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 <# m 4p-- 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 # 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 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