we discover and demonstrate.
By attention and reflection I add nothing, but only
become distinctly conscious of what was given and
unalterably determined in the original construc-
tion. In the mathematical construction, I had
made the lines parallel, &c. ; and to think of them
presupposes them already made. Now that ante-
cedent agency which determined the form of these
constructions and assigned them their properties,
was a spontaneous agency of that power which I
have denominated reason. No matter what was
the occasion or the excitement which called it into
action ; I recognise its agency in the geometrical
constructions, whose properties I contemplate. In
these I trace the law of construction, and the
working of a power which is its own law ; which,
in its developement, in its spontaneous goings
forth, is not, like the affections of sense, determined
from without, but by its own inward principles of
action and by its spontaneous agency, gives form
and law to that which it produces.
Now it is the peculiar advantage of geometry,
as a means of illustration here, that we can more
readily make ourselves conscious of the immediate
REMARKS ON PSYCHOLOGY. 367
agency of that power which works in us, and the
products of whose agency we contemplate in all
the objects of our knowledge. The spontaneity
of the organic power of life in the functions of
nutrition and the nerves of motion, are wholly be-
yond the reach of our consciousness. In the
functions of the higher power of the organic sys-
tem in the affections of sense, we seem to our-
selves simply passive, and are not conscious of that
agency which yet we know to be necessary on the
part of the subject as organic reaction, in order to
sensation. So the presenting of the manifold out-
ward affections of sense, in any case, under a
unity of consciousness ; we may convince ourselves,
by reflection upon that of which we are conscious,
that it is an act of our own minds, originating in
the essential unity of consciousness and the spon-
taneity of our own reason, but we are not imme-
diately conscious of it. It is a matter of inference,
not of direct self-consciousness. But of the con-
struction of geometrical ideas in space, we may
make ourselves directly and immediately conscious.
We have a direct and immediate intuition of the
constituent law of geometrical construction, and
see the necessary and unconditional truth of geo-
metrical propositions. * * *
ON THE WILL,
THE SPIRITUAL PRINCIPLE IN MAN
[in a letter to a friend.]
Burlington, Jan. 1, 1836.
My dear Sir, I have read over your friend's
manuscript on the free-will, repeatedly, with a
view to comply with your request ; but was always
at a loss where to begin, and how best to make
intelligible, to you and to him, the bearings of my
views upon those which the piece contains. I re-
gard it as expressing some fundamental distinc-
tions, and as implying a deep insight into the
mysteries of the human spirit ; but shall I say
it the ideas seem to me not fully wrought out
and clearly reduced to the unity of a system.
The distinction which he exhibits between liber-
ty and freedom, though I could not adopt those
terms to express it, or perhaps follow him in his
ON THE WILL. 369
details, I understand to be the same which the
old divines make, and which you will find, as I
recollect, in one of Cudworth's sermons, (not the
one re-published by Henry.) The man who has
what the manuscript terms liberty, is sin's free-
man, (Jer. Taylor's free only to sin,) and the one
who has freedom, in the sense of the manuscript,
is God's free man. Not that Cudworth's state-
ment includes all that the distinction here made is
intended to convey : I speak only of two kinds of
freedom, essentially different from each other, as
there taught. But in following the manuscript
in detail, I should be obliged to go into long ex-
planations on every point, and give, after all, but a
partial view of what I regard as the truth, because
taken from a position that admits only of a partial
view. I shall, perhaps, therefore, answer the
wishes of your friend better, if I present a brief
outline of my own views, and leave him to com-
pare them in the aspects which they present rela-
tively to each other and to their own ground prin-
ciples. I rio not pretend to give the views which
I shall express as original, nor are they directly
copied from any one or more authors. I give
them, too, only in a hasty and imperfect outline,
with the familiarity and informality of a letter, to
one who needs but a hint in order to think out
for himself that to which it tends, or which it in-
tends.
I shall proceed, then, without farther preface or
apology, to endeavor to fix a few points in a se-
ries of developements, the contemplation of which
47
370 ON THE WILL.
seems to me to lead to the most intelligible view
of that which is distinctively spiritual, and of the
relation of our finite spirits to nature on the one
hand, and to the spirit, as their own proper ele-
ment, on the other. I must not be understood as
attempting to give more than hints, and these such
as I would not venture to express, where I did not
presume that they would be, at least, kindly in-
terpreted. Nor can I now undertake to give all
the links in the chain by which the elementary
powers of nature are connected with the highest,
and with the supernatural. 1 speak, as you will
perceive, of powers, and shall assume, at the out-
set, the truth of the dynamic theory, which seeks
the reality of all the objects of our knowledge in
living powers, knowable to us only in the law of
their action, as they manifest themselves in their
phenomenal relations and aspects.
1. Let us begin, then, with the elementary and
universal powers which manifest themselves in the
material world. Here we find each distinguisha-
ble power conceivable only in its actual and imme-
diate relation to its proper correlative or counter-
acting power; so related, that each presupposes the
other, in order to, or as the condition of, its possi-
ble actuation. Take, for example, the Kantian
construction of the conception of matter, as such.
The universal and necessary constituents of mat-
ter, as matter, are, attraction and repulsion, each
the measure and determinant of the other, and the
resulting equilibrium, the basis, as it were, of the
material world. Now, extend this view, and see
ON THE WILL. 371
how the same conditions apply to those superadded
powers which it is the business of the chemist to
investigate ; and how, throughout inorganic nature,
whatever is fixed and determined, is found, so far
as analysis has extended, to result from the syn-
thesis of counteracting powers, and remains fixed
so long as those powers remain in equilibrio. Ap-
ply it, also, to electricity and magnetism, and ob-
serve, that, throughout the sphere of inorganic
powers, the equilibrium of specific correlative and
counteracting forces results in a state of rest and
apparent inaction ; but with a product that is the
abiding witness of their abiding and living energy.
Now the point to be observed, here, is, that
these distinct powers are, (1.) conceivable only as
relative, each to another, which is necessarily pre-
supposed in order to its actual manifestation in
nature ; and this being mutual, necessarily again
leads to the assumption of a higher and antecedent
unity, which is, therefore, supernatural; and, (2.)
are terminated and fixed in their agency, each, im-
mediately, by its correlative, producing, as the re-
sult of their counterbalanced energies, the world
of death, or of what we term dead and inorganic
matter.
2. Observe the dawn of the individualizing
power, in the formation of crystals, where each
specific product of the elementary powers of na-
ture separates itself from all that is heterogeneous,
becomes attractive of its own kind, and, with a
semblance of organic life, builds up, each after the
law of its kind, its geometric forms. Here, too,
372 ON THE WILL.
but a moment's reflection is necessary, to see that
we are compelled to regard the power which is
determinant of the form to be assumed, by a salt,
e. g., held in solution, as one that is universally
present, or all in every part ; since the perfect
form of the crystal is presupposed and predeter-
mined in the first step of the process, and every
particle assumes the position necessary to realize
the antecedent idea. But though we have, here,
the manifestation of a formative power, yet it is
limited, in its agency, to the building of geomet-
rical forms, by mere apposition, out of elements of
the same kind, with no assimilative energy, and
terminates in the production of fixed and lifeless
forms. There is yet no organific and living pro-
cess.
3. In the principles of organic life, even in
their lowest potence, we have a power which man-
ifests itself as paramount to the elementary powers
of nature, and subordinates them, and their inor-
ganic products, to the accomplishment of its ends.
We find, here, an energy that dissolves and trans-
mutes, assimilates to its own nature and appro-
priates to its own uses, the heterogeneous elements
subjected to its agency. It cannot be conceived
as springing out of inorganic nature, as merely a
higher potence ; or as being the proper product of
its elementary powers. (For, how can death pro-
duce life ? How can powers, which have neu-
tralized, and whose only agency is, as correlatives,
to neutralize, each other, and which, so long as
their equilibrium is undisturbed from without, re-
ON THE WILL. 373
main forever at rest, give birth to a higher and in
some sense antagonist principle ?) The power
of life, then, does not come from beneath, out of
the inferior elements, but from above. Yet it pre-
supposes the existence of those elements, as the
condition of its own manifestation, and comes to
them as to its own, enters and takes possession,
and out of them builds up its manifold and won-
drous forms. With the power of life, it imparts
to the assimilated elements a formative and organ-
ific tendency, and, in its infinite diversifications,
propagates and diffuses its specific forms, each af-
ter its kind.
Here, then, we have the powers of life and of
living nature, I mean of organic life and organic
nature, educing, from the inferior elements, the
visible and tangible material required for the de-
velopement of their organism, but conferring upon
these elements their own living forms. But I
must not forget the purpose for which these per-
haps apparently irrelevant matters are introduced.
4. Leaving, then, the relation of the organic
life of nature to the inferior elements, for the pres-
ent, what are the distinctive characters and higher
developements, which may help us to understand
the supernatural life of the spirit ? Observe, first,
the continuity and self-productivity of the organic
life of nature. The assimilative and plastic ener-
gies, co-working in each principle of organic na-
ture, tend, with limitless repetition, to reproduce
their own form, whether individual or specific.
Thus, the principle of life in the seed of an apple,
374 ON THE WILL.
for example, produces and realizes its own indi-
vidual form, and, with continuous productivity,
multiplies that form, with a distinct repetition, in
each bud, with its attendant leaf; and, whether by
the continuous growth of the same stock, or by
buds and scions transferred to others, propagates
itself without limit. Here, too, in the highest
perfection of the individualized power and form in
the developement of the flower and fruit, we see
the higher specific principle of life resolving itself
into its polar forces, in order, by their reunion, to
reproduce the kind, and so in endless succession.
Observe, here, more closely, how absolutely tran-
sitional are these successive individualizations;
how each bud, in the very process of growth, does
but pass into other individuals, and lose itself in
the moment of becoming ; while the specific prin-
ciple, again, here, as throughout nature, manifests
itself only in the production of new individuali-
zations.
Observe, secondly, how, in the animal organiza-
tion, the assimilative and plastic powers, in their
productive agency, effect, not, as in plants, a
succession of transitional forms, with no true cir-
culation of the productive power, and no self-
affirmation in any, but a continuous reproduction
of the same individual form and organism. Here
we find a more complex organization, and the
assimilative and plastic powers, with their proper
organs, clothed with those of the systems of irrita-
bility and sensibility, by which their relations to
the outer world are determined, and the specific
ON THE WILL. 375
ends of each organic nature attained. But it is an
important point to observe, thirdly, how, in every
organic being, every organ and function must ne-
cessarily be conceived as reciprocally a means and
an end, a cause and an effect, in relation to the
others ; and how the manifoldness of the parts is
combined and harmonized in the unity of the
whole ; how the one principle of life in the entire
organism, as the all in every part, seeks the reali-
zation of its own predetermined end in the full
development of its essential form ; and how, even
in the productive and organific agencies of nature,
the self-seeking principle is manifested ; and with
it, in a lower form, the principle of self-determina-
tion : for, fifthly, while in every gradation of the
powers of life, the inward principle unfolds and
manifests itself only under the condition of being
excited from without by that which corresponds
with its wants, and furnishes the means of its
assimilative agency ; yet the specific mode of its
action is determined by its own inherent law ; and
no change of outward circumstances can determine
it to any other action, or mode of development,
than that which is predetermined in its own nature, sy
or antecedent idea. The outward circumstances
of soil, exposure, &c, may modify the accidents of
outward growth, size, color, &c, of an oak, but
no possible outward circumstances can make an
acorn produce any other tree than an oak. The
inward principle of life is here self-determined, and
not determinable from without. So, as to the
self-seeking tendency, each vegetable principle of
376 ON THE WILL.
life strives, by the assimilation and subjugation of
the inferior powers of inorganic nature, after the
realization of its own predetermined end, in the
development of its outward form : and what are
the appetites or appetences of animal nature, but
the striving of the inward principle of life to attain
(by means of those corresponding objects, which,
being presented through the medium of sense,
stimulate the appetites and excite the irritability
of the system) the ends which that nature pre-
scribes. Thus, according to the universal law of
organic nature, each individual principle of life
seeks the realization and perpetuation of its own
form, the attainment of its own end, as the law of
its nature. Observe here, too, that as the power
of organic life generally, while it does not spring
out of the inferior elements, yet presupposes their
existence, so in every gradation of organic nature,
each subjective excitability presupposes its specific
exciting cause, without which it has but a poten-
tial reality, and can never have an actual existence
in nature.
The relation of the subjective powers of life
here, to surrounding nature, as the corresponding
objective, and the action and reaction necessary
to the development of the subjective, while yet the
agency of the subjective, as to the law of its ac-
tion, as well as its ultimate end, is self-determined,
and must be conceived as antecedent to the objec-
tive, and having an independent origin, are points
fundamentally important.
ON THE WILL. 377
6. With the dawn of sensibility and con-
sciousness in its lowest form, we find the inward
tendencies and seekings of the principle of life, re-
vealing itself as a craving after that which the
ends of our organic nature prescribe. In its sim-
plest modification, may we not conceive it as anal-
agous to the productive agency in vegetable life ;
a self-finding, but at the same moment a self-los-
ing power ; continuously transitional and fleeting,
momentarily and continuously directing the organ-
ic agencies, but with no power to retain or repro-
duce the consciousness of the momently past, and
therefore without the consciousness of time ?
In this form, it connects itself with the relation of
the subjective to the objective in their reciprocal
action and reaction, but only as a medium through
which the other agencies of the system are excited
and the ends of nature secured. In regard to these
agencies, moreover, and the relation of the subjec-
tive wants to their outward correlatives, in the high-
est human consciousness, we find them determined
according to a law of nature ; each inward appeten-
cy seeking its correlative object, and the organic
affections of pleasure and pain arising according as
the organic wants and tendencies are satisfied or
repressed. Suppose such a consciousness to go
along with the agency of the organic powers, and
let us trace its different gradations. Observe, 1st,
the immediate action and reaction of the subjective
and the objective in the vegetative sphere ; 2dly,
the intermediate agency of the organs of sense
and of the muscular system, by which the relations
378 ON THE WILL.
of the subjective principle of life to surrounding
nature are enlarged, and its appropriate objects
brought within its reach at a distance in space ;
and, 3dly, the superadded powers of instinctive
intelligence, or the adaptive faculty, enlarging still
farther the powers of devising and employing the
means for the attainment of the specific ends,
which the individual nature prescribes ; and we
may still regard all this as the action and reaction
of the subjective and the objective, according to a
fixed law of nature, or of cause and effect ; and
the subject to be still lost to itself and absorbed in
the pursuit of its correlative objects, and of those
ends which the law of its nature prescribes ; pur-
suing now this and now that object, this or that
end, according to the accidental relation subsisting
between its present wants and the objects that are
within the sphere of its organic action.
7. Now let us suppose, superadded to these
powers, a higher consciousness, by which we can
reflect upon, and represent to ourselves, these in-
ward propensities of our individual nature and their
various relations of action and reaction to their
outward correlatives ; that we have thus a perfect
knowledge of our nature, and are distinctly con-
scious of its agencies and its states, as pleasurable
or painful ; that we see them as it were passing
before us, but passing by an unchangeable law of
nature, over which we have no control. This,
y^ too, is certainly conceivable. But suppose again,
that in addition to a perfect knowledge of our na-
ture and its various appetites and agencies, with
ON THE WILL. 379
their correlative objects in the world of sense, we
have the power of reflecting upon the pleasure and
pain which attends this or that particular agency ;
of comparing one with another ; of bringing in the
consideration of time ; of subordinating the present
to the future, the less to the greater, and instead
of blindly following present impulses, seeking with
prudent foresight the highest sum of that which *
our nature prescribes as its proper end. Should
we not still be within the sphere of our individual
nature, and limited to the ends of that nature ; and
can that which, by such a process, grows out of
nature, be conceived capable of rising above it and
seeking any ulterior or higher end ? However *
great the power of intelligence, according to such
a supposition its highest result must be to harmon-
ise the various tendencies of natural appetites or
propensities, and give unity and consistency to
their agencies, so as most effectually to attain the
end already prescribed by the antecedent law of 4
nature, as self-determined and self-seeking. The
resultant would be absolutely determined by the
law of nature, and would be a mere nature ; there-
fore not a will, not spiritual. To prevent misap- ^
prehension, too, I should say that no such self-
consciousness as that represented above, properly
belongs to a mere nature ; and that the subjective
wants and propensities of a nature are not neces-
sarily limited to mere organic wants, but may em-
brace whatever subjective properties or excitabili-
ties can belong to an individual self-seeking prin- ~ *tf
ciple, having their correlative objects, with the
380 ON THE WILL*
relation of action and reaction between them, ac-
cording to the universal law of nature.
8. With this imperfect sketch of the inward
impulses of living natures, let us look for a moment
more connectedly at the possible relations of con-
sciousness to these agencies of the principle of life.
The inorganic powers of nature, as we have seen,
are properly in a state of activity only so long as
their equilibrium is disturbed, and immediately
restore themselves to a state of rest. In the low-
est principles of life, in the vegetable, there is a
continuity of living action, but with no true circu-
latory agency, no fixed point and centre of action,
remaining the same with itself and affirming itself,
but a continuous transition of the living energy
into other and still other outward forms, so that
even a momentary self-finding is inconceivable,
since there is no true self, and the powers of life,
e. g., that exist in union in one joint of a grape
vine, as they send forth their productive agency,
do not revert for the reproduction and perpetuation
of the same individualised power from which
they proceed, but proceed still outwardly, and
reunite in the production of another joint or
individualised germ. In the animal organiza-
tion and organic action, on the other hand, there
is a true circulation or returning into itself,
and a continuous self-reproduction of the organic
system, a self-circling and self-centering of the
living functions, which may possibly render in some
sense representable to us (it can certainly do no
more than that) the idea of a self-finding power,
ON THE WILL. 381
or the lowest form of consciousness, in the sensi-
bility to pleasurable and painful states of the
organic system. Suppose the sphere of sense
enlarged, so as to include a sensibility to all those
relations which subsist, according to the law of
nature, between the subjective excitabilities and
their outward correlatives, so that the sense is a
medium of action and reaction between these ; and
we have exhausted the sphere of sense as a func-
tion of the organic system. The form of con-
sciousness, here, as merely sensuous, must be con-
ceived as transitional, and, as before remarked, a
perpetual self-losing, without the conscious relation
of time, with no conscious recognition of the pres-
ent as identical with the past, and with an absorp-
tion of the self in the objects towards which its
subjective powers are directed. _,
Let the involuntary reproduction of sensuous
images, and the spontaneous law of association,
both of which pertain to the sphere of sense, be
superadded, and may we not consider this as ex-
pressing the highest form of a mere sensuous na-
ture, as we find it in the brutes, and as Protagoras in
Plato's Theaetetus, and as Hume, have represented
human nature ? There is, and can be, in such a
nature, no true self-consciousness, and no true will ;
even as there can be, in nature, nothing; above or
over against nature.
9. It was said, above, that the power of organ-
ic life could not have its origin from, or spring out
of, inorganic nature ; since powers in equilibrio
cannot produce a higher power, subordinating them
382 ON THE WILL.
to its agency. So, here, it is equally manifest
that the will and the power of personal sell-con-
sciousness, the spiritual principle in man, cannot
come out of the powers of his natural life, but
cometh from above. That self-affirmed and self-
conscious 7, which unites in itself the personal will
and the free self-directed faculty of thought, and
which places itself over against nature, even the
individual's own nature, and contemplates its agen-
cies, does not, I say, spring out of that nature ; but
is a higher birth, a principle of higher and spirit-
ual energy, and having its proper relations to a
^s world of spirit. It enters into the life of nature,
in some sense, as the power of organic life enters
into the lower sphere of inorganic matter. In its
own essence, and in its proper right, it is super-
natural, and paramount to all the powers of nature.
But it has its birth in, though not properly from,
an individual nature, and we may now look more
nearly at the relation of the spiritual to the natural
in our own being.
v' 10. The principle of natural life in us, as in
all organic beings, is self-seeking, and strives after
the highest realization of self, as its ultimate end.
If we suppose a power of intelligence included in
the organism of nature, as remarked in No. 7,
no matter how great, it will only be subservient to
the ends of nature, and cannot conceivably seek
after an ulterior and higher end. But here we
have a power of will and intelligence, that, poten-
tially, and in their true idea, are above nature, and
have their proper ends above those of nature. But
ON THE WILL. 383
it has, also, its true source and ground of being in
the supernatural, or that which is above the man's
individual nature and the agencies of his individual y
life. Observe, then, how the finite will and un-
derstanding, or reflective faculty, constituting the
man in the man, the supernatural, enter into, be-
come absorbed in, and, in the determination of ul-
timate ends, limited by, the self-seeking principle #
of nature. The understanding, reflecting and re-
producing, in its own abstract forms, the fleeting
experiences of the life of nature, its wants and its
tendencies, seeks, in the false and notional unity
which, by reflection, it forms out of these, its own
centre and principle of action; seduces the will
into the pursuit of the ends thus determined ; and
thus the spiritual principle is brought into bondage //
to the life of nature. It has formed to itself a
false centre, out of the mere notional reflexes of
sensuous experience, by which its inward princi-
ple and its ultimate end are determined. It has
thus become a self-will, not governed by the spir-
itual law, but by a principle originating in itself,
and bringing it into subjection to the law of sin,
the self-seeking principle of the mere individual &
nature. Observe, it has not become a nature, '
which is, by the law of necessity, self-seeking ; but
is still a spiritual principle, and, of right, subject to
the law of the spirit. In "this fallen state, it is
still self-determined, since it is not determined
from without, but by an inward principle, which
no outward circumstances can change. Inasmuch,
too, as that principle of self-will is the ultimate
384 , ON THE WILL.
principle, and a selfish end the ultimate end which
it strives after, nothing can be a motive of action
to it, which is not subordiaate to that principle and
end. It cannot rise to the pursuit of a higher end
and the obedience of a higher law, for it cannot
rise above itself, its inward principle, and, being
in bondage to a law of nature, obey a law above
nature. It is in view of this, that the Apostle ex-
claimed, in the name of fallen and enslaved hu-
manity, ' O, wretched man that I am ! who shall
deliver me,' &c. Neither the finite understand-
ing, unenlightened from above, can rightly appre-
hend, nor the finite self-will, unaided and unem-
powered from above, effectively pursue, the objects
and ends which are truly spiritual.
11. What then is the relation of the will, as
spiritual, to that which prescribes its true and
rightful end ? The ultimate fact of consciousness,
here, is the sense of responsibility to a law above
nature, prescribing, unconditionally and absolutely,
ends paramount to those which the self-will, as
the law of nature, prescribes. This fact alone is
enough to establish the principle, that the will is,
in itself, essentially supernatural, having its true
correlatives, not in the sphere of nature and the
world of sense, but in those objects that are spirit-
ual. The life of nature has its proper correlatives,
by which its powers are excited and evolved in the
world of sense. The principle of natural life has
in itself only the antecedent form, and has only a
potential reality, till it receives from surrounding
nature those assimilable elements, by which its
lS
ON THE WILL. 385
powers are excited, and manifest their living form
in the actual world of nature. So the spiritual
principle may be said to have only a potential re-
ality, or, as it enters into the life of nature, a false
and delusive show of reality, until, awakened from
above by its own spiritual correlatives, (spiritual
truths, or those words that are spirit and life, in a
word, revelation of spiritual things), it receives
the engrafted word, and is empowered to rise
above the thraldom of nature.
Here, however, it may be said with propriety,
in regard to the analogy referred to, that the world
of sense, in its relation to the spiritual, is analo-
gous to the inferior and assimilable elements in
their relation to the principle of organic life as
furnishing the material of duty, and the sphere of
action into which the higher spiritual principle of
life is to carry and realize its own inherent form,
and, while it embodies itself in those outward
agencies which belong to the world of sense, con-
fer upon them the higher form of its own spiritual s
law of action and of being. But here again is the
important distinction, that while the development
and perfection of its organic form is the true self-
determined end of the principle of organic life, it
is aimed at unconsciously, and even the appetites
of the animal, which it seeks to gratify with their
proper objects, are unconsciously subservient to
this end of the principle of life : but the principle
of spiritual life is a self-conscious principle, and
must consciously intend and strive after its proper V
end. The immediate appetency of the plant is for
49
386 ON THE WILL.
the elements of earth and air, which may be assim-
ilated to its organic life ; the immediate appetite
of the brute is for the outward object of sense by
which the appetite is stimulated, and in the attain-
ment of that its action terminates ; it is by a
power not their own, unconsciously working in
them, that this agency becomes subservient to the
development of their beautiful and magnificent
forms ; and what they are thus unconsciously,
it is our duty to become by our own act, presenting
to ourselves the end which the law of spiritual life
prescribes to us, as our end and purpose.
v 12. What then is the law of spiritual life, and
the end which that law prescribes ? I answer, in
a word, the law of conscience ; or the absolute and
unconditional prescripts of reason, as the law of
conscience. It is in this, that we are placed in
immediate and conscious relation to that higher
spiritual world, to which our spirits of right be-
long, and with which they ought to hold habitual
communion.
That which thus presents itself to us as a com-
manding and authoritative law of duty, claiming our
unconditional obedience, and prescribing to us an
end paramount to the ends of nature, is not to be
regarded as a product of the discursive understand-
ing, even joined with the natural and moral affec-
tions ; but a higher power, and a spiritual presence,
the same in kind with our spirits, and by its pres-
ence, always, so far as we receive it, enlightening
our understandings and empowering our wills. In
^ a word, it is the revelation in us of that higher
V
f/
ON THE WILL. 387
spiritual power, or Being, shall I say, from whom
our spirits had their birth, and in whom we live
and move and have our being.
The immediate presence of that power to our
spiritual consciousness, is the only true ground of
our conviction of the reality of any thing spiritual ;
and it is only by wholly denying and forfeiting our
spiritual prerogative, that we can lose that con-
viction.
13. The true end of our being, as presented
by the spiritual law, is the realization, practically,
in our own being, of that perfect idea which the
law itself presupposes, and of which Christ was
the glorious manifestation. To be holy, as God is
holy, is the unconditional requisition of the law of
our spiritual being. In the renewed and regener-
ated soul, a hungering and thirsting after righteous-
ness is the conscious actuation of the principle of
spiritual life, striving after its appropriate object,
and seeking to clothe itself with the perfect right*-
eousness of Christ, in whom shone the fulness of
divine perfection. But I must not enter also into
theological mysteries, and will only add something
more of the symbols of nature, by which light
seems to me to be cast on spiritual things.
14. The law of nature, it was said, through-
out the sphere of organic life, is the law of self-
production and self-seeking. Every principle of
life strives after the realization of its own prede-
termined idea, and in its proper agency subordi-
nates whatever means its agency embraces to its
own individual ends. But we see also that nature,
j
388 ON THE WILL.
or rather the supernatural, in and through the indi-
vidual nature, provides also for the interest and
propagation of the kind ; i. e., makes the individ-
ual subservient to ends paramount to its individual
ends. In many of the plants and of the insect
tribes, the individual perishes in the reproduction
of its kind. So too in the higher animals we see
instincts implanted, which impel them to hazard,
and even to sacrifice, their individual lives for the
preservation of their offspring.
V How obviously is the purpose of nature here
paramount to the welfare of the individual ; and
how does the specific principle of life take pre-
cedence, and manifest itself as of higher authority
than the individual self-seeking principle. Yet
the individual acts by impulses which are imparted
to it as an individual, and is unconscious of the
presence of a higher law, even while obeying it.
So in that relation of sex, by which the multipli-
cation of the species is secured, the individual may
seek his own selfish gratifications, while nature
has in it a higher purpose. Here, too, as in so
many other cases, we are compelled to refer those
agencies which appear in nature, as two correlative
polar forces, to a higher specific unity, which has,
therefore, its reality in the supernatural. Here is
then a higher law, manifesting itself, asserting and
securing its claims to the accomplishment of ends,
in and through the individual, which are paramount
to the ends which that individual, obeying the law
of his nature, prescribes to himself.
ON THE WILL. 389
>*
It is the law of the kind, seeking the interests
of the kind, having its origin in a ground higher
than the individual nature, and seeking ends para- s
mount to its ends. Suppose that law to rise into
distinct consciousness, as a law to which our selfish
ends ought to be subordinated ; and what will it
be but the laws of conscience, which commands
us to do to all men as we would have them do
to us; i. e., to seek the good of our kind. It is
the universal law, the law of the kind, revealing
itself in the individual consciousness, and for all
men the same identical law of the universal reason, o
As an illustration, too, of the tendency of the nar-
row, self-seeking principle, see how often all that
is implanted, even in the instincts of human nature,
for the interests of the kind, is subordinated as the
means of base self-gratification, and the welfare
of children sacrificed to the self-indulgence of the
parent. ^
15. It is only by freeing the spiritual principle
from the limitations of that narrow and individual
end which the individual nature prescribes, and
placing it under that spiritual law which is con-
genial to its own essence, that it can be truly free.
When brought into the liberty with which the
Spirit of God clothes it, it freely strives after those
noble and glorious ends which reason and the Spirit **
of God prescribe. But as the wheat must be cast
into the earth and die before it can bring forth
fruit, and as the insect must sacrifice its individual
life in order to the multiplication of its kind, so
the individual self-will in man must be slain, must
*
390 ON THE WILL.
deny itself, and yield up its inmost principle of life,
before that higher spiritual principle can practically
manifest itself, which is rich in the fruits of the
spirit, and which, as a seminal principle of living
energy, multiplies the products of its power.
I will just add here See how near, according
to the above way of looking at the objects of
knowledge, every thing in nature is placed to its
spiritual ground, and how the higher spiritual con-
sciousness in man finds itself in immediate inter-
course with the spiritual world ; rather, in the
immediate presence of God.
ON THE RELATION OF MAN'S
PERSONAL EXISTENCE AND IMMORTALITY
TO
THE UNDERSTANDING AND THE REASON.
[in a letter to a friend.]
Burlington, Dec 4, 1837.
My dear Sir, I began an answer to your
letter soon after receiving it, and wrote over more
than a sheet like this, with a view to show the
proper shape in which it seemed to me the ques-
tion of immortality should be placed, relatively to
the understanding and the reason. However, 1
w 7 as not satisfied with what I had written, and
other duties have prevented my taking it up again.
But it seems to me, in a word, that the under-
standing and reason cannot properly be placed in
antithesis to each other, in respect to this point, as
in the conversation which you reported. That
form of instinctive intelligence in the brute which
most nearly approximates the human understand-
ing, but is not enlightened by reason, (and so is but
4
392 PERSONAL EXISTENCE
.the highest power of a sensuous nature, in its rela-
tion to a world of sense,) is, indeed, to be sup-
posed equally perishable with the organic form.
But the understanding in man is differenced from
the corresponding power in the brute, by its union
with the spiritual, the supernatural, the universal
reason. Now, though we may intellectually dis-
tinguish, here, and speak of the understanding in
distinction from reason, yet, in its proper charac-
ter as the human understanding, it can no more be
separated from the reason, on the one hand, than
it can form the faculty of sense, on the other.
Disjoined from and unempowered by the reason,
as that which potentiates it for the apprehension of
the universal and the supersensuous, the " faculty
judging according to sense" would cease to be
an understanding, and become identical with intel-
ligence in the brute. It has before it, indeed, as
the material of thought, as the correlative objec-
tive on which its agency terminates, the phenom-
ena of sense ; but it has behind it, as it were, as
that in which it is grounded, and from which it re-
ceives the inward life of its life, and which consti-
tutes its true and very being, the universal life of
reason. Now its union with reason is such, even
in the unenlightened and unsanctified mind, that
we properly term it a rational understanding. If
we term it the discursive faculty, in distinction
from reason as contemplative, still the purpose of
its discursions is to reduce or bring back the mani-
foldness of sense to the unity of reason, and not to
lose itself in the bewilderments of sense. If we
AND IMMORTALITY.
393
compare it to Ezekiel's wheels, as that which
runs to and fro in the world of sense, we must say,
not only that it bears up the living creature, or
manifests the living truths of reason in their rela-
tion to sense, but the spirit of the living creature
is in the wheels also. It is the potential indwel-
ling of the universal life and light of reason, that
makes it an understanding. Now we may, indeed,
comparatively speaking, be blind to the apprehen-
sion of rational truth, and lose ourselves in the
fleeting and shadowy phantoms of sense ; but we
can no more absolutely exclude the generalific and
substantiating power of reason from our intellect,
than we can inward freedom and responsibility
from our will.
In reference to the question proposed, indeed, it
seems to me that the understanding and will are
inseparable, so that we cannot conceive the finite
understanding without the personal will, nor the
will withour*the understanding ; and that the unity
of these constitutes the principle of individuality
in each man. If so, then you would of course
say, that in its constituent idea as the correla-
tive of its ultimate end, it is essentially immortal ;
or that the form of intelligence and will which
constitutes the proper being of humanity in each
individual, is so preconformed to, and so partakes
of, the universal and spiritual, as to be, in its own
right, placed in antithesis to the ever-becoming and
continuously evanescent phenomena of nature, and
to have a principle that is abiding, and one with
itself. We must, I think, identify this principle
50
394 PERSONAL EXISTENCE
with the understanding and will, if we identify it
with the individual at all, as such ; since the rea-
son, as contra-distinguished from the understand-
ing, is universal, so that there is but one reason,
the same in all.
Some have held, you know, that the individual
soul is not in fact immortal in its own proper es-
sence, but only becomes so by regeneration, re-
ceiving by this the principle of a higher life, with-
out which it is a mere perishable product of the
life of nature. But it seems to me, that this con-
tradicts philosophy no less than revelation. The
idea of man as being in a fallen state, and in bon-
dage to nature, according to the Christian system,
implies, at least, that humanity, in its original and
rational idea, is of supernatural essence ; and the
consciousness which every man has of an obliga-
tion to obey a law above nature and absolute in
its requirements, teaches the same truth.* Hence,
though the understanding may turn itself to the
world of sense, and be self-blinded to the light of
reason, and the will swerve from the perfect law
of conscience, in obedience to the lusts of the
flesh, yet the one no more ceases to be an under-
standing, than the other ceases to be a will. Rea-
son is still the true and proper light of the under-
standing, as conscience is the proper law of the
will.
When we speak of the understanding as the re-
flex faculty by which we repeat to ourselves the
experiences of sense, and which has the phenom-
ena of sense as its proper correlative objects, we
AND IMMORTALITY. 395
must still be careful not to conceive it as being
produced out of our sensuous nature. As the in-
telligentical principle in the self-conscious individ-
ual 7, it has, indeed, its birth in nature, and has
the powers and experiences of the man's individ-
ual nature as its correlative objective, and as the
condition and means of its developement. But it
has its true origin from a far other source, and
" cometh from above." The developement of the
faculty of self-conscious reflection and of a con-
sciously responsible will, is a birth of the spiritual,
of a power specifically above nature, individ-
ualizing itself in each personal subject, and
rightfully claiming a dominion over the agencies
and tendencies of nature. It brings its own
law of being, and that which prescribes its true
and proper end, from its own higher sources.
The law thus received, and the end thus pre-
scribed, are themselves above the law which na-
ture obeys, and the end which nature strives after.
That we turn from the inward light of truth to
lose ourselves in an abandonment to the outer
world of sense, is a debasement of the understand-
ing, no less than a perversion of the will, and is a
fall of our proper humanity from its own proper
sphere into the sphere of nature. That principle
of intelligence which we call understanding, in
other words, has for its proper end the attainment
of rational truth ; or it is its proper end to become
rational, in the sense that the conditions and limi-
tations which pertain to its knowledge as the
" faculty judging according to sense," shall be re-
396 PERSONAL EXISTENCE
moved by the attainment of absolute or strictly
rational intuitions. Thus all the conditional phe-
nomena of gravitation, are subsumed in the law of
gravity. It is the end of the understanding, there-
fore, to lose itself in the reason, as it is of the
human will to lose itself in the absolute law of the
divine will, the natural in the spiritual, the condi-
tional in the absolute, the finite in the infinite. It
has its birth in nature, and the world of sense is
the material which it assimilates to its own higher
form as the means of its growth ; but it seeks an
end, and can rest only in the attainment of an end,
that is beyond and above the ends of nature. All
this, as it seems to me, must be predicated of the
understanding, no less than of the will ; and of
both, as constituting the one principle of individu-
ality in the man. The understanding, in this case,
no more ceases to be the individual understanding,
as the condition of reflection and individual self-
consciousness, than the will ceases to be an indi-
vidual will, as the condition of personal responsi-
bility ; i. e. neither the finite understanding nor
the finite will is to be conceived as so swallowed
up and absorbed into the universal, as to cease to
be a distinct individualized principle of personal
existence.
Thus, on the whole, you will see that I regard
the understanding, like the will, not as pertaining
to the man's nature, but as that higher power of
knowledge, by virtue of which he is able to take
cognizance of that nature, and make it the object
of thought and knowledge. It therefore pertains
AND IMMORTALITY. 397
to the supernatural and spiritual, and is inseparable
from the individuality of our personal being. I am
aware that, what I have said is not all very perspic-
uous, and that I have, especially in the last long
paragraph, made transitions which it may be diffi-
cult to follow. Still, I know not that I should
better it, without writing a system, so as to place
all the parts in their proper relation to the whole,
and thus show where the understanding belongs.
*
DISCOURSE.
AND HEREIN DO I EXERCISE MYSELF TO HAVE AL-
WAYS A CONSCIENCE VOID OF OFFENCE TOWARD
GOD AND TOWARD MAN. Acts xxiv. 16.
God has not left us, like the brutes that perish,
to the dominion of sense, and the blind impulses
of nature. He has not formed us to follow im-
plicitly and without reflection the onward current
of our inclinations, unconscious of the principles
that actuate us, and regarding only the outward
objects of desire. When he had distributed to the
other portions of his animate creation their several
powers, each after its kind, he created man in his
own image, and breathed into him the breath of a
higher and more mysterious life. He endued him
with those principles of spiritual and personal
being, by which he is far exalted, not only in
power and dominion, but in his essential character
and worth, above the beasts of the field and the
fowls of the air. He has not only given him a
more comprehensive intelligence in respect to the
world of sense, than belongs to brute and irrational
natures, but has imparted the principles of a higher
ON CONSCIENCE. 399
knowledge, and opened his vision upon the objects
of the spiritual world. He has made him capable
of emancipating his thoughts from the imperfect
and ever-changing present, and rising to the con-
templation of the perfect, the infinite, the un-
changeable, and the eternal. He has given him,
as an essential and constituent principle of his
being, the power of distinguishing between right
and wrong, between good and evil, and as neces-
sarily connected with this, of recognizing a law of
moral rectitude, a law that takes cognizance of
actions and events, not in their outward relations
and consequences, but in regard to the motives
and principles in which they originated. He gave
him the power of self-reflection and self-conscious-
ness ; the power of looking inward upon the work-
ings of his own spirit, and trying it by principles
of truth and duty. To these he superadded a
power still more mysterious, that faculty of free
will, which is the condition of moral responsibility,
and of all essential distinctions between moral good
and evil. From the conscious possession of this
power, indeed, and its possible opposition to a per-
fect and holy law, results not the knowledge only,
but the very possibility of that which alone is truly ,
and essentially evil. From the connexion of the
will with the inward and conscious recognition of
such a law, and with that power of self-inspection
which enables us to compare it with the require-
ments of the law, it results that we and all men
are personal and responsible agents ; that we are
responsible for the moving and originating princi-
V
400 A DISCOURSE
pies, which give their character to all our actions ;
that it is possible for us to incur, and that we do
incur, that evil, which should be the object of our
deepest abhorrence.
Here, then, we find a point in the character of
man of the deepest interest, if rightly understood ;
that we are made capable of knowing and experi-
encing the difference between moral or rather spir-
itual good and evil, and that we have a conscience.
Let us inquire, therefore, what is the nature and
office of that power which St. Paul speaks of in
the text, what does it require of us, and by what
peculiar sanctions are its requisitions enforced.
The remarks already made by way of introduc-
tion, are designed in part to indicate the general
principles necessary to a full examination of these
questions. At present, however, we can consider
the nature of conscience only so far as to explain
its peculiar character and necessary conditions, as
the practical law of our actions. Something of
this kind, and not a little also of reflection and
accurate discrimination, seem unavoidable, if we
would understand the essential nature and vindi-
cate the reality of that which is in fact for us the
ground and substance of all reality. Let me refer
every one, then, to his own conscious experience
and reflection, for the interpretation and truth of
the following statements. When we notice the
actions of our fellow-men in the intercourse of
society, we are conscious of marking a striking
diversity in those actions, and in the feelings which
they awaken in our own minds. While we look
ON CONSCIENCE.
401
upon one with approbation, as a praiseworthy act,
another is contemplated with abhorrence, as a deed
of darkness. Again, we are conscious that these
diverse sentiments in our minds have regard, not
to the possible or actual consequences of the deed
contemplated, as advantageous or otherwise, but
to the moving principle in the agent. The same
action, followed by the same outward results, is
seen to be good or bad, according to the character
of the principle in which it had its origin. The
man who supplies the necessities of a poor neigh-
bor, performs an act, the effects of which he can-
not predict. It may raise up that neighbor from
obscurity or the grave, and make him a blessing
to his country, or it may preserve him for deeds of
murder and treason. Is the benefactor the proper
object of praise or blame for these consequences
of his act ? Certainly, no farther than they were
previously contemplated and designed in connexion
with the act itself. If he bestowed his charity in
the simplicity of his heart, with no other view
than to obey the law of love, who will not pro-
nounce him worthy of blessing ? But if he be-
stowed it with the selfish and wicked purpose of
making his neighbor the corrupt tool and pander
of his own vices, who does not see and feel that,
whether he obtain his purpose or not, he has al-
ready incurred the guilt and the curse ? We can-
not indeed know the motive of another in such
cases for no man knoweth the things of a man
save the spirit of man, which is in him ; but
judgment which we nevertheless pass upon
51
&
402
A DISCOURSE
act, always proceeds upon the assumed and imputed
character of the motive. How is it, then, when the
act contemplated is our own act ? Here we can
look beyond the outward circumstances and con-
sequences, and, instead of inferring the motive
and purpose from the outward act, we Have an
immediate and intuitive knowledge of that which
constitutes its essential character as a moral act,
in the originating principle itself. At least, such
and so wonderful is the constitution of our being,
that, unlike the inferior orders of creation, we
have, together with the power, a conscious obliga-
tion thus to know ourselves, and, while we act,
to turn our thoughts inward upon the spiritual
source from which our actions spring. Are not
the sentiments of which we are conscious when
we do this, precisely the same as in the former
case, except that now the feeling has immediate
reference to self, and becomes self-approbation or
self-reproach ? Indeed, the sentiments with which
we look upon the conduct of others, must necessa-
rily have arisen primarily from our ascribing to
them the same actuating principles, and the same
grounds of responsibility, of which we have ac-
quired a knowledge in our own inward experience.
For in ourselves only, and by reflecting upon our
own consciousness, can we know the essential dis-
tinction between the principles of good and evil,
and the true grounds of praise or blame-worthi-
ness. It is with this distinction, as we find it in the
^ifootives and principles of our own conduct, there-
*'ote, tshat we are chiefly concerned ; and we shall
v
ON CONSCIENCE. 403
have gained one step towards our object when it
is added, that conscience is the power ivhich, in the
bosom of every man, bears testimony to the character
of his actions, as good or evil, as directed to right
or wrong ends, and thus decides for him the ques-
tion of his innocence or guilt. It is an indwelling
and ever-present power. It is capable of witness-
ing, and, if we give heed to it as we ought, does
witness and record, the character of every act and
purpose ; and we may thus have always within us
the testimony of our consciences to our good or *
evil deeds.
But here the question will be suggested, how is
this power exercised ? Before the character of
our doings can be recorded, it must have been
determined and made known. How, then, and
by what law are our actions judged ? What is the
authority of conscience for the testimony which it
bears ? To these questions it may be answered, in
accordance with the language of St. Paul, that all
men have present in their own consciousness a liv- / \ \
ing and abiding law of moral rectitude, which in
its faithful application determines the character of
every deed and thought. This inward law, self-
consciously applied to the motives and purposes of
our actions, is the ground of conscience. It may
with propriety be called the law of conscience. It
is, indeed, combined with the office of conscience tf
already described, properly denominated the con-
science itself. Thus in the text the apostle seems
to mean, that he always aimed to do that which
conscience xxr the law of conscience required of
v/
404 A DISCOURSE
him. Taken in this more comprehensive sense,
then, conscience is an indwelling and inalienable
law of duty, manifesting itself to the soul of every
rational being, and prescribing the ultimate ends
at which he is to aim. It is, moreover, an abso-
lute and unconditional law, since no change of
condition can alter the ends which it prescribes.
What it commands and what it forbids, it com-
mands and forbids, therefore, imperatively and
without appeal. The law, observe, is applied di-
rectly and simply to the motive * and controlling
purpose of our actions, as related to the ultimate
ends at which we aim, and hereby every man knows
for himself, and in his own consciousness, whether
his deeds are good or evil, whether he obeys or vio-
lates his convictions of duty, whether he is aiming
at ends which the law of conscience approves, or at
those which it condemns. Obviously no man can
innocently do that which he believes wrong. No
man can conscientiously violate his conscience.
The supposition is self-contradictory and absurd.
If now it be inquired, what relation, then, has
conscience, in this use of the term, to the law and
will of God, the answer is, it is one and the same
thing. God has revealed his law in the con-
sciences of all men. Those who have not the
written law, are a law unto themselves, and show
* By motive, I mean not motive in the common acceptation,
but the moving principle in the agent; the subjective character,
by virtue of which the outward object becomes a motive to good or
evil. In this sense the ultimate motive force is always in the will
of the agent.
ON CONSCIENCE. 405
the work of the law written in their hearts. The
Jews had, as the apostle tells us, the form of know-
ledge and of truth, that is, the form and linea-
ments of truth, distinctly manifested in their writ-
ten law; but still, as he clearly teaches us, the
same truth, the same knowledge of good and evil,
which is written in the hearts of all men. The
truth of God is without contradiction. The law
of God is a universal law, one and the same for all
men, and directing all to the same ultimate end.
Is he the God of the Jews only ? Is he not also of
the Gentiles ? The consciences of all men judge
them daily, and all men will be judged at the last
day, by the same immutable and eternal law of
God.
It may be objected here, that the consciences of
men have not the same law, inasmuch as they dif-
fer in their conscientious views of the same act.
One believeth that he may eat all things ; another,
who is weak, eateth herbs ; and no man may make
the law of his conscience the standard for the con-
science of another. For who art thou, that judg-
est another man's servant ? But though it would
lead us too far from the present purpose to make
all the distinctions necessary for entirely removing
this objection, it may be sufficient for the present
to remark that the diversity of men's judgments in
such cases results in fact not from a diversity in
the law of their consciences, as prescribing ulti-
mate ends, but from a difference in their concep-
tions of the act to which it is applied, considered
as a means to the end. These differ as men's
406 A DISCOURSE
understandings and judgments differ. All that is
necessary to convince us that a man may honestly
differ from us in a case of conscience, then, is the
possibility of his having a different view of the cir-
cumstances of the case and its relation to ultimate
ends. We always take it for granted, that if he
have the same view of it, that is, if it be the
same moral act in his apprehension as in ours, and
if he judge honestly, his judgment will coincide
with our own conscientious decision. In other
words, we always assume practically the truth of
the doctrine, that all men have the same law of
conscience, and that the same ultimate end is con-
sciously prescribed to all.
Again, it has already been remarked, that the
law of God, so revealed in the consciences of all,
is absolute and without repeal. It should be
added, by way of explanation, that its rectitude
and its claims to our obedience must not, conse-
quently, be resolved into any other principle dis-
tinct from the law itself. We may, indeed, resolve
its obligations into the authority of the Divine law ;
but this is simply to recognize what has already
been said, that it is identical with that law in its
y/ authority and in its requisitions. Considering it
in this light, we may not inquire why God, either
through the conscience or by his word, has given
us such a law, rather than a different one. We
mistake the nature of conscience, and of the law
of God, if we seek to comprehend the grounds of
their authority, or to find reasons for obeying them.
They involve their own grounds, and carry their
*fef. ,'
ON CONSCIENCE. 407
justifying reasons with them. They are them-
selves but manifestations of the supreme and infi-
nite self-revealing reason and will of God not
an arbitrary dictation of mere absolute will, but
the will of a holy God, acting from the necessity
of his own divine perfections, declaring, and en-
forcing in all hearts, the dictates of infinite wis-
dom and goodness. The law is holy, and the com- &
mandment holy, and just, and good. Our inner
man, our conscience, approves them as such, not
because this or that reason can be assigned to jus-
tify them, but for what they are in themselves ; not
with reference to their consequences, but in their
essential character. They are good, because God
and our consciences approve them ; and they are
thus approved, because they are good good in
themselves and for their own sake. God, as re-
vealed in the manifestations of his holy and per-
fect will, is himself the highest, the ultimate good,
of all rational beings. We cannot go beyond that
which is ultimate. We cannot assign a reason for
that which is itself the perfection of reason, nor
conceive as referable to any other ground of its de-
sirableness, that which is itself an absolute good,
and the satisfying portion of the rational soul.
Whatever, then, the perfect law of God requires
us to do or to be, is in itself good, and desirable
for its own sake. To do and to be that which our
consciences and the law of God command us to do
and to be, is absolutely and unconditionally right
and good for every rational soul ; to do and to be
408 A DISCOURSE
other than they require of us, is unconditionally
wrong and evil.
But to render this view of conscience perfectly
intelligible, in relation to that good and evil which
are its specific objects, it is essential to observe,
farther, that the law of conscience presupposes a
responsible will. It concerns only those acts
which we feel to be our own acts. It passes sen-
tence upon the determinations of our own free will,
and those only. For these we are, and know our-
selves to be, responsible ; and it is only in the con-
sciousness of this freedom, that any act becomes our
own act. Without this, the act and the agent
cease to have a moral character, and conscience and
>y responsibility are words without meaning. The
good and evil to which conscience relates, are not
physical good or evil, or actions considered rela-
tively to their physical or natural consequences, as
beneficial or otherwise. The good which con-
science commands, and the evil which it forbids,
are moral and spiritual. It regards actions in their
spiritual source. It takes cognizance of the rela-
tions of a free will to the perfect and unconditional
law of God. To be conformed to that law, is
^ good ; to be unconformed, is evil. Any other good
may be to us the occasion of rejoicing, but not of
self-approbation, and of that peace of God, which
y passeth understanding. Any other evil may be
matter of regret, but not of remorse. It is only
guilt, the conscious violation of a law which con-
science approves, it is only this inward spiritual
evil, that fills the soul with horror, and makes us
ON CONSCIENCE. 409
know and feel what is indeed essentially evil.
This is the evil, for which we are and know our-
selves to be responsible. It is the self-conscious
freedom of a personal will, therefore, that renders
possible the sense of amenability to an absolute
law. Of that sense, and of the consequent obli-
gations of conscience, we cannot divest ourselves.
The abiding law of conscience, and its claims to
the obedience of the will, are inalienable. It is
the most inward and essential principle of our ra-
tional being. It is that by which we are most
nearly and consciously connected with Him, in
whom we live, and move, and have our being. It
is the voice of that abiding and living truth, which
reveals itself inwardly to all men, and is more than
man. It is that essential truth in our spiritual
consciousness, which, however it may be sup-
pressed for a time, and held in unrighteousness, no
sophistry of the human understanding can wholly
pervert ; and which will, sooner or later, vindicate
itself by the light of eternity and the power of
Omnipotence. It is the still small voice of God,
his guiding and warning voice, revealing, in the
sanctuary of our souls, the truths of eternity, re-
proving us for our sins, recalling us from our wan-
derings, and saying unceasingly, this, this is the
way ; walk ye in it.
But in proceeding to examine what are some of
the requirements of conscience, it should be re-
marked more directly, that none can be more ob-
vious, or more necessarily involved in its very na-
ture, than this : that we always consult it, and, with
52
V
410 A DISCOURSE
simplicity of heart, listen to its dictates. To live
and act inconsiderately, to yield to a reckless lev-
ity of mind, or to suffer ourselves to float onward
as we are borne by the current of the world, is of
itself a violation of our most solemn duty, and a
forfeiture of our prerogative, as responsible be-
ings, capable of the obligations of conscience. We
are bound, at all times, and know ourselves to be
so, as rational beings, to act rationally, and with a
conscious reference to our responsibility. We are
bound to bring forth into the clear daylight of our
consciousness, the secret, and, to the eyes of oth-
ers, inscrutable motives, of all our actions. We
violate the obligations of conscience, we break
their bands asunder, and cast away their cords from
us, if we refuse, or neglect, distinctly to recognize
the law of conscience, and apply it to every prin-
ciple and purpose of our hearts. To act igno-
rantly and in the dark, with respect to the motives
that govern us, is of itself to act wrong. The duty
of serious and conscientious reflection is a funda-
mental duty, in the neglect of which no other can
be performed aright. To neglect this, and to act
with a view only to the gratification of our appe-
tites and passions, to make the opinions and cus-
toms of the world the rule of our conduct, is to
turn our backs upon the light, and to involve our-
selves in moral darkness. We cannot, by so do-
ing, escape from our responsibility. It reaches to
every thought ; and for every idle word w r e shall
give account in the day of judgment. We are
bound to be always in earnest. Conscience re-
ON CONSCIENCE. 411
quires us to examine our hearts, to take heed to
our ways, to walk circumspectly, not as fools, but
as wise. It requires us to reverence every con-
scious feeling of obligation, as that which consti-
tutes the highest capacity and excellency of our
being, as a revelation of the law of God in our
hearts. To be without conscience, is to be no
longer men ; is to be estranged from our true be-
ing ; to be without God in the world. The con-
scious recognition of responsibility to the law of
conscience, is, in a word, an essential principle of
our personal being. To lose this, is to lose our-
selves, to become the abandoned slaves of circum-
stances, to betray the trust which God has com-
mitted to us, and to lose our souls.
But again, the obedience which conscience re-
quires, is spiritual obedience. It has been already
observed, that the law of conscience takes co:ni-
zance of motives and principles ; and that the good
and evil with which it is concerned, are spiritual
good and evil. But this may need, perhaps, far-
ther illustration. By true spiritual obedience, then,
is to be understood the obedience of that which is
spiritual in man ; the obedience of his personal will.
But the question returns again, what is meant by
the obedience of the will ? To answer this, let
me ask, then, Is the man properly subject to the
law, and truly conformed to it, when, from some
inward principle distinct from the law and from
the love of it, he yields a constrained obedience to
its requirements ? Conscience requires us, for ex-
ample, to speak the truth, and to deal uprightly.
&*:
***
V
412 A DISCOURSE
We obey, that is, we perform the outward and vis-
ible acts which obedience involves ; but the prin-
ciple which impels us to do so, is a regard to the
good opinion of our neighbors, a regard to our
worldly interests; or perhaps the fear of future
punishment ; that is, for a selfish end, and under a
slavish condition. Is this such an obedience as
will satisfy the demands of the law ? Certainly
not. We know that the law is spiritual ; and
however studiously we may conform our outward
actions to its requirements, however cautiously we
may bring our words and thoughts into conformity
with them, so long as we do it from the constraint
of a wrong motive, from a self-seeking and sepa-
rative principle, and for a wrong end, so long we
fail of spiritual obedience, and come short of the
y/ glory of God. Conscience requires that we obey
the law, not from some foreign consideration, not
for the sake of some other good, but for its own
sake, and because conformity to it is itself the high-
est good. It requires us to love truth, to love righ-
teousness, to love the Lord our God, for their own
sake, and with all our hearts. Can a love to God
which requires the compulsion of fear, or the stim-
ulant of an expected reward, then, be such as he
p will accept ? No ; by no means. The principle
of that spiritual obedience which the law of con-
science requires, must be found in an inward con-
formity of the will itself, of its ultimate and con-
trolling motive, to the living word and spirit of
God. It requires that the law itself, in its living
power and controlling energy, should become the
ON CONSCIENCE. 413
y
inward principle and motive of all our actions;
that the will should act, not by constraint, but
freely, spontaneously, in accordance ivith a holy and
perfect law of rectitude, the law itself working in
us by its own exceeding lawfulness. The inward
power and spirit of holiness, so actuating and
quickening us, is the law of the spirit of life.
Without this, our best obedience is but an obedi-
ence to the law of works, a lifeless, spiritless obe-
dience ; and the commandment, which was or-
dained unto life, we shall find, with the Apostle,
to be unto death. The word of God is quick,
(that is, a living word,) and powerful, and sharper
than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the
dividing asunder of the soul and spirit, and of the
joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts
and intents of the heart. In a word, though the^
conscience is not sufficient of itself to produce that
spiritual obedience, which, in fallen beings, in be-
ings that are carnal and sold under sin, needs
for its accomplishment the life-giving influences of
the divine Spirit, it is yet abundantly sufficient to
teach all men the deficiency of any other obedi-
ence, and thus to reveal to them their sinfulness
and alienation from the life of God. It is suffi-
cient to convince all men, when aroused from the
lethargy of sin and led to reflect upon its require-
ments, that their hearts are not right with God ;
that there is a law in the members, warring against
the law of the mind, and bringing them into cap-
tivity to the law of sin. That holy law which is
written in the heart of every man, is adequate to
414 A DISCOURSE
accuse and to condemn; to convince him that
there is in him, by his birth in Adam, a root of bit-
terness, a principle of evil, that vitiates all his ac-
tions ; that there is a principle of action in his
will, an originating source and fountain of evil in
the very heart of his being, which will not endure
the searching eye of God ; which does not come to
the light, lest its deeds should be reproved. So
long as such a principle remains, the conscience
cannot be void of offence, or be at peace with God.
The claims of conscience can never be satisfied
with any thing less than an entire surrender of the
will itself. They cannot be satisfied, till the in-
ward and evil principle, which seeks an end dis-
tinct from that which the law of God proposes, is
eradicated, and our will becomes one with the
divine will. Thus the law is our schoolmaster, to
1 bring us to Christ ; to convince us of the inefficacy
of any obedience that flows from a will uncon-
formed, in its essential principle, to the will of
God ; and our need of that renewing and life-giv-
ing spirit, which Christ came to impart ; to teach
us, that no obedience but the obedience of faith,
that no law but the law of the spirit of life in
Christ Jesus, as the inward and controlling power
in our hearts, can prepare us to stand before God
in peace.
Time will only permit us to make a single re-
mark further in regard to the requisitions of con-
science ; and this is, that conscience requires us
necessarily to admit the truth and reality of all that
is essential to the rational vindication of its own
ON CONSCIENCE. 415
truth, and of the authority which it claims. To
illustrate this, let us suppose that a man professes
to have convinced himself of the truth of the doc-
trines of materialism or fatalism, of the doctrine,
for example, that, though we seem to act freely,
yet in fact all our actions are necessitated by a
power out of ourselves, such, and acting in such a
manner, as to render the idea of responsibility con-
tradictory and absurd ; such, in short, as to resolve
our agency into a mere instrumental and mechan-
ical agency. Would not this, if truly believed
and practically applied, necessarily subvert the
authority of conscience, make its claims a solemn
mockery, and place the feeling of remorse on a
level with the horrors of a feverish dream ? Can,
then, a doctrine thus subversive of the reality of
conscience itself when seen to be so, be believed or
confided in without a violation of conscience?
Does not conscience command us to believe that
we act freely, in such a sense as to render the
feeling of responsibility a well-grounded and ra-
tional feeling ? Can we in fact so believe a doc-
trine that would seem to free us from the obliga-
tions of conscience, as not to feel in the commis-
sion of crime the horrors of remorse ? Go, ask the
experience of the murderer. Let his heart be
entrenched in the strong holds of unbelief; let him
have been persuaded that heaven and hell are vis-
ions of the fancy, and death an eternal sleep ; or
that he acted only as the instrument of a blind and
necessitating fate. Will this serve to cheat the
conscience of its claims, and will it lay aside its
p
416 A DISCOURSE
terrors ? By no means. Conscience is too deep-
ly seated to be thus removed from its steadfastness.
No arts of self-delusion, and no subtilty of false
philosophy, can strip it of its authority, or disarm
it of its power. When awakened by the grosser
violations of its law, it reasserts and enforces its
authority, with a power before which all the de-
lusions of misbelief are as the spiders web. " Re-
V morse is the implicit creed of the guilty." It is
on this ground, and from a principle of power thus
inalienable in the very heart of our being, that we
are commanded, as by the voice of a holy and
omnipotent legislator, to ascribe reality and actual
existence to all those ideas which are necessary
to the authority of conscience itself; to the ideas
of the soul, of free-will, of immortality, and of
God. We are not left, in a point so essential to
the obligations of conscience itself, to derive our
knowledge or our faith from the influences of edu-
\ t cation, or the uncertain speculations of our own
understandings. This is a faith which no man
can learn from another, but which every man may
and must find in himself. The righteousness
which is of faith speaketh on this wise : Say not
in thine heart, who shall ascend into heaven, or
who shall descend into the deep. The word is
nigh thee, in thy mouth, and in thy heart. It is
an all-powerful and convincing word ; and he that
hearkens not to the still small voice of its admo-
nitions and warnings, he that is contentious and
does not confide in its truth, but trusts in unright-
eousness and unbelief, shall hear its denunciations
*y
>
w %
ON CONSCIENCE. 417
of indignation and wrath, in a voice which he can-
not mistake. Confide, then, with humility and
submission of spirit, in that indwelling and ever-
present power, which claims over you an authority
you cannot question, and enforces it with sanctions
you cannot escape.
But let us proceed to inquire more particularly,
for a moment, what are the peculiar sanctions by
which the requisitions of conscience are enforced.
What are the immediate, the known, and conscious
results of obeying or of violating the convictions
of our duty ? For the truth and reality of such
sanctions, observe, we depend not upon outward
evidence, or the arguments of a speculative reason.
We may appeal to your own experience, to your
own consciousness. What does their testimony
import, then, with regard to the question before
us ? Have you ever found occasion, let me ask,
to regret that you obeyed in any instance the voice
of conscience ; or was the consciousness of having
done your duty ever attended by the strange and
mysterious feeling of remorse ? Even when, by
obeying your convictions of right, you have failed
of some worldly advantage, which a worse man
would have secured, though you might regret the
loss, have you regretted the act that occasioned it ?
Has not rather the conviction of having sacrificed
interest to duty been to you a matter of inward
joy and triumph ? Supposing your experience to
have been such as, according to human observa-
tion, would be strongly calculated to shake your
faith ; supposing your honesty has exposed you to
53
I
418 A DISCOURSE
oppression and injustice, while your unjust and
unprincipled oppressor has been permitted in the
providence of God to prosper in his wickedness ;
does not a moment's reflection awaken a conscious-
ness of moral worth, in view of your conduct,
which you would not exchange for all the worldly
advantages which prosperous wickedness could
ever obtain ? This, notwithstanding the influence
of a worldly spirit in blinding our minds to the
superior nature of moral good, is yet the conscious
experience of every man who has knowingly and
intentionally sacrificed an outward advantage to
preserve the inward purity of his conscience. And
if such be the case in regard to partial acts of self-
denial ; if, when you obey a particular require-
ment at the expense of some worldly good, you
are conscious of a corresponding peace of mind,
have you not reason from your own experience to
anticipate increasing happiness from increasing
holiness ? Ask those who have made the greatest
progress in subjugating themselves to the law of
conscience. Ask those who have surrendered
themselves in the integrity of their whole being ;
those who have not only denied this and that pas-
sion and appetite, but the inward and ultimate
principle of self-will ; who have received the law
of holiness into their hearts in the love of it ; ask
them of their experience, and they will tell you of
that peace of God, which passeth all understand-
ing. Great peace have they that love thy law,
says the Psalmist, and nothing shall offend them.
But what, on the other hand, has been your expe-
it '
ON. CONSCIENCE. 419
rience, when you have knowingly violated the
obligations of duty ? Have you been conscious of
the same peace of mind, and found the same in-
ward satisfaction in reflecting upon your conduct ?
Have you delighted in this case to bring your
actions to the light ; to recall again and again the
motives by which you were actuated ; to make
them manifest to the inward eye of your con-
sciousness, and compare them with your known
duty ? No, it may safely and confidently be
answered for every individual of our sinful race ;
the conscious violation of the law of duty is at-
tended rather by feelings of disquiet, and an inward
shrinking from that light of conscience, which
would more clearly expose the character of our
doings. Every one that doeth evil, hateth the
light, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds
should be reproved. However prosperous and
successful in its outward results may be the com-
mission of evil deeds, the inward accompaniments
are a fearful withdrawing of the soul from com-
munion with itself, a conscious feeling of self-
distrust, and misgiving, and dread. The heart is
no longer steadfast and self-assured ; and in place
of that cheerful confidence which belongs to the
heart conscious of its own integrity, we find a
slavish fear, a sense of alienation from that holy
law which urges its claims upon us, and a dislike
to retain God in our knowledge. Even when
given up to a reprobate mind, there is still an abid-
ing conviction that all is not right ; an indistinct,
perhaps, yet fearful looking for of judgment. It
*
I
420 A DISCOURSE
needs but a moment's reflection to remind every
one that this must be and is the case, even in our
best estate, and when at the height of worldly
prosperity and enjoyment, so long as the heart is
unreconciled to God. So long as men offend wil-
fully against the law of conscience, they love dark-
ness rather than light ; and could they always shun
the light of truth, could they forever escape the
knowledge of themselves, could they truly and for-
ever cast off from them the binding power of a
holy and unchangeable law, could they cease to
be men, and take their place with the brutes, they
might then follow blindly their own chosen way,
and perish with the brutes. But though we may
act like the brutes, we cannot escape the respon-
sibilities of men. We cannot always, even in this
life, escape, in the commission of sin, such a
knowledge of our own hearts, as will not only
make us feel that all is not right there, but will
convince us that all is wrong, and overwhelm us
with the sense of shame and remorse. In those
moments of reflection, which will sometimes take
by surprise the most reckless and the most repro-
bate, the stifled sense of responsibility is awak-
ened, and a calm and dreadful eye is upon them,
which seems to search the very secrets of their
hearts. They are made to know and feel that
there is a power within them which they cannot
always suppress, and that there is no darkness nor
shadow of death where the workers of iniquity
may hide themselves. Nor may our consciences
be for a moment quieted in sin by the delusive
% *
ON CONSCIENCE. 421
notion, that such feelings are the result of educa-
tion, and that our sense of guilt and remorse will
prove groundless. Nor let it be supposed that the
anticipations of good and evil which accompany
the consciousness of uprightness and of sin, rest
merely on the evidence of authority, or of past ex-
perience. It is characteristic of those sanctions
which are immediately connected with the require-
ments of conscience, that they are essentially
involved in the existence, in the heart, of those
principles which it commands or prohibits; and
the present consciousness of evil, of essential evil,
in our moral and spiritual being, involves as it
were the future in the present. The anticipation
of future evil is in this case inseparable from the
consciousness of present guilt in the soul of the
guilty. Does the fearful looking for of judgment
and fiery indignation, before which the soul of the
wretched criminal stands aghast, proceed merely
from its past experience of the temporal conse-
quences of sin ; or from the fear of that which the
evidence and authority of a written revelation alone
have impressed upon his mind ? Why, then, may
not one creed counteract the effect of another, and
infidelity save him from the pangs of remorse ?
No ! conscience is its own evidence, and its re-
wards are sure. The faith which the good man
feels, with the cheerful enjoyment of a good con-
science which lightens his path, is itself the sub-
stance of the things hoped for, the evidence of the
things not seen. His holiness and his happiness
are inherently and indissolubly connected together.
H
422 A DISCOURSE.
And on the other hand, the sense of guilt, and
shame, and remorse, are the inseparable accompa-
niments of sin, and have the same relation to fu-
ture misery, which true faith and conscious peace
of mind have to future glory. They are the incip-
ient gnawings of that worm that never dies ; the
kindling flashes of that fire that will never be
quenched.
DISCOURSE,
NECESSARY RELATION OF OUR REAL PUR-
POSES TO THEIR LEGITIMATE RESULTS
UNDER THE DIVINE GOVERNMENT
FOR THERE IS NOTHING COVERED, THAT SHALL NOT
BE REVEALED; NEITHER HID, THAT SHALL NOT
BE KNOWN. THEREFORE, WHATSOEVER YE HAVE
SPOKEN IN DARKNESS, SHALL BE HEARD IN THE
LIGHT; AND THAT WHICH YE HAVE SPOKEN IN
THE EAR IN CLOSETS, SHALL BE PROCLAIMED UP-
ON THE HOUSE-TOPS. Luke xii. 2, 3.
These words of our Saviour were uttered in
connexion with a warning, addressed to his disci-
ples, against the hypocrisy of the Pharisees. In
their immediate application, they were intended as
a dissuasive from that conscious purpose of con-
cealing selfish and corrupt principles under the
show of respect for the law of God, by which the
Pharisees were distinguished. They enforce the
424 A DISCOURSE
conclusion, that the evil designs and vicious prac-
tices of the hypocrite, however carefully cloaked
under the outward garb of virtue and religion, will
one day be brought to light, and stripped of their
disguises. But considered in themselves, and
apart from the more immediate purpose for which
they were introduced, they may be taken in a more
extensive sense, and as expressing a general truth,
well worthy of our consideration. They may be
regarded as exhibiting the necessary relations of the
apparent to the real, and of the responsible acts
and purposes of men to their legitimate results
under the natural and moral government of God ;
and so, as containing matter of grave importance
as applied to the formation of our whole charac-
ters, and to all our habits and principles of action.
In this more general view of the import of the
text, I propose to illustrate and apply it in the
present discourse. I shall consider it, in other
words, as warning us to shun not only conscious
hypocrisy in its grosser forms, but whatever in hu-
man character and conduct involves a discrepancy
between what we are and what we would seem to
be in the eyes of our fellow men and before the
Searcher of hearts.
In doing so, it may render the practical import
of our Saviour's declaration more obvious, if we
contemplate briefly the general character of man-
kind in this respect, and the extent and ground of
the danger to which we are exposed. This is of
itself a topic of deep interest ; and the evil to be
considered might seem to connect itself with the
ON HYPOCRISY. 425
essential conditions of our existence as free and
intelligent beings. The power so to reflect upon
ourselves as consciously to distinguish our thoughts
and purposes as such, from the mind in which they
originate, to express and hold them forth to others
either as ours or as not ours, is not the less myste-
rious, that we are so familiar with the fact of its
existence. How much more strange, then, would
that process of reflection seem to be, by which we
distinguish our purposes as they are cherished iu
our own minds, from the outward forms by which
they are naturally exhibited to our fellow men,
and designedly hold forth such as are not our own,
or that which represents them other than they are !
It implies not only, indeed, that self-reference by
which we recognize our own distinct and individ-
ual existence, but a farther reflection, by which we
distinguish ourselves as we are inwardly for the
eye of consciousness, from what we are outwardly
for the observation of others. Thus it is only by
that faculty of thought which enables us to dis-
tinguish what exists in thought alone, from that
which has outward and visible existence, and by
that power of arbitrary will by which we can in-
tentionally represent as actual what we have but
conceived as possible, that we can be guilty of the
fault against which we are warned by the language
of the text. Nor is the principle of action by
which we are prompted to the commission of it,
less deep and universal. So soon as we begin to
act our part among our fellow beings, and to be
conscious of the relations which we hold to them
54
426 A DISCOURSE
V as co-workers in the world, we find the opinions
which they entertain of us and of our purposes are
intimately connected with our self-interest, and
affect the accomplishment of our designs. Hence
no worldly possession is more eagerly sought for
or more universally coveted, as holding the relation
of means to ends, than the favorable opinion of the
community in which we dwell. On this ground,
therefore, men act not more habitually with a ref-
erence to their pecuniary interests, than from a
regard to the impressions which their language and
conduct will produce upon the minds of others, and
the reputation which they wish to maintain in view
of their fellow men. Thus we come to live hab-
itually in the eye of the world ; to consider not so
much whether an opinion be true or a purpose
right in itself, as how it will appear to a certain
class of men, or to the world at large, and affect
our character and interest by these outward rela-
tions. We come to consider as things perfectly
distinct from each other, what is true inwardly,
and what appears outwardly ; what we are in our-
selves in the light of our own consciousness, and
what must be conceived of us by others in order
to the accomplishment of our ends and the main-
tenance of our rank and character in the world.
While we are and more or less distinctly know
ourselves to be one thing, we carry before us and
hold out to others quite another thing, as that by
which we would be known and judged. How
much, too, of that which men prize and contend
for, under the name of character and reputation,
fr
ON HYPOCRISY. 427
pertains to this other and counterfeit self, rather
than to what they really are ! How many, for ex-
ample, have felt themselves constrained to expose
their lives in defence of an assumed character for
honor and courage in the esteem of the world,
when their consciences told them that, instead of
being in reality what is thus contended for, they
were but cowardly knaves, with no character wor- /
thy of being defended ! So general is the habit in
civilized communities, of thus acting with refer-
ence to what will be thought of us by others,
either from motives of self-interest, or from an un-
conscious respect for that universal law which we
recognize in the moral judgments of our fellow
men, as well as in our own consciences, that to act
with entire simplicity, and show forth, with per-
fect freedom from the restraint and artifice which
such reference imposes, our inward feelings and
purposes, and to appear in our language and con-
duct simply and truly what we are, is ever re-
garded as betraying extreme inexperience, and an (/
utter ignorance of the world. It may justly be
considered, indeed, as indicating, in respect to the
individual, one of the two extremes : either that
he yet knows nothing of himself or the world, and
so acts unconsciously of the relations in which he
is placed, or that he knows and has conquered both
himself and the world. So universally do our nar-
row understandings and the seductions of self-in-
terest lead us to disguise ourselves and our real
thoughts and feelings, and to act in an assumed
character in the theatre of the world. The evil
d 4.
428 A DISCOURSE
links itself with the primal sin of our fallen na-
ture, by which we are brought in bondage to the
world ; and in this sense we may say that we all
partake of that leaven of the Pharisees, which is
hypocrisy. As opposed to this character, so insep-
arable from the worldly mind, conscience and the
p- precepts of the Gospel require us to aim at perfect
unity and simplicity of character ; first, to be truly
and in our inward feelings and principles what we
ought, and then fearlessly and confidingly to make
our language and conduct the undisguised expres-
sion of what we are. Thus only can we act
freely, and possess a true confidence in ourselves,
when the character which we sustain really in the
light of our own consciousness, is the only charac-
ter we have to maintain, and the same with that
which we would hold up before the world ; when
we have no secret and hidden purposes which we
fear to have exposed, no mere outward show of
character and worth, the falsehood and hollowness
of which we dread to have discovered.
To this extent, then, and to our characters as
viewed under these relations, we may apply the
declaration of the text as a ground of action ; as
a motive to guard ourselves from all duplicity and
falsehood in the relation of what we are inwardly
to what we would seem to be, and to strive after
that unity of both in truth and rectitude, which
approves itself in the eye of Him who sees through
all disguises, and by whom we shall be judged ac-
cording to our real worth. In illustrating and ap-
plying the declaration of the text with this view,
ON HYPOCRISY. 429
we may consider, in the first place, the necessary
tendency of all our responsible acts and principles
of action, however we may disguise them, to man-
ifest themselves in their consequences, and become
at length known in their proper results. Under
this head, I propose to refer only to what may with
propriety be termed the natural consequences of
our moral habits and principles, considered as re-
vealing outwardly, in the world of experience, the
inward source from which they spring. And here
the general principle taught by the language of our
Saviour, and confirmed by observation, is the same
which we find to be true in regard to the powers
and agencies of the natural world. Every tree is
known by its own fruit. As in nature, every
power and every principle of living action has its
distinctive character and produces its appropriate
fruits, so in the moral world there is the same un-
varying relation between our principles of action
and the consequences which flow from them. It
is not meant, however, it should be observed, to
speak here of the moral and spiritual influences
which act upon our minds to form right principles,
and to renew the will, but of the relation of our
principles and purposes, whatever they are, to the
outward product of their agency, by which their
existence and character are known in our experi-
ence. Nor is it intended to assert that in the
world of sense, and within the ordinary limits of
human observation and experience, we can always
determine with certainty, every principle and pur-
pose of a man, from his outward actions and their
430 A DISCOURSE
consequences. Yet, in respect to such as have be-
come actual and are in progress toward the attain-
ment of their end, the limitation arises rather from
our want of observation and skill, than from the
absence of indications by which they might be
known. As the most obscure and hidden powers
of nature cannot act without producing distinguish-
able results according to fixed and invariable
laws, so the human will can act outwardly, and
put forth a power for the attainment of any end,
only by an agency combined with that of nature,
and in conformity with its laws. It cannot
attain ends without means ; and in the world
of sense, either that in which the powers
of nature manifest themselves to our outward
senses, or that which reveals to us the agencies of
our own nature, all its means are comprised. By
these it must work, if it would make its purposes
effectual ; and thus expose its every act in a
sphere in which it can no longer control the results
that spring out of it. Thus, although an evil pur-
pose, or any given state of mind, may perhaps ex-
ist for the agent himself with no outward effect
by which it could be known to others, the slight-
est movement in the adaptation of means to a pro-
posed end, though but the excitement of our own
natural affections, betrays it to the tell-tale world,
and no power or craft of ours can ever recall it.
That sphere of nature in which we find ourselves,
in which we can freely put forth the energies of
our free will, and which is in some sense subjected
to our control as the instrument of a higher
ON HYPOCRISY. 431
power, is itself intensely filled with living ener-
gies, in which every impulse is propagated and
manifests itself in thousand-fold variety of form.
In the relation which, as free and responsible be-
ings, we hold to the goings on of nature, we may,
indeed, impart a new impulse, and begin a new
series of changes within its sphere, designed for
the attainment of our self-proposed ends ; but
when the impulse has once been given, we can
neither assign its limits, nor with knowledge less
than infinite, determine the modes in which its
character and effects will be made manifest. I
This it is, in part at least, which makes it so fear-
ful a thing to act as responsible beings, and to put
forth the energy of a free will for any other than a
wise and hallowed end. Here, too, we find one of
the causes why the mind of the yet concealed
criminal is never fully at ease in regard to the
secrecy of his crime. He finds, too late, that he
cannot hedge up the consequences of what he has
done. It shows its effects in a thousand ways
which he had not foreseen. It produces a tumult
in his own passions, which he had not anticipated, />
and cannot control ; and, in defiance of his efforts,
reveals itself in the tones of his voice, in the expres-
sion of his eye, and in his whole demeanor. These,
too, are among its natural consequences, by which
it proclaims itself to the world, and that which
was hidden, is brought to light. How often has
the general and perhaps too abstract principle
here stated, been exemplified, not only in the his-
tory of atrocious crime, but of those more common
432 A DISCOURSE
vices, which, for the sake of their reputation in
the world, men practise in secret, and would have
no eye see, or thought conceive ! Wholly ignorant
and unconscious of the outward and sensible effects
which have resulted from their vicious indulgence,
they go on, perhaps, believing their secret to be
hidden from every human eye, and that it has not
yet been spoken even to the ear in closets, when
the practised eye has long since marked its infalli-
ble signature, and when it is already proclaimed
upon the house-tops. How often do men, in utter
ignorance that they are doing so, detail to their
physician, for example, the unquestionable proofs
of secret vice, which is undermining their consti-
tution, and betraying itself in its effects upon their
health, their social habits, and in a thousand other
forms, of which they are wholly unconscious !
Thus in all our agencies, as connected with the
laws and the phenomena of nature, we have to do
with a world that keeps no secrets, and where our
very efforts to conceal what we have done, are
necessarily among the means of proclaiming it.
Every act and every purpose to which we give
effect, is scored upon the tablet of our history, and
no art can efface it. Its character and influence
become inwoven in the web of our destiny, and no
human power or skill can remove them. Every
fault committed, and every duty neglected, records
itself in its effects upon the character and condition
of the man ; and though neither himself nor his
fellow man may now be able to read the record, it
is yet there, and as enduring as his own existence.
ON HYPOCRISY. 433
Thus far I have spoken of the relation of our
principles and purposes to the world of sense, as
revealing them to others as well as to our own
observation, wherever there is experience, and skill
to mark their effects. But in the second place it
may be observed, as coming within the general
scope of the subject, that even where evil designs
and secret practices chance not to betray the guil-
ty, or are not known to do so, and involve him in
the outward consequences of guilt, they yet stand
revealed in the light of his own conscience, and
have the sentence of the law proclaimed against
them. The outward world of sense is not the
only world in and for which man exists, nor that in
which he most truly has his being. Nor is the
light of the sun, and that which renders outward
and material forms visible to the bodily eye, the
only light in which our deeds reveal themselves.
We only deceive ourselves, when, in the belief that
our sinful purposes and deeds are cloaked and con-
cealed from the eye of sense and kept in the se-
cret chambers of our own souls, we suppose that
there is therefore no light thrown upon them, and
that they are shrouded in utter darkness. That
inner world of consciousness has also its light,
which, to the guilty soul, sometimes becomes more
intense in its power of revealing what was before
hidden from his sight, than the effulgence of a
thousand suns. It can bring out from the obscuri-
ty of the past, from the hidden depths of long-
forgotten crime, and expose and compel him to
see and remember, what he would give worlds to
55
434 A DISCOURSE
forget. How many, in this conscious exposure of
their guilt by the power of inward truth, and under
the withering and blighting influence of its soul-
searching light, have felt their outward exposure
to the world as nothing in the comparison, and
have freely confessed their crimes ! And though
we may, for a longer or shorter period, avoid reflec-
tion, and so the distinct consciousness of the evil
of our doings, yet from the very necessity of the
case it will at length find us out. Just so far as
we thus deal falsely with ourselves and play the
hypocrite with our own consciences as well as with
the world, we are nourishing a viper to sting our
souls ; we are, in the strong language of revelation,
treasuring up wrath against the day of wrath.
There have been many arts of memory devised ;
but there is, and can be, especially here, in regard
to the records of conscience, and as against the re-
vealing power of its inward light, no art of forget-
ting. We must stand forth as we are in our true
character, with all our deeds and all our purposes
emblazoned and on imperishable tablets. And who
is there so pure, and with a conscience so void of
offence, as not sometimes to be painfully reminded
of this inward power, and made to dread what it
may yet have in reserve for him ? When we blush
at the apparently casual remembrance of a long-
forgotten impropriety of conduct, even if we do
not writhe in the awakened consciousness of past
guilt, we have a proof that the whole articulated
series of our past history may again come before
us with all its guilt and shame. It bears testi-
ON HYPOCRISY. 435
mony, that for us there is no guarantee of inward
peace, so long as our souls are defiled with sin ;
and that however hidden from the view of the
world and from our own present consciousness,
it will one day be proclaimed in our ears, and re-
veal itself in all its turpitude, more clearly than
by the light of the sun.
But this leads me to remark, in the third place,
that the declaration of our Saviour in the text may
be considered also as having reference to the reve-
lation of the great and final day. Then we are
taught that the secrets of all hearts shall be re-
vealed, and every one shall be judged according to
his deeds. Though we live now concealed from
the eye of the world, and to a great extent in a
state of self-ignorance and self-oblivion, yet in that
day of the Lord's coming he will both bring to
light the hidden things of darkness, and will make
manifest the counsels of the hearts. Though we
should not take in their literal sense the bold and
sublime representations that are given in the vol-
ume of revelation respecting the transactions of
that day, every man's conscience bears testimony
that the grand point which it sets forth for our
apprehension and belief is a most solemn reality.
All the stores of visible magnificence and of terror
for the guilty are here exhausted, in expressing to
our minds a great moral and spiritual truth. To
the mind fully awakened to a consciousness of
spiritual realities as known in our inward spiritual
enjoyments or sufferings, they may appear, per-
haps, as figurative representations, yet of a truth
436 A DISCOURSE
not the less real. And how indeed could spiritual
truths of that kind be expressed to the understand-
ings of a sensual world otherwise, than under the
forms and by the images of sense ? How could
remorse of conscience be more forcibly or truly
expressed, than by that agony which properly
designates the writhing and wrestling of the body ?
Thus the whole picture which is given us of that
day, of the Judge coming in the clouds, surrounded
by his retinue of angels and seated upon the
throne of judgment, of the archangel and the trump
of God, of the rising and assembling of the count-
less nations of the dead, of the opening of that
book of remembrance in which every idle word
and every secret thought has been recorded, and
of the passing of a final sentence according to
what is then revealed, by which the everlasting
doom of each is decided ; all this finds, I say, a
solemn echo in the conscience of every man, which
assures him that the substance, the meaning of
what is thus represented, is true, at least for him,
and that he must abide the coming of that day.
What a fearful sense of reality, moreover, is given
to these representations by the facts in our expe-
rience before referred to, in which we find the
long-forgotten past again, and with startling vivid-
ness, called up to our remembrance ! The com-
mon observation, too, that in extreme old age the
scenes and occurrences of youth, which had been
buried in oblivion during the whole period of ac-
tive life, are recalled almost in their original bright-
ness, as well as similar facts connected with certain
ON HYPOCRISY. 437
affections of the nervous system, might lead us,
aside from revelation, to believe that nothing which
has ever been within the sphere of our conscious-
ness, much less any responsible act or any plague
spot of sin and guilt, can ever be so obliterated as
not to be capable of reproduction with all its at-
tendant train of sorrow and remorse. Here, then,
in the facts of our own experience, in the convic-
tions of our own consciences, and in the solemn
declarations of the word of God, we have the as-
surance that there is nothing covered that shall
not be revealed, neither hid that shall not be known
and come abroad. We have the assurance that
God cannot be mocked, and that we cannot al-
ways deceive either ourselves or the world ; that
our characters, be they what they may, will at
length appear in their true light, and all discrep-
ancy between the inward truth and reality and
the outward appearance will be taken away. Let
us beware, then, in all its forms, of that leaven of
the Pharisees, which is hypocrisy, and in simplic-
ity and godly sincerity, not with worldly wisdom,
but by the grace of God, have our conversation in
the world. Especially does this subject address
itself to the young, to those who are not yet hack-
neyed in the artifices and politic disguises of a
corrupt and evil world. The farther you go in
that direction, the farther are you removed from
the simplicity of the gospel and hardened against
the power of divine truth ; and it is only by re-
solving to be in all things what truth and con-
science command, and then with a free and ingen-
438 A DISCOURSE.
uous spirit to show forth in word and deed what
you are, that you can be truly at peace with con-
science or with God.
And let us all, in the consciousness and with
the humble but free confession of the many secret
sins which in the great book of remembrance are
recorded against us, flee to Christ as our only
Saviour from sin and condemnation. Let us re-
joice that, in that most glorious work of divine
wisdom and mercy which the Son of God has
accomplished, provision is made for our deliver-
ance, so that by the efficacy of his blood, both the
power and pollution of sin may be removed from
us. Would that we might all flee to this as our
refuge, lest at the coming of that day when our
sins shall be arrayed against us, and we shall be
compelled to stand forth exposed in that light of
eternity which reveals all our hidden corruption,
we call upon the mountains and rocks to fall on us
and hide us from the face of him that sitteth on
the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb.
THREE DISCOURSES
ON THE NATURE, GROUND AND ORIGIN
OF SIN.
DISCOURSE I.
IF WE SAY THAT WE HAVE NO SIN, WE DECEIVE OUR-
SELVES, AND THE TRUTH IS NOT IN US. 1 John i. 8.
This declaration of the inspired Apostle has ob-
viously a primary reference to those whom he re-
cognizes as his fellow disciples. He is addressing
them affectionately as his children, and holding
forth to them the grand truths and messages of
revelation, that they may more fully participate
with him in the divine light and life which they
impart. But though enlightened by the knowl-
edge of God, and walking in the light which shines
from heaven, he yet does not represent them as in
themselves perfect, or wholly freed from the con-
tamination of evil. In saying that the blood of
Christ cleanseth us from all sin, he cannot be un-
440 ON THE NATURE,
derstood, consistently with his other declarations,
as meaning that our hearts are made so pure and
holy as no longer to need the exercise of pardon-
ing grace. For he immediately adds, with refer-
ence to the same persons, in the language of the
text, If we say that we have no sin, we deceive
ourselves, and the truth is not in us. It is not
those, indeed, who partake most largely of the re-
demption that is in Christ, and are most illumi-
nated by the truth of God as revealed in their own
consciousness, who are liable to think of them-
selves as without sin. Though they may be, as
compared with those who know nothing of them-
selves, eminently good men, and gaining daily con-
quests over their yet unsubdued and evil propen-
sities, yet such at the same time is the increasing
brightness of that divine light which shines within
them, and their deeper sense of the extent and
strictness of that law which reaches to the thoughts
and intents of the heart, that they become more
self-abased as they become more holy. It is only
because men reflect so little upon what they ought
to be, and contemplate so little that absolute truth
and righteousness, that unapproachable purity and
holiness, which ought to be ever before our minds,
that any can find reason for self-gratulation in a
consciousness of what they are. I have heard of
thee, says the ancient patriarch, by the hearing of
the ear, but now mine eye seeth thee ; wherefore
I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes.
Such has been the experience of the most emi-
nently godlike and holy men in every age. The
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 441
light of divine truth, practically revealed in the
consciences of men, dissipates all self-flattering
delusions, by exposing in their true character the
motives and principles which govern them. To
conceive ourselves free from sin, therefore, only
shows that we are ignorant of our own hearts, and
estranged from the knowledge of God. It is of
itself a proof, according to the strong and decisive
expression of the Apostle, that we deceive our-
selves, and that the truth is not in us. If, then,
such be the fact in regard to those whom the Apos-
tle addresses as his children and his fellow disci-
ples, we may safely extend his declaration to those
who are less enlightened, and so apply it to the
whole family of man. It is true of all men, that
in proportion as they have a practical knowledge
of their own hearts, as manifested by the light of
truth, and tried by the law of righteousness, they
are constrained, to humble themselves in the sight
of God. Before human tribunals, indeed, in com-
paring ourselves among ourselves, and in reference
to the conventional rights and duties of civil soci-
ety, we may stand upon our integrity, and lay
claim, perhaps, to virtuous and upright intentions.
But when we consider what is demanded by that
law which is holy and spiritual, and place our-
selves before Him who searcheth the heart, we
can only say, God be merciful to us sinners. We
may discourse, loo, of the exalted rank and dig-
nity allotted us among the creatures of this lower
world, and with good reason render thanks to God
for the high destiny to which we were formed in
56
442 ON THE NATURE,
the divine purpose. But when we look into our-
selves, and inquire what have been our purposes,
and whether we have designedly and steadfastly
cooperated for the attainment of our true and pro-
per ends, we are constrained to confess again, that
we find evidence only of blind folly and perverse-
ness. In its proper sense, therefore, as used by
the Apostle, and pertaining to the character of man
in its relation to the law and will of God, sin is
imputed to all men. The text may be considered
as strongly asserting the same doctrine which is
contained in the conclusion of the Apostle Paul,
that all have sinned, and come short of the glory of
God. Nor is this the mere assertion of a few iso-
lated passages of scripture, but its truth is neces-
sarily implied in the whole system and in all the
peculiar doctrines of Christianity. Such is its re-
lation to the gospel, and such the grounds of our
conviction of its truth, that, without regarding the
diversities of individual character, or any knowl-
edge we may have of the conduct of particular
men, we are authorized to address the terms of
salvation to all men, as partakers of the same bond-
age to sin, and in need of the same redemption
from its power. We are authorized to say of all
who may have the boldness to plead exemption
from the charge, that they are ignorant of their
own hearts, are the victims of a miserable self-
delusion, and estranged from the light of truth.
Such is the most general view of the relation of
man, as a moral and accountable being, to the holy
law and character of God. It is, consequently, a
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 443
matter in which we have all the same personal
concern, and is the ground of our common interest
in that gospel which is proclaimed alike to all.
Let us proceed to inquire, then, more particularly,
and with a deep sense of its practical relation to
our own souls, what is the true import of the doc-
trine. The subject is so important in all its bear-
ings, so fundamental in its relation to the essential
truths of the gospel, and withal so exposed to in-
jurious misapprehension, that we have at least
abundant reason to urge the inquiry, and to give to
it our most serious thoughts. In prosecuting the
discussion, I shall aim, in the first place, to deter-
mine the essential character of sin as a fact of
individual experience, and as known within the
sphere of every man's consciousness ; in the sec-
ond place, to point out, as clearly as the nature of
the case will admit, its ground and origin in re-
spect to the distinguishable powers of our own
being, and so the conditions of its universality ;
and in the third place, notice some of the prac-
tical conclusions which follow from the views thus
presented.
In contemplating the character of sin, then, as
a fact of experience interpreted by the light of our
own consciousness, and independent of speculative
theories, we are compelled to regard it as truly
and unconditionally evil. It is evil in itself, and
independently of all relations, in the sense that no
conceivable circumstances or relations could con-
vert it into good. It is thus clearly distinguished
from mere physical evil, as it is termed, and
444 ON THE NATURE,
whose character, as such, depends upon outward
relations. Whatever may be the accompaniments
or consequences of sin, it is still the occasion of
self-reproach and remorse as evil. The severest
and most painful evils of an outward and physical
nature, we know, may be the means and the ne-
cessary condition of our highest and best good.
We may thus have occasion to rejoice in afflictions,
to give thanks to God for sickness, for bonds and
imprisonment, and even for death itself. But can
we ever have occasion, or could we ever dare, to
render him our thanks that we have been guilty of
sin ? Even when we believe that our sinful in-
tentions have been overruled, and made instrumen-
tal for the accomplishment of desirable ends, do
our intentions, as moral acts, appear any the less
evil ? Such a belief, whether well grounded or
not, can never in the least alleviate the sentence
of condemnation, which conscience passes upon
y/ the commission of sin. Even if we charge God
foolishly, and suppose that our transgressions were
designed by him, in the order of his government,
for the accomplishment of his purposes, we cannot
thereby diminish the sense of our guilt and of the
inherent evil of sin. We cannot, indeed, by any
speculative notions of what sin, and acts origi-
nating in a sinful purpose, are, relatively to what is
beyond the sphere of our consciousnesss, such as
their outward consequences, or the overruling pur-
pose of God, change their character, as they are
in themselves, and in their immediate relation to
our own consciences. We ourselves know what
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 445
they are, as opposed to our sense of duty, and con-
trary to that holy law which is revealed in the ,/
conscience of every man. Without a reference to
that law, indeed, we cannot interpret and under-
stand the essential nature of sin as here represent-
ed. Whosoever committeth sin, says the apostle
John, transgresseth also the law ; for sin is the
transgression of the law. If the law, then, were
other than it is, the nature of sin would also be
changed. It is because that law reveals and af-
firms itself in our consciousness as an ultimate and
unconditional law of rectitude, as in itself essen-
tially and absolutely good, that we find the trans-
gression of it to be always evil. The law to
which the apostle refers, is no mere arbitrary law,
nor is it simply a rule of action prescribing the
appropriate means for the attainment of a given
end. It is rather the necessary law of the su-
preme reason itself, unchangeable as the being of
God. ^ It is inseparable from our idea of God as
the supreme good, and prescribes for all rational
beings, not immediately rules of outward conduct, ^
but ends, the rightful and ultimate ends, at which
they are bound to aim. As such, and as revealed
more or less clearly, according to the heed we give
to it, in our consciences, it takes cognizance and
determines the character of our purposes, and of
the ends which we propose to ourselves. To trans-
gress the requirements of this law, and to aim at
ends opposed to those which it prescribes as abso-
lutely good, is sin ; is that evil and bitter thing
which the soul of the transgressor recognizes in
446 ON THE NATURE,
the oppressive sense of guilt and remorse. To
misconceive and misrepresent the law of con-
science, therefore, and to derogate from its char-
acter and claims, as an ultimate and absolute law
of duty and right, is to change the character of
sin. Were it possible, indeed, by the delusive
misconceptions of philosophy falsely so called, to
produce a practical conviction that the law of
conscience is but the product of our own under-
standings, deduced from the facts of experience,
and that whether thus or otherwise determined, it
is but a rule of conduct, prescribed as the means
to the attainment of an end, it would at the same
time destroy our practical conviction of sin, and
this would indeed cease to be for us that evil
which we now know it to be. Sin, as a trans-
gression of the law, then, is directly opposed and
contrary to that which we recognize as in itself
right and good. When we do that which the law
of conscience forbids, or neglect and refuse to pur-
pose and do that which it requires, we place our-
selves in direct contrariety to that which is good ;
and no extraneous circumstances or relations can
change the character of our conduct, or make it
otherwise than evil.
^ What it is for us, observe, it is and can only be,
as seen in the light of our own consciences, and by
the law of God. It is here alone that we can
know it in its true character ; and the more dis-
tinctly we bring our purposes into that light and to
the tribunal of that law, the more clearly will they
be revealed to us as good or evil. If we choose to
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 447
walk in darkness, and will not come to the light
lest our deeds should be reproved, that of itself
proves that we are doers of evil. Let us beware
then, how we deceive ourselves in regard to the
nature of sin, and the essential character of that /f
root of bitterness which we find within us. Let
us beware how we seek to alleviate our sense of
guilt and ill-desert in the commission of it, by
turning away from the light of truth and the law
of righteousness, and trying it by our own uncer-
tain speculations. Let us never forget that it is
the transgression of a holy law, contrary to the ab-
solute and supreme good ; an evil which conscience
condemns and God abhors, and which can stir up
in our own undying souls, the never-ceasing hor-
rors of remorse.
But again, we may remark under this head, as
an essential character of sin, and known as such by
the light of every man's consciousness, that it is an
evil for which we are directly and solely responsi-
ble. This is practically and inseparably involved
in the simple sense of guilt and self-condemnation. "
This feeling in regard to our conduct necessarily
implies the assumption, that what we condemn was
truly our own act, and performed under the condi-
tion of a just responsibility for the deed. It is in-
compatible with any such sense of guilt, to refer
our conduct to whatever cause we may conceive,
out of ourselves, as efficiently producing it. In
condemning ourselves for it, we impute it to our
own causative agency, and recognize it as truly
and properly our own. Conscience tells us not
448 ON THE NATURE,
only that we have transgressed the law of right-
eousness, but that we ought not to have done so,
and are personally accountable for the evil. We
cannot escape this conviction, without misrepresent-
ing and falsifying the unequivocal testimony of our
own consciousness. Practically, indeed, we can-
not wholly divest ourselves of the sense of respon-
sibility for our evil purposes and deeds, by any
speculative notions which we may form in respect
to the nature of our moral agency. But were
such an effect possible, it must necessarily be pro-
duced by every system which refers our moral
principles and acts to the agency of any cause or
motive out of ourselves. Whatever divests us of
our free-agency in the eminent sense of that term,
according to which our moral purposes and acts
have their true and proper origin in our own being,
divests us, at the same time, of all real accounta-
bility, and makes the sense of guilt contradictory
and delusive. Sin, in that case, at once, and of
necessity, ceases to be the evil thing which we
took it to be in the simplicity of our conscientious
convictions. It becomes, instead of a positive evil,
originating in ourselves, and opposed to God, only
the means to an end ; and of course derives its
character from the end and purpose which it serves.
By the same process too, we must cease to be the
true causes of our actions, or in any proper sense
responsible for them, since we move but as we are
moved, and are but the passive instruments of a
higher and controlling power. Thus the true
character of sin, as truly and in itself evil, can be
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 449
interpreted and understood only by the assumption
of a free and responsible will. The existence of
this is no less necessary than the law of con-
science as already referred to, if we would not
contradict our own consciousness, and put a lie in
the place of that which our inmost souls affirm to
be the truth of God. The testimony of our con-
sciousness, and our inward sense of responsibility
for every act ana " purpose which conscience con-
demns, is, or should be, the ultimate ground of our
conclusions. No speculative argument, drawn
from other grounds of reasoning, can supersede the
immediate convictions of practical truth in our
moral being. However we may imagine ourselves
irresponsible, or infer from a course of reasoning,
however plausible and well-intended, that our
minds are swayed and our purposes controlled by
the force of motives acting from without as a
necessary cause, a fully awakened conscience
breaks through all such sophistries, and tells the
guilty soul in terms which it cannot deny, that the
evil is from within ; that out of his own heart
originated and came forth the guilty purpose, and
all that which conscience condemns as sin. No
matter what may have been the outward motive
or occasion ; it ivas still by virtue of the evil heart
ivithin, that it had the power to become a motive,
and prompt the thief to his midnight plunder, or
the murderer to the assassination of his victim.
But though we cannot so deceive ourselves here
that conscience will not resume its power and en-
force the practical conviction of our responsibility,
57
460 ON THE NATURE,
yet we may, and it is to be feared too often do,
weaken the authority of conscience over us, and
endeavor to quiet our minds in sin, by trusting
in our own speculations. Those who are resolved
on following their own chosen way, will ever be
ready to invent or adopt any theory which may
seem to shift off the responsibility from themselves,
and help them to practise a lie to their own con-
sciences. With such, it is but a hollow device, a
refuge of lies, which is liable at any moment to be
swept away, and they are at last taken in their
own craftiness. But may not the sense of respon-
sibility and consequent guilt be weakened in
young and more ingenuous minds, by theories
which turn away their thoughts from the direct
testimony of their own consciousness and the ver-
dict of their own conscience, and teach them to
determine on some other grounds, the moral char-
acter of their doings ? Yet, however we may de-
ceive ourselves, or permit others to deceive us,
conscience will at length vindicate its claims, and
we shall find ourselves held responsible for every
deed done in the body, for every purpose of our
hearts, and for every idle word. Whatever may
be the moral character of these, good or evil, they
derive it from our own responsible agency, and
must be answered for as our own purpose and
deed.
Once more, it must be remarked here, as per-
taining to the character of sin, and not fully antic-
ipated in the previous remarks, that as the evil for
which we are strictly responsible, and to which
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 451
the verdict of conscience relates, it is neither the
consequences of our actions, nor properly the out-
ward acts themselves, but the inward principle and
purpose from which they spring. Thus it is obvi-
ously not by experience of the outward effects of
a course of conduct, that we learn whether it is
right or wrong in the view of conscience. How-
ever beneficial the consequences of our conduct
may seem to be, yet if we meant it for evil, we
are none the less guilty of sin. Whether beneficial
or otherwise, moreover, the consequences of our
actions and our purposes, as they pass into outward
act, are placed at once beyond our power of con-
trol ; and except as they were intended by us, are
no more ours than any other events connected
with them in the world of sense. They have, in
themselves, no moral, but only an outward and phy-
sical character. They may be beneficial or injuri-
ous ; but apart from the character of the purpose
in which they originated, are neither right nor
wrong the object neither of praise nor blame.
The same may be said of the mere outward act, as
distinguished from its more remote consequences
on the one hand, and the originating purpose on
the other. Apart from the purpose of a responsi-
ble being, it is not a moral act, and can have no
moral character. It can be imputed only on the
assumption of a purpose in which it originated,
and from this alone it derives a moral character.
Thus the killing of a man becomes murder, only
on the imputation of a malice prepense. Let me
add, too, as the plain doctrine of our Saviour, that
V
o
452 ON THE NATURE,
if we cherish the malicious purpose, and need only
the outward occasion to carry it into effect, we are
already guilty of murder in the view of conscience
and of God. No such distinction can be maintain-
ed, therefore, though so often attempted, as that
which would make an act right in itself, but wrong
relatively to the agent. Considered apart from the
agent, it is neither right nor wrong. We have no
concern with it in regard to a supposed moral
character, except as it is contemplated in a living
union with our own moral being, and grounded in
our own purposes and inward principles, as good
or evil.
On the other hand, when we look away from the
outward and circumstantial, and seek the character
of our deeds in their inward origin, we learn what
is the true import of moral distinctions. We there
view our actions in their proper and only moral
grounds. We there bring into the light of distinct
consciousness, that which is truly our own and de-
pendent upon no outward conditions ; our purposes,
our inclinations, our inward principles of action.
We need but little reflection upon what we find
there, to see that, so far from needing the results
of outward experience in order to determine what
is right or wrong, the moral question and the
grounds of its decision are necessarily antecedent
to all experience of external and actual results.
We have but to reflect upon an action as possible,
upon a purpose as merely conceived and deter-
mined upon, though never yet carried into effect
by ourselves or others, and while we have yet per-
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 453
formed no outward act for giving it effect, and its
moral character is already known. The conse-
quences, immediate or more remote, may or may
not prove what I anticipate and intend ; the sole
question for me is, what do I intend, and from what
motive? It is the coincidence of my intentions
with that law which prescribes imperatively and
without appeal what I ought to intend, for which
I am responsible. As right or wrong, our acts,
our purposes, our principles, have a character
equally decided in the moment of their first con-
ception and adoption in our minds, as when all
their consequences are known by experience. It
is obviously, too, our duty to consider and know
what is the character of our purposes, as they man-
ifest themselves to us in the secrets of our own
bosoms, and while yet no human eye has the
means of knowing what they are. Nor do these
assertions go at all beyond the decisions of com-
mon reason and moral feeling, in regard to the
moral character of man. Every one knows and
admits, that an individual may be a very bad man
or a very good one, though from disease or other-
wise unable to do the smallest act, to utter a word,
or to move a finger, for carrying into effect the
thoughts of his heart. He may be full of malice,
and murder, and blasphemy, and inwardly goaded
by the reproaches of his conscience, or he may be
wholly intent upon those purposes which God and
his own conscience approve. Neither his good
nor his ill desert, in such cases, would be the less
from his inability to act and show outwardly what
/;
454 ON THE NATURE,
he is. The will is imputed for the deed. Thus it
is not strictly what a man does, since that may not
depend upon himself, but what he would do, that
determines his moral worth. It is not his outward
acts, but his inward principles of action ; not what
he is, in so far as that depends on external circum-
stances and the accidents of birth or fortune, of
health or sickness, but what he is in himself, that
constitutes his true character in the sight of God.
And here we may notice a farther distinction, of
no small importance in respect to our views of sin,
between our particular resolves, or our purposes as
they are relative to the circumstances in which we
are placed, and the higher principle within us by
which they are determined. These have, thus far,
been referred to as belonging alike to the inner
man. We distinguish both from mere outward
acts, and ascribe to both a moral character of good
or evil. It is obvious, indeed, that our immediate
conscious purposes or resolves, and the higher prin-
ciple by which they are determined, come equally
under the cognizance of that law of conscience
which prescribes the ultimate ends at which we
ought to aim. Yet our immediate and daily pur-
poses may be said to have a more superficial and
contingent character. Though not produced by
the outward circumstances in which we act, as
their proper cause, they have a necessary relation
to these, and must vary with them. They have
their true origin from some higher principle in our
own minds, which practically determines the end
and constitutes the inward and proper motive or
nature, is a self-will, and in bondage to nature. It
can never, under these conditions, rise above na-
ture in respect to the ends which it pursues, nor
aim at any thing above and beyond the sphere of
self-interest, as prescribed by the nature of the in- &
dividual man. Now, if we conceive the will to be
thus determined to seek its ends in the sphere of
sense, by a necessary law of cause and effect, it no
longer answers the idea of a will, or spiritual
power, but becomes a mere link in the agencies of
nature. It must be conceived as self-determined
and self-limited ; and we thus come back to the of
statement of the ultimate fact at which I have
been aiming, and which, I trust, will be better un-
derstood from these illustrations, that the will, or
61
#
*
$ *
482 ON THE NATURE,
spiritual power in each man, and so in all the indi-
viduals of our race, determines itself to the pursuit
of ends limited by the conditions of an individual
and sensual nature. The spiritual thus brings it-
self in bondage to the natural, and man becomes a
fallen being. In respect to the ends which he
pursues, and the corresponding principle in the
will by which he governs his conduct, he has fall-
en from his true sphere, as a free and rational
being, formed in the image of God, into the sphere
of nature and the world of sense. He has turned
away from the light of truth and the law of right-
eousness, which prescribe his true end as a per-
sonal being, and turned himself, with all the pow-
ers of his free intelligence and will, to the seduc-
tive shows by which we permit the senses to
beguile us.
I have thus aimed to exhibit what I conceive to
be the ultimate fact which can be made intelligible
to our minds, in respect to the relation of the spi-
ritual to the natural and of the universal to the
individual in man, as a fallen and sinful being. We
cannot go farther, and inquire for a cause of the
fact, consistently with that idea of the fact itself,
which reason and conscience require us to assume.
It must be referred to the free-will of the man, as
its ultimate ground and only proper cause, or we
cannot impute it to him as sin. But here again,
W 7 e have the unalterable testimony of our conscien-
ces, that it is sin, and that, in obeying the condi-
tional law of our sensuous nature, we transgress
the absolute and rightful law of our personal being.
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 483
With the earliest dawn of conscious existence
and of reason, we have a sense of obligation, and
hear the whispers of that still small voice, which,
listened to and understood, commands us to break
the bonds of a sensual nature, and to bring all its
powers and agencies into subjection to a higher
law and subservience to a higher end. These con-
victions, again, necessarily involve the idea exhib-
ited in the account of the creation and fall of man,
that in his original destiny, and in respect to that
image of God in which he was created, he was, in
his essential character and highest prerogative as
man, a spiritual being, in such a sense that the ab-
solute and universal law of truth and righteous-
ness, or the law of the spiritual world, was his
law, and that which prescribed his true and proper
end ; that in obeying the law and placing himself
under the conditions of f. nature, therefore, he is
in a fallen state, and subject to an alien law, from
the bondage of which he needs to be redeemed.
Hence the deliverance of man from the thraldom
of sin, or the limitations of his natural self-will,
must be conceived as a redemption from slavery,
and a restoration to his primitive state of freedom
in obeying the essential law of his own spiritual
being. The conscientious convictions, I say, of
every man who reflects, in respect to what he ought
to be, compared with what he is, are such as to
awaken the idea of a fallen condition correspond-
ing with that which I have represented, and what
I understand as contained in the language of rev-
elation. This condition, too, as we have seen, is!
484
ON THE NATURE,
not a fault of nature, and is given neither by cre-
ation nor inheritance ; and though common to all,
must yet be imputed to each, as having its ground
| in the determination of his own will, or in that
which is his most true and proper self. It is a
condition of the will, for which every man knows
himself to be responsible, and for which every man
has in himself the sense of guilt and the sentence
of condemnation. It is nothing less than a fall
and alienation of the man himself from that state
in which, according to the divine idea of humanity,
he was destined to hold free and spiritual commu-
nion with God, walking in the light as he is in the
light, and freely conforming to the perfect law of
righteousness ; and is a subjugation of himself, in
his highest spiritual prerogative, to the narrow
conditions and enslaving law of a sensual nature.
This is that state of spiritual bondage in which,
by nature, we all find ourselves ; and this we re-
cognize as our misery and our guilt. We find, in
the heart of our personal being, a principle and
law of action which prescribes other ends than the
law of conscience prescribes. Instead of obeying
the truth in the spirit, and with free and rejoicing
hearts putting forth the fulness of our strength
in the pursuit of all that is true and holy and
godlike, as we ought to do, we are enslaved
to the law of our self-interest, and strive to
subordinate all things to our individual ends. In-
stead of subordinating the powers and propen-
sities of our inferior nature to the higher law of
our spiritual being, thus assigning to them their
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 485
appropriate sphere, and clothing them, as we ought,
with a supernatural dignity and glory, we rather
carry disorder and confusion into the sphere of
nature itself. We strive to force its powers and
capacities beyond their prescribed limits, and to
impart to them that infinity which alone can satis-
fy the wants of our personal being. We bring, as
it were, our spiritual powers into the sphere of a
finite nature, and then seek to make it the instru-
ment for satiating our infinite desires. We strive
with capricious folly and madness to stimulate and
task the powers of a corporeal and perishable na-
ture, and to accumulate the means of sensual
enjoyment, till they shall satisfy the infinite and
endless cravings of that which only the infinite
God and the absolute good can ever fill.
Thus I have endeavored, as was proposed in
the second division of the subject, to show the
ground and origin of sin in respect to the distin-
guishable powers of our being, and the conditions
of its universality. I have presented a view which
seems to me perfectly compatible with what was
before said of the nature of sin, as determined in
our practical convictions, and in accordance with
all that is taught or implied in the word of God
respecting the nature and origin of sin. I have
endeavored to show, that in all its length and
breadth and depth and height, as an evil principle
in the heart of our personal being, it is one which
we and we alone have originated, and for which
we are individually responsible. The view pre-
sented renders it apparent that this form of evil,
486 ON THE NATURE,
which as an ultimate and original principle is com-
mon to all men, is such a determination of the
will or spiritual power to the conditions, and such
a subjection of it to the law, of an individual na-
ture in each man, as constitutes a corruption and
debasement of the will, limits it to the ends which
that nature prescribes, and renders it in its inward
and ultimate principle, a will of nature, or a self-
will. As such, it is opposed to that universal and
absolute law of God to which it ought to be sub-
ject, and which requires the subordination of con-
ditional and selfish ends and interests to those
moral and spiritual ends which have an inherent
and absolute worth, and an equal interest for all.
In making the ends prescribed by his individual
nature his ultimate aim, therefore, each man
swerves from his own true end, which can be at-
tained only in the subjugation of the individual to
the universal, and of the finite to the infinite ; of
himself, therefore, as an individual, to the pre-
scriptions of the absolute reason, or rather to that
Being of beings, in whom we no longer contem-
plate an individual as co-ordinate with other indi-
vidual existences, but the reality of the absolute
and universal in a personal form. In making our-
selves, then, and our own interest the end to which
we subordinate all other interests, we put our-
selves in the place of God. We strive to distin-
guish and exalt the conditional and individual
above the absolute and universal, and worship the
creature more than the Creator, who is over all,
God blessed forever. And such in each of us is
*
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 487
the nature, the origin, and the infinite evil and sin-
fulness of sin. Let us, then, not deceive our-
selves with any vain efforts to believe that we are
not sinners, or that the sinful principle which we
find in ourselves is not a ground of personal blame-
worthiness and the just displeasure of a righteous
God. Let us rather listen to the testimony of our
consciences, and with a full conviction and con-
fession of our exceeding sinfulness as transgressors
of his holy law and rebels against his rightful au-
thority, implore the bestowment of his grace, and
of the redemption that is in Christ Jesus.
DISCOURSE III.
The views thus presented of the nature and ori-
gin of sin, as we find it in our personal being,
though apparently abstract and speculative in their
general character, are yet inseparably connected
with all that is most important in respect to our
practical duties. True, it may be said, and few
would say it with more emphasis than I am dis-
posed to do, that in addressing moral and religious
truth to the consciences of men, we may safely
assume all that just and wise speculation can teach
and prove in respect to the character of man as a
sinner. This is, for the most part, undoubtedly,
the course pursued by the original preachers of
divine truth. Such, too, is the course ordinarily
488 ON THE NATURE,
most appropriate for him who would awaken the
consciences of men, and lead them to repentance.
It might, perhaps, be always and exclusively pro-
per, were there no false opinions prevalent among
speculative men, by which their minds are closed
against the right apprehension of practical truth,
and their consciences made inaccessible to its
power. It is when the force of truth, as applied
to the conscience, is weakened and turned aside by
the influence of partial and false systems of spec-
ulation, that it becomes necessary in addressing
the consciences of men, to meet the cavils of ob-
jectors, to remove the obstacles which error has
raised against the influence of the truth, and to
vindicate the authority of conscience itself.
The more subtle the objections by which men
shield their consciences, and the deeper the sources
from which they are drawn, the more difficult, but
at the same time the more necessary, does it be-
come to expose their fallacy and guard our practi-
cal convictions from their influence. In doing
this, the most abstruse and subtle distinctions are
sometimes indispensable and infinitely momen-
tous, in order to the vindication of practical truth.
No where, obviously, can they be more so, than
in what concerns the grounds of our moral respon-
sibility and the immediate relations of our personal
will to nature and to God. It would be difficult,
perhaps, to over-estimate the mischiefs which have
resulted both to morals and religion from false
speculative views on these points, applied to prac-
tice both by moralists and by the preachers of the
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 489
gospel. How often must the enlightened chris-
tian rejoice that there is a depth and power in the
conscience and in the practical convictions of men,
which no speculative error of the understanding
can wholly destroy, when he hears arguments
used and sees means employed, which, if it were
possible, instead of promoting, as they are design-
ed to do, would subvert both morality and religion !
In looking, then, at the practical relations of the
views which I have presented, as was proposed in
the third division of the subject, I remark, in the
first place, that if I have guarded my language as
I intended to do, there will be found in it nothing
that tends in any way to weaken our sense of per-
sonal responsibility, or to alleviate our convictions
of sin and guilt as transgressors of the law of God.
In speaking of the origin of sin, I have limited
myself to sin as we find it in ourselves, and as it
is a principle of action in our personal will ; and I
trust the views presented and the illustrations em-
ployed will rather strengthen than contradict the
testimony of an awakened conscience. But their
relation to the immediate convictions of our moral
being is so far given in connection with the views
themselves, that we need not dwell upon it more
at large.
I proceed, then, to observe, in the second place,
as a matter of great practical moment in the ap-
plication of these views, that if they be correct,
the distinction between motives of self-interest
and the obligations of duty cannot be too strongly
marked, in seeking to promote the interests wheth-
62
(/
490 ON THE NATURE,
er of morality or religion. In how many systems,
and those too which have been taught in the higher
schools of learning, has this distinction been virtu-
ally if not explicitly denied ! How often has the
violation of duty and conscience been represented
as arising merely from want of a prudent foresight
and a miscalculation of our own self-interest ! Nay,
is not conscience itself, in the systems most gen-
erally prevalent, resolved into a mere product of
the sensualized understanding, and regarded as
comprising the rules by which we are to be guided
in the pursuit of happiness, as the supreme object
of desire ? Not only from the theories of moral-
ists, but too often from the language of the pulpit
also, it would be supposed that an enlightened self-
interest was the highest, and indeed the only prin-
l \ ciple of action, by which it is possible for a wise
man to be governed ; and that the only difference
between the good and the bad man is, that the one
understands his interest better than the other.
Yet, if there be any ground of truth in the views
which I have advanced, the pursuit of self-interest
as an ultimate end is in direct conflict with the
law of conscience, and the very root and principle
of evil in our personal being is the determination
of the will to the attainment of our individual
ends, as distinguished from those which conscience
commands us to pursue.
* So long as our own happiness is the supreme
object of desire and the controlling motive of
action, there can surely be no essential difference
of character in the sight of God, whether we seek
./
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 491
it with careless impetuosity, or with cautious and
far-sighted prudence, in this world or a future one ;
or even whether it be by obeying or violating the
prescriptions of a divine law, so far as both are
possible from the same motive and inward princi- 1/
pie of action. If self-interest, as a principle of
action, and in its relation to the law of duty, be
what I have represented it, then out of this there
can spring no true obedience to the divine law.
The highest that it can produce is what St. Paul
designates as the works of the law, or a mere out-
ward form of obedience, without a right spiritual
principle within. It is consequently not true spir-
itual obedience, and' is not accounted righteous in
the sight of God. The first step, therefore, of
man, as a fallen being and in bondage to the evil
principle, the very beginning of right action, is
repentance, or a turning away of the mind and will
from the ends of self-interest, and a turning to
God, as in himself the supreme object of desire.
There must of necessity be an absolute denial of
self, not the subordination merely of a less interest
to a greater, or of a present to a future ; but an
entire subordination of the individual and natural
will, and of all particular ends, to the will of God
and the ends prescribed by the universal law.
This, conscience commands, in its every admonition
of duty ; and this is the law of duty, as distin-
guished from the instinct of nature and the law of
the natural will. This, too, is the repentance and
self-denial which alone will satisfy the dictates of
an awakened conscience and the conditions either
492 ON THE NATURE,
of the law or of the gospel. To effect this, by
awakening in the minds of men a distinct con-
sciousness of their relations as responsible beings,
of what they are as sinners, and of what they
ought to be, by strengthening the convictions of
duty, and as far as human agency can do so, em-
powering the conscience, is the true and legitimate
purpose of all moral and religious truth, addressed
to men as sinners and in need of repentance.
What, then, in relation to this end, must be the
proper effect of that instruction, which, instead of
enforcing truly the conviction, that in seeking our
own interest as the supreme end, we have griev-
ously sinned and done evil in the sight of God,
under whatever form and by whatever means we
have pursued it, teaches that it is only conditionally
wrong, and that our guilt is but an error of judg-
ment in respect to the right means of attaining
the desired end ? What is this, in effect, but to
resolve duty into the cautious and prudent pursuit
of happiness, and all sin into a want of prudence,
or a mistake of judgment ?
Again let me ask, what must be the effect of
that predominance, which we so often witness in
the instructions and exhortations of the pulpit, of
appeals to motives of self-interest, over that sim-
ple exhibition of divine truth, which is fitted to
awaken a consciousness of sin, and of the obliga-
tion to be holy ? True, our Saviour and his apos-
tles sometimes address themselves to the interests,
the hopes and fears of men ; nor can any one
doubt, that to arouse men from the lethargy and
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 493
false security of sin, it is necessary and proper.
But as the highest motive by which the good man
should be governed, and as a principle of action on
which the awakened sinner can safely rest, it is
authorized neither by conscience nor the word of
God. Is there not reason to fear that the character
and purpose of the gospel, and of the christian sys-
tem, are exposed to grievous misapprehension,
from a too exclusive reference to the natural desire
of happiness, in enforcing their instructions ? Some
of us, at least, have met with men of strong minds
and not wholly regardless of truth and duty, who
have been alienated from the doctrines and duties
of Christianity by being led to misconceive it, as a
system which appealed only to mercenary motives,
to the fears of punishment, and hopes of reward in
a future life. Such men see and know, that these
are not the true and highest grounds of moral ac-
tion, and so will maintain that they have a better
system, and are governed by higher motives than
the preachers of the gospel urge upon their hear-
ers. So much occasion, too, is sometimes given,
unhappily for men, who, instead of studying the
gospel as they ought, receive their impressions of it
from what they hear, to fall into this fatal error, that
one might be tempted to wish, according to a fable
of one of the Christian fathers, for the annihilation
of both heaven and hell, in order that men might
serve God from pure love, without fear of punish-
ment or hope of reward. The true end and pur-
pose of the gospel, in regard to the moral condition
of man, unquestionably is to subdue and eradicate
494 ON THE NATURE,
the self-seeking principle of our natural will, as
essentially evil, and contrary to the law of the
Spirit, by the power of divine truth, and the aids
of that spirit which accompanies and abides in the
truth, to impart a higher and spiritual principle of
obedience to the divine law, and thus to restore in
us the ruins of the fall. But we obviously cannot
hope, from any conceivable relation of the means
to the end, to accomplish this by addressing to
others, or by considering ourselves, excitements to
action, which appeal to, and so call into exercise,
the principle itself which we aim to subdue.
To urge upon one, that he must deny himself
for the sake of himself, and his own interest, in
any strict and absolute sense, is either to expose
him to self-delusion, or to perplex him with con-
tradiction and absurdity. But to teach us that we
must truly deny ourselves, must suppress every
motive of self-interest, and subordinate all individ-
ual ends to the higher ends of truth and right-
eousness, must esteem our lives but for the truth's
sake, and our most chosen ends only for right-
eousness' sake ; that we must love our neighbor as
ourselves, and God above all, is to second the ad-
monitions of conscience, and co-operate with the
word and Spirit of God. Again, if we persuade
men, that they must obey the law of God in or-
der to attain happiness, and so make holiness of
life only the means to an end, we are involved in
a like contradiction, and preclude the true idea of
holiness as itself an absolute end, and desirable for
its own sake. Nor is it more rational, according
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 495
to these views, to urge the love and worship of
God merely as a being able and disposed to pro-
mote the happiness of his creatures. We obvious-
ly regard him and his agency in that view only in
the relation of means to an end, and our love and
worship properly terminate upon the ultimate end,
of which he is but the instrument. But if, while
we humble and abase ourselves in the dust, and
lose sight of all inferior ends, we fill our souls
with the contemplation of God, as including in
himself all absolute good, if we reverence his wis-
dom, if we adori/ his holiness, if we are penetrat-
ed and overawed by a sense of his omnipresent
power, as pervading and sustaining all life and all
being, if we love and worship him as in himself
all glorious and worthy of love and adoration, and
look to him as not only the first cause, but the
last end, not only of whom and through whom,
but to and for whom are all things, we may learn
more justly to appreciate the pursuit of happiness,
and its relation as a motive to the attainment of
our true end. We may learn what it is truly to for-
sake ourselves, to come forth from the narrowness
of our self-will, and with christian liberty to obey
God in spirit and in truth. This we can never do,
so long as we practically confound the requisitions
of the divine law with the dictates of self-interest,
and measure our obedience by our views of its
profit. It is only when the self-will is crucified
with Christ, that the free spirit of man can go
forth unshackled, and become fruitful in all good
works. It is only when that slavish bond of self-
496 ON THE NATURE,
interest is broken, that the man can delight in and
without restraint pursue every good end, doing in-
differently whatsoever things are true and lovely
and of good report.
But I proceed to remark in the third place, that
from the views which I have presented of the na-
ture and origin of sin and of our character and
condition as sinners, we are able to understand our
need of redemption from the power of evil, and to
see that Christianity is a system adapted to our
need. Sin and redemption, the fallen state of man,
and that system by which, in the wisdom and love
of God, his restoration is to be effected, have a
necessary relation to each other. The deeper and
truer, then, our knowledge of sin may be, the bet-
ter can we understand and appreciate the character
of Christ and his gospel. Our views of Christian-
ity, indeed, must be, and always are, conformed
more or less fully, according to the extent and con-
sequentness of our reflection upon their relation
to each other, to our views of the natural condition
and character of man. If we regard ourselves as
not truly sinners, alienated in our personal being
from God and our true end, not so fallen and lost
as to need a divine power to redeem and save us
from spiritual death, but only ignorant and impru-
dent, needing but instruction and warning to
secure the attainment of our true end, and capable
of being educated into a life of holiness, then we
shall of course regard Christ as but a teacher, sent
to point out to us the way of duty and happi-
ness, and his gospel but a volume of instructions,
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 497
which we are of ourselves fully competent to ob-
serve. It could be for us, in that case, only a system
or collection of truths and admonitions, not essen-
tially differing in kind from the various systems of
ancient wisdom, in which the highest good, and
the way of attaining it, are professedly taught. It
might, indeed, be better than these, but would still
differ only in degree ; and Christ, instead of being
a manifestation of God and the divine humanity, a
realization of the highest idea of reason under the
forms of sense, is but an individual man, and to be
classed as one of the ancient sages. With those
superficial views of the nature of sin, and of man
as a sinner, which amount to a denial of the doc-
trine of original sin and of the fall of man, I say,
Christ and the gospel of the grace of God can ra-
tionally be understood in no higher sense. What-
ever perplexities we may find in explaining its lan-
guage on these assumptions, whatever apparent
mysteries and strange pretensions to a supernatural
and divine character there may be in Christ, and
in those words which he tells us are spirit and life,
we must resolve them into metaphor and eastern
hyperbole, or give up the whole as an unintelligi-
ble enigma.
But on the other hand, if we are indeed sinners,
and if sin be an evil of such depth and malignity,
and having such a relation to our spiritual being,
as has been represented in the former parts of this
discourse, then, again, we are prepared to appre-
hend the character of Christ, the meaning and
power of his words, and to appreciate Christianity,
63
498 ON THE NATURE,
as a system in all its parts and relations, in a far
different manner. The whole then acquires a
depth and fulness of meaning and intelligibility of
relation, which of itself is a strong presumptive
evidence that those views of our native character
and condition are "essentially true, and such as
were acted upon by Him who knew what was in
man. It was not, indeed, the peculiar and appro-
priate purpose of the gospel to teach at large the
doctrine of man's fallen condition as a sinner,
since this is adequately revealed in the conscience
of every man who is in earnest to know his own
character, and was taught both in schools of phi-
losophy and in the more popular mythologies, as
well as in the Old Testament, before the coming
of Christ. It was, therefore, assumed, and must
be regarded as the antecedent ground and condi-
tion to which Christianity was adapted, and with-
out an assumption of which it must remain unin-
telligible. In order, then, to a right interpretation
of the system, and a right understanding of it as a
system, we must necessarily inquire what was as-
sumed, and on what assumption is it possible to
understand its meaning. What I mean to say,
then, is, that the views presented in the former
parts of this discourse, not only have their own
proper grounds of evidence, but that, when ap-
plied to the Christian system, they mutually
explain and confirm each other ; and that we are
thus, prepared rightly to estimate the work of re-
demption. On this ground, and with this view,
we cannot too often or too deeply meditate upon
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 499
our lost condition, the extent and malignity of the
evil, the depth and hopelessness of the ruin, from
which, in the boundless love of God, his Son came
to redeem us. We cannot be too cautious to ad-
mit the whole truth on the one hand, in order to a
just appreciation of the whole truth on the other.
If, then, we are in ourselves estranged from the
law of God, and in our personal being wholly in
bondage to sin, in the sense represented, we can
understand what our Saviour means, when he tells
us the Son of Man is come to save that which was
lost. If we are not only poor and miserable in
ourselves, but guilty of rebellion against God and
opposition to a holy law, and therefore under a
just condemnation, exposed to the righteous pen-
alty which we have incurred, we may apprehend,
in some measure, how God commendeth his love
toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners,
Christ died for us. Again, if we so feel the evil
of sin, as a principle affecting the essential charac-
ter of our spiritual being and bringing us in bon-
dage to the law in our members, as to realize the
necessity of a higher principle than belongs to our
enslaved natural will, in order to overcome and
subdue its malignant power, we are prepared to
receive the doctrine, that we must be born again,
and to hail, with joy and thanksgiving, the prof-
fered aids of that spiritual power which is in
Christ and in the Spirit of all grace, to deliver us
from the dominion of death, and restore us to spir-
itual life. According to the depth of insight with
which we contemplate the apostasy of our whole
500 ON THE NATURE,
race from God, and the import of the language
which represents the world as lying in wickedness,
so will be, in like manner, the degree of justness
with which we appreciate the ministry of recon-
ciliation, and the doctrine that God was in Christ
reconciling the world unto himself. Thus at all
points one thing is over against another, and all
the provisions of the gospel have a meaning and
an application which we can fully apprehend only
when we look deeply and steadfastly into our own
hearts, and become conscious of our spiritual mal-
adies and our perishing wants. An adequate
knowledge of ourselves and of our spiritual char-
acter and relations is thus the necessary condition
of our knowing what Christ is, as the Saviour of
sinners, and of our rightly interpreting all that in
the volume of revelation, which has reference to
our inward experience, and to that which is spir-
itual in us.
Nor, in reference to our personal estimation of
the need of Christ and the infinite worth and im-
portance of what he has done and is ever ready
and willing to do for us, will mere speculative
views of the nature and origin of sin suffice. It
must become, for each of us, a matter of personal
concern. So long as it remains in the head, it can
only remove the speculative obstacles to the prac-
tical admission of the truth. We must take it
home to our hearts. We must practically and
deeply realize that we, even we ourselves, are
guilty and exceeding sinful in the sight of a just
and holy God. We must not only feel that we are
GROUND AND ORIGIN OF SIN. 501
in danger, and our eternal happiness at stake, but
that we are ill-deserving, transgressors of the law
of God, and exposed to the righteous judgment,
not only of our own consciences, but of Him who
is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity. This, for
the fully awakened conscience, unquestionably is
the point of practical moment and of highest con-
cern. Before the tribunal of conscience, it is not
a question of self-interest, of safety or danger in
respect to present or future enjoyment, but a ques-
tion of desert ; not primarily how we can be saved
from suffering, but how we can be saved from the
inward reality and the oppressive sense of sin and
guilt. How can man be just with God, and be-
come holy and acceptable in his sight ?
It is in this state of mind, with these questions
pressing themselves home upon our hearts, and
giving us no rest till we find an answer, that we
can know the meaning of the gospel. It is when
we are overwhelmed with a consciousness of our
guilt, of the exceeding sinfulness of transgressing
a holy law, and of worshipping the creature more
than the Creator, of serving ourselves instead of
the adorable God, that we can feel the power of
those words of our Saviour, Come unto me, ye
that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you
rest. It is from the evil and burthen of sin, that
Christ came to deliver us ; for he was sent not to
call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.
i
DISCOURSE,
THE TRUE GROUND, IN MANS CHARACTER,
AND CONDITION, OF HIS NEED OF CHRIST.
IN THE LAST DAY, THAT GREAT DAY OF THE FEAST,
JESUS STOOD AND CRIED, SAYING, IF ANY MAN
THIRST, LET HIM COME UNTO ME, AND DRINK.
John vii. 37.
The circumstances in which these words of our
Saviour were uttered, are briefly indicated in the
text. He seems to have seized upon a favorable
occasion which offered itself, as he often did upon
other incidents of a worldly nature, to give greater
significance and effect to the spiritual instruction
which his words conveyed. Could their full im-
port have been understood, and its relation to
themselves appreciated, by the thronging multi-
tudes around him, how unheeded would have been
the pomp of their festival, and how would all ears
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 503
have listened to the words of him who spake as
never man spake ! The occasion here referred to
was connected with the feast of tabernacles ; and,
even to our minds, perhaps, may serve to present
in stronger relief the character which Christ as-
sumed, and the import of the proclamation which
he made. The festival, in its general character,
even as instituted by Moses, was one of great na-
tional interest. In the pomp of its ceremonial,
and in the multitude of those who in after times
went up to participate in its numerous sacrifices
and to pay their vows unto the Lord, it was the
greatest and most celebrated of all the national an-
niversaries of the Jews. Designed to commemo-
rate their long and painful sojourn in the wilder-
ness, where, hungry and thirsty, their soul fainted
in them, it was at the same time connected with
the autumnal harvests, and was a season of thanks-
giving to Him who had delivered them out of their
distresses, and was now crowning the year with
his goodness. As they looked upon the crowded
tabernacles, or temporary coverings, under which
they were required to seek shelter during the pe-
riod of its celebration, their minds were carried
back to those tents which had been pitched upon
the waste and barren desert, where they wandered
in a solitary way, and found no city to dwell in.
But these, again, were now but an occasion for
national joy and thanksgiving, by their contrast
with that great city of habitation to which the
good providence of God had conducted them, and
504
MAN'S NEED OF CHRIST.
with those surrounding palaces in which God was
known for a refuge.
Especially was it matter of rejoicing, that they
now pitched their tents in the precincts of their
national temple. This was the bond of union, and
the common centre of attraction for the whole peo-
ple ; and hither, at this season of national thanks-
giving, they came up from their cities and villages,
whether near or more remote, to contemplate its
outward magnificence, and to worship before the
holy place of the tabernacle of the Most High. It
was thus, that at each anniversary, its courts were
thronged with rejoicing multitudes, and the sol-
emn rites of the occasion performed with that fer-
vor of national enthusiasm, which they could not
but inspire. To these rites, as instituted by Moses,
we are told that in these latter times many addi-
tions had been made. Especially was the eighth
day, here called the great day of the feast, which
was at the same time the last in the festive solem-
nities of the year, crowded with many pompous
ceremonies, and celebrated with peculiar splendor.
It was a day of universal jubilee among the assem-
bled people ; and so greatly was it distinguished,
that the Jewish writers were accustomed to say,
" He had no conception of a jubilee, who had not
witnessed these festive scenes."
Among the additional observances practised in
these times, the most remarkable was that of car-
rying water in a golden phial from the fountain of
Siloa, and pouring it upon the altar. This is sup-
posed by many to have been suggested by the pro-
. fe
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 505
phetic language of Isaiah, and to have been adopt-
ed with reference to the expected blessings of the
Messiah's kingdom. It was at least regarded as a
sacred symbol, and carried with circumstances of
excessive joy, with sound of trumpets and shouted
hallelujahs, while the priests sang in chorus the
words of the prophet, " With joy shall ye draw
water from the wells of salvation." It was pro-
bably, we are told, with reference to this interest-
ing rite, and amidst these multitudes, dazzled with
the imposing splendor of outward ceremonials and
intoxicated with sounds of joy, that Jesus present-
ed himself, and addressed the people as related in
the text. And who is he, and what is his message,
who, upon the threshold of that temple, and upon
such an occasion, claims attention to himself and
his words ? We see him in the calm dignity and
commanding power of a higher consciousness, but
with no outward marks of distinction, standing
there, and calling away the attention of the multi-
tude from the sacred waters of Siloa, and from all
their outward occasions of national festivity, to
himself as the paramount object of regard. He
proclaims himself as being, both for them and for
all men, the true fountain of the water of life. If
any man thirst, let him come to me, and drink.
He that cometh to me shall never hunger, and he
that believeth on me shall never thirst.
What, then, let us inquire, is the true import of
a declaration, which, by the circumstances in
which it was made, so loudly claims our regard ;
and on what grounds, in respect to its author and
64
506 man's need of christ.
to the individuals of our race, can the declaration
be justified to our understandings and our hearts?
In answering these questions, I shall endeavor,
first, to explain the import of the figurative language
in which it is expressed ; 2ndly, to show what it is
in the character and condition of man, which is
the ground of the relation to Christ implied in the
text; and, 3rdly, to exhibit the character of
Christ, as corresponding to that relation, and in
reference to our spiritual wants.
1. In the first place, then, we are to inquire
what is the literal sense of the figurative language
of the text. Such language is, indeed, of very
frequent occurrence, and may seem too obvious to
need explanation. From the circumstances in
which it was used, however, and in reference to
the views which I propose to take of it, I shall
venture to regard it in two senses, nearly connect-
ed, indeed, yet distinguishable from each other,
and worthy of distinct, attention.
According to the first and more obvious of the
senses to which I refer, the terms of the express-
ion are used, as hunger and its corresponding grat-
ification often are in like circumstances, for any
conscious desire in relation to its appropriate ob-
ject. As employed by our Saviour here and else-
where, they must be understood to refer to a con-
scious desire for those spiritual blessings which
were but symbolically represented in the festival
rites of the occasion, but which he claimed the
power to impart. To those engaged with fervent
enthusiasm in the solemnities of their national
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 507
worship, the meaning of his declaration was, if any
man truly and earnestly desires the spiritual real-
ity, which is here exhibited but in types and shad-
ows, let him come unto me, and satisfy the desires
of his soul with substantial good. Ye who look
and long for those waters from the wells of salva-
tion, turn away from the symbolical waters of
Siloa, and come unto me. In me will you find
the spiritual blessings which you seek ; and whoso-
ever drinketh the water that I shall give him, it
shall be in him a well of water, springing up into
everlasting life.
Similar to this language of our Saviour in its
figurative character, is that invitation of the proph-
et Isaiah : Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye
to the waters ; and that expression of intense de-
sire in the Psalmist, in which he exclaims, My soul
thirsteth for God, for the living God : when shall
I come and appear before God ? How blessed, in
their relation to him, are all those who find in them-
selves this conscious and outbreaking desire for
the spiritual treasures that are in Christ, and that
he is so ready to impart ! Blessed are they that
hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they
shall be filled.
But according to the other and less obvious
meaning which I ascribe to the declaration in the
text, it is understood to refer to that inward need,
which, though he may be unconscious of it, the
soul of every man has of Christ and of the spirit-
ual blessings which he proffers for our acceptance.
In this more extended metaphorical sense, the same
508 man's need of christ.
language is often applied, not only to the uncon-
scious need of beings capable of conscious desire,
but also to the lower orders of organic existence,
and even to inanimate objects in relation to what
may be necessary for the attainment of their sup-
posed end. Thus every creature may be said to
thirst for and to seek after its appropriate good,
and that which is necessary to the attainment of
its prescribed end, though unconscious, and conse-
quently undesirous of that to which it holds such
a relation. In this sense our Saviour may be un-
derstood as saying that the inward necessities of
every human soul place it in this relation to him-
self. Such is the proper end towards which it is
borne by the original law of its spiritual being, and
such are the conditions of its attainment, that it
stands in need of Christ, and must come to him
for the supply of its spiritual wants. In other
words, Christ here proffers himself as the good
which the spirit of man needs ; and the intensity of
that need he expresses by thirst, the most unap-
peasable of our natural organic cravings, the most
indispensable of our bodily wants. Whatever
else we may do without, according to the sense of
our Saviour's language, we cannot do without him.
He is that for our souls, and the inmost necessi-
ties of our spiritual being, which water is for the
body when fainting and perishing for thirst. The
invitation of our Saviour, therefore, is to every
man to come unto him for the supply of his spirit-
ual necessities ; for that without which he can
I
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 509
never attain the true and proper end of his being,
but must remain restless and unblest forever.
2. But let us proceed to inquire more partic-
ularly, in the second place, what it is in the inward
character and condition of man, which is the
ground of this relation to Christ. To this it might
be answered in a word, that it is found in that
higher capacity for the reception of spiritual good,
which, however uncdnscious he may be of it, per-
tains to the soul of every man, and which no infe-
rior or worldly objects can ever fill. To render
this fully intelligible, however, in its distinctive
character, and in the actual condition of man, far-
ther consideration may be necessary.
In a general way, then, what is here said of the
soul of man may be illustrated, by referring it to
that universal law to which all finite and creature-
ly existences are subjected ; that, namely, of de-
pendence and insufficiency in themselves for the
accomplishment of their proper end. All need
and require, as the indispensable condition of their
existence, a good out of themselves, which they
may be said, according to their several powers, to
seek after, and which in turn is suited to their
wants. Look, for example, at that beginning of
the ways of God, the mysterious life of the vege-
table world. See how it puts forth in boundless
luxuriance its ever-varying forms. With what per-
vading power it forces its way through all the
apparent obstacles of inorganic nature, clothing
the rocks with its verdure, and diffusing its fra-
grance over the burning sands of the desert. But
i
510 man's NEED OF CHRIST.
on the rock and in the desert God has provided it
with the means of its subsistence, with the mate-
rials of its growth, and endued it with the pow-
ers by which it seeks out and appropriates them
to its use. While it clothes the earth with beau-
ty, and sends upwards its expanding foliage,
breathing healthful influences into the surround-
ing air, and paying homage to the sun, it must be
remembered that in and by these it lives ; that it
receives from the earth and air and sun the ele-
ments of which all the substance of its growth is
composed, its form of beauty or of stateliness, the
verdure of its leaves and the fragrance of its
flowers. It is God who has thus fitted them for
each other, and who so clothes the grass, which
to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven.
We may carry the same principle upward
through the whole range of living nature ; and
while we are compelled to refer to a specific pow-
er of life within, we are under an equal necessity
of looking to the specific provision for the devel-
opement of each successive power in the world
without. Thus, while the inferior life of the plant
finds the material of its existence and the condi-
tions necessary to the proper ends of its being in
the inorganic elements, it is itself, in turn, the out-
ward condition of life and growth to the various
orders of animal creation. These, as they go
forth in countless myriads upon the face of the
earth, as they pass through the paths of the seas, or
fly in the open firmament of heaven, seek, each
after its kind, an appropriate good in the world
t
MAN'S NEED OF CHRIST. 511
around them, and receive their supply from the
same all-bountiful Giver. He causeth grass to
grow for cattle, and herb for the service of man.
These all wait upon Thee, that thou may est give
them their meat in due season. That thou givest
them, they gather ;' thou openest thine hand, they
are filled with good. Thou hidest thy face, they
are troubled ; thou takest away their breath, they
die, and return to their dust.
Thus far, the relation of man to external na-
ture, as the necessary outward condition of his ex-
istence, is obviously the same with that of the in-
ferior orders of creation. As to the powers of his
organic life, he stands related to all the elements.
The earth and sky, the illuminating and warming
rays of the sun, the vital air, the manifold products
of vegetable and of animal life, the world, in all
its fulness and variety, are the sphere and contain
the outward conditions of his animal existence.
These, the Giver of all good has placed around
him, and among these he must, by the conditions
of his existence as a creature of this world, and in
the exercise of his physical powers, seek the means
necessary to his sensual life. Without these he
cannot live. With all his superior powers of life,
and the wonder-working energies of his complica-
ted organs, he needs that which they cannot give ;
he hungers for a morsel of bread, and thirsts for a
drop of water. These he must have, or his eyes
will start from their sockets in the consuming rage
of hunger and thirst. He that feedeth the fowls
of the air, must feed him also.
512 man's need of christ.
But has man no higher powers than those which
belong to him in common with the brute ; and is
he connected with nothing out of himself, as the
necessary condition of their developement, other
than that on which his physical existence depends ?
This is one point for which I wished to prepare the
way by the illustrations already adduced ; namely,
from what is so undeniable in regard to the powers
of vegetable and animal life, to render more pre-
sumable and evident the truth of the same princi-
ple in respect to whatever higher powers and ca-
pacities we may possess. If there be that within
us which is nobler than the instincts of organic
life, and strives for the attainment of a higher end,
it is yet equally dependent upon that which is pro-
vided without, as the condition on which alone
that end can be attained. Nor can those higher
wants be satisfied and that higher end secured by
means of the same outward objects and conditions
which suffice for the brute and for our own mere
animal nature. Strictly speaking, it is only in re-
spect to those powers of life which man possesses
in common with the vegetable and brute Creation,
those concerned in the growth and perfection of
his bodily organs, that he is immediately related to
the inferior objects around him, as before described.
It needs but a moment's reflection to see that he
has powers of action and capacities of enjoyment
which cannot find in these the means and condi-
tions of their growth, but must be excited and
nourished by that which has a specific relation to
their higher wants. For in the midst of material
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 513
nature, and surrounded by a ceaseless exuberance
and variety of that which supplies the mere wants
of the body, what is man without men ? Will he
or can he become truly a man, without that human
intercourse, and the presence of those more than
merely sensible objects, which properly awaken
and call forth the distinguishing powers of human-
ity ? Will he hold intellectual converse, and dis-
course of truth and right, with the senseless plant
or the speechless brute ? Will the human, the so-
cial and moral affections of his soul find adequate
excitement in the beauty of flowers, in the sub-
dued or even impassioned look with which the
forms and aspects of brute natures address his eye,
or the tones with which their thousand voices fill
his ear ? Will he indeed find awakened in him-
self those moral affections and charities which
raise him above the brute, and pour them forth, as
from an inward fountain, while, in the wide world
around him, there is no human heart that answers
to his ? To these questions, reason, analogy, and
experience, so far as it is possible to have its testi-
mony, answer, No. In these circumstances, man
would himself remain, as to the actual develope-
ment and exercise of those higher powers which
characterize him as a social and intelligent and
moral being, little more than a speechless brute.
However his bodily hunger and thirst might be
satisfied, and his corporeal organs attain their full
developement and symmetry of form, his soul's
need would be unprovided for. There would be
a hungering and thirsting for some unknown and
65
514 man's need of christ.
unexperienced good. His higher powers and ten-
dencies would fail of their appropriate objects and
ends, and show their existence only in obscure and
ineffectual longings for that which the surrounding
world could not supply.
The human soul, then, in respect to those pow-
ers of intelligence and those moral and social af-
fections which are manifested in the relations of
society, has- its appropriate sphere of existence,
and finds the conditions of its growth and well-
being in the intercourse of mind with mind and
heart with heart. It neither finds its proper nour-
ishment, nor attains its proper end, without some-
thing above and beyond that which feeds the body.
As its own peculiar powers and affections are
higher and more inward than the life of the body,
so it seeks in the world around it for that which
has also a higher life and a kindred heart. It loves
only that which can return its love. It opens the
deep fountain of its joy and sorrow, the sacred
source of smiles and tears, only to that kindred
power whose presence it recognizes in the expres-
sion of a human eye, and in the tones of a human
voice. It speaks, it utters forth a thought, a word,
out of its inner world of thought, only to that
which has also its inner world, and understands,
and utters back, a word. This it is, and this
alone, which can call forth, and feed with food con-
venient for it, the inner soul, the mind and heart
of man. This is the provision which it needs, and
which again it must have, as the condition of its
moral and intellectual life, of its truly becoming a
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 515
human soul. And here, too, who will not recog-
nize the wisdom and goodness of the same all-
wise and bountiful Giver, in the rich supply for
these wants also, which, without our agency or
care, we find thrown around us. From the very
dawn of our existence, we are compassed about by
his care. As he supplies the wants of the body,
so he satisfieth the longing soul, and filleth the
hungry soul with goodness.
The world which our souls need, is the world
in which we live and move from infancy to age.
Look at the infant upon its mother's bosom. Does
it seek there for the food which nourishes its body,
believing as it were, with at least an implied and
undoubting faith, that He who gave it life has
made provision for its wants ? With the same
earnest seeking, and a like urgent need, does its
eye search for that which is necessary to the high-
er ends of its being, to the powers and capacities,
the dawning affections and sympathies of a human
soul. And lo ! this too it has found already there,
and beaming upon it in the look of a mother's love.
There, in alternate smiles and tears, and in those
tones which come from the heart and reach the
heart, it has found the provision which it needs.
It has found that which awakens and cherishes
the inward attributes of humanity. Thus, by all
the expressions of human kindness, the correspond-
ing affections are awakened and cultivated. How
soon, too, is the faculty of thought and of speech
excited and nourished by the sounds of our mother
tongue, and the mind brought into communion
516 man's need of christ.
with other minds ! This stage in the develope-
ment of our powers once gained, the wants and
purposes of the heart converted into thoughts, and
thoughts into words, how rapidly are those wants
multiplied, and how eagerly do we seek in the world
around us for the objects which they require !
These we find, according to our need, from child-
hood to youth, and from youth to manhood, in the
intercourse of kindred minds ; in the sentiments,
the passions and purposes which are manifested
around us and nourish our own. By all that en-
virons us in the sphere of humanity, the various
institutions of civilized society, the conflict of in-
terests and passions in which we are involved from
day to day, and especially by the treasures of
thought in the language which we inherit, the
powers of our own inward being are called forth
and their wants supplied. By these, as the out-
ward means and conditions, we, too, come to the
conscious possession and enjoyment of all that per-
tains to the social and intellectual life of man.
We, too, become prepared to exhibit the character
and to act the part of men, in the duties and re-
sponsibilities of human life.
Thus the individual man is the nursling of hu-
manity. As the life of his body is nourished in
the lap of nature, and seeks its proper food in the
material elements around it, so the soul is embos-
omed in the human world, which a never-failing
and all-comprehending Providence has made ready
and suited to its foreseen necessities. In this it
lives and grows, breathing the atmosphere of hu-
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 517
man affections, and feeding on human thoughts.
And how should our souls glow with special grat-
itude to God, that we have had our birth in a world
so richly fraught with provisions for the supply of ^
all their need ! Above and around us, in the rec-
ords of the past, in the interests and movements
of the present, and in the hopes and fears awak-
ened by the impending future, we have enough to *^
call forth all our energies. The manifold exam-
ples of great and good men in all the departments
of human action, are held forth to our view, and
shed down their influences upon us as stars in the
constellations of the firmament. We inhale an
atmosphere of domestic and social affections, in-
vigorated by the free institutions of our fathers,
and still retaining something at least of the higher
and healthier tone which it received from their
Christian spirit. We inherit and may feed upon
the accumulated treasures of ancient wisdom, and
we have the language of Shakspeare and Milton
for our mother tongue. V
By these illustrations, which may seem, I am
aware, unnecessarily prolonged, I have endeavored
to render intelligible what was stated as a univer-
sal law, and to furnish at least the means of better
understanding its application in the case before us.
In the last example, especially, which for this rea-
son has been exhibited so much at length, I have
aimed to advance the main purpose of the argu-
ment, by showing that we are endued with powers
of action, of enjoyment and suffering, which,
though they have their adequate objects and may (/
j
518 man's need OF CHRIST.
attain their proper end in this world, are yet unde-
niably of a higher nature than those of our mere
sensual life, and require, as the outward condition
of attaining that end, objects in like manner above
the proper sphere of sense. For the powers
there exhibited, as constituting the true life of
man in the relations of human society, pertain not
to the outward life of the body, but to the inward
life of consciousness. Conscious feelings and af-
fections, thoughts and purposes, belonging to the
inner world, distinguish the refined and cultivated
member of civil society from the brute or the sav-
age ; and these have the conditions of their devel-
opement, not properly in the material objects of
sense, though it be through the medium of sense
and especially by the ministry of words, but in
that which in like manner belongs to, and comes
forth from, the inner world of humanity ; that
world of conscious being, that place of understand-
ing, which, in the language of Job, is hid from the
eyes of all living, and kept close from the fowls of
the air. If the true character, and outward relations
of what has been thus exhibited, be borne in mind,
it may serve in many ways to aid our conceptions
of the leading subjects before us.
With the aid of these illustrations, then, let us
follow up the inquiry, what is that in the character
and condition of men, on the ground of which he
has need of Christ ? What powers are to be un-
folded, and what wants to be supplied, which are
not yet provided for by the rich and abundant
blessings which are thrown around us, as we have
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 519
seen, in the material world, and in the society of
our fellow men? The difficulty of answering
these questions arises chiefly from the fact, that in
most men the powers and capacities referred to
are not so fully awakened and called into action
that they are distinctly conscious of their need.
Instead of opening their minds to the contempla-
tion of those higher and ultimate ends which are
prescribed by the original law of their being, and
in reference to which the need properly exists,
they limit their view to those worldly and selfish
ends which they have proposed, and are striving
moreover to satisfy the partial cravings of which
they have become conscious, in the pursuit of an
inferior and worldly good. They are ignorant of
what they are, in respect to the highest dignity
and capacity of their being, and consequently igno-
rant, both of their wants, and of the appropriate and
abundant provision which here too is made for
their supply. But let us endeavor, with all ear-
nestness, to understand the meaning of our Sa-
viour, when, disparaging, as it were, those abun-
dant provisions for the supply of our various wants,
which we have been contemplating, as well as the
human pageantry around him, he directs us to him-
self for the supply of our most urgent need. This,
indeed, as in regard to our more temporary and
superficial wants, we cannot do fully, unless our
minds are awakened to a practical sense of that
need. Yet, by a reference to those powers and
capacities of our nature of which I have before
spoken, and to that which every one will recog-
520 man's need of chhist.
nize in his own consciousness, we may see that
we have within us a still higher, and, if I may use
the expression, more inward power, and that this
too requires its corresponding object, and seeks its
proper end. Strictly speaking, no man is unaware
t/S of the power to which I refer. We recognize its
presence in ourselves, and in our fellow men, as
paramount to the powers of nature, even of our
own human nature, and connecting us with a
higher sphere of being. We cannot but be famil-
iar indeed with its existence, and its essential
character ; for it is not only the most inward and
central principle of our consciousness, but mani-
fests its presence in all the outward relations of
man. It is only because it is one with our personal
being, strictly identified with the individual con-
sciousness of every man, that, like the pulsation of
our hearts and the unconscious breathing of the
breath of life, it escapes our notice, and is so diffi-
cult to be apprehended aright. But however un-
conscious we may be of its inherent necessities,
and blind to its own proper end, we yield to it
still in a certain sense the prerogative which it
claims, and submit all our other powers to its con-
v/ trol. For it is that in us which is capable of hav-
ing, and claims to assert, a purpose of its own, in
distinction from the subject appetites and propen-
sities of nature, and in distinction, too, from those
social and intellectual tendencies to which I have
referred. It is that to which we habitually refer
and impute the deliberate acts and purposes of a
man, as the controlling principle within him. It
at
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 521
is the man within the man. It is that by virtue ^
of which we are capable of self-cultivation, of self-
knowledge, and self-control. It is, in a word, that
principle, whatever we may call it, of free, self-
conscious and personal being, by which man is
placed in connexion with the spiritual world, and
has wants which cannot find their appropriate ob-
jects in the world of sense and in the compass of ^y
nature. It is that which is properly meant by the
spirit in man, in distinction from all that pertains
to his sensual nature and the world of sense. Now
the point I wish, if possible, to make clear to your
apprehension, is, that what we here speak of, is
truly a distinguishable and higher power, in its re-
lation to those which find their adequate objects in
the world around us, and requires at the same time,
according to the meaning of our Saviour and the
general principle before illustrated, a good out of
itself, and adapted to its higher wants. The pow-
ers of our sensual nature, we have seen, have their
appropriate objects in the material world. The
appetites of hunger and thirst, by which the wants
of organic life are manifested, eagerly seek their
appropriate supply in the objects of sense, and in
the enjoyment of these rest and are satisfied, as
with their proper good. So, too, in the higher
sphere of our natural human affections, and of all
those powers of human nature which find their
proper objects in the corresponding powers and
affections of our fellow-men, the same principle
holds true. In the confiding intercourse of friends,
in the free interchange of thought and of social
66
522 man's need of christ.
affections, but especially in the relations of the
domestic circle, the mind rests and is satisfied, as
^ with objects suited to its nature. But what is
that power, and its true objects and ends, by which,
in the exercise of a still higher prerogative, we
control these powers and capacities of our nature,
and indulge or repress, use or abuse them, at will ?
Our natural appetites are easily satisfied, and, left
to the law of their own nature, act in accordance
t/ with, and rest in, their proper end. But the epi-
cure pampers and stimulates his appetites, that he
may make them the instruments of his self-pro-
posed and capricious enjoyments. The demon of
ambition sweeps away from its' path the affections
and charities of social and even of domestic life,
represses the instincts of nature, and makes hu-
man life itself subordinate to an arbitrary will,
Nay, for all purposes, of good as well as evil,
man asserts the authority and control of his per-
sonal will over the powers and affections of his
nature. In the strength of its high preroga-
tive he makes them the obedient ministers of its
purpose, and subject to its law. He excites and
urges on the storm of unbridled passions, or arrests
its course, and says to their warring elements,
Peace, be still. The strong agonies of nature are
hushed by his mandate, and the humble Christian
in the midst of consuming fire can hold its out-
breaking terrors in quiet submission to his will.
It was the martyr at the stake who doomed his
own right hand to the hottest flame, and cried
with his last breath, as he held it unfaltering there,
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 523
This hand has offended, this wicked hand has
offended. /
But this power itself, the man in the energy of
that personal will which thus imposes its .immiti-
gable law upon a reluctant but subject nature, and
makes the highest ends of nature subservient to its
own, what are its ends, and the means of attain-
ing them ? With what scope and for what pur-
pose does it employ its higher energies, and those
subordinate powers which obey its mandate ? Is
it to seek and find these, in that very sphere of na-
ture over which it claims such a prerogative ? But
the ends of nature, with the outward means of at-
taining them, as they become known in our expe-
rience and consciousness, are, as we have seen, va-'^
rious and manifold. Every distinguishable power
and affection here has its own appropriate craving,
and in the fulness of that world which God has so
amply stored for our use, it finds its distinct and pro-
per object and consequent gratification. Are the
ends and the objects of that supernatural power,
then, identical with these, equally numerous and di- >
verse ? But as a personal and self-conscious pow-
er, it places itself, as it were, in distinct and indi-
visible unity, at an equal remove from all these ;
present, indeed, in a certain and important sense,
to all, but becoming identical with none. Can we,
then, as personal beings, choose among the endless
solicitations and propensities of nature, and arbi-
trarily make to ourselves an end which we can
steadfastly pursue ? And will this be our true, our
destined and ultimate end ? Or can we attain our
524 man's need of christ.
own proper end, through the appointed means, by
yielding to every solicitation of natural appetite,
and thus losing ourselves in the infinite dispersion
and manifoldness of nature ?
These questions are forced upon us by what w r e
see of the actual condition and conduct of man.
For, turning away from the one only true and ulti-
mate end to which he was destined, and in which
alone the powers of his spiritual and personal be-
ing can rest, he seeks his changing and inconstant
purposes, and strives to find an end that may sat-
isfy him, among the appetites, the passions and
propensities of his nature. Disappointed in his
search, in perpetual disquiet and vexation of spirit,
and changing his self-proposed ends with the ever-
varying solicitations of appetite and passion, he re-
mains fixed to no end ; and if he were, it is still
within the sphere of his lower nature, and his
spirit is in bondage to its law. Thus estranged
from his true end, and blind or indifferent, as he
must be, to that spiritual good which is the out-
ward condition of its attainment, he regards and
pursues only that which is fitted to satisfy the in-
ferior wants, and minister to the sensual or at most
to the social gratifications of nature. These he
covets and accumulates with ceaseless anxiety.
Still restless and unsatisfied, he still cherishes his
delusion, and strives to satiate the inward cravings
of his soul for a higher and enduring good, w 7 ith
the fleeting phantoms of sense, and the unsubstan-
tial possessions and enjoyments of that world, the
fashion whereof passeth away.
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 525
But neither in the ends nor objects of the natu-
ral world can the spirit of man rest. Though fallen
from a right apprehension and pursuit of its true
end, and too often unconscious and consequently
undesirous of that which constitutes its appropri-
ate good, it yet finds by experience, that what it
actually seeks, falls short of its aspirations ; and
that no finite and worldly good can fill the com-
pass of its desires. How should it indeed be oth-
erwise ? The inherent tendencies and wants of
animal life are not satisfied, nor do its powers find
their appropriate objects and sphere of action, in
the obscure form of vegetable life, to which, in the
first- months of its existence, it is limited. It must
open its eyes to the light, and its ears to the mu-
sic of sounds. It must expand its own lungs to
the vital air, reach forth its hands to that which
its eye sees, and walk abroad in this world of
sense. Neither, as we have already seen, can the
powers of that higher life by which our human
nature is distinguished from that of the brute, find
their proper objects and the conditions of their ex-
istence in the mere life of sense. They seek in
the higher sphere of humanity the objects which
correspond to their own nature, and in and by these
they live and attain their predestined ends. Equally
impossible is it that the spiritual power of which
we are speaking should find its needed good and
attain its proper end in a sphere below itself, or in
the whole compass of the life of nature. It has
its own distinct and proper end, which no capri-
cious and arbitrary purpose of its own can ever
526 man's need of christ.
change, fixed by a law which it cannot annul. In
the inward principle of its being, it is essentially
above the powers of our animal nature ; and the
end towards which it is borne, is equally above and
beyond the sphere of our worldly life. How then
can it gain that end, and find the rest and happi-
ness, which, by a law of inward necessity, it still
seeks, while grovelling in a lower sphere, groping
for light in the thick darkness, and hunting through
the realms of nature for that which shall give rest
to the spirit ? The depth saith, it is not in me ;
and the sea saith, it is not with me. It cannot be
gotten for gold, neither shall silver be weighed for
the price thereof.
V There pertains, then, to the soul of man, a spir-
itual power and essence, which transcends the
powers of our inferior nature, having its own dis-
tinct and necessary end ; and that end cannot be
attained within the sphere of sense, nor by means
of those outward objects which are the conditions
of our natural and worldly life. In turning away
from nature, then, and distinguishing itself from
those inferior powers which seek in the objects of
this world the conditions of their existence, can it
find in itself that which it needs for the attainment
, of its end ? Can it place itself, in the confidence
of stoic pride, aloof from nature, and claim to have
in the resources of its own inward being a self-
sufficing good ? In the strength of its own self-
reliance, can it exclude and repel the sense of all
outward dependence, and attain its end by its
own self-productive and unnourished energies ?
V
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 527
To these questions, reason and experience, so
far as our conscious experience can reach the case,
give the same answer. Though we may be un-
conscious of our need,* as the brutified savage is
ignorant of any wants but those of his physical ex-
istence, there is yet a need there, without the sup-
ply of which the life of the spirit is but a living
death, a mere negation of its true spiritual life.
It is a ceaseless hungering and thirsting, an aching
void, a hollow depth of inward poverty and want,
which only its own suitable and infinite good can
supply. For what we need, must be an adequate
and suitable good. It must be that which has a
specific relation to our inward necessities, and to
our proper and ultimate end. And how imperative,
whether we know it or not, how inseparable from
the inward law of our spiritual being, is that ne-
cessity, which commands us to go out of ourselves,
to forsake the resources of our own strength, to
deny the pride and self-reliance of our own self-
wills, and to seek the conditions of blessedness in ^
that which is more and higher than man ! Thus,
in accordance with the universal law before illus-
trated, the finite spirit of man, like all other finite
and creaturely existences, is insufficient of itself
for its own end. According to the distinctive char-
acter of its inward being, it needs, and must have,
that which is suited to call forth and feed with
food convenient for it, its powers of spiritual life. O"
For, as the life of sense does not truly exist, till
we breathe the air and behold the light of this
world of sense, and as we have the empty capacity,
528 man's need of christ.
but not the actual possession and enjoyment of our
higher social and human affections, without the
surrounding aspects and influences of humanity, so
till we are raised above the life of nature, till we
are awakened to a higher life by the objects of
that spiritual world to which we properly belong,
and by which in our inward consciousness we find
ourselves forever environed, we have only the
capacity, not the possession, of true spiritual life.
For what is the mere naked and arbitrary will of
man, uninspired and unarmed with inward and
spiritual strength, however terrific it may be by the
accidental possession and control of vast physical
power ? It may, indeed, for the time, and so long
as its physical resources continue, excite the won-
der and admiration of those who look only at the
world of sense ; but it has no inward life, no true
spiritual vigor, no enduring power, and accom-
plishes nothing that can endure. The will and
the cherished purposes of the most powerful and
crafty of despots, so far as they are unsustained
by a higher principle of abiding truth and right-
eousness, can be effective only for a limited time
and to the extent of his physical arm. Strip him
of his outward physical force, and in that very day
his thoughts perish. Thus the true life and power
of the spirit must be an inward life and power ;
and to attain this, it must be fed and nourished
with appropriate food, must breathe the air and
walk in the light of the spiritual world. As our
human affections are developed and strengthened
by that which is human, so the life of the spirit is
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 529
nourished and sustained by that alone which is
spiritual. Here, then, is the inward ground of
that need to which our Saviour refers, when he in-
vites us to come unto him and receive the waters
of life.
But however clearly we may be convinced of
our need, the question may still very naturally
arise, Why should we go to Christ for its supply ?
What is there in the distinctive character of the
wants of our spiritual being, so far as they are in-
dicated in our conscious experience, that should
lead us to expect in and from him a corresponding
good ? These questions find indeed a partial an-
swer, yet one, for the most part, of only a nega-
tive character, in the views already presented.
What more distinct indications do we find in our
inward experience, to determine the specific char-
acter 'of our wants ? Here, again, it is obvious
that only in proportion as we are excited to earn-
est reflection, and to a full and practical sense of
our need as a matter of our own experience, can
we be made to understand clearly what it is, or
what Christ is as suited for its supply. Yet there
are facts in the consciousness of all men, abun-
dantly sufficient to make known to them their ne-
cessities, and to guide them to Christ. The law,
says St. Paul, is our schoolmaster to bring us to
Christ ; and the same apostle asserts that all men
have a knowledge of that law. The law revealed
in the conscience of every man, is for us the ne-
cessary condition of all spiritual knowledge. How
much, too, of spiritual truth, and of what infinite
67
f*
530 man's need of christ.
moment for us, is manifested in the simple fact of
conscience ; so simple, yet so central and so full of
light ! By it we know ourselves, and in its au-
thoritative law we have the essential and immuta-
ble law of our own spiritual being, and that which
prescribes its true and ultimate end. What is it
but this law, consciously revealed in the soul of
every man, that makes for us the absolute and im-
mutable distinction between right and wrong, and
commands us to do right, to obey the truth, to
love holiness? But to come nearer the point at
which I was aiming, it is undeniable, and a truth
of highest import, that the consciousness of a holy
and perfect law, in proportion as it is reflected
upon and becomes practically efficient in our minds,
fills them at the same time with apprehensions of
God, and an inalienable conviction of his exist-
ence, as a just, a righteous and holy God. It
opens, as it were, the eye of the soul to behold
the light of the spiritual world, and directs it to
the contemplation of God as the Sun of that world,
the eternal centre and source of its light. Thus,
in prescribing the law of our spiritual being, and
in it the ultimate end for the attainment of which
it imperatively commands us to strive, the con-
science directs us to God. For what is our end,
as prescribed by the law of conscience, but to be
Godlike ? Thus the ideas of a holy God, and of
our own duty and end, are inseparable from each
other ; and it is the first and great commandment,
that we love the Lord our God with all our hearts,
with all our souls, and with all our mind. There
t
fr
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 531
is and can be no higher or holier law than this.
To contradict this law, to resist that in which our
inmost consciousness reveals and affirms itself as
absolutely and immutably good, is sin, is spiritual
evil. A sense of our imperative obligation, there-
fore, to obey and to fulfil this law of righteousness,
to realize in our own personal and spiritual being
that truth and holiness which we contemplate as
the glory and perfection of God, points us to our
true end, and is intimately connected with our need
of Christ.
But let me remark again, as another fact, al-
ready contained in what was before said, but more
practically revealed in our consciousness, that the
light of conscience makes known to us our own
character as sinners. For in turning ourselves
away from our true end, and subjecting our spirit-
ual being to the law of our sensual nature and to
the w T orld of sense, as was represented, we have
estranged ourselves from God, and live in the vio-
lation of his law. The law commands us, and
enforces its authority with fearful forebodings, to
love God, and to serve him in spirit and in truth.
But our hearts are by nature averse to God, and
choose none of his ways. Thus we find ourselves
at the same time responsible to God, and violators
of his law. We find ourselves guilty and misera-
ble sinners, estranged from God, and in need of
reconciliation to him. This we learn by the law ;
but neither that law nor the devices of our own
hearts can justify us to our consciences, or in the
sight of God. We are in bondage to the world,
532 man's need of christ.
enslaved to the law and service of our inferior na-
tures. We need to be delivered from that thral-
dom, that we may freely obey the inward law of
the spirit. We are without true spiritual life, our
eyes not yet opened to a direct beholding of the
things of the spirit. We need the quickening of
a spiritual power, we need the bread and the water
of spiritual life, that our souls may live. And what
is that which can thus nourish and promote the
growth of our spiritual life, but that to which our
spiritual being is preconformed ? What is it but
manifested truth and righteousness; that which
has in it the power and the life of the spirit ? This
it is, inwrought and received, as the inwardly
nourishing and sustaining power and life of our
personal being, that can alone satisfy our wants,
make us at peace with ourselves, and reconcile us
unto God. By contemplating these particulars in
respect to the nature of our wants, we may under-
stand, in some measure, what objects are suited
for their supply, and appreciate the blessings that
are proffered in Christ.
Once more I remark in this connexion, that as
our needful good, and the condition of spiritual
life in our souls, we require, in the object of our
spiritual intercourse and contemplation, a personal
being. If, in relation to our human affections, as
pertaining to social existence, it is the expression
of self-conscious and personal intelligence, and of
moral qualities as connected with a personal will,
which essentially fixes our regard and nourishes
our human powers and affections, much more, in
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 533
the highest concentration of our spiritual energies
upon their highest object, must that object be per-
sonal. It is the inalienable law of conscience, that
we love God with all the heart, and soul, and mind.
It is the first and great commandment. Has he
then no heart ? Has he no personal and self-con-
scious existence ? If not, then is prayer but a
mockery, and conscience a dream. But we are
told that truth, and goodness, and holiness, are the
objects of love ; and by the contemplation of these,
we are to be nourished and attain the end of our
being. What then are these, and how are they
possible objects of contemplation and love, except
as pertaining to the personality of Him that is true,
of Him that is good, and of Him who alone is
holy ? Can we pour out our supreme affections,
and pay the devout homage of our hearts, to a
homeless abstraction ? Can our souls cleave with
inward affection to a law of central forces, and love
the power of gravity ? Shall we, then, seek these
objects of devout and religious contemplation in
our own personal being, and in that of our fellow-
men ? Alas ! could we but find them there, and
not rather a lie in their stead. Away, then, with
the hollow and profane delusions of Atheism, and
let us, with St. Paul, love, and worship, and adore
the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.
But these views are designed more especially to
demonstrate our need of Christ, according to the
second and less obvious meaning which I ascribed
to his language in the text. Would that I could
awaken that actual sense of need, and that con-
534 man's need of christ.
scious longing and thirsting for the waters of life,
to which his gracious invitation had a more direct
reference. Except as it awakens the mind to re-
flection, and so leads to this, all speculative truth
in religion is indeed but an empty show, and all
preaching vain. In what I have said in the pre-
vious parts of this discourse, I have endeavored to
show, that the earnest and loud cry of our Saviour,
as he stood upon the threshold of that temple, and
in the ears of that vast multitude, was not without
cause. I have endeavored to make it evident, on
no superficial grounds of conviction, that he who
thus claimed the attention of men, knew what was
in man. I have aimed to render in some degree
intelligible, the inward ground and reality, and
something of the character of those wants which
should lead us to Christ, as the truth and the life,
as the suitable and adequate good for their supply.
But it is, after all, chiefly by looking into your own
hearts, by listening to the voice of your own con-
sciences, and turning your eyes to the light of
spiritual truth, which is always radiant there, that
you are to know, and understand, and receive the
truth, so as to be benefitted thereby. There, if
you are faithful with your own souls, and banish
all false delusions from your minds, you will find,
that you are truly in need of Christ. You will be
conscious of the hungering and thirsting of your
inmost spirit after that spiritual good, which alone
can fill the capacious void. You will there learn
more than all books can teach you, of that root of
bitterness in the heart, which the divine power of
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 535
Christ alone can extract ; of that disease of the
will, which he alone can heal. It is only there
that you can fully know, and there only by slow
degrees, the depths of your guilt and alienation
from God ; that you can truly understand the rela-
tion to your crying necessities of that glorious pro-
vision which is made for their supply, and be
awakened to any due sense of grateful acknowl-
edgement, that the same God whose hand supplies
the daily and hourly wants of our bodies, and
whose higher care has surrounded us with provis-
ions for the larger capacities of our nature, has
here too appeared in the highest manifestation of
his love, to deliver our souls from death. Would
that we might all so feel and understand our own
lost and ruined condition, the depth and the char-
acter of our poverty and want, as to adore that
love which passeth knowledge, and rightly to ap-
preciate and desire the riches of the glory of that
inheritance which is laid up in Christ for all them
that believe. And let us remember that this will
soon be not only our chiefest, but our only want.
These eyes will soon cease to require the light of
the sun, and the vital air will be nothing to us.
Nay, the higher wants of our human nature, those
connecting us with our fellow men, by the noblest
and the strongest ties of mere human affection,
must cease, and their objects no longer be sought.
For, in the expressive language of the apostle,
This I say, brethren, the time is short. It remain-
eth, that both they that have wives, be as though
they had none ; and they that weep, as though
536 man's need of christ.
they wept not ; and they that rejoice, as though
they rejoiced not ; and they that buy, as though
they possessed not ; and they that use this world,
as not abusing it ; for the fashion of this world
passeth away. But when shall we cease to need
those objects which are connected with the attain-
ment of our highest and ultimate end, as spiritual
and personal beings ? When will the inward eye
of the soul cease to require the presence of Him
who is the light of the spiritual world ? All those
powers that properly belong to our nature, have
their growth and decay, their highest point of de-
velopement, their revolving periods, and their ap-
pointed bounds, which they cannot pass. But
what periods are determined, and what bounds are
appointed, in the possible existence of that super-
natural and self-conscious being in respect to
which we are said to be made in the image and
after the likeness of God ? Who shall assign lim-
its to the capacity for its appropriate good, and the
need of its continual supply, or to the destined en-
largement and expansion of that soul whose
thoughts not only wander through, but essay to
grasp and comprehend immensity and eternity, and
whose desires can be filled with nothing less than
Cod-2 .'', /. . <-'
How happy, then, yea, how blessed of God are
they, who, awakened from the lethargy of sense,
to a consciousness of what they are, and of what
they need, and quickened to spiritual life, have
sought for and have found an adequate spiritual
good, and suited to their now conscious desires !
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 537
It is then only, indeed, according to the language
of the apostle, that we can know the things that
are freely given to us of God, when we have re-
ceived the spirit which is of God. It is only by
the power of a higher spiritual principle of life
within, that we can either rightly apprehend, or
truly desire and appropriate to ourselves, the abun-
dant spiritual blessings which are so freely proffer-
ed for our acceptance. But those in whom this
power is awakened as an actual living power in
the soul, necessarily desire and seek for and re-
cognize its corresponding good. Where spiritual
life exists, in other words, there is a consequent
hungering and thirsting for spiritual food. There,
too, is a just and true apprehension of those ob-
jects that correspond to our spiritual wants, as
suited to nourish and unfold the powers of spiritual
life, as being indeed the highest and only absolute
good. The natural man receiveth not the things
of the Spirit of God, neither can he know them ;
but he that is spiritual, judgeth all things, and has
his senses exercised to discern both good and evil.
Thus, with appropriate agencies inseparable from
the existence of spiritual life in the soul, those who
are born of God open the eye of faith to appre-
hend the objects of the spiritual world, and not
only need, but consciously desire and long for spir-
itual good, as the proper nourishment of that in-
ward life. To satisfy its cravings, no sensual or
worldly good can suffice. Nor is it the mere
vague desire of happiness, which is inseparable
from all conscious existence, that distinguishes
68
538
MAN'S NEED OF CHRIST.
them. They seek for truth as their proper object,
as the eye seeks for the light of the sun. They
hunger and thirst after righteousness, as having
the same relation to the inward life of the spirit,
which bread holds to the outward life of the body.
As the powers of spiritual life also transcend, in
their essential character and destiny, the powers
of our natural life, so should the desires which
grow out of them and the conscious necessity of
attaining the proper objects of those desires be
more intense and prevalent than all the cravings
of our inferior nature. Thus it would seem but a
matter of necessity that in the awakened con-
sciousness of spiritual life, the soul should cleave
to the things that are spiritual, whatever other
objects of desire might be torn from its grasp. It
cannot but desire and strive for the possession of
these, with more earnestness of purpose than for
all that pertains to the sphere of our worldly life.
In the awakened energy of that higher principle
which cometh from above, and is now received as
the inward principle of its life, it breaks through,
as it were, and dissipates the forms which pertain
to the outward life of sense, dissolves or trans-
forms into its own image and likeness all the bonds
of natural interest and affection, and with the eye
of faith still contemplating its appropriate objects,
desires and pursues them as of paramount and in-
dispensable necessity. These it must have, though
to attain them it should encounter evils from
which all the powers of our nature shrink with
amazement and terror. These it must have, though
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 539
it deny father and mother and wife and children ;
though not merely a right hand and a right eye
should be sacrificed, but the body be doomed to the
rage of wild beasts or to the consuming flame. And
these are the objects of desire, for the attainment of
which Christ invites us to himself in the language
of the text : If any man thirst, let him come unto
me and drink. He that cometh unto me shall
never hunger, and he that believeth on me shall
never thirst.
3. With these views of the grounds of our re-
lation to Christ, as they exist in the inherent char-
acter and condition of man, and of the specific in-
dications of our need which manifest themselves
in the different states of our inward life and con-
sciousness, I proceed, as was proposed in the third
place, to consider more directly what Christ is, as
corresponding to that relation and suited to our
spiritual wants. To this we are directly led by
the terms of his invitation as already explained.
For he not only refers to our need of a higher and
spiritual good, but directs us to himself for its at-
tainment. He proffers himself as a fountain of
living waters, able to quench that thirst which the
waters of Siloa could not allay. He claims to
possess and hold forth for our acceptance, provis-
ions for that spiritual need which we have been
contemplating, and for which, as we have seen, the
realms of nature furnish no adequate or appropri-
ate supply. If, then, that need be such and so
great as 1 have endeavored to show it, we may
well inquire, with all earnestness, who and what is
540 man's need of Christ.
Christ, his hidden treasures of wisdom and knowl-
edge, and the resources of his power, that he
should thus direct us to himself, and that we should
trust in and obey his word ? What are the attri-
butes of his character, and under what form are
they manifested to meet the essential and univer-
sal wants of our spiritual being ? What is he rel-
atively to our wants as fallen beings, as sinners
under bondage to the law of nature and in a state
of spiritual death ? By what mysterious and re-
generating power of divine love working in Christ,
are we to be renewed and reconciled to God ?
And again, for those who are born of the Spirit,
and by faith brought into spiritual communion with
Christ, what are the provisions to be found in him
that they may grow in grace, and that in their
creaturely dependence and conscious insufficiency
of themselves for the attainment of their prescribed
end, he may become the substance of their spirit-
ual strength, the bread of life to their souls ?
In answering these questions, I shall aim, as the
general method of the discourse requires, to show
what Christ is, simply with reference to those
wants, the inherent grounds of which I have al-
ready exhibited- It is only, indeed, in their im-
mediate and specific relation to each other, that
the objects corresponding to those wants, or even
the wants themselves, can be distinctly and truly
known. For as we could not know the distinc-
tive character of the wants that pertain to the fac-
ulties and organs of respiration and of seeing, nor
the nature of air and light as the outward condi-
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 541
tions of their exercise and the objects correspond-
ing to those wants, otherwise than by the experi-
ence of their specific relations to each other, so
here we can have a distinct knowledge of the
wants that pertain to our inmost spiritual being,
and of Christ as the object corresponding to those
wants, only in their immediate and experienced
relations to each other as manifested within the
sphere of our consciousness. They are what they
are, as objects of knowledge and of interest for
us, by virtue of those relations. In showing what
Christ is, therefore, in relation to our spiritual
wants, as we may recognize his presence in differ-
ent states of our inward consciousness, the nature
of our wants also will be made more distinct than
when separately considered.
In the first place, then, I remark, that in the
earliest dawn of our self-consciousness, or of our
existence as spiritual beings, and at every stage in
the developement of our spiritual powers, we find
ourselves in connexion with a spiritual world, and
the manifested presence in our consciousness of
that which has a necessary relation to our own
spirits. That in us by which we are raised above
the blind mechanism of instinct and made capable
of a conscious purpose of free and responsible ac-
tion, truly exists, indeed, in its distinctive and pro-
per character, no otherwise than as that spiritual
presence which is the outward condition of its self-
conscious agency, is manifested to and exists for
it. In other words, as the faculty of sight can act,
and as we can know that we possess it, only with
542
MAN'S NEED OF CHRIST.
the presence of its proper medium, so it is with
our spiritual powers. As all men, too, in all con-
ditions of their existence, are still spiritual and ac-
countable beings, so to all is vouchsafed the pres-
ence of that which is spiritual. That God, who,
as we have seen, has so richly provided for all our
natural wants, and who styles himself, in a pecu-
liar sense, the Father of spirits, could not desert
us in our highest need ; nor has he failed to pro-
vide and to manifest in the consciousness of all
men, that which constitutes their highest good.
On his part is the same infinite freeness and ful-
ness in providing, always and for all, that which
corresponds to our spiritual need, as in satisfying
our inferior wants. If we fail to "recognize its
presence and to rejoice in it as the light and life of
our souls, we show thereby but the debasement
and perverseness of our own wills. That of which
I speak as the gift of God and having a specific
relation to our spiritual being, is still there in all
its fulness and in all its glory, and manifests itself
to us as we turn ourselves to it. It is still there,
a living presence, unchangeable, while all things
change ; and the more we open our minds to re-
ceive it, the more does it impart to us of that ful-
ness which is sufficient for all and overfloweth.
The more we think of it, too, the more do we find
it to possess a reality out of ourselves and above
ourselves, yet inseparable from our own permanent
being.
What I have thus described, every man, who is
not wholly void of reflection, will recognize as
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 543
present to his own consciousness in that of which
I have before spoken, as the manifested light and
law of conscience. We cannot but find it in that
presence of immutable truth, which, though we
may hold it in unrighteousness, still makes known
to us its existence, and reveals in our conscious-
ness, at the same time, its rectitude, and the per-
verseness of our wills, its purity and holiness, and
our inward pollution. And what, then, is the pres-
ence which we thus recognize, but the spiritual
provision which God has made and manifested to
our inward consciousness, corresponding to the
essential character, and suited to the inherent and
essential wants, of our finite spirits ? What is
it, but that true light, which lighteth every
man that cometh into the world ? What is it,
but the necessary form in which God manifests
himself to the spiritual intuition of his rational
creatures, as the proper and only adequate object
of desire and love ; as that towards which our
souls should turn with unceasing joy, as the eye
turns to the light of the sun ? Can we regard it
otherwise than as that divine Word, which was in
the beginning, and by which has still been ut-
tered in the consciousness of every human soul,
the absolute and unchangeable truth of God ? Why
should we not regard it as that first-born of the
Father of spirits, wherein is manifested, from eter-
nity, the perfection of his own glory ; and which
again, to as many as receive it, communicates of
the riches of that glory, according to their capacity
and their need ? So, and so only, can we represent
544 man's need of christ.
to our minds the universal and necessary relation
subsisting between our spiritual being and its cor-
responding and appropriate good. For that good
is the ultimate, the highest and absolute good of
our souls, and nothing less than God. So only can
we adequately and truly represent it, whether we
look to the immediate testimony of our own con-
sciousness, or to the highest efforts and attainments
of speculative wisdom, or to the revealed word of
God.
Thus we find, as it were, for the original and
essential being and relations of our finite spirits,
their own appropriate and glorious provision for
the attainment of their proper end. The same
God who has provided the various powers and ca-
pacities of our animal life with a convenient good,
and surrounded us with objects corresponding to
our human affections, has here too, in the sphere
of our personal and self-conscious being, manifest-
ed that light of divine truth, that power of the di-
vine word, that law of righteousness and true holi-
ness, which are, for it, both the means and the
end, the way, the truth, and the life. These, for
every soul of man, as manifested in our inward
consciousness, and proffered for our reception, that
we may grow thereby to spiritual strength, are
free as the air we breathe, more free and more
universal than the light of the sun. As the nat-
ural eye, too, by which we look abroad upon the
world of sense, is no sooner opened than it is filled
with light, and sees all things illuminated with its
beams, so that higher power of vision by which we
I
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 545
contemplate a self-conscious purpose, and direct
our minds to the accomplishment of an end, and
act with reference to the absent and the future, by
which we look into the vastness of infinity, and
embrace, in its wide compass and far-reaching
scope, what no finite boundaries can limit nor re-
volving periods terminate, this power too has its
light, the light of the spiritual world ; and if only
its eye be single, sees it appropriate objects and
is guided to its proper ends, by the clear illumina-
tions of truth and righteousness. Thus should
we walk in the light of distinct consciousness,
obeying with rejoicing hearts that divine Word,
that righteous and holy law which guides us to
our true end, which constitutes the true and essen-
tial law of our own spiritual being, and fills our
souls with their proper and all-sufficient good. If,
then, in view of these remarks, the question be
now asked, what is Christ in relation to the origi-
nal and inherent wants of our being as simply
spiritual and finite ? the answer is, that the same
manifestation of the divine being, which, according
to the Gospel of John, was in the beginning with
God ; the same Word which was made flesh and
dwelt among us, was, even from the beginning, as
manifested in the consciousness of all men, the
corresponding object, the appropriate good of our
personal being, and the outward condition for the
attainment of our proper end.
But it is only in the original purity and integri-
ty of our spiritual being, that the soul of man could
be represented as turning, of itself, towards what
69
546 man's need of christ.
is thus provided for it, and desiring it as its appro-
priate good. It is only the uncorrupted will, that
whose inward principle and law of action is iden-
tical with the divine will, which thus, in its own
original agency, chooses God for its portion and
acts in conformity with his law. Nor without
that integrity and uncorruptness of our own spirit-
ual being, can we conceive the manifestations of
the divine nature to our consciousness to appear
to us in their true character and in the fulness of
their own glory. How little indeed can we un-
derstand what would be our intercourse with God,
were there no obstruction on our part to his com-
munications of himself? If, with all our souls, in
the simplicity and integrity of that power by which
we are made capable of apprehending and receiv-
ing the things of God, we turned ourselves to that
of which I have spoken, as still manifesting some-
thing of his glory to the inward consciousness of
man, how quickly would it degrade in our minds
all the impressions of sense, and the sun itself be
darkened by the brightness of its everlasting light !
Were our minds but freely expanded to receive
them, as the opening flower expands its leaves to the
light and air, what boundless communications of
wisdom and knowledge, of goodness and truth, of
light and life and love, would perpetually flow in
upon us ! For to what end were we formed in
the image of God, and capable of spiritual good,
but that he might freely pour forth the treasures
of his goodness for our supply ? How, then, would
our souls be filled with the manifestation of his
MAM'S NEED OF CHRIST.
647
presence, and at once overwhelmed and upborne
with a sense of his all-pervading and all-sustaining
power. For if it be indeed true that in him we
live and move and have our being, what needs
there but to take away the veil from our inward
eye, that we may see and know how near we are
to God ? How infinite his condescension, how
boundless his love to the creatures of his power,
we may see indeed imperfectly by the eye of sense.
But it is only in the immediate manifestation of
his spiritual perfections, as recognized and con-
templated in our self-conscious and spiritual intui-
tions, that we can truly know what God is, and be
prepared rightly to apprehend the invisible things
of God in the order, beauty and harmony of the
material world. In the immediate and free spirit-
ual intercourse with that Word which was life, and
whose life was the light of man, for which we were
formed, how clear then would be our apprehension
of its living power and presence in our own souls,
and in the outward and visible world, as that by
which all things consist ! How freely to us would
its informing and sustaining power and life be im-
parted, awakening, exalting and strengthening all
the spiritual and vital energies of our souls, and
thus securing the attainment of our highest end
in the enjoyment of our only adequate good.
But such, though the original and rightful, is
not the actual relation between the powers of our
spiritual being and that inward manifestation of
God and the things of God which are its proper
objects. We have the evidence in ourselves that
548 man's weed of christ.
we are fallen beings. We know that we do not
in singleness of heart turn ourselves to the light of
divine truth, follow its guidance with implicit faith,
and long for its greater illuminations. We do not
delight in the voice of the divine Word, which re-
veals in our awakened consciousness that holy law
and will of God which we should receive as the
rightful law and the true life of our own souls.
We turn ourselves away from these, call in ques-
tion their authority, and disobey their injunctions.
We trust rather to the impulses and tendencies of
our inferior natures. We confide in the experi-
ences of sense, rely upon the unstable judgments
and limited views of our own understandings, and
thus seek our ultimate end and highest good in the
world of sense and in obedience to the law of our
inferior nature. Hence we are said to hold the
truth in unrighteousness. That true light which
lighteth every man, we are told, was in the world,
and the world was made by him, and the world
knew him not. He came to his own, and his own
received him not. Hence, too, that divine word
revealed in our consciences, which should be at the
same time the inward and living principle of our
own wills, has come to be for us an outward and
constraining law, to which our natural wills are
averse, and thus evidence their own corruption.
Thus the commandment which was ordained to
life, is found to be unto death. We recognize that
law which commands our obedience, as holy and
just and good ; but we are fallen from a right con-
formity to it, and find another law in our members,
#
man's need OF CHRIST. 549
by which our personal wills are controlled and
placed in opposition to its holy and divine requisi-
tions. We are estranged from a true confidence
in the manifested truth of God, and cleave to the
idols which our evil hearts of unbelief and our
self-confident but foolish and darkened understand-
ings have substituted in its place. So blinded, in-
deed, does the mind of the natural man become,
and so absorbed in those objects and pursuits which
lead him away from the light of spiritual truth,
that he denies its reality, or regards it with aver-
sion as false and delusive. His eye is evil, and
the whole body is full of darkness. His will, his
spiritual powers, are become apostate from God,
and have turned away from that gift of God which
is their proper good, and so have fallen into the
darkness of this world. Thus he is in bondage to
the law of sin, and his carnal mind is at enmity
with God. He is doomed by his own apostasy
and the perverseness of his evil will, to seek the
substance in the shadow, and to feed on ashes.
But while thus alienated from God, and lost to all
true desire and enjoyment of spiritual good, he
still retains and cannot change his essential relation
to God. As a spiritual being, he can find no true
rest or satisfaction but in a conformity to Him,
and in the reception of those divine manifestations
by which his own soul is filled with the light of
truth, with righteousness and true holiness. But
even when fully awakened to a consciousness of
his debasement, his guilt and misery, he yet knows
not nor can he apply the remedy to his deep and
550 man's need OF CHRIST.
fatal disease. He cannot restore the ruins of sin,
nor by his own strength nor skill recover the good
which he has lost. That divine light which should
have guided him, that friendly voice that said to
him, This is the way, walk in it, now serve but to
make known the height from which he has fallen,
and to fill him with self-reproach and remorse.
That light reveals to him the truth of the un-
changeable God ; but his heart is deceitful, and
there is no truth in it. That voice proclaims to
him the holy and spiritual law of God ; but he is
carnal, and sold under sin. Though he has some
right views of what he needs and of what he ought
to be, and in his better judgment approves the law
of God, he still finds another law in his members,
bringing him into captivity to the law of sin.
Helpless, therefore, and conscious at the same time
that the law of truth and of righteousness de-
mands imperatively a right inward principle of
spiritual obedience, and that all his doings originate
in the evil principle of his own natural will, aim-
ing at no higher than merely selfish ends, he can
but despair of any obedience which he can render
in his own strength. He feels that he is indeed
a sinner, not in respect to the accidents and out-
ward circumstances of his character and condition,
but in respect to that out of which, as their origi-
nal source, his responsible actions flow. He finds
the need of help to effect a change, not in his cir-
cumstances, but in himself. He wants not new
appetites, not new instincts or passions, not strict-
ly a new nature, but a new principle of action in
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 551
his personal will, by which to control and direct
the powers and propensities of his nature to their
rightful end. These he now governs more or less
adequately. But from what principle, and to what
end ? Reflection now teaches him that it is from
a principle not in accordance with the original and
inherent requisitions of his personal being, but bor-
rowed from that nature itself, and limited by its
conditions. He finds that the end at which he
aims, consequently, and by which all his purposes
and desires and efforts are limited as ultimate and
inclusive of all subordinate ends and aims, is that
which his individual nature prescribes, and so a
limited and selfish end. But that divine manifes-
tation of truth and righteousness, which he ought
to have pursued, as at the same time his proper
good and his highest end, and which has now be-
come an accusing and menacing law of conscience,
enforces the sentence of condemnation upon this j
debasement of himself. By its light, he sees and
knows that in thus making himself and his individ-
ual interest his ultimate end, he is degrading that
power of his personal being which is essentially
universal in its character and aims, to the sphere
of that which is individual and finite. He sees
that instead of pursuing whatsoever things are
true, whatsoever things are honest, pure, and love-
ly, with a free spirit, he has imposed always the
limiting and servile condition of self-interest, and
that his spirit is in bondage to its law. Truth, as
manifested in the conscience, the proper law of the /
spirit, the law of freedom, requires him to love
552 man's need of christ.
God supremely, as the only absolute good, and in
subordination to that, his fellow men as himself.
But in looking into his own heart, and the inward
spring of action there, he cannot but see that the
same evil principle limits and pollutes his regard,
not only for his fellow men, but for God, for his
truth, his holiness, and his glory. He is now con-
vinced that under the dominion of that principle,
he has set up himself in the place of God ; that
he has made his own selfish interests paramount to
the interests of truth and righteousness. That
holiest and most imperative law, the first and great
commandment, he constantly violates ; and the
wrath of God, which is revealed from heaven
against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men,
now encompasses him with its terrors; for he cannot
but confess that he too has changed the truth of
God into a lie, and worshipped and served the
creature more than the Creator, who is blessed
forever. That idol, self, is between him and the
ever-blessed God. On it his affections centre, and
cannot rise to freely expand themselves upon those
objects which he yet knows to be alone worthy of
supreme regard. However he may control the
impulses of his nature, and subject them to the
law which he imposes ; however he may strive to
bring them into subordination to the divine law,
he still finds that the ultimate motive and end are
the same. He is only more consistently and pru-
dently selfish, and has not yet escaped from the
bondage of evil. Yet he is now fully conscious
that it is evil, and that it has its root in his own
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 553
heart. He finds that he is himself guilty, perverse
in his own will or personal being, and under the
condemnation of a righteous law. He now recog-
nizes his need of deliverance from the bondage, of
redemption from the slavery, of sin. He abhors
himself as an apostate from truth and from God,
and dares not so much as lift up his eyes to
heaven. He is weary and heavy laden with the
oppressive sense of guilt and condemnation, and
in the bitterness of his spirit cries out, with the
apostle, O, wretched man that I am ! who shall
deliver me from the body of this death ? What
divine power will interpose to redeem my personal
being from its state of bondage and spiritual death,
and restore it to liberty and life ? Who that is
all-powerful to save, will break through the strong
bonds of sin, take away the pollution of guilt,
make me at peace with God, and bring me into
the glorious liberty of the children of God ?
Thus, as was said more briefly under the pre-
vious head of discourse, the truth, as revealed in
the conscience, applied to the motives of our ac-
tions, and so the condition of our self-knowledge,
has become a law for us, and our schoolmaster to
bring us to Christ. It makes known to us our lost
condition as sinners, and our need of his redeeming
power. But I have resumed and dwelt upon this
point here more at large, with a view to the great
question, What is Christ in relation to our wants as
sinners? I have represented the mind as awakened
to reflection, and becoming more and more conscious
of these wants, both as to their intensity and their
70
#
554 man's need of christ.
distinctive character. I have endeavored to show,
in some measure, as revealed in the conscience of
the avvakenned sinner, the oppressive burthen and
guilt of sin, and the necessity there is of a power
out of himself, as the condition of his deliverance.
It is only in the awakened consciousness of our
character and condition thus represented, that we
can understand or appreciate our need of Christ,
and what he is for us as the Redeemer and re-
storer of fallen man. It was obviously because of
our fallen condition, of our state of spiritual death
and alienation from the light and life of God, that
the great work of divine love and mercy manifest-
ed in the incarnation of the Son of God, became
necessary for our salvation. It is because we are
sunk in sensuality, in bondage to the elements of
the world, and under the condemning sentence of
the holy law of God, that the knowledge of that
law, as revealed in the consciences of men, is no
longer adequate to procure our spiritual obedience
and happiness, and can only make known to us the
, evil of our hearts. It is in the sense of guilt and
condemnation which that law awakens, and in the
(conscious terrors which it inspires in view of our
relation to a just and holy and heart-searching God,
that we are prepared to apprehend Christ as the
necessary mediator, in and through whom God is
reconciling the world unto himself. By the nkowl-
edge in our own souls, of the deep mystery and
malignity of sin, and by that alone, can we rightly
measure and apprehend the love of God, and that
ereat mystery of godliness, God manifest in the
flesh. That manifestation of divine light and truth
man's NEED OF CHRIST. 555
ill the common consciousness of men, before
spoken of, pertains to the original and essential
relations of our finite spirits to the spiritual world,
and to God as the Father of spirits. But here we
have, as it were, a condescension to our fallen con-
dition, a love and mercy that follows us in our
guilty self-ruin and alienation, and reveals to us
the same divine Word incarnate in the world of
sense, and in the form of our own humanity, that
he might redeem us from the condemnation and
power of sin, and bring us back to spiritual life,
and to peace with God. God so loved the world
that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoso-
ever believeth in him should not perish, but have
everlasting life. But time will not permit a far-
ther developement of the answer to the question
before us. Let me then, in concluding the pre-
sent discourse, inquire, in reference to the general
view which has been given, whether we have so
heard the word of God, and so reflected upon our
need of Christ as sinners, as to appreciate the
character in which he is revealed to us in the gos-
pel of his grace ? Have we become so conscious
of our own guilt and condemnation, as to feel our
need of that reconciliation to God which can be
found only in Christ ? Are we so deeply impress-
ed with the sense of our own poverty and helpless-
ness, as to be prepared, with all the remaining
strength of our souls, to flee to Christ as the only
Saviour of sinners ? Let us examine ourselves,
whether we be in the faith, and seek for spiritual
life from Him who is able to save, even to the
uttermost, all them that come unto Him.
ADDRESS
AT THE INAUGURATION OF THE AUTHOR
AS PRESIDENT OF THE UNIVERSITY OF
VERMONT, NOVEMBER 28, 1826.
Under circumstances like the present, I should
have seemed to be disappointing your expectations,
as well as violating the proprieties of time and
place, if I had selected a subject for discussion un-
connected with the occasion which calls me be-
fore you. I could not, moreover, while preparing
to enter upon the duties of a station of much
responsibility, and requiring immediate attention,
have consistently diverted my own thoughts from
the objects thus placed before me, to foreign or
more abstract speculations ; and, although these
might have commended themselves more perhaps
to all of us by the attractions of novelty, I could
not on the whole wish to be freed from the neces-
sity which urges the business and interests of edu-
cation upon our regard. This subject, however
it may have been exhausted, as to its general and
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 557
theoretical principles, by eminent writers of both
ancient and modern times, and rendered trite in
its details by the daily discussions of our own
periodical press, has still, like that of religion, a
hold upon our attention, that can be lost only
when we are no longer capable of improvement.
Like that, it mingles itself with the sweetest char-
ities of domestic life, and is second in importance
only to that in its relation to communities and
nations. It comes home to the heart of every
father and of every mother, as they contemplate
the future character of a son or a daughter, and in
the minds of the wise politician and philanthropist
is associated with their dearest hopes and most
labored efforts for the improvement of society. It
is practically connected with our daily and most
interesting duties ; and its principles can never be
too well understood, or too faithfully applied, by
those who wish well to the happiness of their
country.
But aside from the more general claims which
this subject has upon all men, there are circum-
stances, if I mistake not, in its relation to the peo-
ple of this country, which give it additional claims
upon our attention ; and perhaps the present occa-
sion cannot be more appropriately employed, than
in contemplating some of the peculiar advantages
which we enjoy, as a people, for giving efficacy
to the power and influence of education, and some
of the higher results, in the general cultivation
and well-being of society, ivhich we may reason-
ably expect it to accomplish, or towards which at
%
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j
Hi 'V
-
558 INAUGURAL ADDRESS.
least our efforts in relation to it should be di-
rected.
I am well aware, that on subjects of this kind
there is great danger of being seduced by the de-
lusions of self-flattery, and of indulging hopes that
are never to be realized ; that we, in this country
especially, have been charged, and perhaps not
without sufficient cause, with exhibiting an unu-
sual degree of these weaknesses by drawing upon
the day-dreams of futurity for the gratification of
our national vanity. But, if there is danger of
yielding to the extravagancies of hope, and of ven-
turing in our anticipations too far beyond the sanc-
tions of experience, there is in our circumstances,
perhaps, no less danger of limiting our views of
what is possible in the conditions of society too
much by our knowledge of what has been accom-
plished, and of thus having our active virtues par-
alyzed, and our well-grounded and self-realizing
hopes of the future withered, by coming under the
fascination of the past. In discussing the subject
of education especially, we cannot be too often re-
minded, that we are making an experiment upon
its efficiency, as yet untried in the progress of
human society. It is not that we profess to know
more of the principles or practice of education, as
an art, and in its individual applications, than was
known by Quintilian. So far, it may have been as
well understood and as effectually applied under
the dominion of the Ptolemies and the Caesars, as
it is, or is likely to be, among us ; but in its more
extended influence on the condition and well-being
n
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 559
of community, and so of its members in their
social relations, it is accompanied and rendered
effectual by political and moral principles which
had not then dawned upon the world ; principles,
too, of mightest energy, and of intensest interest
to the general mind, which, among other nations,
are cautiously hushed to repose in the dormitory
of the soul, or, if partially aroused, are held in
durance by the chains imposed in their sleep, but
which amons: us have been active and unrestrain-
ed from the first landing of our pilgrim fathers ;
which have given birth to the ideas of society now
realized in our institutions of government and re- tf
ligion ; which are to us as free and as vital as the
air we breathe, and attest their vivifying presence
by the comparative enlargement and elevation of
soul which every where pervade our population.
What these are comparatively, and what is the
special importance of the principles to whose in-
fluence I have ascribed them, in giving efficacy to
the means of knowledge and improvement, is best
known to those who have had opportunity to com-
pare the spirit of society among a free people with
that which prevails among a passive and humbled
peasantry, hopeless and therefore thoughtless of
improving their condition ; or to those benevolent
but unfortunate individuals, who, knowing the val-
ue of knowledge and of character to men in every
condition, have labored to impart them to the
minds of their slaves. These principles, our com-
mon birth-right, and the experience and knowledge
of ourselves, the feeling of independence, and
560 INAUGURAL ADDRESS.
sense of personal responsibility in the performance
of duties which our institutions impose alike upon
all, and to which we unavoidably grow up, form a
common substratum of general character, on which
each individual more easily and more permanently
lays the foundation and erects the superstructure
of his own ; they constitute a living and life-
giving root, on which the homogeneous principles
of truth, of knowledge and of social improvement
may be engrafted, and thus yield a more abundant
harvest. For they are not merely proclaimed with
imposing solemnity in our declarations of right
and our constitutions, thenceforward to serve no
other purpose but that of a dead-letter introduc-
tion to our statute books ; but reflected back from
every page that follows, and infusing their spirit
into all the actual forms and positive institutions
of society, they impart to all a higher degree of
practical efficiency, and are felt in their all-per-
vading influence by thousands who are unconscious
of their power, as the vital principle of the atmos-
phere gives warmth and life to those who are ig-
norant of its nature.
But perhaps their legitimate character and ef-
fects are no where so clearly revealed as in that
remarkable institution, to which we are interested
more especially to attend, the institution of com-
mon schools. In the minds of those by whom our
principles and our form of society were bequeathed
to us, the maxim that all men are alike indepen-
dent and have the same right to act in the various
relations of society, awakened of necessity the
*
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 661
idea of so providing for the instruction of all, that
they should be qualified to act well. Hence, at a
very early period after the settlement of New Eng-
land, free schools were established ; and a system,
unknown in every other country, which provides
that the property of all shall be taxed for the edu-
cation of all, under some varieties of form, now
every where prevails. The object or the effect of
this is not, indeed, to give very eminent attain-
ments to any ; but to accomplish what the spirit
of benevolence is now aiming at in other countries ;
to implant the great principles of knowledge, of
morality and religion, and to elevate the condition
and character of the great body of the people. It
goes among us to establish and secure forever the
principles of equality, from which it sprung ; to
secure the lower from the insults of the higher,
and the weak from the oppressions of the power-
ful. It prevents, therefore, all those evils, which,
in other countries, have arisen from the opposing
interests of different classes of the community, and
obstructed the progress of general improvement.
Instead of limiting our thoughts to a few only, it
extends our hopes and our designs of improvement
to all the members of the body politic, while it
presents them to us in a condition best suited to
receive the benefit of our labors.
It might be said, perhaps, in regard to the supe-
riority which we are here claiming, that, although in
a different way and by a different mode of instruc-
tion, the citizens of Athens were as intellectual, as
highly cultivated, and as jealous of their liberties,
71
562 INAUGURAL ADDRESS*
as we are. But even admitting that hi theif the-
atres, at their public games, and in their academic
groves, thej exhibited more acuteness and activity,
more cultivation, if you please, of the intellectual
powers, counterbalanced, as these were, by a dis-
soluteness of morals almost beyond our belief or
conception ; we shall, as christians, and with our
views of social happiness and cultivation, be little
disposed to retract our claims of superiority of con-
dition and of promise, when we consider, that in
the whole population of Attica, these proud dis-
tinctions, and that lofty independence of spirit of
which they boasted, were confined to a few thou-
sands, and, in perfect accordance with the politi-
cal and moral principles which then prevailed, were
purchased at the expense of more than twelve
times their number of slaves in a state of physical
and moral degradation, by the unprincipled op-
pression of strangers among themselves, and by
the frequent ruin of their colonies abroad. Nearly
the same remarks may be made with justice of the
inferior and less general cultivation of the Romans.
To them, the idea of extending liberty and instruc-
tion to all, to those who performed the labor as
well as to those who enjoyed its fruits, to the poor
as well as to the rich, had never occurred as even
possible. Not only the sensual epicurean, but the
stoic philosopher and speculative statesman had no
higher conceptions of a perfect form of society ;
and their most ideal theories of a free state took
for granted the necessity of the citizens being sup-
ported by the labor of slaves, that they might have
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 563
leisure to cultivate their minds and attend to the
concerns of the public welfare. Even in modern
times, indeed, and under the influence of Chris-
tianity, till a comparatively late period, the means
and principles of education were confined to a very
small number. Comparatively a few only, consti-
tuting for the most part the higher ranks of soci-
ety, enjoyed its advantages personally, or felt much
of its indirect influence, in any country. Even in
those countries most distinguished for literary priv-
ileges and attainments, the great mass of the pop-
ulation, whether in the condition of slaves or vas-
sals, were not only placed, in fact, but believed to
be placed of necessity, beyond the reach of in-
struction, and remained, to almost as great a de-
gree as the slaves of antiquity, at a hopeless dis-
tance from every form of intellectual improvement,
ignorant of letters, and unknown to history.
Since the Reformation, indeed, there has been
in Europe, and, of late, through the efforts of be-
nevolence, in other parts of the world, a gradual
extension of the blessings of knowledge to all
classes of the people. In the Protestant countries
on the continent of Europe, and in Great Britain,
schools are established for the more or less general
diffusion of knowledge ; but no where are they
made, as they are here, an important and leading
object in the policy of government, or supported
on the same sure and liberal principles which have
been adopted in this country.
And even if they were universally established
and supported, there is by no means that entire
564 INAUGURAL ADDBESS.
community of privileges and excitements to exer-
tion, which has so great an influence in giving
efficiency to our system. The same prevailing
opinions which formerly operated to exclude the
body of the people entirely from the means of im-
proving their condition, still operate, though in a
less degree. The existiug and established forms
of society still have their influence ; and even in
England, amidst the great and benevolent efforts
now made for the instruction of the laboring classes,
the political expediency and safety of such a diffu-
sion of knowledge are to this moment disputed by
no small portion of the privileged classes. The
efforts of the wise and the benevolent are baffled
by the apathy of humbled ignorance on the one
hand, and by the officiousness of proud ignorance
on the other. In this country alone is the ex-
periment undergoing a fair and unprejudiced trial,
of placing all classes and all individuals theoreti-
cally and politically upon the same level, and pro-
viding for all the same system of free, public in-
struction. Here alone, among civilized nations,
is political aristocracy entirely abolished, and the
aristocracy of nature permitted and assisted to
grow up, unrestrained by artificial relations and
forms of society. Our advances in general im-
provement are neither frowned upon on the one
hand by a privileged nobility, jealous of their rank,
and cautious lest the toe of the peasant should
come too near the heel of the courtier, nor on the
other our efforts retarded, our energies of mind
exhausted, and our resolutions and hopes dissipated,
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 565
by a sensual and degraded race hanging upon our
skirts, from whose minds the gladdening rays of
knowledge are excluded alike by our precaution-
ary measures of self-defence, and their own incrus-
tation of sensuality. In the development of our
form of society, the only collision that can arise
from the cultivation of any or of all classes, must
concern individuals only, and arise from the free
and fair competition of talents in the general strug-
gle for advancement. This competition it cher-
ishes, and renders subservient to the general
improvement, while it furnishes security against
its evils. But no class of society can hope to ren-
der their condition more secure or more happy by
repressing the aspiring efforts of another. If evils,
real or imaginary, result from such a system, they
are trifling compared with its beneficial effects,
are felt under every form of society, and are such
as will accelerate that general progress of cultiva-
tion, in which they will find their remedy. If a
little knowledge renders men self-confident and
presuming, the only method of curing their folly is,
to give them more. If the refined taste and fas-
tidious feelings of the cultivated are scandalized
by the necessity of holding intercourse with those
of grosser habits, our state of society provides but
one remedy, which is, to awaken and cherish the
feelings of modesty and docility, by giving them
clear conceptions and living examples of more
perfect character, and with all patience and long-
suffering to teach them refinement.
566 INAUGURAL ADDRESS.
But while we observe with gratitude such ten-
dencies to improvement, and find so much to en-
courage our efforts and give them a permament
effect, in our frame of society and in the princi-
ples for which our fathers contended, we should
do injustice to ourselves, if we did not associate
them, as they did, with other principles of a still
more elevated and more sacred character. We
can never forget, nor can we be too careful to re-
member, that religious liberty, the right to worship
God according to the dictates of their own con-
sciences, was the great object, for the sake of
which they at first asserted their political rights.
In their minds, it was the power of religion, the
profound and abiding conviction of its divine prin-
ciples and its obligations, that gave their highest
importance to the rights and forms of human gov-
ernment. It was their views of eternity, and of
its interests, that exalted and substantiated the
interests of time. It was the power of faith in
the objects of another world, that sustained their
spirits, and enabled them to undergo hardships
and accomplish enterprizes, the consequences of
which have formed a new era in this. It was, in
a word, the Bible and the great ultimate princi-
ples of human reason which it announces, that
had taken possession of their minds, and kindled
up there an enthusiasm which no earthly power
could subdue. From these originated the new
and sublime ideas of human government and
human society which they cherished, and which
their posterity have so far realized. From their
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 567
practice, as well as from their theoretical princi-
ples and their order of precedence in their own
minds, it followed too by an easy inference, that
the principles of religion, being of higher import-
ance and antecedent authority, could not, in any
of their developements, be subjected to those of a
political nature. Thus the principles which Mil-
ton proclaimed to unbelieving Europe, were put in
practice here, and history now furnishes an argu-
ment for their confirmation, which the genius even
of Milton could not discover. While the nations
of Europe, even those which are Protestant, have
still endeavored to control the power of religion
by human institutions, and to give efficacy to its
divine authority by the enactments of human legis-
lation, and still believe their establishments neces-
sary to its support, our experience furnishes, by
its contrast with theirs, ample proof that the effect
of their system has been only to overbody and en-
cumber the spiritual energy of religion with world-
ly interests and intermixtures ; of ours, compara-
tively, to give it a wider expansion, and its own
divine efficacy in subduing the hearts and forming
the characters of men. For, notwithstanding the
many faults in public as well as individual charac-
ter, which good men have deplored, and the tem-
porary effects of the revolutionary war, and the ab-
sorbing interest of politics that succeeded it, per-
haps no people have ever felt the influence of the
Bible so permanently, so efficaciously, and so uni-
versally through all ranks of society, as the descen- Y
dants of the pilgrims. There has been less of that
568 INAUGURAL ADDRESS.
passive acquiescence in its truths, which neither
implies nor produces the exercise and conviction of
the understanding, than prevails where religion is
more connected in the minds of the people with
their worldly interests. The sublime principles
and ideas every where proclaimed in the Old and
New Testament, even where they have not gained
an habitual control over the heart, have more uni-
versally called into vigorous exercise the rational
and moral powers, and produced a speculative
, faith. The sense of religious obligation and the
authority of conscience have consequently a greater
influence on the intellectual character, and the
fears and hopes which a consciousness of responsi-
bility and the revealed sanctions of religion awa-
ken, exert a more powerful influence over the pop-
ular mind. The inference from all this is, that
we have not only more already accomplished in
the moral elevation and well-being of society, but
a more sure foundation in the religious as well as
in the intellectual character of our population, on
which to erect the superstructure of future im-
provement, than can be found among any other
people. For as religious principles were the start-
ing point and the source of all those ideas which
we have realized in our institutions, so the influ-
ence of religion on the moral character and the
intellectual habits and acquirements of the great
mass of our population is still the foundation on
which those institutions rest. Thus, while poli-
* ticians in Europe consider it an essential part of
civil government to support religion, we have re-
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 569
versed the order, and look to our religion as the
only effectual support of our government ; not in-
deed as a part of the political system, associated
and become one with it, as seems to have been
the original design, but the basis on which it rests
in the hearts of the people. For it is not only
withdrawn, more than in any other country, from
all secular interferences, but abstains from directly
interfering with all secular interests. It sustains
itself in and by its own spiritual life and energy ;
and while it is independent of all aid from human
institutions, and claims connexion only with heaven
and the hearts of men, as its appropriate home and
abiding place, it still sends forth its energizing and
quickening spirit through all the complicated forms
of society, building up the ruins that are fallen
down, uniting and organizing anew the elements
of good, which the warring passions and interests J
of men had torn asunder and scattered abroad,
and budding and blossoming'forth with rich luxu-
riance in the refined and pure affections of social
life, and in the nobler enterprizes of benevolence.
In the character and condition of the great body
of the people, its influence is visible, even to the
passing stranger, in the appearances of comparative
decency and regularity, which so generally prevail ;
and let it never be forgotten, when, in passing
through our country, we look with pride and joy
from the summit of some lofty mountain upon the
rich and splendid landscape beneath us ; upon the
varied tokens of wealth, and prosperity, and happi-
ness ; upon the cultivated and glowing fields, and
72
570 INAUGURAL ADDRESS.
the thick clustering villages, which impart by their
presence a human interest to the mountains that
hang over them and the rivers that wind around
them, O, let it never be forgotten, that the talis-
man which has called up before and around us
this more than "phantom of delight," this vision
of substantial beauty, is no other than those taper-
ing spires, which in every direction we behold
rising among the hills, and pointing to heaven.
That fervent and holy communion of men's hearts
with the objects of another world, which they
indicate, imparted an unearthly character of dura-
bility and progressiveness to their doings in this ;
it awakened those deep-rooted principles that
actuated them, and gave birth to those sublime
ideas of beauty and perfection which were a light
to their understandings, and have not only realized
what we may behold from a distant elevation, but
in each and all of those numerous villages have
stirred up a spirit of active beneficence, and scat-
tered along their shaded streets the schools of
knowledge and industry, have diffused the bles-
sings of order and domestic comfort through all
their dwellings, and from their outmost borders,
and far up among the hills, have banished from the
view of the traveller the disgusting haunts and
deformities of vice.
And while we rejoice, with more of thankful-
ness than of pride, in such fruits of the piety and
wisdom of our fathers, we are encouraged in all
our labors by the belief that the same productive
energies still exist in all their fulness and vitality,
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 571
and that our labor shall not be in vain. While, in
other countries, the efforts of those who are be-
nevolently aiming at the general diffusion and in-
crease of knowledge and social happiness are baf-
fled and retarded in their effect by the conflicting
passions and interests that are connected with an-
tiquated but unyielding forms of society, and by
the fears of even good and wise men, in most
countries, lest disorder and revolution should be
the consequence, we have the way of improvement
open and plain before us; a population already in-
telligent, and therefore more conscious of their
wants, and more capable of advancement ; so
skilled in the arts of life, as with all the labors of
society upon their own hands to find leisure and
inclination for still higher attainments in knowl-
edge, and capable, as those arts shall be still far-
ther improved, of indefinite progression ; under a
form of society and of government established
upon general principles so simple and so powerfully
commending themselves to the understanding and
reason of all men, and withal so conclusively ap-
proved in practice, as to be perplexed with no fears
of change. In pursuing the great object, indeed,
of improving our condition as a people, through
the influence of education, and of attaining, or ap-
proaching at least, all those forms of ideal perfec-
tion in society at which our religion teaches us to
aim, we feel ourselves delivered from the slavery
of fear, and given up unshackled to the promptings
of hope ; and if it be indeed true, as we are com-
pelled to admit from the facts of history, and as
\/
572 INAUGURAL ADDRESS.
the most philosophic historians have believed, that
the religion of the Old and New Testament has
been mainly instrumental in raising the Christian
world to its present comparatively high degree of
knowledge and civilization ; if it be true that our
pagan ancestors of the North of Europe were ele-
vated far above the debasing horrors of their own
paganism by the awakened hopes and fears of
Christianity, in its then corrupt and sensualized
forms ; if it be true that the power of the same
religion delivered the Protestant nations of Europe
from the thraldom of Papal superstition and tyran-
ny, and, recovering still more of its native divinity
from the burthen of sensuous and cumbrous cere-
monials, inspired our fathers with faith to seek on
these shores an asylum for the more free develope-
ment of its spiritual energies, and secure their in-
fluence upon " those who should come after ; " and
if, in that more spiritual form, it has already pro-
duced an elevation of the great mass of the peo-
ple, in their moral and intellectual character, above
the condition of any other people, and well nigh
delivered us from the fear and the power of human
laws, by giving to society "a power of moral ef-
ficiency above and beyond the law ; " then may we
with good reason hope, that, in the farther devel-
opement of its spiritual and heavenly powers, it
will bear us onward to yet higher degrees of social
happiness and perfection.
Nor is this animating hope discouraged, on a
nearer view, by the existing state and prospects of
religion among us. We have had sufficient expe-
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 573
rience to be convinced, notwithstanding all we
may find to lament, that religion will best sustain
itself, in its spirituality and efficiency, in the inde-
pendent condition in which we have placed it.
We have proof of it in our multiplied and increas-
ing voluntary associations for every purpose of re-
ligion and charity. We have proof of it, and of
its increasing effect in promoting the intellectual
and moral improvement of the people, in the dis-
tribution of Bibles and Tracts, in the establish-
ment of Sabbath Schools and Sabbath School Li-
braries. In all these, indeed, we may find ground
to hope for far more than we have yet experienced,
in the efficacy of the public system of instruction,
and in the general character of the popular mind. **
And even in its influence on the higher forms of
knowledge and cultivation, we have much to hope
from the increasing enterprise and more clerkly ac-
quirements of our clergy, from their more general
and more habitual recurrence to the original sources
of religious knowledge, and an apparent inclina-
tion towards the higher ethics and more spiritual /
philosophy of our ancient divines. In all things,
as well in relation to society at large as to individ-
ual character, indeed, the spirit of the Gospel, and
the nature of the ideas to which it gives birth,
teach us to go on to perfection. And why may
we not, without the charge of presumption, indulge
the hope, that by its all-powerful aid, and the more
efficient application of the means within our reach,
the universal standard of intellectual cultivation
may become far more elevated than it has yet &
(/
574 INAUGURAL ADDRESS.
"been, and the power of moral principle increased,
till every family and every individual shall feel to
good purpose the influence of motives, far nobler
and purer than the fear of human laws. To realize
all this, indeed, to a very eminent degree, it seems
only necessary to carry into general operation the
methods of instruction already introduced and
partially exemplified in their effects in some of our
cities and villages. These methods, securing to
so remarkable a degree the essential article of
economy, and applying the general principles of
instruction with a practical effect so entirely
beyond what is attained in our common schools,
and withal so capable apparently of universal
application in a state of society constituted like
ours, seem to afford a sure presage, that our chil-
dren are destined to a far higher degree of im-
provement, than has fallen to the lot of their fath-
ers that the ability to read and write, which was
itself but a few centuries ago classed among the
" arts magicall " by the majority of our ancestors,
will soon be no longer the object of congratulation
and boasting, as the universal attainment of our
population. The results actually realized in some
of our infant schools, and in others, where still the
expense both of time and money falls within the
limits of our general system of public instruction,
and the redemption from moral degradation and
crime, said on the highest authority to be so
thoroughly effected by the influence of Sabbath
Schools among the most exposed population of
our cities, seem to give the sanction of experience
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 575
to anticipations that a few years ago would have
been deemed chimerical ; and, with fidelity on our
part, as parents, as citizens, and as christians, to
promise, at no distant period, a waking up of the
dormant energies of reason and intellect, an inten-
sity of action in the popular mind, that shall give
to our social life " a being more intense," and dif-
fuse, through all classes of society, a kind and de-
gree of moral and intellectual enjoyment hitherto
known only by the few. s
Our views of intellectual improvement, how-
ever, and of acquired knowledge among the great
mass of community, we know and admit, must
have their limits. We cannot expect, that all men
will be philosophers. We cannot hope that every
farmer's son will exhibit the genius of Robert
Burns, or that every votary of the awl and last,
like a master-singer of Germany, will leave to pos-
terity his half-score of folios, and never make a
shoe the less. But with such methods of early in-
struction as have been just now alluded to, and the
aid of such institutions for the improvement of the
laboring classes as are rapidly going into operation fS
in some parts of Europe and of this country, and
of those village libraries and associations, the advan-
tages of which can be so easily enjoyed among us,
we may hope for the diffusion of the rich treasures
of English literature, and so much of practical and
scientific knowledge among all classes, that every
artist shall understand the principles of his art, j
and the labors of the agriculturalist be not alto-
gether empirical, that each shall be so well ac- y
v^
/I76 INAUGURAL ADDRESS.
quainted with the sciences immediately connected
with his daily occupation, as to he prepared to
adopt or to invent the most useful and scientific
methods of accomplishing his ends. The advan-
tages to be expected from such practical and sci-
entific attainments may be estimated best, by those
who have observed the superiority in the state of
the useful arts, and in the conveniences of domes-
tic life, which the general diffusion of intelligence
has already given us over those countries in which
the laboring classes are untaught. It is not mere-
ly that with instruments adapted to their purpose
and skill in the use of them* more labor is per-
formed with the same expense of time and strength;
but more leisure from the laborious duties of life
is secured to a large portion of the community for
the acquisition and enjoyment of the higher sources
of happiness. That habit of mind, moreover,
which a diffusion of such knowledge would tend
to cultivate and render more extensively useful, a
habit almost unknown to the laboring classes in
other countries, is already strikingly characteristic
of ours, and the source of many of those interest-
ing and important improvements and inventions in
the arts which have been multiplied among us. It
is a habit, too, of higher dignity and importance,
in an intellectual point of view, than we might at
first imagine ; for the mind that is accustomed to
the free and bold use of its own inventive powers
in the methods of accomplishing its own daily
purposes, and, looking beyond the experience of
the past, has learned to aim at ideal improvements
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 577
in its ordinary pursuits, is of the same class with
that of the theorizing politician ; and the power
of intellectual vision, that in the rude implements
still made use of in most other places, could dis-
cover the form and adaptation to its purpose of
the ordinary scythe or rake even, with which the
grass is gathered from our meadows, or which seeks
for ideal perfection in the form of an inkstand or
of a cooking stove, may claim some kindred with
that which discovered the- possibility of the steam
engine in the rise and fall of a pot-lid, or even
with that ethereal vision, which, in the fall of an
apple, saw the constructive principle of the mate-
rial universe.
In regard to the higher objects of a system of
education in the pursuit of the sciences, and of
that general cultivation of the mind which quali-
fies men for the business of a professional and lit-
erary life, it would be difficult to say, with any con-
siderable definiteness, to what points our efforts
may be consistently and safely directed. It must
be admitted, I fear, that the general spirit of our
institutions does not, as yet, so much favor the
pursuit of those higher attainments which from the
nature of the case must be confined to a small
number, as of those which may be common to all.
The consequence is, especially in the present in-
fancy of our schools of learning, that, in the pur-
suit of objects requiring for their attainment so
large and costly an apparatus of books and imple-
ments of science, our efforts are often frustrated
and our hopes discouraged, by the want of advan-
73
578 INAUGURAL ADDRESS.
tages which the European scholar can every where
enjoy. We have, however, no reason to doubt,
that, with the growing value of those donations of
land which have in fact been already liberally given
in this and most of the other states, and the rap-
idly increasing conviction of the importance of
such attainments to the general welfare of society,
this evil will be gradually if not speedily removed.
In the mean time, in order to arrive at the highest
results that may reasonably be expected from the
excitements to excellence which our state of soci-
ety furnishes, we cannot be too well aware, es-
pecially in this State, that economy in the dispo-
sal of our resources is indispensably necessary.
We cannot hope, from what we now know of the
sources from which they are to be derived, that
we shall ever be able to compete with most of the
other States of the Union in the pursuit of either
public or private wealth. We could not even ask
our Legislature to bestow its hundreds of thou-
sands upon the buildings of our University ; nor
have we many individuals who could, if they were
so disposed, bestow their tens of thousands upon
our libraries and philosophical collections. Nor
are we able, as in some other States, to derive
revenues to our higher schools from those who
enjoy their instruction. If we would encourage
and cherish the love of science and literature
among our population to any considerable extent,
we must bring them within the means of attain-
ment by offering them cheap. Under all these
disadvantages, it was not to be expected that we
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 579
should very much abound in men of scholarlike
attainments. In the higher departments of sci-
ence and literature, consequently, it must be con-
fessed that our scholars are, as a body, inferior to
the scholars of Europe, though much has need-
lessly been- said to vindicate our character in this
respect. It is more correct, and more to our
credit, too, to say, that the infancy of our estab-
lishments, and our very limited means for making
such attainments, rendered them impossible ; and
that, if we have not had scholars, we have had men
who in our circumstances were far better ; men,
who, in a state of things entirely novel, and such
as would inevitably have led the slaves of knowl-
edge and experience into the grossest practical
anachronisms, had judgment and skill to shape
their own course ; men who had a heart to prompt,
a head to contrive, and a hand to execute ; of large
round-about sense and cultivated reason ; who,
with no guide but the knowledge of our common
nature, and the general principles which their own
reason furnished, without the aid of book or pre-
cedent, could form ideas of unknown and untried
institutions, and prove their practicability by giving
them actual existence. Of such men we have had,
and still have many ; and, while we acknowledge,
with regret for the fact, that in the higher attain-
ments of a systematic education we are inferior to
the scholars of European Universities, and that our
degrees in the arts are not indicative of as much
sound book-learnedness as theirs, we still hope
that the difference may justly be ascribed, not to
580
INAUGURAL ADDRESS.
the imperfect form of our social institutions, so
much as to their imperfect developement ; and
when we shall have acquired something more of
practical skill and efficiency in our systems of ele-
mentary instruction, and shall have had time to
accumulate at our Collages and Universities the
same means of giving and receiving instruction in
the higher departments of knowledge ; when our
master minds can be withdrawn from the great
work of completing the developement of our social
institutions, and we can assemble in our cities and
villages, and gather around our seats of learning,
men whose minds have received a more manly
discipline, and who are thus prepared for that re-
ciprocal action of mind upon mind, which is after
all the life and soul of a nation's literature ; then,
as we trust, may we hope to rival our transatlan-
tic brethren in the extent and variety of our indi-
vidual attainments, in the vigor and clearness of
the light that emanates from our halls of science,
and the glory that encircles the high places of our
literature, philosophy, and religion. Then will
our marts of literature, and our scholastic retreats
also, be furnished with all the abundance and
variety of the literary craft. We shall have an
ample supply, not only of men of learned lore, the
useful and laborious race of critics and lexicogra-
phers, but the numberless enthusiasts of natural
science ; those whose highest ambition will be
gratified by giving name to an undescribed flower
or fossil, and who will find matter for infinite con-
gratulation in the discovery of a beetle or a butter-
-4
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 681
fly which had escaped their predecessors. We,
too, shall be thronged, in our own due time, by
men of minute attainments ; by antiquarians, and
topographers, and bibliographers, and the whole
catalogue of German subdivisions. And, if we
may safely hazard our auguries of the future from
the present appearances in our literary horizon,
we shall have no want of more popular writers ;
of those who shall weave the rich material exist-
ing in the strange facts of our early history, and
in the original, enterprizing and bold characters of
our early adventurers, into the variegated tissue
of their own beautiful and sublime fictions, and by
the power of their enchantments over the popular
mind, shall evince our affinity in peculiarities of
talent, as well as in our common ancestry and
language, to the great sovereigns of the human
heart ; of those who may claim relationship with
that peculiar but powerful race, who rule with
undisputed sway over the minds of our elder breth-
ren, and who have extended the dominion of
Britain, where her regal sceptre can never reach ;
whose unobtrusive but fascinating voice is heard
along the shores of our lakes, and among the re-
cesses of our mountains, and leads in unresisting
captivity the hearts of men who would not obey
the imperative thunders of her navy.
Then too, if not till then, we may hope to have
our men of poetic genius,
" men of highest gifts,
The vision and the faculty divine ; "
582 INAUGURAL ADDRESS.
men, who, drinking deep at the well-springs of
human knowledge, enriching their intellectual
stores, and building up their moral being, by daily
and nightly communion with the great men of
every age, and with that Spirit who enricheth with
all gifts of knowledge and of utterance, shall mould
the elements thus collected into the bright and
imperishable forms of their own creative imagina-
tion, a monument at once to their own fame, and
to the honor of their country ; men who, by that
magic power which language imparts to the genius
of the poet, shall give life to the inanimate, and
permanency to the fleeting forms of the material
world around us, and shall transport our beautiful
lakes and majestic mountains in vision of glory to
the people of other lands and of other tongues,
and make them to glow in our own imaginations
under a new and more brilliant veil of vernal
splendor, of which no blighting frost shall divest
them, and which can never again be hidden from
our view by the gathering snows, or the lengthen-
ing darkness of winter.
We, too, like the nations of Europe in ancient
and in modern times, may hope to have our phi-
losophers, and those worthy of the name ; men of
deep and mysterious thought ; men who, escaping
from the thraldom of the sensuous and the present,
and with large discourse of reason looking before
and after, shall form their minds to the discovery
and apprehensions of ultimate principles ; the ven-
triloquists of human reason, uttering forth her un-
told mysteries, and
INAUGURAL ADDRESS. W 583
" truths that wake
To perish never ; "
who, learning to see all things in the laws of their
existence, and thus the future in the present, and
to divine the fate of nations from the principles
that actuate them and govern their policy, shall
look through the vicissitudes of coming years, and
be the wise men and prophets of their day ; men
who, by the depth and justness of the principles
which they announce, the living and productive
energy of the ideas which they promulgate, shall
impart wisdom to our teachers, and give laws to
our legislators, thereby exerting a controlling pow-
er over the minds of their countrymen, and the
future destinies of their country ; who, treasuring
in their minds
" the sayings of the wise,
In ancient and in modern books inroll'd,"
shall put to flight the phantasms and hollow ab-
stractions of an unfruitful and lifeless system of
speculation, shall lead us to the true knowledge of
ourselves, and of that living and spiritual philoso-
phy, which elevates knowing into being, which is
at one with the truths of the Gospel, and which,
beginning with the fear of God, terminates in the
adoring love and holy participation of his divine
nature. Such we may be permitted to hope will
be the inspired and inspiring oracles of our acad-
emic groves, the philosophers who shall be hon-
ored and followed by the studious and choice
584 INAUGURAL ADDRESS.
spirits of their time, and in the language of a liv-
ing writer not unlike themselves,
" Piercing the long-neglected, holy cave,
The haunt obscure of Old Philosophy,
Shall bid, with lifted torch, its starry walls
Sparkle, as erst they sparkled to the flame
Of odrous lamps, tended by saint and sage."
* *
t
DISCOURSE.
NECESSARY AGENCY OF RELIGIOUS TRUTH
IN THE CULTIVATION OF THE MIND.
[Delivered at the Dedication of the Chapel of the University of Ver-
mont, 1830.]
O, SEND OUT THY LIGHT AND 'THY TRUTH ; LET THEM
LEAD ME; LET THEM BRING ME UNTO THY HOLY
HILL, AND TO THY TABERNACLES. Psalm xliii. 3.
To God it becomes us, in every enterprise, first
to direct our thoughts. To recognize our depend-
ence upon him, and in all our ways to acknowledge
him, is our obvious duty, not as christians only, but
as men. Nor is it the superintending control of
his providence alone, that claims our regard. We
are taught also to look to that inward agency of
his Word and Spirit, whereby he hath wrought all
our works in us. He knoweth our frame, he re-
membereth that we are dust ; and it becomes us
to remember that all our springs are in him. It
becomes us to ask of him according to our need in
the varying circumstances in which his providence
74
586 DEDICATION SERMON.
may call us to act, that his strength may be per-
fected in our weakness, that his light may illumi-
nate our darkness, that his unchanging truth may
dwell in and establish our inconstant hearts. Es-
pecially should we feel the propriety of doing so,
while engaging in those enterprises which in their
character and tendency are nearly related to the
operations of his Word ; and the accomplishment
of which, both from their nature and their magni-
tude, is, in a more peculiar sense, his own prerog-
ative. In devising means for diffusing the light of
knowledge, for sustaining and unfolding through
successive generations the intellectual and moral
energies of a free people, and thus carrying them
onward, both as individuals and as a body politic,
to the ultimate ends of their being, we ought un-
affectedly and unceasingly to pray to God with the
Psalmist : O, send out thy light and thy truth ; let
them lead me ; let them bring me unto thy holy
hill, and to thy tabernacles. In the prosecution of
such objects, the light and truth of the divine
Word are not only necessary to direct our labors
in the employment of other means, but are them-
selves the most efficient, and an indispensable
means of operation.
The connexion of these sentiments with the
present occasion, I trust, will appear obvious to all.
The institution within whose walls we are assem-
bled, is intimately connected with the interests of
education in the community to which we belong.
The character and consequences of our doings, and
of the principles we adopt in its organization and
DEDICATION SERMON. 587
management, concern not private interests, not the
interests of one generation only, and not merely the
personal advantage of the comparatively few who in
successive generations may come under the immedi-
ate influence of its instructions. All that pertains to
a literary institution, especially among a free peo-
ple, is public in its very nature, and affects the
character and happiness of the whole community.
Such was the design, indeed, with which this in-
stitution was originally established ; and it is des-
tined, as we trust, to hold an important place in
that system of means by which the people of this
State are seeking to provide for the intellectual
and moral interests of themselves and of the gen-
erations that shall come after them. We contem-
plate it as an instrument for promoting among us
some of the higher and more important objects of
mental cultivation, of literature and science, of
philosophy and religion ; as a price put into our
hands and the hands of our children to get wis-
dom ; as capable at least of becoming an agent of
great power for the diffusion of light and truth, an
abiding and active principle of intellectual life in
the community to which it belongs. With these
views of its character, of its designs and its possi-
ble influence, and of the ultimate ends with which
it is connected, as an important part of our gen-
eral system of means for eliciting and directing the
powers of intelligence among us, we recognize the
propriety and the necessity of associating with it,
in the essential principles of its organization, the
efficient influences of divine light and divine truth.
588 DEDICATION SERMON.
It is not, therefore, in conformity with established
usage alone, that this place has been provided with-
in its walls, or as a customary formality, merely,
that we are assembled to consecrate it to the duties
and influences of religious homage. We wish dis-
tinctly to recognize the truths and duties which con-
cern our relation to God, as intimately and essen-
tially connected with the appropriate objects of such
an institution. We would hereby express our
conviction, that in this and in all institutions that
are concerned in the proper business of educating
the minds and forming the character of a free peo-
ple, the influences of religion, the light and truth
of the divine Word, are essentially necessary to
the attainment of the end. Such, it is to be pre-
sumed, is the general conviction among the people
of this State ; and by them, we trust, the principle
will be recognized in its application to our whole
system of public instruction. It is not, however,
wholly free from contradiction, or so easily under-
stood in all its relations as to leave no room for
misapprehension. It implies, moreover, for those
who admit it as a principle of action, correspond-
ing obligations, upon which it becomes us to re-
flect, and of which we cannot be too distinctly
conscious.
Let us proceed to inquire, therefore, (as the oc-
casion invites us to do,) what is the practical and
necessary agency of religious truth in the cultivation
of the mind, and what are some of the inferences to
be drawn, icith regard to the method and the obli-
,*-
V
DEDICATION SERMON. 589
gallon of employing it in connexion with our gen-
eral system of instruction.
In attempting to give a satisfactory answer to
these inquiries, as to many others relating to the
subject of education, the difficulties arise chiefly
from the vague and contradictory notions which
prevail, with respect to the nature and proper ob-
jects of an education. We cannot of course de-
termine, in any case, the fitness and propriety of
the means proposed, unless we have distinct and
correct apprehensions of the end which they are
designed to accomplish. We cannot rightly ap-
preciate the labors of an instructor, and the suita-
bleness of the means which he employs, so long as
we mistake the object at which he is aiming. It
seems proper, therefore, to remark in few words,
that the legitimate and immediate aim of educa-
tion, in its true sense, is, not by the appliances of
instruction and discipline to shape and fit the pow-
ers of the mind to this or that outward condition in
the mechanism of civil society, but, by means cor-
responding to their inherent nature, to excite, to
encourage, and affectionately to aid the free and
perfect developement of those powers themselves.
We do not seek, in devising methods of instruction
and selecting the means of mental excitement, to
ascertain what will qualify the subjects of it for a
predestined routine of occupations, but what is the
character of their minds, and what will best serve
to stimulate their growth, to elicit and cultivate /^
their latent powers. The question is not what
will make them skilful lawyers or adroit politi-
/r
590 DEDICATION SERMON.
* cians, but what will make them men. Nor is this
a distinction of trivial importance. It affects not
only our speculative views of an education, but to
a great extent also our practical methods of in-
struction. It should be added, that in nothing per-
taining to an education is its practical importance
so great, as in that to which our present inquiry
j relates. If, in providing for the instruction of the
young, our guiding purpose be, as it too often is,
to prepare them for attaining some worldly end,
we make them, in fact, subservient to that end.
If their whole education be conducted with an ul-
timate reference to their success in the world, as
I merchants, for example, or civil engineers, or as
professional men, the results will be such a culti-
vation of their minds only as will shape them to
the particular relations in which they are to act.
The aim will be to make their powers serviceable
for attaining the outward object, rather than to
provide for their harmonious and perfect develope-
ment. The inherent claims of the mind itself, in
' its own proper being, its inward seekings and ten-
dencies, are disregarded, or forcibly subordinated
to some object of worldly interest or ambition. If
we have right views, on the other hand, of the pur-
poses of education, instead of aiming at some
object alien to the nature of the mind itself, we
shall contemplate with reverence those awakening
energies that so truly claim our reverence, and
carefully inquire, what is their own proper ten-
dency and ultimate end. The great question will
be, not to what worldly purpose can the mind be
M
DEDICATION SERMON. 591
made serviceable, but what are the inherent claims
of the soul itself; to what does it tend in the
essential principles of its own being ; what consti-
tutes the perfection of its being, and by what
methods and means of education can we promote
its attainment. If we distinctly apprehend and
admit this view of an education, we shall be pre-
pared in some measure to understand and appre-
ciate the means proposed for its attainment.
Especially shall we be prepared to contemplate
with growing interest that regard which we owe,
in our systems of education, to the higher claims
and tendencies of our being. That indeed would
alone be a perfect education, according to this view
of it, in which all our powers, both physical and
intellectual, were cultivated and unfolded in their
due proportions. But if, in aiming at the essen-
tial interests of our whole being and our highest
perfection as men, we reflect upon our various fac-
ulties in their relation to the end which we have in
view, we cannot but admit that the cultivation of
all is by no means equally important. Thus the
surprising physical powers which are cultivated
by the exercises of the gymnasium, contribute in
their proper place, if rightly understood, to the
general perfection of our complex being. But
when compared with a well cultivated understand-
ing, how little do they add to our estimate of the
man ! A similar remark may be made even of
those faculties of the understanding which the
occupations of society lead us to cultivate with
most care, when compared with those higher pow-
592 DEDICATION SERMON.
ers of reason and reflection. We may be con-
vinced of this, if we contemplate them as they are
sometimes manifested alone, or accompanied with
little exercise of these higher faculties of the mind.
The Indian hunter in the pursuit of his game, or war-
rior in the stratagems to which he resorts, exhibits
a keenness of perception, an accuracy of discrimi-
nation, and a degree of skill in adapting his means
to the accomplishment of his end, seldom surpassed
by those who have enjoyed the advantages of edu-
cation. Again, in the opposite extreme, among the
over-civilized nations of the East, we may find
men, in all the various occupations of civilized so-
ciety, as well prepared to fill them, so far as the
faculties of the understanding which they call into
action are concerned, as in Christian nations. The
native merchants and lawyers of Calcutta are not
deficient in foresight or adroitness for the accom-
plishment of their ends. Why then are the ac-
complished Indian hunter and the well-bred Hin-
doo lawyer to be ranked so far below the well-
educated man of our own Christian land ? Nay,
why is the most crafty and the most eloquent of
all the sons of the forest, or the most far-sighted
and adroit politician of an Oriental court, placed,
as he unquestionably is, and ought to be, in our
general estimation of his character, far below a
man of plain understanding, who has grown up
under the light of the gospel ? Is it not because
the powers which they have cultivated, however
useful for the attainment of their worldly ends,
are essentially, in every degree of cultivation, of
DEDICATION SERMON. 593
an inferior order, belonging to man in common
with the brutes ; while in a Christian land there is
among all classes a comparatively greater devel-
opement of a higher power ? In them we may
find even more, perhaps, of that which is merely
useful with reference to the subordinate worldly
ends of civil society ; but among ourselves, more of
that which constitutes inherent and essential worth,
self-consciousness and reflection upon the ultimate
ends of our own being. Contemplate, if you
please, in their highest degree and most perfect
developement, those powers which the warrior and
the politician would think it alone necessary to
cultivate for the pursuit of their ambitious ends ;
and how far do they come short of that at which
we ought to aim in the education of our children !
Let them be the powers of a Napoleon or a Tal-
leyrand ; and suppose them, as they unquestionably
may be, to have been so exclusively cultivated as
to constitute their highest claims to our regard ;
and however they may excite, as beings of vast
power and forethought, our admiration, they can-
not and should not command our esteem and ven-
eration as men." Contemplate, on the other hand,
a man whose powers of understanding are com-
paratively feeble and but imperfectly cultivated,
but who, instead of rushing eagerly and unreflect-
ingly into the pursuits of worldly interest and am-
bition, has turned his thoughts to the knowledge
of himself; who has communed with his own heart
and cherished the powers of reason and self-con-
sciousness ; and we cannot but acknowledge a new
lb
594 DEDICATION SERMON.
and higher claim to our regard. The man who
has been taught to reflect upon the ultimate ends
of his being, to contemplate with steadfast eye the
fixed and eternal principles of reason and right,
whose soul is filled and expanded with the ideas
of immortality and of God, and who, at the same
time, elevated and awed by the contemplation of
these, walks reflectingly with a sense of religious
obligation and reverence, he is the man in whom
we recognize essential and inherent worth. In
him we find unfolded the true and distinctive prin-
ciples and characters of our humanity. We recog-
nize in him the dawning of that light which breaks
in upon us from the spiritual world. We contem-
plate in him, not merely powers that are service-
able as means for the attainment of an outward
end ; but that which has a worth of its own, and
not only deserves but commands our reverence for
what it is in itself. We discover the awakening
of those energies by which our humanity is allied
to eternity and to God. And shall the cultivation
of these be forgotten or disregarded in our meth-
ods of instruction ? Shall we neglect to unfold
those powers which are of highest worth, those
powers of self-knowledge and self-control which
connect us with the spiritual world, while we ex-
ert our skill and exhaust our means in cultivating
those in the perfection of which, after all, the
brutes may be our superiors ? Show me rather
the youth whose soul has been wakened up and
aroused from the thraldom and lethargy of sense,
from the fascination of the present and the world-
DEDICATION SERMON. 595
ly, to the contemplation of spiritual truths, to a
near and earnest communion with the secrets of
his own being, with the indwelling and humanizing
law of his conscience, with the self-revealing ideas
of responsibility and of God, and I will show you
one who, though unskilled it may be in the occu-
pations of the world and undisciplined to the rou-
tine of the merchant, the warrior or the politician,
has nevertheless, in a higher sense than either, the
education of a man in the great essentials of his
humanity, of a man in the image of his Maker. It
is this waking up and actuating of the essentially
human and the spiritual in man, which we are
bound to consider the highest aim in the educa-
tion both of individuals and of the community.
It is hardly necessary to add, that for the accom-
plishment of this, we must look to the influence of
religious truth. What other power has been found
among the arts and knowledges of civilized society,
in ancient or modern times, that could dissipate the
darkness of the understanding, by kindling up the
light of reason ; that could so fully emancipate the
truly human from the domination of the animal in
man ? Nor is it by a mere arbitrary agency, that
it produces such an effect upon our minds. All our
powers are actuated and unfolded by agencies cor-
responding to their character ; and the natural light
is not more perfectly correspondent to the power
of vision and essential to its exercise, than the
presence of divine light and truth, to the develope-
ment and exercise of our rational and spiritual
powers. It is indeed the essential correspon-
#
596 DEDICATION SERMON.
dency and precon fortuity of our minds to the ideas
and truths of religion, that constitutes our human-
ity. Conceive them divested of the ideas of God,
of eternity, of freedom and absolute truth, and we
leave the animal merely, but the man has vanished.
There remains, indeed, a creature more subtle than
any beast of the field, but likewise cursed above
them all ; upon its belly must it go, and dust must
it eat all the days of its life. No, the great and
commanding truths of religion with which we are
blessed, and which we have the privilege of em-
ploying as means of mental cultivation, are no out-
ward framework of propositions for the understand-
ing alone, and proposed as the arbitrary instru-
ments of discipline and outward conditions of
intellectual improvement. They are rather inhe-
rently and essentially the correlatives of our in-
ward being. They are an expressed and outward
manifestation to our understandings of that which,
by reflection, we are to unfold in our own self-con-
sciousness and reason. No other truths can have
the same power, because no other truths have the
same relations. It is because we recognize these
relations, that we feel and cannot resist their
power. It is because they commend themselves to
our reason and consciences, as reflections of that
same light which in them, too, has its dawning,
that we cannot dispute their authority. It is be-
cause of this, that they seize with such energy
upon the minds of all men, and not only unfold and
call into action those powers of thought to which
they are more immediately addressed, but extend
DEDICATION SERMON. 597
their quickening energies to all the germs of intel-
ligence, and give " unity and the circulating sap
of life" to our whole intellectual growth.
If such, then, be the inherent character and ne-
cessary relations of that religious truth with which
we are concerned, and such its practical influences
upon the developement of the human mind, may
we not draw some very obvious but important in-
ferences with regard to the use of it as a means of
education ? If those specific effects which it pro-
duces are of a higher kind, and more indispensable
to the well-being of the whole man, in relation to
his ultimate end, than the effects produced by any
other means of instruction, can it reasonably be
omitted in the choice of those means ? While we
make provision for every other object in the edu-
cation of our children, shall we leave that which,
considered, as it now is, with reference to the per-
fection of an education merely, is more important
than all others, to the operation of chance, or the
general and uncertain influences of society ? Or
shall we entirely separate this from the inferior ob-
jects and means of education ; and, while we make
other and distinct provision for its attainment, ex-
clude the exhibition and influences of religious
truth from our seats of learning? To all these
questions, the answer seems to me very deducible
from the views which have already been given.
To exclude the light and truth of the divine Word
from the minds of those whom we profess to edu-
cate, and to provide in no way for securing their
appropriate influence, to say nothing of its more
598 DEDICATION SERMON.
criminal character in the eye of the christian, is
the grossest absurdity to the view of an enlight-
ened philosopher. However we may cultivate
other faculties, if the higher and religious tenden-
cies of our being are neglected, we do but educate
the animal man. We may make him, indeed, a
well disciplined and serviceable animal; but his
true humanity is yet latent. Cheated of its pre-
rogative, and shrouded in those webs of worldly
knowledge and those inventions of an unenlight-
ened understanding which serve but to exclude the
true light from heaven, it manifests its being and
its tendencies in the form only of groping super-
stition and idolatry, and becomes the blind and
gloomy prompter of those inhuman observances
which flow, even in the most civilized countries,
from the " dark heart " of paganism. That the
same outward results do not follow in christian
countries, with regard to those whose religious ed-
ucation is neglected, or from whose minds the
truths of religion are wilfully and. so inhumanly
excluded, proceeds from the fact, that, where the
light of truth pervades the community, no per-
verted ingenuity can wholly prevent it from illu-
minating the minds of all. Such general illumi-
nation, in a community like our own, will indeed
do much ; and it is this diffusive and holy light,
beaming upon our towns and villages and pene-
trating to every sequestered cottage among our
mountains, that, without any conscious effort of
their own, tends, more than all other agencies, to
elevate J;he general character of the people, and
DEDICATION SERMON. 599
saves even the most worldly and degraded from
the gloomy abominations of paganism. But how
far short is the general influence thus exerted, of
the effect that might be expected from the direct
and habitual and personal application of religious (^
truth to the minds of all !
Nor is the effect at which we aim, considered
as a part and the most essential part of our human
education, one that can be separated, in the pur-
suit and in the use of the appropriate means, from
the other objects and means of intellectual culture.
The influence which religious truth exerts and the
energies which it calls into action, are essentially
connected, as was already remarked, with all our
powers of knowledge and all the products of in-
telligence. It is not so much a distinct and sepa-
rable part of what should be taught in a system of
instruction, to be learned and stored up in the mind
for future use, as a pervading and life-giving pres-
ence and power that should act upon the mind in
every stage and process of its developement, and
bring all the powers of the soul, as they are un-
folded, under its holy and humanizing influence.
It is not by the critical investigation of religious
truth, that its great and indispensable influence as
a means of education is chiefly to be secured.
Most of those great truths to which this influ-
ence is to be ascribed, have little need of the aid
of speculation in order to their proper effect. They
are such as address themselves immediately to the
intuitive perceptions of reason and conscience.
They need but to be distinctly exhibited and they
600 DEDICATION SERMON.
carry their own evidence with them. And how-
ever the evil and perverse will may place itself in
opposition to the duties and obligations which they
imply or impose, the effect, so far as the specific
purposes of general education are concerned, is for-
ever secured. These are " truths that wake, to
perish never." When so presented and contempla-
ted as to waken up the corresponding powers of
our inward being, they become in fact identified
with them. When once the ideas of God and of
moral responsibility, for example, are distinctly
contemplated and unfolded in our minds, no soph-
istry of the understanding, and no perverseness of
the will, can ever dislodge them from their place,
or entirely divest them of their influence. We
must first cease to be rational, before they will
cease to form a living and indwelling principle and
power within us. It is the habitual exhibition and
present influence, therefore, of the great truths of
the divine word, from which the effects aimed at,
by their means, in a system of education, are
chiefly to be expected. In this way, at least, not
only the Christian, but every ^rational man, who
will reflect for a moment upon the nature of relig-
ious truth and its relation to the human mind,
must admit that its light and power ought to ac-
company all our general systems of education, and
pervade our schools of knowledge.
But if the energy of the divine word be as I
have represented it in its relation to our powers of
intelligence, an all-pervading energy ; if it be as
the sap of life to the living tree of our knowledge,
DEDICATION SERMON. 601
will it not, and should it not, extend its influence,
in a greater or less degree, not only to the mind of
the scholar directly, as an accompaniment to other
means, but as a directing and modifying influence
to those means themselves, and to the subject and
material of our systems of instruction ? While we
employ it as a primary agent in cultivating the
powers of intelligence, ought not the whole system
of means which we employ, to be in harmony with
its influence ? We must not, indeed, confound the
objects and methods of a general system of educa-
tion, either with those of a professional education,
or those of the Christian ministry. It is not its
purpose to teach a system of theology, nor, in the
same manner as the ministry of the gospel, to con-
cern itself with the spiritual character and condi-
tion of its subjects. But, while it is directed to
its own distinctive and appropriate objects, should
we not be careful that there be no contradiction
and inconsistency in the means and influences
which it employs ? The powers of reason and in-
telligence, all those powers which it is the proper
business of education to unfold and cultivate, be-
long to the same mind. Though differing from
each other, and unfolded by different means, suited
to the character of each, they are not contradic-
tory and subversive one of the other. The perfec-
tion of mental development results in the united
and harmonious action of all our intellectual pow-
ers. A perfect system of education would consist
in the systematic agency of all such means as may
conspire for the accomplishment of that end. Com-
76
f
602 DEDICATION SERMON.
mon sense would teach us, therefore, that we can-
not, with propriety and consistency, combine in our
system of instruction the truths and principles of the
divine word, and other principles and influences of
contrary tendency. Our powers of intelligence are
not only without contradiction in their relation to
each other, but they instinctively tend, under the
control of reason, to systematise and reduce to con-
sistent and harmonious principles the whole com-
plex body of our knowledge. The mind is one,
and truth, in its relation to the mind, is one. The
power of intelligence admits of contradiction, nei-
ther in its being nor in its knowing. The more
deeply we reflect, the more distinctly shall we be
conscious that such is, and by a necessity of reason
must be, the case with every rational intelligence.
Thus the commanding power and influence of reli-
gious truth, where it is fully admitted, must espe-
cially tend to bring into harmony with its own
spirit the whole system of instruction. Nor can
any one deny that such ought to be the result.
Such will and ought to be the case, more especially
in those higher institutions of education, in which
not only the teachers, but the pupils, may be sup-
posed capable of reflecting upon and systematizing
the knowledge which they acquire. In this case,
even more latent inconsistencies would be liable to
detection ; and, whether detected or remaining la-
tent, their influence must be injurious. Do not
the interests of education, therefore, and it is
with these only that we are now concerned do
not the interests of education, as well as those of
DEDICATION SERMON. 603
religion, require that we teach nothing incom-
patible with those great truths and principles of
the divine word, which are themselves fitted to
seize with such power upon the mind ? Especially
should all appearance of contradiction be avoided
here, in that stage of an education when the mind
is becoming more distinctly conscious of its own
energies, and of the grounds of truth in its own be-
ing. The systems of philosophy taught usually in
our higher institutions, even where they do not
immediately relate to the truths of religion, call into
action powers of thought and form principles of
reasoning, which cannot but be applied to all our
views of truth and the ground of our convictions.
The spirit of philosophical inquiry, and the ten-
dency to reduce our knowledge and our opinions
to the unity of a system, consistent and harmoni-
ous in itself, cannot be restrained in its application,
even if it were desirable that it should be. Is it
wise, therefore, as in the Scottish Universities, to
attempt to draw a line of separation between the
truths or doctrines of religion and the results of
philosophical inquiry ?
If the principles of religion are true, and hold
such a relation to truth generally and to our intel-
lectual being as I have represented, must they not
be such as philosophy also is bound to recognize ?
Whether we consider the truths of religion, or the
truths of philosophy, indeed, as the foundation in
the architecture of our minds, the superstructure
can be such only as the foundation will sustain.
The entire upbuilding of our intellectual being
*
604 DEDICATION SERMON.
must spring from the same foundation of eternal
truth. It must be a living temple, animated and
adorned by the light and power of truth, and con-
secrated to the God of truth, or it will prove but
the fancy-work of vanity, or the more solemn
mockery of error and delusion. It was from a
deep conviction of this, produced by that percep-
tion of the essential relations and interdependency
of all the principles of truth which similar circum-
stances in the history of the human mind have al-
ways occasioned, that, in the fervor of the Re-
formation, so deep an interest was felt in the whole
system of intellectual discipline and instruction.
Thus we find, in the latter part of the sixteenth
century, the most powerful minds which the ex-
citements of the Reformation had called into ac-
tion, engaged in earnest controversy on the intro-
duction of a new system of Logic into the Protest-
ant schools of Europe. Is it because we are wiser
than they, and understand the principles of educa-
tion better, that we have no Logic, and do not
concern ourselves with relations of this sort ? I
dare not believe it. A system of education must
be one system, a united and consistent whole, re-
ferable, in all that it teaches, to harmonizing first
principles ; or it must contain, however they may
be latent for a time, the elements of distraction, of
error, and of dissolution.
Such a system, consistent with itself, in unison
with those principles of religious truth which con-
cern the essential constituents and the ultimate
end of our being, and irradiated by the light of the
9
DEDICATION SERMON. 605
divine Word, we are bound to aim at, in all our
plans of general education. We are under obli-
gations, not as christians merely, but as men and
as members of a body politic, to give to the power
of divine light and truth the place which it so man-
ifestly claims, in providing for the education of our
children and the members of the community to
which we belong. Other and more mechanical
methods may give to men that partial and relative
discipline of their faculties which is more imme-
diately sought for, with reference to the different
occupations of civil society ; but only that which
forms them with reference to their ultimate end,
can make them men, or lit members of a. free com-
munity of men. The means of instruction and
discipline employed in the despotic government of
the East, may, as they have done for centuries,
make those subjected to them civilized; may shape
and mortice them, that is, to the places, and fit
them for the special services, assigned them in the
mechanism of civilized life ; but can never make
them, in the distinctive sense, cultivated, or give
them that self-knowledge or self-control under the
authority and law of reason, which are essential to
the enjoyment of rational liberty. We are bound,
therefore, so far as it is possible, by the influences
of religious truth in our system of education, to
cultivate and unfold the higher and distinctive prin-
ciples of humanity. We are bound to do so, as
men linked by the common bonds of humanity to
our fellow men. As members of the great com-
munity of persons, of rational and accountable
sonal being. In this sense, indeed, the people of
, the East have reduced civil society to a more com-
plete organization, in other words, they are more
civilized, perhaps, than the nations of Christendom.
Every individual is fixed in his place, and taught
m the precise duties which belong to it. It is only
for the occupations of a state so organized, that a
system of education designed for the attainment
of particular worldly ends exclusively, can prepare
j its subjects. The two things, indeed, are nearly
related to each other ; and the perfect idea of a
state formed of such subjects, and for the attain-
ment of its own ends, with entire disregard of
DEDICATION SERMON. 607
personal and individual ends, seems to have been
conceived in the earliest periods of hoary antiquity.
By the division into castes, not only the individual
with respect to himself, but the parent with res-
pect to his children, is deprived of all power and
privilege, both in the choice of an object and the
mode of pursuing it. All are predestined to fill
certain stations and perform certain services in the
mechanism of society, marked out for them with
the greatest possible precision ages before their
birth. Such is the highest perfection of state pol-
icy and state craft.
But for us and our children, in the provi-
dence of God, a better inheritance is provided.
We are not the subjects of such a state, nor
predestined to be mere working instruments
for attaining the subordinate and worldly ends
which the thraldom of civilization imposes upon
us. We can hardly, indeed, be said to be subjects
of any state, considered in its ordinary sense, as a i I
body politic with a fixed constitution and a deter-
minate organization of its several powers. But
we are constituent members of a community, in
which the highest worth and perfection and hap-
piness of the individual free persons composing it,
constitutes the highest aim and the perfection of
the community as a whole. With us there is
nothing so fixed by the forms of political and civil
organization, as to obstruct our efforts for pro-
moting the full and free developement of all our ^
powers, both individual and social. Indeed, where
the principle of self : government is admitted to
608 DEDICATION SERMON.
y such an extent as it is in this state, there is in fact
nothing fixed or permanent, but as it is made so
by that which is permanent and abiding in the in-
telligence and fixed rational principles of action in
q the self-governed. The self-preserving principle
of our government is to be found only in the con-
tinuing determination and unchanging aims of its
subjects. Its piinciple of unity exists only in the
unity of an all-pervading law of reason and con-
science. Our obligation to the state, therefore,
as citizens, is simply an obligation, as men, to pre-
serve and transmit to our children that condition
of society, in which the highest perfection and
well-being of the individuals composing it, is iden-
tical with the highest aims of the Commonwealth.
The rational idea of such a Commonwealth in its
full developement, permit me to add, would be
realized, where the powers of reason were unfolded
in all the members of the community, where all
were self-controled by the indwelling law of con-
science, and where the personal well-doing and
well-being of each results in the harmonious co-
agency, the ever-living combined energy and social
happiness of all. But this, I am well aware, is
an idea which belongs either to poetry or to relig-
ion. It can be contemplated only in the ideal
creations of the poet, or in the city of God. Let
us rather dare, in the power of a Christian's faith
and hope, to contemplate the latter ; to look for-
ward to the time when, by the free and living
energy of that Word which we are privileged to
employ, our land shall become indeed the city of
0/
DEDICATION SERMON. 609
God, a mountain of holiness, and a dwelling-place
of righteousness.
If in any way we can be honored and privileged
to be co-workers in realizing an idea so far beyond
the results of past experience, and the designs or
even hopes of the mere politician, it must be chiefly
by promoting the cultivation of the community.
If we would promote that cultivation in its dis-
tinctive and proper sense, as the developement of
the truly human in our complex being, it must be
chiefly by employing the more than human power
and efficiency of divine light and truth. With these,
should all our systems of instruction be accompa-
nied, and by these should our schools of knowl-
edge be always irradiated. It is from a conviction
of this truth that the place in which we are assem-
bled has been prepared in this institution, and that
we have come to consecrate it to the worship of
God and the influences of his word. The God
who claims our homage, is wonderful in counsel
and excellent in working. It is the same God
who worketh all in all. Most devoutly then would
we invoke his presence ; and most solemnly do \\e
consecrate to him and his more immediate service,
this place of our daily prayers. May he ever
vouchsafe to dwell in it, and make manifest his
presence here by the light and power of his word.
May those who teach, and those who learn, in this
institution, as they assemble here for their morn-
ing and evening devotions, receive with meekness
the ingrafted word, and be all taught of God. In
all the appropriate duties of this place, in the whole
77
/
610 DEDICATION SERMON.
organization and instruction of this institution, and
from year to year and from generation, may the C
quickening and elevating and humanizing influ-
ences of divine truth be experienced. From this
place may a light and power emanate from age to
age, pervading and informing the mind of this
whole people, raising them from the slavery of
ignorance and vice to the freedom of knowledge
and virtue, unfolding those powers of their human-
ity by which they are most nearly allied to the
divine nature, making them capable and worthy
of those blessings of liberty which are yet untold,
but which God, in his providence, has placed be-
fore us and our children. May his light and his
truth be sent forth to give power and efficacy to
all our institutions and means of improvement, that
we may have wisdom and understanding in the
sight of the nations, and that a voice as from
heaven may be heard saying, Behold the taberna-
cle of God is with men, and he will dwell with
them, and they shall be his people, and God him-
self shall be with them and be their God.
TRACT ON ELOQUENCE.
ON THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE ESSAY
STYLE AND THE STYLE OF ORATORY.
The character of style denoted by the essay
style, is not, I believe, very distinctly defined. An
essay, according to Johnson's definition, is "a
loose sally of the mind, an irregular, indigested
piece." The style naturally to be expected in such
a production would of course be easy and inarti-
ficial, varying with the momentary fluctuations of
thought and feeling, as in the essays of Montaigne
and Goldsmith. The writer proposes to himself
no fixed object, no definite end, to which he shapes
his thoughts ; but allows himself to be guided by
the natural train of association. The style, con-
sequently, adapts itself to the thoughts as they
rise. It may be elegant, polished, harmonious,
energetic, or sublime ; it may possess all the vari-
ety of expression which Cicero would place at the
*
612 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE.
command of his ideal orator ; but that variety is
undesigned and casual, not moulded, by the mod-
ifying power of the imagination and the regula-
tive power of the understanding and will, to a
unity of purpose and harmony of effect. All its
* movements are prompted from within by the suc-
cessive evolutions of thought and feeling, and are
in no regard prospective. In this point of view,
the essay and the oratorical style differ from each
other in a manner very nearly analagous to that
which Schlegel, in his " Poesie der Griechen," has
pointed out between the Homeric epic and the tragic
style. The one is absolutely general and indefi-
nite in its aim, seeking only to mould to a harmo-
nious form and movement the successive images
and feelings, as they present themselves in the
mind of the poet ; while in the other, the tragic
style, the poet seeks not merely harmonious move-
ments, but harmony and absolute unity of effect.
He has a fixed object, a definite and preconceived
result, to which every thing is made to converge.
He aims to make his work an organized and har-
monious whole, in which all the parts are modi-
fied and assimilated to a coincidence with the
ruling spirit and purpose of the whole. If this
view of the subject be admitted, it will be mani-
fest at once that the characteristic feature of the
oratorical style is, not that it employs exclusively
or eminently any one of the multiplied forms that
succeed each other in the indigested essay, but in
that shaping and conformation of the parts to the
whole which belongs to it as a work of art, as a
TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 613
production of creative imagination. In order to
render intelligible my views of this peculiarity, I
must be allowed to go more at large into the the-
ory and some of the fundamental principles of the
art.
It will be seen, from what I have already ob-
served, that I consider oratory as belonging to the
circle of the arts. As such, it is dependent for its
characteristic peculiarities on the same powers of
mind, or in the language of Brown, on the same
species of mental action, as the dramatic or other
forms of poetry. The process of mind which
gives to all these their form and colors, is syn-
thetic ; and thus contradistinguished from the pro-
cess of scientific inquiry, which is analytic. This
latter, especially in pure a priori science, is, for the
most part, analytic. It begins with separating in-
tellectually and classifying ideas that exist in our
minds. It is purely an intellectual process ; and
not only does not require, but for the time being
and in proportion to the degree of its action, is in-
compatible with the presence of emotion. The
farther and more accurately the distinctions and
analysis are pursued, and the less this exercise of
the mind is disturbed by the blinding influence of
feeling, the more purely and characteristically
scientific is the process. I do not mean to be un-
derstood as saying that this power of mind, the
power of analysis, is unnecessary to the artist. On
the contrary, the more penetrating this power is ;
the more he analyses to their primary elements the
complex ideas and feelings which present them-
*
614 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE.
selves, the more rich and varied will be his mate-
rials for accomplishing the reversed and synthetic
processes of creative genius. I say only that the
creative process of the imagination, which belongs
appropriately to the artist, is in itself directly the
t * reverse of the other, and that they cannot have a
coexistent exercise in the mind. He must dis-
solve, diffuse and dissipate ; but it is only in order
to his appropriate business as an artist, that he
may reproduce what Schiller would call the ele-
ments* in new and ideal forms, that the blending
and modifying power of the imagination may more
easily imprint upon its material its own character,
and mould it into its own harmonious creations.
A clear apprehension of the generic distinction be-
tween these two modes of mental action, I con-
ceive to be essential to a right understanding of
all that is distinguishing in the productions of
the arts, and no less of oratory than of poetry.
In their proper place and appropriate exercise,
they both belong to the artist ; but in the mode of
their operation they are as diverse, and as to the
possibility of their co-existent exercise as incompat-
ible, as the powers of dissolution and creation, or as
the apotheosis of these powers in the Vishnoo and
Siva of Hindoo mythology. Analytical specula-
tion, with memory and fancy, are necessary to
supply him with materials ; but as yet they may
be compared to the 'vav\ of the old philosophers,
* See his piece on the introduction of the Chorus intd the Mod-
ern Drama, prefixed to his Braut der Messina.
TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 615
being without form or quality ; and it is in the
exercise of his peculiar synthetic power, that he
shapes them into beauty and harmony. It is the
creative power of imagination that bodies forth
" forms of things unknown, and gives to airy noth-
ing a local habitation."
The exercise of this power not only admits, but
presupposes, the existence of emotion in the mind
of the artist. I cannot but consider it, indeed, the
essential aim of all general arts, not only of ora-
tory and poetry, but of the plastic arts, to embody
and give expression to feelings, or to those states
of mind, which Brown* has classed together under
the head of emotions. An excited state of mind,
an emotion, whatever its nature may be, not only
gives an impulse to the imagination, but is contin-
ually present with it, and indeed constitutes per-
haps an essential ingredient of its creative energy.
It is not necessarily, to be sure, the individual per-
sonal feelings of the artist. It may be entirely
aloof from every thing personal. It is sufficient for
my present purpose to say that it co-exists in the
mind with the efforts of creative genius, and that
those efforts are employed in clothing it with a
body which gives it its appropriate expression.
The first process of the artist's power is, to con-
ceive that state of mind which he wishes to embody
in the materials of his art ; that form of thought or
feeling, which he aims to express or to lodge in
the minds of others. It is a secondary process to
* See Brown's chapter on the classification of the powers of
mind. Vol. L, p. 259.
t
616 TRACT OH ELOQUENCE.
adapt the means to the end, so to embody the
primary conception as to give it an exact and per-
fect development. A work exhibits the perfection
of art, and so is classical, when this latter process
is complete, or, in the metaphysics of Coleridge,
when the secondary imagination fully and perfectly
re-echoes the primary. It is the purpose of these
remarks to show what I consider essential to a full
understanding of the subject; how the primary
conception and main purpose of the artist must
necessarily shape and modify the whole, and even
the minutest part of his production. In its exter-
nal structure and conformation, it must be moulded
to the character of the conception, the form which
it is designed to embody. I shall not, I hope, be
thought to frustrate my own design, if I refer, in
order to illustrate my ideas, to the system of phi-
losophy to which I have already alluded. The
animating and energizing forms of the Peripatetics,
as they represent them, have an agency in nature
precisely analagous to that which I ascribe to the
conceptions or forms of the artist's mind in the
productions of art. They consider those forms as
living, efficient powers ; and to the diversity of
these powers, the diversity of organization in the
corporeal world has reference. These organiza-
tions are precisely adapted to the forms which
they embody, as means to ends. Thus the mild
and gentle instincts of the lamb led to an organi-
zation suitable to its wants ; the ferocity of the
lion, to one alike appropriate ; and every soul,
says Aristotle, must have its proper body. The
TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 617
aptness of this illustration to the plastic arts of
painting and sculpture will be obvious at once ; and
but little reflection, I think, will be necessary, to
see that it applies equally well to those produc-
tions in which the poet and the orator embody
their ideal creations. Here as well as there,
every soul must have its own body. From
the simple lyric ode of Anacreon and the
sonnet of Petrarch, in which a single and mo-
mentary movement of the soul is developed, to the
sublime and more varied harmony of the Oedi-
pus Tyrannus, and the immensely complicated
movements of the Shakspearean drama, and from
the brief eloquence of Homer's heroes to that
" which thundered over Greece, to Macedon and
Artaxerxes' throne," we shall find the same prin-
ciple apply. There is the same subordination of
the means to the end, and of the parts to the
whole. Both the poet and the orator, having
once distinctly conceived the things to be ex-
pressed, the end to be accomplished, chained every
power of the mind strictly to the point. The
shaping and modifying power of the imagination,
of which I have spoken, was ever active and was
everywhere present, raising and depressing to the
exact point of appropriateness, every lineament of
the organized whole. Every part was so arranged
as to give the highest possible unity to the struc-
ture, and harmony to the result. It is very much
to my point here, that Cicero*, in the work of his
old age, has referred to the inventive power, not
* See his Dialogue de partitione oratoria ; c. 1.
78
618 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE.
the discovery only, but the collocation both of
things and words. By that secondary exercise of
the imagination, they must all be placed and mod-
ified with a reference to the whole.
Both the votaries and the critics of ancient art,
were equally nice in regard to the exact appropri-
ateness of language and imagery to the form and
degree of emotion to be expressed. The to Trpenov
was with them a thing all important. This was
the point in which, by the consent of antiquity,
Demosthenes far surpassed all his competitors.
The means, the instruments of his art, were so
perfectly at his command, that he not only expres-
sed every form and degree of emotion, but ex-
pressed them in language exactly fitted to them,
and without ever violating the strictest propriety.
Thus Hermogenes,* in describing the style adapt-
ed to the multiplied characters, or forms of emo-
tion, which he considers the elements of an ora-
tion, as well as in the account of that mixture and
blending of them which constitutes the harmony
and perfection of the combined whole, constantly
refers to Demosthenes as the perfect model in all.
All superfluity of language or imagery, all that was
above or beyond the exact requirements of the
thing to be expressed, was banished from the style
of Demosthenes ; and if Cicero sometimes over-
stepped the modesty of nature in his youth, he
lamented and corrected his errors in riper years.
It was not the partial splendor and pomp of single
passages, which the ancient artists aimed at, but
* See his book De formis oratoriis, passim.
TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 619
the grand and combined effect of the whole. A
French dramatist or orator seeks to be clapped
and applauded at every paragraph or every line ;
while the genuine artist would be filled with indig-
nation at so absurd a discord in the deep and har-
monious movement which he was laboring to im-
part to the minds of his audience. It may be
inferred from what I have already said, that I con-
ceive it to be the business of the orator, as well as
of the dramatist, to impart such movement to the
minds of his audience, and not only to impart but
to preserve it unbroken ; to introduce nothing so
directly and purely speculative and analytical* as
* Here the distinction between science and oratory cannot be
too carefully observed. Thus Aristotle makes a distinction be-
tween him who seeks what is persuasive as an orator, and him
who seeks abstract truth. Rhetoric, he says, teaches to present
an enthymematic view of a subject, but to present it in a way
fitted to persuade. The orator reasons and uses both kinds of
logic, the inductive and syllogistic ; but he uses them in a form
peculiar to himself: not in that in which the simple inquirer after
truth uses them. An example is a rhetorical induction, and an
enthymeme a rhetorical syllogism. So the logic of rhetoric differs
from that of science, and assumes a form capable of falling in
with and increasing the current of passion. So we find it in the
great masters of Greek and Roman eloquence. In his oration for
the crown, Demosthenes must have had as cumbrous a satchel
as any bearer of the green bag in our courts of law. He brings
forward a great mass of testimonies, written and oral laws of
Athens, decrees of foreign towns and of the Amphictyonic coun-
cil, and records of history, all exhibited and discussed with the
utmost force and clearness. But through the whole process, there
is an under-current and moving power of passion and eloquence
that carries us forward to a final and unavoidable result. It is as
though we were embarked upon a mighty river. All is animation
and energy around, and we gaze with a momentary reverie upon
the deep and transparent waters beneath. But even while we
admire, the current grows deeper and deeper, and we are
620 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE.
to be incompatible with its existence, and so dis-
turb and interrupt the impulse that should be
given. Thus, of the four parts into which Cicero
divides an oration, he has appropriated the first and
the last especially to the communication of an im-
pulse to the minds of the audience (ad impellendos
animos). The narrative and argumentative parts
that intervene, go to substantiate and realize the
movement already given.
Thus far, I have purposely classed oratory and
some other forms of art together, and have treated
of them only in regard to those principles which,
from the general and essential nature of the arts,
they possess in common. But there is one point,
in which oratory is not only distinguished, but con-
tradistinguished, from those to which I have al-
luded. I mean, the nature of the faith which it
requires, and the consequent nature of the effect
produced. The work of the dramatist is profess-
edly ideal ; and we require of him, as the condi-
tions of submitting to the effects which he would
produce, only a dramatic probability, and a har-
mony and unity of parts conformable to the natu-
ral and necessary principles of the art. He does
not ask us to be awake and believe ; but if he per-
form these conditions, we voluntarily surrender
ourselves to illusion, and indulge in a waking
dream. We suffer his magic power to transport us
now to Athens, and now to Thebes ; and to stir
up every emotion of our souls, for the mere pleas-
unconsciously hurried onward with increasing and irresistible
power.
TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 621
lire with which he repays us. But then, in this
case, "our judgment," to use the words of an-
other, " is all the time behind the curtain, ready
to awake us at the first motion of our will." We
submit to the power of the artist, just so long as
his pageantry suits our convenience or our pleas-
ure ; and then we dissolve the charm, and step out
of his magic circle.
The orator makes no such contract with the
judgments of his audience, nor suffers them to
make it. What is professedly ideal in the crea-
tions of the dramatist, is substantiated and real-
ized in those of the orator, by the power of the
understanding. Every part of his work must
bear the impression of truth and soberness ; and,
instead of soliciting the voluntary and negative as-
sent, command the positive and involuntary con-
viction of the audience. He must lodge his pro-
positions firmly within the intrenchments of our
reason and judgment, before we surrender our-
selves fully to the movement that he requires of us.
Till our understandings are taken captive, we with-
hold the homage of our hearts. Thus, in Cicero's
division, he has appropriated the second and third,
the narrative and demonstrative parts of an ora-
tion, to the conviction of the understanding, ad
faciendam fidem ; that the audience may thus ad-
mit and follow on the impulse and direction given
in the first. The conviction must not only be
awakened, but continued unbroken, that what we
listen to, is not merely dramatic but absolute truth.
We must be convinced, too, that the orator be-
622 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE.
lieves it, and is the subject of the emotions that
he would awaken in us. In short, we must be
out of the ideal world altogether, and in that real
world where there is no illusion. If he seeks to
move our passions without first persuading us that
he does it on just and true grounds, he confounds
two acts that are essentially distinguished. It was
on this ground that Aristotle* found fault with the
rhetoricians who preceded him. By teaching
their orators to move the passions, without teach-
ing them how to discover what was fitted to per-
suade and convince, they made them mere theat-
rical stage-players. Again, we must be convinced
that truth, or rather an effect founded in truth, is
the sincere and only aim of the orator. To this,
as the form which he is embodying, every thing
must be strictly and entirely subordinated. The
least overstepping of the vanity of art, or of self-
display, is like the tongue of flame and the serpent
eyes in Christabel ; it reveals to us the withering
secret, that we are the silly dupes of the artist.
This, from the representation of all the rhetori-
cians who have given an account of them, was, as
might from the nature of the case have been ex-
pected, " the main head of their offending," who
first taught and practiced oratory as an art in
Greece. They became so vain of the art, as to
make the display of it their main object. They
forgot to subordinate it, as they should have done,
as means to an end ; and so degenerated them to
what Plato has denominated them, to men Xoyo-
* See his Ars Rhetorica, cap. I.
TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 623
BaiduKot. The consequences were sach as might be
expected. The auditors listened to their produc-
tions as specimens of only ingenious, artificial dis-
play. Thus the paranomasia, the antithesis and
finely-balanced sentences of Gorgias, the rhythm-
ical cadences of Theodorus and Thrasymachus,
and the rich and varied rhetorical artifices,* pom-
pse quam pugnae aptius, which Isocrates was so
fond of displaying in his younger, but which he
abandoned in his riper years, were all heard, not
for the sober truth they conveyed, but, like the
exhibitions of the theatre, for the mere gratifica-
tion of the fancy and the ear.f Even Plato is se-
verely criticised by Dionysius, t not only for his
dithyrambics, but fo^ his labored antitheses ; and
the great prince of orators, Demosthenes, first
learned to use the artifices of the middle style
without ever abusing them.
* So Quintilian, palaestrae quam pugna magis accommodatus.
t The style of eloquence here described had its origin in the
Greek colonies of Magna ami Grecia, or perhaps rather with Era-
pedocles, who taught rhetoric in Sicily 444, B. C. Lyscias and
Corax, however, are generally allowed (see Quin. B. 3. C. 1. and
others) to have been the first who laid down rules for it. These
were followed by Gorgias of Leontium, a scholar, as it is thought,
says Quintilian, of Empedocles. They taught and had followers
in Athens and other parts of Greece. Gorgias taught also in
Thessaly and other places. But the strength and energy of Athe-
nian eloquence had a different origin. It was born amid the con-
tentions and revolutions of that free republic, and nourished in the
assemblies of the Athenians. Pericles and Cimon were not in-
debted to the western rhetoricians for the power that swayed
those turbulent mobs. Demosthenes owed to them his art, but his
sublime power and energy was of Athenian and republican growth.
J De ad miranda vi dicendi in Demosthene, cap. 23 24.
624 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE.
Many of the preceding remarks, I may be allow-
ed to say, apply with full force to the style of com-
position and the effect of sermons. The basis of
all sound eloquence, at least of all that is appro-
priately such, is the truth of Scripture, the author-
ity of revelation. The whole superstructure must
stand, and be seen by the hearer to stand, on that
immovable foundation. If room is left in the in-
terpretation, or the argument, to throw in a doubt,
or a query, it is so much clear loss to the eloquence
of the production. If it is to be highly splendid
and poetical, I may, if I choose, voluntarily surren-
der myself to the illusion, and enjoy the loveliness
of the song, but both the production and my own
mind, in that case, entirely change their condition.
That is no longer eloquence ; and it is no longer
my conscience that is addressed. I remember, for
example, reading, not long since, a splendid ser-
mon of one of our most popular New England
divines. The language was eloquent, and the
theory magnificent, but he had not secured his out-
works. My judgment stuck at this interpretation,
and I wrote Ichabod upon the sermon ; for its
glory had departed. In such cases the merit of a
work, as a mere production of imagination, is not
altered, but we must prize and enjoy it in a char-
acter entirely different from that which it was in-
tended to possess. Jeremy Taylor has much
poetry, where we could wish there had been elo-
quence ; and the sublime and magnificent concep-
tions of the Theoria Sacra of Burnet, though de-
signed to be eloquent, are now read only as poetry.
TRACT OH ELOQUENCE. 625
Notwithstanding, then, all that has been and may
be said of the deadening influence of a critical
system of interpretation, it is a necessary and in-
dispensable prerequisite to all genuine pulpit elo-
quence.*
From all this, I gather the full conviction that
it is not so easy a matter as we may have been led
to imagine, to acquire the style and the art of ora-
tory. It is not true that the mere purpose, blind
and headlong as it generally is, will make man elo-
* Strictly speaking, the orator needs only to produce conviction
in his audience, by whatever means. If he succeeds in doing it
with false interpretations and inconclusive reasoning, he is in-
debted to the incapacity of his audience, and not to his- own wis-
dom. The degree of critical accuracy, therefore, necessary to the
effect, will depend very much on the character of the audience.
Though the theory of eloquence developed in the text is there ap.
applied only cursorily to the eloquence of the pulpit, it is believed
that it actually applies in nearly its whole extent, and that to fill
the perfect ideal indeed of sacred eloquence on any principles of art,
is far more difficult than to fill even the " aures avidaB et capaces "
of Cicero himself. To sustain the impassioned and divine enthu-
siasm of St. Paul, and clothe it in forms of human language and
human art, requires the learning and inspiration of Paul. What
is said in the text of the variety and extent of the requisite
qualifications for an orator, also, might be defended at any length
in its application to the sacred orator. The following brief sum-
mary is from the Ecclesiastes of Erasmus, a work more worthy
the attention of the student, and certainly more capable of inspir-
ing him with enthusiasm, than those most likely to fall into his
hands : quisquis praeparat huic tarn excellenti muneri, multis qui-
dem rebus instructus sit oportet, sacrorum voluminum recondita
intelligentia, multa scripturarum exercitatione, varia doctorum dic-
tione, judicio sano, prudentia non vulgari, sereno fortique animo,
praeceptis usuque dicendi, et parata lingua? copia, qua dicendum
est apud multitudinem, aliaque, quse suo loco commemorabimus ;
mea tamen sententia, nihil illi prius aut majori studio curandum
est, qui tam excellenti muneri sese praeparat, quam ut cor, orationis
fontem, quam purgatissimum reddai.
79 *>
I
B26 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE.
quent. The ignorant wish for the power, with
the design of attaining some sinister and forcing
purpose by the use of it, will never lead to the
acquisition. Students are told, for example, that
they must be orators, that it is absolutely necessa-
ry to be orators, that their reputation depends on
it, that learning is useless without eloquence, &c.
So they resolve to be orators, they read or hear
the story of Demosthenes, of the letter ?, and the
pebbles ; that action is the first thing, the second
thing, yea, and the third thing ; and then they go
and act, and pronounce their words trippingly on
the tongue. But pray, what has all this to do with
the eloquence of Demosthenes ? Before we are
worthy to name that eloquence, we must have
learned and habituated ourselves more " deeply
to drink in the soul of things," and raise to " lof-
tier heights our intellectual soul." We must learn
in idea what eloquence is, and have imbibed a
genial love for it, before we are prepared for its at-
tainment. There must be enthusiasm ; the whole
power of the mind must be enlisted, and the soul
must be all a-glow with that aliquid immensum
infinitumque, which inspired the youthful ardor of
Cicero, and, after reducing him to the brink of the
grave, raised him to the summit of human glory.*
* Since writing the above, I have fallen upon the following pas-
sage in Quintilian : " We are apt to cloak our indolence under
the pretext of difficulty, for we are not very fond of fatigue. It
generally happens that professors of eloquence court her for vile
purposes and mercenary ends, and not because of her own tran-
scendent worth and matchless beauty. I desire my work may be
read by none who shall sit down and make an estimate of the
TRACT ON ELOQUENCE. 627
With such a preparation, we may begin to advance
in the path of genuine eloquence. But O, even
then, though we might utter our most fervent uti-
nam that it were otherwise, we shall find it no bus-
iness of a man's leisure hours, no holiday sport, to be
an orator, and a true one. The necessary requisites
are too various and too great to be thus attained.
The diversified powers of language, and the Pro-
teus versatility of style, which Dionysius * has
described by a dozen and a half of successive epi-
thets, as the style of Demosthenes, and which
formed so essential a qualification of Cicero's ideal,
is not the accomplishment of a day. Even in the
imperfect degree to which, by his own confession,
Cicero had attained it, but on which he valued
himself so highly, it cost him long and unremitting
labor, f We need but to study his conception of
a perfect orator, or even the account of his own
studies, to feel our littleness. { The laborious
pursuit of dialectics and philosophy, the daily re-
peated and never ceasing efforts of the voice
and the pen, under the best masters, in Latin and
in Greek, at Rome, at Athens, in Asia and at
Rhodes, omnia sine remissione, sine varietate, vi
summa vocis, et totius corporis contentione, omni
expense of time and application. But give me the reader who
figures in his mind the idea of eloquence all divine, as she is ; who
with Euripides gazes upon her all-subduing charms ; who seeks
not his reward from the venal fees for his voice, but from that
reflection, that imagination, that perfection of mind, which time
cannot destroy, nor fortune affect. See at the end of B. 1.
* De admiranda vi dicendi in Demosthene, cap. 8.
f Orator.
t Brutus, cap. 9193.
628 TRACT ON ELOQUENCE.
genere exercitationis, turn maxime stilo, such are
the means to which the Roman orator submitted
to attain the object of his love. We can never
hope to attain it by efforts less varied and labori-
ous. The study of that technical and analyzing
species of criticism and rhetoric, which concerns
itself only with the external dress of oratory, with-
out communicating its spirit, can never make us
eloquent. We might study such works as that
ascribed to Demetrius Phalarius, and labor through
all the minutiae of rhetorical figures and elocution,
till our gray hairs told us what we should soon
enough learn, that art is long and life is short. It
is the most eloquent lesson they will ever teach
us. We must begin, where Aristotle and Cicero
direct us to begin, with the knowledge of things.
We must have eloquence of soul, before we have
eloquence of tongue. If we would speak in the
language of Demosthenes, we must learn habitu-
ally to breathe his spirit. We must read his works
till we love them, and then study them with the
intensity which they deserve. We must read
them till we catch the fire that lives and burns in
his eloquent pages. For it is only by the habit-
ual and yearning contemplation of the great mas-
ters of eloquence in the magnificent proportion of
their own monuments, that we can hope to attain
a sympathy with their minds. We must be con-
tent to rise step by step, with a humble but upward
and ardent gaze, till they unroll around us their
mighty gradations, "and growing with their
growth, we thus dilate " " our spirits to the size
of that they contemplate."
TRACT ON EVANGELISM.
[Read before an Association of Ministers, 1837.]
IS IT EXPEDIENT TO EMPLOY EVANGEL-
ISTS IN CHURCHES FURNISHED WITH
THE STATED AND ORDINARY MEANS
OF RELIGIOUS INSTRUCTION?
la treating of this question, I shall inquire, to
some extent, into the purpose of the stated min-
istry, and its relation to the church and the com-
munity ; and then point out some of the effects to
be apprehended from the introduction of a distinct
class of religious teachers, such as we understand
by the term Evangelists in the question before us.
I. What, then, in the first place, is the proper
function of the established and regular ministry, in
its relation to the church and to the community at
large ?
The general answer, of course, is, that they are
appointed to preach the gospel and administer the
*
630 TRACT ON EVANGELISM.
ordinances of the gospel. They are set apart as
a distinct body of men, necessary to the ends
which God in his word and in his providence pre-
scribes. But why necessary ; and what are the quali-
fications which are to distinguish them from other
christians, and on account of which the necessity
for them exists ? Obviously, they are required to
have a knowledge of divine truth, an intellectual
insight into spiritual things, a systematic and com-
prehensive acquaintance with all that is necessary
for the right and the effectual teaching of divine
truth and the application of the word and power
of the Gospel to the minds of men, which does
not belong and is not expected to belong to other
men. They are the appointed, and, if they are
what they ought to be, the divinely appointed and
authorized spiritual guides and guardians of the
flock. It is their business and their duty to be
thoroughly instructed in the things pertaining to
the kingdom of God, and able to teach others
whatever is necessary to their salvation. There
is a kind of knowledge requisite to fit them for
their duty, which is not necessary to the private
christian in order for his salvation. They must
have a theoretical and speculative and a systematic
knowledge of those truths which need only be
known practically and in their immediate relation to
the individual conscience, in order to have a saving
efficacy for the individual. Take, for example,
the doctrine of original sin. It is only necessary
for the individual, in order to its practical effect on
himself, to admit, with an inward undoubting con-
l
.*.
TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 631
viction of its truth, the fact that he is a guilty,
self-ruined and helpless sinner, all whose thoughts
and purposes are evil ; and that in Christ alone is
his help and the power to overcome evil. The more
simplicity, the more immediate and unquestioning
assurance there is in the reception of this fact on
the simple authority of conscience, the less of
speculation and of speculative doubt about it, the
better for the ends of the gospel in the application
of all its truths. So, generally, the more the
minds of those whom we would save by the word
and spirit of the gospel are kept to the plain and
simple practical application of the truth to the
conscience, the more they can feel that it is purely
a matter between God and their own hearts, and
their minds kept free from doubtful and agitating
questions, either about essential truths and duties
or about matters in themselves indifferent, the bet-
ter is the opportunity of the preacher to bring
home the gospel to the heart with power and the
Holy Ghost and an elevating and transforming ef-
ficacy. But how is this simplicity of mind, this
humble and undoubting reception of the funda-
mental truths and principles necessary to the sav-
ing efficacy of the gospel in the heart and con-
science of the private individual, to be secured ?
By the supposition, and from the nature of the
case, it cannot be the result of speculation in the
great mass of the people. It must be from the
immediate agency of reason and conscience, en-
lightened and actuated by the Word and Spirit of
God ; and it is the business of the ministry to
it
632 TRACT ON EVANGELISM.
know how to apply the rightly understood and in-
terpreted words of divine truth so as to produce
this result ; and instead of goading the people into
speculative difficulties and doubts, to aid their con-
sciences, and be co-workers with the Spirit of God
in bringing them into practical obedience to the
truth. But what will be the result, if there be no
settled and consistent system of instruction on the
part of those who are looked to as spiritual guides ;
but if, on the contrary, the effect of their teaching
is to turn away the minds of the people from the
immediate truths of reason and conscience, those,
I mean, which the unsophisticated practical reason
and conscience of all men will approve, and to
lead them into speculations beyond their depth,
and the exercise of a faculty which they are un-
qualified to employ on subjects of a spiritual kind ?
Will it not tend to unsettle their conviction of es-
sential and fundamental truths which immediately
and practically concern their own inward being,
and unfit them for being benefitted by the simple
preaching of the gospel ?
The clergy, then, the stated and established min-
istry, I maintain, must be, in order to the accom-
plishment of the purpose for which they were
appointed, a body set apart by their knowledge
and ministerial qualifications, and recognized and
respected by the people, as guides and teachers in
spiritual things. They must, as a body, respect
and govern themselves, with all humility, indeed,
as the servants of Christ, and with a deep sense of
their responsibility as the guides of the flock and
TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 633
instructers of the ignorant, but without losing sight
of their place and office in the church. It is their
duty to be guides ; to understand many things
speculatively, which can be taught to the people at
large only practically, and so far as they practical-
ly affect their hearts and consciences. How can
they perform the duties for which they are set
apart and ought to be qualified, if they yield, on
all occasions, to those who are unqualified to act
upon them, the decision of those very questions
which they have themselves been specially quali-
fied to act upon and decide ? How can they shift
off the responsibility which, by virtue of their
office, devolves upon them, without a dereliction of
their most solemn duty ? As a distinct body hold-
ing this common relation to the church of which
they are ministers, they ought to agree together in
regard to the great and fundamental doctrines
which they preach, and in regard to the measures
which they adopt for the promotion of the interests
of truth and the well-being of the church of God.
They ought, as a body of qualified spiritual guides
and teachers, to settle among themselves all those
doubtful questions which they are supposed quali-
fied to understand and decide, but which, from the
nature of the case, the people at large cannot un-
derstand, and therefore cannot decide aright. They
must be responsible to each other and to the eccle-
siastical bodies in which they are united, and
must, I say, in order to the best practical effect of
their ministrations, understand and maintain this
common relation to the people of their care ; nor is
80
634 TRACT ON EVANGELISM.
it possible for them in any other way to discharge
the trust committed to their hands. Such was the
purpose of ecclesiastical organization, in all the dif-
ferent denominations of Christians which would be
regarded as of any authority here. What else is
the proper end of our organization in this body,
but to secure unity of action and agreement among
ourselves in doctrine and in practice, so far as re-
gards the relation we hold to the church and the
modes we adopt for advancing the cause of truth?
What can be expected as to the practical advance-
ment of religion in the churches and among those
who are to be taught and guided, when the guides
are at variance, and lead in different and opposite
directions? It is unquestionably a matter of the
highest import, that the clergy, at least of the same
denomination, understand each other, and be re-
sponsible to each other for unity of action, in regard
to all those matters which it is their proper busi-
ness to examine and decide. It is important, and
a part of their responsible and especial duty, to
keep from the people all those agitating questions
which the people cannot act upon intelligently, and
leave their minds, as far as possible, unexcited by
them. In this case, a body of clergy, such as they
ought to be, truly reverend for their upright and holy
conversation, their sound knowledge and wisdom,
standing forth as the ministers, and speaking as
becomes the oracles of God, will be revered by the
great body of the people, and will have with them
that spiritual authority which will prepare their
minds to receive with simplicity and meekness the
TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 635
ingrafted word ; to apply it practically and imme-
diately to their own consciences, with all its reno-
vating and redeeming power.
Now let us suppose a body of clergy aiming at
or having attained this position in relation to the
church and people of their care ; responsible to
and watchful over each other, as brethren ; under-
standing the principles upon which they act, and
working together in the same spirit, for the same
end. Suppose this as that which either is, or
ought to be the fact ; and then I am prepared to
show, in part at least, in the second place, my
views of the probable, or at least possible, effect of
the present mode of employing evangelists.
1. They may come into their sphere of action
from a distance, authorized to preach by they
know not whom, and wholly irresponsible to them
as a body. In this case, so far as they have any
settled and understood principles of action for the
promotion of religion, they are liable to be broken
in upon, and the minds of the people turned away
from the practical application of truth to their own
consciences, to the consideration of the changes
made, and the debating of questions which belong
not to them, and which they are unqualified to un-
derstand. All the advantages of union and con-
sistency among themselves are lost, and the peo-
ple are agitated by matters that belong to the
clergy. The whole purpose of ecclesiastical or-
ganization is prostrated ; the clergy appear before
the people, at variance among themselves ; and
even supposing the diversity to be incidental, and
636 TRACT ON EVANGELISM.
of little moment in itself, it tends to direct the
attention to other things than those which imme-
diately and practically affect the heart.
2. They may more directly interfere with the
relation subsisting between the established body
or clergy and the people of their charge. I have
said that this relation ought to be, and must be in
order to its proper end, one of watchful superin-
tendance and guidance and spiritual authority on
the one side, and of confiding and reverential do-
cility on the other. This is liable to be broken
up, by a course that withdraws confidence from the
established clergy in regard to those very ques-
tions which it is their business and duty to settle,
and teaches the people to judge and decide for
themselves what they are wholly unqualified to
determine. When this is done, it has precisely the
same effect in the church, which the prevailing
radicalism of the day has in politics. It puffs up
the ignorant and inexperienced with a vain confi-
dence in their own understandings or their own
fancied experience in spiritual things, and leads
them to undervalue, perhaps to censure and deride,
those to whom they ought to look up with humil-
ity and reverence. It leads them to engage in
speculations wholly beyond their reach, from want
of discrimination to confound truth with falsehood,
to unsettle all fixed principles in their minds, to
make them regardless of the most sacred distinc-
tions between truth and falsehood, and leave them
the sport of every new doctrine, or the dupes of
every new form of fanaticism. This is the case
TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 637
not only in regard to individuals, but to churches.
They become broken off from the ministry which
God has ordained, and heap to themselves teach-
ers who will flatter their self-confidence and be
governed by their ignorant and delusive notions.
Again, by seducing the churches from their proper
relation to their spiritual guides, it tends to seduce
from the truth and from the plain path of duty the
clergy themselves. It places them under the
strongest temptation to yield up their own princi-
ples and those of the order to which they belong,
to place knowledge under the control of ignorance,
and to subject the established order of the gospel
to the caprice of self-willed arrogance and pre-
sumption. It leads to the habit of referring to
laymen, and to those necessarily ignorant of the
matter, subjects and questions which belong pro-
perly to the clergy, and ought to be decided in
ecclesiastical bodies. In a word, it tends directly
and inevitably to strip the clergy of all their right-
ful prerogatives, held as they are, too, and delegated
solely for the benefit of the church. In other
words, the clergy are led to yield that which it is
their solemn duty to retain, and responsibly to
exercise for the end for which they were qualified
and put into the ministry.
3. From the nature of the case, where the
church is thus seduced from its confidence in the
established clergy, we are exposed to the incur-
sion of evangelists who are themselves wandering
stars, undeserving of personal confidence, and from
their erratic character irresponsible to any ecclesi-
638 TRACT ON EVANGELISM.
astical body ; ignorant, conceited and fanatical.
Such an one, with his petty scheme of empiricism,
with a boastful proclamation of his numberless
conversions and testimonies to their genuineness,
like a medical empiric with his marvellous cures
and long list of certificates, and with the same
want of discrimination both as to the nature of
the disease and the employment of the rightful
remedies, with the same self-complacency as to
the superiority and wonderful effects of his own
petty inventions, the same contemptuous treat-
ment of those who profess to have any other and
better knowledge, and still farther, with the same
cautious avoidance of that inspection or publicity
which might perchance expose his shallowness,
will yet find admittance into our churches, break
up all established order, degrade and disgrace the
services of the sanctuary, diffuse a spirit of fanati-
cism within the church, and of contemptuous infi-
delity without, and then leave the tumult of dis-
order to settle as it may, while he practises the
same arts in other regions, with the same lamenta-
ble and disastrous results.
How different is all this from the calm and si-
lent, but laborious and persevering inculcation of
the truth, by a learned, a wise, a holy and revered
body of men, in whom the people confide, and
from whom, with docility, with simplicity and
meekness, they receive the ingrafted word, which
is able to save their souls ! And how vastly differ-
ent is the result upon the intellectual, the moral
and spiritual character of the community at large ;
TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 639
upon the order and decency, the dignity and pro-
priety, the purity and sacredness, of all the minis-
trations of religion ! Yet, as evangelism is now
conducted, it cannot consist with that relation be-
tween the people and the ministry of the gospel
which is essential to this state of things, and to the
best interests of the church. Its tendency is to
disorder and irregularity, to the discredit of sound
and healthful instruction, to the dishonoring of the
Word and Spirit of God, and to the substitution
of the devices of the human understanding and of
men; will-worship for that worship which is in
spirit and in truth. I would not charge upon this
alone, by any means, all the evils which exist in
the moral and spiritual condition of our churches.
But I maintain, that the more superficial, the more
dead to spiritual things, the more in need our
churches are of a true and genuine reviving of the
power and graces of the Spirit, the more danger is
to be apprehended from the employment in them
of eccentric and self-confident and irresponsible
men. The excitement so produced is not the
awakening they need, and only aggravates the dis-
ease it is intended to cure. There is no cure for
it, but the patient and laborious and persevering
application of the truth, in its nakedness and sim-
plicity, to the hearts and consciences of men, by
a ministry whom they know ; in whose simplicity
and honesty and godly sincerity they confide ; by
men who have renounced the hidden things of dis-
honesty, not walking in craftiness, nor handling
the word of God deceitfully ; but, by manifesta-
w
f
640 TRACT ON EVANGELISM.
tion of the truth, commending themselves to every
man's conscience in the sight of God. By such a
ministry, as the appointed and authorized instru-
ments of and co-workers with the Spirit of God,
the churches may be truly revived, so as to become
not revival but living churches, and be no longer
exposed to that " sad mixture of fanaticism and
knavish imposture " into which the " art of revi-
val-making " is ready to degenerate, in the pres-
ent mode of getting up and " conducting " and
" managing " revivals.
From these considerations, it seems to me per-
fectly clear, that it will always be unsafe to em-
ploy evangelists at all in the way in which it is
now done, out of the sphere of the ecclesiastical
bodies with which they are properly connected and
to which they are responsible. If they are em-
ployed in any way, the nature of the case seems
to dictate that it be only in correspondence and in
unison with their own association or presbytery,
and within their proper limits. Under such lim-
itations, they may, perhaps, be employed in the
destitute churches, and be occasional helpers of
those who are in the more stated labors of a set-
tled pastor, without danger of disruption and the
many evils which attend the course of an erratic
and transcendent evangelist.
These views I value chiefly as assigning, accord-
ing to my humble estimate, their proper and right-
ful place and dignity and spiritual authority, in re-
lation to the church and the world, to the regular
and established clergy. This is the position,
TRACT ON EVANGELISM. 641
which, according to divine appointment, and in
view of the best interests of the church, they un-
questionably ought to hold ; and whatever inter-
feres with and dissolves this relation between them
and the people, is both inexpedient and wrong.
An established ministry, qualified for their place
and performing their duties as becomes their sa-
cred office, deserving the respect and the confi-
dence of the people by all those qualifications
which belong to their high and responsible station,
are entitled to that confidence, and may rightfully,
nay, must, under the highest responsibility, exer-
cise those prerogatives with which they are in-
vested, as the shepherds of the flock. To what
end are the schools of the prophets, and all that
laborious discipline, by which, as a matter of duty,
the minister of God prepares himself, with the aid
of God's grace and the teachings of his Spirit, for
the discharge of his high trust, if his judgment is
to be yielded on all subjects to untaught ignorance
or presumptuous folly ? To what purpose are our
associations and conventions, our ministerial inter-
course and our talk of the vast responsibility that
rests upon us as having the care of souls, if, after
all, every question that we are to decide, individ-
ually or collectively, may be decided for us by
those who feel no responsibility, and have never
qualified themselves for the task ? No, brethren ;
we cannot divest ourselves of our responsibility.
He who is ordained to the care of souls, is and
must be responsible for the doctrines which are
preached in his pulpit ; for the measures, whether
81
*
642 TRACT ON EVANGELISM.
of order or confusion, that attend, under his
charge, the ministrations of the sanctuary. He is
bound to see that nothing be there taught or done,
inconsistent with the established doctrines or or-
derly ministrations of the ministerial brotherhood
to which he belongs, and with whom he is a co-
worker, in the unity of the faith and in the order
of the gospel. On this ground alone can there be
any unity, or the existence and continuance of that
relation of the ministry to the church, which is
indispensably necessary to the performance of
duty, on the one side, and the reception of the ap-
pointed blessing, on the other. The manifold
blessings flowing to the church and the world, from
a ministry thus qualified, thus organized, thus re-
sponsible, can never be secured by the labor of
irresponsible and irregular dispensers of truth or
error, as the case may be ; and when its ends are
frustrated by such men, no power on earth can
remedy, no human wisdom foresee, the evils that
must be the inevitable result.
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